Snow had not fallen yet but give Mother Nature time, her frosty, white coat would lay the streets and alleys of every place come the end of the year.

He walked throughout the deserted alleyways, no-one was out at this uncivilised hour.

No-one with any sense that's for sure, Garrett chuckled to himself, as if he could walk the streets when it was daylight. Every Hammerite guard, snitch, follower and fanatic was on the lookout for a thief who goes by the name of 'Garrett' ever since he pulled that job of stealing the Grand Hammer.

Crazy fools, they actually believe they were carved out the rock by the 'makers' hand by that very hammer. Well, that didn't bother me because Cutty knew one of those fanatics who fancied the hammer for his own mantle. He managed to pull the job off but unfortunately had to send some of the Hammerites to their holy maker in the process. His reliable fence, Cutty had paid him a handsome sum, enough for him to hide his face from the crowds for a while, 'till all the fuss died down at least.

Only yesterday had he turned up at his apartment after a month of lurking in the shadows, just as well, funds were beginning to look a but scarce. He had a new job for me, the same 'collector'; someone named Constantine, was after another item.

A highly prized item I might add, of one of the local Lords snash, his golden sceptre. It was always kept hidden out of sight, except for big dinners and fancy parties was it ever seen. Held by the Lord like a warrior brandishes a sword. Very proud of his precious trinket, well, he mused. Not for long…

Well, it shouldn't be too difficult, he thought to himself. But nothing is ever easy.

He rounded a corner and could just hear voices in the direction he headed, Garrett knew he was fairly close to the main gate of Lord Bafford's estate.

He came to the outer wall, the large purple banners hanging on the walls bearing the crest of the Bafford estate.

He could hear the guard's cheerful banter, they discussed the local entertainment or rather lack of.

He counted two from the conversation, but was unsure to how many others there were.

He decided to chance it and walk past, he looked in as he crossed the courtyard in front of the main gate. There were the two guards he accounted for, still embroiled in a deep conversation about the joys and woes of the local bear pit. But there was on other guard standing just inside the manor, behind the portcullis and one sitting on the wall next to the courtyard.

God, how long can they talk about those bloody bears? Thought Harrington to himself. Those two taffers could talk the hind legs from an ass.

He leaned against the wall behind him. It was cold but he'd been standing for hours.

He sighed, his breath plumed out in front of him.

The Lord's away out tonight, remember to stay on your guard, the commander of the watch had said.

Pah! I'd like to see him stand out here and be bloody frozen all night.

I'm going to have a hell of a cold tomorrow, he thought.

Just then something flickered out of the corner of his eye.

He could swear it was a shadow but he hadn't seen anything.

He heard the scuff of a shoe on the cobbles above the rising din created by those two.

The light from the lantern behind him played phantom shadows all around the eerie courtyard.

Finally, he spotted another movement. He decided to call out.

'Hey you,' he called.

The two other guards finally halted their conversation and turned around.

'D'you hear something?' asked one.

'I think there's someone passing out there.' he replied.

Suddenly out of the shadows a man appeared, he was fairly tall and slim. But he was muscular, that much could be determined from his shape in the cloak.

'Sorry gentlemen have I bothered you? I was just passing through.'

'You shouldn't be about here at this time. The Bafford estate is off limits.'

'I'm very sorry, I'll be on my way.' Came the well-spoken voice from the dark hood, and then he was gone.

Bloody peculiar, thought Harrington. Too bloody quiet for my liking.

He leaned back against the wall and tried to find his pipe. He finally found it in a small pouch on his trousers.

He smiled to himself and struck a match, lighting the pipe, he puffed away.

I'm getting too old for this malarky, he shook his head.

Maybe I'll look into getting moved into something smaller. Like Pub watch.

He chuckled to himself at the thought and the two guards resumed their conversation.

When he heard the guards continue with their discussion, he turned round to make his way around the perimeter wall.

Damn, thought Garrett, too many guards at the gate and now someone knows there was a stranger about.

Can't be helped, got to do this job. Get it over and done with.

The Keepers trained me too damned well, I can almost sneak past any guard in any terrain.

That fellow was pretty keen to spot me, I'll have to make sure that doesn't happen again tonight.

Unfortunately, the Keepers don't look too kindly upon my choice of trade after taking me in off the streets when I was just a kid.

But if you try to please everyone, then you please no-one, so please yourself.

His footsteps could not be heard no on the cobbled alley, he moved with stealth and secretively.

Always watching and listening for the slightest hint of a guard patrol.

This he heard before he was even into the next street, by the sounds made by the footfalls he estimated it was a lone guard on patrol.

He slid right into the shadow created by the tower of a building next to him. He loosened the blackjack from its place on his belt and gripped it tightly in his hand.

Dents and pockmarks from previous guard's heads scarred the long, black cudgel.

The guard sauntered round the corner, silently walking, caught up in his own thoughts.

Garrett slowed his breathing down, almost to the point where he wasn't anymore. The darkness comforted him, he liked the way that he could see and yet not be seen.

The shadows cast by torches and lamps, the dark corners of rooms and the sight of a darkened room made any thief smile with content.

To be a thief, is to differ from all others.

As a thief you cannot, for a start, be spotted. You have to use the darkness and avoid all light.

You also must not be heard, any footsteps or noises made by a thief will usually lead to armed confrontation. The guard was right next to him now, slowly pacing past.

Suddenly the guard stopped in front of him, facing ahead not at him. But he had stopped nonetheless, he was staring at something on the ground. What is he doing, thought Garrett. He followed the line of the guards sight and involuntarily winced. The map. The sketch of the layout of Bafford's manor Cutty had provided him with lay on the cobbled pavement in front of the guard. It was plainly visible what is was from where it sat, the coloured slashes and writing scrawled across it, informing him of where the guard patrols where. The guard suddenly became aware of a threat and drew his sword. Shit, this is not my night, two screw-ups after another. Rising in the shadows, he stood up. The guard peered behind him, looking down the deserted street, the only noise was a power generator undlessly clicking. That clicking now bean to grate on Garretts nerves. The guard took a cautious step forward and called out, 'Hello? Is anybody there?' Garrett held his breath, the guard seemed satisfied that there was no-one around and walked to the map and reached down for it.

Quietly, quickly, thought Garrett as he stalked out of the shadows circling the guard his footsteps padding softly on the wet ground. The guard straightened and in his free hand he held the map. The guard wore a light chain mail and a helmet, I'm just going to have to hit harder, he thought.The guard spotted movement out the corner of his eye and spun around, bringin the sword round in his turn he slashed at the unknown assailant. The dark shadow recoiled and the blade caught nothing but air. The sword clattered into the brick wall next to him, blue sparks raining on the ground. He lunged at the attacker with his sword, the tall man now half visible in the streetlight above sidestepped the thrust. In the momentum, the guard was still rushing forward rapidly losing balance. The man flipped the helmet off his head with a hand, the other raised high above his head with what looked like a blackjack in his hand. Garrett brought his arm down powerfully, striking the stumbling guards exposed scalp with a sickening thump accompanied by a loud crack. The man fell straight to the ground and his sword clattered out of his hand onto the stones. His body twitched and jerked for a moment or two, then fell limp. Garrett surveyed the scene, the alleys empty to either side, and the street ahead although well-lit presented no witnesses. He looked down at the now still man, blood seeping onto the cobbled path making small rivers in each crack. Garrett examined the man, certainly dead he thought, his skull was now depressed roughly four inches and blood already coagulated at the wound. Briskly searching the corpse finding only a purse with four gold pieces he began to clear up the scene of the crime. He wiped the blood slick blackjack on the man's clothes and placed it back on his own belt. He lifted a near-by drain covering, he dragged the dead guard to the edge and then pushed him over. The body splashed loudly into the sewer below, he then collected his sword and helmet throwing them both down as well. In the pool of blood that remained, sat the map. Not much use now, he crumpled it and threw it into the murky waters also. He retrieved a water arrow from his quiver under his cloak and threw it against the blood splash. The water cleaned the cobblestones and the redish water residue ran down in little streams to the open sewerage opening. He then picked up the manhole and after checking no-one was around again, he cautiously started off.

It wasn't long before he heard the drunken guard's singing. He peered around the edge of the wall and sighted the cause of the disturbance. A guard stood, rather leaned against a lamppost up ahead. It finally clicked with him, the well! He remembered Cutty telling him about an emergency entrance to the estate if needed, that was it. The guard hiccuped and went quiet, Garrett put his back to the edge of the wall breathing rapidly. Had he been seen, he waited. Still silence, the the guard started brashly blaring out words to an old folk song that he didn't know all the words to. Filling in the gaps in the words with 'laaa laa hum' or another variation. This taffer is going to get in a lot of trouble come morning, he mused.

Snatching his opportunity when it presented it, the guard turned around and bent over for a bottle of liquor. Garrett slid along the wall in the darkness, half-crouched until he was behind the guard and next to the well entrance. Suddenly the guard jerked up, he twisted back round to look where Garrett had been standing. The guard grunted to himself, Garrett stood not but a scant inch from his back and he was pressed against the door. He could smell the guards foul breath mixed with the sweat from wearing such a heavy uniform, he tried to ignore it and focused on the beat of his own heart. He evened out his breathing and stood as still as a rock, sweat gathered on his brow as he spotted the key on the guards belt. He raised his arm to the key, the moon glinting off the polished metal surface his finger curled round the key ring at the top and gave it a ever so slight tug. The ring slipped without resistance from it's place on the leather belt, enclosing the key in his palm lest it jingle and then he would be caught very red-handed. The guard staggered a few steps forwards, remembered where he had left of in the song and started to cry out at the night sky again.

Breathing a clipped sigh of relief, he turned around and slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open noiselessly to reveal a room with all but a torch, a well and a few buckets. Undoing his heavy cloak, he wore a light cloak underneath and a light chain mail. His broadsword rested in it's scabbard at his right hip, and the blackjack now hung from his belt at his left. He has a small pouch for potions and suchlike on his belt, he also has a small backpack in which he places his loot it suits him for his purposes. For he does not steal everything that glitters but the items that warrant a large sum. He removed his bow and quiver from his back and over his shoulder. He wraps them along with his pouch off his belt in his heavy cloak, this will save them getting wet. Sitting on the edge of the well, Garrett stops. Perched on the brink, he faces a choice. He could try now, to stop his crime, return to the Keepers beg for forgiveness and start his training again. Maybe even become one someday.....or there is the life he leads now. Where he may kill to survive and steal more fat rich peoples trinkets for a large amount of money, only just covering or some times not at all, the risk factor for the job. He looks into the murky depths below as he ponders this choice.

He holds his breath and jumps. What the hell, risk is part of the job and it's worth the money. He decides tonight won't be completely fruitless. '