Beggars and Thievess
 by Thomas Pluckk
Chapter One: Dreamslayerss
Part one.

 I do not have fond memories of Novamor, City of Splendors. l
The "Jewel of the West" left me cold. One of the few things I 
remember was waking fuzzy-headed in an alley with a pool of my 
own sickness before me. I must have fell in my drunkenness, and y
the good-sized lump on my head was testimon to that theory. The 
pain clouded my vision as I uttered a feeble cry. Obviously the 
wound did not wish to be touched. 
 I managed to balance myself on unwilling legs, stumbling 
around like a newborn faun. My riding boots slapped the pavement 
with sharp notes that betrayed my presence. I grew tired of 
standing in the dark, mold-encrusted squalor of the alley so I 
tramped off toward the vile inn I had been staying at, whose 
location had been knocked from my head by the same fall that 
bruised it. That night I had one small fortune; I remembered the 
name of the filthy place, so I could ask to be directed there. 
 The streets were as eerie as the darkest of forests, for the 
dim lanterns that hung from the posts at every corner hampered my -
night vision. You could tell this was a human city, for the 
lamps didn't have red glass, which would take the bite out of the 
glare. They meant well, but every alley was brambles and gorse, 
filled with fiendish predators a-hiding, and every window a nest 
with owls and bats a-peering down at you. The city guardsmen 
were stout as trees, and half as tall, if only they were as 
plentiful! As luck would have it, a pair spotted me stumbling 
down the sidewalk between the dull brownstone storefronts and the 
city's fragrant gutter. 
 Nonchalantly they walked over in their military gait and 
rescued me from tumbling into the effluvious sewage that graced 
the granite-brick streets. 
 "That was a close one sir," he said, and voiced a hearty 
chuckle. After his well-calloused hands released my chest and 
hip from their tight grasp, he muttered, "Oh, sorry ... miss." 
 Men have always had this problem with furkind, especially 
vulpines. We're rarely voluptuous or muscular, so you usually 
find them looking at your breasts. And if they're small, like .
mine, humans often guess wrong I didn't get offended. I was used 
to it. My manner of dress was not what men expected in a female. 
A furkind wouldn't look twice at me, but these humans get a 
little uptight over women sporting swords. Especially in the 
West. 
 "Looks like you could make good use of a guide, miss. Where 
you staying?" He kept a much-welcomed steadying hand on my 
shoulder. I paused before answering, for some reason I found his 
worn, studded leather breastplate fascinating. The worn spots 
and ragged slits formed interesting patterns. He shook me out of 
it. At the time I didn't think it was too rough. 
 I waited a moment to get my bearings, so I could stand 
straight instead of teetering like a walking-stick balanced on 
someone's palm. I studied his fair face and stocky build before 
telling him quite groggily that I was roomed at the Inn of the 
Black Wolf. After he told his partner to keep wary, he led me to 
the weatherbeaten, old, sagging wooden building. On the way I 
recounted to him my misadventures. 
 He answered my achy-headed whining in a patronizing tone, 
saying that I would be fine in the morning, and something about 
moderation. He grinned afterwards. 
 I think I told him to piss off. I don't remember. A dark 
cloud enveloped my head as soon as we reached the inn. The next 
think I recall was sinking into the sour-smelling mattress, which 
was also the lumpiest one I've ever had the pleasure of falling 
face-first into. I wondered how many an ale-breathed traveller 
collapsed on this creaky thing that only barely earned the title 
of bed. At least I had checked it earlier, and found no vermin 
infesting it. 
 The open shutters breathed a warm breeze into the room, and 
the starlight left a pale glow for my night eyes to work with. 
Beads of sweat began to mat my fur underneath my shirt. 
 I sat up; the rest of the room began to move of its own 
accord, thanks to the now throbbing bump on my head. Right 
behind my ear, at least it was hidden, but damn did it hurt! 
 As my thumbs worked open the shirt's buttons, I stared at my 
boots, all scuffed and worn. No money for polish today. So many 
buttons! Old, tarnished brass. Same with the clasp of my cape. 
The deep green fabric had gone to drab, the corners torn in too 
many slammed inn doors. Unclasped, it slid down my back into a 
pile on my tail. I untied my pants at the knees, the black 
wrinkled strips hanging like a Steppehunter's locks. 
 I brought up a foot and tugged its boot, noting the worn 
sole and the heel scraped down like a block of wax on a grinding 
wheel. The stone streets of this city were much harsher than the 
dirt roads of the townes I was used to. The boot slipped off 
slowly with much effort. I tossed it on the floor and rubbed my 
tender foot through the large hole in my sock. The other boot 
came off easier, but that foot had the beginning of a small 
blister. No money for boot-grease either. 
 I took my rapier out of its carrier, and it slid out of the 
six black straps quick as ever. The sword-point had been buried 
in a bed-bump. The swept hilt was well nicked, and my sword hand 
blessed its efficacy; the ricasso was beginning to pit with 
specks of rust, but the edge! Every other night or so, I put the 
two handspans of edge to the stone, with oil if I had it. 
