Kapitel 16: Waddler

The diner was dimly lit and scanty; most customers were asleep or in the Red district.

Waddler sat at the back making small talk with Cat.

"….I think I'll get a new poem book after this gig." Waddler said, "You love poems by Raemund the bard king, right?"

"Why yes, of course," She answered, devoid of enthusiasm, "When do you think Pale Face will arrive?."

Waddler gulped down a quarter of the water in his cup, He didn't drink ale, beer, or wine.

Cat always said she didn't like men who drank.

"I don't know. Soon, maybe?" he answered, scratching the back of his ear, "When he does arrive, patches will begin the meeting, so don't waste your wits on worrying."

She smiled her pearly whites bright as snow,

"Thanks for worrying about me." She placed her hands over his, "You're not like other men."

Waddled could fill his heart miss a beat, he looked away and took another sip from the cup.

She laughed, and his ears turned a shade more red.

Catelyn was as fair as winter, a beautiful round face with high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and thick, soft, auburn hair lighter than most highborn citizens of the empire.

Cat had once told him she was a half-cast. Her father was Amarakian and her mother was from the Ishas. Queer matrimony, and rare at that too.

Redheads were mostly found among the high citizens, Waddler thought.

She'd never spoken about what happened to them or how she ended up here– the ratters.

The ratters were a small thieving gang of six, waddler had joined them because of one crucial fact.

Instead of threatening and killing like most gangs, they'd steal information, pilfer valuables, blackmail, and trade in the black market.

The door crept open, and Pale Face walked in.

"Speak of the devil," Waddler muttered.

He was tall, Pale, and handsome, with dark raven hair and a small black stubble growing on his chin. And deep black eyes.

His name was Eryk, but everyone called him Pale Face… or Pale for short.

Wittle had said he killed a man once for calling him Eryk,

You could never trust rumors, but best not to test them.

Sounds of a commotion outside followed suddenly, and Pale Face darted out. He came back a minute later, with a Naldean….the Naldean.

He was the same wretched slave. An easily forgotten face, framed by dark brown hair, and gray eyes like cold steel. Shorter than most, slender figure with lean muscles rolling underneath his skin. Clothed in black chiton and sandals.

The boy's eyes watered, and he was having a serious coughing fit. Cat rose to help Pale.

"Bring the boy some Ale!" Pale face yelled.

Dunk brought two horns from beneath the counter, he poured Ale in one and water in the other.

"Waddler! Help me, Would ya?" he asked, but Waddler knew better than to refuse.

He rose and snatched both horns from the table and made his way to the table.

Waddler– everyone called him Waddler. His true name was Bailen, but Waddler was all anyone ever called him…

My mother had graced me with the name Bailen at birth, he thought dropping the horns at the ex-sellsword and slave table.

Waddler was tall, not as tall as Pale Face, but moderately tall. He had skinny arms and a scrawny body.

They weren't as scrawny when his father lived.

A square head with a somewhat cowardly hairline. His eyes were brown, and his freckles were many, his ears a finger too big. With dirty brown hair.

He wasn't one you'd call attractive by most standards. And he just hit twenty, the same age as Cat.

Cat was busy chatting with the Pale face, he seemed disinterested.

He took ale, and the slave took the water. They both washed their throat with it, but the slave made sure his lips never touched the cup.

Coughing a little less harder, he nodded showing his gratitude.

I served a Naldean, Waddler thought, No I just followed Dunk's order

He looked around to see if anyone was watching, they were.

He turned back to Naldean and kissed his teeth, and felt the need to slap the slave.

Else the others won't think much of me, but a second later he thought better of the idea

Pale was watching.

The slave said nothing, his eyes were downcast. And Waddler did nothing and went to sit down at the other end of the roundtable, kissing his teeth a second time.

A crow flew to the slave and perched on his shoulder. He smiled and began petting the bird, running his hands over its dark feathers.

"Alright settle down," Dunk called as he sat by the roundtable. The inn was empty save for the ratters.

Pale face was sitted already, Cat by his side.

Edd sat down by her side, Wittle lounged lazily on his seat, and Lala boisterously.

They all looked to the Naldean slave still sitting down. His ears turned red a little when he noticed; he stood up and waited behind Pale Face's chair; his eyes were still downcast.

But not before handing the sack to Pale.

"Tis is half." Pale drops the sack on the table, "twenty reworked gladii, you could sell it for a higher price just pay up."

Dunk took the sac and inspected its contents. When finished he turned to Pale.

"Alright, we'll fetch a good price in the market and you'll get a sixty percent cut–"

Slam! A weathered pale fist crashed into the table. Pale gets up and eyes Dunk, "70% cut." He spat.

that's unfair, surely dunk won't stand for it??. But dunk said nothing, but agreed.

Then that business was taken care of, now to the main dish

Dunk leaned forward, The Gualish was a decade older than the rest, save for pale face. His hands folded on the table, eyes flicking between each member of the Ratters.

