Amongst Thieves

2.

Lawson Forge was not someone you would expect to see on a rooftop.

He looked old enough to be Maize's father— maybe even her grandfather if she had the chance to meet either of them. He wore a long black jacket with gold trim at the cuffs and collar, whose gold buttons were clasped all the way up to his angular chin, peaked nose, and furrowed brow. He wore plain black pants, black boots, and carried only a satchel slung over his shoulder and across his chest. His grey hair was pulled back behind his head in a tail that fell past his shoulders, and his amber eyes watched her like he already knew her. He looked like a man who was always smiling but never meant the sentiment, which was all the more reason for Maise to be wary.

Forge appeared to be unarmed but only as far as Maize could see, and that didn't mean she was going to lower the knife aimed at him. Forge, on the other hand, seemed to pay no attention to the blade pointed at his chest, though he stopped just out of arms reach.

"I was wondering when you were going to arrive," he said, that grin still upon his weathered lips. "After I heard the explosion I knew it was only a matter of time, but even so— a thief of your expertise should have been here five minutes ago."

"The Guard had extra patrols," Maize informed him. "And how did you get up here so fast?"

"I climbed. Is that not how you arrived as well?"

She was going to continue to defend her reputation but reconsidered as the ache in her hands increased. It was a dull reminder of their true purpose on that rooftop, and she wanted to get back in the Den before it happened again.

Besides, she owed this Lawson Forge nothing.

"Lawson Forge," Ress said thoughtfully, and Maize almost forgot he was at her back.

"You know him?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Of him," her partner corrected, his attention still on the man standing before them. "He's one of the King's lesser advisors."

Forge cleared his throat, bringing Maize's attention back to him. He was brushing unseen dust off the formal jacket he wore, straightening it before he returned his gaze to hers. "I am an advisor of the people and to the people."

"So you're tasked with handling the work no one else wants to do because it'll get their hands dirty," Maize mused.

"I assure you, I am more than aware of the work I am responsible for, which is exactly the reason I'm speaking to you now."

"And you better finish up because we have somewhere we need to be," Maize said quickly, unable to keep her gaze from drifting between the edge of the roof and the fading daylight over the rooftops of Dreduor. They were so close— only a few more feet and she could be over that ledge, in that apartment, and grabbing those papers. But she couldn't do any of it with this lesser advisor over her shoulder.

"Once I'm done talking, you're only going to want to be where I send you. Of that, I assure you."

"Maize," Ress whispered, keeping his tone level which meant he was already trying to reel her in because he knew her too well. He knew she could never not hear someone out, even for the smallest chance of opportunity. Even if she had no intention of following through, she always allowed them to speak.

"Maize," Ress warned again.

But she was already moving closer, lowering the knife though keeping it steady in her hands. "Then talk fast."

Forge clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels as if pleased with her reaction and becoming far too comfortable in their company.