 I stood and leaned old Neck-biter against the tall, crude 
stool that served as a night-stand. I unbuckled my rapier- 
carrier next, with the sheathed main gauche, and hung it on the 
stool. 
 On my back, tail between my legs, I loosened my bodice and 
took a deep breath, watching my toes as I wriggled them through 
the holes in my socks. The vision turned fuzzy and I choked as 
the bump on my skull brushed against the mattress. 
 "Damn!" I exclaimed to the hopefully empty night. Even the 
most dangerous of taverns had closed by now and the thieves would .
come out to play I thought it best to close the shutters and lock 
them with the bar. 
 My sore feet made me walk on tiptoe. Once I was done, lying 
on the bed (which was little better than the stone streets) was 
enough to send me to the other side. 
 The dream was as familiar as the position I slept in, and 
came to me at least once a moonspan. In my nightmares, I am as 
vulnerable and innocent as a child. It is blacker than night, 
the darkness pushes me down into a crouch, hiding. There is 
something out there...I feel the soft wind of its passing, the 
tangle low in my gut when it is near. There is a stale, dead 
smell like a dusty, motheaten coat, mingled with the acrid stench 
of burnt fur. It must be blind, not to have seen me, like some 
scabrous earthworm burrowing through the dark with its maw 
gaping. .
 The fear runs through me from my eyes down to my feet with a 
chill shiver. My forehead is on fire, and the sweat mats my fur 
as I try to keep my panting quiet. My entire body begins to burn 
like I'm waiting for a tryst with a forbidden lover. It's near 
again...it tugs at my insides. .
 I sat in that uncomfortable crouch in the mire of my fear. 
I could not move. It always happened this way. The vile, primal 
thing was out there, perhaps not even stalking me, but it was 
there. I was a child again, a foolish vulnerable child. .
 I awoke with the gasp of terror that never lost its sharp 
edge. I laid helpless in my near exhaustion. My days as a child 
were over...I would never be duped again. Now I was the rogue, 
the swindler, and not the victim. But in my dreams I was still 
the young fool, blundering from one misadventure to the next. 
Never again. .
 As I woke, one thing that bothered me was that I heard a 
softly muttered, "Shit." For a second, I sat there pondering the 
word. I would never utter so banal an expletive, prefering more 
colorful phrases. In the dull ache of the hangover, I did not 
react until the sap was nearly on my skull. .
 I rolled off the bed, instincts firing off at the last 
second. "You filthy bastard!" The sap thunked a lump in the bed 
where my head had just rested. The shutters were open, and the 
moonslight cut a dim swath through the darkness. As soon as I 
landed on my feet, I swung a crescent kick at the figure draped 
in shadow. I smacked its shoulder, and the shape pivoted with the 
blow. .
 He was bigger than me; I caught a glimpse of his fat greasy 
face in the dimness. I changed my tactics and dove shoulder-first 
into his waist, yelping with the effort. He gave a little and 
grunted as I rebounded off his muscles. The sap clunked on the 
hardwood floor as I stumbled back and regained my footing. .
 I felt no pain as rage flooded my senses, crawling from its 
primal cave behind my eyes and enveloping me in its blood-red 
serpentine embrace. The thief before me was no longer human, 
furkind, or drakken. It was my demon, the object of my hate, a 
thing for which I felt no compassion. It rushed me, and I clawed 
its greasy round face with my black nails as it tried to grapple. .
 He screamed, undeniably human, reminding me that this was a 
person I was hurting. I hesitated for a moment when I should 
have finished him with a knee to the groin or kidney, and he 
lunged for my throat, thumbs digging deep into the hollows above 
my clavicles. .
 "You bitch!" his growl was frantic with pain. I choked as .
pain arced between my shoulders, his hands grinding the bones 
together. He lurched forward and I felt the bed at the back of 
my knees, he was knocking me down, quicker than I thought... .
 I brought my knees up, planting my feet in his chest, 
pushing with everything I had. I wanted his meaty hands off me, 
his acidic-smelling breath out of my nostrils. I groaned with 
the effort and he coughed as his hands slipped from me, and he 
nearly tumbled backward to the floor. .
 I leapt for the nighttable, knocking over my rapier but 
snatching my knife madly. I whirled around on the bed with the 
main-gauche gleaming in the light beam that cut across the room .
The burglar yanked the door, and luckily it stuck for him, too. 
He was pretty good-- I was just getting off the bed, rushing him, 
and he had already gotten halfway through the door. .
 Instead of doing the reasonable thing, and sticking with 
with two handspans of steel, I shouldered into the door just as 
he was getting through. I grunted at the impact, and he screamed 
a sharp yelp as he was pinned. I bounced back off the stout door, 
and he slipped through as good as any snake would. .
 I paused a moment to catch my breath, reluctantly inhaling 
the stale air of the room and the burglar's acrid stench. 
