The Paper Knife

The Paper Knife

The Sinking Serpent didn't just smell of the ocean. It smelled of the things the ocean refused to keep. It was a thick, briny scent that coated the back of the throat, layered with pipe smoke and unwashed wool.

Kaelo sat in the shadowed corner of the open air deck, his back pressed against the salt stained wood of a structural piling. He spun a silver coin on the table, watching the room through the haze. To his left, a table of Skaldvin raiders were arm wrestling a crew from the Drifting Reach. Their shouts were lost in the constant dull roar of the harbor below.

Kaelo wasn't here for the noise. He was here for a job.

"You nursing that ale, or are you paying rent on the cup?"

Kaelo stopped the coin with a single finger. He didn't look up immediately. He watched the massive hand slam onto the table. It was scarred and thick, the knuckles rough like granite.

He looked up. Magda loomed over him. She was exactly as the rumors described: a mountain of a woman with a tangle of grey hair and a leather patch over her left eye. She wiped the table with a rag that looked like it had been used to swab a deck.

"Just waiting, Magda," Kaelo said. He slid the silver coin across the scarred wood.

Magda snatched the coin. She didn't smile. She looked down at the floorboards near Kaelo’s boot. There was a dark discoloration in the wood there. It looked suspiciously like a dried puddle of saltwater that refused to fade.

"Don't stare at the floor," Magda grunted, her voice a low rasp. "Bad luck to look too close at the stains in here. The wood remembers things it shouldn't."

"I believe in gold," Kaelo said, repeating a line he’d heard she liked. "And a sharp blade."

Magda snorted. "Cute. Keep your blade loose, thief. The tide brought in a bad lot tonight".

She moved off, barking at a Solterran merchant who looked like he was about to be robbed by the local working girls. Kaelo relaxed slightly. He had paid his dues. He was part of the scenery now.

He checked the entrance. The crowd parted, but not with the reverence they showed the local legends. They moved out of annoyance.

A man in a hooded cloak pushed through the press of sailors. He moved with the jerky, nervous energy of a man who owed money to the wrong people. He scanned the room, his eyes darting to the shadows.

It was Varrick. A Lieutenant in the Blackfang Brotherhood.

Kaelo didn't wave. He just lifted his chin. Varrick saw him and hurried over, sliding into the booth opposite Kaelo. He smelled of nervous sweat and cheap incense.

"You're late," Kaelo said softly.

"Watch patrols are thick tonight," Varrick hissed. He kept his hood up. He looked like a man expecting a knife in the ribs. "The Upper Side is locked down".

"The Upper Side is always locked down. That’s why you hire me." Kaelo took a sip of his watered down ale. "Do you have it?"

Varrick reached into his cloak. He didn't pull out a scroll or a map. He pulled out a heavy leather pouch. He slid it across the table. It clinked with the heavy, dull sound of gold.

Kaelo raised an eyebrow. He rested his hand on the pouch. It was heavy. Heavier than usual.

"That feels like a lot of coin for a warehouse job, Varrick."

"It's not a warehouse," Varrick muttered. He wouldn't meet Kaelo’s eyes. He stared at the salt stain on the floorboards. "It’s a retrieval. Domestic."

"Domestic?" Kaelo laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You want me to rob a house? The Brotherhood doesn't do house calls. We hit caravans. We hit the Guilds."

"The Brotherhood does what the coin pays for," Varrick snapped. His voice cracked. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "The target is in the Upper Side. High walls. Private guard. No magic wards, just steel and stone."

"Who is the mark?"

Varrick hesitated. He looked around the tavern, checking to see if the Skaldvin or Magda were listening.

"Thorne," Varrick whispered. "Councilor Thorne".

Kaelo pulled his hand back from the gold. The air at the table suddenly felt very cold.

"Thorne," Kaelo said flatly. "You want me to rob a Councilman? In this city? You might as well ask me to walk into the sea and drown."

