Artifacts

Author's Note:

I wrote this story as submission to a writing a group. I was just getting started as a writer, and my plan was to write a bunch of short things across a variety of genres to develop my skills.  I decided I just wanted to have fun for my first submission, and write a fight scene. It was pretty fun, and the feedback was generally positive, so I figured I would try to expand it out into a short story (instead just the first fight scene). It went...okay. I certainly had fun with it, but I kind of "hand-waved" away any sort of character development or worldbuilding.

One thing I tried to do in this story is not reference the main character's gender. Some of the members of the writing group thought that the character was male, the rest thought female, and I wondered if I could write the whole story that way as an exercise. It got tricky in moments, and I would guess that most readers can tell where I was forcing myself to write around referencing gender.  But still, it was a useful writing exercise.

   I was going to have to kill a lot of people. I hoped some of them deserved it.

A golden scepter rested on a silk pillow atop a stone plinth in front of me. Two men in guard's uniforms lay crumpled on the ground in an expanding pool of their own blood. I turned to look at the large wooden door, listening as other guards sounded the alarm and pounded against its sturdy frame. I did not have long.

I surveyed the room again, looking for another way out, something I had missed. Something that wasn't in the plans. This building was technically a part of the church, though most of the services took place in the cathedral next door. This room was simply a place where people could come to ogle the scepter. The church claimed it was a divine gift, provided by the gods to help them turn the tide in whatever holy war they were fighting at the time. The scepter had been lying dormant on a pillow for so long, no one even remembered what it did. My client disagreed with the church, said the scepter was rightfully theirs, and that only they could unlock the scepter’s power. I had no opinion except I would very much like to escape with both my life and the extremely valuable scepter.

The room was circular, made of fine marble, with nine columns evenly spaced around the edge. A stone dais raised the floor by about a foot at the far end, separated from the rest of the room by a velvet rope and two recently dead guards. The ceiling was a large dome, with small windows every few feet along the circumference. Not big enough to climb through, but they let in enough light to see. A small ledge ran underneath the windows, about 20 feet above me.

I paced around the room, looking behind each column, and scrutinizing the floor, but there was nothing. Everything was smooth.

The shouts and hand-hammering of the guards paused for a moment. Then the door shook with a resounding THUD! Someone had thought to get a battering ram.

Hell.

I extended my left hand towards one of the dead guards and my dagger wrenched itself free from his chest and flew into my palm. I was quite fond of that dagger, part of a unique pair. The handles were long, almost long enough for two hands. Black with white trim. The blades were steel, nearly a foot long, and indestructible as far as I could tell. The dagger I had just summoned into my hand had a very bright blade, almost like silver. The other dagger’s blade was black, still hidden in its sheath.

I tossed my bright dagger up onto the ledge near one of the windows, a difficult throw but I was well-practiced, and ran onto the dais. I grabbed the scepter off the pillow and extended my left hand up towards my dagger. It pressed itself into the stone ledge and I felt a familiar tug on my arm that jerked me into the air. I grabbed onto the ledge and heaved myself up. I stuffed the scepter through an open window and out onto the roof, wedging it so it wouldn't roll away. Hopefully. If they caught me with that scepter, they would kill me. If they caught me without it, I might be able to stall long enough to find a way to escape.

I picked up my dagger and crept around the ledge so I was right over the door. Maybe they wouldn't see me.

I had barely settled into place when the door flew off its hinges and crashed to the floor. Guards streamed through the open doorway, nearly tripping over each other in their haste. They fanned out, searching behind the columns and yelling. I watched for an opportunity. If they all ran inside, I could drop down, dash out the door, and run like hell. In my experience, “run like hell” had better survival odds than “fight like hell.”

After a dozen or so guards had run through the door, there was a lull and I took my chance. I dropped off the ledge right as a burly and apparently slow guard filled the space beneath me. I crashed into his head, barely breaking my fall, and cartwheeled wildly off of him. I crashed to the ground stomach-first, just managing to get an arm under my face to keep it from smacking into the hard stone floor. My bright dagger clattered away.

