Jonathan Puccetti

1741 Manchester Grafton WI

Jonathan.Puccetti@gmail.com

15,000

Journeyman Thief:
The Orb of Ravan
(Working Title)

Puccetti, The Orb of Ravan

2
Chapter 1

Fynch kicked aside the trash building up at the front of the alley and pushed into the
space between the two walls. The foot-wide gap between the buildings barely allowed for even
the smallest to pass through. Fynch slid through the gap with relative ease, and continued to the
back of the ally. Years of repetition and his thin frame made negotiating the alleyway simple.
Due to a quirk of architecture, the alley widened gradually, so at the end of the buildings
the space between them was almost five feet wide. The alleyway ended in a natural rough stone
wall. The buildings had been built right into the side of The Hill, forever overshadowed by the
upper sections of the city. The thatch roofs of the buildings overlapped, blocking the sun and
keeping the alleyway dark and cool, even at the hottest part of the day.
Wedged in the corner formed by the natural wall and the left building sat a den of sticks,
garbage, and thousands of discarded newspapers, pamphlets, and paper bags. The nest used the
two walls for support, stretching almost wide enough to touch the other building. The layers of
paper had meshed over the years into a roof solid enough to slough off rainwater.
Fynch slowly pulled aside a curtain of news pamphlets whispering Mum? Momma ya
here? Fynch waited a few seconds for a response. Getting none, he shoved aside the entrance
fully and crawled into his home. Inside the hut was empty save a torn apart mattress and rough
wool blanket. The center of the mattress was worn through and the feathers lay scattered
throughout the inside of the den. Long ago they had been a pristine white, but time and dirt
dulled them to a grey mass. The stick and pulped paper ceiling of the nest was so low even
Fynch standing at four foot two inches had to crawl around to avoid hitting his head.
Fynch flopped down on the mattress and sighed. Three days now, three days his mother
had been missing. She had missed nights before, that was nothing new, but never two in a row.

Puccetti, The Orb of Ravan

Never had an entire day passed where he hadnt seen her at least once. Fynch and his mother had
always scavenged different areas in the Lower District, to improve their chances of finding food.
Three days in a row meant she was gone. It wasnt that unusual, people go missing in the Lower
District all the time, never seen from again and never given a second thought. Just another piece
of trash gone belly up theyd say. Happens every winter, tons of street folk die of cold or hunger
or both. I didnt matter that it was early summer; people still go out and never come back, the
streets are not a safe place, especially for a woman alone. A few tears leaked out of Fynchs eyes
tracing lines in the grime and soot coating his face. Fynch hastily scrubbed his eyes and worked
to contain himself. Now was not the time to grieve, he needed to focus on how he was going to
survive, how he was going to get food.
At the thought of food Fynchs stomached grumbled. He hadnt eaten since last night. He
had swiped a meat bun from a vender in the Low District market. His empty stomach drove
Fynch into action. He lifted up the corner of the mattress and pushed aside the wooden board
hidden underneath. His mother had carved a hole in the ground here when she first built the nest
and kept anything valuable hidden inside. The sight inside the hole was depressing. It had been a
long time since it contained any coins, his mothers treasures worn away by years of feeding two
mouths. All the stash contained now was a small shank made of a sharpened tent spike wrapped
in a rag for a grip and a worthless glass bead. Fynch swiped the spike, replaced the board and
mattress, and took stock of his situation.
He would not survive more than a few days without food, so that came first, but even if
he had a source of food the winter would kill him as sure as starvation. Without the warmth of
two people in the nest the blanket would not keep him warm enough through the chilled nights.
The buildings and the thatch roofs keep the wind and snow off, but the chill that creeps off the

Puccetti, The Orb of Ravan

river would leak between the buildings and straight through the paper walls. According to his
mother he was nine years old, far too young for even the most desperate dock master or caravan
to take on as labor. He had no money to pay for an apprenticeship and no skill to get in on merit
alone. Begging might work, but the only place people had money to spare was High District.
Fynch looked down at himself. His shirt was faded and ripped and covered in grime. His
trousers were equally filthy. Rags wrapped around his feet protected them from the broken glass
and nails hidden in the trash filled streets. His grimy black hair had grown long, so that it hung in
matted clumps down to his shoulders. I look like a drowned rat, Fynch thought to himself wryly.
The guards would throw him out of High District before he could even ask for a single coin. If he
was lucky they would throw him out at the Middle District entrance and not just toss him over
the two hundred foot cliff down to Low District.
Scavenging could work for a while, but there was too much competition these days.
Other homeless fought daily for the scraps the bakeries and taverns tossed into the gutters. Fynch
was no match for those desperate knackers in a fight.
That left stealing. Fynch was decent at sleight of hand, but pickpocketing alone was
dangerous. Without a backup to bail you out if things went wrong it only took one failed lift to
get you killed. An angry mark would slit your throat in the street and no one would give it a
second thought. House jobs required a partner, and Fynch couldnt pick a lock anyway. So
stealing from venders at the market it is. But that couldnt last forever; eventually the venders
would start to recognize him and even if he managed to keep himself unnoticed, the winter
would still kill him if he did not find a better shelter.
One thing at a time Fynch grumbled to himself as he pushed aside the curtain. Slipping
his shank up his right sleeve Fynch wormed his way back out of the den.

