Shapeless Hero

29 - Trip

Clint has to suppress the urge to run. A brief wave of goosebumps hits him with every step, she takes. Her steps are by no means loud or creepy. On the contrary, her boots seem oddly silent on the pavement. It's who she is that puts him on the edge. What was Kella thinking, sending that noble with him? And why was Kella so eager to get them out of the guild so quickly?

He can't read the lady Fylka's intentions. His danger sense, if you want to call it that, is constantly signalling something, but whenever he catches a glance of her, all she does, is look at everything around her like a village kid visiting the big city for the first time. Eyes like saucers and all. Maybe she's from a rural aristocracy?

Then there's the hair. With her abilities, each of her blonde strands is like an unsheathed blade, ready to cleave any offenders, including Clint himself. So many questions plague him, but Clint plans to keep quiet on his fetch quest for his own family treasures. You don't question nobles—that's what kept his home village unscathed until a year ago. So both him and lady Fylka walk in silence over the bridges and along the serpentine streets of Ryelope for a while.

"Argh!"

Clint dodges away out of habit, as someone yelps in pain right next to him. Once his vision stabilizes after the sudden maneuver, he sees the last few moments of lady Fylka's hair shaping back into its usual style. In front of her, a figure lies on the ground: An unconscious rogue.

Not as hesitant as Clint imagined lady Fylka to be about touching commoners, the noble kicks the man on the ground a few times, before looting his pockets. "Nice try, good sir.", she tells her victim. Then, she holds up one of her newly acquired possessions to Clint. "Do you know what that is?"

Clint, still fazed from seeing a mugging happen in broad daylight in front of him, mutters an answer without much thought. "That's the guy's stealth amulet..."

"Well, I'd say it's yours now." She tosses it over to Clint, who catches the item out of a reflex.

"But..."

"If it makes you feel better, here's more stuff, I found on him" She tosses another thing to Clint, who succeeds to catch it too.

"Hold on..." He takes another look at the pouch. His gaze then wanders to his belt. Only then does he understand, why that pouch seems so familiar. "Wait, when did he take my...?"

"See the merchant cart that passed us a sec ago? He sat on the back with his invisibility on. I wouldn't have noticed, if the amulet wasn't actively using magic. Ironic, right?" She chuckles.

"Th-thank you?" Clint reattaches his pouch to his belt. He doesn't know, if he should be more on edge or loosen up a bit. Hasn't she noticed his social standing? Is she from a land so far away, that she can't tell difference between people from a slum versus a mansion? Her talking to him, feels like a leviathan asking you to pass the butter.

Lady Fylka nods with her head towards their travel direction. "Let's get going, before the guy wakes up again."

"Right." 

Warmth makes its way into Clint's mind. This was the first time in a while, that somebody looked out for him, besides Kella and Rev, but he quickly discards the validity of the sensation. After all, everyone is nice to you, if they need something from you. Clint surmises, that Kella gave lady Fylka some strong incentives, whatever they might be. 

The roads and bridges look gradually worse for wear, the further upcountry they get within the fjord. Same goes for the houses, which are made from all kinds of cheap material, usually flotsam that was scavenged from the abandoned docks below. If you are short on cash, that's what you have to settle for.

Three turns of the road later, Clint points towards one of the cheaply made buildings in the row. "There it is," Clint says with an apologetic expression, "but you don't have to enter it, if it's too filthy for you."

"No worries. I've seen worse.", she responds nonchalantly, her face showing no sign of supressed disgust. She really must be from a very rural place.

They both make their way to the entrance of Clint's home, one of many decrepit buildings of this part of Ryelope. They're mostly built with scavenged wood and stones, held together by ropes and loam, occasionally complemented by rectangular patches of wattle and daub, if the ground allows it.

Before Clint can take a step onto the property, Fylka holds a hand in front of him. "How many live with you here?", she asks.

"No idea. Most people have to work from early morning to late night to earn their keep. Since it's late afternoon, nobody should be around to interrupt us."

"I see..." Fylka nods, scanning the outside of the house with her eyes. "Let's not take the main entrance."

"Then we have to climb through a window, though."

"Fine by me!"

"If you say so..." After a long look at Fylka, Clint heads towards the side of the building. You don't question nobles. If something happens, it'll be her own fault now anyway. 

Maybe it's just his imagination, but she's staying awfully close to him, as they approach the window to his hideaway. Her eyes occasionally dart up to the roof. What the hells did Kella promise this noble to be so committed to accompany him? As he ponders the possible incentives, he carefully opens, what barely passes as the window's wooden shutters and  deactivates a trap in that process, before jumping into his room.

Clint eyes widen, as he surveys his home. "No. Nononono..." Most of the room looks the way he left it with the crudely built bed, shelves and table. Except somebody toppled over his drawer. He rushes over and starts feeling the wall behind the drawer for any signs of damage. Sweat starts to form on his forehead. Once he confirms that the wall wasn't modified or tinkered with, he breathes a sigh of relief. The last thing he needs now, is his hidden valuables go missing, making it impossible to pay back his former employer.

Next to the window stands Fylka, her expression far more stern than it was on the way here. "Hidden compartment, I take it?"

Clint nods. "I was extra diligent with this one. I'll just take out what I need, so we can head back as fast as possible." He takes out a purple stone from a pouch. Only then does he realize, that it's the pouch that almost got taken. After another sigh of relief, he starts moving the purple stone along the wall behind the drawer in invisible patterns. The completion of the pattern is confirmed by a magic circle lighting up on the wall, the latter slowly disappearing and revealing a small alcove containing a few, finely crafted leather pouches. Clint quickly moves them into a bag, he prepared for the trip, before standing up and turning back to Fylka. 

He stops in his tracks, seeing her taking cover next to the window. Her eyes flicker around. "We have guests. Magical signatures remind me of the lethal sling ammunition."

He should have guessed. Of course they would wait for him to get his belongings, if they failed to open up the wall mechanism. Kella must have foreseen it. That's why the magic-seeing noble is here. A normal guard or adventurer couldn't detect robbers of that kind early enough to counter act. How did they know he would come here, though?

"Can the door hold?", she asks.

"My door trap is still active from the looks of it. Seems like they were wise enough to use the window too."

"Good. Stay here."

"Hold on. Wha—"

"Don't look outside until I return.", she says. Clint's goosebumps reappear, when he catches her expression. She looks excited. Too excited. The weird noble jumps through the window and closes the shutters, leaving him in his own room.