I lurched to my feet, staggering away from the center of the mass of guards and into a column. I leaned against it and forced a very painful breath into my lungs as I looked around. My acrobatics had not gone unnoticed. The guard I had crashed into was climbing to his feet, swearing, a sergeant's insignia on his shoulder. The other guards, momentarily shocked, had started charging towards me.

I simultaneously drew my remaining dagger and extended my left hand. My bright dagger flew towards me and lodged itself in the hamstring of an unlucky guard in its way. He flailed as he fell, accidentally tripping the guard next to him. I sprinted for the door, hand still extended, thanking whatever god had taken mercy on me.

Except I was moving very slowly, and my dagger was not returning to me. I looked back and saw the guard being dragged toward me by the dagger in his leg, painting a trail of blood behind him and shrieking in pain. I was nearly to the door, but I was not going to leave my dagger pinned in some bastard's leg.

The other guards had almost reached me. They didn't bother telling me to stop. They came at me with clubs raised. Fortunately, I had another dagger, and I was damn good with it.

The trick to fighting multiple adversaries is to run away and not fight multiple adversaries. If you're forced to, as I was, you try to force them to fight you one at a time. High ground helps. I ducked under the first guard's wild club swing and slashed him across the stomach as I threw my shoulder into him. He fell backwards into some other guards, giving me just enough space to slip behind one of the columns.

I ran around the circumference of the room, left hand extended toward my bright dagger, hoping it would pull free. The guard spun around on the floor, yelping loudly. I let it go and leaped onto the dais. I had a half second to survey the guards rushing me. I saw about 10. Three had spears, the sergeant had a sword, but hadn't drawn it yet. The rest had clubs. Unrefined, brutal, with bent spikes sticking out, but deadly all the same.

Acting on instinct, I threw my remaining dagger at one of the spearmen. A shout told me I had met my target, but I was distracted by the guard nearest me, who was sprinting at me with his club raised. I stepped towards him, intercepting his club with my left arm, while extending my right hand. The black dagger didn't fly into my hand as the other one did. Instead, it disappeared from wherever it was and reappeared in my hand with a puff of black smoke.

I rammed it into the guard's chest, and then ducked and rolled away from the edge of the dais, assuming another guard was close by. In fact, there were three. The one on my left held a spear, while the other two had clubs. In general, you should try to stay far away from people with spears. The exception is when you're fighting them. Then you want to be as close to them as possible.

I darted under the spear and grabbed its handle with my left hand. The spearman dropped the spear and backed away, wide eyes on my dagger. I clumsily shoved the spear towards the guard on my right, catching him in the shoulder, and flung my dagger into the middle guard's neck. I summoned it back instantly and slashed the guard on the right across the throat.

A shadow flickered in the corner of my eye, and I threw myself backwards just in time to avoid a powerful club swing that would have brained me. I kicked the guard in the knee as I regained my balance, and he fell down with a curse.

The spearman I had disarmed locked an arm around my throat and pulled me back. I extended my left hand behind me toward my stuck dagger and shoved backwards as hard as I could with my legs. The combined force of my shove and the pull of the bright dagger threw us both off of the dais, and I landed hard on his stomach. I slashed around blindly with my black dagger as I rolled to my feet, but the guards had learned to keep their distance.

"ENOUGH! STAND DOWN!" a loud voice shouted. The guards nearest me drew back, eyes fixated on my dagger. I quickly tried to get my bearings. The guard with my knife in his leg was about 6 feet to my left. Three guards blocked the doorway. Two more flanked the sergeant. Six or seven bodies were scattered around the room. The sergeant drew his sword, walking towards me, smiling.

"Now we'll see how you do against—"

My dagger punched through his eye, throwing his head back. Idiot. I leaped for the guard that was sheathing my dagger as the sergeant collapsed and extended my right hand. My black dagger puffed back into my hand as I worked my other dagger free from the guard's leg. He had mercifully fallen unconscious from pain or blood loss. He might have lived. Finally, my dagger came loose.

"Run! Get help!" the remaining spearman yelled, and two of the smarter guards fled through the door.

