A loud rapping at the front door woke Kyrnrie from a lazy afternoon nap. It was quickly followed by more hasty knocking. Kyrnrie opened the door cautiously, allowing the creaking of the old hinges to show his visitor just how little his impatience was worth. A man stood outside, waiting in the drizzle.
“Mr Kyrnrie?” he enquired.
“It’s just Kyrnrie.”
He made no effort to allow the man to step in out of the rain.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Ms Arynlock has requested your attendance at your earliest convenience.”
“Arynlock?”
“Yes, sir. At your earliest convenience.”
The man waited unmoving.
“Who is Arynlock?” asked Kyrnrie.
“My employer,” said the messenger. “She is very wealthy. She assured me that would be all you needed to know.”
A job then. Kyrnrie was always eager to find new jobs. Especially for wealthy clients.
“And…” said Kyrnrie, “I presume you are still standing there because now would be a particularly convenient time for me to attend her?”
“Precisely,” said the messenger, gesturing to a horse carriage on the street behind him. “Most convenient.”
Kyrnrie considered testing the man to see how long he would stand in the rain, but wealthy clients rarely considered tardiness a desirable trait. He closed the door behind him and trotted straight to the carriage and climbed in. It was empty, until the messenger entered behind him. Clearly an employee of some value.
“And you are?” asked Kyrnrie.
“Discreet, sir.”
The messenger offered nothing more, sitting quietly and gazing out of the window. Kyrnrie followed suit. A typically miserable day cut short his view, low cloud hung over Helen’s Bay while relentless drizzle had been harrying it since before dawn. It wasn’t uncommon; living on an island had its drawbacks. Not that anyone had a choice any longer. They had lost the mainland a few decades back and more or less given up searching for it.
They left town following the only road in Helen’s Bay that was particularly well guarded. It led to a rise where several mansions were built, high enough to be above the stench of fish markets, sewers, and scum that lived closer to the water’s edge. High enough to look down on the rest of Renryre Island’s less fortunate citizens.
They approached a lofty gateway where several guards stepped aside allow them through. Kyrnrie wondered how many other guards there were on the property. Were there more along the perimeter? Patrolling the gardens? Watching from the roof? With a natural habit garnered from years working his profession; he always took note of security, it usually proved to be useful knowledge at later date.
The carriage soon stopped, and the man led Kyrnrie to the main residence. It must have been large enough to house hundreds of people. It probably did. A hundred domestic servants for one rich family.
Upstairs he was left to wait in a room decorated with grand portraits of extravagantly dressed people who must have done something interesting enough to be painted. He did not recognise any of them, nor the signatures of the artists. A rapid appraisal suggested the portraits probably weren’t worth much, and even the artefacts that lay below each painting appeared to be more symbolic than valuable. There was, however, one dagger presented in a transparent box beneath a portrait of a young man with fierce eyes that followed him across the room.
Shining jewels covered the dagger’s haft, while fine engravings decorated the silver blade. Given its position underneath the portrait, Kyrnrie assumed the painting to portray the dagger’s owner, but there was no name accompanying them.
Continuing his investigation of the room, he walked to the window and looked out over Helen’s Bay. Low cloud obscured much, but it must have been an amazing view in clear weather.
The door at the back of the room clicked open, and the messenger entered with a well-dressed elderly lady. She ambled in with a casual authority that suggested trees would uproot to clear her path, and that her increasing years were little more than a nuisance for her hair stylist.
“Pour us a drink, will you?” said the woman, presumably Arynlock. “And then you can let yourself out.”
A glass of something golden brown was handed to Kyrnrie. He didn’t like rum much, but he knew it was worth several months of labour income. Sugar was near impossible to find on Renryre Island.
“You come highly recommended, Mr Kyrnrie,” said Arynlock.
“It’s just Kyrnrie.”
“Right. Kyrnrie. You have a unique set of talents. Talents that are of particular interest to me. I have a job for you, one that you will be well rewarded for upon completion.”
“How well rewarded?” asked Kyrnrie.
“Shall we say… twelve red?”
Twelve red? Was she mad?
“I’ll do it for fifteen.”
“Very well,” agreed Arynlock. “Though, you may find this particular job to be… difficult. Impossible, perhaps.”
Kyrnrie had heard that many times before. Nothing was impossible. Not for him at any rate.
“There is a surcharge of five red for impossible jobs.”
Arynlock smiled, evidently well aware that she was being swindled. Rich yes, but not a fool.
