Chapter Eight

The door creaked open. Sqweky knew that this shouldn't have happened, as Surmas had latched the door. Sqweky was certain of that. Unfortunately, if whoever it was had malicious intent, then there was very little Sqweky could do.

"Who's there? I know that you're there, so just show yourself." Then, a shadow... moved... and a man who dressed very much like a thief, (well, like Surmas and Sqweky at least,) stepped into the center of the room.

"I apologize for my rudeness, but, I myself am... unsure... as to the wisdom of my assignment." Sqweky just looked at the stranger, studying him as he continued. "I am a Keeper acolyte. I have been sent to... inform you... about a situation. Your... guardian, Surmas... he has been contacted by a former agent of ours, one who he was a close friend with at one time. He has... Come into possession... of certain ideas that... are false. Well, misleading would be a slightly more accurate description. Surrounding yourself and Surmas." He paused, as if to gauge Sqweky's reaction. When Sqweky did nothing, the acolyte continued.

"I have been... instructed... to inform you of this, and keep it from Surmas, because he cannot be prepared for what will happen, but you must be.

"I step over the bounds already. I must give you this, and leave. The still unnamed acolyte tossed Sqweky a small bag and left, closing the door behind him.

Sqweky unhurriedly opened the bag. Inside was a triangular scrap of paper and half a ring. The paper had what appeared to be writing on it. Sqweky could still recognize the letters, but had long forgotten what each meant. It was one of the few things that he had managed to keep from Surmas. On looking at the paper closer, he realized that it was only half complete, having been torn diagonally.

He looked at the ring, next. It had been cut in half, no doubt there, but none of the strange symbols meant anything to Sqweky. Perhaps they were nothing, but something about them, they way they flowed, seemed to scream out that they were letters of a sort.

When he felt his curiosity satisfied, he put the paper and ring back into the bag and stuffed it into a cloak pocket, next to his third favorite knife.

Shopkeepers today are lazier than Sqweky is quite. Surmas nearly spat that thought out. Ten years ago, hardly any black-market shopkeeper had someone running the business at all times. Just now, he had to actually sneak into the man's house and demand to be sold something. It had been comical at first, but the humor ran dry after the man had tried to sell a rack of healing potions at price and a half. Surmas would have paid it, if they hadn't been watered-down. Well, THAT shopkeeper wouldn't try and cheat him for a while. It was fortunate that Sqweky wasn't there; such an example was not very becoming of Surmas.

"He's wrong." Surmas turned around immediately, cursing himself for not seeing the Keeper in the shadows. True, it was hard enough for one trained keeper to see another, if he chose not to be seen. But Surmas felt he should have been able to.

"What?"

"I said: He is wrong. He might have lied, but it is likely that he truly believe what he says. That would be unfortunate."

"Why? Why are you telling me? Keepers never tell anything they don't have to. I know; I was one for three years before I left. I may have younger than even some acolytes, but I was smarter than them all. Fools. All of you, blind fools. So tell me: why?"

"The counsel says that it is in the best interest of the future." Surmas's eyes closed to just a slit.

"You know I don't believe that."

"Don't you? Then why do you still listen to me?"

"I enjoy hearing fools chatter endlessly." Anger bubbled underneath Surmas's skin.

"We were friends once, Surmas. Why do you treat me with such animosity?"

"Why do the Keepers manipulate others with such reckless abandon?" The anger was flowing now.

"You know that we don't manipulate. We merely provide information when the time is right. What a person does then is up to them."

Surmas would not lose his temper; he restrained his anger. "Now you're just arguing semantics. You know full well that you manipulate people, if subtly. Now, answer me, why? If I don't hear a real answer, I'm leaving."

Michael paused, as if thinking, and stepped out of the shadow he inhabited. He walked up to Surmas, and whispered in his ear. "The time is not at hand. You cannot know. Your use is not prophesied. The future is uncertain. You are still my friend."

With that, Michael left, seeming to be no more than a shadow moving. As he left sight, as guard came strolling down the alley and sighted Surmas. "HEY! YOU! What are you doing out this late at night?" Surmas just sighed. The guard would be no problem, but he was an unnecessary annoyance.

"Hey, guys, I just wanna say again that I don't this. I'm a thief, not a murderer." "Just shut up, will ya? We told ya already: You're just the lookout. We're gonna do the dirty work. Just make sure to give us warnin' if someone is coming. Or do you want us to let Lord Randall to know that you're still in the city?"

"Okay, okay, I just don't like this whole thing of being a part of a murder. But, I'm not complaining. I just don't like this."

"Save your talkin' for when someone's comein'." And with that, the two assassins entered the room.

Samuel still didn't like it. The fact that he wasn't wielding a dagger gave him little solace. But, as long as Lord Randall was after him, they could blackmail him for anything, and Samuel would do it, too. Sometimes mistakes cost more than someone should have to pay. That's how much his was costing him. The building was small, and this door was the only way in or out, but it had a lot of rooms to hide in. The pagan inside the assassins had been hired to kill wouldn't last too long, but it was taking longer than Samuel wanted. No one showed up though. Once, he thought he almost heard something, but it was likely the wind; no one was anywhere near around them after all.

When they finally did come out, they were laughing. "Well, Samuel, we thank you for being our lookout. I think we'll pay you by not telling Lord Randall." With that they started laughing and walked off, as though they had not a care in the world.

Samuel called them a few colorful words when they were out of sight before he left himself. Normally, he would have checked the house, on the off chance there was any loot, but one never knew how close the city guard was to a murder sight. So he found a fair sized tavern, far from Downwinder's territory, and decided to pick a few pockets. Maybe he'd find some fool to play at darts. Samuel loved darts. Especially when money was on the line.

After leaving the tavern, he'd already forgotten its name, he headed strait to his hidey-hole. It would be day soon, and day was a bad time for a wanted man to be up and about. On his way though, a curious thing happened: a bag fell from nowhere, right in front of him. Naturally, he ran to the side of a building, hoping to hide in a shadow, but... no one was there. He was certain it had fallen, perhaps, it hadn't been. Stranger things had happened than things falling from the sky. He hoped.

Seeing no one around, he picked up the bad and stuffed it in his pocket; he'd see if there was anything valuable in it when he got home. Probably not. Samuel thought to himself. It didn't weigh very much, but something was better than nothing.