Clecnhing the knife, its handle worn to my grip, I pulled the 
door open and gave chase, cursing the City of Novamor under my 
breath. .
 He dashed down the hallway loudly as I padded quickly behind 
him, my sore feet screaming at me up through my legs. There was 
just enough light for me from the stairway leading to the inn 
below for me to see his limping form ahead. He took off down the 
stairwell, looking back long enough for me to see his eyes gleam 
back. .
 When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I shouted, 
"Burglar! Stop him!" knowing what little good it would do. even 
my barefoot steps creaked the old stairs loudly, and I came into 
the dimly lit tavern room looking like a half-dressed madwoman. .
 He weaved between tables, and the remaining patrons turned 
to watch him run. I growled, "Svorren!" but there were no fellow 
vulpines here who would understand my accusation. .
 The vision of scattered round tables and ale-breatehd sots 
sitting hunched over them flashed by my mind as I leapt after 
him. He was nearly at the door when he tripped over an extended 
leg, with a dirt-smeared black boot on it. .
 His face thudded pleasantly off of the thick oak door, and I 
tackled him, with both hands pressing hard down on his shoulders. 
It was a move learned in childhood, in dominance-play, but it 
worked, forcing him to the floor. .
 Shouts began to echo in my mind as his elbow cracked me 
across the muzzle, and warm blood nearly squirted out of my 
nostrils. I fell back in surprise before anger swallowed me 
fully. The tripper, whose face was beyond my vision, backhanded 
the brute in the ribs with a hollow thump. The burglar coughed 
and clutched his gut, trying to stand. .
 I drove my palm deep into his face, feeling hot blood burst 
against my skin. I knew I had lost control-- I was a mere 
observer of the cursing vulpine who repeatedly pummelled the 
thief into a sputtering flailing idiot. Two soft hands pulled me 
away as the rage slowly drained away from my head down into my 
gut, burning. .
 The burglar actually cowered by the door, blubbering. I 
would brag to the patrons later, but I was in awe, that moment. 
I looked down at my fists, the black fur sticky with blood. A 
few of the patrons had gathered around the spectacle, those that 
could still stand. .
 "You black-hearted bastard!" I scolded him, picking up the 
main-gauche, which I must have dropped before I started beating 
him. "I should cut your throat and save many a traveller your 
treachery!" I helped him up and fanned him...he hadn't a purse or 
a coin on him that I could tell. He quickly opened the door, my 
foot helping out with a kick in the ass. He stumbled out into the 
night coughing and choking. .
 "What you doin' getting my Inn all bloodied up?!" It was 
Cedric's snarly voice, the black wolf who owned the place and 
gave it its name. He acted like a real bastard, but he was nice 
to me. We went far back. I tried to voice a suitably foulmouthed 
reply, but when I turned, I choked on the thick blood that was 
dripping down my throat. I spat it up in a coughing fit. 
 A steadying hand appeared on my shoulder as I nearly 
stumbled. It was Cedric's blackfurred paw, now speckled grey 
with the guard hairs of age. He was getting on in years. From 
my other side, a pale hand offered a large white handkerchief, 
and its owner muttered, "Here." 
 I took it, pressed it to my nose and squeezed the end of my 
snout before looking at the hand I took it from. The almost 
gruff-voiced man looked like a downright mucksnipe, in worse 
shape than I was. 
 He was rather pale-skinned, a Northerner with a sharp nose 
and dead-black curly locks. A few ringlets were pulled down in a 
widow's peak over his brow. Soft brown eyes peered at me from 
deep sockets, with noticeable brown bags beneath them. 
 He had this continual smirk on his face, which he rarely let 
go. It gave him a sort of defiant look-- he probably meant it to 
seem like something else, but I can never tell what humans are 
thinking from their faces, except when it's obvious. 
 "Thanks," I growled muffledly, before turning to Cedric. 
"Well, you stinking sack of shit, if your shutters weren't so 
bloody flimsy, that louse wouldn't've crept in here!" Warm blood 
flowed into the kerchief as I spoke. 
 Cedric wasn't offended. He wouldn't have expected less from 
me. "Why you ungrateful," he paused, searching for a new insult, 
I supposed. His hands began to gesture pompously. "You're no 
more than a sword-swinging dollymop, a strumpet dressed up in 
capes and corsets. Look at you, you ridiculous vixen!" He raised 
his hands over his head and winked at me, still ranting. "By the 
three faces of Morrigan I don't know why I let you in here, even 
when you can pay, which you can't, from what Terry the guard 
chuckled as he dragged your sorry bit of tail in here." 
 The small crowd began to chuckle, knowing Cedric and his 
tendency to ramble. 
 "Siddown," he growled, pulling a squat stool to an empty 
table. I let the dagger clatter on the table's worn, ale-stained 
surface before taking the wobbly seat. The place was dim, to 
hide the unwashed floors... a few lanterns hung in sconces on the 
walls, giving little light. Cedric returned, his black muzzle 
parted and his blue eyes lit up. I guess he was enjoying my 
misery. He placed a glass of hard liquor in front of me. 
