Dungeon Runner (Book 1 and 2)

Stepping Up, Chapter 07

He paused before the shop on noticing the wooden board swaying in the breeze over the door: a shield, a knife, and a coil of rope. This wasn't where the shop had been before. He walked in and had to step around a wooden box. A man, wrapped in layers over layers of clothing, stood up from behind the counter and Tibs smiled.

He hurried to him. "You came back." He hugged the man tightly before he could move and slipped his finger into the hidden pocket he felt under folds of fabric; he couldn't help himself.

"Of course, I came back," Darran said, gently prying Tibs from him and stepping out of reach. "How else would I get to see my favorite little rogue?" he gestured. "Now, hand it back."

Tibs gave the merchant an innocent look while trying to determine what he held by the shape and texture in his palm. It was long and narrow. A rod of some sort? Definitely leather and there was a seam going around it, close to the thicker end. It didn't have essence.

"Come now, I know you took something." Darran smiled. "What kind of rogue would you be if you hadn't?"

At least the merchant wasn't outright saying Tibs had been clumsy. His fingers had spasmed slightly. He handed the sheathed weapon back. A narrow knife only the length of his palm without a guard. He'd never seen its kind before.

He extended his sense as Darran secreted it away again. He had multiple enchanted items on his person, all small, and... Tibs couldn't determine more. Unlike the essence running through people. Items didn't have an intensity to give him an indication of strength.

"Did you feel me taking it?" He asked. Darran was one of the few people he could take from and then ask for pointers on how to improve.

"No, but I know you, Tibs. Those fingers have a mind of their own when it comes to pockets, plain or hidden."

"They do what I tell them to," Tibs replied, mildly offended. Well, most of the time, and more before the corruption.

Darran laughed. "Oh Tibs, you wouldn't be the accomplished picker of pockets you are if that were true. The best pickpockets are the ones who end up with items and no idea how they acquired them because the habit is ingrained so deeply their fingers move without thoughts. Which reminds me." The merchant handed Tibs a sheathed knife. "I believe this is yours."

Tibs reached to his belt, where the knife should have been, then took it out of Darran's hand. He'd known the merchant was a rogue, well thief since he didn't work for the guild, but he hadn't expected him to be light enough with his fingers that Tibs wouldn't feel them. Merchants were usually more adept at stealing with their words than their fingers.

"Why aren't you in the other building?" It was still empty; Tibs had checked the day before.

"This has a larger workroom, so it will be easier to make alterations. I hadn't expected so many Runners to be this young and to outgrow what I sold them." He looked Tibs over critically. "You should bring yours in before you go into the dungeon, so I can adjust it. Don't worry if I'm not open yet. You get special treatment."

Tibs shook his head. He didn't want to be treated special, but it wasn't all. "It's still comfortable."

Darran's expression turned concerned. "Are you eating properly? You should be growing faster than bamboo at your age." He looked around the crate-littered room. "Still, bring it when you can and I'll make sure you simply haven't grown used to how it pinches and binds. And in a few days, all this will be in place and you can start spending all those wonderful coins the dungeon hands you."

The merchant didn't even bother hiding the greed in the smile he gave Tibs,

* * * * *

Tibs looked at the lake. He was on the town's side of a post that marked its limit, with nothing else to keep him from leaving if that was what he wanted. He didn't, but he wished he could go to the lake. Soon it would be within the town, and he'd be able to touch it.