His voice was a low whisper. "We've got a big one. Bigger than what we're used to. But the payoff, lads… it could set us up for years."

Lala– dark-skinned and long-faced like most Lucedonians, yawned, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. "Get to the point, Dunk. We're not here for fairy tales."

He's been getting bolder,

Dunk shot him a glare but continued. "There's a shipment coming in from the south, and it's loaded with gold. Belongs to some noble."

"There seems to be some feud, another noble is paying us to steal it from him."

No one said anything; even Pale Face remained silent, his cold eyes staring ahead.

The slave shifted slightly behind him, the crow on his shoulder rustling its wings.

"And what's the catch?" Wittle asked, crossing his slender arms. "No one moves that much gold without extra protection and you know it's bad luck to get involved with redheaded high citizens."

Dunk's smile faltered. "Aye, you'd be right. The guards are no joke this time. Not your Normal city watchers, but legionnaires. Cream of the top. But that's where Pale Face comes in."

He gestured to the man. "He'll clear the path, make sure we've got a clean shot at the prize."

Pale Face tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. The slave behind him kept his eyes down, but there was a slight tremble in his hand as he petted the crow.

He knew… most people knew well enough what Pale Face was capable of, and though the Ratters never killed, Pale Face held no such reservations.

Exactly why we hire him, Waddler thought fidgeting his fingers.

Edd, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, "We're supposed to steal them? Past the City watch? And under the noses of trained legionnaires?"

The big man's voice was quiet but firm. "If this goes wrong, we'll all be hunted. There's more at stake here than just coin."

"Aye," Dunk nodded, "but if we don't take the risk, we'll be living off scraps for the rest of our days. This is our chance to rise above."

He paused, pouring himself some Ale, "They'll pay us sixty gold talents each."

The room fell into a tense silence, and that silence was louder than any plan Dunk could spin.

"Alright, I'm in," Pale said with his raspy voice.

"Me too." Cat was next, and then the rest followed.

Waddler sat at the edge of the table, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. He felt the eyes of the others on him, waiting.

"Alright, I'm in," he said at last.

He licked his lips, feeling the dryness creeping in. His pitch had to be good—no, perfect. This could be his moment.

"Well, I've got an idea," Waddler began, his voice higher than he intended.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident. "I've been hearing things about a relic being moved through the old market district. Small, unguarded. Something that could fetch a high price with the right buyer."

Dunk's eyebrow shot up. "Relic?"

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "We're thieves, not treasure hunters. What's so special about some trinket?"

Waddler shifted uncomfortably in his seat but pushed on, trying to ignore Dunk's dismissive tone. "It's not just any trinket. It's... It's old and valuable. Belongs to one of the noble houses, but they don't even know what they've got. If we grab it, we could sell it for—"

Dunk raised a hand, cutting him off. "I'm not interested in chasing fairy tales. You always come up with this nonsense, Waddler. We need real scores, not wild goose chases."

Waddler's face flushed. "It's not nonsense! I've got good info this time. I swear. The relic's real—"

Before he could finish, Pale Face finally spoke, his voice low and cold. "I don't do magic, you know that."

Waddler's hands clenched into fists under the table. "It's not magic!" he snapped, more defensively than he intended.

"It's just... a relic. Something old, sure, but it's not like it'll curse us or anything. We can get in, grab it, and be out before anyone notices. No spells, no incantations, nothing. Just a clean job."

Dunk scoffed, leaning forward again. "Relics, old market districts—this sounds like one of your half-baked plans again, Waddler. Do you even know what you're talking about?"

Waddler grits his teeth. "It's not half-baked, Dunk. I've seen it with my own eyes. There's no guard detail, no protection. Just a dusty old relic sitting in a backroom, waiting for someone to take it. We could sell it and earn more than the sixty gold talents. And it's a lot less dangerous."

Dunk was about to retort, but Pale Face spoke again, "You're sure it's not magic?"

Waddler nodded quickly, "I swear. It's just an old family heirloom. No spells, no curses. I wouldn't bring it up if I thought it'd blow back on us."

Pale Face was silent for a moment, he gave a slight nod, more to himself than anyone else. "If it's just a relic, I'll consider it."

Waddler's heart leapt. Pale Face had never backed him before, not like this. "See? Even Pale Face thinks it's worth looking into," he said, a little too eagerly. "We could be in and out before anyone notices. No risk, big reward."

Dunk leaned back, clearly displeased but unwilling to argue further. "Fine," he said grudgingly.

"But if this turns out to be another one of your wild chases, Waddler, you're the one who's gonna pay for it. Not us."

Waddler swallowed, nodding quickly. "It won't be. I promise."

As the others began to shift in their seats, preparing to move on, Waddler allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

Finally, they had listened to him. Finally, he had something to prove his worth.

They finessed over the details of the plan for the gold shipment. Then departed half an hour later.

The next time they met it would be a day before the shipment heist