Stealth and Witchcraft Cp. 3

Garrett had never liked being followed. But when he could easily hear someone being that obvious about it...

He froze atop the sturdy wooden railing of a rather shabby little duplex, the slumbering residents within none the wiser. Casting his scrutinizing glare down into the filth-ridden alleyway below, he continued to watch Gwenevere as she scampered about. It was immediately apparent that she was having some obvious difficulty keeping up. The girl kept tripping over everything in her path, stumbling as if blind amidst a fairly well-lit street.

"Could you be any louder?" he hissed, startling her. Gwenevere looked up at him, her eyes quivering beneath the streetlights.

"I-I'm sorry!" Gwenevere apologized. "I've never been out alone much, least of all in this part of town."

Garrett rolled his eyes with a hostile sneer. Of course daddy's little princess never ventured far from the castle. And certainly, not without an escort, he imagined.
The thief remained stoic as he watched her walk unwittingly into a low-hanging pipe. The loud metallic clang, was quickly proceeded by a painful groan from his new, red-haired burden. The ruckus was enough to cause some stirring from the downstairs tenants, as several of the windows beneath him began to light up.

"Great. Now you've gone and woke the inhabitants," he chastised. "Better pick up those feet and start running, before they come outside to investigate."

Gwenevere turned around, fidgeting with fright as drowsy voices began buzzing from beyond the veil of saffron light. She backed away from the window, tripping over a discarded bottle in the process. Garrett cringed as he watched the girl fall back into a pile of crates, creating an even louder disruption than before. Gwenevere looked up at his perch, her hair strewn with debris, and a look of utmost embarrassment plastered across her delicate features. The master thief rubbed his temples. This, was NOT going to work out.

Before either of them could react, the door to the apartment building swung open. Out stepped a rather fat man in his trousers and nothing else, a wooden cane in tow. At first, the ever-naïve young lady suspected that he required the object for balance. Her assumptions were quickly dismissed however, once the man had noticed her.

"Oi! What the 'ell are you doin'? Sneakin; about outside my door at this hour?!" he demanded in a cold, ugly sort of tone.

Gwenevere's green eyes danced with hurt. He didn't even care that she had fallen. He automatically expected only the worst from her. Much like everyone else the poor girl seemed to meet.

From his vantage point ten feet above the commotion, Garrett continued to survey Gwenevere's reactions. Even if the worst were to transpire, the thief wasn't about to intervene. After all, why should he risk his neck, when this foolish and upstart girl had caused her own misfortune? He had enough of his own, at present.
The man pointed his cane into her face, and sneered.

"Out with it, tramp! What the 'ell are you doin'?!"

Gwenevere couldn't move. She couldn't speak either, despite the obvious misunderstanding of the situation. Some part of her already knew, that words wouldn't help her now. Much like Garrett, this man had already made up his mind regarding her intentions and character. Perhaps, that was why she did what she did. Narrowing her eyes in upset concentration, Gwenevere locked eyes with the accusatory tenant. As she gradually lifted her dazed form from the splintered mess of wood and rubbish, the man waved his cane at her.

"Oi! Get back! I don't care if yer a lady--you try anything, and I'll--"

He never had a chance to finish that sentence. Garrett's eyes went wide, as a heavenly glow began to emanate from every corner of the young runaway's body. Her eyes glazed over, and began to gleam a freakish white. The man interrogating her began to back away into his apartment, clearly terrified. He'd been expecting a vagrant, a teenage miscreant. Or perhaps even a rogue housebreaker. With his bulk and that solid wooden cane in tow, he'd been evenly prepared for such altercations. But magic--now that, was an entirely different story.

"What the..." Garrett whispered, his eyes narrowing in utmost disbelief, as Gwenevere unleashed the full brunt of her spell.

A brilliant luminosity erupted within the alleyway, devouring shadow and exposing every secret crevice in its wake. The man dropped his cane, and proceeded to shield his eyes from the harsh vibrancy, and Garrett squeezed his remaining eye tightly shut. His metal eye however, remained focused directly on Gwenevere. As his mind raced with dozens of questions and concerns, the girl's radiance subsided. Without another word, she tore off in the direction Garrett had been heading. The thief, chased after her.

