Vigor Mortis

Chapter 32: Mother of Thieves

You’d think that having Templars swarming all over the city would be a bad night for thieves. You’d be wrong.

Oh, it’s bad for stealing from most places. Me, though? It’s perfect for me. I just wish Vita had been able to stay home and guard the kiddos for Hiverock night. I’ll just have to trust in Rowan’s illusions and abandon the job if things get hot.

Oh, Vita. I hope she’s not in over her head. She’s been growing so fast I hardly even noticed. I wish she’d been around more… no. I wish I’d been around more. I could be doing so much more for these kids. Imagine if I could keep the damn profits from what I steal! Damn the Drakens.

I’m getting the last of my gear in place when Rowan hops down the ladder.

“You sure about this, Lyn?” he asks.

“‘Course I am!” I answer, speeding over to peck him on the cheek. I let him grab me out of the dash, enjoying the feeling of his arm around my waist.

“Don’t be?” he asks, not letting go. “Don’t steal from the Templars, Lyn. You know I’m negotiating a deal with them. This could—”

“Fuck the Templars, Rowan,” I growl back. “They’re not going to help you break our leashes, they just want to hold them. This is a job I’d want to do even if I didn’t have to.”

Rowan scowls, though if he’s trying not to look cute he is failing. I kiss him on the nose, wrapping my arms around him.

“It’s okay!” I assure him. “They won’t even see me. All the big hitters are going to be outside for Hiverock night. It’s just me and a line of small fry from here to the treasure. It’ll be a clean sweep, Rowan.”

“When has it ever been a clean sweep?” Rowan asks. “Even if you somehow don’t get spotted, they’re going to know it’s you.”

“How the heck would they know that?” I protest.

“Lyn, you’re the only person in the city crazy enough to try and steal from the inner temple.”

“Correction! I’m the only person beautiful and skilled enough to try and steal from the inner temple.”

“How does your beauty matter if you’re not going to get spotted?” Rowan deadpans.

“Details!” I dismiss, letting go of him. “The island’s coming soon, so the prettiest of all thieves must be on her way.”

He snorts and shakes his head, unable to hide a smile.

“Stay safe, mother of thieves,” he taunts.

“Right back at you, illusion daddy,” I retort.

“Nah, you heard Vita. You’re the mom, but I’m explicitly not the dad.”

I snort.

“Yeah hon, maybe don’t think too hard as to why she’s so adamant about that. Toodles.”

I shoot up the ladder, leaving him to wonder as to why he’s not fatherly enough. What a cute idiot. Sharp as a dagger, but still an idiot. Damn, I love him.

“Lyn!” the kids cheer as I head up the ladder. I laugh, hugging each and every one of them.

“You be good, Ronnie! Stay inside! Basra, don’t be trying to pull Katie’s hair anymore, understand? Katie, apologize to Basra for hitting her. Norman, honey, don’t put bugs in your mouth, okay? You could get a parasite.”

Ronnie. Basra. Katie. Norman. Rafael. Jari. Dudel. Sonja. Angelien. Jarod. Larkin. Sylvi. Vita. For any of those names, I would jump off the island without hesitation. My life, my hope, my joy. No matter when they came to us, they became one of us. Our family.

One day, the people holding them down will get what’s coming to them. Today, however, I’ll stay the good little thief, getting them what they want.

With my hugs given, I’m out the door in a flash. Normally, I’d take the rooftops to my destination, but on Hiverock night all eyes are on the skies. So I go low, flashing through alleyways and first-story windows, hugging the ground until I find a good place to pass into the sewers. As unfun as it is to muck through liquid piss and shit, I’m used to it. I don’t do this job to stay clean, and sewers get results. Easiest way to the inner city by far.

Shooting up out of the muck, I climb up into a little hidden alcove next to my target. It’s nice and discrete, since none of the rich folk like seeing sewage workers walking around covered in shit. In a flash I’m over the wall, running through alleyways rich enough that the trash is probably worth stealing in my district. This city is a fucking mess. I still don’t know if I’m making it better or worse. One way or another, though, I’m going to make it better for me and mine.

The inner city temple is a disturbing place. Twisting marble columns, engraved with tendrils reaching up to hold an ever-open eye at the top. As one walks to the front entrance, the stone eyes always seem to be staring right at you, no matter where you actually happen to be. I’m not going to the front entrance, of course. Zipping past a couple guards in the courtyard, I make my way to a much smaller entrance in the back. The lock’s not hard to get open, and I don’t sense any telltale tingles of magic that might alert someone I’ve gone in. That’s probably reserved for the lower areas.

