Fall from Grace

After all these years Fetjev still claims that he never cheated me over that game of 'Cutthroat Spoon'. The bastard's lying of course and I didn't need a fancy green gem for an eye to know that. At the time I was still a bit green and not too wise in the ways of the world. These days I'd have skewered the bastard and THEN asked him what was up his sleeve. Still, if I hadn't lost my temper and challenged the turd to duel I wouldn't have had such an interesting and lively career so I guess I thank him. Not that I've got any intention of doing so but it's the thought that counts. Isn't that so?

Let's forget about Fetjev for the moment though - he comes later on. First we have to go right back to the start of my second year at the University at Rel Mord. Hah, I was full of myself when I got back after visiting The Family. I think I'd even managed to impress the Old Boy (which was highly improbable at the best of times) and my wonderful brothers looked fairly jealous. I shouldn't have gloated I suppose but the saps had never had the guts to stand up to the old man so it wasn't my fault I was the first to go to Rel Mord.

I'd been so into all the freedom to think what I wanted in that first year that I'd actually been rather conscientious. I'm not sure I really want to admit to it but I'd spent most of my time deep in my books and avoided the more boozy student life. So, I arrived back for the second year filled with confidence and looking to relax and enjoy the city a bit more.

I had a room in an apartment block owned by a (naturally) avaricious landlord called Smaleth. The block was towards the shadier side of the buildings surrounding the market but I was still a chip off the old Bherruliann at the time and scrimping over absolutely everything was essential. Besides, the bastard hardly gave me enough to live on anyway he was so constipated with his money. Reckoned it would teach me the value of it if I didn't have any.

It was about halfway through my first term that I met Davat Kalmin. I don't think you could say we were properly introduced at first as he was occupied with burgling my room. Anyway, I'd spent most of the evening ploughing through a tract on the place of women in ancient literature (tedious subject) and had finally been chucked out by a peeved librarian. Climbing the stairs to my room I thought I heard some muffled noises of furniture being moved around and got more suspicious the higher I climbed. I hurried up the last few steps and now I was really outraged because I was certain there was somebody in my room. I got my key out (but of course the door was already unlocked, silly boy) and burst into the room ready to confront the creature that was ransacking my place. What I got was a quick glimpse of a clothes-strewn floor closely followed by a short nap on said floor courtesy of an expertly applied cosh.

Have you ever had one of those mornings where you wake up with an almost psychic foreknowledge that this is going to be an epically shite day?

Next morning I woke to the mellifluous banging of the landlord's rent-collector at my door. Thankfully the bastard didn't have any patience at all and only kept that up for a few seconds before he let himself in. As you can imagine, my head felt as if someone was trying to press my brains out through my eye sockets.

"What the bloody hell have you been doing to this place you verminous gob of student filth!" he murmured thoughtfully to me. As a matter of professional pride he proceeded to kick me several times - actually I think I made his morning as he previously looked very sour when I paid the rent on time. When he satisfied himself that I was suitably miserable I ventured to tell him that I had been robbed and that I wouldn't be able to pay my rent just at the moment. This information prompted some further gleeful boots, kicks and stampings. I won't bother to repeat his various threats as they were all very predictable and my landlord didn't employ his rent-collector for the originality of his insults.

My morning continued to nose-dive (quite literally) towards the gutter when it appeared that payment in advance was something of a religion where Smaleth the Landlord was concerned. Having no money and nothing worth confiscating it was a swift boot down the stairs for me. I decided to spend the rest of the morning recuperating in the mud at the entrance to the close.

The next few hours were perhaps the best of that particular day as I was mostly unconscious and were definitely the most profitable as I made 2 copper pieces as an unwitting beggar. After coming back to a semblance of consciousness the only option which presented itself to me was to appeal to the charity of one of the professors at the University. I had no hope with most of them as they were almost universally impoverished as the students were. However there was one of my lecturers who had taken fairly favourable notice of one of my rather more iconoclastic diatribes against classical Rel Mordian sculpture - I had a rather good line in sarcasm which I've tried to maintain. I made a halfhearted attempt to scrape most of the muck off of my clothes and tramped over to the professorial residence.

