Dawn rose with Zorn, the "angry one" of the two suns, cresting the endless plain, spilling its bright white light across the bamboo trees and into the streets of Northwatch, casting stark shadows of waving bamboo stands and flowered ferns. Red and purple-feathered chickensaurs crowed their greetings to the new day, terrorizing the small rodents and nizards they wandered about pecking at. Within the hour, voices rose and the sound of traffic: carts creaking with the day's produce, bicycles whizzing by with important messages to deliver, and children heading off to school filled the village air. 

In an upper room of the "Saurshead Inn and Tavern," however, the night still held sway as a heavy blanket had been thrown over the curtain, blocking out the light and noise. 

"Call," drawled a deeply teal orc, sliding his cards facedown on the table in front of him. This one was nicknamed "Trigger" and was supposed to be quite a hunter of man or beast. For an orc, he had a rather pleasant face. Less toothy, more bulky, with no scars. Clearly not the guy who ran through thickets of needlethorn chasing animals. I guessed that "trigger" meant he had access to rare weaponry.

"Call," answered the orc next to him. No nickname this one, just "Derrin." Supposed to be some Ord-based name of some renown, but Lady Luck doesn't seem to favor it here tonight. Derrin works for the local mage's guild as a manna clerk: he inventories and apportions the manna collection for the guild to the various mages. The fact that he's here tonight suggests that he's been skimming a little of the dust off the top and selling it on the black market. Compared to the guy next to him, he's positively pale, as most urbanites are. 

"Raise three." Next is a elven soldier from the far north. That is, she was born deep in the Protectorate territory, but she's been living here in Northwatch for several years. She's another of the Aunties: Anti-Social to my Anti-Hero, but while my name is Hero, a fact that Antique never lets me live down, hers is Sasha. Truth be told, it's Sasha's room, her game and she rarely loses over the course of the night. Some suggest that elves possess magical powers that the mages can't even fathom. I think she just knows how to read the room exceptionally well. 

Next is me, and the bet is now five. I toss in five beans and call without looking at my cards again. It's clear that the two orcs have two pair, but I'm looking at three of a kind. The only real question is whether Sasha's got me beat. I glance at her, but her rugged face is blank. All night, she's been like this: a complete wall. I absentmindedly rub a scar behind my ear. She flicks her eyes to the first orc, who calls, putting in three more. The second orc, though, has a pretty small pile and wisely folds. 

Sasha drops three queens, with a grin that says she was just milking the pot. I throw down three nines and congratulate her. The orc plays a pair of kings, ace high, which would have been a good hand if everyone had crap. He's complaining about how he can't get a break. 

Sasha takes the cards, starts shuffling. She's a master of shuffling, and I have no doubt that she might actually be stacking the deck, because her hands move so fast, so precisely, it's almost impossible to follow. 

She kicks me lightly under the table, and I signal back with a couple of toe taps. Time to wrap things up. She says to the orcs, "It's morning. Wanna call it a night?" and Derrin says, "Yeah, I gotta get to work." The big, dark blue-green one sighs, counting out his beans. Like Sasha's other mark, he isn't up tonight either. But unlike his paler cousin, he doesn't have a side hustle that keeps the beans flowing. 

"Shit. I'm down ten beans. The wife's gonna kill me and I'm not getting lunch this week."

Sasha is pitiless. "Look, Trigger, that's what gambling means. You should follow Derrin's lead, there: never gamble what you need, only what you can afford to lose."

"But I had good cards that last game!" he whines. "I was sure I was winning. I was going to get--"

I'm not given to a lot of talk, but I can't help but straighten the guy out. "--I thought the same thing, Trigger, even had a better hand than you. But sometimes the queens come around and steal it all away from the kings. That's just life. There's nothing you can do about that. So you don't dig yourself a hole you can't get out of."

Derrin's pretty quiet, waiting on Trigger to gather his things. But as he opens the door to leave, I hear him say, "Trigger, I can spot you ten, but you've gotta pay me back by the end of the week. Don't leave me hanging, or I won't bring you to these games anymore."

Trigger closes the door, thanking him, and it's just me and Sasha, grinning like fools. It's been a pretty solid night, between my earlier activities and the poker game. She leans over the table at me and says, "What's the haul, kid?"

The haul tonight is jewelry, and I lean back so that I can open my vest. It doesn't look like much on the outside, a bit oversized for my petite frame, but it's got space where it counts, and from the inside pocket I pull a necklace, several rings, and a pouch that scrapes with stone-on-stone friction. 

Sasha leans forward, grabs the pouch and pulls it open. Out drop a number of unpolished stones: blues, aquamarines, dusky greys. It's probably three necklaces and a dozen rings' worth. "Well, these ought to cover the next several projects," she says, scooping them back into the bag. "Good job."

I shake my head, and motion for her to hand over the pouch. "What?" she asks hesitantly. 

"Never put them all back into the same bag, remember? Someone is looking for that bag with those stones. If we're going to do this right, then you put them all in separate bags and throw this pouch away."

"That's a perfectly good pouch, and it'll cost a bit to get a bunch of others."

I give her a look that says money isn't an object as I roll a few stones in my hand. 