“Of course, that sounds fair to me,” she agreed. “However, should you succeed, that would prove the job possible after all, rendering the surcharge null.”
“And should I fail?”
“Your fee will be paid in full, on completion.”
Standard terms really. But Kyrnrie liked to test prospective clients. Not all of them were good for the fees they promised.
“Tell me about this impossible job,” he said.
“I’m sure you have heard of Tailfin?” asked Arynlock.
Of course he had. The crime lord seeded his fingers in everything and wrapped then tightly around everyone. The veteran maintained a reputation for ensuring that things went the way he wanted, and that people did things the way he wanted.
“Tailfin?” he said, raising his eyebrow.
“Indeed,” said Arynlock, ignoring the implied question. “He has a safe, a room the same size as his office. It’s guarded at all times by four men, and has only one entrance with two separate doors, each with unique locking mechanisms. One of those has a combination lock, the other has a set of key locks. Only Tailfin himself has the keys, and only he knows the combination.”
“What’s in the safe?”
“All manner of things, I presume,” said Arynlock. “But I am only interested in one particular item. A gold coin small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. It has an engraving of a great ship with unfurled sails on one side, and a pattern of seven stars on the other.”
“Sounds intriguing,” admitted Kyrnrie. “Sounds valuable, though I am not convinced it’s more valuable that what you are offering me.”
Arynlock waved her hands in dismissal.
“I’m not interested in its monetary value,” she said. “I believe… well, it doesn’t matter what I believe, does it? Do we have an agreement?”
The job would be difficult. Nearly impossible. Besides that, stealing from Tailfin was not at all recommended. Which was exactly why he said what he said next.
“You just make sure to have the money ready. I will be back with your gold coin soon enough.”
* * *
Kyrnrie stood before Tailfin’s office. He felt nervous. More so than he usually did when he met Tailfin. This was the first time Tailfin was not the client.
“Ah, come in Mr Kyrnrie,” said Tailfin, as one of his men swung open the door. “Please take a seat.”
“It’s just Kyrnrie,” he said, selecting the least uncomfortable looking of the three chairs available.
“I am not as young as I once was,” said Tailfin. “Did I summon you? Or is this a social visit.”
“Neither unfortunately.”
He nodded slowly, his fingers wrapped together.
“I’m intrigued. Please…” he said, opening his arms before him.
Kyrnrie composed himself, taking a deep breath and ensuring he sounded completely at ease.
“I have been offered a job,” he began. “A most interesting job. But one that might cause a conflict of interest.”
Tailfin didn’t react, he simply listened casually.
“You see, I cannot afford for my reputation to be tarnished by rejecting the job. However, I also don’t want to ruin our business relationship that we have both valued over many productive years.”
“Am I to understand that I am the current owner of a particular item that is of interest to your client?” asked Tailfin.
Kyrnrie nodded gently, shrugging at the situation.
“I see your predicament,” he said. “What do you propose as a solution?”
“The item is of… limited monetary value. It’s nothing you would particularly miss. I would expect nothing of you, only that were I to succeed in obtaining it, you would consider it… fairly obtained.”
Tailfin burst out laughing, head jerking back easily, his men hastily laughing their support.
“You want my permission to steal something from me?”
“More or less,” he said, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “But you could consider it an extensive test of your security.”
Tailfin was enjoying it a little too much.
“Who’s the client?” he asked.
“Confidentiality, as ever, is critical in my line of business.”
“Very well, I agree,” said Tailfin. “But should you succeed, you will steal something of similar value back from your client so that I am not losing out.”
Kyrnrie made a show of considering the deal before nodding his agreement. As if the conversation hadn’t gone exactly as he hoped.
“As always, it’s a pleasure doing business, Tailfin. Thank you for your time.”
He stood up and walked out before Tailfin could change his mind.
On the way out, he saw a familiar face heading towards Tailfin’s office. He looked worse for wear, his clothes tattered, skin burnt, half-healed wounds showing on his arms and neck. Madrik. Kyrnrie had heard he disappeared a week or two back; rumours suggested that the small-time gangster had punched too high. Whatever his business, Kyrnrie had no intention of becoming involved.
He scurried past quickly, heading out of Tailfin’s gambling house and into the night.
* * *
A few days later, dusk found Kyrnrie hiding near Arynlock’s fence, waiting for enough darkness for him to scale it. He could hear guards walking around behind the fence, patrolling the gardens, and making plenty of noise. Quiet guards were more likely to get themselves hurt.
