Flashback Hello, Grandfather

[Richard Roslyn]

64 Spring 506

Richard was shaking like a leaf and simultaneously cursing himself for being such a coward. As he sat in the hard, wooden chair like a child about to be scolded, his mind was racing the same way it did when he was stealing, flitting through all options, all outcomes, all escape routes. He scanned the room around him, from the dark oak paneling to the thick wine-red carpet that muffled his footsteps to the silver-framed pictures and statuettes to the massive claw-footed desk before him. Every nerve was prepared to run, but he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to. This was the first time he would meet Maximilian Roslyn, a major supplier of Galatos and vicious leader of the Black Hand Gang, which mercilessly controlled their small corner of the Plaza of Dark Delights. Maximilian was also his grandfather, requesting to see him for the first time ever in his life. His mother told him that her father had sworn off ever dealing with his illegitimate grandson, that he was disgraced of his very existence.

Even worse, Richard weighed that the mob boss wanted revenge. Only half a season ago Richard had murdered one of his underlings. Well, former underling that was fired due to sloppy work that nearly convicted and destroyed the whole gang, but an underling of Maximilian none the less. He couldn't pass it off as an accident either; he had stabbed Hawke in the throat while that brute was sleeping, finally having snapped after being choked, beaten around the head, and flung against the wall. But that wasn't quite the final straw. No, the final straw came when that monster turned around and did the same thing to his mother. Fifteen years of watching her pounded into a pulp nearly nightly, with only reprieves when Hawke was called out for work, was far far too long to have let this go on. He had mulled over dispatching the beast for a while before that, but it just happened that the perfect storm occurred when Hawke was fired. The drunken rage that it put him in and the subsequent backlash was just the final straw.

The rattle of a twisted door handle caused him to jump, and slowly Maximilian entered the room. Richard sized up his grandfather. He was a tall man, spine unbending even in his advanced age, clothed in a refined manner, with a dark red jacket, neat britches and impeccably polished shoes, all befitting of any noble. His hair was thoroughly silvered and his face bore the man's history plainly. There were few resembles between him and his grandfather. While Richard had an angular face and eyes, the man before him had a round face and drooping eyes, far more similar to his mother. He sat down on the other side of the table and folded his hands in front of him. Richard could tell that the man was sizing him up just as much as he had done to the old man. He would find a fifteen-year-old sitting before him, with black hair down to his chin, narrow black eyes, and a small mustache that all pubescent boys believed made them look older than they actually are. "So, I take it that you are Richard, my, the son of my daughter, Annette. How is she? "

"Yes. Uh, yes, sir. Mama, I mean Annette, she's very tired, very overwhelmed with the change, but I think it will pass." he stammered out. Man up Roslyn, he thought to himself, you won't get anywhere good if you can't even talk to him. He made a point to sit straighter in his chair and folded his gloved hands like the man in front of him, "And there's no doubt that you are Maximilian Roslyn." His grandfather seemed to narrow his eyes at him, whether in interest or distaste he couldn't tell. He switched back to a more polite demeanor. "Sir, why did you call for me?"

Maximilian leaned in, blue eyes scrutinizing, speaking slowly, “I've heard a substantial amount about you. You've murdered Hawke and took his position. Strange that you’d take to butchering people.” Richard shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Yes, he had taken Hawke’s job, though he certainly didn't want it. Hawke’s job in the mob was to dispatch of bodies, to hide them from authorities. While the Plaza of Dark Delights was certainly a liberal place in terms of crime, dead bodies floating down the canals still wasn't looked on kindly, as Hawke had found out. The murder had seemed so right, the only sensible option, but afterwards his mother fell into shock, mute, listless, and dazed, and only then did Richard regret his actions. With his mother mentally gone, he scrambled to find any job that could support them. His job search was fruitless, with merchants being wary to hire him for grunt work and him unable to perform any skilled craft, leaving him with only enough that he could pickpocket. One night, however, a heist must have gone south because at his door were two men of the mob at his door, dragging with them a chest that they had stuffed a dead merchant in. And here was the opportunity he was looking for. They were disgruntled that Hawke was gone, and even more so that Richard had decided to charge them now, but in the end agreed because, as Richard put it, ‘well, are you going to chance it being found and ending up like Hawke?’. Thus his job of butchering bodies began, and so too his being able to pay his way.

“However,” Maximilian began again, “I’ve also heard that you aren’t terribly content to stay in this position. I’ve heard that you’ve been doing scout work for my men. Is this true?"