Fortunately, this left only the spearman between me and freedom. He planted himself securely in the door frame, spear pointed towards my chest, face determined. I sprinted towards him, throwing each dagger in turn. He managed to knock the black dagger aside side with his spear — not an easy thing to do — and the other bounced off the floor between his legs.

I reached out with both hands, and my black dagger puffed into my right hand. The other sliced into his calf right as I reached him, throwing him off his feet. I shouldered passed him and into freedom.

The bright sunlight dazzled me momentarily as I ran down the church steps, but I didn't dare stop. I could vaguely make out the shapes of two guards running off to the left, presumably to get help, so I turned right. I had left at least two guards alive in the church, but I didn't hear anyone chasing me.

I ducked into an alley and threw my bright dagger onto the roof of a squat stone building. I extended my left hand and ran up the wall until I reached the top, vaulting the stone barrier. I found myself on a balcony, thankfully deserted. I collapsed, fighting to quiet my breathing enough to listen. I didn't hear anything.

Okay, new plan. They would assume I have the scepter. No point in guarding the church anymore. The scepter was relatively safe where it was. I would ditch my bloody clothes, slip away, recover, and come back in a few hours to collect the scepter.

Should be easy.

#

Three days prior…

No one really knows where artifacts come from. The common folk believe it’s a secret the noblemen are hiding from them. The noblemen shout theories at each other, hiding their ignorance under self-important bravado, but they have no idea. All anyone can really say is that artifacts do, in fact, show up. Randomly. All over the place. Sometimes a mourning child finds one hidden among a dead relative’s possessions. That’s pretty common. If you search an empty cave, or an abandoned fortress, it’s even odds you’ll find something. Some artifacts just pop up on an empty road, or in alleys.

Most artifacts don’t do much. They can provide a little heat without flame, ward off foul odors, tell you if someone is lying. Things like that. I once had an artifact that could cure hangovers. Some artifacts are more powerful. A sword that grants a fighter greater skill or boots that let you run without tiring. Those are rarer, but not unheard of. Then there are the gamechangers. A ring that lets you control the weather. A helm that makes you invisible. A shield that makes you truly and completely invulnerable. Kingdoms have been made and lost with such things.

There are rumors of other, larger artifacts. Powerful, fixed in place, its gifts available to any who find them. I only know of one, personally.

Naturally, there were those who possessed a particular artifact and those who desired it. My business was to bridge that gap. This led to meeting with some truly despicable people.

The man across from me rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, rings gleaming in the candlelight.

“So as you can see, the scepter rightfully belongs to House Varitia.”

“Of course,” I agreed, readily.

“The church had no right to keep possession of it.”

“Certainly not.”

“Naturally, we want it back.”

“Naturally.”

The man narrowed his eyes at me, unsure if I was mocking him. I was.

We were seated in a private parlor on the second story of a tavern. It was late, the windowless room lit by a candelabra in the corner. A heating artifact sat on the table near our untouched mugs. The man was clearly suspicious of the drink’s quality, while I was certain of its lack thereof. I frequently used this place when meeting a new client. In part, because it was cheap. In part, because it was private. In part, because there was an escape chute hidden behind the wall that emptied right into the alley behind the tavern. Very handy.

The meeting was not going well. The man was obviously upset when the tavern boy directed him up here, and away from the two goons he had planted in the main hall below. However, after his personal guard had checked the room, my potential client had entered and sent his man out to watch the door.

I did not trust this man. He was the Solicitor for House Varitia. In theory, his responsibility was to advise the venerable Count Varitia on legal matters and represent the House’s interests to the court. In reality, he was responsible for all the bribery, blackmail, unlawful imprisonment, and murder necessary to maintain the Count’s lifestyle and position. He kept his hands buried in filth so the Count’s could remain spotlessly clean.

That didn’t bother me. Dishonesty was assumed, if not asserted, in my line of work. What bothered me was that the Solicitor had just attempted to hire me to steal from the church. Technically, the king is the head of the church, and stealing from the king leads to a slow death for you and most of the people you’ve ever met.

