PA-01. Den Of Thieves, page 23
part #1 of Pantheon Online Series
“I’ll take one of those if you don’t mind.”
Gunnar spun at the voice, and he had to make a conscious effort not to let his mouth gape.
Em flashed a bright lipsticked smile. She was dressed in a sapphire gown that rivaled that of any noblewoman in the entire garden party. Her red hair was pinned back with golden brooches specked with tiny jewels that made her green eyes shine. The gown itself was strapless, with a plume of fabric that billowed out from her waist in frills and trailed behind her.
She looked stunning, and not at all how Gunnar had expected. She was attending this party.
“I, er, sure, madam,” he said, fetching a glass from the tray. There was no one too close, so he added in a whisper, “I thought you would be here, you know, looking like me.”
Em leaned back and chuckled a little harder than seemed appropriate in response. She leaned close and took the glass of red wine from his hand. As she took it, he felt something drop into the front of his apron.
With a wave of her hand, Em spun away and hurried over to chat with a small troupe of young noblewomen.
Gunnar shook his head, perplexed.
She carried herself with such confidence and grace, it was hard to picture her as the same girl with whom he’d fought Fulcra and climbed walls. It seemed the Nighthawk connections ran deep. She pulled off the noble so well, he almost wondered whether she actually descended from some type of wealth or nobility.
Unlikely, but then again, he did not know with any certainty that prisoners were the only source of players in this world.
Gunnar quickly glanced down into his apron and found a tightly sealed envelope.
Benton’s Letter
Item Class: Rare, Quest-based
Weight: 0.1
Description: This letter is identical in form and seal to a second letter, which Admiral Benton is expecting to receive from another party. You must replace that letter before he has a chance to read it.
“Hurry up,” hollered one of the bartenders behind him. “Those wineglasses won’t fetch themselves.”
Gunnar hurried back to the serving station and hauled several more trays out to the party.
By the time he was done, it was time to deliver food. The silver platters contained all kinds of delicacies—ornately glazed meats, steaming loaves of bread, brightly colored vegetables and fruits, caviar, lobsters and crab legs, and oysters. The smells made his stomach grumble, and these platters were much heavier than the glasses. His arms ached a little by the end, and he was glad for a brief pause while Dravingdel addressed his guests.
The nobles had moved to tables at a second patio at the edge of the gardens, and the nobleman stood upon a small dais and raised a toast.
Gunnar leaned against a pillar at the edge of the dining space while Dravingdel humble-bragged about the recent business successes that had brought him to the Golden Hills and allowed him to throw this party.
No more than twenty seconds into the address, a message appeared.
Em: You look good in a suit. For a servant.
Gunnar: A gracious compliment from someone so high class.
Em: Should have told you I’d be attending, not working. But your face was priceless, so I regret nothing.
Gunnar: Of course you don’t.
Em: You spot Benton yet?
Gunnar: I’ve been a bit busy.
Em: Things should slow down once the meal’s over. Look for the feathery captain’s hat, the table closest to the water.
Gunnar scanned the seated guests. There were a few hats in the crowd, though most were worn by women, so Benton was not too hard to spot.
He was tall and bore the slight paunch of a middle-aged man who had once been incredibly built. Even seated, he towered over the other guests at the table and dominated the space.
Though few seemed to care about what Dravingdel had to say, most still gave the appearance of listening. Admiral Benton, on the other hand, remained with his back toward Dravingdel, gesticulating wildly as he spoke to an enraptured table of guests.
One of whom was Em. The chimera leaned forward on her elbows and smiled and nodded and giggled as the charismatic man spoke.
Em: A douche, isn’t he?
Gunnar: Dravingdel keeps glaring over at him. It’s kinda funny.
Em: I’ll be keeping an eye out for the arrival of the first letter. I don’t expect anything to happen during dinner. Too many people around to see something. Just make sure you’re ready when the time comes.
40
THE DROP
Finally, Dravingdel finished his address to the crowd, and dinner was served. The garden came alive with music as servants pulled silver lids off the platters and nobles dug into their delicacies. Gunnar wanted to keep an eye on Admiral Benton, but he soon was hissed at by one of the lead servants to grab empty plates the moment the nobles were finished.
This kept him rushing the entire meal, as most of the nobles wanted new plates for literally every dish they tried. Gunnar found himself darting back and forth across the dining area, thanking the gods he’d never taken a job as a waiter IRL.
It was constant. If it wasn’t a new plate, it was an empty glass, or cleaning up something that had fallen on the ground. The nobles did not even acknowledge his existence as Gunnar hurried around, attempting to meet every need while being as invisible as possible.
This was more than could be said for the experience of the cocktail waitresses. More than a few old men pulled the girls close by the waist to tell them some joke, and they were forced to offer obligatory giggles and smiles. The nobles stared unabashedly at their asses as they walked away, more than once after an unsolicited squeeze or slap.
It was not as though this was unique behavior to these nobles—every bar or party Gunnar had ever been to had contained plenty of assholes like that. But this was different. Everything at this party was for the nobles’ personal disposal.
