Chiani hugged herself tightly in the rain.  The evening’s chill seeped clear to the bone as the occasional thunderclap resounded among the mighty walls of Freeport.  Doing her best to keep her own teeth from chattering, the dark elf girl gazed longingly out into the harbor where the mighty beacon fire shined a promise of light and warmth in the otherwise cruel, uncaring city-state.  It was a fickle promise, certainly.  How well she knew the illusory signs of relief in her day-to-day struggle to survive the streets.  Such recognition, however, made them no less seductive to the forgotten homeless masses of Freeport.

Raising her eyes, Chiani looked upon the dominating citadel of Lucan D’Lere as it floated high above the ground.  Such an apt symbol, she thought, for a megalomaniacal ruler so arrogantly disconnected with his subjects.  Word was you could see the grim structure for miles across the face of the Commonlands and beyond—or rather it saw you.  One could always feel its restless eyes watching over all creatures scurrying in its domain, no matter how small or insignificant.  Such was the pervading sentiment in Freeport ever since the callous Overlord claimed his seat of power.

A mounted horse galloped past the alley where she took refuge, its hooves splattering a puddle inside the alley in a deluge.  Chiani sputtered, but stayed still.  It didn’t matter.  She was already drenched to the skin anyway.  Best not make a fuss.  People didn’t like fuss.  Militia guards especially.  The girl knew that anonymity and silence were the two most valuable tools she had, and life had taught her exactly when to use them.  Lucky for her she was a bright one, because slow learners in Freeport ended up facedown in alleyways just like this.

At long last, she heard the bolt on the door across the way unlatch with a sudden clang.  This was it, she thought.  The old buccaneer was finally leaving for a night of drink and debauchery down at the Seafarer’s Roost.  From casing his residence for the past two weeks, Chiani knew the man was going to be absent for an hour at the very least—plenty of time for her to steal her way inside and poke around.

A few silent steps across the street, and the young burglar found herself crouched before the very same door.  A quick and skilled jiggle of her prized lock picks, and the wooden door swung open with a subtle creak.  The girl took one final glance around outside, hoping fervently she hadn’t attracted any attention.  No one was about.  Satisfied, she closed the door quietly behind her with a sigh of relief.

If nothing else, this little caper afforded her the opportunity to escape the downpour for a few minutes. 

At first she’d planned to merely scope out the inside to see where the man kept his ill-gotten booty, but one look at the amount of water she was dripping on the floor made her realize that this was definitely going to be a one-night job.  No way was this much water going to disappear before he returned.  Even were he struck blind, he’d still know he was burglarized half a second after opening the door.

That was fine with her, though.  You never knew what careless people left lying around.  Whatever she found was sure to keep her fed for the next day or two.  If she was lucky, she’d stumble across his main stash and really have something to celebrate.  It was common knowledge that Seafuries never retired without savings sufficient to keep them amply comfortable for the rest of their lives.

From the looks of the place, this Seafury could have retired twice.  Sauntering through the living room, Chiani idly picked up a butter cracker from a plate resting on an end table as she glanced around.  The furniture was certainly well to do, as was the cedar wall paneling and plush carpet.  This guy had it made and then some, she thought as she took a casual bite from the cracker.  Judging by the décor of the place and its tidiness, she immediately knew she wasn’t going to find the stash—if it was even here in the first place.  Such a man didn’t believe in taking chances.

A thin silver chain gleamed on the mantle, which quickly found its way into her threadbare pocket followed by a brass snuffbox.  She could fence these for a few coppers at least.  Running her hands through the sofa cushions, she managed to find a few silver coins that had fallen by the wayside there. 

What really made her jaw drop, however, was when she found her way into the cellar.  Rows upon rows of wine bottles graced the racks on every wall.  They were elven, from the look of them.  Gingerly, she lifted one from its pigeonhole to check the date only to find the label proudly herald the word “Felwithe” across the top in tall, ornate letters.

Blinking in disbelief, Chiani fanned herself.  A vintage from the Faydark was nothing to scoff at.  Most bottles didn’t survive the Shattering, much less the upheaval that soon followed in that region.  Though certainly not an aficionado of history, the young thief knew her wines, and this was quite a find, indeed.

Chiani carefully hefted the bottle, scrutinizing its size and burden.  Had she a pack in which to stow it, there would be no problem.  As it was, she’d have to carry the thing in-hand and quickly find a hiding place for it before anyone caught her.  Was it worth the risk?

The door slammed upstairs.

“What the hell…?” a gruff voice boomed from above.