"Yes, sir. I did scout work for Lance and Mezzo. They were planning to rob a merchant by the name of Julius Marianas, and they knew they'd be recognized so they payed me a few mizas to go in, pretend like I would buy one of his daggers, and then come back at night to watch the guards the merchant hired. I've done other work for them too, just being their eyes and ears for them."

Maximilian leaned back, fingertips touching. The pads and parts of his palm were black, burnt to destroy the whorls of his fingerprints that were just another liability in this industry. "Take your gloves off," he commanded. Richard obliged, showing that his hands were marred in the same fashion, but also showing his claws, the most obvious trait that he had gained from his zith father. Maximilian frowned, but grabbed Richard's hands to examine the work. It was sloppily made, not aided by the fact that he had screamed his six-year-old head off and had tried to squirm out of the braces that had held him, causing the acid to spill to other areas of his hand. He hadn't a clue why the gang had done that to him when they hadn't had any intention to actually admit him, but this painful ritual turned into a boon when he had to pickpocket to earn enough to eat. It seemed though that the burning was at least thorough enough, because Maximilian made no further comment.

Instead he reached into his desk and pulled out a padlock, a heavy iron one that had its keyhole in the front and looked fairly complex from Richard's vantage point. Maximilian clicked it shut and set it down wit a loud thud. "Open it."

Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out his lock tools, a thin, flat strip of metal and a long pin bent at the tip. They weren't fancy but they were all he needed. Leaning over, he examined his subject; it was a nasty lock, it had to have dozens of pins and there was no quick way of going about it. Taking his metal bit, he inserted the tip just inside the tumbler and turned it slightly. His pin probed inside the lock, jostled up and down, feeling for each pin to click int place. He twisted harder on the bit as the pins kept slipping back down; this was an obnoxiously stiff tumbler. Usually he didn't have to twist so hard as most locks were made with a bit of give, not due to any thieves' alliance with locksmiths but because most locks were made for the key to turn easily. A slightly shaky mechanism was usually preferred to an irate customer that couldn't turn their lock. The pins started staying up now, but it was hideously slow work, with each minuscule pin needing to be set. He could tell that Maximilian was watching him, probably timing him in his mind. He withdrew his pin, using his now free hand to push his long hair out of his eyes, and in his moment of distraction his bit popped out from the force of his turning. He nearly swore as all the pins were released and quickly reinserted the bit. Starting over again, he arduously secured the pins one by one, feeling the stare Maximilian was giving him bore into the top of his head. Finally, after what felt like an eon, the pins were all in place and the tumbler turned smoothly, releasing the lock.

Richard looked up. He solved the lock, but he knew that he'd taken far too long cracking it open. He watched as Maximilian pulled a gold watch from under the table. "It took you seven and a half chimes to open the lock," he said, face placid. "While that's an abominably long time, I appreciate that you completed it." He paused, hands folded in front of him pensively. "I have a bit of sad news for you," he said, "I am alerting the authorities of the butchering of humans at your residence. You have three days to pack up and leave." A bolt of fear ran through Richard; had he honestly done so badly that the man was going to evict him? He made to speak, but Maximilian held up a finger to silence him and again reached into his desk, pulling out a coin purse, weighted down by its contents. "I want you to use this to buy a new lodging, and stay as far away from the old one as you can. My men have been growing more and more reckless with a designated janitor of their mistakes. You are under no circumstances to resume your old work. Settle into your new home, and in five days come back here. We have a lot of work to do to train you properly. You may leave."

He felt overwhelmed with the news. He was going to be part of his father's gang, lose his old home, and continue to prove that he deserved this opportunity, but he knew that he could do it. He had to, no matter how difficult it would be. He started to thank his grandfather, only to be dismissed more forcefully. As he left, mind spinning from the ordeal, he heard his grandfather call out, "And cut that damned hair, will you? You look like a bum."

[Richard Roslyn]

69 Spring 506

Dragging his distraught mother Annette back into their house, Richard sighed heavily from the exertion. She had tried to wander back to their old home above the butcher’s shop again, wailing and pitching a fit as she was corralled away from the cesspool and Ebonstryfe that had swarmed the place after being tipped off to Hawke’s undertakings. Richard had scoured the place when they had moved out, not even leaving Hawke’s things for fear it might lead back to himself. Maximilian was keeping a close eye on the neighborhood as well, having bribed and threatened his neighbors into silence. Even with his grandfather’s protection, Richard had contemplated burning the hell hole down just to wash his hands of the place but a bit of common sense burrowed into his head and he decided that it would probably just cause more attention than anything left there, he’d just have to cope with the stress of leaving behind the shop itself as evidence. But his mother, still addled with shock and grief, couldn’t seem to comprehend that her former abode wasn’t safe anymore.