Puccetti, The Orb of Ravan

Leaving the ally, Fynch checked the sun, sinking on the horizon, and quickened his step.
With only an hour or so of light left the street venders would be packing up soon and going home
for the night. The streets were a filthy cobblestone, stained gray by years of ash and scummer.
Trash swept aside by the street sweepers piled up against the crumbling buildings that lined the
streets. Keeping a wary eye out for guards, thugs, and larger street kids, Fynch quickly made his
way to the Middle District gate. He kept his head down and blended into the crowd of people
moving through the gate. Fynch kept to the edge of the mob, as most of the traffic was going the
opposite direction, dishwashers and rag pickers going home after their day of work.
After making it through the gate without incident, Fynch passed into the nicer part of
town. Here the garbage was collected by sanitation workers and carted out of the city, and a
sewer system kept people from dumping their night soil on the street. The buildings were well
kept and their paint renewed every year to keep them bright.
Fynch worked his way to the market district and into the food venders court. During the
day this area was a constant bustle of activity, customers mobbing their favorite stalls and
merchants boasting of their quality. Many stalls had already closed, but there were still a few
determined venders shouting the value of their vegetables, bread, or meat buns. This is where the
maids and mothers alike came to spend their coppers on dinner for their household. As such, the
guards in their red city uniform and shiny metal helmets patrolled the streets reliably.
Slowly working his way down the row of stalls, Fynch eyed up the food displayed, trying
his best not to look like he was going to try to steal something. He spotted a meat pastry stall at
the corner of the street manned by a fat man in a grey cotton sack of a shirt stained with sweat
around the neck and armpits. Fynch kept his expression calm and continued walking, pretending

Puccetti, The Orb of Ravan

to not pay attention to the stall. As he walked past he quickly grabbed two of the sticky pastries
and continued walking, holding his breath.
Stop brat! the fat man shouted, spotting the movement. Fynch sprinted around the
corner, confidante he could outrun the overweight baker. Checking over his shoulder at the
rapidly disappearing man, Fynch did not see the pair of guards until he slammed into the taller
one. The force of the impact threw Fynch to the ground, dazing him and sending the buns flying.
Careful there kid, youre going to hurt yourself running like that. The guard he ran into
said a slight smile on his face. He reached down to help Fynch up, but stopped when he caught
sight of the baker running towards them.
Catch the thief! the baker screamed, his face cherry red and his voice hoarse from
running. The guards reacted quickly, grabbing Fynch by his shirt and hauling him to his feet.
Fynch, by now recovered from the crash, recognized he was in danger and followed his instincts.
He slipped out of his shirt and was through the guards legs before the out of breath baker even
caught up.
The guards swore and chased after him, only a few yards behind. They were much faster
than baker and rapidly closed the distance to Fynch. Fynch spotted an opening of an alleyway
and dove into it, slamming against the ally wall and continued at top speed down the narrow
path. The guards, carried by their momentum, skidded to a halt and had to backtrack to the ally
entrance. Fynch continued running, lungs bursting with pain, and saw a wooden fence blocking
the end of the ally. A cold stone of fear dropped into his stomach, and he thought of what they
would do to him when they caught him. Haul him before a court, or just kill him right then and
there? Fynchs morbid musing was cut short as he saw that a bottom portion of the fence was
missing, probably decayed from years of neglect. Reaching the fence, Fynch scrambled through

Puccetti, The Orb of Ravan

the rotted section and into some sort of private garden. It probably belonged to a mage,
cultivating plants to enhance magical abilities. Spotting a drainage gutter on the nearby building,
he ran over and started shimming up. When the guards reached the fence the taller of the two
started to climb over, but the shorter one stopped him.
Just let im go Dave, well never catch him once he gets to the roof, and one kid aint
worth the effort anyway. He said, resting his hand on his partners shoulder.
Yah, your right. Dave sighed, as he turned away and started walking back down the
alley.
Fynch, hearing the conversation below, quickly finished his climb and rolled onto the
roof. He stretched out, the shingles cold against his bare back, panting to catch his breath. Well
that didnt work Fynch thought gasping out a semi-hysterical laugh. He looked down at his
hands, covered in black grim from the gutter and grimaced. Fynch mourned the loss of the meat
buns, fluffy dough and greasy filling meat makes for a delicious meal. Fynchs stomach let out a
low moan and he sighed in return. He jumped to his feet and walked across the roof to the far
side. After jumping down to a lower roof neighboring the house, he climbed down slowly, using
the two houses for balance.
Reaching street level Fynch started walking, taking stock of his situation. If I keep up like
this I am going to starve to death before winter even starts Fynch mused as he wandered down
the street, not really paying attention to where he was going. I could try to leave the city, but I
dont know how to survive in the wild, and whos to say any other city is better than here. I dont
even know what other cities there are besides the stories mum told me. My whole life Ive lived
here in Kalen, just me and Ma, fighting to survive. Ma used to talk about how someday I would
go to the state academy in Ravan to the northwest and learn a trade. Like that would ever happen,

