The past two days have been somewhat hectic for the Wooden Shekel, AKA Bambridge, as he has successively been dunned for two gold shekels to enroll in the local Thieves' Guild – a princely sum for the not-especially-rich chameleon – and signed on with a mysterious siamese Khatta known as Lilith to carry out a burglary job. The target: a Sylvanian wedding dress. The place: Achimed's Antiques. The time: a night before Harvest Tide, not *quite* the worst time to commit a burglary with housekeepers working late to prepare their feasts. The problem: four thin lines that define a square immediately beneath the mannequin which wears the muchly coveted dress… A pressure plate? If so, how can it be disarmed? Bambridge considers this question beneath the stares of several large statues nearby, one Vartanesque gargoyle's wings spread wide as if about to take flight…

The shop looks almost maze-like, though most of the 'walls' that would form a maze are here, low-built shelves holding up precarious collections of what Achimed proudly calls his valuable antiques – the mannequin stands at nearly the center, in an ideal position to greet those who enter with a faceless expression, its head a vaguely muzzled ovoid. The back of the shop is split into a long, narrow area that adjoins the back wall, which contains a door through which Bambridge made his entry, and an enclosed area that likely has stairs to the upper floor of the shop, and perhaps a cot or two for any assistants that Achimed might employ. The plaster is new, suggesting some recent remodeling.

Bambridge puzzles over the mannequin display, barely even noticing the splendid finery it sports, and instead focuses his attention on the thin lines around the dummy's base. The lizard squints as he peers around the dark confines of the shop, the candle on his snout flickering and making the shadows dance. ( There must be someplace where Achimed disarms this alarm… maybe upstairs. ) Dropping low to the floor again, Bambridge begins creeping toward the flight he saw when he first came in.

The flight of stairs rests in an alcove that is itself crowded not with cots, but with more curios, these appearing more valuable than the ones outside – this must be the 'back room' with the 'real stuff'. Some of the wooden and stone carvings actually look old, and metal items make their first appearance here, with a long sword of somewhat crude appearance but actual iron-appearance, held in a display case of glass atop a wooden box of some sort. A closer look shows fine wires laced around the display case. The stairs go up to the second floor, and down, possibly to a cellar. A heavy acrid smell hangs about the back room.

A curiously rhythmic grinding noise comes from somewhere upstairs.

Something looks at Bambridge from the corner, atop a crooked-looking set of shelves. Twin eyes catch the light from the candle which the chameleon has set atop his nose…

The lizard freezes in mid-step, his eyes firmly locked on the pair looking back at him, and his heart nearly leaping into his throat. ( Uh-oh… ) Slowly… very slowly… his paws draw back into his cloak, hidden from view…

The eyes stay in place.

Bambridge remains motionless, and waits… and waits… and waits…

The candleflame flickers just over the level of the chameleon's eyes, trickling wax down to his muzzle. Still the eyes glitter back at him, not moving even an bit. Something's not right here…

After a short while, the burglar grows suspicious, a notion dawning on him. He stands upright, sighing, and walks toward the eyes, letting the candlelight wash over them.

The candlelight picks out fur, a mouth gaping with fangs, a bushy tail, a heavy collar… A stuffed fuff'nar.

The grinding noise continues to hiss down the stairs, a horrible sound that, though not loud here, is tuned to just the right frequency to grate upon the chameleon's nerves.

Bambridge taps his knuckles softly on the unfortunate creature's head, looking both relieved and sheepish at the same time. "You win the staring match, little friend," he whispers, mostly to himself. "But let's keep this our little secret, hmm?" The reptile looks up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing. He wipes away some melted wax with a kerchief, and continues toward the stairs, keeping an eye out for anymore funny business with wires.

Luck is with the Wooden Shekel, for the upper floor is indeed where the shopkeeper lives: there are two large wooden-framed beds, the silks coverlets transforming from inky black drapes to beautiful colors beneath the light of his candle. Two young-looking Skreeks are nestled into the smaller bed, while an older, grizzled rat splays his limbs all over the larger one, the blankets twisted into a nest from all the tossing and turning he seems to have done. This is the person from whom the dreadful snoring noise emanates. A dresser sits next to his bed. Shutters let in vertical slits of half-light from outside.

The burglar takes a moment to scan the room. ( Fifteen feet from dresser to stairs, no obstructions… two feet from dresser to bed, that's going to be a close one… that bloated sack must be Achimed… the two female mammals should be negligible threats… " His appraisal made, Bambridge prowls quietly toward the dresser.

Going past the two Skreek apprentices in the nearer bed proves no problem. Their heads are nearly stuffed into their pillowcases. But as Bambridge's nose-candle passes the foot of Achimed's bed, he accidentally bumps his foot against a pot – a chamberpot, he would guess, judging from the horrible smell. The older rat turns over in bed, nose questing upward, and the snoring stops with a silence that sounds louder than the biggest bell ringing in the city.

