“Humph, more silver; my shop is full of silver, but for you I will give you a good price anyway because you are my favorite customer.”
“Azeel, you know darn well you are going to offer me a terrible price, the same terrible price you offer to all your
favorite
customers so let’s cut to the chase.”
“You wound me, young sir. I am an honest businessman, and where I come from haggling is not only a courtesy it’s almost the law. It is not my fault most of you northerners don’t know how to do business,” Azeel cried, acting as though Azerick’s words had deeply wounded his pride.
Azerick dumped his bag out on the counter and out of it poured two silver goblets and enough silver flatware to make six place settings.
“Now I know this is worth at least fifty silver to you, but because you are my favorite fence, I’ll let you have them for forty-five.”
Azeel looked over the silver that now adorned his counter with an appraising eye.
“No good, the goblets are both stamped with the household crest. They’ll have to be melted down. They’re only worth their weight in silver and they look like they were made of a silver of poor purity. The flatware looks like it was made of the same metal maybe even worse. Twenty-five silver is all I can give, and that is being generous because I like you.”
“You may think I am no more than a boy you are trying to take candy from, sir, but I know good silver when I see it, and I’ve even supped from such fine silver often enough and not so long ago. Because I like you and would not want people to say, ‘there is that Azeel, watch out for him he steals from poor homeless boys and kicks puppies’, forty silver pieces.”
Azeel’s hand flew to his chest as he reeled back as though physically struck. “I am insulted! I have never kicked a puppy in my life. Nevertheless, I will not have my fine reputation tarnished by a young man’s slander even if I have to take the food out my family’s mouths to pay his extortion. I will give you thirty-two silver. Even now, I hear the belly’s of my children rumbling from their missed meals. Too bad I cannot feed them your greed; they would be as fat as noblemen.”
“And I can see the honest folk crossing the street before they walk in front of your store so that they will not be robbed whilst they pass by or have their beloved pets booted like a child’s rag ball. I think thirty-five pieces of silver will be sufficient to make you an honest man and lover of small, furry puppies.”
“It is slander of the highest sort and blackmail of the worst kind. Very well, you will have your extorted coin. I do not know how you sleep at night,” the merchant said, finalizing the deal.
“I will sleep with a full belly thanks to your unwavering honesty and generosity,” Azerick said as Azeel counted out the silver into his hand.
“It looks like not all you northerners are so ignorant in the ways of honest business and good haggling. Good days and profitable nights to you, young sir; I look forward to the time we conduct our next business.”
Azerick turned towards the door and pulled at the same time as someone else was pushing his way in.
“Pardon, sir,” Azerick said as the man pushed past him.
“Watch out, you little street rat, before you get eaten by the big dogs,” the man rudely snarled.
Azerick glanced up and looked straight into the eyes of the man from the thieves’ guild. He was shocked into immobility as he stared into those hard angry eyes, the eyes of a killer.
“What’s the matter, boy, you deaf or just dumb?” he growled. “Must be both,” and pushed past Azerick, striking him with his shoulder hard enough to force him to take a couple steps back.
Azerick pulled the door back open and ran blindly down the street. He ran several blocks before he pulled himself up and stopped to think.
It was him! I can’t run from him, I have to watch him.
With that thought, he forced himself to turn and run back the way he had come. As he came to the street of Azeel the fence, he approached with caution, keeping a wary eye out for the guild man. Azerick continued to walk down the street towards the fence’s store but on the distant side until he came to an alley just and across from the storefront. He ducked inside and cloaked himself as best he could in the shadows and waited for the man to emerge.
He did not have to wait long. The hard-eyed man emerged from Azeel’s in a few minutes tucking away a coin purse. Azerick did not see him carrying anything in to fence, although it could have been something small like jewelry. More likely, it was protection money or some tax that the guild forced the shopkeeper to pay. Azerick followed the man but not so close that he would take notice. Not that he was likely to notice even if he followed him as close as his own shadow. He walked the streets with the confidence of a man who knew that no one dared lay a hand on him.
Azerick shadowed the man the entire day and into the evening. He watched as the man entered various shops and always walked out with a purse of coins. He was definitely collecting some sort of payment from these merchants and service providers like smiths, potters, coopers, and wainwrights.
As the day grew into dusk, the guildsman entered a seedy smoke and noise-filled tavern. A few minutes later Azerick slipped into the same tavern as unobtrusively as he could. He immediately realized that stealth was not necessary; no one would have noticed him if he set his clothes until he had set half the common room ablaze.
Azerick quickly stepped away from the door and followed along the back wall, scouring the crowd with his eyes until he saw the man sitting at a table with two other men. One looked as hard as the man he had been following, but carried half again the weight and about eight extra inches of height. His nose looked to have been broken numerous times and a heavy brutal looking cudgel hung from his belt as well as a long knife.
The other man looked like a shaved weasel with a man’s legs. He had a thin ratty mustache and quick darting eyes that seemed to look everywhere at once. All three seemed to be enjoying themselves with the coin his man had procured from the merchants. They drank cup after cup of wine and ale. Just the thought of drinking wine made Azerick queasy as he vividly remembered the awful hangover he had the morning after his own indulgence a few weeks ago.
