Nearly a year, he thought. Nearly a year had passed, and he was no closer to his goal than he had been in the beginning. Nine more days would complete the time segment whole, but he did not believe it to be significant, not compared to his sentence. He must get the passwords, or wait for death to claim him and every one of his gang.

The passwords were everything. And this garden, he knew, might have them.

He watched his team's movements in the shadows, three creeping figures with varying degrees of stealth and efficiency weaving in the dirt. The daring Calypso, self-named and self-important, dropped to the pungent wood-chips and rose a moment later with her prize; she was collecting roses, he knew, bright, lovely, delicate blooms that resembled her not in the least. Jackstar, six years on the wrong side of the law and never an accomplished thief, grabbed a stem from every other plant he came across, wisely breaking only those pieces that would not be missed. And new, brilliant Rindel, out on his first operation, snapped off the healthiest and rarest of branches, adding them to the pouch at his waist.

They were not too intent in their gatherings to not notice him as he moved closer, and Jack saluted the man with the tulip he was holding, a careless gesture of a hand with only four fingers. He nodded in response, and they moved in further towards the blackness, the calls of the insects outside the glass of the greenhouse masking their movements.

He was Astin. He carried no copied title such as Prince of Thieves; any who knew him simply acknowledged that he was the best, uncanny, and not to be trifled with. His suggestions were strange and always correct. The previous week, he had told Jackstar to tip the waiter at the dim and filthy bar, and at an amount exactly twice the waiter's pay for the month--they had ended up acquiring Rindel, Rindel the silent, quick-fingered accountant, and the guards now nodded to them and smiled howdy-do as they passed in the street.

Astin showed up in the neighborhood one day awhile back, coal black hair and cold blue eyes and a mouth that never smiled, and the morning after had mob-boss Calypso waiting at his side. She wasn't his lover, goodness no, and she certainly hadn't been swayed by his scarred good looks or terse tone, but those who questioned too loudly in jeers showed up dead without a mark on them. Eighteen Day, they called the next span of hours, the memorable period where for a brief time all of the area gangs had bonded together to defend against this new threat in the neighborhood, but no attack came. As long as they didn't bother Calypso or the frigid stranger there was no trouble to be had.

Jackstar had just had the first meal he had managed to scrape up in a week stolen from him, and he pulled himself into the chair at Astin's table at the bar where no one else would dare sit, slapped down his hand, and demanded death. He said he knew the man could do it, or Calypso for a good old fashioned stabbing, but Astin merely turned unimpressed eyes his way and told him that he was going to have to work first. He fed Jack back to health, and after word had gotten around about it there was indeed a threat to the gangs, but that of rapid loss of numbers due to dropouts, not death. Where Astin went there was food and drink and housing, as long as the rules were followed.

So when he said that he wanted to steal flowers from the goddess Hapriit's garden there were murmurings but not dissent among the thieves. When it came to orders the gang could complain all they wanted to, even to Astin himself, and he would just fix his gaze upon them and they would feel especially stupid as the diamonds rolled in. The three thieves accompanying him on this mission knew that the penalty for being caught was at least death—and you could be caught, always, although only if you disobeyed Astin or made a clumsy mistake—but whatever Astin brought back was bound to be worth it, and they could be killed on the streets much more easily doing jobs with no gain.

Those in the gang that knew about plants, a number that did not merit using a second hand with which to count up to (excepting perhaps Jackstar), had given tips on what to look for, as even Astin did not seem to know what he was pursuing. Brightly hued and beautiful plants could sell for higher, they advised, although others might be rarer and worth more from the right buyer. The most useful tip had come from a member that used to grow his own vegetables, who told them that they did not need the roots of all plants, that for many a piece of the stalk would do. This would leave less sign of damage and increase the likelihood the thieves could escape from the garden without attracting the attention of its goddess owner.

Astin tapped Calypso's arm and motioned to her that he would go on ahead, then left without a trace of his arrival. The thieves in his company were some of the most straight-laced and honorable around, for Astin walked in silence on dirt and wood and stone alike, and those that did wrong would be caught unawares by him, without room for error. Those that had never wanted to turn to crime thrived with him along with those who plied their trade with skill. The money rolled in and... somehow, there was still just relative safety and food and housing, but no one got rich, no one complained, and no one asked where the money went. Astin did not seem to have it, and his black clothes were no more made of cashmere than his bracelet made of diamonds. Only those courting death ever asked about the money, and they only received blank looks and silence.

