The bells sounded for one hour after midnight; two watchmen of the Inner Station prepared for their night's patrols. One was prepared to leave, and had only to gird his sword about his waist, when the other spoke suddenly. "Have you ever wondered whether we are serving the right cause?"

"Are you suggesting the -criminals- are right, Ciaran?"

"You know I would say nothing of the sort, Ros. But perhaps I am suggesting that we are no longer serving the City. I remember a day when we were not taking orders from the upper classes, when the nobility did not wield quite so much power as they do now." Ciaran shook his head slowly, casting a meaningful glance at the other. He would never understand.

With a shrug, Ros departed, leaving Ciaran to continue in silence. At the last, he donned the black surcoat and walked out of the station. The night watch suited him; he spoke very little unless it seemed important to him, or it was necessary to his task. The populace hated him and his cold efficiency, and the seeming lack of any notions save justice. The City Watch valued him highly, though perhaps the nobles were bothered by the justice. Because he followed what was just, not what they said was just, and he was a man who would know the distinction.

Outside of the gates he saw what was unusual to find on a night watch: a man, standing as if waiting for someone. Before a word was spoken, the man intoned a brief 'good evening' and fell into step with Ciaran.

"Excuse me, sir." Ciaran paused and looked at the man. "I do not know you."

"You will soon, Ciaran of the Inner Station. We know much about you. We have been watching you for some time."

There was silence for a long time, as the two men stood there. Then, Ciaran continued walking, and spoke in a flat, emotionless tone, "Your words would cause some to fear, yet strangely I do not. Who are you?"

"We are the Enlightened." He let the word linger on the air. "You long that the city remain just, as it was before. I will speak as plainly as I can. Justice fades. You know this new order; we all know it. You will not be fooled by their guises, but you will need our help."

"What will I need your help in?"

More silence. "You may find that there is more to this world than law and chaos. Your love is to this city, and you may find that your allegiance turns you against your home. Be careful lest you become a weapon, yourself." The man stopped. "Continue now with your watch, but remember this meeting. You will be hearing from us again, before the end."

Ciaran continued, glad indeed of the night watch. Time was his to think about what this possibly could mean.

***

It felt odd, somehow, wearing the garb of a thief. He had been a watchman in various noble mansions since he was old enough and trained enough, and his father had also served such. All his life he was watching for thieves, trying to catch them. Now he wore the cloak and mask, and was himself impersonating one - not even to stop one, but to help one. It felt odd, not that it was somehow wrong, but that it did not seem wrong. Nothing cried out within him. His actions felt... just. That was what disturbed him.

He presented the papers to the guards and strode to the lady's bedchambers, confidently, assuredly. Constantly he had to remind himself, he was impersonating a thief. He had hidden the thief's body in the secret stairway, and even fled through it, himself. The money (he assumed there would be pay) would go to him, and if he could, he would try to heal the poor man.

He noticed nothing besides the girl's form, for girl she was. She could not have been any older than twenty winters, though certainly there was noble blood in her veins. He was thankful for the mask; he needed only to insert the shady sort of note to his voice. Just ere he prodded her in the side with a booted foot, he paused. He had not read the scroll.

Perhaps he would never do so. "Wake up," he hissed as he dug a foot into her side. "I have it. I want my money, now." He was thankful for the mask; it hid the wince at her startled look. He would never have done this before. And he didn't even know what sort of message he was delivering.

It was an unremarkable exchange. He left with the same sort of stride, but was stopped at the gates by a man he had not seen before. "You are not Ithel."

"The thief?"

"Where is he?"

"He was-"

"Take me to him. Now."

Almost at a run, they fled, when suddenly the man who followed told him to wait - it would have been impossible to tell that he had stopped otherwise. "Come out in the light. I swear no harm will come to you."

Interestingly enough, the guard in thief's clothing could barely distinguish the man who was following him, much less whoever it was that was being addressed. Then a voice responded, and he knew that it was not some odd game. A faint form seemed to appear from the shadows as the words took shape: "I hope you weren't expecting that promise from me?"

"You will not need to have made it. Will you answer my questions?"

There was a pause, and the glint of moonlight on steel appeared near the man's form. "What's in it for me?"

This strange figure paid the stalker no heed. "You are following us. Why?"