The inside of the building is more than a bit confusing, the hallways twisting almost like those freakish column carvings. I only spot one Templar as I explore around, though; just as I thought, almost all of them are on the streets tonight. It takes a while to get a mental map of the place, but before long I find a door to what should be a stairwell down, with two Templars flanking either side of it. This looks promising!

Looks like I’m not going to get through the job unseen, though. Ah, well. I double-check to make sure none of my bangs are peeking out from under my bandana— that’s always a pain in the ass when a fight breaks out— and then I blitz out from behind a corner.

“Halt!” the Templar calls, raising his sword. “You can’t—”

I can and I will. Time slows down for me and only me as my perceptions kick into overdrive. I feel a grin creep up my cheeks as I let my talent flow through me. Ah, they both move so slow! They’re barely even pointing those swords in the right direction! Hardly their fault, of course, since it was the right direction a blink ago. I draw only one dagger, leaving my other hand free to grab and twist the sword arm of one of the two mooks. I keep the world flowing at a leisurely pace as I carefully bring my dagger right up through the armpit gap in the armor, resting the blade exactly where it needs to go before letting my perceptions return to normal.

“Hey,” I say casually. “Sword down, helmet off, shut up. Nobody needs to get cut today, yeah?”

To my pleasant surprise, the other Templar complies! Damn, that puts me in an even better mood. Fuck the Church and all, but I don’t want to leave a body count. I guess these guys know what a subclavian artery is. Street thugs, on the other hand, tend to be dumb and try to take me by surprise. It doesn’t work out for them.

I lift the visor of the guy I have a knife on, spritzing the inside of his nose with a dose of this wonderful stuff that knocks him out cold. I don’t like the Drakens, but they do give me fun toys. I don’t know what this crap is, but it makes short work of the other guy as well, and I leave the two to enjoy snooze town. They’ll be fine in a few hours, if probably a bit stiff.

Down, down, down the stairs I go. Someone is eventually going to come across sleepy dee and sleepy dum, and I’d like to not waste any of that dwindling time. Down at the bottom, a hallway lined with locked doors opens before me. I don’t have the time or the inclination to check them all, so I start with the big fancy door at the end of the hall.

I mean, it’s where I’d put a five-pound iron ingot.

I zip on over, unlocking that door as well. I’d be surprised if there’s no wards near this one, but it’s not a deal breaker if I trip them this late into the game. I push the door open, casting my eyes into the room. It looks like an altar of some sort, the room being wide and open. There are some very fancy boxes on pedestals around the room, giving me every reason to believe there’s metal inside them. Another person stands at the far end of the chamber, dressed in white armor with red trim. A High Templar. Damn. I didn’t think they’d keep any underground while Hiverock needs them overhead. Are the Templars not as scared of the bugmen as they used to be?

The armored figure turns to face me, and my danger sense screams bloody murder. Ah, well. At least it’ll be the fun kind of heist.

“Well, well,” the person behind the helmet says, an amused older woman’s voice. “If it isn’t Lyn the Metal Thief.”

“That’s what they call me!” I cheerfully agree, strolling into the room. “Say, speaking of, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can find an iron ingot, would you? I heard you folks picked one up recently.”

“I know,” the High Templar answers.

Aw, shit. It’s a setup.

“Okay, but, is it here though?” I press, smiling. “Cuz, you know, if I’m in your hair I can just take it and—”

My hair stands on end as the air around me charges with mana. Not on my position, but around it. Trying to capture me? Oh, I’m going to make this bitch regret not going all out.

Rowan insists that my talent can’t actually manipulate time. It just speeds up my perception of time, letting me stretch bare instants into eternities. I don’t move any faster than normal when it’s active, either; I’m pretty damn fast, sure, but that’s totally separate. My body is slowed down just like the rest of me. It can get to speeds where I’m stuck for what feels like hours waiting for my eyeballs to rotate. There doesn’t seem to be an upper limit of how long I can use it, either. But that’s about it. It doesn’t make me stronger, it doesn’t make me tougher, it doesn’t let me shoot lightning or bend the world to my whim. And. I. Love it! It is the best fucking talent a girl could ask for. Yes, that sentence goes both ways.

Before she can even think about completing her spell, I’m moving. This lady feels like she can melt half the island, but unless she wants to melt her room full of priceless artifacts she’s not going to hit me. Seems like a dumb place to stage a fight on her part, but hey, I’ll take it. I’m out of her trap and moving towards her in an instant.