“He has gathered no flowers,” Rindel murmured to the ex-leader, and she nodded and waved him to silence. Astin, she knew, would have come here for only one purpose; the blossoms they were collecting were just to keep them occupied until he found what he was looking for. If he didn't find it, as occasionally happened, these would at least help to fund their efforts.

The black haired man walked through the rows of graceful ornamental trees and curling petals, thick-soled shoes brushing away wood and leaf alike. At his belt, spaces of deeper darkness rested in the folds of his clothes, daggers of stone that had never been seen drawn by any who knew him. His black-gloved hand, reaching down to brush a strand of spider's web that affixed to the cloth of his shirt, avoided them through long familiarity. A sigh of breeze moved the web from reach, and the covered fingers jerked up to the hilt of the nearest blade.

“I would not try that,” a voice whispered in his ear, and the hand slipped instead to his pocket. The voice laughed, and lights snapped on throughout the greenhouse. Other thieves might have frozen or panicked, but those hand trained by the man that caused silence to spread through the rowdiest of bars only slipped into the new-cast shadows. “Most curious,” the goddess said. “Have you led them to believe that I can't see them, master thief?” The lips a smile has never touched turned downwards, and the woman, four-armed and beautiful in a green cloth that echoed her flowers, laughed once more. “What have you to say for yourself?”

The man pealed off the mask covering his lower face, the standard clothing for thieves of the time. “We were enjoying the view,” he said tersely, and his three companions reluctantly moved out of the greenery to join him, ready to go down fighting if at all.

“While taking select cuts from my garden?” The goddess did not seemed pleased. Calypso sneered, Jack endeavored to look tougher than his meter-and-a-quarter height would suggest, Rindel raised his head with the audacity of a waiter scorned, and Astin moved not at all. He never did, for usually the perpetrator would realize who it was they had just challenged, and in this case, it was unlikely to matter for the goddess already knew.

“What's your price?” Calypso asked with a jerk of her chin, and the goddess looked momentarily taken aback. “For intruding on your gardens, here.”

“Death would be typical,” said the goddess, “if I were not a patron of life.” A flick of her hand and a blossom grew in the palm, violet and gold. “I could keep you alive in my gardens forever. I am always in need of new gardeners.”

Jackstar, whose fear of death had left him a year ago, grinned and said, “None of us are a strong hand at gardening, miss. Most likely we would kill the lot of 'em.”

“So, I should just let you go?” the goddess asked, and turned to Astin when he shook his head. “No?”

“You should let us go,” he said, “with each of us holding a flower. It would be incentive for us never to come back.”

The goddess laughed again, brushing her flaxen hair back and leaving blossoms to drop from it, to coat the ground at her feet in lavender and emerald and sapphire. “Why would I take incentive for you to not come back?”

“We would not return with matches,” the man replied shortly, and his gang, who had begun to believe they might live to see another day, put such thoughts away again. They did not want to die, but it would not be a bad death to go down in history for threatening a god.

“Ah,” said the goddess. “For your sheer pluck, you shall be rewarded... although I would warn you, if you do ever return, I shall not nearly be so lenient. You have until dawn to be out of here. One flower each, and no more.” She turned, swept up her arms in a glorious burst of color, and was gone.

The group stood in silence for a moment, then Calypso turned with a great sigh towards their leader, looking across at him with narrowed murky eyes. “Well?” she asked. “What are we taking with us?” He didn't reply for a long while, but that was expected, from their boss that hoarded words as if he only had a chance to use each one once, and the listener was never worthy enough to receive them.

“One,” he repeated. “Your choice. Do not take more.”

“What about you?” Rindel spoke up quietly. He was too unsure of his new boss to behave with him as flippantly as he had viewed some of the others doing. “Are you taking something as well?”

“Yes,” he said. “Wait by the entrance, all of you. If I do not get there by dawn, leave.”