"It’s not a robbery," Varrick insisted. "It’s a ledger. Small. Black leather binding. Sealed with red wax. It’s in his private vault behind a painting in the study."

"And what's in the ledger?"

"None of your business," Varrick said. "You get in. You get the book. You get out. You bring it to me at the Tannery by dawn. Double the gold in that bag if the seal is unbroken."

Kaelo looked at the pouch. It was enough gold to leave Port Sunder. Enough to buy passage to the Drifting Reach and disappear. But the payout was too high. It smelled worse than the harbor.

"Why me?" Kaelo asked. "You have plenty of toughs who can break a window."

"We don't need a window broken," Varrick said. He looked sick. "We need a ghost. We need someone who can walk through walls and leave no trace. We need a second story man who doesn't ask questions."

Kaelo looked at Varrick. He saw the fear in the Lieutenant's eyes. It wasn't the fear of the Watch. It was the fear of something much worse.

"The Brotherhood is scared," Kaelo realized. "You aren't robbing Thorne for the loot. You're robbing him because someone is making you."

"Take the gold, Kaelo," Varrick hissed. "Or don't. But if you walk away, you better keep walking until you hit Skaros".

Kaelo looked at the gold. He looked at Magda behind the bar, scrubbing a glass with violent intensity. He looked at the salt stain on the floor.

Bad luck, Magda had said.

Kaelo pulled the pouch off the table and tucked it into his tunic.

"One ledger," Kaelo said. "Unbroken seal. Dawn at the Tannery."

Varrick let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since he walked in.

"Don't read it," Varrick warned. He stood up, pulling his cloak tight. "Just... don't read it."

The Lieutenant turned and vanished into the crowd, heading for the stairs.

Kaelo sat alone in the booth. He finished his ale. It tasted like tar. He touched the gold against his ribs. He felt the weight of it.

He stood up and tossed a coin to Magda as he passed the bar. She caught it without looking.

"Leaving so soon?" she grunted.

"Tide's rising," Kaelo said.

He stepped out of the Sinking Serpent and into the fog of the Lower Side. He had a long climb ahead of him.

The air in the Upper Side didn't smell like the ocean. It smelled of lavender oil, polished brass, and the kind of silence that only money could buy.

Kaelo crouched on the slate roof of a carriage house, looking down into the garden of Councilor Thorne’s estate. The fog from the harbor hadn't reached this high up. Here, the moonlight was sharp and cold. It reflected off the glass windows of the manor and the steel breastplates of the private guard patrolling the perimeter.

Kaelo checked his tools. No magic. No enchanted cloaks. Just a coil of silk rope, a pry bar wrapped in leather, and a small jar of goose grease to silence squeaky hinges. The Blackfang Brotherhood usually relied on brute force or bribed guards. Kaelo relied on the fact that rich people rarely looked up.

He timed the patrol. Two guards. Heavy boots. Bored posture. They passed the garden gate every four minutes.

Kaelo moved.

He dropped from the roof, landing in a patch of soft ornamental moss. He was a shadow detaching itself from the dark. He sprinted across the lawn, keeping low, and scaled the trellis on the east wing of the manor. The wood groaned slightly under his weight, but the sound was masked by the rustle of the wind in the ivy.

He reached the second-story balcony. The glass doors were locked, but they were old. The latch was simple iron. Kaelo slid a thin metal shim between the doors. He felt the catch. He applied pressure.

Click.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

The study was warm. It smelled of beeswax, old paper, and expensive cigars. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany furniture.

Kaelo didn't relax. He moved to the center of the room, his boots making no sound on the thick rug. Varrick had said the vault was behind a painting.

He scanned the walls. There were portraits of stern ancestors and landscapes of the Greenriver Vale, but the place of honor above the fireplace was dominated by a massive, oil-painted depiction of the Battle of the Sunder Coast. It showed High King Alaric standing over the body of the Orc King-Priest Morgrath, the Ashen Laurel crown raised in victory.