“The ingot is actually here, right?” I press, dodging half a dozen cages of fire as I blitz around the room. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s in the building at least.”

“What makes you say so?” the mage asks wryly, lifting a wall of fire around the box I was about to check. Rude.

“It’s not the kind of bait you can forge,” I answer. “Er. Well, I mean you can forge it, because it’s an ingot and that’s what they’re for, but like, you can’t… eh, fuck, you know what I mean.”

Gathering my other talent in my arm— because I’m the fucking best— I zip my hand into and out of the wall of flames, retrieving the box in question faster than a blink. I love that talent too. It makes this awesome “pow!” sound whenever I move that fast.

The mage seems startled that I’d just reach into the flames. She probably thinks I’m nuts, and she’s right, but that’s not why I did it. Time perception, remember? I can tell if her fire is going to burn my hand on the way in and abort (or go faster) if I think it is. Two good talents that taste good together. Mmm-mmm!

Dodging another flame-cage, I peek into the box, seeing something shiny. Good enough. It’s not heavy enough to be the ingot, but I can tell this mage is sandbagging and I just want to grab something and go before I get flambéed. Why they sent a fucking thermomancer to try and capture me, I have no idea. Why not a kineticist? Damn psychic assholes are way more of a pain in my ass than a fire-slinger ever could be.

Whatever, I’ve been told more than once that it’s not my job to question shit. I’m happy to maliciously comply with that. I pump power to my legs and burst towards the exit, cradling my stolen box. More spikes of mana around the area burst into flames, but at this point they’re so easy to dodge I’m convinced she’s not trying to stop me from leaving.

Which actually kind of pisses me off.

At the last second I hop onto the wall next to the doorway instead of heading out the door, shooting right back towards Mrs. Flamehands. I want the box she’s guarding, too, just to stick it to the damn Templar who thinks she’s better than me.

All around me, I feel it. The movement of energy, the zones of power where heat will soon bloom into flames. Magic is so goddamn fancy. I never could figure out how it works, even though Rowan insists my talents are “perfect” for it. I don’t like it, though. Never have. So I made sure I’m good against it. Whoever this lady is, she’s got raw power in spades. No matter how good her scissors can cut, though, I’m the fastest fucking rock alive. After my talents awoke, I’ve never once lost at rock paper scissors.

‘Cuz I cheat.

I toss the box with the metal artifact at her face, right through the path where she’s trying to blast me with a spell. While she wastes time canceling her big fancy magic, I grab the box behind her— and hell yes, this feels like five pounds— then book it double-time back out of the room. Peeking into the lid of the box on my way, and… oh yeah, baby. That’s iron.

I toss some more random crap the Drakens gave me, little balls that explode into puffs of smoke. Probably not worth a whole lot against a High Templar, but I lose nothing by burning them here. Then I’m up the stairs and out my escape route, vaulting over anyone dumb enough to get in my way. Should have brought another speedster to tangle with Lyn, ya tentacle-worshipping fucks.

I can’t help it. I let out a whooping cheer as I vault back over the outer walls that surround the inner city temple. Half a dozen people immediately look over to me, but who cares? I’m Lyn the motherfucking metal thief, and I feel alive. Pretty soon I’m back in the sewers, home free.

Ah, this is the life! My heart is still pounding. I would have been scorched something fierce if I had made even one wrong move. Yet I don’t make wrong moves. While everyone else is making snappy impulse decisions, I can take all the time I want getting myself exactly where I want to be. Nothing gives me a rush quite like dodging with a millimeter to spare… the look on people’s faces is priceless! If only Templars didn’t wear helmets. Just another reason they suck.

Important thing is that I got the goods, though. I drop it off at the usual spot and head above ground to find somewhere I can wash off. A bunch of hunters give me odd looks as I walk past them, covered waist-down in shit, to use the water pump. I grin and wave.

“Thanks for protecting the city,” I tell them earnestly. “Anything happen yet?”

“A little, but not much, ma’am. Um, were you cleaning the sewers on Hiverock night?”

“What, you think they don’t clog just cuz we’re under attack?”

That earns me a few chuckles, but the more savvy ones of the group take one look at my armor and knives, drawing a likely much more accurate conclusion. They don’t press it, though, looking back to the skies once more.

Five pounds of metal and no big attack? Damn, this was a good Hiverock night. I take my time getting clean, enjoying the afterglow of a successful run and trying not to think too much about what the stuff I’m stealing is used for.

As much as I hate the Templars, I really hope they booby trapped that ingot.