“Should you be stuck here,” Jackstar asked, “who're you leaving in charge of the works?” Astin had had, until three days prior, a second-in-command, but that spot still had yet to be filled by another.

“I will not be stuck,” he replied, then slipped off into the trees, his blackness disappearing somehow among the bright lights and greenery and snatches of color.

They went to the entrance and sorted out their best, discarding the other flowers. “Hand of cards, anyone?” asked Jackstar, and they settled down, a behemoth of a woman, a slim balding man and an overweight teenager, to wait for morning.

---

It did not take long for Astin to find what he was looking for—a gardener, a boy pulling up weeds from around the slender tendrils of an orchid. He moved forward with the same stealth that kept bets on his past as being an assassin as the leading winner in the slums, then clamped one gloved hand on the boy's mouth, the other covering his eyes.

“Will you keep quiet if I let you go?” he growled, and was overtaken for the first time in many years by surprise as the gardener shook his head. Astin removed his hand from the eyes in a quick motion and grabbed the boy's wrists, slamming him back against a tree in a deft flick of muscles. He regarded the terrified expression beneath him with his most uncompassionate air, his own brilliant one as remorseless as ever.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, leaning forward, and the boy shook his head again, giving Astin a pause. “Are you deaf?”

Yes, the boy's head indicated, then, after a moment, no. A whimper escaped his throat as his arms were yanked up against the bark, but he gave no other inclination to further his response. The thief hesitated a moment, then dropped his hand down from the boy's mouth.

“Can,” the boy started quietly, biting back his words as the hand jerked up in front of his face again. He continued, “can I help you?” Astin supposed he was perhaps fifteen, although life in the area could prove to be deceptive on one's face--the boy could be thirteen or twenty, as well. He did not seem to be very otherworldly and was not likely an agent of the goddess, which meant she did indeed employ humans. That was a fact that would be useful to know, if he ever returned.

“Are you deaf?” Astin repeated.

“Currently,” came the reply, “but I can read your lips if you speak slowly. Do you need to talk to Hapriit? If you wish, I can see if she's not busy.”

“No,” the thief said. “I'm stealing from her at the moment.” The boy paled but made no movement away from the dark-haired man currently holding him off the ground, dangling docile from his hands until Astin realized this and placed him back onto soil. He sighed softly but gave no sign of thanks or awareness of the change, Astin noticed.“Why are you deaf 'currently'?”

The boy opened his mouth, then paused and shut it again. “I was cursed as a child by fairies. It's a very long story.”

“Don't tell it. What is the thing of most value in this garden?”

That was greeted by silence of impass, as the muddy gardener stared up at the imposing figure of the black-clothed thief before him, contemplating the situation. “What happens if I lie?” the boy asked, slowly, appearing to mean the words rather than offering them as a glib challenge. “Because I really doubt I should tell you, but I'm a very bad liar.”

Astin considered this. “I will become very angry,” he replied, and at his expression the boy leaned further back into the bark until it would yield no further.

“I will take you,” he whispered, “if you will let me go.” The thief nodded, releasing one of the boy's wrists and taking a step back, and the gardener took a deep breath and started on deeper into the greenhouse, past cacti and bromiliads and passionflowers. He stopped in front of one particularly bright lily, then took a glance at Astin's face and walked on silently.

“There,” he said, and Astin knew he had made the right choice. Curled up among the leaves of a long-stemmed plant the thief did not know was a girl, a young woman with hair the soft peach of a dusky rose, that framed a face of porcelain proportions and a body of epic ones, peaceful in slumber. Her breath barely stirred the crimson petals at her lips, and Astin was certain that, if open, her eyes would be the shade of summer grass.

“The goddess's daughter?” he murmured aloud to confirm his guess, turning the gardener's head to face him, and the boy nodded. Very good. “And if I were to inquire as to what the rarest and most valuable of the plants in this garden, you would answer...?”

“The one she's sleeping on,” the boy replied. “Although...” he swallowed, then let out a breath. “I have to tell you, it's a really poisonous plant.” The leaves' dark shine, held to a trunk base with red stems, reflect his assertions.

Astin's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Why not just let me touch it and die?” he asked.