Stifling a gasp, Chiani covered her own mouth.  The old man returned early!  A veritable deluge of curses raced through her head as she thought frantically what to do now.  By reputation alone, she knew this guy was no slouch when it came to figuring things out.  It was only a matter of seconds before she would hear the cellar door swing wide.  And there she was, cornered like a ratonga with one hand in the cookie jar and the other up its own…

The cellar door opened.  Chiani froze in place as she saw the man’s towering shadow fall against the brick and mortar staircase.

“All right, ye bastid!” the man yelled.  “I know yer down ‘ere, ‘cause there ain’t no fresh water on the rug leadin’ out!  Ye got two choices.  Either I come down there an’ end yer days, or ye kin come up and take an arse-whoopin’ afore ye find yerself face-down outside me door.  What’s it gonna be, ye thievin’ piece o’ shark bait?”

He’s giving her an out?  That didn’t sound like any Seafury she’d ever heard - - retired or otherwise.  Chiani thought the matter over before it suddenly dawned on her what the real issue was.  Of course!  The wine!  There was no chance the buccaneer was going to endanger the bottles in a scuffle unless he had to!  She was literally holding them hostage, and hadn’t even realized it.

“Stow it below deck, salty buc!” Chiani called back.  “You and I both know where this is going!  Choppy waters make for unsafe cargo, especially when it’s so fragile!” She considered tossing down the bottle she held just to make her point, but decided better of it.  When the fire’s ablaze, you don’t go putting it out by tossing hard liquor on it.

“Salty!  Why I oughta…” The man’s voice trailed off, leaving several moments to pass in awkward silence.  Chiani caught herself wondering if he died of heart pains before he spoke again.  “Show yerself fer this parley, woman!”

“Put down your crossbow first!”

“I got no such thing!”

“Prove it!”

“I got nothin’ to prove to no copper-ante burglar!  At least I had the stones to look me victims in the eyes afore slittin’ their throats an’ takin’ their boots!  Just like any self-respectin’ thief would!”

Chiani licked her lips anxiously before raising the bottle to her head and peeking around the wooden support at the bottom of the stairs.  She figured if he were bluffing, he still wouldn’t risk spearing his own prize for the sake of killing a “copper-ante burglar”.  As it turned out, the man was as good as his word.  Both hands were in plain view, and no crossbow was in sight.

“An inkie.  Mighta guessed,” the man spat.  “And a youngin’ too, ‘less me eyes have gone daft.”

Risking more exposure, Chiani lowered the bottle to her chest as she stepped out from behind the support.  Taking in her appearance, the man’s entire stance changed.  It seemed as if he exchanged his rage for disgust all in the span of a second.

“What are ye doin’?” he asked plaintively.

Swallowing, the girl didn’t know how to respond.

“What in the name o’ Prexus is a starvin’ whelp like ye doin’ down there?” he said, thrusting a finger her way for emphasis.  “Git up here afore ye vanish next time I blink.” With that, the buccaneer beckoned her with a lazy toss of the hand, and disappeared around the doorjamb. 

This wasn’t at all what Chiani had expected.  Throngs of sirens went off in the back of her head, screaming that she was being set up for a trap.  What, did he think she would simply up and abandon her sanctuary?  Did he think she would blindly accept his seemingly pragmatic offer?  Sure, it was a standoff, but it was a losing one for her, as far as she could see.

“Bring up somethin t’eat while yer down there!” his voice called from above.

The girl’s mouth watered at the heady smell of bacon on the skillet.  The very sound of sizzling grease alone was enough to send her taste buds into seizures of culinary anticipation.  It had literally been months since she last tasted anything but scraps of food thrown out by taverns, and even that she’d had to fight for on most days.

Yet here she was now, watching the man she’d been robbing as he dished up a generous portion just for her.  Not only bacon, but also eggs and tomatoes fried on the same skillet as well.  At this point, she didn’t give a rat’s tail what strings were attached.  This offering was fit for kings, as far as she was concerned, and she piled into the plate ravenously as soon as it hit the countertop in front of her.

Risking the loss of his fingers, the retired buccaneer slipped a bacon strip from the plate with a fast hand and a sneering grin.

“Ye want somethin’ t’ wash that down with?” he asked, taking a bite.

Chiani glanced up at the man, her mouth so stuffed that she couldn’t answer.  She didn’t have to.  The look in her eyes said it all.

Popping the cork on the bottle his burglar had brought up with her for own insurance, the former Seafury grabbed a mug hanging from the cabinet underside, and unceremoniously poured a sample of the valuable liquid.  Chiani’s eyes were round as coins as he slid the cup her way across the counter.

“S’what ye wanted, right?”

Slowly chewing what was still in her mouth, the girl’s eyes never left the man’s face as she carefully brought the mug up to her lips and drank.  Only when her eyes effulgently rolled back into her head did she break the man’s gaze.