Simultaneously cursing his luck and his ineptness, the lizard quickly rolls on his shoulder, coming to rest in the cramped, dust-bunny filled space beneath Achimed's bed. It becomes too dark for him to see the tiny wisp of smoke from his extinguished candle, but the melted wax he just spilled across his nose certainly stings.

The bed creaks. From this low vantage point, all Bambridge can hear is the rat's movement as he (the Wooden Shekel thinks) looks around. "What's that?" A long pause.

Silence is the reply.

The rat's feet become evident as he swings them out of the bed and thumps them down upon the floor.

Achimed stands, scratching himself with a very audible skritching noise.

Bambridge lies still, only one thought going through his mind. ( Saints above… but that is one BIG dustbunny near the headboard. Doesn't he ever clean under here? )

Slowly the Skreek fumbles his way across the floor to where the pot was… He bends down, a motion only visible now by the way the shards of light cast by the shutters flicker as Achimed crouches.

The monster under the bed watches the monster from above the bed… ( Either he's checking for evidence of my passing, or I'm about to witness something very distasteful… )

Another disgusting noise once again assails Bambridge's eardrums. This time it vaguely resembles that of a river rushing over a cliff, tumbling helter-skelter across rocks to its inevitable fate in a deep pool… In rather less poetic ways, unfortunately.

The only movement beneath the bed is the wrinkling of a scaley nose. ( If it weren't what I did best, that right there would make me swear off thievery forevermore… )

After a long pause, the grizzled rat walks back to the bed and settles back into it. He grumbles, an incoherent noise like an avalanche directly above Bambridge.

Time passes in which the chameleon waits nervously.

Soon the welcome sound of truly grating snoring begins to come from the bed again.

Bambridge creeps from beneath the bed, coated in grayish fuzz. He shudders at a memory he tries to block out, then feels about his cloak for his candle and another sulphur match.

The reptile hunches away from Achimed and stands on one foot, striking a match on the pad of his other. The light-hand holds his cape up to shield Achimed as best he can from the glow, and resumes his trek to the dresser…

Fortunately for now, though Skreek ears are rather large, Achimed sleeps deeply enough that the sound of the match has gone unheard.

Bambridge lights his candle before the match burns down, this time holding the candle low, in his left paw.

Up closer, the dresser looks to Bambridge as if it had seen better days – it's something that might not have been out of place in a palace… Once. Masses of intricate wood decorations in the forms of flowers and birds of paradise have been scratched, either by a sand storm or by a horde of hyperactive Kavi children. It contains three drawers, and the top is strewn with several combs of varying makes and a tiny glass mirror in a heavy frame.

The Harness of Thieving Implements comes into play once more. A thin strip of wood, about as thin as a cheap nail-file, is dredged up from one of Bambridge's pockets, and the burglar begins drawing it slowly along the cracks of the upper drawer, where it meets the frame, checking for resistance that might indicate strings, springs, and other unpleasant things.

Nothing… Nothing… It appears clean, to the best of Bambridge's ability to detect.

Satisfied, the lizard eases the top drawer open…

The top drawer holds clothes – expensive-looking silks. Achimed must dress like a lord, judging from these items.

( Too big in the waist for me… ) Bambridge works the next drawer over similarly.

The second drawer likewise contains clothes, but also an assortment of what smells like perfumed powders of some sort, the type that poorer folks use to conceal their smells when they don't bath often.

( Bah… useless for those of the scaley sort. One last drawer to check. ) The lizard scouts the third and final drawer.

The third drawer contains travelling clothes of a coarser cut than the silks – cotton, Bambridge would guess, and a woolen cloak plus a chitin clasp for the latter. He is about to slip it quietly back into the dresser when something strikes him as unusual…

This drawer is about three inches shorter than the other two.

The lizard's left eyeridge rises slightly. He judges that a dresser of such (originally) sterling worksmanship would have a flaw this obvious. He cranes his neck down, his head as close as possible to the drawer-bottom, before tapping it ever so gently with a blunt index claw, listening.

Hollow. Yes.

Bambridge rubs his paws gleefully. ( Aha! ) He runs his claws around the edges, looking for a catch or gap to lift the board with.

Nothing… Nothing. A complete search of the inside of the drawer fails to turn up any decent seams that might indicate it would open this way.

The Wooden Shekel scratches the bridge of his nose. ( Hmm… perhaps underneath. ) He edges the drawer even further out, attempting to ease it completely free of the frame.

A-hah! The back of the drawer shows a seam – a simple recessed notch into which Bambridge can simply insert a clawtip to pull this panel free.

Pleased with himself, the lizard reaches a claw under, and does just that.

Achimed turns over in his sleep, his snoring pausing for a heart-stopping moment… before resuming. His arm half-thumps over the edge of the bed.

The lid pops free and reveals a thin leather satchel inside.