Granted, they would never catch me, but this posed another problem for the Solicitor. When I succeeded, I would become a loose end who could point the finger of blame right at House Varitia. I doubted a fastidious man like the Solicitor would leave loose ends like that laying around. If I refused the job, same problem. I still knew the target and who was responsible.

So here were my options. I could refuse the job, and make an enemy of House Varitia. Or I could take the job and make an enemy of both the entire kingdom and House Varitia. The choice was clear.

“I’ll do it,” I said, “For 500 gold nobles.”

A fortune. A commoner could live a lifetime on that. A thrifty nobleman could last a full 6 weeks. The Solicitor frowned, considering.

“That seems… excessive, for one day’s work. I assure you, the chapel is minimally guarded.”

I shook my head.

“It’s not a question of work, Solicitor, it’s a question of risk. To be caught is certain death. I need assurance it is worth my time.”

The Solicitor nodded.

“Very well. 500 nobles. Delivered upon receipt of the scepter.”

That cemented it. He was definitely planning on killing me. No Count would grant his Solicitor authority to pay that much money, and no Solicitor would seriously agree to those terms.

“How shall I contact you?” I asked.

“Send a letter to the House, addressed to me. Do not write of the matter directly, but make any reference to a crow, and I’ll know you have it.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I had expected less childish games from a man who spent all his time scheming. But fine, if he wanted to play cloak-and-dagger, I’d play along.

“The first number I write will be how many days after you receive the letter we meet. The second number I write will be the hour. The location will be the next-to-last building, bridge, or landmark I mention.”

The Solicitor’s eyes brightened in amusement.

“Yes! Yes, that should work wonderfully.”

He rose from the table and walked over to me, hand extended.

“I look forward to your letter.”

I didn’t stand, but shook his hand.

“I look forward to your gold.”

#

Present…

I handed the boy the letter and a silver penny.

“Just hand it to the guard out front. It’s addressed, but tell him it’s for the Solicitor just in case.”

“Right-o, boss. No trouble ‘tall.”

“And ask for a receipt. The House should get letters all the time and have one on-hand. Just another piece of paper. Bring it back and I’ll give you another few coppers.”

The boy’s face lit up.

“Yes, boss! I’ll be quick as a hare, you just see!”

The boy darted out of the square, and I sat to wait.

Recovering the scepter had gone as smoothly as I hoped. I stashed it in one of my many hiding spots. This one inside an actual coffer inside an actual bank. After a good night’s sleep, I wrote a simple message to the Solicitor:

“Crow

1

5

Emigrant Bridge

Your mother’s bedchamber”

I quite relished taking all the fun out of our fancy code.

I lounged about the square for a half-hour, buying a bun from a baker and nibbling at it while I watched for the boy. Eventually, he came walking back, considerably slower than a hare. He looked around the square, and spotted me waving him over.

“I’m sorry, boss,” he said, “They didn’t give me no receipt, just this.”

He turned his head and pointed to his ear, which was glowing red where someone had cuffed him.

“Ah… Nevermind lad, that counts. Here.” I dropped ten more coppers into his hand, and his face lit up again.

“Thank you, boss! You ever need another letter, delivered, just ask for Pip, and I’ll come a-runnin’!”

“Okay, Pip. You have a good day.”

Pip ran off to buy a sweet bun, and I headed off to my next appointment.

#

I waited in the exact center of the bridge, leaning against the stone wall, staring down at the river. The stone bridge was wide enough for a carriage to pass, but only just. About 500 feet long, I was safe from archers or even crossbows in the center. The bridge was about 30 feet above the surface of the water, which descended another 20 feet or so to the riverbed. 

I had been there for two hours already, scouting both banks of the river for signs of a trap. I was certain there would be one, but I was uncertain how it would happen. It was early enough, I hadn’t seen anyone yet. I figured the Solicitor would be punctual. He probably was more concerned about witnesses than I was.

It was misty and cold. I kept my hood up and wore a bandana over my nose and mouth, which kept out the worst of the chill. I kept the scepter in a long, rigid, leather satchel across my back. I kept reaching over my shoulder to feel it, rubbing it nervously.

