A Thief's Tale

Theodore leads Dotti from the opened exchange into the city of one. Behind them, Celeste remains at the witness dais, while the Veiled Figure stays beside the sealed record.

Narrow streets descend between leaning stone houses, their gutters carrying silver rainwater toward hidden markets. Lanterns sway overhead, painting thieves’ signs and shuttered doors in amber.

He slows where three alleys divide: one scented with spice and smoke, one alive with murmured bargains, and one disappearing beneath a row of blue lanterns.

Theodore waits without urging her toward any alley. Around them, hidden market voices rise and fade, leaving Dotti the first unclaimed choice of the night.

Dotti looks to Theodore, and the blue-lantern alley gives way to a warm doorway marked by a painted tankard. Laughter and savory steam drift into the rain.

Theodore follows her beneath the tavern’s crooked sign. Inside, a hearth glows behind iron grates, while thieves and travelers keep their conversations low.

A server sets down a dark ale and a steaming plate of root vegetables, brown bread, and spiced river fish. Rain ticks softly against the shutters.

Theodore’s ears lift at once. Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered woman named Annie pauses over a row of clay cups and eyes the newcomers.

Annie brings two bright mugs of spiced cider and a warm plate of apple pies, their crusts glazed and fragrant with cinnamon. She sets them between Dotti and Theodore.

The hearth crackles as rain whispers against the shutters. The cider warms Dotti’s hands, while the pies and their quiet welcome make the tavern feel briefly safe.

Annie’s smile fades. She glances toward the nearest tables, where thieves and travelers keep their voices low beneath the hearth’s steady crackle.

She leans closer, lowering her voice as rain rattles the shutters. Theodore sets down his cider and listens without interrupting.

Annie’s eyes slant toward the shuttered windows. Her fingers tighten around the clay cup, and the tavern’s warmth seems to retreat beneath the rain-soaked silence.

The sign’s shape settles into Dotti’s memory: a flowering vine coiled around a crowned wyrm, its petals forming a hidden ring of authority.

Beyond the shutters, footsteps pass through the rain and fade toward the salt warehouses. Annie lowers her voice, while Theodore’s attention fixes on the dark street.

Dotti tilts her head toward the tavern’s back passage. Theodore gives a small, firm shake of his head, warning her away from the rain-dark street.

Dotti pushes a gold coin across the table. Annie catches it beneath her palm before the nearest drinker notices, though the coin’s bright edge draws one curious glance.

Annie leads them through a narrow service door and up steep wooden steps. The loft is small but clean, with two pallets, a washbasin, and a latch that holds.

Annie descends the stairs and pulls the service door shut. For one quiet breath, only rain and the hearth’s distant crackle reach the loft.

Then the barred shutters shudder once. A thin violet thread slips beneath them, winding across the floor toward Dotti’s marked palm.

The thread gathers into the shape of a flower entwining a dragon, the Thorned Wyrm’s sigil. Its petals open, revealing a tiny scrap of black parchment.

The parchment unfolds without hands. Silver letters appear across it: NIGHTSHADE WITNESS, BRING THE SEALED RECORD TO THE SALT GATES BEFORE DAWN, OR THE CITY WILL NAME YOUR ALLY.

Dotti turns the black parchment beneath the violet sigil, then slips it into the empty flour chute beside the pantry wall. The Thorned Wyrm’s magic follows the false trail downward.

With a twist of her enchanted pick, Dotti loosens the chute’s hidden latch and leaves a copied glimmer pointing toward the tavern’s rear cellar. Footsteps stir below.

The violet thread slips through the floorboards and races toward the cellar. Outside, several cautious steps converge beneath the wrong window, then descend after it.

The sigil’s glow fades from the loft, leaving the true room dark and undisturbed. The Thorned Wyrm’s watchers now search the false trail, while the sealed record remains with Dotti.

Theodore lifts the loose washbasin, revealing a narrow service hatch beneath it. Cold air rises from the dark shaft, carrying the scent of rain and old stone.

Below, cellar boards creak as the watchers follow the copied glimmer. Theodore opens the hatch without a sound and gestures toward the descending ladder.

Theodore descends first, keeping his body between Dotti and the open shaft. Together they slip through the pantry foundation into a rain-dark passage, leaving the watchers searching below.

Dotti follows Theodore down the rain-dark passage, one hand steadying herself against wet stone while the sealed record remains concealed beneath her clothing.

The tunnel slopes beneath dripping arches. Above, muffled footsteps cross the tavern floor, then fade as the false trail draws the watchers elsewhere.

Theodore lifts an iron-bound grate, and cool rain brushes their faces. They emerge beneath a sagging awning behind the cooper’s yard, unseen by the street.

Establish an honest companionship with Theodore