He waited patiently for the household to settle down, sitting quietly in a secluded spot, watching glimmering stars restlessly wandering the skies. One of them remained still. He could imagine it was watching him, waiting for him to make his move. Waiting to see if Arynlock’s guards would catch him.
Eventually, he slipped over the fence, landing silently on the far side. Two guards were filing away from him as they patrolled the gardens. He waited for them to round the building, and then lightly crept towards the house.
A second-floor window hung open and unbarred. He easily scaled the wall, and slid through the gap, landing softly on the wooden floor.
“Good evening, Mr Kyrnrie.”
The messenger sat calmly in a chair, suggesting he’d been waiting there patiently all along.
“It’s just Kyrnrie.”
“Quite.”
He stood in silence for a moment, wondering what the man had in mind.
“Any particular reason you didn’t knock on the front door?”
He shrugged.
“Your employer didn’t hire someone who knocks on front doors.”
The wooden chair creaked as the man nodded thoughtfully.
“She awaits you in her study,” he said. “Shall we?”
They reached the waiting room with portraits of various unknown faces hanging on the walls and found Arynlock seated at a desk. A glass of golden rum stood half full in front of her.
“Good evening,” said Kyrnrie as Arynlock peered up from her papers. “Your security has a little room for improvement.”
“Mr Kyrnrie!” said Arynlock. “We have been expecting you.”
“It’s just Kyrnrie,” he said. “Expecting me?”
“Since my security spotted you lurking beyond the fence, yes.”
The guards skulking away at the right time, the conveniently open window. He had underestimated Arynlock. Or perhaps the messenger, who was presently pouring Kyrnrie a glass of rum. Who was he anyway? A messenger? Butler? Assistant? Guard?
“You have already collected what I asked for?” asked Arynlock.
“Not yet, no.”
Arynlock eyed him suspiciously.
“Can I assume you did not come here to rob me?”
“Not exactly,” said Kyrnrie, “but I did hope to not leave empty-handed.”
“I’m intrigued. Please do explain.”
Arynlock’s man handed Kyrnrie a glass of rum and strolled out of the room.
“I have thought of a way to obtain what you want,” said Kyrnrie. “Naturally, a fool-proof plan. But it would require a little… investment. Nothing you would be expected to pay for, but perhaps you could advance me a quarter up front in order to fund this heist?”
Arynlock nodded slowly.
“A little unconventional, but I guess that would be fine. Tell me about your plan?”
“The less you know the better,” said Kyrnrie. “I wouldn’t want you implicated in any way.”
“Understood,” said Arynlock. “Very well, wait here, I will fetch the money.”
Kyrnrie casually nodded as Arynlock walked out through a door at the back of her study. As soon as he was alone, Kyrnrie dashed to the portrait he’d noted before. Below it rested the dagger, jewel encrusted, engraved – a fine piece of art. Valuable, no doubt. He opened its transparent container, lifted the dagger, and quickly slid it into his pack. Too trusting was Arynlock, Kyrnrie might as well have been stealing from the local bakery. He hurried back to the window, and switched to a comfortable, relaxed stance, gazing out over Helen’s Bay. When the door swung open, he spoke conversationally on cue.
“It really is an amazing view, isn’t it?”
“That it is, Kyrnrie,” said Arynlock as she stood beside him and followed his gaze.
Arynlock handed Kyrnrie a money purse. It felt leaden, which bode well, and Kyrnrie didn’t want to offend his client by opening it, so he dropped it straight into his pocket.
“Thank you,” he said. “I will return soon enough with your gold coin.”
He had already begun drifting towards the door.
“Very well, I shall see you soon then.”
The messenger waited for him outside.
“I will take you to the front door,” he said, “if that is okay with you.”
A wry grin. The man hid too much it for Kyrnrie’s liking.
“What exactly is your function here?” asked Kyrnrie.
“I ensure things are done correctly.”
“And your name is?”
“Not important.”
“What does Arynlock call you?”
“He doesn’t.”
Kyrnrie really did not like the man.
“I do hope that one day we can get to know each other,” said Kyrnrie, “become friends perhaps.”
“We won’t.”
The door closed behind him leaving Kyrnrie alone outside, save for half a dozen guards waiting to escort him off the property.