Looking to his friend Ophidia as she helped to drag in the madwoman, he offered her an apologetic smile. He knew that keeping her up this late in the day was taxing on her, but he appreciated the help nonetheless. She was like a sister to him, in all aspects that it brought. Supportive in her own way, and not afraid to tell him bluntly when he’d done something stupid, she had a confidence and charisma that he wasn’t sure if he envied or absconded, and aside from their pasts there couldn’t be two more different people. Ophidia was boisterous and charming, brimming with energy and, despite being a prostitute, hadn’t any care to give of what the world thought of her.

Richard couldn’t fathom how she made it work for her; he had charisma too, a carefully tailored and maintained appearance, and probably gave far too much effort towards learning what others thought of him. Simply ‘being himself’ as so often suggested was far too exposing for his comfort. Even more so he was conscientious of himself, the way he talked, the way he moved, the things he paid interest to in the public eye. Nobody ever pays attention to the poor, he believed, so I must look better than that, I must be better, at least to the public. That’s the only way I can get farther in life. Ophidia regularly berated him for being such a popinjay, but it was a habit he knew would pay off eventually, even if it was expensive now.

Ophidia and Richard shoved Annette into a chair, where she collapsed and became inert. Richard checked his mother's forehead like she had when he was sick. It probably didn't help much, but it was a token gesture he could do to make sure she was alright. Ophidia flopped against the wall, grinning back at Richard, "Ya think she'll ever snap out of it?"

"I don't know, Phi-phi, I hope she does," he replied pensively. It hurt to see his mother like this; he wished that there was some way that he could get her back on her feet. "Umm, Phi-phi, could you watch her this afternoon? If you want, you can sleep here, or just stop by every once in a while, or, or, you know, I just need to know she's safe."


Phi-phi kept grinning, “Hon, you don’t even need to ask, I’ve got my eye on her. Besides, you’ve got a big day today, dontcha?” She laughed and continued, “So, why exactly do you think Lord Roslyn has taken such an interest into you now? If I had a say in it, I’d leave ‘im where he stood for abandoning you and your mama. Hell, didn’t you say a long time ago that Hawke was assigned to watch over her? That’s reason enough to strangle the bastard for making the two of you put up with his shitty judgement, innit?”

“It’s not quite that easy,” Richard said, “One, while a strangulation would be fitting, I’d be daft to actually try to pick a fight with him, I’d also have the entire gang coming after me too. Second, I don’t really have anywhere else to turn. I already tried finding a job among the local merchants and they avoided me like the plague, which, you know, I can’t blame them for, and I don’t really know any skills that I can market myself with. And most importantly, I want to take this job, or opportunity, or whatever it is, because I know for sure that I’ll be able to get ahead in it. I’m a good thief, one of the only things I actually am good at, and I’d almost certainly get more mizas from an organized gang than just on my own. Besides, I want to show him that I can do this, that I’m good enough for this. Do you get where I’m coming from?” he tried to explain.

She was silent, staring at him with her head supported by her hand, listening intently. He wasn’t sure what to think about this change in demeanor, having expected to be laughed at for his ambition, but he couldn’t glean anything out of her stony expression. Finally, she spoke, “You really do care about this, don’t you?” He nodded.

“Please be safe,” the weak voice of Annette surprised Richard, who turned to face her. “Please be safe,” She said again, pushing herself upright into the chair, “It’s dangerous work, you could be arrested or, or worse,” She was sitting bolt-straight, the intensity creeping into her voice unnerving him, but she wasn’t finished there, “You might get hurt. You might get killed. You'll be dragged into the street and beaten and whipped and tortured if you get caught by the guards, and I just can't stand to think about it." Tears were streaming down her face as she choked out those words, eyes begging him to stay.

And Richard knew every word of it was true. Scrapes with the law certainly wasn't a foreign thing for him. Most city guards were content to rough him up on their own once they were alerted to his pickpocketing, and the few guards that didn't skip out on their task of bringing order to the dark plaza knew him by name, and he theirs. Joining the gang would bring up the stakes; guards were eternally displeased with the conceding of territory to the local gangs, and when they got their hands on one of the members they showed exactly how much it nuisanced them, usually incarcerating and torturing the unfortunate captive. But despite all that, Richard knew he couldn't shrug this off, he needed the money, he needed the chance to move up. "Mama," he said, keeping his voice even, "I am going, and that's final. This is an opportunity I can't pass up, and I already knew it would be dangerous. I know you're scared, but I have to do this."