"Alaric the Unifier," Kaelo whispered, a cynical smile touching his lips. "Bet you never had to steal a ledger to pay rent."

He reached up and gripped the heavy frame. It swung outward on hidden hinges.

Behind the painting sat a steel safe. It was dwarven make, likely from Hammerdeep, solid and unyielding. But Thorne had made a mistake. He relied on the strength of the steel, not the complexity of the lock.

Kaelo pulled a set of tension wrenches from his belt. He pressed his ear against the cold metal door. He worked the tumblers. One. Two. Three.

The mechanism gave a heavy thunk.

Kaelo pulled the door open.

The vault was mostly empty. There were stacks of deeds, a pouch of gems, and a few letters. Kaelo ignored the gems. He wasn't here to get rich; he was here to survive.

He reached into the back and pulled out the ledger. It was small, bound in black leather, and sealed with red wax, just as Varrick had said.

He was about to shove it into his tunic when he saw something else in the safe.

It was a small object wrapped in black velvet. It sat on its own shelf, separated from the rest of the valuables.

Curiosity was a thief's worst vice, but Kaelo couldn't help himself. He picked it up. It was heavy for its size. Cold.

He unfolded the velvet.

It was a token made of dull lead. It wasn't jewelry. It wasn't currency. It was stamped with a symbol that made Kaelo’s stomach turn: a coiled serpent with a single, baleful eye.

He had heard rumors of these in the Lower Side. They were whispers in the dark. The mark of the Shadow.

"Thorne," Kaelo breathed. "You traitorous bastard."

The Councilor wasn't just corrupt. He was working for the enemy. He was dealing with the forces that were currently besieging Hammerdeep.

Kaelo looked at the ledger in his other hand. Varrick’s warning echoed in his head. Just... don't read it.

If the Brotherhood was involved with this token, they weren't just thieves anymore. They were collaborators.

Kaelo looked at the red wax seal. He looked at the fire.

He broke the seal.

He opened the book. It wasn't a bank ledger. It was a shipping manifest. He ran his finger down the columns, reading the tidy, bureaucratic handwriting.

Date: 12th of Frostfall.Cargo: Standard Units.Origin: Greenriver Vale Refugee Columns.Source: Eridar Displacement Camp.Destination: Bloodcrag Encampment.

Kaelo stopped. He re-read the line. Eridar Displacement Camp.

He looked at the column marked Notes.

15 male, 20 female. Ages 6-12. Unaccompanied. Price: 50 gold per head. Delivered to Agent Grish.

The room suddenly felt stiflingly hot. Thorne wasn't smuggling spice. He wasn't laundering money.

He was selling war orphans to the Orcs.

Kaelo slammed the book shut. His hands were shaking, not from fear, but from a rage that burned hotter than the fire in the hearth. He had stolen from every merchant in Port Sunder. He had cut purses and lifted jewels. But there was a line.

Selling children to the Bloodcrag was not a crime. It was a sin.

He shoved the ledger and the lead token into his tunic. He wasn't taking this to Varrick. He wasn't taking this to the Brotherhood. He was going to burn them all down.

Click.

The sound came from the hallway door.

Kaelo froze. He hadn't heard footsteps. He hadn't heard breathing. The door handle turned slowly, silently.

He looked for a hiding spot. The curtains were too thin. The desk was too open.

He scrambled up the side of the fireplace, bracing his boots against the rough stone, and hauled himself into the shadows of the mantle just as the door swung open.

Councilor Thorne walked in. He was a tall man with a manicured beard and a velvet robe that cost more than Kaelo’s life. But he wasn't alone.

Two figures followed him into the room. They didn't walk like men. They moved with a loping, predatory grace, their spines bent at unnatural angles. They were wrapped in heavy cloaks, but Kaelo could see their hands.

They were grey. The fingers were too long. And they ended in claws.

"The delivery is scheduled for midnight, Councilor," one of the creatures hissed. Its voice sounded like wet gravel. "The Master is impatient."

