“Quite an entrance,” Conrad remarked dryly. The hulking, red-haired man ducked into the Tankard and drew up to his full height. The room grew quiet in his intimidating presence, the silence broken only by a few nervous coughs.
Davroar came up to the bar, depositing a tray of drinks on the bar with a frown. “Third door this month,” he rumbled. “One o’ yers?”
“I certainly hope not,” came Conrad’s whispered reply. They watched as the newcomer hauled his human missile up by the scruff of the neck, depositing him on his feet. Towering more than eight feet tall, he had a foot on Davroar, who was the largest man Conrad had ever seen. The man trembled visibly, one side of his face already swollen and purple from his meeting with the door.
“Now get outta here,” the man growled, his teeth bared in a humorless grin, “before I find some other doors need openin’.” His victim darted around him toward the splintered door, but didn’t quite make it before one of the newcomer’s boots caught him in the rear, hurling him out onto the street with a yelp.
Seemingly satisfied, the man turned and approached the bar, wiping one dirty sleeve across his drooling lips. He dropped heavily onto a stool, the seat groaning in protest, and looked to Davroar. The two huge men stared hard, neither of them the least bit intimidated—neither uttering a word as they sized each other up, bulging muscles tensed.
Just when it seemed one of the men might climb over the bar and start a proper brawl, the newcomer spoke. “Name’s Zebra,” he said. “And seein’ as this is the Whisperin’ Tankard, my guess is ya must be Conrad Jamboy. I’m here about the job.” The sound of someone clearing their throat had Zebra swiveling to the left, nearly knocking the tray of drinks from the bar. He scanned the empty air in front of him, a confused look on his face.
“Down here,” Conrad said, shifting nervously. “I am Conrad Jamboy.”
Zebra looked down and his eyes popped wide when he saw the halfling. “
You?” he asked incredulously? Drooling again, he fixed the halfling with a hungry stare. A few uncomfortable moments passed. “Three bites,” Zebra said finally, giving Conrad the unsettling impression he had just been sized up for a meal. “Hardly even a snack.”
“Happy to meet you, Zebra.” Conrad tried hard to keep his cool, but his small body tensed and his right hand inched toward the hilt of his dagger. “And what is it you do?”
The red-haired man shrugged. “Eat, mostly,” he said with a toothy grin. “Mayhem, occasionally. Take orders from a pipsqueak with a butter knife like
that, never, but if the stories ‘bout this job’re true, might be I’ll make an exception.”
“Pipsqueak,” Davroar echoed, shamelessly eavesdropping on the exchange with a chuckle. “I like this guy already, Conrad.”
The halfling grinned slyly. “Me too, as long as he doesn’t eat me. Why don’t you get the man a hot meal, Dav? He looks like he could eat this whole place!”
“Trust me,” Zebra said. “I can.”
Davroar’s amused expression darkened, outsmarted as usual by the clever halfling. For a second, Conrad wondered if he might kick them all out on the street then and there, fed up with their antics. But his outrage at Ajax Whittaker’s slow takeover of the city’s market districts had been genuine, the halfling knew. And indeed, the plan had started to come together over the past few days. Both Haruhiko and Brooke had proven to be excellent tacticians—perhaps more so than Conrad himself. No, the good-natured bartender would let them stay, at least for a while longer. The halfling had pulled a team of thieves out of his ass already. He would be damned if he couldn’t pull off a simple heist as well.
“Outta house and home,” Davroar rumbled, tossing the halfling a last reproachful glare as he shuffled off toward the kitchens. “Eatin’ me outta house ‘n godsdamned home, these ones.”
*****
Seated around a large table in one of the Whispering Tankard’s back rooms, Conrad and his ragtag band of criminals sipped their drinks and stared awkwardly at Zebra. More than twenty minutes had passed, and no fewer than a dozen empty plates were stacked high in front of the red-haired behemoth. If the long wait hadn’t put the group on edge, the slurping, chewing, and periodic, satisfied grunts had certainly done the trick.
As if noticing them for the first time, Zebra looked up at them, once again dragging a sleeve across his stained lips. “What’re ya lookin’ at?” he growled. He dragged one finger across the plate and popping it into his mouth. “I’m
hungry.”
Conrad massaged his temples with his forefingers. “Are you done?”
“For now,” Zebra said. He tossed the last gleaming plate on top of the stack and settled back in his chair with a loud bench.
At the halfling’s side, Brooke grimaced and shook her head. “Back to business. Before our new
friend joined us,” she said, “we were just starting to talk about doing some recon. Is this everyone?” She looked to Conrad.
“One more coming,” Conrad replied, looking to the clock hanging on the wall above the door back into the tavern’s common room. “Right about now, in fact.”