Just when I was beginning to worry I might lose some toes to frostbite, I heard them. Footsteps. Lots of them, with a rhythmic clink of metal as their armor shifted while they walked. 

Dark shapes materialized out of the mist. A couple guards, in full House Varitian garb, led the way, with the Solicitor right behind. Behind him followed another eight guards. Two of them carried a lockbox awkwardly between them, a heavy chain extended from the box and shackled to one of their wrists. I watched the guards lower the lockbox heavily to the ground, and I dared to hope.

“I received your… note,” said the Solicitor with a scowl.

I grinned.

“Oh good, you seem to have found the place.”

I looked around at all the guards.

“You seem to have brought quite a few friends.”

An unctuous smile oozed onto the Solicitor’s face.

“A simple precaution. This is quite a fortune we are carrying. And we were attacked last night.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Yes. My man was killed, within the walls, if you can believe it.”

“Unbelievable,” I said, unconcerned, “So. To business?”

The Solicitor was anxious. Excited.

“You have it, then?”

I nodded and pulled the leather satchel over my head.

The Solicitor stepped forward eagerly, but I took a step back.

“Stop. Open it,” I said, gesturing to the lockbox.

The Solicitor frowned, but waved a hand at one of his guards. He darted forward with a key and unlocked the box. He lifted the lid and the other guards tilted the box forward so I could see.

Gold glinted brightly in the weak morning sun. From what I could see it looked good. It might actually be real. The guard with the keys unlocked the shackle from the other guard’s wrist.

“Now the scepter.” The Solicitor reached out his hand, palm up.

I handed him the satchel and he snatched at it, nearly dropping it in the process.

“It’s heavy,” he commented, fumbling with the clasp at the top.

“The satchel is reinforced,” I said, “Provides a little extra protection.”

The Solicitor wasn’t listening. He had managed to the satchel and withdrew the scepter reverently.

“Perfect,” he said, “Yes, this is definitely the one.”

He examined it for several moments, turning it over and grinning like a fool.

“Satisfied?” I asked, “Good. Then I will take my money and go.”

“Of course, the box is yours.” The Solicitor slid the scepter back into the satchel and closed it carefully.

I heard the small scuff of a less than perfectly careful footstep behind me and whirled around. Two more guards held crossbows aimed straight at my back. Ah, hell. I raised my arms.

“Let us help you with it,” the Solicitor continued, putting the satchel on himself.

Two guards grabbed my arms, while a third pulled my black dagger from its sheath. They forced me to the ground, arms still splayed out. I watched them shackle the lockbox to my right wrist, much tighter than was strictly necessary.

They forced me to my feet, arms pinned to my sides, and shoved me against the wall of the bridge. A guard placed the lockbox on top of the wall.

“Thank you for your efforts,” the Solicitor sneered, entirely too pleased with himself, “But I simply cannot allow word of our arrangement to escape, even accidentally.”

I spat at him.

“Kill him,” he said.

They began to lift me up and a guard shoved the lockbox off the wall. At this point, it was a certainty. The gold inside was fake. Also, I was going over the wall. But they had made a critical mistake.

I have two daggers.

Just as the chain on my wrist began to pull, I extended my left hand toward the Solicitor. The satchel jerked towards me, dragging the Solicitor along. The guards trying to shove me off the wall pushed harder, keeping me from me being pulled toward the Solicitor. I managed to grab hold of the satchel just as the guards gave a mighty shove, and the Solicitor and I both toppled over the wall in a whirl of limbs and expensive clothes.

I forced the Solicitor under me as we fell, crashing into him when we hit the water. The lockbox dragged us all the way down to the bottom and sunk into the muddy riverbed. I managed to hold on to the Solicitor’s coat with my shackled right hand as he thrashed about wildly in the water. With my left hand, I searched the river-bottom, desperately. It was nearly completely dark, though I could dimly make out the large shape of the bridge footings next to us. I kicked with my feet, pulling the Solicitor as far as the chain would allow us, reaching my left hand to its fullest extent.

My numb fingers brushed against something hard and metallic. Hopefully, it was the artifact I was searching for. I pressed my fingers onto it and shouted something unintelligible.