"The ledger is safe," Thorne said, his voice trembling slightly. He walked toward the safe. "I keep the records... secure."

Kaelo watched from the shadows above. He gripped the hilt of his dagger. His knuckles were white.

Thorne reached the safe. He saw the open door.

He stopped.

"The book," Thorne whispered. The fear in his voice spiked into panic. "Where is the book?"

The creature behind him sniffed the air. It turned its head slowly, scanning the room. Its hood fell back.

It wasn't a man. It was a beast with gaunt, grey skin and eyes that glowed with a baleful green light.

"We are not alone," the Shadow Lurker hissed.

It looked up.

Kaelo looked down into the green eyes of the monster.

"Check please," Kaelo muttered.

He didn't wait for them to scream. He dropped.

Gravity was a thief’s oldest friend, but tonight it felt more like an accomplice to murder.

Kaelo fell. He didn't aim for the floor; he aimed for the Councilor. His boots slammed into Thorne’s chest, driving the man into the expensive rug with a wet crunch of ribs.

The impact rolled them both into the legs of the first Shadow Lurker. The creature shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and swiped at the air where Kaelo’s head had been a second before.

Kaelo didn't stay to apologize. He rolled, scrambling over the polished mahogany desk. The second Lurker leaped, clearing the furniture in a single, unnatural bound. It landed on the desk, its claws gouging deep furrows into the wood. Its eyes burned with that sickly green light , and the smell of ancient decay rolled off its matted fur.

"Get him!" Thorne wheezed from the floor. "Get the book!"

Kaelo grabbed the heavy velvet drapes covering the terrace doors. He didn't pull them open. He swung on them, using his weight to rip the heavy brass rod from the wall.

The drapes collapsed, burying the second Lurker in a mountain of heavy brocade.

Kaelo smashed the glass of the terrace doors with the hilt of his dagger and vaulted into the cold night air.

He hit the lawn running. Behind him, the library exploded outward as the Lurker shredded the curtains and the glass doors in a spray of fury.

Kaelo didn't look back. He sprinted for the garden wall. He could hear them behind him—not the heavy thud of boots, but the wet, slapping sound of paws that moved too fast for nature.

He hit the trellis. He didn't climb; he scrambled, tearing vines and fingernails. He vaulted the wall just as jaws snapped at his heel, tearing away the leather sole of his boot.

He tumbled into the alleyway of the Upper Side. He was bleeding from the glass cuts. His ankle throbbed. But he was alive.

He forced himself to run. He didn't head for the safe houses. He headed down. Down to the fog. Down to the muck.

The Tannery was located on the edge of the Lower Side, where the smell of curing leather masked the stench of the sewers. It was abandoned at this hour.

Kaelo limped into the drying yard. The rows of hanging hides looked like flayed ghosts in the mist.

Varrick was waiting. The Lieutenant stood beneath a flickering lantern, his hood pulled low. He saw Kaelo emerge from the fog, blood dripping from his hand.

"You look like hell," Varrick said softly. "Do you have it?"

Kaelo didn't reach for the ledger. He reached into his tunic and pulled out the lead token. He tossed it onto the muddy ground between them.

The silver serpent stared up at them, its single eye glinting in the lantern light.

Varrick looked at the token. He didn't look surprised.

"You weren't supposed to find that," Varrick said. He sounded tired.

"It was in the safe," Kaelo said, his voice ragged. "Next to the shipping manifest. They aren't stealing supplies, Varrick. They're stealing children. Refugees from Eridar. Selling them to the Bloodcrag."

Kaelo stepped forward, his hand hovering near his belt.

"Does the Brotherhood know?" Kaelo asked. "Does the Guild know we're flesh-peddlers for the Orcs?"

Varrick sighed. He reached into his cloak.

"The Guild is dead, Kaelo. The Shadow is coming. You've seen the storms. You've heard the rumors from Hammerdeep. Saphira pays in gold that doesn't depreciate when the city burns. Grish made us an offer we couldn't refuse."