***

He caught up with her again without any difficulty. Leaping from the rafters, Garrett landed with an impact-absorbing squat directly in front of the enigmatic little vagabond. Gwenevere gasped, leaping back in terrified shock with her wrist against her gaping mouth. The girl then screamed in surprise, prompting Garrett to involuntarily rush forward and clasp a gloved hand around her gaping mouth. Gwenevere looked at him, her breathing returning to normal as she realized just who it was that held her. Those blue and hazel eyes were once again before her, burning with wild ambition.

"Never. Scream. No matter how fearful you become. There's seldom a better way to give away your position," he hissed in a low and serious tone. Sensing that he would only be angrier at her if she were to try and speak, Gwenevere simply nodded vigorously.

The thief leered down at her, the full moon at his back. Gwenevere felt her body crumble into a mushy heap. His presence was the second most intimidating she'd ever witnessed. After what he'd just seen her do, the girl expected a mouthful. However, four simple words found her ears. But they were each laced with enough venom to drain the color from her face.

"So, you're a mage?" he asked.

"Y-yes?" she gulped, unsure in that moment if that were even the correct answer. Garrett's presence had solidified her mind.

Without another sound, save for a rather primitive grunt, Gwenevere found herself being lifted off of her feet. It took a minute more before the stupor finally subsided, and she realized that Garrett had flung her over his shoulder. The girl kicked and flailed, infuriated by his boorish behavior.

"Hey! Put me down! What do you think you're--"

"--Just. Shut. Up," Garrett snarled, as he proceeded to sprint down the alleyway with her.

And Gwenevere, did just that.

***

Basso sat back in his chair with a groan, the wood creaking slightly beneath his proud girth. It had been a long, rather ludicrous day indeed. Maybe the gods did indeed have a sense of humor after all.

"Tell that to all them stodgy Hammerites," the boxman grinned, his hat concealing most of his eyes.

He was reaching for his pipe, when the front door to his subterranean hovel was violently kicked open. Basso leapt about six inches out of his chair, grappling for the closest thing he could find--which, was unfortunately, a rolled up newspaper. Thankfully, however, the man who came bursting into his establishment thereafter, was a familiar face. A furious, rigid face which, by some more of the god's stellar comedy gold, had aged far better than his.

Garrett carried Gwenevere across the room, before setting her down in front of Basso. The irate thief pointed at the bewildered redhead, his expression wild with fury.

"You didn't tell me that she was a MAGE!"

"Oh, er," Basso murmured in a nonchalant manner, not even making eye contact with the thief as he proceeded to sit back down in his chair, "is that, gonna be a problem for ya?"

Garrett's pupils dilated in seething umbrage. He slammed both of his hands down hard against the boxman's termite-eaten desk, startling both Basso and Gwenevere. The former nearly dropped his pipe, fumbling with it clumsily for a few seconds before it could send a pile of tobacco down into his lap. Once he'd regained control over the thing, Basso shot his mate a very annoyed glare. But Garrett didn't seem to take notice.

"She's a noble AND a mage! What is this Basso?! You trying to see just how much heat it takes to get me caught and hung?! You KNOW the baron's been cracking down on magic, just as much as he's been trying to get everyone to forsake the old gods. Outside of the factions and the Hand Brotherhood, mages are extremely scarce now!"

Basso clicked his tongue in a condescending manner, shaking his head as he proceeded to light his pipe.

"Hence the reason I figured the gal'd be useful to our little, shall we say, 'operation'." Basso shut his eyes and began puffing his pipe. The smoke rings billowed and danced around the room, fascinating Gwenevere, and framing Garrett's miffed expression. "Besides, so long as she keeps it under wraps, how the taff's anyone gonna find out?"

"She flashed her powers right in front of some random villager tonight! She's not exactly discreet about it, Basso! You've got me playing tour guide to a showy little time bomb here! Do you have any idea what will happen to me if I get tied to any of this?!"

"Thought ya never got caught?" Basso opened one eye, and looked the thief over discerningly.

Garrett's fingers balled into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white. He glanced over his shoulder at Gwenevere. The girl was curiously batting at the smoke rings as they drifted past her head. Garrett sighed hard, bending over to the boxman's eye level. Basso opened his other eye.

"Tell me Basso. Just when did you go hopelessly and irrevocably insane?"

"The real question, my friend," Basso pointed at his mate, "is was I ever sane at all?"

"Great. And how is that supposed to make me feel any better?"

"It's not."

Garrett rolled his eyes with a sigh, straightening his posture. The thief shook his head, throwing up his hands in finality.

"That's it. I'm done. I'm not doing this again."

