In the end, we gave up our weapons, and the Infiltrator and I signed meaningless symbols in their log books, while the Empty Hand signed a name he had invented weeks ago. This was done in the armory, a secure building with bricked-in windows. I can only imagine what would happen to such a building if there were a fire. The man who took our names was aged and sickly, though he hid his ailment as best he could. He was dressed in the same manner as the guard mentioned in my last entry.
I spent the next few hours in the town shops, perusing their impressive collection of magical artifacts, and collecting a few scrolls that I thought would be useful, or interesting for future study. I also found a bit of bamboo in stock, which I bought, though it seemed extremely expensive for something so common at the monastery. Within a few days, I should be able to replace to flute stolen by the kobolds.
While the priest stayed behind in the temple, the rest of us learned what we could about the thieves' guild. The winged woman claimed to know nothing of the guild.
Our initial investigations told us very little. A barkeep let us know that the thieves had signed agreements with most of the town establishments, offering protection in exchange for money, and that they generally committed very few open crimes. In another tavern, we rapidly learned that the few laws the town made were well-enforced. The mere mention of the guild was enough to raise the suspicions of the longshoremen who inhabited that saloon by the docks. It is strange how such contradictory messages can be sent simultaneously. A barkeep alone is willing to divulge to strangers that he associates with thieves. In a crowded bar, we were seen as criminals for mentioning the guild.
On our way back to the temple, I spotted an adolescent girl sneaking up on me from behind. I turned, ready to defend myself, and asked what she wanted, but she only handed me a note and ran off. I reproduce it here, and I will burn the original later:
It is only on this, the morning of my sixth day in the world of man, when I can begin to write, because until now I had pen and parchment, but no ink. I will attempt to render every event accurately, but I cant fully trust my memory. The strangeness of this world has been overwhelming.
As I write, I must remember not to provide with my words any simple trail that can lead to me or my mission. I will meditate on this before writing each day. When it becomes necessary, I must not hesitate to destroy these papers, no matter how precious they become to me.
Come to the Gold Standard.
8 pm.
No Guards
The quoted lines from my journal were a painful reminder of how foolish I had been to allow it to leave my possession. I claimed that, no matter how precious it became to me, I would not hesitate to destroy it, yet I still write, and I still keep myself and our mission in constant danger by keeping these pages with me. I can not doubt that this satire is why the thieves quoted that part of my journal.
I summarized the note to the others, and the winged woman offered to look ahead, using her power to turn invisible to scout out the building. I encouraged her, suggesting that she go alone, well before we did. I was hoping to use the time to tell the others about my suspicions. However, the Infiltrator and the Empty Hand were also eager to scout. I thought this a poor strategy, since surely, the place would be watched by the assassins, but they were insistent, so I went as well. Since we were all scouting at once, it was not even possible to watch from inside, and thereby gain an advantage.
I spent my time memorizing the layout of the building, by pacing its perimeter and looking in through the windows. I found later that, well before the appointed time, the Infiltrator spotted a young woman whose clothing appeared to conceal armor, standing outside and looking about nervously when the guards passed. When the woman stepped into an alley, the Infiltrator did not follow. It was this same woman who then snuck up silently, stepped on my robe, and pointed a knife into my back.
She accused me of being early, and I made the same accusation to her. Then she handed me a blindfold and said I would not be harmed. Although I found her promise difficult to believe, I decided it was wiser to follow her with a chance of learning something, than refuse and be killed. While she led me off, I stumbled once intentionally, in the hope that one of the others would hear me. None of them did.
Quite a while later, the woman removed my blindfold. I was in an enormous, windowless chamber lit by magical torches. At first, I ignored what was directly in front of me, because the glints of arrows caught my eye. Spaced regularly and frequently, high up on the walls, were alcoves large enough to fit a single man. In each was an archer dressed in clothing so dark it was difficult to make out more than the metal tips of the arrows. The walls of the ground level were lined with hooded figures wielding swords. In the center was a throne on which a man sat. He held himself in a relaxed and overly casual way, yet it was clear by the way he kept certain muscles tensed and ready that he was a fighter of some ability, perhaps self-trained. At that point, I was almost ready to laugh out loud. I asked him whether this fanciful array was always present, or if it had been arranged for my sake.