A soft grating noise followed by the rustling of fabric can be heard downstairs. The noise is barely perceptible from the third floor and doesn't disturb the three sleepers.

Bambridge winces, his form half-tensed for an aborted flight. ( Easy, Bammers… this isn't over yet, don't get lazy… )

Bambridge cocks his head, listening. ( Oh, no… something's downstairs… I better make this quick. ) The reptile snatches up the satchel, not waiting to see what's in it. He hurriedly replaces the secret panel, and dumps the clothes back in. ( Achimed can fold his own laundry. ) He slips the drawer back, and crouches for a moment, listening some more.

The slight clatter of the drawer being re-seated is drowned out, fortuituously, by another of Achimed's loud snores…

There's silence from downstairs for a moment, then more rustling noises and a gentle clattering sound, as if someone had dropped a marble on the floor.

His work suitably cleaned up, Bambridge grimaces as the noise reaches him. ( A beast-hound wouldn't be that disruptive… I'd better check this out. ) The reptile skulks back across the floor, and down the stairs, leaving his hosts to continue their peaceful slumber.

Timing his steps to Achimed's dreadful snoring, Bambridge makes it down the stairs without incident…

The Wooden Shekel licks his fingers, and pinches the wick on his candle. It goes out with a faint sizzling, and the reptile waits for his eyes to adjust to the dimness before carrying on.

Luckily, the wax candle is virtually scentless, unlike some of the nastier animal-fat candles that only the inept thieves would use. Some races have especially keen noses… As the chameleon's eyes adjust, he sees a slender shadow prowling through the darkness, apparently not needing a candle to light its way. It pauses at a corner. The aisle that it is about to go down, Bambridge remembers, is not one that he had gone by… And a suspiciously bulky shape near one of the pillars holding up the roof suggests that there is another wire trap on this very path.

A pang of fear shoots through the reptile's gut. ( Dash it all! Whoever that is will ruin everything! ) Reasoning that whomever this is won't want to raise a ruckus any more than he does, he scuttles after the figure, be it friend or foe. "Ssst!" he hisses in an angry whisper. "Ssst! You there! Don't move!"

The shadowy figure goes rigid and spins around, then exhales a soft sigh of relief. "It's you." it… no… SHE whispers. "I thought you had bailed on the job when I couldn't find you."

Bambridge snorts softly. "Any true art can't be rushed, Lilith. What are you doing in here? I heard you from all the way upstairs!" The reptile shakes his index claw at the figure. "Do you /want/ my hide to flutter from Achimed's eaves come the morning?"

The shadowy female steps closer to Bambridge, he catches a quick glance at a spotted coat of fur instead of the usual siamese markings in the dim light. "You were supposed to fetch the dress, what in the first one's name were you doing upstairs?"

"If you weren't crashing about the shop with all the reckless abandon of a half-crazed Bromthen forest hog, you'd have noticed the severed tripwire through the first corridor." Another match is struck, the brief sulphur stink quickly dissipating, and the reptile lights his candle for the third time. "The display holding the dress is rigged, there's what I believe to be a pressure plate beneath the mannequin. Any added or subtracted weight will set the thing off. I was looking for a disarming panel, but just ended up with this." He holds up the satchel, rubbing his chin. "I still don't know what's in it… " the lizard adds.

Lilith is revealed in the candlelight as a Savanite. She frowns at Bambridge and then perks her ears… an alarmed look creeping across her face. "He's not snoring anymore… "

Bambridge's eyes bulge to ridiculous proportions. "You're a… " He breaks the sentence off, listening. "He has? Blast!" whispers the burglar. "We've got to find you a hiding spot!"

"Forget it." the 'Savanite' whispers. "Let's just grab the dress and run, quickly!"

"No!" hisses the reptile fiercely. "You asked for my know-how, and you're in my field now!" The Wooden Shekel pauses, and his face softens. "Please… we can salvage this. Can you follow my lead?"

Lilith grits her teeth. "Alright… but if this doesn't work and I live through it somehow, I'm going to make sure I get a good seat when S'Lezan tosses you off the island with a boulder around your neck." Her two eyes, glowing incandescent blue in the dim light, flash angrily.

Bambridge's oily grin returns. "If that happens, I'll secure the knot around my throat myself, and add a pink bow to my tail to wave while I plummet besides. Follow me… " The reptile darts back around the corner, toward the statuary he so despised earlier.

The spotted feline follows quietly behind Bambridge.

The bescaled thief reaches the garish lawn ornaments, and waves hurriedly at the giant Vartan statue near the dress farther into the store. "Hide behind the wings, they should be wide enough. Whatever you do, don't move."

"Footsteps… " Lilith murmurs softy, grimacing to herself and looking to the ceiling. She nods to the chameleon and ducks behind the stone statue, trying to enfold herself in the hippogryph's wings.

A moment later, a light appears from the top of the stairs. Someone's feet move heavily down the steps.