Puccetti, The Orb of Ravan

for that you need connections and money. Just Ma talking, to make herself feel better. It is hard
enough getting enough to live, let alone pay for some fancy education.
It used to be easier, there were happy times before. A hard working lad or lass could
make enough to eat just by washing dishes or picking rags mum always said. Back then Mum
always came home with food, it wasnt always enough to stop the growling, it sometimes gave
us the runs, but at least there was something to put in our bellies. Fynch scrubbed at the tears
leaking from his eyes. Stop thinking about Ma; focus on getting food, surviving, thats what
shed want you to do.
Fynch looked around to see where he had wandered to. Around him were squat but wellkept two story houses made with white plaster and old timbers. He was in the less wealthy part
of the residential Middle District. Fynch had been here once or twice before, but never for very
long, not really a reason to spend time around here. Fynch looked to the sun, and realized he had
been walking for a while. The sun was long gone and the lantern lighters had already done their
rounds. Fynch kept walking, not ready to go back to his den in defeat, not ready to face the long
hungry night alone.
The city was kind of spooky at night. It was warm enough because of the summer sun
baking the streets during the day, but a low fog had crept in. The lanterns placed every 20 meters
or so did not cast enough light to give clear visibility, and the flickering light of the lanterns
made shifting patterns in the mist. But Fynch felt comfortable, at home, in the mist and the dark
warm summer night. This was the city he loved, no people out, no flurry of activity, just the calm
and the quiet.
Fynch saw an old man huddled in the doorway of a blue-grey house and wondered why a
homeless person would be in this district. As he continued walking he drew closer to the old

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man, and saw that he was wrong. The man was not huddling in the doorway but jamming a small
metal file into the lock on the door and working another piece of metal with his other hand. A
burglar then, Fynch thought as he started to pass by, that makes more sense. The old man
suddenly pulled out his tools, raised his hands in frustration and spun around, facing Fynch.
A wooden bar! Who puts a bar over their door anymore? the old man said, his voice
stronger and deeper than usual for a man his age and thin frame. Fynch, now only a few meters
from the burglar took a step back, surprised by being addressed. What? Scared of an old man?
Come here kid. The man beckoned Fynch over and slipped his tools into his trouser pockets.
Curious but cautious, Fynch took a few steps forward. In the low light provided by the
lanterns Fynch could not see very well, but as he got closer he saw the man was dressed better
than most of the house cats Fynch had met before. The man was wearing a ratty trench coat, a
dirty pair of brown trousers, and a cotton shirt that might have once been white but now looked
dark grey. He had light skin, a full head of shock white hair, about four inches in length, and
piercing blue eyes. The whites of his eyes were lined with strange black and green markings,
giving him a crazed look.
Kid, do you know how a man such as myself lives to a ripe old age? He asked,
eyebrows raised.
How? Fynch asked, confused by this strange old man.
Two things; being good at what I do, and having friends to back me up. You can be the
best cutpurse, door-breaker, bullyboy, sharp man, or fence-cat in the city, but without friends you
still die. You get nabbed by the Kings Guard when you cant get away, or you get scratched out
by a cove that wants to cut you out of a deal, or you get sold out by some cove that wants you out
of the way. You could get doused by the cold, or the wet, or the hunger, or the plague. Friends

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10

keep you alive; they watch your back when the Guard come, make sure the rats know that if they
get rid of you someone will come for them. They give you a blanket when its cold, somewhere
dry to rest when its wet, a scrap of bread when you hunger, and care for ya when youre sick.
Friends keep each other alive when alone, they would die. The man explained in a light
easygoing tone. I tell you this kid, because I have been around for a long time, and I can tell
when someone has run out of friends. So I see a kid, scrawny as can be, coatless, shirtless,
shoeless, and almost definitely friendless walking down the street of the old quarter hardly
paying attention to where he is going and I think to myself that poor bugger will be going down
the river before the end of the month. Fynch listened to the old man talk without daring to
speak, hearing his own thoughts and fears in the mans words.
But then this kid, the old man continued. this kid that I would have given up for a
corpse walking, comes up to me and listens to what I have to say. You, kid, listen to what I am
saying, not with the distant disinterest of a man that has stopped caring about life, but with
genuine interest and intelligent focus. And Ill tell you what, that means a lot to an old bugger
like me. That means that you have not given up, are still willing to do what it takes to survive. A
person like that will always be a valuable ally, or a dangerous enemy. So this is my proposition
boyo, a once in a lifetime offer, work for me, be my friend, and I will be yours. I will keep the
rain off your back, keep you clothed and fed, give you food to eat, and most importantly; give
you the knowledge and tools necessary to keep yourself alive. In return you work for me, and my
friends. There will be risk, nothing is without risk these days, but I will never ask of you
something that I think you cannot do, I will never force you into a situation you cannot get out
off, and if you get nabbed by the watchdogs I will do everything in my power to get you out.

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11

These are the terms of employment, what do you say? the old man asked with eyebrows raised
and a crooked grin.
Fynch just stared at him. You.you want to hire me? Fynch said, dumbfounded by the
strange turn this day had taken.
Yes basically. The man replied, still grinning.
But who are you? What do you want me to do? Who are your other friends? Where will
I stay? and why the hell are you trying to hire a kid you just saw on the street? Fynch babbled,
completely confused.
The man blinked, his grin fading. Well for starters, you can call me Uncle Will. I want
to hire you because I could use the help and you look like you could use the work. What I want
you to do is help me with jobs. and as for the rest we can talk about it over dinner, not in the
middle of the street.
How can I trust you? Fynch said, cautious.
Better question, can you afford not to? the man, Will, replied, his grin returning.
No, not really. Fynch conceded What do you want me to do?
Well, lets finish the job I came here to do, then head over to the Bitter Flagon, owned
by my good friend Tom, for dinner and a pint. There, over some delicious stew, we can answer
the rest of your questions. As for the job I came here to do, there is a vase a client hired yours
truly to steal inside this house. Now normally I would pick the lock and quick and quiet as a
mouse would be in and out without waking anyone inside. However, as I very cleverly
discovered earlier, they have a bar over their door. I might be able to knock it loose by sliding a
tool or two into the door frame, but that would make a good deal of noise and the last thing we
want is to contend with an irate homeowner. Will explained quickly.

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12

So what do we do? asked Fynch, warming up to this quirky old cat.

Well you see that window up there on the second floor? The weather is nice enough that
they decided to leave the shutters open. Old guy like me would never fit through there, let alone
manage the climb, but a spry little thing like yourself should have no trouble. Shimmy up the
wall, get in through the window, sneak down to the front door, unbar the door and let me in,
simple. Dont go getting distracted mind you, just go straight to the door and let me do the
actually thievery. What do you say kid, partners? Will asked, holding his hand out for Fynch to
shake.
Fynch considered the outstretched hand. The offer was good, food, shelter and training in
exchange for work is a better deal than any apprentice could hope for. Not exactly the schooling
Ma had wanted for me, and it would mean being a thief, always being on the wrong side of the
law. But am I not a thief already? Fynch thought to himself.
Partners Fynch replied shaking the offered hand. The handshake was strong and warm
Fynch and could feel heavy calluses on Wills hand.
Right then, let me give you a boost. Will said, still grinning crookedly. Will put his
back against the wall, crouched a little, and made a cradle with his hands. Fynch stepped into the
interlaced fingers and pushed off as Will pushed up. Jumping off Wills hands, Fynch wormed
his hands into cracks in the molding and scurried up to the open window. Hanging off the
window sill, his fingers sore from holding his weight, he peeked over the edge into the dark
room.
Despite the gloom, Fynch could see the rough outline of two beds, one on each side of
the window, and a dresser in the far corner. Fynch pulled himself through the window and
dropped to the wooden floor as quietly as possible. As he hit the floor his rag covered feet made

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13

a soft thud against the wood. Fynch froze, his heart beating so loudly he was sure the whole
household would hear him. After a few seconds of nothing happening, Fynch looked at the beds
on either side of him. On his right was a girl maybe a few years older than him and on his left a
boy about his age. They were both sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of his presence. Fynch
breathed out slowly, not even aware that he had been holding his breath, and started to tiptoe to
the far side of the room. His steps were silent, and neither of the children stirred.
Reaching the far side of the room and the wooden door there, Fynch crouched down to
look through the keyhole. It was no use though, as it was too dark to see anything. Fynch lifted
the latch slowly and carefully, praying the door would not squeak. Luck was with him, and the
door opened quietly. Fynch slipped through the door and quietly closed it behind him.
Even though there was almost no light Fynch could make out he was in a hallway, and
that the stairway going down to the first level was just to his right. Breathing a sigh of relief
Fynch made his way carefully down the wooden stairs and found himself in the kitchen. Fynch
started to head towards where he figured the door was, but stopped when he saw the kitchen
pantry. His stomach growled at the thought of food, but Fynch shook his head strongly and kept
moving through kitchen and into the sitting room. The door was right where he figured it would
be, and there was in fact a hefty looing wooden bar over the door. Fynch pulled the wooden bar
up and out of its brackets and almost toppled under its weight. He quickly lowered it to the
ground and barely managed to set it down silently. Fynch wiped his brow, sweating from fear as
much as from exertion. He carefully dragged the bar out of the way of the door and set it down
out of the way.
Fynch unlatched the front door and peered outside into the foggy night. Will looked in at
him and smiled his crazed grin. Nice work lad, knew you had it in ya He whispered, slipping

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14

into the house. Wait for me outside, Ill be out in just a sec. Will continued. Fynch watched as
Will disappeared into the gloom of the house, noticing that the old man was completely silent in
his movements. I would hate for him to be an enemy Fynch thought, you would never hear him
coming. Fynch stepped outside and carefully closed the door behind him.
Fynch looked around, afraid someone might see their nighttime burglary, but there was
no one on the street. After only a minute or so Will reappeared. He waved a small vase in front
of Fynch and slipped it into a large pocket in his trench coat. Will smiled, winked at Fynch, and
beckoned him to follow.