Gunnar’s first impression of the party was that it was wondrous, but his sense of wonder quickly turned to contempt as he watched the real nature of the nobles on display. It was the waitresses. The man who’d been slaughtered in the streets. The dwarves he knew were locked up somewhere in this estate. As Gunnar scurried around, he took plate upon plate of wasted lobster and caviar and steak that only had a bite or two taken out of it before the noble decided to move on to another delicacy.
He could not help but picture the rat the hobos had been eating only a few hours ago.
The way everyone carried on in this city as though this behavior were just to be expected made Gunnar angrier than anything. This was supposed to be a game, and yet it was just like all the worst parts of the real world.
Soon, Dravingdel announced the end of the main course, and the nobles moved from the garden back to the fountain area for more cocktails.
Two twenty-foot poles had been rigged over the large pool of water, with small platforms on each. A pair of dusk elves began a routine of acrobatic stunts, hopping and spinning and flipping back and forth between the platforms. The man swung down and hung from the sides of the poles. The woman leapt and the man caught her, and together, they twirled around the pole. Then, with an impressive swing, the man flipped the woman back up to the opposing platform.
The elves were remarkably talented, but most of the nobles in attendance offered little more than a golf clap as the acrobats finished their routine. Seeming to read the room, the couple upped the ante. The woman shouted something in a foreign language.
From beneath the surface of the fountain pool, large spikes emerged directly below the platforms. A flurry of murmurs filled the place.
The pair began a new routine, with the man standing on his hands while the woman stood upon his feet. He transferred her to only one foot, and with an arc of her back, she flipped, landing on one hand supported by only one of the man’s feet.
Now, the nobles were paying attention. The male acrobat cocked his leg and launched the woman over to the other platform.
But he overshot.
The woman flew over the platform, the edge slipping from her grasp.
Gasps filled the garden as she plunged toward the spikes below.
Gunnar’s stomach knotted as he feared her grisly end.
Impossibly quick, the man dove after her, leaping from his own platform in a swan dive. In the same movement, he caught her by the arms while his legs latched onto the pole supporting the platform. The two twirled down and down, stopping mere inches from the threatening spikes.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
The spikes vanished into the base of the pool, and the couple dropped into the water to even louder cheers.
Gunnar shook his head, wondering how anyone could choreograph a moment like that.
All eyes were on the pair when Gunnar received a message.
Em: Benton has the letter! Right coat pocket.
Gunnar: Where is he?
Em: By the bar. Don’t let him get alone with that letter, or this is over.
Gunnar caught sight of the large sailor at the edge of the patio and inched his way closer as a new act began—this time an opera singer. Gunnar recalled what Em and Leilani had said about how the nobles of the Golden Hills liked to put on an air of sophistication. But their tastes would devolve as the night went on. He’d already seen hints of that with the acrobats. Several had seemed a little disappointed that the act had ended so successfully.
And sure enough, as a woman in a billowing silver dress belted out her melody, most of the nobles returned to their drinks and their conversations.
Benton was no different. In one hand, he raised a highball of some dark liquor to the crowd around him. His other hand was wrapped around the waist of one of the waitresses. Several nobles were gathered as he recounted some tale of hunting pirates in a booming voice that carried over the patio and clashed with the singing.
No one around him seemed to mind.
Gunnar hurried over to the bar.
Gunnar: What’s he drinking?
Em: No idea. He calls it Kraken Piss.
Gunnar: Is that a real drink?
Em: I dunno, it’s really dark.
He turned to one of the bartenders. “You don’t happen to know a drink called Kraken Piss, do you?”
The woman’s scowl answered the question. He cursed to himself, but decided he would just have to go with his gut.
“Sorry, one of Benton’s jokes. I need a, er… black rum.”
Gunnar snatched up the drink, but as he approached, the admiral excused himself from his group of nobles and began to wade through the crowd, heading straight for Dravingdel’s manor.
He hurried after the man as quick as he could, spilling the drink a little over the sides of the glass. He hurried up the stairs to the balcony, where several tall doors were spread open so nobles could come and go from a vast hall.
“Hey, servant!”
A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. His breath caught.
It was Dravingdel.
“Y-yes, my lord,” Gunnar said softly, offering a quick bow.
The nobleman wrapped his arm around his shoulder and pointed out to the crowd, few of whom were paying attention to the singer’s performance.
“Look at them! Most of them are already half drunk.”
“It’s a great party.”
“And they’re fucking bored!”
“No one’s bored, my lord. The party is still young.”
Dravingdel shook his head, and Gunnar realized the man was half drunk himself. “Nah! They want blood. You could see it on their faces with those damn spikes in the fountain. Tell Turk I want a bloody show. And quick!”
“My lord, they’ve not yet had dessert.”
“Sweets? I said they want blood. It’s time for the nightlife to begin.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Gunnar cursed to himself and turned. Benton had just gone inside when Dravingdel grabbed him. His heart pounded as he scanned the crowd of nobles in the great hall. Benton had already disappeared from sight. There were two narrow halls that branched out at the ends of the room, and another broad corridor that Gunnar guessed would lead back to the entrance. Considering Benton was looking for privacy, he chose the nearest narrow hall.
He turned the corner and scanned the open rooms. His heart raced when he caught sight of the man’s voluminous hat.
Benton stood in a small library, chatting with a man in an old and rather faded suit. The strange man had his back to Gunnar, but something he’d said sent Benton into a fit of laughter.
“You mean to tell me you sailed with Old Blueballs?” Benton howled.
“Never let us go to the gods-damned shore!” the man said. “The crew nearly went mad!”
Benton keeled forward, hands on his gut as he roared. “He was always a bloody prick.”
This was not the private moment that Gunnar had hoped for, but it was all he had. He hurried into the library, holding out the drink.
As he entered, he froze. The man Benton was talking with was Kohli.
41
LIARS
The thief’s suit was drab and out of place amongst the finery in Dravingdel’s estate. His curly hair was a mess. And yet he was here.
Why the hell is he here? How did he even know where I was?
Kohli merely flashed a smile at him.
Gunnar managed to recover from the surprise, and stepped forward into the library.
“What do you want?” Benton asked as Gunnar neared.
“My lord, another drink for you. Courtesy of Lord Dravingdel himself.”
Benton’s eyes widened. “A drink, hm? What drink?”
“Kraken Piss, I believe.”
Benton leaned forward to investigate, giving the drink a literal sniff. It was just enough for Gunnar to do what he’d come for.
The grab and drop was easier than he’d expected. Or perhaps he had just gotten that good at pickpocketing over the past few days. As the admiral bent over, Gunnar held the drink out with his right hand, and with his left, he swiftly replaced the letter in Benton’s pocket with his own.
“Ah, black rum, it is,” Benton said. “Dravingdel’s not as daft as I thought. And you can tell him that. But I’ve got to go dump my own piss, first. Where the hell do I do that?”
“The corner would serve just fine,” Kohli said.
“Fire in the hole!” Benton shouted.
The two men laughed.
But Gunnar shook his head. “Check down the hall near the kitchen, my lord.”
“Hold my drink till I get back.”
Admiral Benton staggered off down the hall, leaving them alone.
Gunnar turned on Kohli. “How the hell did you get in here dressed like that?”
Kohli smirked and shrugged. “Enough Charisma can get you in anywhere.”
“You used the Crypt Keeper’s spell? Why are you here?”
“This don’t look like a dinner with the House of Daggers, does it?” Kohli leaned in close, a finger pressed against Gunnar’s chest in accusation.
“I lied,” Gunner said irritably. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to talk about it. I’m still not. I had a quest tonight. I couldn’t make it to that meeting.”
“A quest so bloody important you’d pass on a chance at a trial with the House of Daggers? Come on, mate. I may be dumb, but I en’t stupid. I know you’ve been making other connections. I know you’ve been running around with that chimera chick ever since the crypt. I warned you she was bad news.”
“Just trying to make my way in this damn city.”
“It’s all right,” Kohli said softly, leaning close. “You’re not the only liar.”
“What are you talking about?” Gunnar felt sick to his stomach, but he didn’t understand what was going on. “Why did you follow me? Why were you talking to Benton?”
“Just following orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“Who do you think? Sykes had his suspicions, so he tracked you here, and sent me after. Looks like he was right.”
“Tracked me?” And then, Gunnar understood. He reached into his Inventory and pulled out the Man of the Mermaid coin.
Kohli smiled. “Sykes knew there was something off about you. He didn’t trust you from day one. That’s why we were paired. That’s why I followed you into that crypt. Why I played along when you stabbed me in the back in that warehouse.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a damn traitor!” Kohli hissed, shoving him back into the bookshelf.
Gunnar’s mind was whirling. “I’m here for the same reason as you. Just trying to get into a guild.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Kohli said spitefully.
“Look, I’ve got to go before Benton gets back.”
“Yeah, he’ll be looking for what you took, won’t he?”
Gunnar’s gut churned as the thief withdrew a letter from his cloak. Gunnar scrambled to check the inside pocket of his coat. The letter he’d stolen was still there.
Kohli had stolen the one he’d planted moments after he’d made his drop.
Gunnar cursed himself for ever trusting a thief like him. “You’re making a big mistake.”
Kohli glowered. “I told you Sykes don’t like the Nighthawks. I warned you to stay away from them.”
“When Benton realizes it’s gone, he’s going to be furious.”
“With you, sure. But me, I’ll be swooping in at the perfect moment. Saving the day. That’ll get me in good with Sykes and the rest of the higher-ups in this city.”
The thief shoved him again, and the back of Gunnar’s head cracked against the thick wood of the shelf. Kohli stepped back and drew a dagger. “It’s no hard feelings, mate. I need a break, and Sykes can get me another trial. Now, I’m gonna need that original letter too.”
