Page 9 of The Thief's Mark

Pausing off to the side, Cal made a show of fiddling with some nets hanging off the dock’s side. It wasn’t close enough to hear what was going on—with how quietly they were speaking, he’d have to risk getting far too close for that, and the figure’s mask made it impossible to read their lips.

From the snippets he caught watching Bald Locke, it sounded like they were in the middle of an exchange. Unsurprising, given that smuggling comprised a good portion of Bald Locke’s usual business. Cal’s gaze strayed to the ship tied at the end of the dock. Had some important shipment just arrived?

Desperate for more information, he focused on the masked figure, trying to get a better sense of them. You could tell a lot about a person by how they held themselves. In this instance, Cal judged them someone used to wielding authority and confident in a scrap. A protector maybe, or else a private mercenary? Either that, or they were suicidal since they didn’t appear the least bit intimidated by Bald Locke and his men.

Bald Locke held out the binder Cal had given him. The masked figure took it and tucked it away beneath their cloak. The two of them started walking, continuing to talk in low voices.

Cal’s pulse quickened when he realized they were strolling right toward him, where the lowered gangplank led into the ship. He considered retreating, but that would likely draw even more attention to himself. Instead, he stayed focused on the nets,holding his breath and praying to the Goddess that they didn’t notice him.

Thankfully, neither Bald Locke nor the masked figure seemed particularly concerned with their surroundings. They must think themselves well insulated, here at the heart of Bald Locke’s domain. Cal’s ears perked up as he caught more of what they were saying now that they were closer.

“—trust no harm came to it during the trip?” the masked figure was saying. They sounded male, speaking in a low growl as though trying to disguise their voice.

Crude, but effective—Cal was duly impressed. He’d encountered a distressing number of thieves and rogues in the course of his career who wouldn’t have thought to hide more than their face.

“Not to worry, your package is safe and sound,” Bald Locke replied. “Just arrived this evening.”

Cal was surprised to hear Bald Locke sound almost obsequious. This client must be an important one to have him on his best behavior.

A gesture from Bald Locke sent a waiting pair of dock hands scurrying up the gangplank. They vanished into the ship’s hold and emerged a moment later carrying an ornate, lacquered box between them.

Cal’s eyes widened as he studied it. He’d seen a lot of treasure in his time, but something about this one called to him. And was it just his imagination, or did it leave a faint tingle of magic upon his skin as it drew near?

The pair of dockworkers deposited the ornate chest on top of a crate near Bald Locke, who opened it with a flourish and beckoned the masked man forward. “Here it is, as requested. So kind of your master to smooth over its arrival—I doubt even the Brotherhood could have gotten something like this past Customs.”

The masked man studied whatever was inside. He extended a trembling hand toward it, then seemed to think better of it and jerked his gloved fingers back, shutting the lid instead. “My master will be pleased.”

He pulled out a small pouch and sprinkled some glittering silver dust atop the box, muttering an incantation. In a flare of azure runeflame laced with streaks of silver, the box shrank to a fraction of its former size: small enough for the masked man to heft in one palm and tuck into a pocket on his cloak.

Cal had used such arcane trappings before. His tattoo operated in a similar way, though the items stored inside remained shrunken until recalled, unlike this sort of shrinking dust that tended to wear off in an hour or so. One of the many perks of living in Derimay was easy access to trade goods from Vantor. Cal doubted one could find more readily available magical relics anywhere else in Allaria, except perhaps Vantor itself.

“I assume payment will come from the usual source?” Bald Locke asked.

The masked man gave a curt nod as he turned to walk away. “The account transfer will be waiting for you by morning.”

Apparently, their business was concluded. That meant it wouldn’t be long before Bald Locke returned to his office to finish dealing with Cal.

Cal glanced from Bald Locke to the departing man, hesitating. His curiosity had been well and truly stoked by now. An image of that lacquered box hovered before his mind’s eye, and he licked his lips as he imagined all the wondrous things it might contain.

Whatever it was, it had to be worth a Void-cursed fortune if the masked man’s master was paying via a bank account transfer rather than in person. Such transfers were rare, reserved only for the richest patrons with thousands of gallants on the line.Stealing such an object would be the perfect capstone to the night’s activities.

He bit his lip, his gaze trailing back to Bald Locke. But standing up Bald Locke was a serious risk. Even if the crime lord didn’t suspect what Cal had really been up to, leaving out of the blue risked burning his bridge with the Brotherhood. And they were one of the few patrons he had left who still offered him work that piqued his interest.

Muffling a sigh, he waited for Bald Locke to move off, then hurried from the dock, cutting back toward the office at a swift pace. He made it back before Bald Locke and had just settled into his chair and finished reverting his dockworker disguise to his usual Blackjack one when the door opened, Bald Locke striding inside.

Cal flashed him a broad grin. “Have a profitable business meeting?”

Bald Locke stared at him long enough to make his skin crawl before grunting and sitting behind his desk. “Always. Now, where were we?”

Eager to pursue that masked man while the trail was still hot, Cal forswore his usual antics, and within minutes, the barkeep was escorting him out with an extra twenty gallants in his pocket.

“Got somewhere else to be?” the barkeep grunted after Cal tried yet again to hurry him up the stairs.

Cal forced himself to relax despite his antsiness. “Of course, my good man. Opportunity awaits.”

When they finally emerged into the grungy tavern, Cal tossed the bag of extra gallants he’d wheedled out of Bald Locke onto the bar. The barkeep’s eyes widened. “Here—a little something extra for all your hard work.”

Perhaps that would buy him some good will the next time he had business with the Brotherhood. Rushing past the stunnedbarkeep, he exited onto the street and scanned the area.Shadow and shade!No sign of the masked man.