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Loyalty for Hire
by Michael Gallowglas
Marcus Jamburg made his way easily through the auction house's security. Part of it was due to his skill, and of course the bribe he'd given to the security guard at the front desk - but bribery itself was a delicate skill. One had to ensure those one bribed, stayed bribed. Most thieves neglected that as part of their skill set. Was it pride to merely acknowledge that you were among the best thieves on this planet? Marcus had long since given up on the notion that humanity was alone in reality. He'd seen too many things that man was not meant to know, much less see, things that, once seen, could also not be forgotten.
That was why he was here, breaking into this auction house. He wanted to know more, and see more. Only, he had a limited lifetime to do that in. He'd kind of always been aware of that, but last autumn, he'd pulled a job in the South Pacific that had made him very aware of his own mortality.
For a brief moment, Marcus recalled the reflective edge of a polished safe. A pair of black holes where eyes should have been glared back at him, while he was held at knife and gun point. At first, he'd thought the eyeless face was just a trick of the light, mostly because the man had been able to see. But that wouldn't even begin to touch on the strangest things Marcus had seen in his life.
Before those eyes, Marcus had never imagined that he would actually die. Yes, people died. Yes, he would eventually be one of those people. However, he had many years left. He was too good at what he did for it to worry him for a long, long time.
But the eyeless man changed everything.
Marcus came to a door and banished all thoughts of the past out of his mind. It was time to work, and even though getting into this holding room was going to be child's play, Marcus wasn't the thief he was by ignoring his principles.
He took out his lock picks, and a few moments later, the door opened. He paused to examine a few of the stranger objects. Three bronze church bells stood against the back wall covered in strange runes in no language that Marcus had ever seen. A pedestal, off-centered in the room, held a sword with a blade that appeared to be etched with the image of twisting snakes. As Marcus continued to look at the weapon, it seemed as if the snakes were writhing around each other. He stood there watching for a moment, burning the sight into his memory. No one would take that away from him... unless they killed him... and that's why he was here. That was why he was going to break tradition, his code, and actually take something this time. He didn't want someone to steal all the things he'd seen.
Once he had the sword and bells firmly in his mind, Marcus made his way to the safe, to the true reason he'd come. The safe took only a few moments longer than the door. This all seemed too easy, or it might have, if Marcus hadn't spent the better part of his life honing these skills.
He opened the safe. The scrap of parchment rested on a bed of black velvet. The lettering was the strangest script that Marcus had ever seen. Looking at it made him dizzy and nauseous. He took the page and slipped it into the bag he'd brought for carrying it. That page looked more leathery than papery, and Marcus was suddenly glad that he had taken to wearing gloves while working.
As he closed the safe, Marcus happened to look down and saw a single dried rose petal, right there between his feet. Forgetting caution and his normal attention-to-detail procedure, Marcus fled. The only other time he'd seen a petal like that while working was when he'd encountered the eyeless man.
When he reached the security guard, Marcus gave a curt nod Then he stopped.
The guard couldn't quite meet Marcus's eyes, and the guard's smile was no longer warm and friendly, but rather apologetic.
Something hard and heavy struck Marcus on back of the head. He dropped to the floor. Someone rolled him over. As the world faded, the fattest man Marcus had ever seen took the bag containing the ancient parchment. The last thing Marcus remembered was the image of a wilted rose pinned to a lapel of a white jacket.