We emerged into bright sunlight in an explosion of water. We were lying on the ground next to a country road just outside the city. The morning sun didn’t yet provide much warmth, and the gentle breeze made me shudder. I tore the bandana off my face and gasped a breath while the Solicitor spluttered and vomited next to me. I extended my right hand vaguely in the direction of the bridge we had just left and my black dagger puffed into my grip. I transferred the dagger to my left hand, since my right was still shackled to the lockbox, and held it to the Solicitor’s throat.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You were telling the truth.”

We each turned toward the road to see two dozen of the King’s Guard, standing alongside an armored wagon.

I turned back to the Solicitor and smiled.

#

The day before…

As much as it irked me to admit it, I needed help. A very specific kind of help. I needed someone in authority, loyal to the king, and used to working with criminal informants. Fortunately, I knew just the person.

“Gryph!” I shouted in the crowded tavern, “How wonderful to see you!”

Gryph sat alone at a table, his hulking frame taking up nearly an entire side. He wore his captain’s livery, which was unsurprising as I’d never seen him wear anything else. He had removed his helm, revealing his shaved head. His posture had been relaxed and carefree when I first spotted him, but he tensed and straightened upon hearing my voice. His dark eyes scowled at me over his tankard. He finished his sip and set it back down on the table hard enough that some of the ale splashed out. A bit of foam clung to his beard, but I elected not to mention it. He glowered at me while I took a seat.

“Would it do any good if I asked you to leave me the hell alone?” he asked.

“None at all,” I replied, signaling the barkeep to send over two more ales, “Besides, you’d regret it very much if I did.”

“There is no way that’s possible.”

I smiled my most charming smile, and Gryph sighed.

“What do you want?”

“Just want to offer some help.”

Gryph snorted.

“Yeah? Like when you ‘helped’ us recover less than half of Lady Wipple’s dowry treasure? Or the time you ‘helped’ us find some of House Imbaro’s stolen artifacts? And what about those damn daggers of yours?”

“Family heirloom. Had them for centuries. That was proven beyond any reasonable doubt.”

“And yet they just happen to exactly match the description of those daggers stolen from House Blanceau’s armory five years ago.”

“Wild coincidence, happens all the time.”

Gryph shook his head.

“The point is that your ‘help’ is too expensive. Take it somewhere else.”

The server arrived at that moment and set the ales on the table. I reached for mine and lifted it to my lips.

“Of course. I’m sure you’re very busy at the moment,” I said, taking a drink.

Gryph narrowed his eyes at me.

“What do you mean?”

I waved my hand airily.

“There’s just been a lot going on, lately, hasn’t there? I mean, that robbery at the chapel? The King’s Guard must be working overtime to solve it.”

Gryph sighed.

“What do you know? And cut the horseshit, just speak plainly.”

I set my drink down.

“Tell me what you know, first. What are the witnesses saying?”

Gryph glared at me for a moment before responding.

“No witnesses left. The survivors of the attack were murdered that night. Some at the hospital, some in the barracks. Well-coordinated, took a lot of men and a lot of resources. A lot of influence, too, to get at men in the barracks.”

That left me feeling conflicted. On the one hand, it was very convenient, as I had fewer loose ends to clean up, myself. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to kill them. Buy them off, discredit them, maybe, but not kill them. I mean, not unless I had to.

“What did their initial account say?”

Gryph shrugged.

“One perp, short, fought with a short sword. Kept their face covered. Some crap about them flying all over the room. Could be one of any number of assholes I know. Though now that you’re asking, one particular asshole comes to mind. Do you know who it was?”

“No idea,” I said quickly, “But I can give you who hired them.”

“Who?”

“A House Solicitor.”

Gryph was silent for a moment.

“Well… shit.”

“What?” I asked.

“That’s very nearly above my pay grade,” Gryph answered, “A Solicitor is so well connected, it’s gonna be virtually impossible to arrest him, let alone convince the king he actually did it.”

“What would it take?”

Gryph sighed.

“Catching him with the scepter on his person, in a place where he can’t claim he just found it and was on his way to return it. Multiple eyewitnesses with impeccable reputations.”