( No time… no time… ) The Wooden Shekel untoggles his cloak and sheds his harness as he weaves between Achimed's ugly little gargoyles. Bundling them up, he sits on them amidst the statuary, adopts the best gargoyle grimace he can, and becomes stock still, turning stony white.

( I hope Achimed can't tell the difference between a stomach-turning gargoyle and a statuesque reptile… )

Achimed steps out into the store, peering about suspiciously. "Thieves! There had better not be any thieves here," he grumbles. "Remy! Where are you? You'd better be keeping a good eye on my valuables."

The rat pads slowly around the store, holding his candle up, but makes only a perfunctory inspection of the shelves.

Bambridge cracks one eye, trying to mentally will Achimed to begone. ( Go back to bed, you greasy rodent… nothing to see here… )

Frowning, the rat proceeds right past Bambridge and walks back to the stairs. He walks down them, the light fading into the darkness after some time.

The yellow slit in one of lawn ornaments swells into a crescent as Banbridge hears Achimed's retreat. After a few moments, said ornament rises from a sit to a crouch, refastens his tools, and slinks across the floor toward the Vartan statue, gradually blending from white to black again. "Lilith?" whispers the thief. "Can you still hear him?"

The light begins to come back up the stairs, more quickly than before. Whatever Achimed was looking for in the cellar, it wasn't there.

Two eyes and a spotted snout poke out from under the statue's wing. "He's calling for someone named 'Remy'."

( Grife! ) Bambridge's slink quickens to a scurry, the reptile's form whisking across the floor and disappearing behind the counter near the dress.

The footsteps climb to the top of the stairs. A worried-looking rat looks about the shop, then goes to the front door, not even glancing at the mannequin or the counter (he checked behind it already, it would seem); he undoes a few locks and slips it open, then steps outside. "REMY!" he calls. "Where are you, you blasted dragon?!"

A trembling Bambridge huddles by the counter. ( This isn't enough, he's sure to check here… )

Achimed continues to shout, annoying some of the neighbors…

Lilith just makes a sharp hissing noise at Bambridge and glares at him, quietly urging him on.

Achimed's shouting spurs desperate measures in the lizard. He skitters toward the mannequin's display platform, and disappears under the skirt and train. ( From chameleon to garter snake… how humiliating… )

A moment later finds Achimed hurrying back down into his shop, front door still ajar, walking straight through the aisles – right through the one that Bambridge had disarmed – without noticing. He goes to the backdoor and starts to slip the locks open… Then pauses.

( Remy, Remy… do I know a Remy?) ponders Bambridge. (Hmm… ooo, frilly.)

Achimed pulls on the door and opens it – without undoing a single lock. His gaze falls horrifiedly upon the beasthounds slumbering contentedly in the small fenced-in area outside.

"Ssst! Lilith… " hisses Bambridge from beneath the dress. "Go for the door! This is going to get ugly. I'll meet you where we met before." The lizards face sets grimly. "And by the gods, I'll have the goods with me. Go quickly!"

"Right." Lilith says and bolts for the door, vanishing outside.

Achimed yells, "THIEVES! Thieves are in my shop!" With stormy face, he turns about and hurries through the aisles… A different one. The very one that Lilith was walking down, before she might have triggered a certain trap.

The jig is obviously up. To bloody blue blazes with alarms. Scrabbling up the mannequin, Bambridge raises its arms from within the sleeves of the dress. He continues upward, slipping his own arms in as the dummy tips forward and topples.

Achimed rears back in surprise at the sudden animation of the dress. "AHHH! I am beset by ghosts in my own shop! Avaunt ye!" He tries to skid to a stop… And trips the wire. Chitin plates fly across the aisle with a *ZING!* noise and crash all about him, setting up a clamor like no one's business. Footsteps start from above.

The mannequin rolls to the side, its clattering nearly lost in the overall pandemonium that has consumed the shop. Hm. No alarm.

The Wooden Shekel's eyes widen behind his veil, shock and fear warring for his mind. Still, he moves, scaley paws holding the skirt upward, his feet and lower half now the colour of the floor. Words pour from his mouth, a warbling wail. "Aaaachimed… wicked dealer in the skins of others… slay not the defenseless for your own black gains, lest we return to torment thee again! Oooo!" The lizard backs away for the door…

Achimed screams again. "AHHH! I promise, I promise! I'll do anything you say! No more torment!" He scrabbles around in the plate shards, trying to pick himself up, only succeeding in tilting some of the nearby shelves down upon his head. An imitation Savanite death-stick carving thumps upon his skull, knocking him unconscious.

But now that Bambridge has gotten closer to the door, he hears the heavy beat of wings nearby. Could it be one of the Vartan patrols?

"That's all I needed to hear!" He lifts the hem of the dress, and scurries towards the back of the store, scattering little bits of sharp chitin from his toolkit as he goes. He steps over the fallen merchant, and rushes to the back door.