 "On me. You make this place lively, Rox." 
 I looked up at him with my best pitiful glance, and thanked 
him for the drink. The man who gave me the kerchief sat down 
across from me, putting his leather jack of ale down hard on the 
table. He was smiling, a little drunk, and the other humans in 
the tavern grinned at him. He returned to his quirky little 
smirk before making idiotic small talk. 
 "So, Rox, you handled yourself pretty well." He had a 
smoother voice now. "Gave that gonoph quite a licking." He knew 
the cant-- he was more than a rake, he was a thief. Gonoph... he 
almost coughed the word lightly. He knew Cedric's place wasn't a 
flash-house-- the old wolf wouldn't tolerate thieves and rogues 
who weren't quiet about their shady business. He uttered gonoph 
contemptuously, as if he held his own skill to be of high rank. 
 "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" I assumed a cheery voice, a little 
muffled by the hanky. It was all puckering, making bystanders 
think you're chattering small-talk nonsense while you're really 
talking the cant. 
 "Watch her Japhet, she's a saucy one," a wolverine whose 
name escaped me slurred, before sucking down the rest of his ale 
and gesturing for another. I didn't have much of a reputation as 
a thief, thankfully... i was a fine wirer, picking pockets with 
confidence. I had already cased this Japhet... he kept a small 
purse tied to his breeches, looking nearly empty. He had a long 
dagger tucked in one boot and a broad bladed knife hanging in a 
rig under his vest... or something else was making that bulge. 
Not a worthy target, but a target nonetheless. 
 I removed the kerchief from my muzzle... I felt a glob of 
bloody mucus at the back of my throat which clotted up the 
bleeding. A small flower of blood was patterned in the off-white 
fabric, looking like a rose ready to drop its petals. 
 "Keep it." he smirked, and took a gulp of ale. The place had 
its usual raunchy smell of ale, musk and sweat. I took a sip of 
the smoky-smelling liquor and it trailed a pleasing fire over my 
tongue and down my throat, slowly settling as an enjoyable warmth 
in my belly. 
 "Thank you," I muttered, buttoning my shirt. 
 He smiled, and sipped his ale. Nearly coughing, as if he 
swallowed the wrong way, he asked, "Voker romeny?" He was good at 
cant. I nodded as I leaned over to pat him on the back. Eyes had 
wandered off us for now, as patrons stared into their ale-mugs. 
 I hadn't slept very long, but some of my weariness had crept 
from me. "Don't wander off now, friend," I muttered. "Just going 
to clean myself up." I stood, my ass relieved to be off the harsh 
stool, and headed up the stairs, my tail swaying lazily behind 
me. 
 As I entered my room, the gleam of the twin crescents of 
Martel and Camio cut a swath of moonlight across the room. I'd 
been living in mostly human cities for too long. We vulpines 
called the moons Lepchka and Vulpekula, the little fox, who 
chases the rabbit across the night sky. Tonight fox and hare 
were equally strong, a rare sight. Sometimes Lepchka eclipsed 
Vulpekula, and this was a bad time for superstitious vulpines. I 
didn't believe in these portents and omens told by grandmothers 
on warm spring nights when winds moaned through the trees like 
lost spirits. 
 I was giddy like a child in spring. I was sure I could 
wheedle a few silvers out of this haughty thief. If I couldn't 
con it out of him, I'd get him drunk and rob him then. I was 
good at bug-hunting-- when a lout let his hands wander on me, my 
own sought out his purse. 
 I slipped my boots on, sitting on the edge of the bed. My 
sore feet were drowned out by my joy at the night's sudden good 
turn. 
 I needed to look good, which was difficult... 
 I smeared the half-dried blood on my muzzle deeper into my 
fur, hoping it would blend with its near-russet color. I tucked 
my shirt in my breeches and wore both my blades. Putting my hat 
on last, I tugged my ears through the slits in the brim, right 
near the low crown. I wished for a looking-glass as I smoothed 
the red feather that was tucked in the green, wide-brimmed, 
floppy hat. 
 "This is as good as it gets..." I said to myself, looking 
down at my clothes. Quickly I unbuttoned my shirt to tighten my 
bodice. I needed a little shape for this bit of swindle. I 
shouldn't even have worn a shirt over my bodice, but I felt 
sortof naked without one. 
 I clip-clopped down the stairs and found the man where I'd 
left him. Lara, the barmaid, a greyfurred weasel with a sharp 
tongue and a quick wit, had just brought him another ale. My 
drink remained, and I sat and sipped its fiery warmth. 
 "Thanks for your help before. He would've gotten away 
unpunished, otherwise." The drink clamed me considerably, taking 
away the dull ache of the hangover. 
 Japhet took another mouthful of ale. He looked to be an 
accomplished drinker. i noticed a litght peppering of stubble on 
his face. How odd to be without fur. How bare he must feel. 