Annette slumped down listlessly. “I’m sorry Ricky. I shouldn’t have said that. I just don’t want to lose you.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes, tears streaming down her face, “I don’t know what else to say. I want you to be successful, but not like this. I’m scared to lose you, I’m scared you’ll get hurt. I’m sorry, I know you want to do this, I know, I just...”

Richard walked over and hugged her, "I'll be careful mama. I'll do even better, I'll start making some money around here. We can finally move on, start living nicely. I promise it'll be alright." Turning to the door, he looked back at the two women. His mother looked back, then closed her eyes and became inert again. Ophidia motioned for him to leave, her characteristic infectious grin back on her face. Richard mustered the confidence to smile back, squared his shoulders, and strode out.

The trek to where he and Maximilian were to meet felt unnaturally long. Weaving through the maze of Ravok’s streets and riding along the canals, the prior conversation rattled around in his head. Slowly he began to unpick his feelings, each passing moment bringing catharsis until finally he stood at the meeting ground, a cafe on a busy avenue in the Nitrozoan Plaza, head clear and convictions bared. And there was Maximilian. Taking a deep breath, Richard stepped forward, “Good afternoon, sir.”

Maximilian turned toward him, “You’re cutting it awfully close, but I appreciate that you aren’t late.” He seemed irritated nonetheless, but Richard was starting to feel that that particular reaction was just something he was going to have to expect from him for now. “I want to test what you know, see if there are any holes we’ll have to fill in. I’m sure you guessed that I was already testing you with the lock, and you passed. Congratulations.”

“About that,” Richard said. “I remember you said that I took an ‘abominably long time’. If I did so badly, why are you still interested in me?"

"Because you still opened the lock. The lock itself was not that important, the test was to check your determination. Other boys waltz into my office and demand I give them a position, planning on only using my organization as a scapegoat for their shenanigans. When I present them with a test, be it the lock or another test suitable for their skills, they pitch a fit and storm off. My organization must have professionalism, I won't stand for petulant miscreants infecting my operations. So, for now, you appear to have an amount of useful skill and the drive to impress." Maximilian said. "Now, a few more tests are in order." He swept his arm to gesture to the bustling street, “I will go to the far side of the street. Pick a target and rob them, then come back to me. I want to see how good a thief you actually are.” With that, Maximilian strode away.

Richard withdrew closer to the side of the cafe. If it was a robbery Maximilian wanted, he wouldn’t disappoint. He’d been a pickpocket since he was ten, it wasn’t uncharted territory. Careful, though, he thought, Maximilian is watching you. What did he want with this test? I could just skulk through the crowds and nick the wallet of a victim who was haggling over the price of trinkets, using the argument as a suitable cover. But that probably wouldn’t impress Maximilian. No, I’ll need to do something more impressive. Or did he? Choosing a more elaborate method meant more chance of bungling the steal, and that wouldn’t earn him any favor. He mused further, sorting out his strategy, conflicted as to which way he should turn. You cannot be average, a voice whispered in his mind, you must be better. Ah, there was that voice again. Impulsive, violent, brilliant, that part of his mind was an adversarial partnership at best, one that he’d put up with ever since he could think, but it was on occasion right. He had to impress, he had to be better. Fine then, he thought back, I’ll make a show of it.

He let his eyes flick over the crowd, searching for particular signs of possession of money. Usually it was a man patting his pocket to check his coin purse was still there, or a lady sneaking a look into her bag. He focused his attention on a particular vendor, selling a myriad of goods. A wider variety usually meant people would try to buy all of what they needed in one go, and thus more for him to gain. He walked over to the vendor, pretending to browse among the tables as he used his new vantage point to suss out a good target. He preferred younger people, rich-looking or showy, and especially women, who were untempered by worldly experience; young people were always so careless with their money, dropping coins during transactions, toting around their purses in plain view, and rich young people were especially prone to imprudence. Why would they need to be careful with their mizas, they had plenty to spare. Young, rich women though were the perfect subjects: naive, trusting, and almost always laden with jewelry to boot. While the borders of Ravok weren’t exactly a nobel’s paradise, that was left to the center of the city, merchants’ daughters were plentiful and plenty for him. Now just to wait.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for a girl, perhaps fourteen, to come strolling along the street, looking to head toward the same vendor. She was dressed in a neat white dress, hair done up carefully with a dainty comb, purse swinging on her arm and unattended by anyone. Perfect. He started to walk away. The shopkeep called out a farewell, Richard shouted a farewell back, using the dialogue as an excuse for running into the woman. Just as he planned, he collided head on, knocking her sprawling onto the ground.

“Oh, gods, I’m sorry,” Richard and the lady said in unison. Richard leapt down to assist her up, pulling her to her feet. “I’m so foolish, I ought to have seen you there,” he said, taking the purse off her arm and using his other hand to assist dusting her off.