“I think that was probably the plan, if her daughter is sleeping there tonight.” Astin already knew this, but was rather surprised that the gardener would so dislike death to tell him. Perhaps the boy feared the thief would make him gather it, and the repercussions that having to admit he wouldn't would bring onto him. “Jezabelle can't be harmed by it, but she would never sleep on top of a plant.”

“No,” Astin agreed. “I have an idea. Come.” Switching his grasp on the boy's wrist, he moved back through the trees, keeping an eye on the glass ceiling high above. Dawn would not arrive for quite awhile yet, so he was well on schedule.

Calypso was the first to spot him, used to her leader returning at unexpected times in his uncanny step, and she gave a hearty sigh as she climbed to her feet, dropping her full-house to the dirt and worms. “We have enough mouths to feed,” she said, glancing at the slip of a boy stumbling behind the master thief.

“He's a gardener,” Astin replied. “We're going.” Jackstar and Rindel climbed to their feet quickly, the former gathering up his cards with haste.

“We're going to find what you came here for?” he asked, sliding the pack into his pocket, and the dark-haired man frowned at him.

“No,” he replied. “We're going.”

“I don't think so,” came the whispery voice of the goddess, standing in the path behind them. Calypso growled and drew her gun before cursing as it turned into a handful of limp vines, which she quickly dropped. “Sir thief, you seem to have a very different idea of what a flower is.”

“No,” Astin repeated. He leaned over, plucking two plain daisies from a clump at his feet, and thrusted one into the startled boy's hand as he took a grip on the other. “We now all have flowers. Goodnight.” The goddess's jaw dropped as Calypso tossed the boy over her shoulder and the four thieves disappeared out into the night, the greenhouse door slamming firmly shut behind them.

---

“So, kid, what's your name?” Jack asked, placing a bowl of soup in front of the stunned gardener. The boy made no move to take it, which caused the thief to scowl but make no effort to complain—after all, they had just kidnapped him. The two were currently situated in the cramped stone and wood kitchen of Astin's base, the underground lair he had claimed as his own territory slightly less than a year prior.

“Spider,” came the reply, voiced, however, in an amiable enough tone. “Although I prefer to be called anything else but that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack said. “What did they call you at the garden place, then?” He frowned, running a hand over the bright plate of his scalp, and leaned forward over the old oaken table. “Hey, didn't the boss say you were deaf? You weren't pulling one on him, were you?”

“I was deaf,” the boy corrected. “Now I'm blind. It's from a curse, and a very long story. And I wasn't called much of anything at the gardens. May I ask what your... your boss will do with me?” He did not seemed concerned at whatever answer could be given, and Jackstar was tempted to tell him that he'd be a concubine or the latrine cleaner, if Astin wouldn't have had him killed for it.

“He said he wanted you as a gardener, so that's what you'll be,” he answered. “The boss does things like that—he took a girl from the brothels a week ago and told her that she was going to be our new cook, and when his second-in-command laid a hand on her, Astin had that hand chopped off and Yuking tossed out into the streets. If you decide you don't want to be a gardener here, or hang with us, then it's your choice—although if the boss's got you it's probably best that you stay—but no one else can make you do anything different unless he gives the say-so to.”

“Do you think he will?” Spider asked, raising his head, and Jackstar noticed that if the boy was lying about his current blindness than he was doing a damned good try of it, as the brown irises surrounded twin silver plates of ocular deficiency and focused on nothing but his general direction. “There are times, you can see, when it is difficult for me to do my job—and I really only know the kind of plants that lived in Hapriit's garden.”

Jackstar lifted his shoulders, breaking off a piece of the bread loaf by the sink and downing it with his drink. “Who can say? Like as not, he won't—I can't imagine a blind thief, 'cept maybe as a lockpick or something. Have you got any other trade skills the boss will want to know about?”

The boy paused, then shook his head. “I can cook a little,” he said, “but that is all that will probably be of use. I can write, when I'm not blind.”

“Blind, deaf...” Jackstar said, trailing off. “Sounds like life has dealt you a worse hand than some of us here, and that's saying something. Does your curse do much else?”