Chapter 2
Fynch followed Will through the mist filled streets, neither of them speaking. The mist
was like that, silently discouraging conversation. Eventually their trek through the quiet city
streets brought the pair to a squat building. The wooden sign proudly hung over the door read
The Bitter Flagon and the busy tavern noises drifted out from the cracked open windows. Will
grinned at Fynch, threw the heavy door open, and walked in with unerring confidence. Fynch
shook his head lightly and followed.
The immediate wave of noise, light, and smell left Fynch stunned, only Will dragging
him forward kept him from stopping in the doorway. The tavern was filled with all sorts of
patrons, from mercenaries, soldiers, and guards to farmers, artists, and musicians. There were
people playing cards, arguing about the price of produce, drunkenly discussing life, and
generally carousing. Fynch was just shocked that so many people could be crammed into one
small building.

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15

Will pushed his way through the mob and sat at an unoccupied booth in the far corner.
Fynch quickly followed, being careful not to be crushed by a group of swaying drunks singing a
native drinking song. Fynch flopped down across from Will and just looked around, at a loss for
words.
This is my favorite inn. Will explained, looking over the hectic crowd with a fathers
loving gaze. There is always so much life here, and the stew is delicious. Will waved over a
serving girl, a big grin plastered on his face. Rebecca! And how is the most beautiful woman in
the city doing tonight? How is that boy of yours?
Rebecca, after wading through the sea of tables and patrons, came up to the booth and
gave Will a kiss on the cheek. Were both fine Uncle Will, an Ale and some stew for ya
tonight? She said, winking at Fynch. Fynch looked up at the somewhat imposing figure of the
young woman and then looked back down, embarrassed by her attention. She had longer blond
hair, a nice tan and red dress and was in fact quite pretty.
Thanks hun, and some cider and stew for the kid please. Will responded, his grin never
dimming. Fynch was starting to expect that Wills mouths natural sate was a goofy grin.
Rebecca saluted, smiled at both of them and took off towards the bar. Rebeccas a gem, She is
Toms oldest daughter. Will explained as he watched her leave. She got married a couple years
back and they just had their first kid.
Anyway, if I remember right you were asking me where you would stay for your
apprenticeship. My friends and I own a property, in the Middle District that acts as a base of
operations for our work. There you will eat, sleep and learn the trade. And well get you some
new clothes so you dont freeze your hide off. Anyway, I dont think you ever told me your
name.

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16

Fynch, like those little black birds all over the place, except with a Y not a I Fynch
explained quietly, embarrassed. Nobody but his ma ever called him by name; it was
embarrassing to be sharing it with someone else.
Will pondered this, stroking a pretend beard. Sounds posh, like something for a noble
brat. Could be worse though, you could be Issimannar or Kornalap or Crysinal. Crazy nobles and
their nonsense names. Anyway, you know your letters then mister Y not I?
Just how to spell my name, mom taught me that it was important to be able to write your
name down Fynch replied, again embarrassed.
Thats alright lad. Even that is more than a lot of people ever learn, let alone kids as
young as you are. By the way, where is this mom of yours? Is she going to mind you joining up
with a crazy old codger like me? Will tried to keep his tone light, but he had a pained look like
he thought he already knew the answer.
She... she hasnt been home for a few days. Fynch explained, mumbling. They always
say that means shes gone. Ill probably never see her again. You know cus shes been gone for
too long. Missing for more than a day or two in the Lower District means they left town or
theyre.. you know, dead. At this point he was mumbling and crying, unable to control his tears.
He probably would have continued rambling if Will had not cut him off.
Hey, hey calm down kiddo, no need to panic. Ill tell you what, I will talk to some
people and they will keep a lookout for your mum ok? For right now lets just get you fed and
then I can take you to where you can get some sleep. Will said, his deep voice calming Fynch
some.
Just as Will finished talking Rebecca came back with two flagons and two bowls of stew.
As she set them down Fynch rubbed furiously at his eyes, wishing he had a shirt to blow his nose

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17

on. Here you go hun Rebecca said as she handed him a clean rag. Thanks he mumbled back,
torn between shame, gratitude, and frustration. She just smiled at him warmly and turned to help
another table. Fynch blushed and ate spoonful of stew, keeping his head down. He savored the
first delicious mouthful, then started wolfing down the rest of the bowl as fast as he could
prevent it from burning his mouth.
Will watched his new young charge eat with a grin, tempted to make a joke about how
sheep do not run away once in stew form. But he knew that kind of gnawing hunger, so he just
took a sip of ale and started eating his own stew.
As Fynch was just finishing his bowl Rebecca set down a second full bowl of stew and a
cinnamon bun. She winked at him and walked off. Fynch watched her go for a moment then
looked at Will to see if he had given her a signal or something to bring more food. But Will was
just staring off into the distance thinking about something. I see why he likes it here Fynch
thought as he dug into his second bowl of soup.
Ten minutes later, with the stew, bun, and cider all gone Fynch leaned back against his
booth, full for the first time in far too long. Will, having finished his food as well, said ready to
go then?
And see my new home/workplace/apprenticeship? Fynch replied with a slight grin of
his own. Sure, why not. I just need to remember how to stand up.

After paying and saying goodbye to Rebecca, they worked their way through the crowd
and out onto the street. Fynch fought down nausea as they walked into the night air, his stomach
was unused to so much rich food. He forced it to stay down, there was no way he was going to
waste such a good meal. Outside fog still coated the streets, reducing visibility to only a few feet,

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18

but Will strode into the night with confidence. Fynch followed silently, the dark and fog
discouraged conversation.
After ten minutes of walking through the twisting streets of the Middle District Will led
Fynch to a small dead end ally and stopped. Fynch thought about asking what was going on, but
decided to stay silent. Will grabbed a crowbar from a small pile of trash the sanitation workers
must have missed, and leveraged open the sewer grate at the end of the ally. He put back the
crowbar and waved Fynch over. You first He said Ill close it up behind us. Just wait form me
at the bottom. Fynch nodded nervously and started climbing down the metal ladder attached to
the drain, the rungs cold against his hands. When Will closed the drain it went from dark to
straight black, so Fynch was startled when his foot hit the bottom. He caught himself quickly and
was surprised that the ground was dry, not filled with rain and scummer like he expected. It did
not smell bad either; the only odor was the smell of mold and damp. Fynch took a step away
from the ladder and shivered. On the surface the night was late enough to be uncomfortably
chilly; down in the sewer it was far too cold to be comfortable in only old pants and rag shod
feet.
Fynch heard Will reach the bottom, and after a bit of scratching a the tunnel lit up as Will
raised a lantern. With the new light Fynch could see that his initial guess had been right, the
brick floor was dry and the walls seemed older than the sewers he had been in before. Will
visibly relaxed now that they were inside and with light. He sighed contently and started moving
down the tunnel. As Fynch followed him through the maze of tunnels, Will explained the history
of the area. Ya see the sewers were all originally built a couple hundreds of years ago for the
purpose of rain shed, Smart people the founders of our city. The system would collect all the
water and dump straight into the river. But then folks wanted to be able to dump their waste into

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the sewer. More convenient than throwing it out the window or carting out of the city. That
combined with the continuous repairs to the system as older tunnels collapsed from erosion as
well as some less than stellar planning created this place. Bout 50 years back a large rework of
the system made this section completely obsolete. The way the streets are formed rain water does
not even enter the tunnels, save for the bit that falls right near the drains. So, long story short,
one little trip to the record hall later and we have ourselves a quiet out of the way area that no
one even knows exist. Nice right? Will asked, glancing back at Fynch.
Very nice. A bit cold though Fynch responded, as he started to shiver again. Will
chuckled gently. We will get you some proper clothes and a blanket in just a bit, youll warm
right up.
Willnot to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why do you trust me? Fynch started
nervously, then continued quickly. I mean, not that I would, but what if I went and told the
guard where your base was? Isnt it a big risk to invite a kid you do not know that much about
into your home? Fynch stopped, wishing he hadnt said anything.
Will stopped and looked at Fynch for a few seconds. Well, the truth is I have a bit of an
edge when it comes to judgment calls. You see these markings? Will said as he held up the
lantern and pulled down the skin under his eye, showing the markings on his eye more clearly.
Fynch was stunned. You have mage tattoos on your eyes? he said, disbelieving.
Really where? Will responded with mock surprise. I was elected for an experiment
when I was twelve. He explained as he continued down the tunnel. The mages guild said I had
the potential to be a seer, someone who reads the tangled web of futures and discern the correct
path for humanity. Will said in a lofty voice, mocking the stereotypical mages smugness.
Anyway, it didnt work. They tatted me up with their special ink and arcane symbols, but

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pronounced me a failure after a year of no results. But it was not a total loss, I can still get
impressions, I get a feeling when something is a bad idea. It comes in real handy in my line of
work. It will kick in if a door is trapped or a mark has figured out your con, that kind of thing. So
to answer your question, no I am not worried about you turning us in. I am getting only good
vibes from you kiddo Will winked at Fynch, his goofy grin back. They continued to walk for a
minute or so until the tunnel opened into a large room.
This is the main room, we carefully knocked out a wall or two, making sure to keep
everything supported properly so you can stop fretting, added some furniture and voil Will
gestured grandly at the open area. It was about the size of a Middle District warehouse, though
with a considerably lower ceiling, and was lit by lanterns placed on the walls and support
columns. A fire burned at the center of the room with a few people around sitting around it.
Fynch looked up to see how the smoke got out. The ceiling above the fire was blackened by soot
and had a hole going straight up. Will followed Fynchs gaze and explained. There is a small
bakery right above us that we own; the smoke goes right into the chimney. Darrell over here
designed it, as well as the support beams and such. Hes a regular architect. Will joked, pointing
at a large bald man sitting at the fire eating a chunk of bread.
Yeah yeah Will. Who is the kid? Darrell asked his voice light and honest. Fynch
looked at him and the other people sitting around the fire. There were two women and a man to
the right of Darrell, watching the interaction with interest. One of the women was braiding a
young girls hair, Fynch guessed the girl was only a few years older than him. Will grinned at
Darrell. This is Fynch, I found him wh-
Will! Did you get that vase for the Rennlends? A man shouted as he came out of a
tunnel to the left. As he approached the fire Fynch studied the man. He looked younger than

