Amongst Thieves

CHAPTER SEVEN- Payment

He didn't make it far before he fell, clutching at his leg as pain took a hold of his mind.

Gripping the cool metal of the knife buried deep in his thigh he pulled it free, grinding his teeth against the pain screaming across his mind as blood flowed freely down his leg. Whoever had thrown the blade was both skilled and nearby and Callen didn't have time to waste on something so trivial as pain.

He ran, stowing the knife he'd pulled from his leg alongside his own in his waistband as he twisted through the narrow streets heading to the closest tavern he knew. He pushed inside ignoring the patrons as he tore at his shirt, managing to free a strip of material as he moved toward the first person he saw drinking from the small wooden cups the meant raw Asterian spirit. The man didn't complain when Callen took the cup, leaving enough money for three more as he pushed towards the rear of the building. He spared himself a moment to splash the clear liquid on the open wound, cursing in every language he knew as the spirt burnt into his flesh. When the rough cloth strip was tied around his leg in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood he pushed his way out of the back of the building, hiding nearby and praying he wasn't followed.

As he waited in the half-light of the alley he examined the knife he'd pulled from his leg, dark metal glinting under the thin coating of his drying blood. He had seen it's like before, felt it pressed against his skin years ago for trying to steal from a hooded man in a crowded tavern. With the beating that had followed he'd almost forgotten the man, but holding the knife's brother brought the memory back in vivid detail. The craftsmanship and strange dark metal made it clear enough that the knives had been made in the same way, if not by the same person, but he doubted they shared an owner. The knife from the bar had been longer with a straight edge and a full-handed grip, a knife for mid to close combat, fast and precise. The knife in his hand was smaller and more intricate, its blade curving wickedly towards the tip. The handle was stranger still, the unwrapped tang looping back on itself to the base of the blade. Heavy for its size but perfectly balanced, it was a knife for throwing and deep precise slices that would be less effective in a drawn-out fight. Not the sort of knife for a man that preferred a fair fight.

He marvelled at it, the ease at which it spun as he flicked it into the air. It was not a knife to be thrown away lightly; whoever had attacked Callen had not expected him to get away.

He didn't move until the sun had fully set, finally sure that he had lost whoever had seen him take his prize. Slowly he limped towards the slums, each step sending new pain stabbing through him. It was no less than he deserved but the weight against his leg reassured him that the choice had been the right one, even if Reina would kill him for it. His progress was slow but eventually he made it to the house that acted as his personal passage into the slums, finally feeling safe enough to open the pouch he had worked so hard to retrieve, hoping desperately it was worth getting stabbed over.

He felt the familiar thrill as he pulled at the soft leather but as he poured the contents onto the floor of the old house he was gripped by an entirely new feeling, a potent mix of wonder and terror that only grew as each heavy gold piece thudded onto the wooden floor. There were twenty-five in total, more money than he had ever dreamed of. It was enough for all of them to start a new life, enough for their wildest fantasies and more than enough to kill for a dozen times over. Seeking some explanation for the incredible sum he turned his attention to the small piece of paper nestled among the shining metal, though it did little to clarify matters. Written across one face was 'Trau-25CGP: Vertrou' followed by a signature. It was as simple as a contract could be, though he had no idea to whom the names belonged to or what could be worth such a sum. Moving carefully, he returned each of the gold coins to the pouch along with the contract before rushing out of the window. He didn't even bother to shutter it behind him, he had neither the time nor the strength for it and it would provide an easier exit when they returned later that night.