 "My pleasure." Smirk. "It was worth it just to see you 
thrash him." He sucked down more ale. 
 I finished my own drink, stoking the fire in my belly. 
 "S'nice night," I said, trying to brighten my expression 
just a little. "Would you like to go for a stroll? The moons are 
giving quite a show." 
 The man's eyebrows knitted for a second, then his smirk 
doubled into a grin. "Ah, Martel and Camio are dancing across the 
curtain of night, a little fox chasing a hare?" 
 I looked at him, hiding most of my surprise. He was a 
traveller; city vulpines usually forgot the old tales, or were 
loath to remember them. I was raised in a village in the Far 
Hills, a trekker also. i wondered if it were a drunken slip as he 
downed the last of his ale. 
 "Are you gonna pay for your merriment?" Cedric barked in his 
usual snappy tone. A rumble of drunken laughter rippled across 
the room. 
 Japhet stood and plucked a copper from his purse, played it 
nimbly across his fingers. He must be a demon with lockpicks. the 
he flicked it with his thumb directly at Cedric's grizzled 
muzzle, and the old lupine snatched it out of the air. Unless 
this man had a tab, the coin would cover my lodging for the 
night, and the drinks, with a passable tip for Lara. 
 "For the lady's room, friend," he said, walking around the 
table. I stood up, baring my fangs friendly-like, as humans are 
prone to do. 
 "Watch yourself. That Roxiana is as far from a lady as I've 
ever met," he growled with a wink. 
 With a sniff of contempt, I countered, "Cedric, all you've 
ever seen of me are my empty ale-mugs and the defiant whip of my 
tail as I walk up those stairs, leaving your advances 
unanswered." I winked back. Old Cedric always had a quarrel with 
me, supposedly in my best interests, ever since I quit being one 
of his barmaids and led the rogue's life. He was an endearing old 
bugger, though. 
 He gave me a familiar look that rumbled, And what a lovely 
tail it is... My returning sneer cried, Letch. 
 I took this Japhet's hand; his bare flesh felt odd against 
my palm, but I held it warmly as he hooked his arm around mine, 
as if we were old mates. As we walked out the door, I waved my 
white tail-tip in Cedric's direction. 
W


 It was a warm night, and a gentle breeze tickled our faces. 
Without a word we walked down the street away from the ears of 
inngoers. 
 "So what's your line, friend?" he asked rather soberly. He 
let go of my hand, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. 
 I quickly abandoned all thoughts of swindling him. It was I 
who had been conned, into thinking he was drunk or at least 
dangerously tipsy. I was glad for the rapier at my side at that 
moment, as a hint of raw fear slithered along my spine. I 
managed to hide this with a confident harumph before replying. 
 I acted more arrogant than I was actually feeling. I'll 
admit I am rather arrogant, but this moment a humbling had passed 
over me, but I chose not to let it be known to him. 
 "Fine wiring, friend, and you?" We walked, a little faster, 
at my lead. I smiled, reaching around his back and grasping his 
purse. With a gentle twist and a slow tug, it slipped from his 
belt, and I snaked my arm away from him. I was good, back 
then...he didn't notice. It felt good to be up and about-- it 
seemed that my mishap in the alleyway had robbed the alcohol of 
its vengeance-- my head felt fine. 
 "Me, I'm the best snakesman this city's ever seen." He said 
it quite confidently, as if it were an undeniable fact. 
 I hmphed and handed him his coinpurse, with a wry grin. 
"Well, that proves my claim. How 'bout yours?" 
 He was quite surprised-- his jaw dropped for an instant and 
then snapped up as he spoke. "I felt you do that, I just didn't 
say anything. Wouldn't've been polite." He tucked his purse back 
under his belt. 
 "Horseshit!" I snapped. What arrogance! It rivaled even my 
own. "You didn't feel a thing!" 
 He smirked. "No, I didn't." He stopped walking and I passed 
him a few paces before turning around. 
 "So you're a housebreaker, hmm? You seemed more the type 
for snoozing and bug-hunting, from what I saw." I grinned and 
leered, provoking him. 
 He smirked harder. "You don't believe me? You think it's 
all a job for starved little boys?" He turned to the wall and 
kicked his leg up high; catching his heel on the wall, he leaned 
forward and hugged his thight to his chest with a smile. "I can 
tie myself in a knot." 
 I smirked back at him.
 He must have thought that I was still challenging him. He 
gave me a defiant look before slipping out of the contortion and 
doing a split on the cobblestones. I winced. Even I couldn't do 
that, and seeing a male do it with the ease he did was 
unsettling. He smirked back at me, bragging. 
 "Why don't you try?" He winked lewdly and stood up. "I don't 
spread my legs for anybody, and especially not a filthy arrogant 
mucksnipe like yourself." I smirked back at him as best I could 
and started heading back to Cedric's. 