Professor Lamenkastor was comfortably well off enough to be able to afford his own manservant. This snooty creature took much persuading (and a bribe of 2 copper pieces) to announce my request for an audience to his master. Of course, as I had already begun to guess, this was not going to be my lucky day and I would have done better to keep my 2 copper pieces. When I was finally ushered into his presence, the good professor took much persuading to even remember who I was but I was eventually rewarded with: "Ohhhh, you're the undergraduate with the hat". So much for my reputation for criticism in aesthetics. Asked whether he recalled the dangerous nature of the area in which he lived I was treated to the splendid sight of his best impersonation of a weasel - "Young man, what is that awful smell?" "Sir, if you would take pity on a respectful student and loan me a few pennies I and my father would be most grateful. I would pay you back very promptly and we would provide excellent terms by way of interest..."

Unfortunately the stench of my begrimed self had begun to mortally offend my sensitive academic and all he could do when he recognised the state of my boots was to wail, "My rug! My RUG! You're ruining my precious RUG!". Here he began to strike me briskly with his walking cane. "Out, you vagabond, out!" Lamenkastor's servant helped me to the gutter at the bottom of the stairs outside. Perceptive listeners will recognise the Professor's unconscious use of Rel Mordian iambic triameter in his expostulations.

This I felt was getting altogether too ridiculous.

It was at this point that my illustrious career as a thief began. I can't claim to have made any considered opinion about the pro's and con's of such a life choice. I was just in a very evil mood.

If you wanted to ask Aranon about it he'd probably give you some priestly twaddle about it being ordered by the gods. My destiny was chosen for me and I was always foreordained to do what I did next. Personally, I'll stick with the simplest explanation: my head hurt, I stank, I was homeless, destitute, miserable and I'd just been insulted by an intellectual pygmy.

So I robbed someone.

Well what would you do? Pray to your deity for better luck? Toe the line? Play by the rules? Nah. Screw that. Life had just dealt me a spectacularly shitty hand and I was damned if I was going to play with those cards. No, I was gonna have me this here Ace up my sleeve.

Of course all this bullshit is complete rationalisation. Truth is, once I picked myself up out of the mud, there was that fat, weasel-faced bastard Smaleth waddling down the road towards me. I can't say I thought twice about it. I simply removed my blade from my boot, waited till he was past and then pounced. Well, that would perhaps imply some style, so shall we say bounded? Anyway, I got his money and was off down the street; as I say, there wasn't much finesse in the cutting of his purse-strings but do you really expect me to shed any tears if he lost some blood?

Come to think of it now though, there must have been something watching over me that day. Normally Smaleth had a couple of bruisers trailing their knuckles along in his wake. Such a professional consideration never occurred to me at the time - I was too busy doing the steeplechase down the road with my heart about to burst. An uncontrollable urge to dance, shout and laugh was vying with pure terror. What the hell did I think I was doing?

I'd be hung if I was caught. The shrieks of Smaleth's miser's grief resounded along the street so I dodged off into the alleys to lose any potential pursuers.

Once I'd ran round a few corners I slowed down, the implications starting to sink in. I'd robbed a man. Suddenly the alleyways looked none too safe. There could be all sorts of sneaks and informers lurking in these dark, noisome canyons. Feeling protective of my spoils, I tucked them into my tunic and tried to look inconspicuous.

A man appeared silhouetted at the mouth of the alley and began to approach. I continued walking, not too worried, though my heart was still beating a good brisk rhythm. This figure had his head bowed - he wore a light blue cloak and his head was bare exposing cropped black hair. His face gradually became more visible in the gloom and I sighed silently as he was completely, boringly normal. As he passed, I didn't even give him a second glance, my first look convincing me of his utter harmlessness.