* * *
The night was young, and Kyrnrie carried a purse full of money. Only problem being that any establishment worth visiting belonged to Tailfin, or at least Tailfin had somebody there with an extra set of keen ears and sharp eyes. And sharp weapons too, more often than not. Kyrnrie needed to keep a low profile.
The Spotted Seahorse may well have been the worst tavern in Helen’s Bay, if not the entire island. The sign hanging outside the door had long since lost its spots, and it appeared as if the only horse to come near had spent its time kicking the furniture through the windows. Tailfin wanted nothing to do with it. At least, that was what Tailfin wanted people to think.
“Pint?”
“Make that two.”
The barman eyed him suspiciously but began pouring anyway. He handed the first one to Kyrnrie, who made sure to empty the glass long before the second pint was ready.
“Last night on earth?”
Kyrnrie checked his money bag, then scanned the tavern for any seedy looking gentlemen that might notice the purse, but nobody appeared to be paying him any attention. He flashed a hefty red coin to the barman. Arynlock had paid him with three of them, nothing smaller.
“Will anyone around here take this?”
The barman’s eyes opened wide.
“A bank, perhaps,” he said. “But not without asking where you stole it from.”
Kyrnrie closed his fist around the coin. He fixed the barman with the sternest stare he could muster.
“You’re Deklow, right?”
“I am.”
“Are you on Tailfin’s payroll?”
“Er… Tailfin?”
“Right.”
He sighed, shuffling, thinking. Making a show of it.
“Between you and me,” he said as he slid the coin along the counter, “I need a room where I can work quietly, and all the food and drink I can stomach. This should last an awfully long time in this tavern.”
The barman hesitated. They possessed a certain gift to smell trouble the likes of Kyrnrie, overshadowed only by the weakness to never be able to refuse the coin.
“I suppose that depends how thirsty you are.”
“And nobody needs to know,” said Kyrnrie. “Nobody.”
Deklow nodded.
“I’ll take another two pints with my room key.”
A few days of drinking and crashing in his new bed, and Kyrnrie was ready to pay Tailfin another visit, not that he looked forward to it. Life expectancy in Helen’s Bay could be greatly improved by avoiding Tailfin.
“Please, wait here Mr Kyrnrie,” said the henchman.
“It’s just Kyrnrie,” he mumbled, as the man walked into Tailfin’s office.
Kyrnrie glanced around the gambling den to see if anyone had cast a spare eye on him. As usual, most held their eyes locked onto the tables, but one curious man sat at out of place in the corner, scratching something on his parchment.
“Mr Kyrnrie,” said the henchman gesturing to the door.
“What can I do for you today?” asked Tailfin as he entered.
“Nothing really,” said Kyrnrie. “I just thought I should drop in as a professional courtesy, now that I have completed the job.”
Tailfin tried to suppress a reaction, but the restrained surprise delighted Kyrnrie.
“Yes. I heard you have been flashing red coins at The Spotted Seahorse.”
Deklow. So predictable. So… easy.
Kyrnrie put the dagger on the table.
“This is for you, as promised.”
Tailfin eyed the dagger, disinterested.
“What did you take?”
Kyrnrie feigned surprise.
“You didn’t notice? Have you checked your vault?”
“My vault? But…”
“Shall we check now? I would love to see if you can figure it out.”
Tailfin sat motionless; his eyes fixed on Kyrnrie. This was a gamble. He nodded slightly to one of his men, and the whole room began to move in a practised routine. Soon, they were standing before Tailfin’s vault.
Tailfin inspected each door as they approached, checking the locks as he entered the combinations and unlocked the others with his keys. As he finished opening them, he gave Kyrnrie a confused expression.
“I am the only one with keys, and the only one who knows the combinations.”
Kyrnrie smiled and shrugged.
“I am a professional.”
They entered the vault, and Kyrnrie needed to hide his surprise that it was not filled with gold, jewellery, and gems. In fact, the bulk of its contents did not appear to be of any significant value, mostly papers filed or covered in leather wrappings lined most of the shelves.
Kyrnrie scanned for anything shiny, a gold coin would stand out easily amongst all that. He stepped in behind Tailfin casually, trying to maintain a smug, but not too insulting demeanour.
“Do you see what’s missing?”
Tailfin remained quiet, his eyes searching the shelves.
Kyrnrie spotted the gold coin. It was small. By his reckoning, worth nothing like his pay, or the dagger he’d stolen. With Tailfin’s eyes pointed in another direction, he distracted his men with a grin, gesturing with his eyebrows towards Tailfin. More than enough time for him to swipe the coin. Easy.