 "Wait, Roxiana." He said it Roxy Anna, with a Korr'ilunner 
accent. Him from Korr'ilun? So pale, and yet there was that 
underlying confidence that marked those born and raised in that 
large country to the south. It was a peculiar place, from what I 
knew. People from Korr'ilun tended to be annoyingly confident, 
and surprisingly friendly. This second trait seemed lacking in 
this Japhet character. 
 I stopped and turned my amber gaze toward him. "My name is 
Rox-yahna, not Roxy Anna, you filthy southerner." Korr'ilunners 
also had a reputation for being overly affectionate in public, 
and very lusty in private. Personally I didn't fault them for 
it, but here in Novamor, worship of Spetra the Pure was 
widespread, making it a fitting retort. 
 "My, you've a hot temper this evening, Roxiana. He got it 
right the second time. However, his patronizing tone began to 
really spark my temper. 
 "Listen, you bald little creep. What do you want from me? 
You're the most pestering little..." I paused for a breath and 
realized I was fouling up any chance of getting money out of this 
man. "I'm sorry, Japhet. I've had a very bad night. I'd like to 
thank you again for paying for my room... I don't know, I've been 
so low lately..." 
 "That's alright, girl. I was teasing you a bit, that's all. 
I'd like to talk with you, maybe over a drink at the White Rose?" 
He lowered his head a bit and looked up at me with soft eyes, 
still smirking. 
 The White Rose was notorious among thieves; its owner 
himself had onece plucked jewels from every coffer in the 
Merchant's Quarter. He was dead now. With a reputation like 
that, your victims tend to find you. 
 I parted my muzzle in a tiny smile. "I'd like that." I 
smiled wider, the lampslight glinting off the tips of my canines. 
"One day, someone is going to wipe that smirk off your face." 
 His smirk opened up into a smile, and we headed over to The 
White Rose through the dark alleys of Novamor's Foreign Quarter. 
This "quarter" of the City got its name from the abundance of 
inns and taverns there, where travellers tended to mill around 
during their stay. It was also known for the schlocky shoppes 
and swindling merchants who preyed on such travellers. The Inn 
of the Black Wolf was on the edge, where the Foreign Quarter 
mingled with the shoppes of the Merchant's Quarter. 
 The bulging stretch of Vilasi Way and its daytime swarm of 
hawkers was only a few alleys walk from here. That was where I 
usually worked, hoisting hawkers' wares and snatching purses. 
This Japhet might be a good stick-man, someone to pass the goods 
I dipped from pockets. I could imagine him slipping through 
crowds like a pickerel through reeds, disappearing at ease. 
 Two lanterns hung near the door of the weatherbeaten, 
sagging wooden building. Underneath was a faded sign with a 
single white rose painted on it. A buzz of noise, the mingled 
sounds of happy patrons, filtered out through the broken, thick-
paned windows. The door was open a crack, too warped to close 
all the way, and Japhet tugged the handle, releasing a blast of 
musk, ale, and sweat to brush over our faces. A cacophony of 
excitement battered our ears-- heavy terracotta mugs slapping 
rotten-wooded tables, shouts and growls slurring off ale-wetted 
tongues, along with hoots and cackles of laughter. 
 Although the scent of ale set off a familiar tickle in the 
back of my throat, the prospect of a glass of brandy was quite 
enticing. Especially when it was free. 
 Sure, the White Rose was a filthy place, frequented by the 
vilest scum of Novamor, but I loved the place. Where else could 
you sit next to Carry the Dip, the nimblest pickpocket of the 
West. There she sat, conspicuously alone at a booth seat while 
her acquaintances chose to sit at a separate table. 
 I waved to that silk-furred stoat, my eyes flickering a 
brighter amber as I called, "Hail, Carry!" She made me look like 
a bloated rat in the gutter! Her fur was fluffed and preened, 
and with that bodice squeezing her in a death-grip, she was a 
stunner. No wonder she was so good at tooling-- most males would 
drop their pants at the sight of her. 
 "Roxi! Slink on over, girl!" I knew better than to obey 
that siren's voice. I stood at least three strides away from her 
hands, after squeezing my way through the sea of tables. Japhet 
trailed behind with ease-- I looked back to see him snake through 
the cramped room. 
 Carry leaned back in her seat, bright blue eyes gleaming. 
"You look like shit, girl." She giggled. 
 "Tough times, Carry." I looked her over. She wasn't stupid 
enough to wear gold, but a silver sporting a huge garnet graced 
the vulgar finger of her left hand. She wore a long silk shirt, 
a pastel blue that complemented the sheen of her fur perfectly. 
 She stared into my eyes, smiling, and I looked down at 
myself, humbled before her. All I saw was dirt and filth crusted 
on my breeches and flecks of blood spotting my once-white shirt. 
She was right. I did look like shit. I was beginning to feel 
like it, too. 
 I smiled at her, regaining a semblance of my ego. Japhet 
nudged my shoulder from behind me, muttering something about an 
empty table. I sighed and turned to him, catching a wink from 
Carry's glazed eye. My expression must've dulled considerably, 
for Japhet stopped smirking and led me to the table he'd found, 
which was jammed between a card game and an arm-wrestling match. 