A woman sat on either side of the throne, likely chosen for their youth and beauty. In fact, it occurred to me then that every person in the room besides the one on the throne was a woman. A guild of assassin women. They brought me a chair, and offered me food, which I refused, and then the man engaged in idle chatter, which I bore, complementing me on my bravery in coming alone and so forth. Then he asked what I wanted. The answer was obvious, so I did not answer, but at his request, I played his game and told him. The speed with which my journal was fetched clarified a fact which the Infiltrator had suggested earlier – that the damage had already been done, that copies had been made.
I then asked what he wanted, and his answer surprised me. He asked for my help. He was clever, though. Knowing he had my interest, he tried to earn my trust by explaining that the attack on me and the others (it was only then that I was certain all four of us had been targets) had been paid for, not done by the assassins for their own sake. Seeing that I was not so easily swayed, he offered the name of the one who wanted us dead, in exchange for an enormous amount of gold – five hundred pounds. Though I have little idea how much gold the Infiltrator has kept for me, I knew that was more than I had, and told him so. He expected this, and was quick with a response. He wanted me to perform a task for him.
As he explained it, thieves from his guild had recently been stolen from, then attacked, and finally, last night, killed. Two of them had been murdered (if that word can apply when used among criminals) in a warehouse by the docks, while taking inventory. He wanted me to discover what had happened and why, and deal with whoever led the attack. Getting that much information required some prodding on my part. I want no part of his organization, so if I help him, it will be with the least I can do to attain the information I seek. As reason for not solving the mystery himself, he gave that to expose himself or his assassins would risk starting a gang war. When I asked him if there were any other gangs in town, however, he said there were none.
I regret that I must deal with these assassins. I do not trust them or their story, but they are currently the only link remaining to our enemy, and time presses. If we wait until our enemy is easy to find, he may become too powerful for us to stop him.
After our meeting, I was taken out, once again blindfolded, and pushed into the street. I did what I could to ascertain location and direction while I was led, but I fear my abilities were insufficient. It took me some time to find out where I was, and when I did, I hurried back to the tavern where I had been captured. When I was not far from it, I heard a woman calling me loudly through the streets, using the description by which I am best known to the assassins. Naturally, it was the winged woman. Whether she is an enemy or merely a fool, I do not trust her.
I said as much to the others when I returned to the temple. She claimed to be bound to watch over me, yet she conveniently vanished when the assassin arrived. Then she spent the night calling me in the streets, letting everyone know who had entered their town. And of course her initial arrival was far too convenient, to fall mysteriously from the sky just as we were losing a battle, as if she were the gift of some god.
We also discussed what had happened to me. I was willing to help the thieves until we had acquired our information. The Infiltrator, however, was much opposed. Besides that he does not trust the thieves (a sentiment I share), he felt it his moral obligation to reject any contact with them. He even went so far as to quote our master out of context, saying that crime can never be justified, as even a single crime makes a criminal. Much as I tried, I could not make him see that the purpose of our mission was far greater than obeying a single law of a single town. If we help the thieves, we will be criminals in a small sense. If we do not, we may be rejecting our only link to the enemy, and increasing the risk of the whole world plummeting into irreparable chaos.
In the end, he agreed to investigate the murders, since he believes a murder should always be investigated. That will have to do for now. The Empty Hand had little to say on the matter, though I believe he will follow whenever the Infiltrator and I agree.
I was chosen to speak with the priest and the winged woman. I did not say more than I had to, though I have never been a good liar – such skills were not taught at the monastery. My story held up even more poorly because the Infiltrator had told him quite a bit while I was lost, to get the help of magic to find me. That was a foolish request, and after he was reminded by the Empty Hand, he had to tell the priest that his magic would not work, as I was resistant to divination. Too much is being told too soon. If we can indeed trust this priest, we will find out in time. Our master told me as much in my dream. I think the Infiltrator is not himself today. He would not normally divulge information so easily, nor would he have neglected to follow the suspicious woman.
The priest was very suspicious, and complained about our frequent secrecy. He did not want to be involved in criminal activities. In the end, I was able to convince him to help us by telling him that the murdered were indeed thieves, but that we wanted to investigate the murders for their own sake.
We now prepare to make a night visit to the warehouse.
I notice that, since we arrived at this town, the obscurity with which I write has improved. I have begun to use symbols to represent people and some words. Perhaps, eventually, even magic will not be able to decipher what I write, and this journal will finally be safe.