A dark snout pokes through the front door, and is soon followed by the body of a small (but big enough) dragon. "What's going on in here?"

The back door is still ajar, showing the two beasthounds sleeping… Or are they still? What with all the noise, they have begun to show signs of life, heads tilting.

The Skreek merchant lies amidst a tumble of fallen, broken chitin shards and antiques. He, out cold, does not reply to the dragon.

Vorgulremik closes the front door behind him, and glances from the half-buried rat to the fleeing dress. "Tsk. Scared away another one, did you Achimed? If you'd only bathe a bit more regularly… "

Bambridge arches his back and shrugs the Sylvanian garment over his head, bundling it up as best he can before starting to scale the fence. (Wasn't my colour anyway… )

The first hound stirs only a little… But the second one comes to life with a rising growl! It lunges up against the fence, shaking it as the fierce triangular muzzle bites just an inch behind Bambridge's heel.

Vorgulremik grumbles as Achimed's mutts wake up. He clears some of the debris from around the Skreek and tries to shake him awake.

"Ngk!" As an afterthought, the lizard yanks his tail up after him lest it become a chew toy. His prize under one arm, the burglar flees down the alley, heading for home.

"Buh huh what? AHHHH! DEMONS!" Achimed's response to wakening to see Vorgulremik's face hovering over his is to struggle madly.

Vorgulremik sighs, and lets go of the rat. "Quiet your dogs, Achimed. I've been given a special mission by Faraon, and I need some supplies."

Achimed blinks at Vorgulremik. "What – you – where were you when that thief came in here?" he demands. "And what's this about special missions from Faraon? What business would *he* have with you?" The rat bristles with indignation.

Vorgulremik growls at the Skreek, "I was at his feast, by invitation. That's all you need to know."

"So you were off feasting, while a whole horde of thieves could have come in here and ransacked the place, is that it?" Achimed manages to stand up, using the Savanite death-stick carving as a cane.

The rat grumps louder, "And one of them did! Whomever that was, he made off with my newest acquisition – that genuine Sylvanian wedding dress! Real pearls, *platinum* zolk, an antique a thousand years old if it's one!"

Vorgulremik perks up a little, "Sylvanian, you say?"

"Yes! And now it's GONE," Achimed screeches at Vorgulremik. "Because you were at a feast! What kind of way is this to repay my hospitality, my generous introduction of you to all the best people in Darkside? Is this why I open up my shop to you and build a whole room underground for you to live in?"

"Yes, it is," the dragon says plainly. "What other Sylvanian artifacts do you have?"

Achimed boggles at Vorgulremik. "Is that all you have to say for yourself? What more do you want now, the pick of the shop? Here, take this! And this!" He begins throwing things at Vorgulremik, clearly not in his best state of mind. "And get out! I've got no room for useless beasts in here."

Taken aback by the sudden outburst, Vorgulremik retreats behind the counter.

After a moment, Achimed huffs for breath, leaning against a shelf.

"Calm down, Achimed," the dragon says from behind the counter, where he's busy searching for the cashbox, "and tell me what happened."

The cash box looks nearly empty, with just a scattering of shekels, tenners, and some coppers… Obviously Achimed keeps the real money elsewhere.

Vorgulremik stashes the coins in his gizzard, and wonders if the rat has any saddlebags.

The rat growls. "It was terrible. I came down the stairs after I heard a noise… " He paints the story as if it were all Vorgulremik's fault for not keeping an eye on things, and describes how he knew at once that thieves had been at work from the very start, when suddenly one sprang up dressed in white, screeching at him about not hurting the helpless and not dealing in skins. Achimed frowns. "Clearly deranged… But he was a good enough thief anyway – there! You see that?" The dummy has clattered well away from the panel on which it once stood. "He took that dress! And he knocked me unconscious, and ran right out the door!"

"And past your precious beasthounds," the dragon notes. "I'm sure the Friend will be happy to reimburse you for the loss," he says sarcastically.

"Hah! He'll sneer right down his long nose at me," Achimed hisses. "Supercilious, arrogant son of a Gooshurm."

Vorgulremik arches a bony eyeridge, "Well, I can see why you weren't invited to the party. Now then, what other Sylvanian artifacts do you have?"

Achimed stands up and looks about, trying to assess the losses. "He'll probably even claim it was my fault. Mine! I'm an honest, hard-working merchant. But nooo, he'll just say he has no time for fools… " He ignores Vorgulremik's question as he scrutinizes the counter, then begins to check the back room's artifacts.

Vorgulremik drums his claws on the countertop, knowing he'll have to wait out the rat's tirades before any useful information will come forth.

A few moments later as the rat returns from upstairs, he gnashes his teeth. "That Gooshurm-eating thief made off with my travel bag! Dagh take him to the fieriest abyss!"

"Travel bag? What's this?" the dragon asks. "Something you've been hiding from me?"