“Not bad for fifty years o’ sailin’ the high seas, eh?  I perfer a tub o’ rum, meself.”

Swallowing most of what was in her mouth, Chiani spoke for the first time since she came up from the cellar.

“Why you doing this?” she asked, one cheek still harboring a healthy portion of food.

“Yer welcome,” the man commented dryly.  “Name’s Flannigan, but ye already knew that.  And ye are…?”

“Chiani,” she answered shortly.

“Yeah.” He gave her a searching look.  “Ye prob’ly are, at that.  T’ answer yer question, Chi, I’m doin’ this ‘cause yer damn sloppy.”

Her mouth again full of food, the girl glanced down at her own tattered blouse with a confused expression.

“Not yer looks!” Flannigan scoffed.  “I mean ye got lots t’ learn about bein’ a burglar.”

“I got in here quick enough,” she said defensively.

“There’s more t’ thievin’ than pickin’ locks.  Ye gotta learn t’ be a player when luck’s got ye cornered, and yer mark’s got ye by the ‘nads.  Sake o’ Prexus, ye even gave me yer real name when I asked.”

“How do you know?”

“Ye don’t play a player, girl,” the man’s voice lowered.  “That’s rule number one.  When yer caught, lie yer arse off, but always know who yer lyin’ to first.”

Chiani thoughtfully chewed her food as she pondered this man and his unsolicited advice.  Again, she wanted to ask why he was doing this, but couldn’t swallow before he spoke again.

“How long ye been on the street?” he asked grimly, but not without sympathy.

“Seven months,” she muttered, not looking him in the eye.

“Ye whored yerself yet?”

The point-blank question made her freeze in place.  An invisible tremor passed through Chiani’s chest as she slowly began chewing again, her eyes finally looking up at Flannigan in a way that said in no uncertain terms that this topic was not open for discussion.

It didn’t matter.  The old man nodded slowly, his expression one of simple perception without any hint of betrayal as to what his true thoughts might have been.

“Well…” he said, finally breaking her gaze.  “It ain’t over.  Won’t be fer a while, I kin tell ye that much.  ‘Specially if ye keep goin’ down the road y’are…”

The man looked for all the world as if he were stalling for some reason.  It was like he was trying to make a decision, and kept his lips moving to distract her.  Swallowing the last of her meal, Chiani absent-mindedly slipped the utensils into one of her pockets as she listened.

“What if I told ye how to do a real job?” he asked suddenly.  “How t’ git yer hands on some real coin?  Coin that could git ye out o’ yer… predicament.”

Chiani looked at the man suspiciously.  “I’d ask why.”

“Look at me.” The man spread his arms wide.  “I may be a cheat, a swindler, and once a good-fer-nothin’ bandit on the high seas, but I ain’t gonna be around ferever.  Me years are numbered, and all that I learned will be fer nothin’.  I got no family to leave me estate to.  No ties.  Be a shame t’ let all that go t’ waste.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re going to leave me your estate?” she asked, not believing a word of it even as she spoke.

“Hell no!” Flannigan barked.  “I’m spendin’ me estate!  What, are ye daft?  I’m gonna teach ye how t’ git one o’ yer own!  Play fer real stakes!  A slip o’ the cards, and a well-placed wink of an eye.  How t’ slip inside and git yer hands on some real loot on a rainy night without spillin’ water all over me daggum floor!”

Chiani couldn’t help but smile sadly at her own ineptness as she looked down at the still-wet carpeting.

“Like I said, yer sloppy,” the man continued.  “But Prexus’s sake, girl, yer tiny even fer a Teir’Dal wench, and cute as a button.  A smile like yers turns heads, and ye only need half a second t’ pull off a decent take.  Ye got assets, girl, like you was made fer this business.  With practice, ye kin go places.  In time, maybe even outta this godsforsaken town.”

The girl knew a golden opportunity when she saw it, pitch or no pitch.  Apprenticeships in Freeport were extremely rare for above-the-table trades, much less the shadier rackets.  She also knew that nothing came for free—ever.  It was time to negotiate the terms.

“How much you want?” she asked directly.

“Eighty percent,” Flannigan replied.

“Do I get to stay here?”

“Eighty-five percent.”

“And eat your food?”

“Ninety!”

“And drink your wine?”

“Nothin’ you got is valuable enough t’ cover that!” Grabbing the bottle just in case his new young protégé got any ideas, the man took a moment to look her over once before reconsidering his words.  “Eh, maybe…. maybe twenty years ago, girl, but that wily ship sailed long, long ago fer old Flannigan!”

A sly grin crept its way across Chiani’s face at the old man’s offhand compliment.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Good,” the man nodded.  “Ye kin start by givin’ back me silverware!”

Part V

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