Light Fingers

Pip did not, as a rule, enjoy the social bullshit that Jarod usually handled for the Daggers. Digging around for leads on magic goods was somehow even worse. Getting to a town big enough to maybe have a lead took two weeks, finding someone willing to talk to them had taken another besides.

That landed them on a three day trip to some fancy bastard's parlour. Even dressed well, people could smell new money on them, and worse, they thought it meant stupid.

He could respect a grift, artistically at least. But the ones trying to sell them a "magic" rock that occasionally let out a pained little groan were stretching his patience past the breaking point. They'd asked for armor, not weird trinkets. What was he supposed to do with 'the last breath of a good king'?

"It's not even magic," Argent chimed in, crouched beside the display. "The boy's throwing his voice."

Pip had known the rock wasn't magic, he'd put it in the inventory when nobody was looking. He hadn't clocked the ventriloquism though. Argent's ears were as sharp as ever.

"Sir, I assure you—" the merchant began.

Jarod had a knife at his throat before the second syllable landed. Not because of the grift, they could stomach a trick. But Jarod had seen the brutal way he'd glanced at the boy and the bruises the kid hadn't managed to hide.

"He your da?" Jarod asked.

The boy shook his head.

"Got folks to get back to?"

This time, a nod.

"Argent."

Argent didn't need more than that. He rose smoothly, whistled once. The boy followed, wary, but not scared. The family would be getting him back, and with enough coin to help him stay gone. The merchant would be a corpse in his own fancy parlour before long.

"Fine, it's fake, but I know where you can get the real thing," the merchant said quickly. He appeared not to understand the main problem whatsoever, but bastards generally didn't.

"We don't care about your fucking trinkets," Pip said, mostly hoping he'd shut up.

"Of course not, but there's an auction in a few days and I can get you in. They'll have more magic items there than you can dream of," the man said, smiling even as he trembled.

"Where?" Jarod asked.

"The opera hall, but you'll need me, so perhaps we can all be gentlemen about this-"

His last words ended in a wet gurgle. It was always a mistake to threaten kids and women around Jarod. Always.

"I'll look around for an invitation or something," Pip said, already moving to check the place. "Fancy things usually have them."

Pip broke into a safe, then a hidden safe, but didn't find anything related to a magic auction. Not even a mundane auction. The body was thrown into the inventory, an option that was interesting but they didn't have time to dwell on.

Though the man might have been lying, they started checking the city for auctions and found a couple normal. They also found out the city had more than one opera hall, which was not helpful.

They all endured a brutal amount of singing to stake them out until the day of the auction arrived. A task that would have been easier if Argent had been any help at all. He'd balked half a block from the first one he'd been meant to check and covered his ears with a look of horror on his face.

In the end the right one turned out to be the fanciest. Something they only figured out because they noticed a lot of expensive carriages arriving at the wrong time of day.

"I feel stupid," Pip grumbled, tugging at his jacket. It fit well, distressingly so, and was fancy in a way that made his skin itch. A gift from 42 along with everyone else's new clothes. They were meant to help them blend in with the auction crowd, Pip hated them intensely.

"Well, you look as stupid as I feel, so you probably are," Cord offered. He was eyeing his pale cream shirt like it would spontaneously develop stains just from existing.

"Shhhh," Jarod hissed. There wasn't much of a line but everyone ahead of them was genuinely monied and apparently allergic to a normal walking pace. They strolled for lack of a better term and dawdled about getting on with things.

"No invitation, no entrance to the event," the guard told a man in boots that probably cost more to polish than Pip used to make in a year. The would be guest started to bluster and several more guards stepped forward from where they'd been lurking in the shrubbery. The man gave a disdainful sniff and was on his way.

When they got up to the front the guard gave them a once over but didn't immediately summon the others. It seemed he was polite despite looking certain that the Daggers didn't belong.

"Invitation?" the man asked, not unkind, but with the casual detachment of someone sure the answer would be no.

"We're here to sell," Jarod said, rather than bothering with a lie. They'd scrapped the idea of stealing an invitation and tampering with it before they'd even left their lodgings. Too much bother.

"And I'm here to turn away anyone who doesn't already have a name on the ledger," the man said simply.

Jarod didn't bother arguing, just reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like nothing more than a very small hooded lantern. Fancy, gilded, a trinket a rich person would use to read in bed rather than useful.

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Right until he opened the door and the little light stone inside flickered to light. It wasn't dark out but the brightness of it was unmistakable. Pip had never come across a magic item that was nearly as bright or steady himself, and going by the way the guard looked at it, neither had he.

"We can come back," Pip offered, half hoping they'd get turned away. He'd rather do it the old-fashioned way and sneak in.

"That won't be necessary," the guard replied. He turned and caught the eye of a better-dressed man by the door. The second fellow took one look at the lantern and blinked hard.

"Gentlemen, please follow me," he said, and moved at a fast clip without even offering a name.

The opera hall stank of roses and brass. Everyone in it looked like swans, pretty at first glance, mean-spirited bastards if you got too close;as bad as geese but twice as pretentious.

They were led to an office, a wizard and some better dressed people than the one leading them offered names and looked over the lantern. They debated, talked with Jarod, and Pip took almost none of it in. Not until they were told they'd get nice seats in one of the private boxes, a privilege of sellers.

Pip nodded like that was something to be expected and made an excuse that he had to piss on the way to peel off from the group.

Nobody noticed Pip slipping away. That part was easy. People with fancy names didn't look at people who didn't have them. He didn't go far,ust followed a harried-looking clerk past a half-latched side door and ducked in behind a cart like he was born for it.

Ten minutes later he was in the back behind the stage. It was secured but not a vault; It had lined shelves, locked cases, and arcane scribbles that looked like they were meant to ward off the curious. They didn't work.