"No! It was in case there was a lynch – a problem, and I had to leave quickly, of course. Food, supplies, a little money." Achimed says. He snorts at Vorgulremik's naivete.

Vorgulremik says, "And you only kept one?"

The rat looks at Vorgulremik suspiciously. "What? Do you need one now? Why are you asking me all these questions?"

Achimed tugs on his left hand, the one that's wooden, nervously. A characteristic habit of his.

The dragon snorts through his nose, then says, "Are you so displeased with me, Achimed, that you would cast me out?"

The rat laughs bitterly. "Tell me again about these spice deals that were going to make us both a lot of money. Sure prices are a little higher now – but they're still dealing! I put a lot of gold into buying futures on these spices, and if the prices don't budge a little more, at these interest rates I'm going to make nothing! Less than nothing." His glance sweeps the shop, pausing near the dummy. "What good are you doing me, eh?"

"Well then," the dragon sneers, "make me an offer. If I find it acceptable, I'll leave you to your own devices again."

"Why should I?" Achimed starts to look cautious, sidling to the counter.

Vorgulremik shrugs, "It would be the cheaper course. After all, without my protection there's no telling what horrible accidents might befall this place."

The rat moves fully behind the counter. "How's this, Remy. You leave now… I don't call in Balustra and Arustra. No one gets hurt… " He grins, showing yellowing, twisted teeth.

Tap tap tap go the dragon's claws. "I'd prefer ten gold pieces, I think, and you get to see another sunrise."

The beasthounds so named do sound as if they're still rather groggy… But how long will that last?

Achimed's eyes narrow. "You sound awfully sure of yourself for someone who's been doing no more than taking up space in my cellar and eating a lot of Bromthen hog." He starts to reach under the counter.

Vorgulremik starts moving towards the Skreek, "Don't be hasty, Achimed. It's difficult to reload a crossbow with only one hand, after all."

The rat freezes. He licks his muzzle nervously.

Two Skreek apprentices peer down the stairs nervously, only their beady eyes glittering in the darkness.

Vorgulremik stops about six feet from the counter. "Eight gold."

"I have been reckoned a fair shot in my time," Achimed says, trying to force his voice to something strong and confident.

"So I have heard," the dragon says. "However, where you must raise and aim, I need only exhale at this distance."

The rat glances around the shop. "All right… But I think I know you well enough to know that the minute I showed you any sign of where I keep the gold, you'd kill me. Isn't that right… Remy?"

Vorgulremik smiles, "What makes you think I won't burn this place to the ground anyway? You'll just have to trust me."

"I trust you as far as I can throw you," Achimed observes, licking his muzzle again. "But I guess that there's nothing I can do about it… All right, but you have to promise to close your eyes and don't look, while I go and get it." He lifts his hands above the counter, the wooden one ungloved at the moment. "See? Nothing."

Vorgulremik chuckles, "You don't really expect me to close my eyes, now do you? Send one of the apprentices."

Achimed laughs. "I was hoping… " He drops behind the counter.

Vorgulremik drops down as well, and hisses.

The apprentices squeal and disappear up the stairs swiftly.

The rat rolls to the side from behind the counter, holding a crossbow, already loaded. The mechanism looks like it can be cranked if he holds the grip in his wooden hand… but slowly.

Vorgulremik snarls and feints with a wing.

Achimed fires! The bolt sinks into Vorgulremik's wing membrane, lodging within the tough leathery skin, aching painfully.

Vorgulremik roars, and rears up. The dragon's tail and unhurt wing lash around, trying to smash anything nearby.

Shelves full of useless junk topple! Vorgulremik's other wing smacks into the Vartan gargoyle statue, causing it to sway – but the statue is too heavy to move with less than unusual force.

Enraged, the dragon lunges for the Skreek!

Panicky now, Achimed runs for the back door. "Balustra! Arustra! Wake up, you blinking idiots!"

Stopping at the corner of the counter, the dragon rears up again and sends his flame directly upwards into the roof supports.

The wood appears immune at first… And then begins to catch slowly, the edges turning blackish. The apprentices scream upstairs and begin moving around wildly.

"AHHH! You monster!" Achimed screams. He beats at one of the beasthounds with his crossbow, trying to get it to move.

Vorgulremik turns back towards the front of the shop, attempting to pull down every intact shelf behind him as he heads for the door.

Achimed begins wailing. "No! It can't end this way!" He rushes forward, throwing his crossbow aside.

The rat scrabbles and wobbles atop the fallen junk, trying to keep his balance.

Flames lick eagerly across the rafters. The interior of the shop is made largely of dry wood.

Vorgulremik snarls back, "You chose this way, Achimed! Remember that, if you survive!" The dragon then tackles the Vartan statue, trying to drag it down to further block the way to the door.

Pulling hard on the stone Vartan's head, the dragon ends up spraining a shoulder before the heavy statue comes down. The new pain serves to enrage him even more.