One of the serving-girls, an olive-skinned woman, came to our 
cramped seats and asked us what we'd like. Her tone was rushed 
and bristled with annoyance. 
 I muttered, "Brandy," while Japhet smirked and said, "Just a 
mug of ale, pretty." 
 She glared at him and squeezed toward the back of the place, 
where several large kegs stood. This tavern was always well-lit, 
to discourage gambling cheats. Too many sharpers had their guts 
spilled on the floor, and the City Guard had begun warning 
Chellis and Burke, the two rather mysterious human proprietors. 
 I couldn't stop pondering how down and out I was. It wasn't 
that I was broke-- I could always snatch a purse to get me 
through the week. There was a shadow of melancholy creeping up 
on me, and now its claws were sinking into my back. 
 A sharp whistle from across the room caught my attention, 
and I looked up into Japhet's smirking face. "What's wrong, 
Roxiana?" He took pains to pronounce my name correctly. I 
noticed his sunken eyes looking at me with a soft compassion, 
beyond his bright, smirking face. 
 "Nothing, and everything, Japhet." I put my elbows on the 
table and meshed my fingers, setting my chin on my knuckles. 
 "Well, I might be able to lift your spirits with a 
suggestion." He dropped his smirk and grinned slightly. "You're a 
good pickpocket, you say?" He didn't have to whisper. The White 
Rose was the safest place to talk about our work other than the 
Thieves' Guild; I wasn't a member, and he didn't seem like one, 
so this was the best of places. 
 "Yes. but you might approach Carry, instead. She's the 
best." I wished for my brandy. 
 He ignored my quip. "If you can tool three things for me, 
you'll get your share of my loot." 
 I looked up at him quizzically. "Hmm? What do you need 
done, and what're the rewards?" The melancholy had embraced me 
fully inside. I was sick of pilfering pockets, just to drink 
myself sick at night. I was pickpocketing to live, and living to 
pick pockets. 
 Japhet paused while our drinks were slapped down quick. He 
fished out some coins from his pouch and gave them to the 
barmaid, trailing a fingertip down her wrist and across her palm. 
She ignored him and slipped the coins into the makeshift pouch 
she had made by tucking her apron into her skirt a little. 
 He smirked and sipped his ale while I stared down into my 
drink. The night's upsetting events were finally taking their 
toll, along with the ennui of the past year. Cedric was right. 
I wasn't a rogue, I was a ridiculous foul-mouthed slattern 
dressed up as one. Sure, I could probably rob everyone in the 
room blind with them none the wiser, but that was what had robbed 
the work of its luster. When I first began to snatch a coin-
purse when I could, it was exciting. There was always the thrill 
of it, seeing how far I could go, how bold I could get. There 
was always the fear of getting caught to keep my heart beating 
fast, to whet the edge of my life. Now it was routine; I wasn't 
cocky, but I was confident with my skill and knew not to overstep 
my bounds. Instead of being adventurous, my picking had become a 
chore, just like waiting tables at Cedric's used to be. 
 And tonight was the topper. First, I drink myself sick, 
emptying my purse, and then I wake to find a thief in my room. 
And now I get to sit enviously next to Carry, and see exactly how 
low I'd fallen. I sniffed at my brandy, holding the small cup 
one the table with both hands. 
 "The rewards...I'll tell you about in private. But I need 
two guards and a merchant fanned for a couple things..." He 
glanced down at the black 'gloves' of fur that covered my hands 
and forearms. I had the same black fur on my feet and shins; my 
mother called them 'bootsies.' I curled my tail around a stool-
leg so it wouldn't be stepped on. 
 He set me to thinking about the job. "What exactly would I 
be looking for?" 
 "Two keys-- a flat one for a chest, another dowel-shaped 
one, and a scroll of parchment." He sipped from his mug. 
 I leaned down and lapped at the brandy for a moment. I 
didn't feel like taking a mouthful. "Hmm. Counts on who this 
merchant is. I'm not Carry, but I've been cly faking for quite a 
while...problem with getting close enough to rich folk is, right 
now, I look like I crawled out of a cesspool." 
 He smirked. "Well, the slime hasn't put out the spark in 
you, at least. you won't look like this when the time comes. 
I'll take care of that." 
 I looked up at him cynically. "Oh, really? you look like 
you've got sovereigns falling out of your ears, right. You look 
near as bad as I do." 
 He glared. "I don't care to sport my good fortune. You know 
as well as I do that Lurk and his gang would be after me like 
hounds on foxes." 
 I nodded. Lurk was a grey wolf, a head taller than I and 
built like a brick shithouse. He headed a gang of toughs and 
criminals who haunted the Foreign Quarter. He had a habit of 
wallopping and occasionally murdering freelancers, for he was a 
Guild member. He also had a reputation for thrashing Guild 
thieves who worked in 'his' Quarter but not under his hand. We 
were safe from him here, though. The owners of The White Rose 
were older members of the Guild, and could probably order Lurk's 
head in a basket if they wished. Even so, Lurk had pounded a 
gonoph silly just outside the door last week. 
