VI. It took a week to settle all his affairs in Alberta and prepare for his departure.
His last day in Alberta saw Diradem walking down the cobblestoned street to the docks, dressed in comfortable travelling clothes over which he wore a stylish leather jacket. He carried a light backpack slung over his right shoulder; it contained a few pieces of clothing and most of his savings. A pair of sturdy boots rounded out his outfit.
The custom-made dagger sheath strapped to his right arm and hidden by his jacket's sleeve carried the emveretarcon-sharpened dagger which would slide down into his hand with a casual flick of his arm. The dagger's twin lay tucked into his left boot.
A refreshing breeze blew in from the sea, carrying with it a salty smell off-setting the fading heat from the vanished sun. The night was young, and Alberta's taverns were just starting to get into full swing. There was noone on the street before him, but a surreptitious glance behind him confirmed that they were still following him. The Albertan Shadows.
There were two of them, faces hidden by that annoying smiling mask that King Tristram was trying to push on the populace. He easily spotted them a few blocks ago, when they fell in some paces behind, trying to appear casual. Damn novices, he thought disdainfully, who trains these new guys?
Diradem continued making his way to the docks. The smiley pair weren't a problem. He could always find an abandoned alley somewhere ahead where he could spring an ambush. He turned at the next corner and stopped. Now that could be a problem.
At the end of the block, a dozen other thieves stood in a cluster. Most of them turned circular masked faces towards him. More Mr. Smiles, more Albertan Shadows. Somehow, Diradem didn't think they were here to wish him well on his journey.
A glance on the other side of the street showed light streaming through the glass windows of an open kit shop and he immediately veered towards it. That might buy him some time. If nothing else, he could always try to escape by the shop's backdoor.
The sign said "Von Prontera's Convenience - Open All Night"--a strange concept indeed. Diradem briefly wondered who would want to shop at night, but he supposed such a store really was convenient. At least, it was for him right now.
He peered into the window: a single storekeeper and no patrons. Behind him, Diradem saw the two thieves walk past the shop to join the larger group. He pushed on into the store.
The store was one big room, lined all around with shelves displaying an assortment of weapons, armor, and sundry goods. The storekeeper, a huge bearded middle-aged man, sat upon a long stool behind a counter filled with bulbous multicolored potion bottles. The whole store smelled faintly of pungent herbs and bitter-sweet oil.
Diradem turned and peeked out the door. The thieves began to spread out, covering the street. He shut the door, saw the triple door bolts set upon it, and bolted them, one by one. He would have to think of something fast.
"Oho! A customer!" came a voice from behind him. "Come to see Izlude's wares, have ye?"
"Oh? Are all of these from Izlude?" Diradem turned and walked towards the counter, glancing at the shelves to his left and right for inspiration. A two-handed sword lying naked beside its tooled leather scabbard, a large rounded shield made of steel, some hooded lanterns, a crossbow...
"What?" Confusion tinged the man's gravelly voice.
"I'm sorry, what?" asked Diradem, equally confused. He picked up the coil of silk rope he was fingering. He continued scanning the shelves for more inspiration.
"Ah! Izlude's wares, prospective customer! Not from Izlude. I am Izlude! These are my wares." The man had stood up from his stool and was at the moment gesturing grandly at the shelves with huge beefy arms.
Diradem paused an awkward moment to acknowledge the man's claim. "I see," he said.
A wide grin split Izlude's bearded face. Diradem went back to rummaging through the shelves. Quick glances through the window showed movement, but the thieves do not seem to be making an attempt to kick the shop's door down. At least, not yet.
There was a barrel filled with beef jerky--traveller's rations, Diradem thought, I'd better get used to that soon. Beside that were a pair of shields, smaller ones this time. One of those may come in handy tonight. He picked out a small round metal buckler that strapped to one's shield arm, leaving the hand free. He strapped it on and nodded. The weight was just right.
"Excellent choice!" Izlude exclaimed. Now that Diradem was a few paces away, the merchant noticed the excellent make of the thief's clothes. A rich kid, I'll be making lots of zeny tonight. "That's imported from the armor-smiths of Prontera, no less. We've got a spiked model out back. Good fer stabbin' without losin' protection. 'course, the metal spike'll cost you extra."
"These are fine, thank you." Diradem reached the counter and dropped the rope on the small space free of potion bottles. A glance through the shop's front window showed two smiley faces peering into the store from outside.
"This rope's made of the finest Payon silk, spun from Creamy cocoons. It'll bear the weight of five men as stout as meself, it will. I assume you're gonna use it for climbing and not for other...ah, exotic uses? May I recommend a grappling hook, then?"
"Please do," Diradem began counting out zeny from his pouch. He tossed the payment onto the counter.
Izlude pulled a black three-pronged grappling hook from behind the counter and carefully attached one end of the coil of rope to it. "There!" the merchant presented Diradem with the coil.
Diradem quickly inspected the knot then slung it across one shoulder. A knock sounded from the shop's front door.
"Sounds like your friends be tired of waitin'," remarked the merchant.