The wings shatter across the floor, the bulk of the statue obscuring Achimed from sight. Only his wailing pursues Vorgulremik. Bits of flaming tinder fall from the ceiling.

Vorgulremik yanks the door open, but then has to pause and snap at the crossbow bolt preventing his wing from folding. Getting his jaws around the protruding end, he tries to yank the arrow out.

The bolt comes loose, the sharpened obsidian end splintered, tipped with something dark. That might be blood.

Refolding his wing, the dragon rushes out through the door with the bloody bolt still in his jaws.

The two apprentices, loaded with clothes, come down the stairs in a hurry. One, seeing the dragon, grabs an object from the back room and flings it after the dragon…

Something strangely soft smacks into Vorgulremik's back.

Shrill cries of "Master! Master!" rise from behind the dragon, as the apprentices hurry to Achimed's side…

Vorgulremik spins around twice, trying to bite at whatever hit him.

The glazed eyes of a stuffed fuff'nar look back at Vorgulremik, a snarl fixed on its muzzle.

Flames limn the doorway, and nearby shopkeepers have noticed the smoke, blinking just-started sleep out of their eyes. "Fire," some call hoarsely. Others take up the call. "Fire! Call the guard! Start a bucket brigade!"

The dragon's snarl freezes for a moment, and then he throws his head back to laugh! Recovering the crossbow bolt with the claw of his unhurt arm, he spreads his wings and pulls himself into the air.

An awed gasp escapes a nearby shopkeeper looking out of his windows. "By the First Ones! It's the Sabaoth's dragon! He must have struck poor Achimed!"

As he clears the rooftops, Vorgulremik circles once. The next time I see this street, I vow that it will be the last time anyone ever sees it. The dragon gains some more altitude, then veers off towards the edge of the Sky Island. Good riddance, Rephidim. For now.

And some time later, a crazedly laughing Achimed steps outside of the flaming ruins of his shop, burn streaks lining his face, his two apprentices clutching at his sleeves. His right hand holds a slim bag, the wealth that he has managed to keep from his operations. But in his left hand, the artificial hand, is a single coin furthermore that he discovered in the wreckage, near the mannequin. A wooden shekel. His shrill laughter bubbles into the air.

Some time later, as Bambridge races through Darkside through side streets and twisty, narrow alleys, clutching a dress and a worn leather satchel, he finally reaches a pre-arranged rendezvous point, an empty storefront that was at one point, a cafe. The windows have been boarded up and the door appears to be locked – an appearance that would be false, as Bambridge has already worked his magic on it.

Bambridge stumbles through the entryway, and drops to his knees, wheezing for breath. His heart pounds so hard, he feels like it'll stop at any moment, but as the lizard pants and rests, he summons the energy to look up from beneath his hood…

So far, there doesn't seem to have been any pursuit… But the chilling look of that black dragon keeps the chameleon looking up at the sky to be sure that stays true.

The reptile gains his feet unsteadily. "Dragons!" he hisses to no-one in particular, with a few spat invectives for good measure. "Why is it /always/ dragons?! What do they have against me?"

Nothing answers.

Bambridge sighs gustily, and wraps the folded loot in his cloak for safe-keeping. Collapsing into a grimy chair from the abandoned cafe, the chameleon rubs his temples, and waits.

"Hmmm… I almost forgot… "

A corner of the satchel pokes Bambridge in the ribs from where it's attached to his harness. He hefts it, studying the bag for a moment, and undoes the clasp on the front.

The cheery sight of dried Rughrat jerky greets Bambridge, along with a knife, a small axe for chopping firewood, a thin canteen, assorted camping supply… And a smaller leather pouch inside, which clinks as if it contained coins inside. Metal ones.

Footsteps are heard from above, and a familiar looking 'Savanite' walks down the rickety staircase. In one hand she holds a chitin bucket with a ladle in it. She's dressed in a simple brown robe, complete with a blue marble collar around her neck. Even the way she holds herself, her head slightly bowed and her movements muted are those of a Savanite. The only thing that breaks the illusion is her voice, the soft musical voice of the Siamese from the bar echoing from a slave's body. "I misjudged you, Shekel. I do not often do that."

Bambridge's head turns and raises at the noise, his snout protruding from his cowl. "Ahh, Lilith," he hisses, studying the strange feline. "I must say, you held some surprises of your own. Those markings… "

The feline places her bucket down at her feet and makes a very precise and respectful bow. Her hands move in perfect Savanite sign, "You may call me Chaser, Master. That is the name I go by in this form." She speaks again, "I have learned how to dye my coat and trim and shape my fur to fit various forms. People often ignore a slave afterall, do they not?"

His satchel forgotten, the Wooden Shekel stands, regarding his partner in crime uncertainly. He returns the bow as best he knows, but the lizard's face still registers puzzlement. "That's truly amazing… uncanny even. In a sense, you're more of a chameleon than I am. But… why? What do you need this dress for so badly that you were willing to risk your life if I'd failed you?"