"I have a certain... interest, in what you seek." He seemed unwilling to answer - perhaps understandably.

"Drych Ithel?"

"You said it, not me."

"What interest do you have in Ithel? How did you hear we were seeking him?"

There was a pause. "Look, I don't have the time to stand here and answer your questions. He's my associate. I have a concern that he remains alive."

"A thief with honour? There's a first." The guard muttered this under his breath, but it seemed to have carried a bit more than he had intended. He suddenly realised how ridiculous this must have looked to this man, who had no way of telling that he was not a thief himself.

"I'm not in it for thrills. To actually survive in this world you need to have a few rules to follow. And the first rule is that treachery is a crime worthy of swift death." The noise he made after was a sort of growl, though somehow it seemed to have words to it, that he could not catch.

"Bound by blood, worker in shadows the light could not illuminate, caught by no web the spider could weave." The strange man who sought Ithel muttered this almost as an incantation, as he looked up. "So be it. Go with this man if you will, and you, too, will learn what you may of Drych Ithel's fate. For it is bound to yours, as you say."

The thief did not respond for a long while. "So be it," he said at last, and followed, knives out, at a distance.

***

The bells tolled for three hours after midnight. "You there!" A man with a deep voice hailed her, as if surprised and quite pleased to see her.

Maili Bradana paused, and turned. She reached for her knives, remembered that she had none, and so clenched her fists, and ignored the pain from the wound. It had long since been bound, and it had stopped bleeding, at least. "What do you want?"

"I have heard them talk about you. The one Nial Laurys helped snare. Well I can get you to him, if you can do something for me." He eyed the sign of a tavern just across the street: the Watchman's Lantern. "Come with me, we'll discuss it."

"Just who are you, exactly?" She narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious, yet eager to join forces with any enemy of Laurys.

The man licked his lips. "Laurys is a professional, but he crossed the wrong man. And I will use his professionalism to bring him down. Is that enough? Good. Rules make for weakness. But you? You're an artist. Artists improvise. And I like that style."

Quite satisfied that there was no threat from this man (though due more to flattery than anything), she began to follow. "Wait. Who was talking about me?"

"The Guild, of course. Their new prized possession. They're saying there's not a skilled thief in the city that's not under their thumb, and you're the most useful of them all. You make people ask what happened. You make the guards ask questions. And you are never caught when you aren't being betrayed."

She nodded, and they continued inside. It was a seedy enough place in appearance. Everything about it seemed old and decrepit, and its patrons probably could afford no finer establishment even if they wanted to. The staff, a barkeeper and two barmaids, wore nothing to mark them as wealthy. Though the barkeeper looked to be well-fed, the barmaids both looked more than half starving, and both looked similar enough to each other that it was difficult to tell them apart - especially, she guessed, when drunk, which more than half the patronage looked to be.

"Corner table looks open," said the man quietly from behind her as he pointed at the table he meant. She dodged through the crowd, though she was not quite skilled at such a thing - being of the upper class, she was used to the crowds somewhat parting for her; being a thief of truly artful skills, she never resorted to such things as picking pockets. Loathsome.

As they sat down, she began talking. "What is it you'd like me to do, exactly?" She tried to wave off the barmaid, but the man ordered two ales, and insisted that she needn't worry; it was 'on him.'

"Ah. I've always liked your style. You don't care about reward; it's in the act itself. See that man over there?" He gestured at a man who lay slumped on the table. "Drunk himself witless, he has. And he's got a fat wallet; a lot o' the upper class come in here when they have business they don't want anyone to know about. You'd never swipe that, though. Not until it were difficult. All in the art.

"Well," he continued, getting to his point with relish; she found herself trying to be patient with the man. After all, this was revenge she was seeking. "The job is a difficult one, with little reward. Someone stole a very important scroll from an associate of mine. The scroll is lost, but the man himself will be found in the Inner Station. He says his name is Drych Ithel. Break him out and bring him to me alive." He placed contact information, and a rough map, on the table. "These will help."

"So are you a member of the Guild?"

The man smiled coldly. "Not anymore. If you deal with Laurys right, perhaps I can help release you, as well."

She finished the ale in silence, and rose to depart. The man watched her leave, and smiled. She would return to him when she was done with Laurys, and then she, too, would fall. The problem would be pinning Laurys down... well, in due time. All would fall into place in due time.