I thought about it for a moment.

“Can you get some of those trustworthy eyewitnesses together?”

Gryph looked sideways at me.

“Probably, why?”

I smiled at him.

#

Present…

The Solicitor’s eyes flicked back and forth desperately between Gryph and me.

“Captain!” he called, “Help! This bandit is attempting to rob me!”

Gryph signaled to two of his men who hurried forward and pulled me off the Solicitor.

“I just wanted my satchel back,” I protested.

“How dare you?” the Solicitor said, “This is my property.”

Gryph looked back and forth between us.

“Let me make sure I understand, sir. You claim this is your bag?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Arrest this… this thief!”

“And this person tried to take it from you?”

“Yes, that is what I’ve been saying!”

“You’re certain this isn’t some sort of mix-up? You picked up the wrong bag by mistake?”

The Solicitor glared at Gryph in a panicked rage as the rest of the guards formed a circle around us.

“Of course not! I have not removed it since I put it on this morning! It is mine! And if you do not take this filth into custody immediately, I will have you demoted and guarding a sewer grate!”

There was a brief moment’s pause.

“Actually, that is his satchel. My mistake,” I said.

The Solicitor looked at me in bemusement until Gryph drew his sword.

“Hand over the bag, Solicitor,” he said.

The Solicitor’s eyes widened in realization.

“Wait—!”

“Now.”

“I—!”

Gryph didn’t ask again. He reached out and grabbed the satchel, ignoring the Solicitor’s weak attempts to stop him. The two guards that had pulled me off the Solicitor moved forward and pinned his arms.

Gryph undid the clasp on the satchel and allowed the scepter to slide out for everyone to see. He gave the Solicitor a wry smile.

“I’m afraid we disagree, Solicitor. This scepter belongs to the church.”

The Solicitor began screaming protests and curses, but Gryph paid him no attention.

“Lock him in irons and place him in the wagon. We’ll take him directly to the King. Every one of you will stand as a witness.”

A guard with irons ran forward, while several others ran to prepare the wagon.

“Uh, Gryph?” I asked.

“What?”

“Could you have your men turn around for a moment?”

Gryph scowled at me, confused.

“No, he needs to be alive and fit to stand trial.”

“Oh he will be fine, but he owes me quite a bit of money, you see, and I thought I might just…”

I gestured at the Solicitor’s jewelry and fine clothes. I swear I almost saw Gryph smile.

“About face, men,” he called. “You two, look off to the side,” he told the guards holding the Solicitor’s arms.

“What are you doing?!” the Solicitor screamed in impotent rage as I started pulling the rings off his fingers.

“Stop! STOP!”

I did not stop. His sopping wet coat was very heavy, but it was his silk shirt and boots that gave me the most trouble. I also found a surprising number of coins in his pockets. What I did not find was a key to the lockbox.

“Finished?” Gryph asked, still looking away.

“Yep.”

The Solicitor stood there in only his underclothes. Most of the guards chuckled.

“Lock him up and let’s go,” Gryph ordered, “The sooner the better.”

“Gryph?”

“What?” he asked, getting annoyed.

“I seem to have misplaced my other dagger. Could you check if it somehow got placed in that satchel?”

Gryph rolled his eyes, but unclasped the satchel and felt around. He found the false side and pulled my bright dagger out of it. He handed it to me, reclasped the satchel, and turned to leave.

“And Gryph? One last thing…”

“I don’t care,” he said, walking away.

“Wait! I don’t have a key to this lockbox. Do you think you could do something?”

Gryph stopped and turned back to me. He looked at the chain on my wrist and definitely smiled this time.

“Like I said, I don’t care.”

I stared at his retreating back, aghast.

“Gryph! Come on, we’re a half-mile from the city!”

He didn’t answer.

“Gryph!” I called again, “Captain! Please!”

I watched him climb onto a horse and lead his men and the wagon back to the city. He saluted as he passed.

I pulled on the lockbox to test its weight. It moved only slightly. I turned and looked at the distant city walls. A breeze blew and I shivered in my wet clothes.

“Damn it,” I said.