'Chaser' seats herself on the floor, picks up the ladle from the bucket and takes a long slow sip. "That would require me to tell you a long and rather convoluted story, most of which you would be better off not knowing. Answer me this, look at the dress… what do you see that makes it so valuable?"

Bambridge unwraps his cape, letting it fall back around him, and gazes at the glittering garment in his paws. "Well… in my trade, it's rarity that brings value. Precious metals, fine worksmanship, the products of time-consuming processes… all hard to come by, and sought after all the more, Chaser." Bambridge looks up. "You've chased this, but somehow I get the impression it wasn't for the materials, or the stitching… "

The feline holds out her arms. "Let me have the garment. I shall show you what makes it so valuable."

The reptile proffers the dress, laying it carefully in Chaser's paws.

Chaser's hands trace over the fabric until her hands touch a seam, then she wildly tears at his with her claws. The zolk holds, but the thread does not and there's a sickening 'rrrip!' noise as she begins to tear the dress apart. Some of the valuable pearls roll onto the floor, ignored by the feline.

The light-hand looks taken aback, retreating a step, as the garment he'd fought so hard to claim is reduced to strips of zolk. He clutches the edges of his own cloak, reminded of how shabby it is compared to the finery of the noble and the high-born, and helplessly observes such finery reduced to rags.

The feline sticks her hands into the mass of torn fabric and begins to dig around, her brow wrinkles as she searches. Finally her eyes widen and a smile plays across her lips. "By Dagh… it *IS* there!" She draws her hand out, which now clutches a folder full of papers.

Bambridge flinches reflexively. "Please… don't mention Dagh… " He steps forward again, worry lines creasing the scales of his face. "Well? What are they?"

"Something more valuable than gold." Chaser says, grinning. She looks through the papers and pulls out a portion of them. "These I will keep, they are what I was searching for. As for the rest, they will help you more than I… and because I underestimated you, you may have them."

The burglar accepts his portion of the loot, and by the light of a candle, leafs through them, scanning a few lines for what makes these pages so valuable.

These appear to be pages of a diary kept in someone's oddly slanted handwriting. The parts that Bambridge can make out suggest that this belonged to a Temple agent of some kind, who had extensive dealings with S'Lezan and other Darkside figures, and who was apparently responsible for the transfer of some very important information… There's too much here to absorb all at once, especially with the often cryptic shorthand and abbreviations that are used to denote important people. The letter F shows up often.

The pages disappear into the Wooden Shekel's cloak with a minimum of rustling. "Ahh… I see what you mean now, Chaser. The right kind of information can be more rare than diamonds. This looks to pertain to me, I'll make good use of it… " Bambridge pauses. "But without the dress to sell, where am I to get the gold I need to keep S'Lezan and his thugs from making me hang up my thief's tools for good?"

Chaser scoops up a handful of fallen pearls. "The dress as a whole may fetch a price… but the pieces are not worthless in themselves. You can easily make at least a gold on the gems alone."

"That's a good point," hisses Bambridge as he picks through the scraps, gathering bits and pieces. "A pity it had to be destroyed when it would have fetched so much, but what's done is done. Hmmm… I still haven't looked in Achimed's little stash here either… " The scaley thief undoes a set of drawstrings on the bag, and peers into the pouch he'd picked up.

The pouch glitters with wealth. A few shiny gems. Coppers. Irons. Some silvers, and even a precious gold coin. For a traveller, this would represent quite enough to get almost anywhere in the world.

Bambridge's self-satisfied smile returns. "It was a long night… but this makes it worthwhile. I should have enough to keep my skin and then some." The bag is swallowed up by the lizard's voluminous cape as well, and he looks back at the feline. "I'd best take care of that business with S'Lezan. I… ah… " He falters, shifting uncomfortably. "Thank you, Chaser."

The 'Savanite' smiles a quirky smile. "You are welcome, just be sure that you do not mention my name around S'Lezan." She pulls herself to her feet, "And know that you have the honor of being one of the few men on Sinai whom has earned my respect. I fancied intentions of cheating you, but you showed intelligence and concern for me. It made me rethink my intentions."

"Well I… er… that is to say… I mean, I couldn't very well let… " The chameleon's scales go a shade brighter. "Honor amongst rogues," he finishes lamely. "Trust is hard to find in this business… I guess it's to be cultivated whenever possible." Gathering up what final shreds he can, the lizard tosses a corner of his cloak over one shoulder, now a gray silhouette. "The Wooden Shekel will remain at your service, should you require my skills again. Farewell, Chaser."

Chaser responds by bowing again in Savanite fashion, "We will meet again, I am sure." she signs. She stoops down and picks up her bucket, exiting out the door… just another slave fetching water for her master.

Silently, Bambridge watches the feline leave. He slinks through the ramshackle cafe' door once more, and melts into the gray of the slowly approaching dawn.