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Conspiracies
Lendear had eventually gotten sight of the Great Hall and from there he knew his way home. Thealdi was mildly surprised as the boy stumbled into the main hall, panting and still quite shaken. Upon curiously raised eyebrows, Lendear quickly relayed his encounter ready to receive a good load of railing, but instead was showered with congratulations by an seemingly proud and touched Master To. Taken aback by the old mans reaction something changed within Lendear. He concluded that he no longer was the little boy who would receive his proper punishment on going off-limits, but his lately acquired title seemingly granted him the treatment of a grown up, like he was on equal ranks with his Master. Not at all sure, whether he liked this nor if he was just imagining things he decided to share his thoughts and see what Thealdi had to say about it. After all, he was still a boy and felt nowhere close to match the old man in any respect.
“Well, my son”, Thealdi deliberately used the intimate title, “of course we are not equal ranked. For one I am your teacher, which in itself implies a certain gradation and don’t we want to forget about my duties as your protector which of course I feel I’m not only bound to due to the fact that I had to make that promise to Lynveeda. No, we aren’t on par with each other, but that does not necessarily mean I should treat you like a naughty little child. You did exceptionally well and used your gem way beyond your assumed abilities. It was my failure not to have intensified the training with it in order to fully prepare you for such an occasion and I want to apologize.
On another note, respect is something that is not limited to go in only one direction. You might want to remember this for the future, but now I suggest you take your bow and go see Master Mot. I’m sure he is already awaiting your arrival.”
This little speech didn’t leave the boy exactly enlightened, but at least his mind had something to ponder on while he was making his way to the bow master.
“You’re late”, was all he offered when Lendear stood at Miglims door, mumbling some excuses about his delay. But it seemed that the bow master had taken no offence and together, equipped with their arms and ammunition they set off to the training grounds.

“He was here”, announced crooked nose.
“I tried to lure him into the shop, but apparently I’ve spooked him.”
He shrugged and grinned darkly, clearly drawing pleasure as he recalled the boy bolting upon his little scary act, but the other man in the room didn’t seem to share his enjoyment.
“You bloody idiot! What on earth made you perform this little frump act. Scaring the wits out of the boy with your stupid stunt. You had direct orders to make him enter. Now we are forced to change plans. This will not go without consequences…”.
“Hold it”, interrupted the shop owner, “stop threatening me. I know exactly what I am doing. The boy will return. I know how the brains of these little pricks work, you’ll have to trust me here.” “Trust you? You must be nuts! But hey, it’s your head that’s going to roll, not mine, so be my guest. I’ll be back tomorrow and you better have some good news then.”
He walked past the shop owner, and stormed out into the street, banging the door nearly causing the glass inlays to splinter. Cursing under his breath, the shop owner watched the figure through the shop windows disappearing around the corner.
“Bloody ignorant idiot”, he mumbled and poured himself a drink, “you’ll pay for that”. What did that oaf know about kids. But he understood them, he had used them for many years and still made quite a good sum from it. The shop of course was still his main source of income together with the one or other little side bargain, but the boys he had out on the streets did provide a good share. Now he had this unwelcome task at hand, though the gratification he had been promised was quite pleasing, there was something else he had to take care of. This stupid old witch had been pulling off a keen competition lately with her own gang and he intended to stop that for good.