He didn't take anything. Not really.

He just touched each piece in turn and stored it for a heartbeat. Long enough for inventory to register. Long enough for 42 to see.

A glass sword with a ripple core. A flask of powder that never settled. A velvet box full of stones still faintly echoing the sound of water. Trinkets, most of it, curious but not useful.

"I'm underwhelmed," 42 said in his ear, flat as chalk. "This is supposed to be high-grade?"

"They were real impressed with your light," Pip whispered, eyes still scanning. "Guy walking us in looked like he'd cream himself."

"Cute. Keep going."

He did.

He picked up a red-glass vial no bigger than his thumb. It had that oily shimmer people swore meant healing, but the smell made his nose wrinkle. Metal and vinegar. Like someone had bled into pickle brine and prayed for the best.

"Standard healing potion," Pip whispered. He was reading the label rather than appraising it himself.

There was a pause.

"This is their standard?" Then 42's voice, flat and colder than usual. "If this doesn't kill you outright, it'll leave you with half a liver and wishing you died."

She sounded genuinely irritated. He hadn't heard her like that before.

"I can forgive a decorative fire wand. I can tolerate bad enchantment math. But this?" A beat. "This pretends to save lives. I'd call that criminal." Pip grinned despite himself. "Guess we're stealing it, then?"

"Replacing it with something real. Smash the original if you want to be petty."

It didn't take him long to copy everything the auction was putting up, plus a few things that were probably opera props because he stopped being careful. 42 didn't seem to mind a bit of junk mixed in with the rest. She actually asked that he copy some grease paints and things intentionally at one point.

Everything copied, he headed back to find the others. He was stopped briefly by guards who patted him down but all he had on him was a flask that they politely ignored before escorting him to the box seats where the other daggers were.

"Sellers privilege," Jarod said, gesturing around when Pip arrived. It was plush with ten chairs and a sideboard with food and liquor. The auction bellow was high-nosed and low-lit, all hush and posture and old money smells.

Once they were properly alone Pip relayed that he was done and 42 would be sorting the goods. That and the bit about the healing potion that wouldn't have lived up to its label if it had been left as it was.

They all absorbed that and sat with it for an uncomfortable moment. A healing potion was the kind of thing they'd have dearly wished for while on the job more than once. The kind of thing mercenaries like them saved up for without ever really expecting to be able to afford it. That they might have been swindled even if they'd managed to buy it from somewhere nice was unpleasant to think about.

Pip thought of the kid back in Shardhill. Not a dagger, just another merc, one who'd bled out screaming into the straw of the makeshift healers tent. His people had scraped together coin to try and find something to save him but hadn't managed it. That they might have gotten a potion that did fuck-all for their trouble made him feel sick. He hadn't liked the man or his friends much, but nobody deserved that.

"I vote we have a chat with the seller," Cord said with a quiet menace in his voice. The kind that usually only made an appearance when someone tried to stiff them on a bonus. Argent grunted in agreement and Quint nodded.

When Jarod looked at him, Pip nodded his agreement. He didn't know if anyone who'd be bidding on the potion really needed or was just buying it because they could, but nobody deserved to be lied to about something like that. Not even rich folks.

They weren't sure how to go about setting up a meeting until their lantern was brought up on stage. It was going to be the first item auctioned after the intermission. The auctioneer sounded like they were laying it on thick as they described it as having exceptional craftsmanship and properties. Only the crowd seemed to agree going by the oohing.

"Bet they do something fancy for the sellers during intermission," Pip pointed out. "Can probably do a bit of mingling and figure who isn't the potion seller if nothing else."

"Good idea," Jarod agreed.

True to expectation, they were all invited to share drinks with the other sellers in a private room. Argent hung back like a body guard and Cord declined outright. Pip, Jarod, and Quint went along with it and mingled.

Everyone present was ready to brag about whatever family treasure they'd brought and how much they thought they'd get for it. Jarod told a lie pretty close to the truth about representing a craftsmen rather than being the makers of the lantern. An eccentric who liked their privacy. They managed to account for all of the major sellers aside from the potion seller then excused themselves.

Argent got the relevant scents and as they headed back to the box picked up the remaining unaccounted ones. There was no reason to make a scene at the auction itself so long as he could find them later.

They enjoyed the free food until the lantern was sold for an obscene amount then watched the rest of the auction. Most of the items seemed like they were being collected for bragging rights rather than anything useful. The potion was the last item and the bidding on that got heated quickly.

"Mark the bidders," Jarod said quietly to Argent.

"We rolling them?" Pip asked, surprised. Jarod shook his head without looking over, eyes on the crowd. He didn't offer an explanation and Pip looked at the people below with more interest.

They didn't make any moves until the auction was over. Quint, Cord, and Argent heading out to handle the people they were tracking. He and Jarod hung back to get paid before joining up with them.

"Gentlemen, should your benefactor wish to sell goods at other events, we'll be happy to welcome them. Here is an introduction letter and a list of other establishments we are partnered with. We hope you'll consider our services for your future needs," the auction manager said as he handed over a bag of coins. Even less the fees and such it was a substantial amount and he was fast and polite the entire time.

"We'll inform them," Jarod said blandly.

When they caught back up with the others a couple hours later the two sellers had been tracked to fancy inns. The three bidders were local residents in the city and the crests on their carriages had been marked down rather than tracked.

"How we doing this?" Pip asked as they waited outside the second inn. The first seller had been ruled out because they'd left before the final auction. You had to stick around to get paid as Jarod had learned.

Jarod's eyes stayed on the inn's doorway, dark and cold. "We'll be polite," he said. "At first."

"Fine," Pip sighed. He hated being polite.

Jarod didn't even look at him as he added, "But if they know, and they're doing it on purpose… we bury the whole bloody lot."

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