It was likely Garrett was referring to any of the numerous neophytes, and lower ranking housebreakers Basso had introduced him to over the last two years. But something about his defensive stance, told an entirely different story. Basso had known Garrett for over two decades by this point in their lives. Suffice to say, dense as he could sometimes appear, the boxman had an eye for these subtle little changes in character.

"Gwenevere," Basso called. Once the girl was looking at him, he wiggled a finger at her. Gwenevere gleefully skipped over to him.

"Yes?" she inquired.

"Go on outside for a minute, hon. I need ta speak to this stubborn taffer in private," he winked.

Gwenevere nodded, happy that at least one of these men was on her side. Despite his rough edges, Basso seemed like a pretty nice guy.

"'Kay!" she beamed, before running out the door.

"And don't wander off or nothin'!" the boxman hollered after her. He looked up at Garrett with a toothy grin, pipe clenched firmly between his jaw. "Kids today, am I right?"

"I wouldn't know," the thief sneered coldly, turning away. Basso huffed, and puffed harder on his pipe. A moment of silence and smoke permeated the air, as both men remained tense and irritable. Then, Basso got an idea.

"Maybe we should give her a test? Find out if she's got the goods..."

"What?!" Garrett looked at the boxman with immodest belittlement.

"No listen, hear me out! Tell her to steal something--something even a kid like her could take without makin' a big stink. If she fails at something THAT simple, I promise you I'll forget the whole arrangement, and you can KEEP that money I gave you. No strings attached."

Garrett raised an eyebrow at that. It was indeed a tempting proposition. IF, Gwenevere failed.

"And if she pulls it off?" he asked.

"Then I'm afraid yer just gonna have to swallow yer prejudice towards them fancy folk, and train the gal. No more bellyaching. Or kicking my door in, for that matter..."

The thief mulled over the possibilities in his head for a while, methodically calculating such a clumsy noble girl's chances for success. They weren't very good. Beneath his cloak, Garrett groped at that copious sack of silver coins again. In the end, what did he really have to lose? Either way, he would get to keep all of this money. With some lingering reluctance, the enigmatic moonlighter extended his gloved hand to Basso.

"Deal," he decreed.

Basso's crummy grin expanded, as he grasped the thief's offered extremity. The two men shook on their new arrangement, as the sound of a train blared off somewhere in the distance.

"I knew you'd come to yer senses sooner or later, Garrett. Now, here's what I propose..."

***

For the remainder of that adventitious evening, Garrett allowed Gwenevere to walk. The pair of cloaked figures made their way across the city, their shadows long and foreboding against the brick buildings. Every so often, the thief would chance a peek down at his undesired tag along, but she would never notice his gaze. Gwenevere appeared far too busy taking in the rest of the world around her.

Garrett had never seen someone look upon his city with such awe and wonder reflected within their eyes. Every stone structure she passed, was touched upon by her tiny hands. Industry smog was inhaled graciously, and scraggly alley cats were stroked. The thief would watch all of these behaviors with an air of reticent fascination. It was as though the girl truly found this place of anguish and broken dreams...beautiful.

But his interest in her antics was always brief, before the thief would once again resume his pace. He wasn't concerned about leaving Gwenevere behind, after all. Not in the least. However, the starry-eyed waif would always notice his departure in time to catch up with him. A most unfortunate serendipity.

At last, Garrett came to a halt just outside of a rather grandstanding inn. Gwenevere caught up with him for the forth time that evening--a stray dog having been the source of her distraction this last time. The young woman gazed up at the looming structure, her lips gaping at the impressive size. It was also quite an elegant building; draped in ferns and surrounded by a lush and thriving rose garden.

"Wow! What IS this place?" Gwenevere whispered.

"You mean to tell me that a rich girl like you has never been to the Golden Dragon inn?" Garrett chided with a snort. Gwenevere blushed.

"Well, I told you. I wasn't allowed out very often..."

"Right..." the thief stretched the word like taffee. "Well, it's kind of a prestigious establishment, so I figured you'd at least know of the place..."

A moment of awkward silence passed between the two, until Gwenevere began chewing her hair again out of boredom.

"Sooo...what are we doing here anyway?" she asked, a strand of sticky carmine still clinging to the side of her cheek.

"Don't chew your hair," Garrett muttered, refusing to even look at her. "Basso wants you to prove yourself by stealing something straight away. So this is the sight of your first test. If you're going to be doing jobs for him, then we need to make sure that you at least know the basics."

Gwenevere wiped the moist hair from her face, and gawked up at her new mentor. Her eyes blossomed with excitement.

"Ooh, a test? Is that what you guys were talking about when I left the room?"

"You should mind your own business..." Garrett groused. "Go into room twelve. An old guard named Demetre's staying in there," he continued, pointing up to a single, darkened window on the second floor.

"Okay, who's he?" Gwenevere cocked her head. Garrett sighed hard, and began massaging his throbbing temples.

"A guard. I just told you that. He's in town just for the week. He used to live around here, but that was before he was knighted. Now, he has a cushy little manse up in Auldale. You've probably had a pot luck with the guy, or tea party, or whatever you nobles do for fun," he poisoned. Gwenevere visibly bristled at the irksome remark, but managed to stifle her frustration.

"Well, I don't see what any of this has to do with stealing!" she growled.

"This shouldn't be the hardest part. Do I seriously have to explain everything to you?" Garrett groaned. "Recently, he was awarded a medal for his upstanding services to the people. You know, beating them and the like. A saint worthy of the Hammers, if you ask me," the thief added, foul malice souring his words.

"Hammers? But I thought you said he was a guard..."

"Forget it," Garrett seethed. "Just make your way up to his room and snag that medal. I'll be waiting."

As soon as she heard those last words, the zest within Gwenevere's eyes fizzled out and died.

"You...want me to go alone?"

"Yeah," the thief finally acknowledged  her presence through his mechanical eye. It glowered down at her viciously from the confines of his shadowy cowl. "That gonna be a problem?"

"N-no!" Gwenevere spoke hurriedly, "I-I guess I just thought...that there would be some sort of, oh I don't know...training, involved first?"

"To be frank, stealing is easy. The part I've agreed to assist you with, is not getting caught."

"But after I take it..."

"Listen, Gwendolyn--"

"--It's, Gwenevere, actually..." the girl cut him off bitterly. Garrett's eyes narrowed at that.

"Do you think it matters to me what you're pretty little name is?" he snapped. "Listen up! If you can't even do something as simple as following an order, then what use are you to either Basso or myself?"

She shut her mouth after that.

"So, you want me to steal the metal then?" Gwenevere asked dryly, her face still quite upset.

"Affirmative."

"So, how am I supposed to get in there anyway?"

"Figure it out," Garrett replied apathetically.

Gwenevere nodded, though it was apparent that she was still very confused and disoriented. The thief half expected her to end up arrested by evening's end. Back with her doting parents, who no doubt would throw a lavish homecoming banquet for their little lost puppy upon her return.

"I'll do my best, Garrett!" Gwenevere proclaimed, saluting him. It was an odd gesture of respect for the thief, to say the least. Why she'd done that, he'd never understand. But of course, that summed up nearly everything he'd witnessed Gwenevere do thus far.

"Just hope that your best is enough. After you've taken the medal, we'll rendezvous behind the clock tower. If you're not out of there in an hour, you're on your own. I'm sure your wealthy parents will be more than happy to bail you out..." he remarked dryly.

Gwenevere tensed. Hadn't Garrett been listening to her? She had made it perfectly clear that she was no Simmons, and that she could never return to that mansion.

"I told you! I'm not--" she began, but was quickly interrupted.

"--Point is, if you taff this up, I'm not gonna be there to fix your mess..." the thief warned. Gwenevere took a step back, cleared her head, and forced herself to smile.

"Then the answer is simple: I get the medal without taffing anything up!" she winked.

Garrett grumbled almost silently to himself as he watched the girl waltz through the front door of the inn and up to the front desk. A part of him was morbidly curious to see just how quickly her performance would go awry, but he resisted the urge to tail her. Garrett reasoned that it was probably best if he stayed as far away as possible from Gwenevere when he wasn't 'training' her.

He had a horrible sinking feeling that this girl was going to cause him trouble one day.

***

The long bukhara  rug crumpled beneath her hesitant steps, as Gwenevere approached room twelve. Much to her dismay, the innkeeper hadn't been kind enough to give her a spare key. She had asked nicely and everything, too! After he'd finished shaking his head, Gwenevere had headed back towards the entryway--only to make a sharp turn up the staircase instead when he wasn't looking. She did, after all possess some sneaking abilities. She'd escaped Lord Simmons, after all.

It was too dark for the young woman to make out most of the upper hallway, but moonlight shone through several of the windows, allowing her to navigate. As she proceeded down the dark path, her mind raced. What did this medal even look like? Why would Garrett send her after it without even telling her this? That's when Gwenevere remembered a sketchy detail about her lavish past life. The entire Simmons family had been present at several prestigious award ceremonies over the last several years. Gwenevere had witnessed many a medallion, ribbon, or honor in that time period, and she remembered how intricate and beautiful they all were. It was no wonder why a thief would covet such a rarified prize.

She began searching her mind for images of the specific medal used to knight bluecoats, and eventually, she remembered. A circular golden brooch, with silver leaves framing the crest of the baron. This was yet another test by her wizened mentor. Garrett had known-- well in advance--that a member of uppercrust society such as Gwenevere, would know exactly what these medals looked like. He wanted her to fend for herself, by using her past knowledge as an advantage.

At least, that's what the ever-trusting Gwenevere had assumed. In truth, Garrett hadn't given a damn about the success of her mission. If anything, he was hoping she'd find a way to foul it up.

"I know what I'm after now, but I still don't know where he keeps it," she mumbled to herself as she reached the door to Demetre's room. Feeling lucky, Gwenevere gave the doorknob a jiggle. Locked.

"Oh great. Now what?" she mulled with a whisper.

Gwenevere began to wonder why Garrett and Basso even suspected this guard of carrying his metal around with him. Wasn't there an even better chance that it was still at his home in Auldale? It was, after all, a very prestigious award. Despite what the thief seemed to think of her, Gwenevere was far from stupid. The thought had indeed crossed her mind that this was merely some cruel initiation.

Whatever the case, she had to at least try. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she brayed on the door.

RAP! RAP!

Sounds could be heard rustling about from within the twelfth hotel room, as Gwenevere stood twiddling her thumbs in eager anticipation. At last, the door swung open, and a rather large man stepped out. He was already dressed in his night robe, though there was something glimmering between the gaps in his neckline. It was immediately apparent, that this, was exactly what she was after. Obviously, he hadn't expecting anyone to come calling at this hour. Least of all, a petite young girl. He stared down inquisitively at Gwenevere, raising an eyebrow when she waved coyly at him.

"Um, hello!" she greeted, shrugging her shoulder upward as she continued to waggle her fingers.

"An' who might you be then?" the man asked in a deep, cockney accent.

"Oh me?" Gwenevere's eyes widened, "well, isn't it obvious?"

The guard's eyes narrowed, a firm frown plastering itself across his lips.

"Oh taff. Not another one," he groaned. "Right, I already told about fifty girls at my birthday dinner tonight--I'm a happily married man!"

"Well that's great!" the girl cheered. "Uhh, why would that have anything to do with ME though?" Gwenevere's eyes softened in confusion, her lips pursed.

"Ya mean ye ain't some lusty lass after a bonafide knight?" he challenged.

Something told Gwenevere, that although this man claimed not to be interested in any of his many admirers, he still very much enjoyed having them.

"Umm, well no."

"Urm," the guard snorted. "Well then who are ya?"

"I'm...I'm..." the girl picked her brain for a believable response. "I'm the maid!" she proclaimed with a wide grin.

"The maid?" Demetre crossed his arms. "It's three in the mornin'..."

"Oh, er...I'm with the...after midnight crew?" Gwenevere tried.

"Yeah? Well me room's cleaner than a priest's bedsheets, so if ya don't mind, I've got some serious sleepin' ta do!" he snapped, and proceeded to try and slam the door on the flustered girl's face. But she moved too quickly.

"Hey! Wait a minute!"

Ramming her way into his room, Gwenevere made a mad grab for the guard's medallion. She tore it free from his neck, with surprising ease--though she also ended up with a few dark chest hairs in the process as well. Demetre hollered in a mixture of both surprise and pain, then watched Gwenevere sprint away from his room. His medal in tow.

"Thank you! Bye!" she giggled.

The guard's expression exploded with fury. He clumsily grabbed for his trusty longsword, and tore out of the hotel room after her.

"Oi! Come back here you! Stop, thief!"

***

Gwenevere had never felt such a primitive rush before! Her heart was pounding against her sternum as she ran, the world meshing and blurring as she tore past the screams and shocked faces of the Golden Dragon's many guests and workers.

Placing the torn ribbon of the medallion between her teeth, the girl used both of her free hands to push open the double doors of the establishment, and sprinted out into the foggy Autumn streets. Brisk cold welcomed her, invigorating her as she continued to tear across the night. Demetre was in pretty great shape for an older man, and he consistently remained about fifteen feet behind her at all times. That was until Gwenevere took a harsh left, and slid into the embrace of the clocktower's imposing shadow.
Garrett was there, waiting for her just as discussed. The thief scowled down at her chaotic composure, and loud panting.

"Not used to running, I take it?" he mocked.

"No, it isn't that," Gwenevere fought to speak while still in the process of catching her breath, "this was just so exciting!"

Garrett rolled his eyes at her naive optimism.

"Did you get the medal?" he inquired bluntly.

"Yes, yes. Come on, let's go now!" Gwenevere replied, urgency prevalent within her breathless voice.

The thief's brows furrowed at her brazen defiance. No one, gave him orders!

"No," he snarled. "Let me see it then."

"There's no time for that!" Gwenevere argued.

When she heard the loud resounding crashes of heavy boots trampling cobblestone, her instincts took over and she attempted to flee on her own. But the master thief wasn't having any of it. He grabbed Gwenevere by the cloak, and spun her around to face him. The girl gulped when she looked into his face. It was stoic and formidable.

"I'm only gonna ask you once. What's going--"

A berserk bluecoat appearing from around the bend answered the thief's unfinished question. Demetre was outraged by this point, swinging his blade around like a deranged, homicidal madman.

"Give me back my medal, ya thieving little tramp!" he bellowed.

Gwenevere wailed, struggling against Garrett's grip in a desperate attempt to flee. But the thief held her firm.

"Garrett, let me go! Can't you see he's gonna kill me?!" she shrieked. Though she couldn't be sure, Gwenevere thought she saw a mischievous grin draw up the corners of Garrett's mouth--but only for a moment. "GARRETT! LET ME--"

As she yowled and hissed like a wet cat, Demetre charged. Garrett reacted immediately, dropping the girl and reaching into his cloak. Gwenevere landed on her rump with a yip, and looked up over her shoulder at her most unorthodox new mentor. The thief appeared to have something spherical clutched loosely between the fingers of his right hand.

Demetre lowered his blade, dashing forward at full speed with every intention to run the moonlighter through. A sparse grin donned Garrett's face, and as the furious guard came within three feet of his person, the thief tossed a gas bomb squarely into the man's face. Demetre gulped and wheezed, dropping his blade and falling to his knees. Within seconds, he'd passed out cold right there in the street.

Gwenevere cautiously craned her head out from behind Garrett to examine the scene. When she noticed the unconscious guard, she rose to her feet, clapping her hands and marveling at just how easily Garrett had incapacitated an armed bluecoat. A knighted one, at that.

"Wow! That was amazing!" she cheered.

The thief offered no response. Instead, he made his way over to Demetre's slumbering form, and began searching the guard for any valuables. A rather thick wedding band in white gold, and a heavy sack of coin were fitting rewards for the trouble Gwenevere's latest show of incompetence had warranted.

"You know, there's something artistic about being a thief," he murmured, still keeping his back to the girl. "Something thrilling. The suspense fills you with adrenaline, and you have to fight it back down to keep from making stupid mistakes, or moving too quickly along the way."

Garrett slowly stood from Demetre's body, before gradually sauntering back towards the impressed redhead. Gwenevere's smile crumbled however, as soon as she noticed his face. He was glowering down at her, those surreal eyes of his blazing with contempt.

"No surprise to see that you've completely soiled on the craft with your first attempt," he sneered.

"Huh? What are you saying?" Gwenevere squawked, feeling incredibly insulted. "I got the medal and everything!"

"You nearly got yourself killed," Garrett hissed. "As I mentioned earlier--I've seen my share of rebellious rich brats come through here. But even if they eventually found it, none of them were actively hunting for their own demise."

"I--" the girl whimpered, at a loss for how to respond to such harsh criticism. It seemed to Gwenevere that her new teacher despised her with a vengeance, although she couldn't be sure why. "But I got it..."

"Look, kid. I don't even care if you managed to pass Basso's little test by the skin of your pretty little teeth. You're hopeless as a thief, and you're going to get yourself killed. Before that happens, I suggest you take that medal to Basso--alone. I've had about all I can stand out of you for one evening..."

Before Gwenevere could object, Garrett had disappeared.