Flint stood on his assigned corner. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck from under the cap which held his wig. A crude wooden crutch under his right armpit gave him something to lean on. The right leg of his trousers was empty and pinned up. The sun beat down on the unsheltered spot. Two copper seed coins rattled in his tin cup as well-dressed townspeople strode by with their noses in the air. All the passersby were careful not to make eye contact.

Begging stinks. Flint grumbled to himself. And this corner's a dry hole. Now, a payday for the miners outside a tavern, yeah, that gets a good haul. Miners make the best marks for a beggar. Farmers don't have any money, and the richer tradesmen and merchants all got tight fists. Weird how only the guys who don't have much will give to a beggar. What was Coldark thinking, putting me here for the day?

A middle-aged woman, carrying a basket of goods and dressed as a house servant, slowed and stopped.

"Oh, you poor thing," the women mourned.

She dropped a silver piece in Flint's cup.

"Thank you, ma'am," he simpered.

He flipped the silver piece from his cup to a pocket as the women's back receded down the sidewalk. Flint concentrated on committing her face to memory. Remembering the charitable was one of the tenants of his profession. Another was that information is as valuable as money.

Flint shrunk down, trying to be invisible, as two Enforcers approached. He listened to their conversation while keeping his head down and tin cup quiet.

"No joke, Alf. I'm telling you. I heard it from Frank, who got it from Jake, who had the guard watch outside the Captain's office this morning."

"So what? You going to believe that back-stabbing weasel, Frank? And Jake's nothing but a sneaky little suck-up."

"Yeah, I know. But why would they lie about the portal opening up for the first time in centuries?"

"Sounds like another stupid insider story. Come on. All the stuff we hear, all the crazy rumors, how do we know? Is there even a portal? I think it's just an old story they use to keep us in line. You know, the big bad evil ones are going to come through the mythical portal and eat us in our sleep. Bunch of dregs."

"I'll tell ya what, though. Got it from the Lieutenant at the noon brief. There's gonna be a big crack-down on the Thieves' Guild, and there's gonna be another big search for writing again. It fits if they're worried about the portal."

"That true?"

"Call me a teacher if it ain't, Alf."

"Fine. Hey, Gof, shut it. There's one of them street beggars right there."

Flint froze. Crud. Now I'm in for it. I should have run when I coulda.

The Enforcers stopped to look down at the crouching Flint. Their dark metal head plates glinted slightly. They wore long red jackets and tall black boots. Even Flint was intimidated by their appearance.

Without warning, Alf kicked Flint, and the heavy boot struck the young man's hip. The blow sent pain shooting up and down Flint's body and threw him off balance.

"Ow!" Flint cried in his best servile whine. "Lay off me! I'm no harm to anyone!"

"Move on, you urchin, or I'll give you another kick to move you on. Get off the street, or I'll haul you over to the Orphan's House."

Urchin, is it? Come down my alley one night, and I'll carve out one of your kidneys!

"Not the Orphan's House, sir. Please not that! Anyways I'm not an orphan. I got a mom and a sister too. I'm just trying to get enough for us to eat today!"

"Aw," Gof spoke up and placed a restraining hand on Alf. "Poor little guy. Leave him be, Alf. He's not hurting anybody."

"Yeah? Give his hair a yank, and let's see if it's a Thieves' Hat he's wearing."

"He's just a kid, Alf."

"A kid that'd stick you in the back, you give him half a chance."

"Maybe. He's still just a kid."

Alf scowled as Gof dropped a silver into Flint's cup.

"All I got to spare, young man. Off the streets now, and get some food for your family. Don't be back here today. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Flint scuttled off on his left foot and crutch. I've marked you, gentlemen. Gof is good, and Alf is bad. We remember.

Once down an alley, Flint untied his right foot from behind him and got both legs under him. He stretched.

Two silvers for an afternoon in the middle of the week. Not bad. Coldark'll think he gave me a good corner. Whatever. My news should be worth another two, at least. He better not stiff me again!

Flint put the crutch under his cloak and walked through the city's streets and alleys until he came to the back door of a tavern. He knocked a complicated pattern, and the door opened.

"Hey, Flint," the large man in a cook's apron greeted.

"Hey, Yuri. How about a biscuit or something?"

"Ha. Always hungry, aren't you? Get you something out of the kitchen then, before you go down."

Flint walked into the steaming kitchen and grabbed a warm roll and a sausage. Then, eating as he went, he ducked through a hidden door at the back of a closet and entered a long sloping hallway, going down.

I don't get it. Why do all the Guild Houses have to be underground? He pulled off the wig of dirty hair and the reptile-skin cap.

And why do we have to wear these things? So, it's part of our disguises. Don't seem necessary.

At the end of the passageway, a massive ironwood door blocked his way. He reached up to slam the brass knocker down three times. Then, a tiny spy door opened, and two bloodshot eyes peered out.

"What's the password?" a rough voice growled.

"Eat dirt and die, Fordu."

"Ah. That you, then, Flint. Aye."

The door swung open with a loud creaking squeal.

"That wasn't the password," a stoop-shouldered little man complained.

"You need to oil those hinges."

"That ain't it neither."

"Yeah. Hey. I need to talk to Coldark," Flint told the doorman.

"Ah. Thing is, does he need to talk to you?"

"Stuff it, geezer. I got information for him."

The old man rubbed his chin, and his faded eyes narrowed.

"Give me the information, Flint, and I'll tell him."

"Think I just fell out of the trees? No trip, man. This information is worth a few, and you ain't keeping the coins, you got me?"

