Palimpsest

The Ledger Guild does not employ soldiers. Its power does not rest on armies. It rests on the fact that in forty-three of the forty-seven kingdoms and city-states currently operating on the continent, no property transaction, debt agreement, commercial license, or succession document is legally binding without a Ledger seal.

Remove the army and a king can rebuild it. Remove the seal and a king cannot levy taxes, transfer land, or legitimize an heir.

The Guild has never needed to threaten anyone. The situation is self-explanatory.

— A Merchant's Register: Notes on Guild Commerce in the Free Cities. Ninth edition.

Chapter 6 Thief and Killer

"It's open," Tivver whispered, the metal picks still inside the keyhole. The door eased inward with a soft click. "Told you — give me a little lubricant and the right tool and there's nowhere I can't get into," he said, puffing out his chest.

"If you'd taken any longer, the door would have rotted open on its own," Vaelra muttered, already stepping inside.

"It just needed a little foreplay. What was I supposed to do?"

"You're never going to grow up, are you, you stupid gnome?" She looked down at him. Vaelra was actually a short woman — her petite build was one of the things men found attractive about her. Even so, there was nearly an arm's length of height difference between her and Tivver.

"If this stupid gnome wasn't here, how long do you think it would take you to seduce the door open?" he shot back, dropping his tools into one of the countless pockets on his clothes.

"Shut up, Tiv," she said without raising her voice, already scanning the cabinets lining the walls. "And help me find that file. We've wasted enough time."

The room was only six or seven paces wide but at least thirty paces long, and cabinets lined both sides, narrowing the space even further. In the middle stood a tall narrow table, and at the far end a broader desk cluttered with papers and writing instruments. The middle table looked like a shared workspace; the one at the back had the feel of someone's personal desk — someone with a rank worth having.

"Relax. No one's in this building at this hour. I've watched the place for four days and didn't see a single light."

"Your four-day routine is supposed to make me feel safe?" she whispered, both of them scanning the cabinets on opposite walls.

This was one of the local archive rooms where the Ledger Guild kept its records.

"We know they post guards at the building entrances and exits, but they don't station anyone inside the archive rooms," Tivver continued.

"Cutting costs everywhere as usual."

"A roaming patrol is probably enough security for a place like this," Tivver complained, looking around as if he'd been expecting something more impressive. "Nothing in here but boring records."

"Fine by me — at least we're not trying to break into the vault building."

"Now there," Tivver cut in meaningfully, "lubricant alone might not have been enough." He paused. "The Ledger's turned the Wardens in this city into their own personal lapdogs. That place is practically a fortress now."

"I don't care whose boots anyone is licking — I want to find what we came for and get out of here."

"Good thing each cabinet is labeled," Tivver said.

"If they weren't, we'd be here for a week," Vaelra replied.

Since Tivver couldn't see the higher shelves, he quickly passed the lower cabinets and made his way to the desk at the back. He swept his eyes over the surface but found nothing worth noting. He checked the drawers as well, but what he was looking for wasn't there. He pulled the last drawer and it didn't budge — locked. "Now that's interesting," he whispered to himself. "A locked drawer in a room where records are just sitting in open cabinets."

"Found it!" Vaelra suddenly called out.

"Shhh!" Tivver snapped, lifting his head from behind the desk. "Stop shouting. You'll bring everyone down on us."

"Shit, sorry." She caught herself. "This must be it — says Blacksmith District Records on the front." She leaned in closer to read, then opened the cabinet and set all the documents inside onto the middle table. "Has to be one of these. Permits, contracts, taxes — ah, here we go. Debts!" She flipped quickly through the debt records. "I think I found what we were looking for."

"Good," came Tivver's reply from behind the desk, with a strained edge to it. "Make sure there aren't any other copies. And grab random things from the other cabinets too so it's not obvious why we were here."

"I'm not stupid, I already checked," Vaelra said, rifling through the other cabinets and stuffing random documents into her pockets, dropping a few into the wrong ones for good measure. She turned toward him. "Come on, we need to go. What the hell are you still doing over there?"

A faint click came from the direction of the desk.

Tivver smiled at the drawer and his eyes lit up. "Just making sure we don't leave empty-handed."

◈ ◈ ◈

"Sending those two clowns into the archive was a mistake," Ravah muttered, tapping an impatient rhythm against the railing with her fingers.

"You've been with us long enough to know it's foolish to underestimate them," Darian replied. "I'll grant they're about as far from serious as it's possible to be — but you know how good they are at what they do."

Ravah only grunted, because she knew he was right. Growing up as a woman raised in a monastery had given her a severity that left little room for humor or casual behavior. She always wore a serious expression and kept her focus entirely on the task at hand — that was how it should be, as far as she was concerned. People generally found her cold and intimidating. The fact that she was a bald, muscular woman with deep brown skin and at least a head taller than most didn't exactly make her easier to approach.

"Besides — do we have anyone among us who can pick locks like Tiv, or find what we're looking for as quickly as Val?" Darian asked, his back still turned, watching the corridor on the floor below.

Ravah didn't answer immediately. Darian annoyed her when he was right — and he was right almost every time. Yet strangely, she felt something protective toward this dwarf who stood half her height. Maybe because he wasn't like the crude, harsh dwarves you usually encountered. Darian was polite, honest — even delicate in a way that was almost unheard of among his kind.

She exhaled slowly, as if letting go of some tension. "Maybe the boss could have handled it alone," she said, throwing the comment toward Veylith, who was watching the street from the window.

"Maybe," Veylith replied in her calm, level voice. "But then I'd have to trust those two to watch my back."

