Chapter 7: Chimneys and Half Gainers
The two men exited the open dome of the observatory onto a rickety catwalk that encircled it. From there they crossed a dubious bridge, that creaked and snapped beneath their feet, back to what appeared to be the roof of the main hall. Barely reaching above the fog line, the flat roof was a pool of mist that swirled above their knees bounded by a low stone wall that marked the edge of the roof. A vast distance of fog stretched like an unbroken snow field beyond the limits of their sight in the gloom.
“The river is near is it not?” suggested the smaller man. ”We could risk the jump.”
“Brave, but foolhardy,” the large man shook his head as he finished chewing a hunk of cheese. Brushing his hands he continued, “From this height we need to get out toward the middle where it is deepest. If we don’t get far enough out we are sure to hit a pier or shallows that might break our legs, or worse…. I could throw you, but then who would throw me?”
“Well it will be no easy climb down. Perhaps we can find a drainpipe or something to crawl down on the other side,” the small man offered as they began to cross the roof.
“That’s about as far as I’m going to let you go,” drawled a shadow from the darkness between the numerous chimneys that crowded the roof of the manor.“You’ve had a good run, made it farther than any have before. But I’m afraid you’ve come to the end of the line. There’s nowhere left to run, you might as well give up.”
Coming into view, the figure leaned casually against a chimney. He was dressed in a rich dark brown leather doublet, velvet leggings and cuffed calf-high boots. A dark cloak was thrown back over his shoulders and long scarves draped out from beneath the livery collar he wore across his broad chest. Both the collar and the shoulders of his doublet bore the crest of the Guild, a white skull on a black circle with the eyes and nose stylized as three black diamonds. Dark hard eyes peered out from under heavy brows and hawkish features. His hair was jet black, neatly combed and cut bluntly at his jaw line. Around his neatly trimmed goatee, a dark stubble covered his thick jaw and neck. From a sturdy belt at his hip swung a cleaver-like cutlass. It hinted at a thuggish brutal nature that lay beneath the practiced nonchalance he projected.
“Good sir,” said the larger man drawing his blade and pointing with it, “I sense by the disk-y chain thing with all the skulls around your neck that you are someone of importance, and normally I would be more than willing to match steel with you. But…” he gestured apologetically, “we are in a bit of a hurry.”
“Yes, my fine felonious fellow,” quipped the smaller man as he snatched both his blades from his belt. “The both of us fighting you will not be a fair fight, but it will be a quick one.”
Picking at his nails, the man chuckled, “Who said anything about fair?”
He then snapped his fingers and what had to be the entire Guild of Thieves poured onto the roof from behind chimneys, climbing through hidden hatches and up from over the sides of the roof where they must have been hanging concealed by the fog. They had been a pretty rough-looking group of men and women to begin with, but after the misadventure of the past hour they were in rare form. Most were wounded in some way. Broken noses, black eyes and split lips abounded. Many had been singed, a few still smoldered. Weapons were bent, clothes were ripped and armor was missing. Hastily-applied bandages stood out white against the mottled brown of their disheveled gear.
“I am Vakkor, and this is my house,” said the man gesturing widely as he and the broad ring of thieves faced the two men. “You two have been very rude guests. Coming in here, breaking my things, disturbing my rest…” he looked slowly toward the still smoking observatory tower, “…damaging my magician.” Scoffing, he caught sight of a green three-eyed goat that stood snarling at the edge of the circle. “Poor brother Popoff there may never be the same. I imagine lots of things will never be the same.” He said this through gritted teeth as he eyed the circle that surrounded him. All eyes flicked to Vakkor and back. Those in the crowd for whom the message had been intended paled but stayed focused on the duo. “But never let it be said we of the Great Guild of Thieves are not gracious hosts. We must insist that you stay with us a while longer,” he scoffed, stroking his goatee. “Yes, you have yet to enjoy the hospitality of our dungeons. Allow us to escort you to them.”
The two interlopers edged back as one, while the semi-circle of thieves flowed slowly past their leader, tightening around the duo with weapons drawn.
“Well, I believe their hospitality will leave something greatly to be desired,” said the little man. “Any ideas?”
“Not any good ones. I guess I’ll take the fifty or so on the left. You can have the fifty to the right,” the larger man said grimly. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything in that belt of yours for the other fifty would you?”
“Ah sadly, I appear to have left my army in my other…” there was a soft …ka-chickty-CLICK… and the floor dipped ever so slightly beneath the two men.
The trap had originally been intended to foil intruders from gaining access via the roof. The trap maker, who had been a master cat burglar, had designed most of the manor’s facade filling it with dead end routes, breakaway handholds and loosely attached pipes and ladders. Out of respect for the skill it would have taken to reach the summit of the impossible mountain he had created, he decided that this trap would offer more humiliation than peril. He had laughed quietly to himself throughout its construction imagining the face of the poor fool who, having made one of the most daring and dangerous climbs of his life, was then sent tumbling heels over teakettle into the river beyond.
Every thief on the roof recognized the sound of that particular trap being triggered. Time seemed to slow as several things happened at once. The surrounding thieves lunged in a desperate dive to seize the duo as Vakkor’s eyes bulged in frustration and despair. Seeing their dismay, the two men realized in that instant that the gods of fortune must have smiled upon them and braced themselves for whatever was to come next. Broad grins spread across their faces as the air snapped with an ear-ringing metallic…
“SPROINGGGG!!!”
The only trap that had managed to catch the two men then launched them arching out over the fog. As the morning’s first rays began to show above the far distant mountains, the two men sailed to freedom. With two small puffs the men disappeared into the sea of fog beyond, the little man giving a jaunty salute as they did. There then was a brief moment of silence followed by two muffled splashes. Vakkor dashed to the roof edge and stood simmering with rage, his practiced cool demeanor melting away with the rising sun.
“We thank you, oh generous one, for making good our escape!” came the voice of one of the men muffled by the fog and distance.
“Yes, indeed, we never would have been able to make such a magnificent jump on our own!” came the voice of the other as did the faint sounds of splashing.
“We shall speak most highly of your hospitality!” came the last retort as all sounds of the men’s paddling faded into the mist.
In frightened unison, the thieves backed away from where Vakkor stood, eye twitching.
© Tucker Johnson 2020