"Grish," Kaelo spat the name. "The Orc spy."

"The winning side," Varrick corrected. A blade slid into his hand. It was a long, thin stiletto. "Give me the book, Kaelo. Thorne needs it back. You can keep the gold. You can leave. Go to the Reach. Forget you saw the list."

"And the kids?" Kaelo asked. "The ones Thorne is shipping out at midnight?"

Varrick shrugged. "War has casualties. Better them than us."

Kaelo looked at the man who had taught him how to pick a lock. He saw the fear in Varrick's eyes, the desperate pragmatism of a rat on a sinking ship.

"You're right," Kaelo said. "Better them than us."

Varrick lunged. He was fast, but he moved like a duelist.

Kaelo moved like a gutter rat.

He didn't dodge. He stepped inside the guard, taking the stiletto through the meat of his left shoulder. He grunted, locking his arm around Varrick’s wrist, trapping the blade in his own flesh.

Varrick’s eyes went wide.

Kaelo drove his own dagger upward, under the ribs, finding the heart with the precision of a locksmith finding a tumbler.

Varrick gasped. His grip loosened. He slumped against Kaelo, heavy and warm.

"The Brotherhood is closed," Kaelo whispered into his ear.

He let the body fall into the mud.

Kaelo pulled the stiletto from his shoulder with a hiss of pain. He pressed his hand against the wound. He looked at the dead Lieutenant. He looked at the heavy pouch of gold still tucked in his belt—the blood money Varrick had given him in the tavern.

"Tide's rising," Kaelo muttered.

The docks of Port Sunder were grey with the pre-dawn light. The mist clung to the water, hiding the horizon.

Kaelo found the ship at the end of the longest pier. It was a sleeker vessel than the heavy Solterran cogs, built of pale wood that seemed to sing in the wind. A ship of the Drifting Reach.

The captain was watching the tide. He was a wiry man with skin like old leather and tattoos of wind currents swirling up his neck.

Kaelo walked up the gangplank. He didn't look like a threat. He looked like a wreck.

"We aren't boarding passengers," the Captain said without turning. "Cast off is in the hour."

"I'm not a passenger," Kaelo said.

He pulled the heavy gold pouch from his belt and dropped it on a barrel. The wood groaned.

The Captain looked at the gold. He looked at Kaelo.

"That buys a lot of passage."

"It buys a delivery," Kaelo said. He pulled the black ledger from his tunic. The seal was broken. The pages were stained with Kaelo's blood.

"Take this to Hammerdeep," Kaelo said. "Give it to the Stonewatch. Specifically to the Commander. Tell him it's a gift from the Lower Side."

The Captain picked up the book. He frowned. "The Dwarves are under siege. It's a hard run."

"That sack has enough gold to buy a new keel," Kaelo said. "And the book contains the names of the traitors trying to open their gates from the inside."

The Captain looked at Kaelo’s shoulder, seeing the dark stain spreading on his tunic. He looked at the desperation in the thief's eyes. The Drifting Reach clans valued freedom above all else. They hated slavers.

The Captain nodded. He tucked the book into his coat.

"And you?"

"I was never here," Kaelo said.

He turned and walked back down the gangplank.

He stopped at the edge of the pier. The water below was black and oily.

Kaelo reached into his pocket one last time. He pulled out the lead token with the serpent sigil. It felt heavy, like it was pulling his hand down.

He didn't want it. He didn't want the gold. He didn't want the credit.

He flicked his wrist.

The token spun through the air, flashing once in the grey light, before hitting the water with a quiet plip. It sank instantly, down to the silt and the rot where it belonged.

Kaelo adjusted his tunic, hiding the wound. He pulled his hood up. The sun was rising over the Greenriver Vale, burning off the mist.

He walked into the crowd of morning laborers, just another shadow in the city of Port Sunder.

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