“The other two effects rotate with muteness,” answered Spider, reaching up to brush slim fingers across the table until they found his soup bowl. “And sometimes I have none of those at all. Is this for me?” he asked, curious, as they tapped against the liquid inside.

“Yeah,” said Jack, and watched in some surprise as the boy promptly found the spoon and dug in; he didn't inquire as to the possible urine or lethal content of the dish in front of him, the thief noted, which meant he was either far too trusting or didn't care, both of which seemed like bad qualities to have in this place. The boy carefully navigating soup to his mouth was unusually thin for someone who apparently worked for a goddess (did she neglect her human workers for her plants? Jackstar wondered), with plain brown hair falling just below his shoulders that might have been cut, from the look of it, while the boy was blind, with dull garden shears. His clothes were a green uniform of sorts that looked faded and used, but weren't something Spider could have dug out of the trash.

“So, does that mean you'll be mute, soon?” the man asked. “Because to give you a tour of the facilities, and so on, it would probably help if you could see 'n hear. Not speaking sounds like it'd be the best of the lot, really.”

“You'd be surprised, actually,” the boy said, still in that light tone, although Jack suspected someone else might have pronounced it with more bite. “But since it is a curse, they tend to come up when it is least convenient. I will likely be blind for awhile, I'm afraid.”

“Okay,” Jack answered. He shifted his position, leaning against the wooden counter among the pots and pans still waiting to be sorted away. “You know, you seem to be pretty calm for someone that's been dragged away.”

“Would it help if I were hysterical?” he pointed out, rather cleverly, Jack noticed. Another smart one, like Rindel, then. “Besides, working with a goddess is not a very comfortable thing. Your boss took me instead of Jezabelle, so I don't think he will kill me soon, as I don't know how my death would be so profitable unless he was performing a sort of highly specific blood sacrifice. You appear to be a group of thieves, not a cult, unless I'm mistaken.”

Jack chuckled, deciding that the boy wasn't all bad, even if odd. “Things can be strange around here,” he said, “but I doubt that Astin would off you in that manner. Who's this Jezabelle you mentioned?”

“The goddess's daughter,” came the reply. “Your boss thought she might be in a trap, however, and apparently decided it wasn't worth it.”

Jackstar shrugged, sorting idly through the pot lids on the bench. The room was a mess, and Jack was hoping that Astin would 'liberate' someone to be a maid soon before the thieves had to get their act together and do the dishes themselves. “I wouldn't try guessing what Astin is thinking," he said."He's a tough one. I should warn you—don't try stealing anything from here, and don't try forcing yourself on or bothering any of the people. Astin doesn't let anyone mess around with his girls, or guys, for that matter. And if the boss gives you an order or even a suggestion, it's a good idea to do it, although if it's really outrageous you can challenge him on it.”

“He told me that disobeying would make him very angry,” the boy said. “I remember.”

“Did he really?” the man replied in an lilting tone of voice. “Interesting, that.” He looked over to the doorway and straightened, adding a grin to his features. “Hey, boss.” The imposing, scowling man did not look like one to give such a casual greeting to, but he nodded in response and walked over to the table. Spider, listening intently, set down his spoon back into the bowl with care.

“He's blind now,” Jackstar interjected when Astin moved to tap the boy's shoulder, and the thief acknowledged this fact with another nod, no question on his features. It was said that the man could sense a lie always, and although his inner circle knew that this wasn't entirely true, not a one of them had ever had a strong urge to lead him falsely in case he should find out about it. “And he says his name is Spider.”

“Please call me anything different,” added the boy quietly, keeping his sightless gaze towards the table.

“Like what?” Astin asked, the words blunt and toneless.

“Anything,” came the response.

“My sister will name you, then,” the thief replies. “Stand.” Spider got to his feet, carefully edging around the bench he had been sitting upon, and waited silently. Jackstar peered at him before shaking his head.

“Is he to be her plaything, then?” he asked, breaking off another piece of bread and tearing chunks from it.

“Maybe,” said Astin. The boy paled but stayed silent, and Jackstar carefully avoided laughing aloud, knowing Spider would learn the truth soon enough. “Come.” The dark-haired man put a gloved hand on this boy's arm, steering him towards the door, and led him through the wooden hallways into darkness.