Can you guess where I woke up? A large fourposter bed in the best house of ill-repute Smaleth's money could buy? Sandwiched in between a couple of lusty barmaids at my favourite inn? Or a musty basement strapped onto the spokes of an old cart wheel? What do you reckon?
Oh all right, I'll give you a clue. There weren't any women involved. Although I have to say, I've a vague recollection of a Faxian bordello which specialised in tying the (mainly judicial) clients up in unusual situations. Unfortunately this was Rel Mord and there weren't any judges chained up with me. Not that that would have reassured me at the time as that trip to Fax was still just a lascivious glint in the eye of Lady Luck. No, the figures standing over me now bore absolutely no resemblance to generously proportioned nymphs.
Alas, the smaller of these two was the very same unassuming gentleman I'd last seen passing me in the alley. He was staring at me now without the least hint of his thoughts or feeling showing in his expression. But his gaze was disturbing nonetheless as I had the impression I was being judged or sized-up in some fashion. I hadn't felt greatly afraid up until then, just very sorry for myself and confused. I guess I forgot to mention that the back of my head was on fire with pain and this didn't aid a quick appraisal of the scene. But now it was fairly obvious that I might be in danger.
The small man, still staring intently at me, said to his companion, "This cove ain't no ordinar boung nipper. This is a cull gown turned gallows bird."
He smiled grimly at me. "He better watch isself thoughor 'e'll be catching a bad dose of hempen fever."
He laughed quietlyand turning to the taller man by his side said, "Mind he don't bing."
And left us there.
I peered cautiously around, trying to size up the place and this other man. The situation was looking worse and worse. I could hardly feel my hands they were so tightly bound and the look I was getting from the accomplice was definitely not friendly. All I saw was what could be described as a fierce animal glare. It wasn't really a normal human gaze: just impersonal attention to prey. He even looked like some sleek falcon or big cat with his black leather armour and blood red shirt.
Defiance, I decided, wasn't a good plan.
Trying to ignore the large knife he was holding ready, I croaked, "Water?"
And my best `pity me' expression naturally. The man's eyes didn't leave me for a second while his hand whipped over to grab a wooden jug sitting on a crate next to him. The contents were thrown liberally in my face. Blinking through the residue I could see he'd been looking forward to that particular possibility. He was still holding the jug only now his mirth had turned into a real belly laugh. Which he was trying to keep quiet.
"Great," I thought to myself, "a comedian." The incident did seem to change his mood however and the intensity had gone from his stare. Just as I thought about trying to get him to talk, the first figure reappeared.
He walked silently over to me and knelt down, drawing out a knife like a giant kneedle from within a sleeve. This, he applied gently to the side of my neck and held there. You can imagine: this got my attention. His nose was nearly touching mine now and I could smell his carious teeth. But it was the eyes which held me and I can still see them today.
Nothing. Dead. A real murderer's gaze. Life has times when it shows you who you are and I'm still proud to this day that I didn't let a peep out. I was desperate to shit myself you understand; but I kept it together. Damn him to the depths, and his soul for the demons to play with. I wouldn't have given him any satisfaction.
"You better have a long tongue buzman. Cos if you ever cackle on me you'll wish you 'ad met your end on the chatts. Me and bodkin ere'll see to that. But you don't know no flash lingo I'm thinking so I'll say it to you plain. Ever betray us to a King's man and you'll die at the hands of this 'ere blade."
He relaxed the pressure of the knife on my neck and moved his face further back.
"Now, we've a business proposition for you..."