"They're not my friends."
"I know. Business here is bad enough without the Shadows muckin' it up." The merchant turned and opened a door behind him. "My storeroom's beyond here. There's another door there that'll let you out the back."
More knocks on the door.
Diradem nodded, "Thanks."
"Don't ye mention it. About time someone knocked some sense into those damned hooligans."
Diradem paused at the back door in hesitation.
"Hey, go on! I can take care of meself. Been so long since I've retired from active service. I'm actually itchin' fer a fight," said Izlude. He pulled out a large triangular shield emblazoned with the knights' crest of Prontera and grinned at Diradem.
Diradem nodded at the merchant again. Yeah, the man looks like he can take care of himself. Besides, if push comes to shove, the merchant looks like he can just sit down on his enemies.
"They may be using poisoned blades."
"They would, would they, those bastards. No worries there. Got me a whole batch of green pots right 'ere." A large thumb jerked in the direction of a box of bottles filled with a bright emerald liquid.
There was a sudden crashing sound, the sound of a body slamming into the door.
"Go. I'll keep the smilin' lads busy."
Diradem turned and disappeared through the door. He had to move slowly through the piles of crates and sacks to avoid falling over and found the door set into the rear wall. After unbolting it, he opened it a crack and peered at the alley beyond. Noone there.
More crashes came from the storefront behind him. He heard the merchant shouting in his loud voice but couldn't make out the exact words. Silently, he let himself out into the alley. Faint illumination shone from a gas light at the mouth of the alley. More boxes and rubbish littered the dead-end alley. Muddy puddles from the previous day's rain huddled among the broken cobblestones. It smelled strongly of urine and rotting fruit.
He made his way down the narrow alley, taking care not to step on any of the trash.
"Diradem Tarkis, I'm afraid the Shadows have rejected your resignation, kid."
Diradem froze as he heard the familiar voice from behind him. Old Man Spinner.
He turned around.
Spinner stepped out from the shadows at the end of the alley. Through the old man's dark leather cloak, Diradem can barely make out shiny metal studs. Diradem couldn't remember when he last saw the man in studded leather armor.
For a moment, the two men regarded each other in the dimness of the deserted alley.
"I won't fight you, Spinner," Diradem finally said.
"But we've got no choice, kid. I was ordered to bring you back. Dead." Spinner pushed aside his cloak to reveal a naked blade in one hand.
Diradem extended his right arm and felt the mechanism of his custom sheath click, releasing the dagger into his hand. He twirled the dagger in his hand--once, twice. He dropped his backpack onto the ground. Spinner was the last man in the Albertan Shadows that Diradem wanted to fight. The man had saved him. Despite the age gap, they had become good friends.
"Let's begin this dance." Spinner dashed towards him, surprisingly fast for a man of almost sixty winters. Diradem barely had enough time to bring his buckler in line. Sparks flashed as Spinner's sabre skidded off the wooden shield.
Diradem leaped back, thinking fast. "Spinner, there must be way--"
But Spinner's face was a grim mask as he pressed on his attack. Thrice the sabre thrust with blinding speed towards Diradem's heart and thrice the young thief was hard-pressed to defend with his buckler. He stepped back with each strike, mind a-whirl, thinking.
And then Spinner paused, blade lowered slightly. "I'm an old man, Diradem," he said simply. "I should've retired last year. Got a hut in Comodo. Lived my last years in peace."
"We can still do that. Come with me." Diradem began edging away, towards the alley mouth.
"No...I'm in too deep this time, kid." The old man once more raised his sabre, and began running towards him. Diradem tensed, ready to catch the blade on his shield-arm. But Spinner did not attack. Instead, the old thief launched himself into a somersault, cloak fluttering in the air. He landed behind him.
Diradem heard the blade whistling through the air. He couldn't see it in time, couldn't twist fast enough to block it. He dove down, rolling away from Spinner. Mud and refuse soiled his clothes. Spinner was upon him as he recovered his feet. Diradem quickly raised his dagger, and the old thief's long blade rang along the shorter, stopping at the hilt-guard. Diradem pushed him back.
"Damn it, kid. Fight me!"
"I can't do that, Spinner," Diradem cried, voice tinged with despair.
"You have no choice. Only one of us must leave this duel alive." The old thief said as he lowered his sabre. There was soft click and a viscous greenish liquid ran down the slender blade, bathing its entire length. Argos venom, was Diradem's errant thought, a most potent poison.
"So which one shall it be, kid?"
Spinner raised the dripping blade towards Diradem. The moon peeked through the darkclouds overhead, lighting the grim scene in the abandoned alley. Their eyes met, Spinner's green with Diradem's dark blue. There was a plea in the old man's eyes that Diradem noted. But he could not deal with the implications of granting that request.
"Spinner, we're better than this."
"There's no honor among thieves, kid."
"I know. But this--?"
"It's your only way out, kid. You must do it."
Spinner stepped towards him, thrusting the poisoned sabre. This time, he did not grant the young thief any quarter. His long blade blurred as he kept on attacking, cloak whirling about him.