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21

Will, his hair black and cut short. He had a medium build and was just over six feet tall. The
heavy leathers the man wore were light infantry grade, flexible enough to allow for free
movement, but thick enough to turn a knife.
Right here Will said, offering the vase to the newcomer. Fynch this is Jack, the leader
of our merry band Will explained. He may seem like a pain in the ass but at heart hes a real
softie
Thanks Will Jack said flatly as he took the offered vase. Fynch was it? I assume since
you are here Will has recruited you for an apprenticeship?
Yes sir Fynch replied, a bit intimidated by the older man.
Good! And no sirs and whatnot call me Uncle Jack. So this is the deal, we give you
food, shelter, education, and protection for the course of your apprenticeship. That will last until
you are 17 or when we decide you are ready to move on. After that you will be a journeyman,
traveling and expanding your knowledge of the craft. Starting now for the next 20 years 15% of
all income you receive will come back here to pay for your expenses. After that 20 years for the
price of 5% total income you can have continued access to all our resources; safe houses,
contacts, that kind of thing. This may sound a bit daunting, but we run a fit operation here, you
will never be cheated by us, if you are arrested we will post bail, if you are in trouble we will
help, and as long as you treat us with respect you will be respected in kind. Do you accept these
terms? Jack finished.
I accept. Fynch said. The idea that his life path was decided until he turned 29 was
daunting, but he knew it would give him a better life than any he could achieve on his own.
Wonderful Jack continued. Then this little cave of ours will be your new home. We
will get you set up with a bedroll by the fire for tonight, but later we can get you your own area

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for sleeping and for putting your things. Your education will start tomorrow. Darrell will teach
you math and architecture. Darrell waved and smiled. Will can teach you the art of moving
silently, and being a prick. Will just kept grinning. Anna will teach you how to read and write,
as well as how to interact with society. Not everything is about cloak and dagger; you need to be
able to blend in with people too.
Anna paused from braiding the young girls hair and smiled radiantly at Fynch. I look
forward to getting to know you young man she said.
Jen will teach you how to fight. Jack continued, gesturing at the other woman. She just
grinned wolfishly. And lastly Ben will teach you how to climb and a bit of ranged combat. He is
really quite good at throwing knives, chakrams, smoke bombs and the like. The wiry man
nodded in appreciation. There are many other members of our group that are either at different
safe houses or out of town that will teach you when they have time. Treat each of your teachers
with respect and pay attention and you will learn all you need to know about the trade. Any
questions?
None for now Fynch replied, his excitement dulled by exhaustion. There would be
plenty of time for questions in the morning.
Alright then. Steph, go get the kid a pair of clothes and some shoes from the storeroom.
Jack said, making a shooing gesture at the young girl. She stuck out her tongue at them and
sprinted off down a tunnel. Kid , welcome to the Family Jack said, looking back at Fynch.
Also known as the Kalen Thieves Guild.

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Seven Years Later

Chapter 3
Comeon Steph, you could easily forge some papers for me. Fynch begged Stephanie.
They were in her room in the underground tunnels. Stephanie sat in front of her large desk
organizing the stacks of papers and envelopes, careful not to disturb her various inkwells, pens,
stamps, and seals. To Fynch it all looked cluttered and random but she swore that it was the
perfect system. Stephanie finished straightening one of the piles and looked up at Fynch.
Even if I could forge you papers good enough to get you into the contest why should I
go to all that effort? She replied, raising an eyebrow mockingly.
Favor for your favorite cousin? Fynch tried, grinning hopefully. Guess not He
continued seeing her expression. Tell you what; Ill get you a dozen sweet buns from Granny
Rennlends and another dozen if I win. Fynch knew they were her favorite.
Done, she replied and shook his hand. But get a haircut, the current fashion is short
hair and your mop will stick out among the noble kids. She gestured up at his unruly hair.
Fynch grabbed a length of hair that went down to his shoulders and grimaced. Yeah I
wanted to cut it anyway; it has gotten way too long. All right I am off, thanks again cus Fynch
leaned down and kissed the top of Stephanies head before slipping out of the room.

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As he jogged down the hallway Fynch smiled. With Stephs documents he should be able
to pass as a noble of a lesser house for sure. All he needed now was to get the buns for Steph, ask
Anna for a haircut and register for the contest before 9 tomorrow morning.
Every summer Sir Richard of SilverLake, The Duke of Kalen, held a contest that changed
each year. It was to encourage the noble kids to get out and do something productive as well as
meet each other. The Duke thought it was very important for the noble kids to grow up knowing
their peers. Last year the contest was a free-for-all wrestling match, before that it was a mock
war game in the woods. Whatever the contest turned out to be this year Fynch planned to win.
He figured he had pretty good odds. At 5 10 he was already taller than some of the other kids
and he was very fit from his daily runs and training. He was not as strong as some of the noble
kids though, and with his wiry frame he had never been good at grappling. Fynch just hoped that
it would not be wrestling again this year, his light weight would make it easy for some of the
stronger kids to throw or pin him.
The prize for winning the contest was a diner with the Duke, one gift of your choice, and
of course bragging rights to hold over your friends. You could ask the Duke for anything; classic
prizes, like a sword or hunting gear, or money, or a job. Fynch could normally steal whatever he
needed or wanted, but the Duke had access to more restricted goods. The special dyes for making
mage tattoos were heavily regulated and prohibitively expensive. The best steel, shipped into the
country from the east, was only purchasable if you knew the right people.
Fynch figured that if got something rare he could contribute to the guild and make up for
his lackluster performance. Technically he only needed to give 15% of his annual income to the
guild, but his annual income was looking pretty miserable this year. Most of his money from the
past year had gone to replacing the equipment he lost when the guards raided his impromptu