Neither of them said anything in response — not out of fear, but out of respect. A woman who had passed a hundred and twenty years carried experience that most humans and dwarves couldn't come close to. Still, when she spoke with the calm of a serial killer, unsettling wasn't too strong a word.

Veylith wasn't as tall as Ravah but tall nonetheless, and slender in the way of most elves. She had an athletic, muscular build, though her slight frame tended to conceal it. While long hair was common even among male elves, her short golden hair made her stand out almost anywhere she went. With her wide dark brown hat, trousers, white shirt and long trench coat, she drew admiration from women as readily as men. The coat, though, was concealing something — two custom-made elven firearms at the small of her back. Most people thought pistols were the stuff of legend. Ordinary folk who had never seen anything beyond swords, daggers, bows and arrows couldn't begin to imagine that something no bigger than a fingertip could kill from such a distance.

Veylith had carried those weapons for more than thirty years. No one who had watched her use them as though they were extensions of her own arm had come away unimpressed. She had never been seen to miss.

"You can't send a thief to kill," she continued, still watching the street outside, "or a killer to steal."

"You need to learn to trust them," Darian added, echoing her point.

Ravah's irritation showed in the harder rhythm her fingers struck against the railing.

"Five minutes," she said quietly. "Then I'm going after them."

Veylith turned slowly from the window. "You may be right," she murmured. "By now they should already be out—"

She didn't finish.

"Fuck!"

Two guards appeared in the corridor diagonally across the hall to the lower right, and Veylith locked eyes with them. Darian snapped his head toward where she was looking. Ravah had already seen them and, without a moment's hesitation, was sprinting down the stairs at full speed.

Veylith saw one of the guards reaching for the whistle around his neck. The guards at the door — and everyone nearby — would hear it. She couldn't allow that. But for the same reason, she couldn't use her pistols. In the single second she had to react, she reached into her pocket for one of the spare bullets she kept there. She pulled it out, drew her arm back as if to throw it, and at the same time used her innate ability to reshape the bullet into a marble. Meanwhile Ravah had already reached the first guard and brought him down with a single strike from her wooden baton. But the second had already raised the whistle to his lips.

Veylith hurled the marble with everything she had.

…

Tivver tossed the small pouch into the air and caught it as he walked toward Vaelra. The solid clink of whatever was inside made both its contents and its weight perfectly clear. "We're doing this to help people, right?" He stopped close beside her. "I think we can help ourselves at the same time."

Vaelra leaned in until her face was right in front of his, a wicked smile on her lips. "You son of a bitch," she whispered.

"That's my job title, baby," he replied with the same grin.

At that moment a brief, clipped sound came from outside — too short to make out. Neither of them changed their posture, but both heads turned toward the door at exactly the same instant. "What the fuck was that?" Tivver asked, his voice rising slightly. Vaelra's expression was less startled than resigned. "The sound of trouble, obviously," she muttered.

…

Veylith had thrown the marble with full force, but the guard had already lifted the whistle to his lips when it struck him in the forehead. A single brief note rang out and died. It might not bring everyone running — but it would be enough to draw attention from nearby.

Ravah stood over the two fallen guards and called up toward her. "We need to go. Now." Her voice had gone harder still. "There are sounds coming from outside."

Darian turned toward her. "We can't leave without Val and Tiv—" His words were cut off by the crack of a door slamming somewhere behind them.

"What happened?" Vaelra called, running in from the side corridor. Tivver came right behind her, still catching his breath. "Do we have company?" he managed.

"Did you get the records?" Veylith asked, her voice sharp and loud.

Tivver turned to her. "The room was bigger than we expected. A lot of cabinets. We checked all—"

"Tivver!" Veylith's voice came out like a crack of thunder, the veins in her neck standing out.

"Yes, yes — we got what we needed," Vaelra cut in quickly, smoothing the air. Tivver had gone quiet. He knew he talked too much, but he didn't enjoy being shouted at either.

"We need to get out of here," Veylith said, warning enough for everyone. "Now!"

She was already running toward the staircase leading down to the hall. She took the stairs fast, the others right behind her. Veylith reached the bottom with fluid ease, Vaelra close on her heels, while Tivver and Darian fell behind — short legs had their disadvantages.

When Veylith reached Ravah she ignored the fallen guards entirely and swept her eyes along the corridor they had come from. Without turning fully, she tilted her head slightly toward Ravah. "The outside guards could arrive any moment. We need to reach the tunnels. Without being followed." Then she glanced at Tivver and Darian. "Can you carry dead weight?" she murmured to Ravah.

Ravah gave a single nod and swung her fighting batons back across her shoulders. Veylith turned toward the doors opening onto the street and snapped the leg off the small table beside them, then wedged the length of wood through the handles of the double doors to bar them shut. She turned back to the others. "Tunnels — move!" she said, already in motion.

She saw Ravah scoop Tivver and Darian under one arm each. Vaelra had already started running ahead. Veylith knew she was the fastest among them, which was precisely why she always came last — to cover their backs. She took one final look at the wooden bar jammed through the door handles. Then she turned left to follow the others and took one step and—

Everything went dark.

She found herself between stone walls, wearing her old uniform. The cold of the space was real enough to feel; she could see the breath leaving her mouth. Through the ringing in her ears she looked to her side and found six others in the same uniform standing with her.

"Captain!"

The voice had cut through the ringing and brought her back.

"We're ready to move. Awaiting your orders," said the large soldier at her side, his voice low but steady. He was holding a weapon similar to hers, though larger.

"Am I dreaming," she murmured to herself.

"The target is in the room at the end of the corridor," the large elf soldier continued, his eyes fixed forward. "Your orders?"

"Oh."

Veylith understood at once where she was.

But how, she thought. This was almost twenty years ago.