After two hours of exhausting exercises, Lendear was set free and this time he was resolved not to fall for any distraction on his route back to the Brigshack. Even though he was still awed at everything he encountered in this enormous city, he kept telling himself to continue on, anticipating the meeting with the head librarian and his master. But in the back of his mind lingered daring thoughts of curiosity. This all too strange object he had seen in the display of the shop with its swirling metal plates kept reappearing before his inner eye. Starting to debate if a little delay would cause any harm, he had already left his route and was heading to the area where he assumed to find the shop.
The mechanical machine was no longer in the display and dismayed, Lendear feared it had been sold and was lost to him. He had to make sure and so the boy decided to enter the shop to inquire about it. The crooked nosed owner stood behind the counter, an odd smile indicating he had anticipated his customer. Even though Lendear really disliked the man, curiosity outweighed and he was about to shoot his question, when the man spoke:
“Ah, my trepidant visitor. So, you came back after all. My dearest apologies if I have scared you before. How can I be of help?”
Blushing, Lendear hated not only himself for having acted so foolishly and the attribute provided by the shop owner didn’t exactly help to make him more likable. Spending great efforts not to let this show in his voice and attempting to put on a casual tone, he said:
“This machine you had in your display earlier on, have you sold it?”, but his agitation betrayed him, making the man broaden his false smile.
“I’m afraid so, my dear friend. But back in the storage I have another one of the kind. Why don’t you follow me and I will show it to you.”
Upon this great news Lendear ignored all caution, pushing aside his suspicions towards the shop owner and started to follow him to the back where a sign at the door indicated the storage area. However, he never reached his destination for a mighty blow over the head sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Hey, what were we up to?”, inquired the boy.
“Dunno, were we up to something?”, came the answer.
“Never mind, I just thought…”, and the voice trailed off.
“Feel like I had too much liquor”, a third voice chimed in.
“Boys, what are we babbling about here? Go, find yourselves something to do. How am I supposed to feed you if you just hang around. Go, make some booties. Off you go!”, came a surprisingly strong voice from an old woman who stood amidst the group of youngsters. Grumping, the boys trotting off to find some prey. Life on the streets was not easy and competing gangs didn’t exactly help. Without a gang however, you were doomed to constant bullying, beating and robbery or worse ended up stabbed to death in one of the many dark alleyways.
The orphanages were too crowded and the strict rules didn’t appeal to many who favoured the false feeling of freedom that went with a life in the streets. Many attempts had been made by the administration but the situation was never resolved. During the last years simply too many refugees had come in search of a safe harbour to the grounds of Brougoth, their homes fallen victim to the hoards of the Beakil Khum.
The boys, headed by the old hag were no exception. Many had been in one of the orphanages when they first arrived, but soon bailed out, not willing to cope with the strict day routines. Whatever had happened a couple of hours before was lost to them, merely an odd feeling of falseness lingered. Neither having the leisure nor the will to discuss it further they went to search for a victim they could disburden of some tokens, stomachs growling.

The shop owner tied the unconscious boy, carried the limp body to the back yard where a cart stood waiting. Howling him in and arranging a blanket to prevent curious eyes from learning about the contents of the cart, crooked nose began to pull his load to the street.
“Damn”, he cursed as he saw the gang approaching him. They were not his and anticipating the troubles ahead, he frantically searched for some means of escape. He couldn’t just turn and try to make a run. Not without leaving the boy behind and that certainly wasn’t an option. He had to attempt to talk himself out of this. They were just stupid little pricks after all and he would teach them respect. “Hey, crooked nose. What have you got in that cart, eh?”, one of the boys inquired. Within seconds he was surrounded.
“None of your bloody business, you cheeky little devil. Now step aside and mind your own damn crap!”, came the angry reply.
“I don’t think so”, offered the boy and grabbed for the blanked, but that only earned him a slap. “I said, none of your business. Now bugger off!”
“Bad mistake, mister”, the boy answered coolly and while he was rubbing his hand, the others had drawn knifes.
The shop owner quickly calculated his chances. He was no fool and he knew when he had to give in. Now he needed a way out of this situation, preferably in one piece. He didn’t care about the boy, they could have him, but the precious items his victim had on him were a quite different matter. He’d received explicit instructions not to take anything off the boy accompanied with a warning that disobeying would have consequences not only for his own health, but also in terms of withholding payments.
“Right, well then, let’s not overreact”, he tried to calm the situation.
“Why don’t you boys give me a hand with the cart - of course going along with a nice sum of money to compensate the efforts.”
If threatening wouldn’t help, maybe the prospect of some tokens would do the trick, he mused but the boys wouldn’t fall into that.
“Forget it, we’ll just be taking your cart and you better buzz off.”
To back up his words, the boy threateningly raised his dagger, pointing straight at the mans heart. This was not going well at all for the shop owner, not only was he about to loose the boy, but knowing the laws of the street, he started to fear for his own health.
“Well then, have it! It’s just garbage anyhow. Be my guest and have a look.”
If they would kill him here on the street, he was resolved to take at least some of them with him. He pulled off the blanket and in a swift motion wrapped it around the pointed dagger, pulling hard, thus making the boy stumble forward right into his outstretched knee making painful contact with the boys nose, braking it and causing a great gush of blood to erupt. Before anyone could react, the man had unsheathed his own version of a dagger, at least three times the size of any specimen the boys were wielding and started a quick circle, arm outstretched. The blade barely missed his attackers who had all managed just in time to make the saving step back. With their leader on the ground, holding his bleeding face, the gang quickly lost their courage and grabbing their injured comrade, they fled. Heart still beating hard and swearing, the man shuddered at this close call. He took a few moments to collect himself and after covering up the boy again, continued to his destination. He had just made the next corner, when he was overtaken by a similar fate his own victim had encountered after being lured into the man’s shop. The boys who had quickly gotten hold of themselves, determined not let go of their bounty and driven by desire to satisfy their revenge, let alone the prospects of the beatings they were about to receive, should the old hag come to learn of their failure, had reunited and prepared for the ambush. When the shop owner made his turn, he was greeted by a club, driven hard and straight in his face.