A large man staggering past their table on his way up to the bar interrupted their revelry. Whether he tripped over the
weasely
-looking man’s foot or the man tripped him on purpose, Azerick did not know. What he did know was that there was going to be trouble, big trouble. The hard-faced man and his two friends jumped up as the other large man went sprawling across their table, knocking over their drinks and nearly the entire table as well.
The man Azerick had followed and the big man he was with grabbed the inebriated oaf by the collar, hauled him up, and pushed him backwards into the bar.
“Watch where you’re going, you big dumb bastard!” the guildsman cursed as he shoved the drunken man towards the bar.
“Your rat-faced friend needs to check his overgrown feet! I ought 'a break his skull for that!” He squinted his eyes at the guild man and recognition dawned on his face. “Oh, it’s you, Merik. I thought I smelled Daedric's men. Either that or someone lost control of their bowels in here.”
Azerick watched this confrontation with great interest and finally learned the name to put with the face of his quarry.
“You had best watch your tongue, dog, lest my friends and I remove it for you,” Merik threatened as the weasel-faced man reached inside his short coat with an evil grin of anticipated violence.
“Best you remember where you’re at, Merik. This is Night Raven territory and don’t forget it or we’ll be feeding your tongues to the dogs,” the large drunk exclaimed.
Merik gave an imperceptible signal to his henchmen. Quick as a striking snake, or maybe a mongoose, the weasel-faced man pulled a needle-sharp stiletto from the inside of his coat and stabbed the drunken man in the back of his knee. Merik’s broken-nosed bruiser whipped his cudgel into the rival guildsman's gut and sent him to the floor trying to regain his air.
Quick as that, the fight was over. The tavern patrons went back to their drinks and conversations as if this was a normal occurrence, which it likely was, Azerick figured.
Merik grabbed the fallen man by his greasy hair and glared down into his face.
“Nothing lasts forever, fat man, and Daedric’s Demons are looking to expand its territory. Night Raven is weak and ripe for the plucking. You tell that popinjay you call a guild leader that it might be a good time for him to pull up stakes and move on out while he still has the option,” Merik hissed in his face.
Merik threw the man’s head down and he and his cronies walked out of the tavern. Azerick waited a few moments before following them out into the night. He spied them walking up the street just before they disappeared into the night’s gloomy darkness and quickly, but carefully, resumed his stealthy pursuit.
Azerick followed the trio just close enough to keep them in sight. When they turned a corner, he lost sight of them for only a few moments as he increased his pace so he would not lose them down more than one street at any time. The small group had just turned another corner so Azerick had to quicken his pace once again so as not to lose sight of them long enough to allow them to disappear around a second corner and risk completely losing his prey.
As he peered around the corner of the building, he feared for a moment that he had lost them anyway until he saw the back of the large man disappear into a three-story structure about halfway down the far side of the street.
Azerick examined the building as best he could from where he was at, not daring to draw any closer. Two men who kept a vigilant eye on the street traffic guarded the door that Merik and the others had entered. He only had a moment to study the men and the building when he felt the sharp edge of a knife press against his throat. Azerick immediately held his breath and froze in place.
“What are you looking at, boy?” a voice hissed in his ear.
The knife pulled away from his throat as a hand grabbed the front of his shirt and pressed him hard into the side of the building he had been using as cover. The knife instantly reappeared, its point pricking the soft flesh under his chin.
“Answer me, boy, and you best answer good, or I’m going to be giving you the first and last shave you’ll ever get. Who are you, and why were you following us?”
Azerick stared into the beady eyes of the weasel-faced man that had been with Merik. He quickly realized his mistake. He saw the back of the big man and just assumed that the other two had preceded him through the door. He thought quickly and it was a good thing he was better at thinking fast than he was at shadowing guild thieves.
“Sir, I’m just a street rat but I’m pretty good. At least I thought I was. I was just looking for someone to talk to about joining the thieves’ guild but I didn’t know who to talk to. That’s what I was doing in the tavern. I knew that Night Raven men hung out there, but when I saw how you had handled that big oaf, I knew I wanted to talk to your guild instead,” Azerick stammered out, only half acting the part of a terrified boy.
The weasel-eyed man cuffed Azerick on the side of his head. “Stupid boy, there is only one guild. Daedric runs our chapterhouse just like that Night Raven, Andrill, runs another of the several chapterhouses in the city. Any thief worth his salt knows that. Lucky for you, Daedric’s Demons numbers are growing and expanding its territory. At least you're smart enough to see that and come to us first.”
The thief took the knife out from under Azerick’s chin and released the front of his shirt.
“We’re always looking for new men, especially young men that can be trained proper and have quick hands. Convince me that it's in my house's best interest to let you live, and maybe even take you in, instead of making you bleed out right here for spying.”
“I have your purse, sir,” Azerick said as he lifted his hand, a small coin pouch dangling from his nimble fingers.
The weasel’s face split into a grin and let out a wheezing sound that must have passed for his laugh.
“Well ain’t you a clever lad and you can work under pressure. I think we may have a use for you after all. Come back during the day, tell whoever is at the door that you’re a new recruit, and that Slyde sent you.”