He got back to his feet and settled himself on one of the manycrates scattered around the area.
"What's your name half-elf?"
A man who's just threatened to slit your throat isn't to be trifled with so I croaked, "Akhan Bherruliann."
"Akhan Bherruliann, I'm a superstitious man. Sometimes things are sent our way and these things should be accepted. No questions asked. Grasp them, use them, but don't ABUSE them," he said pointing the knife at me to emphasise his point.
But frankly this was all as clear as mud to me at the time and it must have shown as he frowned and went on.
"You have been given to me - an unlooked-for boon."
(He still wasn't reaching me. Iwas starting to think this was some sort of weird religious sect.)
"I break into your room and discover you're not the librarian I thought you were. I discard you from my plans, yes? And next, I walk down an alley and find you sneaking past me with what turns out to be the stolen purse of your landlord. This is what makes me think again. I say to myself that I need a tame librarian, but you turn out to be a lowly student, a nobody. And yet, Fate has it that you come running into my arms with a very interesting little pouch of coins. This is when I think again. I think - this student has been given to me. You will be good luck for me. You are a good omen Akhan Bherruliann and I will use you well."
Can you follow all that? I certainly didn't at the time. I had caught the bit the bastard had said about burgling my room though. Here at last was the cause of all my misfortune, only I certainly wasn't going to let him know how much I hated him right now. I wasn't that keen on getting to know the ins and outs of my tripes just yet.
He was off again. "You may not see the advantage to yourself of accepting my offer, no?"
Apart from not dying was that?
He smiled, puzzlingly, in a kindly fashion.
"Akhan. You are already dead, as good as, without our protection. No, and not from any magistrate. Lie low for a few days and you would have been well rid of those fat fools. No, you see you have committed a cardinal sin in the twilight world of Rel Mord. Leave to one side angling for coppers on another beggar's patch. They'll already be looking for you for that little offence. I'm talking nimming from an oak like Smaleth. You don't follow? Stealing your landlord's money. Freelance thieves like you don't meet with much kindness from the Guilds round 'ere. Thieves Guilds," he said for the benefit of my seemingly obvious ignorance.
"Smaleth's a good 'un in the eyes of the Guild. He pays 'is dues and turns a blind eye when he's asked. So, nobody touches Smaleth or the Guild'll scrag 'em for taking such a blatant liberty. Now tell me Akhan if I'm wrong. You want to accept my offer of mutual enterprise and benefit. You're not dull, not the way you nipped that purse. I can use you and shield you. Without me you're just meat for the gutter."
Its not often that such attractive opportunities come this way in one life. I was in.
Yes, this was Davat Kalmin in all his tawdry splendour. The bugger had sent me to the depths and now I would find myself grateful to him for saving my life. Which, as it turned out, he undoubtedly had. I know now that I shouldn't have gone anywhere near Smaleth.
With that one act provoked by a fair mixture of malice, mischief and abandon, I had decided the path that my life was to take. There was no going back to the safe world of the ordinary culls walkingaround the streets of Oerth. But I'd still do it again in an instant.
A response was obviously called for. 
"Just one question.  DoI get to keep Smaleth's money?"  The fierce-looking comedian burst out laughing and I smiled too, hoping this wasn't pushing my luck.  I wasn't really interested in the money (OK, yes I was), more in testing the water. 
Eventually his face cracked a little and he jerked his head towards his companion.  "Akhan, meet Fetjev Solle.  Fetjev, untie Akhan."
This done, he stretched out his hand. 
"Davat Kalmin.  Your hand on this deal Akhan.  Do as I say and you'll stay alive, maybe
profit." 
Despite it all being his fault I shook.  Not much of ashake it has to be admitted as my hand was completely numb.  But I meant it all the same.  Sure I was suspicious and scared. 
Terrified.  This was all a bit too wild, dangerous and sudden.  At the same time I felt I was just starting to get a glimpse of another world.  A more honest and exciting world where the rules were understood.  Because there was no pretence.  When you KNOW that everyone's out for themself then you don't have to worry anymore.
They left me then and I heard a door being closed and locked.  I thought about having a look for a way of escape but moving just made my head spin and make me want to vomit.  Instead I crawled into a ball, groaned for a few minutes then fell unconscious...

The next few weeks were some of the most strenuous of my life. Kalmin lost no time in setting to work on his good luck charm. Certainly he was superstitious where I was concerned, but this didn't mean he was prepared to trust solely in luck.  He made sure I used every moment for my education into my new life.
The evening of that first day for instance (although I couldn't have told you if it was night or day).  They left me to recover for a while ,then brought me a hot meal and a flagon of small beer.  Kalmin watched me wolfing into the steak without comment, although I have to confess I was so ravenous I didn't waste any valuable eating time in niceties such as wiping the gravy off my face.  He returned my knife and then passed me two gold pieces.
"This is your cut of Smaleth's money.  You don't get all of it cos you got robbed." 
I pocketed the coins silently,while I wiped most of the remains of my meal off my face.  Two gold coins was better then than the two coppers I'd made yesterday.
Kalmin's face clouded.
"I can see I've got some polishing to do with you," he said somewhat grimly.  "You're no gallows bird yet.  You're barely out your bloody shell letting a cove fob you off with a couple of shiny buttons!" 
Hemade me remove the `coins' and study them.  What followed was a long and detailed account of the various sources of fun practised on unsuspecting culls like myself with counterfeit and debased money. 
I soon discovered that simply explaining never satisfied him though and he would always question me closely afterwards.  Eventually I managed to convince him that I'd recognise `wry plate' when I saw it in thefuture. 
"No sense in your being ignorant after all.  You ever pass medodgy iron you better make it up with some real stuff of your own. Only genuine portraits of the King acceptable to this 'ere merchant."
And to this day, I've never let a button go by me - and let me tell you, plenty have tried!

A Tale by Colin Alexander