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storage locker. He had been keeping his gear in an abandoned tool shed in the middle district.
The idea was that lugging a crowbar and various breaking and entering tools from the tunnels
every time was tiring and a waste of time. It worked great until someone saw him storing the
tools away one night and told the guards.
Needless to say his annual guild dues were looking a bit sad. Nobody would be mad,
there was no minimum quota to fill, but disappointing Will and Jack was just as bad in Fynchs
mind. So the plan was, enter the contest, win, get an awesome prize, and contribute meaningfully
to the guild.
Fynch reached the main room and saw Aunt Anna sewing by the fire as Aunt Jen stirred
the stew pot. Aunt Anna, Fynch called as he walked over to them. Would you mind cutting
my hair when I get back?
Sure Fynch, but dont take too long, Anna replied I need to meet with a client early
tomorrow and want to get to bed soon.
Fynch agreed and hurried down the tunnel. He needed to hurry anyway, Granny will
close down the shop pretty soon. Fynch quickly navigated the tunnels, using a lantern for light.
He had the tunnel layout memorized now and he could get where he needed to without thinking
about it. He climbed the ladder and onto the street. The sewer exit still left him a few blocks
from the Middle District market and he started jogging, hoping he could get there before close. A
light fog started to fill the streets, colored pink and orange from the sunset. It reminded Fynch of
the lanterns shining through the mist that first night he had met Will.
He had come a long way since then. He had grown stronger, taller, and much more
confident. Aunt Jen had taught him brawling and melee fighting. Fynch still was not very good
with the short sword she had given him, but she said he was not completely hopeless. For her

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that was high praise. Will was still Fynchs favorite teacher, with lessons on silent movement
and sticking to the shadows, but Uncle Ben was a close second. Learning to climb and throw
knives came much more naturally to him than hand-to-hand fighting and Ben made learning
them fun. Fynch felt the worst for Anna. Being the sweet lady she is she still put up with him,
but he had fought her tooth and nail when she was teaching him to read and write. He still did
not know how the noble class system was structured or what silverware to use during a courtly
meal.
Fynch felt pretty good about his apprenticeship as a whole though. He was learning more
about the world of thievery than his nine year old self could possibly have imagined. Over the
years he had mostly worked as a lookout for one of the older members, or running messages and
errands. For the past two years though he has been leading jobs and giving orders to younger
kids. The Family had three younger kids in Kalen now. Fynch was a mentor to them sometimes
and he thought they showed a lot of promise. It made him happy to pass the knowledge given to
him down the line.
Fynch reached the bakery. Granny was still there, drinking tea in her rocking chair. There
was still a small line and Grannys youngest son was working the counter. Fynch got in line and
waited as the man and woman in front of him were served. Evening John, Fynch called, when
it was his turn to order.
Hey Fynch, what do you need? John replied. He was friendly, but clearly tired. He had
probably been working the ovens all day.
A dozen sweet buns please. Evening Granny, Fynch said, nodding to Granny Rennlend.

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Evening little rogue, she replied, the terrifying intelligence gleaming in her dark eyes
softened by a smile. John handed Fynch a box of pastries and Fynch paid him seven copper
pennies.
Have a nice night, Fynch said, and waved to the two of them. He was about to leave
when Granny stood up and handed him a smaller box. Share with Will, she said, and sat back
down.
Yes maam, Fynch replied and headed off. As he walked he checked inside the small
box to see what Granny had given him. Six cinnamon buns wrapped in wax paper lay inside,
Wills favorite. Fynch hurried home, he needed to get the buns to Steph and get a haircut before
Anna went to bed.
Chapter 4
Fynch walked along the main road, enjoying the early morning sun. Fynch ran his hand
through his newly shortened hair. It was out of his eyes now, which was nice, and it would match
the other nobles better. The identification paper in his hand looked great. The ink had dried last
night and Steph had even worked the paper to look a bit worn. According to it he was Fynch
Darrius Obronne. She said Fynch was fine for a noble name and it would be easier for him to
remember and respond to. He thought that was a bit silly, he would only need the name for
today, but she was a perfectionist. Apparently the Obronnes were a relatively newly titled family.
Sir Kane Obronne was given the title and land for leading troops in an important battle or
something. It would not be unusual for one of Kanes nephews to not be well known.
No one stopped him at the gate to the Upper District. He looked as though he belonged,
with short hair, freshly washed, and wearing well made, if a bit utilitarian, clothes. Steph had