She smiled back, “Oh, it’s alright, I’ve done that before more times than I can count. Thank you for helping me up."

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Richard said, grasping her hand and looking into her eyes.

She she started a moment, then giggled. “I’ll be okay, I promise,” she said coyly. "Are you all right? I don't even know your name."

"Richard. And yours?" he strung her along, starting to walk up the street. All was going well so far.

"Lirina," she said, walking along with him. She was quite suitably distracted by his facade, not even noticing that he had her bag still, and she was a pleasant victim as well.

"Just as lovely a name as a girl as pretty as yourself should have," he gave her a winning smile, the girl giggling even more. He glanced over to where Maximilian had retreated to. For only a moment he swore he saw the old man grin, but upon his discovering Richard looking at him he scowled. Time to wrap it up. "I'm afraid I'll have to go," he said glumly, then perked up, "but I hope we could met again, yes?"

"Same time same place tomorrow?" she said hopefully.

"Of course," he lied, winning smile on his face.

She bade him goodbye, turning her back and started to walk away. That was Richard's opening, and he made long strides through the crowd, weaving between the throngs of people and putting as much distance between him and the now purseless woman. Faintly he could hear her voice calling out for him to come back, but he was long gone.

As was usual, his mind turned about the events that took place as he rounded back to Maximilian. It was certainly fun, but he knew that he had stayed with her for far too long; he ought to have apologized, helped her up, sleighted her purse, and left. But he was still successful, and that's what counted. Approaching Maximilian, he spoke. "Have I performed satisfactorily?"

"Keep it in your pants, will you,? Maximilian grumbled, "Yes, you were adequate." He stood up and motioned for Richard to follow. Walking along a side canal, sparsely occupied and comfortably enclosed, far away from the former crowd, Maximilian spoke again, "So I suppose you want to know what I was testing, yes?" Richard agreed, and the man continued. "It was to see how you handle yourself in public. If anything, you did far better than most in this regard. I always cringe when a potential tries to impress me by ripping the purse right off a lady and running off. What sort of idiot actually thinks that’s an acceptable strategy? As for the actual thievery, you did adequately, but you stayed far too long with the woman. I’m starting to see a pattern here, and it's one that I expect you to remedy, am I clear?"

“Yes, sir,” Richard replied. The more time he spent with his grandfather the less he liked him. Pompous windbag, he thought, I’m not that awful a thief. He thinks he’s so impressive, doesn’t he? Of course he does, he calls himself a lord. You think you’re so grand just because you dress nicely and act like a smug bastard. Think you impress anyone strutting around like that? You’re not even half as good as you think you are. Wait a minute...

Lost in his thoughts, he nearly ran into Maximilian as the man stopped abruptly. He looked around the place they stopped. It was a quiet nook nestled between two buildings, completely void of anyone except the two wanderers. Despite the current depopulation, the houses and apartments looked to be in decent shape and regularly occupied, a far nicer neighborhood than his own. Considering it was the middle of the day, it would make sense that a residential area might be a bit sparse at this time; everyone would be at work by now. But then why did they come here?

“Now, another test,” Maximilian said, pivoting to face Richard, “What steps would you go through to burglarize a house?”

Richard paused. He’d never broken into anyone’s house before. What would he have to do? “Well,” he started, wracking his brains, “you’d need to break into the house somehow, like picking the lock on their door, or breaking a window, but the less noticeable way to get in would be best. Um, you need to make sure no one was there, you don’t want to get in a fight or get caught.” What else, what, else, he thought drawing a blank. Then it hit him so hard he slapped his forehead, “I’ve completely screwed up the order,” he lamented, “I wasn’t supposed to start with the burglary itself, I needed to start with prep work. First, I’d have to scout the place I’m trying to rob. I’d need to know who all lived there, when they usually leave, if any of their neighbors are keeping watch for them or if they have dogs that would cause problems. I’d have to look out for anything worth stealing too, there’d be no point in robbing a house with nothing in it.” He took a breath, looking at Maximilian, “Did I miss anything?”

“Well did you?” replied Maximilian glibly. “You better get the order straight, because,” he pointed to the house across from them, “you’re going to be robbing that house, third one west of Flint Bridge, on the right. The man hasn’t paid off his debts to me, and I can’t let him just run off. You can keep whatever you like, I just want the score settled. You have seven days, so go home and make sure you are prepared. This meeting is over. Good luck.” The man strode briskly away, leaving Richard to stand there awkwardly and mull over his task. Heading home, his thoughts buzzed like flies in his head, and swarmed around in his head all day.