"Come on, Flint. Don't be like that. You want me to get you to Coldark, make it worth my time."

Flint made a quick mental calculation based on an estimate of his news' value.

"Here's a silver, Fordu. All I got."

Fordu bit the coin, spit into a brass pot on the floor, and nodded.

"Come on then."

They sauntered through a large cavernous space, brightly lit with lamps and candles. All sorts of people milled around, worked at tables, chatted, and loafed. No one paid them any mind. At the far end of the space was another door. A large man stood there with crossed arms and a scowling face.

"Hey, Fordu, Flint. What's your business?" the guard asked.

"Hey, Horge. Boy's got some news for Coldark."

"Wait a second."

Horge disappeared through the door and came back a few seconds later.

"Coldark'll see the boy and says for you to get your scrawny butt back to the main door and give Flint back whatever you got from him."

"Ah, rat spit. Everybody's a tight-fist all of a sudden."

Fordu flipped the silver coin over to Flint, who snatched it out of the air, and stormed off.

"Go on, Flint."

"Thanks, Horge." Flint tossed the silver coin to the guard.

"You're welcome, young man," Horge pocketed the money.

Flint shuffled into a large room done up as an office. The space could have passed for the study of a wealthy merchant except for the lack of a window. Walls paneled in yellow softwoods, a substantial polished desk of redwood, bookshelves, candle chandeliers, and rich leather-covered chairs came together in a calculated display of seriousness and wealth. Flint's sandaled feet sank into the dense crimson carpet as he approached the desk.

Coldark looked up from a ledger book and peered over narrow reading glasses. He was a thin man with short red hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same color. Some said it was his cold black eyes that gave him his name. Flint knew the Master of Port City's Thieves' Guild House had been a legendary criminal in his day.

Looks more like a businessman than a thief. Well, I guess this is a business. The old grouch could lighten up some since he ain't out on the street no more.

"What have you got for me, Flint? Don't waste my time."

Flint tried not to cringe under Coldark's chilling gaze.

"Yes, sir. It's like this. I was on my corner, the one you sent me to, and not making much from the uptown snobs."

"I said don't waste my time." Coldark glanced back at his books to show his impatience.

"It was two Enforcers. I heard 'em talking."

"Go on."

"They were talking about some portal opening and not really sounding like they believed it. And they were talking about another crackdown on the Thieves' Guild."

"Stop!" Coldark snapped while slamming the record book closed. "Say that again."

Flint took an involuntary half-step back. "Uh, about the crackdown?"

"No, you little snot wipe. Before that."

"No need to get personal. They said the portal had opened. I don't know nothing about no portal. One of them thought it was serious and the other didn't."

"You've got a trained memory, Flint," Coldark hissed. "Tell me exactly what they said, all of it, word for word."

Flint did his best to retell the conversation. When he stopped, he and Coldark looked at each other for a long moment. Then the Master of the Guild House leaped to his feet with such a start it made Flint jump.

"Horge!" Coldark yelled. Flint really cringed now. The House Master was notorious for his calm. No one had ever heard him yell.

The door slammed open, and a wide-eyed Horge yelped, "Sir?"

"Blue Storm, Horge!"

The big guard froze.

"Blue Storm! Now! Horge! Move!"

"Sir!" Horge gulped and left without closing the door.

"Flint, you stick to me like you're hanging on to a pouch of gold, you got that?"

"Yes, sir."

Flint heard a lot of shouting and running outside the office. Horge's voice rode over all of it. Then, an older man in Scholar's robes popped into Coldark's domain.

"Blue Storm, HouseMaster?" the old man panted.

"Yes, Headmaster. Evacuate the school immediately. Don't leave a scrap of paper behind. Keep everyone together but get out of here. Use the escape tunnels. And send me a good Dictionary, one I can use in the field, you understand?"

"Understood, HouseMaster," the man rushed out.

"Sir? What's happening?" Flint blurted.

"Not now, Flint, just stay with me, as I told you."

"Alright." Flint's head was swimming. This was a side of the Thieves' Guild he had never seen.

A tall man in an Enforcer's outfit burst into the office, causing Flint to grab for his dagger. Coldark placed a restraining hand on Flint's shoulder.

"HouseMaster, the evacuation is underway with the assistance of the Apprentices and Senior Masters. All of the other Masters are equipped and deployed. What are your orders?"

Flint then recognized the man as one of the leading Master Thieves. He wondered why he was impersonating an Enforcer.

"Very well, Colonel."

Colonel? Flint thought. What?

Coldark continued. "Code a Guild-wide message and get it to the Signallers through our fronts. Make sure they pay for immediate transmission."

"The message?"

"Just tell the coders it's a Blue Storm Alert. They'll know what to do."

"Sir!" the man disappeared.

A young women shouldered her way in past the Colonel. She wore middle-class street clothing and carried a satchel over her shoulder.

Before Coldark could speak, she announced herself.

"Headmaster said you needed a Dictionary. I'm Saya."

"You?" Coldark raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, me," the young women spoke with confidence. "Headmaster said you wanted a Dictionary for fieldwork. I'm the best."

"We'll see, then. I don't have time to argue in any case. This is Flint, my Assistant."

"Come on, Flint. You brought us the information, and you might as well be in on the event. Saya, follow along."

Saya followed without a word. Flint was thinking furiously.

What 'event' is he talking about? What? Why? Why do we need this Dictionary girl? Why are we evacuating?

Flint scurried along behind the HouseMaster and the Dictionary. His mind swirled as it seemed his world just collapsed into something unknown.

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Chapter image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay