Dungeon Runner
The Tiger Writes
sciencefiction
sciencefiction
31K5
Tibs survived by picking pockets; until he's caught.
Instead of losing a hand, he's sent away and told he must now survive a dungeon.
How is a kid who knew nothing more than his ...Bottom Rung, Chapter 42
The rooftop wasn't the highest or the one Tibs wanted to walk, but it was the one he'd picked for his first break-in. He'd prefer Tirania's office, but as she'd said, she was expecting him. He also suspected the building had plenty of ways of detecting a Rogue who shouldn't be there. This house, which was new and only moved in recently, wouldn't have anything magical guarding it.
He lowered himself to the highest window from the roof, feeling along the wall with his toes until he found purchase and moved closer. He didn't wear his armor for this, not for his first time. He had on a light black shirt, black pants, and no socks. He hadn't known he'd be breaking into a house before today, and none of the merchants had black socks. Even Darran, who had plenty of things to remain hidden, didn't. But he said he'd have something better for him in a few weeks.
He was three stories high, low enough anyone passing by would notice him, which forced him to act quickly. Even this late in the night, he'd seen people walking about. Some had the demeanor of guards, but others the furtiveness of Runners heading to do things they shouldn't.
The window didn't open when he pulled or pushed. So someone here knew height didn't mean security. Tibs smiled. At least this wouldn't be easy.
He took the thin shim from his bracer and slipped it between the bottom of the window and the sill. He moved it until he felt it catch, then maneuvered it, figuring out the mechanism by feel. A latch release, he decided, and repositioned the shim to apply the pressure to the right position. He moved slowly, ignoring the pain in his finger and toes.
That was a pain he was familiar with, even if he hadn't felt it since arriving in his town. It was the pain of work, of knowing that soon he'd have a sliver of copper to pay for a piece of moldy bread or, if he was lucky, he'd find bread or an old orange the owner hadn't finished.
He wouldn't get anything like that here tonight. If his interest was taking something, he suspected he could leave and never have to worry about coins until Harry caught him and threw him in a cell. This was for training, and if he found coins, his proof would be a lone copper.
The shim moved, and the latch released.
Tibs put the shim away and waited. Dark rooms weren't always empty, he'd learned the hard way. When no motion or sounds came after a minute, he grabbed the bottom of the window and pulled it up. He slipped in and his fingers complained. He didn't remember the pain being this sharp. Out of practice, from months without hanging by them.
He let his eyes adjust to the darkness and made out a desk. By touch, he found the oil lamp and wished he'd thought to bring something to light it. Maybe once he had fire essence, he wouldn't have to worry about light.
Huh, did light and fire have something in common, since fire generated light? He shook his head. No time to be distracted. He needed to figure out if this room had anything worth breaking into, or if he needed to wander the house.
He planned on wandering the house regardless, but this would tell him if it was out of enjoyment or as part of his practice.
On the wall behind the desk, he felt wood, shelves, with books in them. He paused. He counted ten books and found himself at a loss. How wealthy was the noble living here that he had over ten books? The way Carina spoke about them, Tibs got the sense their value was in electrum, if not gold.
"So, this is what you're doing with your night."
Tibs spun, knife in hand, as the lamp lit to reveal Bardik putting away a stone.
The Rogue smiled. "Now this is exactly the right time to pull a knife on being surprised. I'm happy learning not to take it out among the townsfolk didn't become a habit when needed."