 "So, Roxiana, do you think we could work together? These 
could be the last three pockets you pick. The rewards are 
great." 
 "Last three pockets...I'll probably end up in gaol, working 
with you." This might be a nice change of pace, I thought to 
myself. Even if the rewards he speaks of aren't so much. "I need 
to know what the rewards are, Japhet. And proof of their 
existence." 
 He smiled. "Alone, I will put your doubts to rest."
 I picked up my cup and sipped at the sweet liquor. "I'm 
quivering in anticipation." 
 "My, you are nasty. Are you sure your quivering aren't the 
shakes?" He sipped his ale.
 "What?" I curled my lip slightly into a mild snarl.
 "I see you get dragged in, reeking of ale and your own 
vomit, and three hours later you're sipping brandies. Are you 
sure you can do this job? You nabbed my purse pretty well, but 
these things will be tucked inside vests, harder to get at." My, 
this Japhet could talk. My ears were feeling ragged. 
 "That's my own business. I'll get your keys, with no 
trouble." I lapped at the brandy, soaking my tongue in its 
sweetness. 
 "Okay. It'll be your hand in the bucket, not mine." He was 
joking, of course. Novanore was a Free City, and would jail me, 
which may have been worse than losing a hand. The city resorted 
to the noose only in cases of murder. Magery wasn't punishable 
by law, but neither was putting a mage to death. Laws were odd 
in the Free Cities. 
 I glared at him before sipping at my brandy-- curling my 
tongue into a trough and rolling the sweet hot liquor down it. 
"Could we continue this chat tomorrow, Japhet?" I grumbled. 
"This has been a really bad night. Thanks for the drink." I 
sipped down the brandy and set the cup down on the table with a 
smack. 
 My head was beginning to hurt again, now that the rage had 
completely worn off. Many musks, mingled with liquor, swam 
through my head. There was a skunk somewhere in the room; its 
sharp musk kept my senses straight. The noise was too much for 
me-- the shouts, laughs and grumbles hammered my ears. 
 Carry had really bothered me. Now the people around me 
seemed to press in, to make me feel smaller, shrinking me back 
into a foolish child. I wasn't sure I wanted to work with him. 
The whole idea of pickpocketing had soured in my mind. Black 
bile was welling up inside me, I could feel the odd sensation in 
my side as melancholy slowly took over. I wanted nothing more 
than to crawl under the musty sheets and sleep. 
 He smirked. Again. I was getting sick of how he twisted his 
flat, furless pale face into that expression. "That thief really 
set you off, didn't he? You gave him a good thrashing." 
 That bastard did set me off. I took out every aggravation 
out on him, but he deserved every bit. Why was this man so 
concerned? Was he just trying to be friendly, or was this his 
idea of a pass? "I've had a lot of hot blood coursing around 
inside lately. That gonoph released it." 
 Smirk. "You look rather deflated." He sipped his mug dry. 
 My amber eyes pierced through his soft brown gaze. "Thanks." 
 "Are you sure you're up to this? If you mess up, a week's 
worth of my time will have been wasted. I've sen you work around 
town, and what I saw was pretty good, but now you seem like a 
horse that's been beat so much it doesn't care anymore." 
 This Japhet was really nosy. He seemed able to look right 
through my eyes. "Mind your business, man. I want to do this, it 
will get done. I'll meet you at Cedric's, at short-shadow." I 
made to rise. 
 His hand dripped my forearm just at the point where the 
black fur ended and my russet fur began. I hardly saw him move, 
and free hand was on my main-gauche as soon as I felt his touch. 
I was slow tonight, the melancholy weighing down on every limb. 
My ears twitched angrily. My muzzle parted and my gaze turned 
cold. 
 "Roxiana. You mentioned needing a clean-up? I said that 
would be taken care of." His expression was hard and still. 
 There was a soft ring, a barely audible yet beautiful 
pealing, and a gleam of silver sailed from his waist. Quickly my 
hand shot up and caught the coin. Uncontrollably, I smiled. A 
whole flashy to spend! That was a lot of money to me then. 
 "Get yourself some good clothes. Don't spend it on drinks." 
He smiled back, obviously pleased at both my reflexes and my 
lightened expression. 
 He loosened his grasp and slid his hand down to hold mine. 
I squeezed back tight. I could tell he liked the siky feeling of 
my fur. "I'll see you then, Roxiana." 
 At first I questioned his trust... then I realized that even 
a silver wouldn't get me out of the Foreign Quarter, much less 
the whole city of Novamor. 
 We stood and walked together to the door. After we were 
free of The White Rose's noise, we bid each other goodnight; I 
walked east toward the Cedric's place, and he southward toward 
who knows where. 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *