The stranger threw back his hood. Deep shadows lay beneath his eyes, his skin grey, his cheekbones sharp. He looked older than he truly was.

  “Well now… greetings, sister,” he said, a faintly restrained joy sounding in his low voice.

  “Oh gods… Roche!” Colette embraced him tightly, barely managing to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. He returned the hug somewhat awkwardly.

  “You’re alive,” she breathed, pulling back and quickly wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “We thought you wouldn’t come back. No one in the guild said a word…”

  “They wouldn’t have,” the visitor replied. “As you see, it all worked out… Now then, will you let me in, or shall we stand freezing out here?” he added with a smile.

  Hiding behind the table, Rize and Niko watched with both curiosity and unease as the tall man walked deeper into the hall and took a seat on the far bench. The innkeeper shut the door behind him and sat beside him.

  They fell silent, as if only now realizing they had truly met again.

  “When you disappeared, a bounty was placed on Sed — an official one, and yours as well. Which means this…” Colette faltered, her voice trembling.

  Roche’s face darkened.

  “Yes. I can’t say much. But we ran into him during a mission. For some reason Guy started trying to bargain. Sedrik acted as he always does.”

  “You should have seen the chaos that started here. Every other man was being called Sedrik. Even I got dragged into it.”

  Colette told him about the events of the last three months. About Dwain, the Church of the Twelve, and Rize.

  Roche listened, then turned toward the serving counter.

  “Well then, lads — how long do you plan to keep hiding there?”

  Rize and Niko stepped out from their cover.

  “Uncle Roche!” the boy said, coming closer.

  Roche laughed warmly, ruffling his hair before giving him a light shake and looking him up and down.

  “You’ve hardly grown at all.”

  The visitor’s gaze moved further — to Rize. She did not move, studying him carefully. The tip of her tail twitched nervously, brushing the ash near the hearth.

  The thief slowly removed his hand from Niko’s head. The smile still lingered on his lips, but his gaze turned appraising.

  “Well now, Colette,” Roche drawled without taking his eyes off Rize. “While I was gone, did you take in an oversized cat?”

  “She helps around the house,” Colette said shortly. “Not without trouble, but the customers adore her.”

  Roche leaned slightly forward. Rize instinctively pressed her ears back, unsure what he wanted.

  “We have some like that in our guild,” he finally said, leaning back against the bench. “Foxes, cats, and others. Verids are cleverer than most folk think.”

  “Rrike me?” Rize asked.

  “Yes. Cellases like you — small and nimble. Compared to a brute like me, you’re perfect thieves.”

  “She’s already proven herself,” Colette sighed in annoyance. “Cheese, meat, fish — gone without a trace.”

  “Everyone starts somewhere.” Roche shrugged. “I used to steal food from your father too, remember?”

  “I remember. And I remember how he beat you for it — yet you kept coming back.”

  “I’ll note he didn’t hit nearly as hard as the others.” The thief turned again to Rize. “So what do you say? There aren’t many like you during the day, but at night verids clean out the rich just as well as we do. Might interest you.”

  “Yooour guirrld… iss in the ffoorest?” Rize asked with interest.

  Roche did not immediately understand what she meant, but the cat continued.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Pprreacherr ssaaid verrrids and Verrridan are chiiildren of the ffoorest. Iff yoo have verrrids — then therrre mussst be ffoorest therrre?”

  “Preacher Lambert,” Colette clarified. “Ever heard of him?”

  “I only just returned. I don’t know much yet. As for forests — we’re in many places, forests among them. So in a way, yes. And you, Niko?” The visitor turned to the boy. “Have you thought about my offer?”

  Niko hesitated and said nothing.

  The kitchen door creaked open. Hemile stepped into the hall.

  “Hem!” Roche exclaimed happily.

  “I’m not Hem to you!” the old man grumbled. “No need to lure children into it. You survived, you said your greetings — now off with you. Night’s coming, and I wager you’ve plenty to do.”

  Roche nodded, rose, and headed for the door.

  “Good to see you,” he said, ruffling Niko’s hair before quickly leaving the tavern.

  The children turned to Hemile in surprise.

  “There you go again!” Colette slammed her hand on the table. The old man did not answer and returned to the cellar.

  Niko and Rize went back to the hearth — quiet, each thinking about what had just happened.

  Outside, the frost bit hard. Roche raised his collar and, without looking back, turned into an alley.

  Curfew had long been in force — patrols walked in pairs with torches and halberds. He heard them before he saw them: the creak of snow beneath boots, the clatter of iron. That was enough. Roche pressed himself against the wall and waited until the two guards passed the crossing.

  His path led into the maze between warehouse walls and the backs of houses.

  The first trail began at the rear wall of a tanner’s shop. Then along the canal, where he had to duck beneath a low arch because of his height. After that — toward a dead end near the old dye works. The place smelled of sour alum and rotting leather, which kept the dogs away.

  Hooking his fingers beneath the fifth brick from the corner, he felt a faint ledge and pulled it toward himself, revealing a narrow opening with steps descending below.

  Underground it was warmer. The deeper he went, the thicker the air became — the winter freshness giving way to damp heat. The drainage corridor, built in the days of Ardalez, was wide, lined with grey stone, rusted brackets fixed along the walls.

  Beyond the turn the catacombs began. After two spans the passage narrowed, then split. Despite the pitch darkness, Roche walked confidently, without a torch. In the distance a light flickered, and a murmur reached his ears. Two men sat at the passage; seeing him, they began to rise, but he drew a half-circle in the air with his hand, from low to high, then pointed to himself. No more was needed.

  Many slept right in the corridors — boots still on, cloaks wrapped around them. Nearby, a thin lad sharpened a blade against a whetstone. Someone tossed dice; others simply talked. No one paid him any mind.

  The corridor led to one of the common halls — a large round chamber beneath the vaults of an old collector tunnel. Roche chose to go around it. Not everyone knew he had returned yet, and the longer that lasted, the more advantage it gave him. Though he did feel like a drink in the “Hole.” The tavern could be seen from afar — right in the center of the hall. And despite its truly ratlike surroundings, it served drinks the likes of which those above the left bank could scarcely dream of.

  But his path led deeper — away from idle pleasures. The far reaches of the catacombs were older and tighter. The ceiling sank so low that Roche had to bow his head at every turn. Moisture beaded on the walls, and torches stood rarely — every twenty paces, sometimes less.

  At the end of the final corridor stood a door. Plain wood, no lock — only a latch from within.

  Roche knocked. Once — then twice more, with a pause.

  “Come in,” a muffled voice called.

  The room was small. A pallet covered with a rough blanket. A table stacked with papers and a guttering candle. On the single shelf by the wall lay a pair of scrolls. Where the master thief kept his tools could only be guessed.

  Morres sat at the table.

  An older man with deep wrinkles in his face and hands. His thick mustache, once black, had begun to whiten. His gaze gave the deceptive impression of a man profoundly tired.

  He looked at Roche. Set aside the papers, stood, and without a word embraced him firmly.

  “Welcome back, my boy.”

  “M-Master Morres, I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life—”

  “No need,” Morres interrupted. “The guild knows everything.” He stepped back. “Better show me your hand.”

  Roche quickly shed his cloak and rolled up his sleeve. From wrist to elbow the skin of his right arm was covered in a network of thin pale scars intertwined in a strange pattern.

  The old man narrowed his eyes, studying the marks, and gave a quiet whistle.

  “Well now. You see all sorts of things in this world. Did it hurt?”

  “I woke from the pain. The mage said it was normal, refused to give any medicines.”

  Morres nodded and returned to the table.

  “Will Master Guy be joining us?” Roche asked.

  “Later. At present he is meeting with a most demanding client.”

  The master gestured toward his subordinate.

  “The hand works fully?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We have much work ahead.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The split is worsening. The sides have sunk to poisonings and open clashes. Right now I need a loyal man — loyal and strong, ready to go to the end, even against his own brothers.” Morres looked at him directly. “Are you ready?”

  “Absolutely,” Roche said clearly, his face like stone.

  Black Sapphire: Chapter 24 will be published on March 12th.