After a while, Tailfin grew impatient.
“What was it Kyrnrie, I don’t see anything missing.”
“A small gold coin. That’s all.”
Tailfin’s eyes went wide, and he rushed directly to where the coin had been.
“I… you really did it? You broke into my vault?”
“I did.”
“How?”
Kyrnrie had been dreading this point. His answer might work. It might just get him killed.
“Secrets of the trade,” he said. “You understand, Tailfin.”
He did not look pleased.
“But I must add, it was a real challenge. Most difficult job I have done. Nearly impossible. Your vault is safe. And safe from me too, of course.”
Tailfin was quiet for some time. Then he spoke clearly.
“Godsdammit, Kyrnrie. If any single possession of mine ever goes missing, I know there is only one person on Renryre Island that could have done it. Anything at all, and I make damn sure you feel a lot of pain on your last few days alive. Understood?”
Kyrnrie understood. He understood that he would be made an example of the retribution earned if anything went missing. Or possibly even if it didn’t.
“I understand,” said Kyrnrie with a solemn nod. “You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I hope to do business with you in future. I wouldn’t want to damage our professional relationship.”
Tailfin nodded, but he didn’t seem much like he agreed. Kyrnrie scrambled to exit the vault.
“Good day, Tailfin.”
He kept walking, his back to the crime lord, unsure if he was in the clear or if Tailfin’s men would catch up with him in the street. He just needed to put his head down and hope.
As he left the gambling house, the upstart gangster Madrik burst in through the front entrance, flinging the doors open and drawing all the attention in the room. A woman he didn’t recognise accompanied the gangster, but Kyrnrie kept his head down and walked, he wanted nothing to do with whatever was about to happen.
Before he made it out of the door, he heard Tailfin behind him.
“Madrik!” shouted the crime lord. “Again? What the… how the hell?”
Tailfin’s men were moving. Without orders, they knew what to do. Thankfully, they were after Madrik, and Kyrnrie had his chance to vanish into the night and make for Arynlock’s mansion before anyone could catch up with him.
When he knocked on the front door, the butler-messenger-guard-assistant opened it.
“Good evening, Mr K—”
“It’s just Kyrnrie!”
“Is it? Why didn’t you say?”
Kyrnrie took a deep breath, his eyelids shut tight.
“Is Arynlock here?”
After being escorted to Arynlock’s office and left alone with a glass of rum, he wandered over to the portrait that used to own a fancy dagger. Its eyes followed him across the room, as if they recognised him.
“Ah, Mr K—”
“Good evening, Arynlock.”
“Er, yes. Do you have it?”
Kyrnrie withdrew the gold coin. He could swear it had somehow changed. The ship was the same, but the constellation of seven stars on the face seemed to have rearranged themselves. He brushed the thought away as he handed the coin over to Arynlock, who received it with wide eyes.
“Fantastic!” she said. “This is worth far more than the dagger you know. I doubt even Tailfin knew that.”
“The dagger?”
“I’ll be deducting that from your pay, of course.”
Kyrnrie relented. The plan was far too simple to go without a hitch, and too ambitious to think that Arynlock would suspect anyone but him.
“Of course.”
“It’s worth about twelve red I believe,” said Arynlock. “Which makes us even.”
Great. He had pissed off the most notorious crime lord on Renryre Island for three red coins.
“But I must say,” added Arynlock, “I didn’t think you could do it. I am impressed.”
“I take my job very seriously.”
Arynlock nodded as she spoke.
“Indeed. Well, I am a rather dedicated collector. Assuming you would be more willing to communicate your plans before helping yourself to my possessions, perhaps you would consider a more permanent position here? There are a number of items I would like you to obtain on my behalf.”
Steady income? Not really Kyrnrie’s style.
“What sort of items?”
“The sort that fetch a high price. The sort that powerful dangerous people possess. The sort that get curious people in trouble. The sort that would send you on adventures across the island. The sort that would earn you a lot of money for retrieving.”
Kyrnrie found himself nodding along. Well, he didn’t have any other jobs lined up.
“I believe I can find the mainland, Kyrnrie,” said Arynlock, “but I need your help. And I’m willing to pay good money for it.”
“The mainland?” She was a rather eccentric old lady, perhaps even downright crazy. But importantly, she was wealthy.
Next, Chapter III: The Restless Stars
M.A.B. Holloway 