As if on cue—and indeed, Sori D’Mani had never been even a minute late in her short life—, the door popped open. The blue-skinned, bespectacled woman entered the room, smiling nervously. Aside from the unusual shade of her skin and her shock of unruly white hair, Sori was undoubtedly beautiful, with angular features and striking gray eyes. Zebra seemed to notice as much, his jaw hanging slightly open as he took in the newcomer, one hand still absently rubbing his stuffed belly.
“Sori!” Conrad cried dramatically, hopping down from his seat and coming around the table. “We were worried you wouldn’t make it. It’s so unlike you to be late.”
The good-natured ruse failed immediately. “I am never late, Conrad,” Sori said matter-of-factly, without so much as a glance at the clock. “Although the same cannot be said for you. Hello everyone, I am Sori. I will be handling the technical side of things for this little adventure.” Ignoring the halfling’s disappointed huffing, she slid her bag off of one soldier and sat down next to Zebra.
“Well ain’t you a fine meal,” the red-haired man said, wiping away his drool. “I’m Zebra.”
Across the table, Baldur turned to Brooke. “This man speaks only of eating,” the Goron said, scratching his head. “I do not understand.” It was clear Baldur had meant to whisper, but his gravelly voice echoed throughout the room. Then, louder, “Greetings, Sori. I am Baldur, companion of Brooke Stryker.”
“Well met, Baldur and Brooke Stryker,” Sori said. As the Goron had shifted to greet her, the blue-skinned woman caught sight of the fifth member of the group. Haruhiko sat in a dark corner, his chair kicked up on two legs, his back resting against the wall. He surveyed the exchange with a placid expression. “And you are?”
“I am known as Paper-Wing. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sori.” The ninja rocked forward in his chair, coming into the flickering light as the two regarded each other. “We appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
Conrad hopped up on his chair, leaning with both hands on the human-sized table and drawing the attention of the group. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, let’s talk shop,” he said eagerly, tossing a wink at Brooke, who nodded approvingly. The halfling directed the group’s attention to the wall beside Haru. A dozen maps had been pinned there, depicting Ajax Whittaker’s entertainment complex and the surrounding district. No fewer than a hundred lengths of string had been pinned there as well, connecting possible avenues of approach and escape.
“For those of you who aren’t up to speed yet, our target is this man,” Conrad continued, poking a furry-knuckled finger at a picture of the old merchant. “Ajax Whittaker. Wealthy merchant, new to Karim but rising quickly. Well-liked by the city guard and the people of the city. Behind the scenes, he’s buying up every business in the districts like mad, and racketeering the ones who won’t give in—people like myself and good Davroar, the proprietor of this very inn. Recently, I got word that he owns an entertainment complex nearby. Racing, fighting, gambling. You get the picture. Well, I
also got word that there’s a vault in that complex, packed to the brim with wealth beyond imagination. Our job is to steal it.”
“But first,” Brooke put in, drawing the group’s attention away from Conrad, “we need to go to the complex and do some recon—see what we’re up against. There’s a huge boxing match tomorrow night that offers a good excuse to get in and take a look around.”
“And an afterparty.” Conrad gestured to a portion of the complex map marked
Fifth Floor. “Up there, on the fifth floor. That’s where the vault is said to be. Ajax knows my face. I can’t be seen anywhere near the place, so I’ll stay behind with Sori and coordinate the comms.”
“Meanwhile,” Paper-Wing said, “it will be my responsibility to slip past security and try to get video footage of the vault. With your assistance, of course.” He dipped his chin, nodding at Sori.
Sori’s skin flushed a darker blue when she locked eyes with the ninja. “Of course. I will acquire stealth cameras and communication devices for each of you, along with a few gadgets of my own invention.”
“As for me,” Brooke said, “I’ll work the party and see what I can dig up on our friend Ajax. Baldur here, well, he has a job interview.” When the entire group, save for Conrad, stared at the blonde-haired woman blankly, she clarified with a grin. “For the complex’s security team, that is.”
Nodding at each member of the group in turn, Conrad found himself smiling. The first phase of the plan had come together well, with the halfling, Brooke, and Paper-Wing pulling several long nights of planning and discussion. With the addition of Sori and the possibility of Baldur becoming their man on the inside, the halfling realized that, for the first time, it actually seemed… possible. Perhaps even likely. Finally, his gaze settled on the unpredictable Zebra. “That just leaves one member of our group,” he said.
Zebra matched his stare, seeming almost embarrassed that he seemed to have no role to play in the mission. But a party was a party, and parties always meant at least one thing. “I’ll check out the buffet,” the red-haired man said with a grin.
The halfling sighed and rubbed his temples again.
Post 5/8; 1,807 words.
Personal Quest Progress: 5,731/10,000 (+1,007)
Strikes: 2