"Oh." She laughs nervously, running her hands through her golden hair. "Oh yeah. I guess we can afford them."

"You know, for someone who is a gifted grifter, you sure aren't much of a thief." I slip the stones into my own bag. We'll split them up once the leather shop's open. I slip the rest of the jewelry back into my inside pocket and get ready to leave. 

"Well, we each have our gifts, and mine is people, while yours is...things." She smiles her winning smile. 

"You've got that right, sister," I chuckle. "I'm just glad we're on the same team. Otherwise, I'd be leaving with empty pockets."

I should point out here who the Aunties are. As one publication put it, "A female band of ill-advised, ill-equipped, and ill-reputed ruffians that have been known to terrorize the innocent folk from the Federation to the Protectorates and everywhere in between." Well, to be honest, it's mostly me doing the terrorizing, what with the thieving and the occasional robbery. The others all do the "good work" of freeing oppressed slaves and bringing "rough justice" to abusers: not exactly "innocent folk." It's Antique's idea: bring a bunch of gals with chips on their shoulders and broken hearts together to repay old debts and visit vengeance on the powerful wicked for those who can't do for themselves. I guess that terrorizes those powerful wicked folks, too, so there's that. Fact is, I'd just be doing what I'm doing now anyway, so when Q told me that I was an essential part of her plan and to just keep doing what I'm doing, she didn't need to ask twice. 

Sasha calls us "soldiers of fortune." She thinks its all fun and games. She'd know. She signed up for the military, put in a solid decade on the front lines of the so-called Imperial War before her husband, a fellow military man, was killed. They gave her an honorable discharge for "family loss." But I've spent the night in her room, listening to her while she dreamt, and I don't think the war ever left her.

Sasha goes to the dresser and pulls out her traveling outfit: thick wool breaches, a puffy purple shirt and a cloth-covered cuirass custom-made to her chest. The cloth has delicate embroidery on it reminiscent of ancient heraldry, but it's the metal underneath that is why she wears it. More than once someone has tried to get their money back after a card game by shivving her in the street. If you look closely, you can see velvet patches covering the tears of those old attacks.

She slips out of her bosom-baring dress ("What can I say? They earn their keep") and slides on the breaches. I give her a hand lacing up the cuirass in the back. From a trunk on the floor, she pulls out a ridiculous hat with a brim practically the length of my elbow. It fits perfectly over her golden hair and gives her the appearance of a well-off man of a certain age. Truth be told, it's pretty hot.  

I shake my head and she catches me looking away. "What? I'm trying to be fashionable." To "attract potential marks." She adjusts the hat so it covers one eye when you look straight at her. Good grief. 

"If we have to run, you will ditch the hat, right?"

"Of course," she says, her lilt suggesting no such thing. 

"You're a wonder, Sasha." 

"No less than you, Hero. But between the two of us, I need to look fabulous. You just need to melt into the walls or whatever you do." 

"Hide in plain sight."

"Yeah, that." 

"Well, wearing that get up, you do make it easier for me."

It's all true. She looks like a character out of a fashion show. I look like...well, a walking coat. Dark brown, mop-like hair, light brown eyes, eyes that always dart around, noticing everything. Light boots for quiet steps, a half dozen daggers around my belt, in my boot, and even one in my hair, all varying colors of "could be grey, maybe blue, or even green." In my line of work, making it difficult for witness statements is a matter of art. 

What also works in my favor is that I'm about 140 centimeters* tall and about 50kg* , so everyone thinks I'm a kid. The joys of being a dwarf. Don't even start about the beards. There's fairy tales from the old world, and there's the reality of Nerd. 

"You're welcome. Now, are you ready to go? My stomach swears if I don't find something with egg in it, I will have a mutiny on my hands."

My stomach offers its support and in the suddenly silence, we stare at each other and then burst into giggles. "Well," she says, "yours too!" She grabs her purse, a shiny steel number on a too-heavy chain that, in a pinch, doubles as a flail. I've seen her use it, and trust me, you don't want to. Her night's winnings slip inside as it clasps closed. I throw on my coat, which really was a man's until I procured it so it hides the lumps in the vest well, and we head out. 

Downstairs, in the restaurant part of the inn, it's noisy with waking customers and locals getting their morning fix. We quietly slip out so that no one recognizes us, and make our way to market. If you didn't look closely at my too-clean face, you might think us a young couple out on the town. I get that a lot. 

Shopping starts with food: there's a kid here with a real talent for savory sandwiches and a silver coin sees that he had two already prepared for us. Sasha tips her hat and the kid blushes. 

We eat as we walk, looking at storefronts, commenting on things that catch our eye. But as we go, my attention isn't really on the merchandise, it's on the security systems in place: locks, security guards, signs warning of magical wards. This is what gets my blood pumping: seeing which, if any of these, I can pick, sneak, or hack pas--just to prove I can do it. Just to show myself, if not the world, that I am better than. Sure, judge me. But I know you do the same in your area of expertise. There's a nervous guard pacing next to a bank that catches my eye. Without even thinking about it, I'm sizing him up, running the scenarios through my head. It's what I do.

"Hero. Hero, come in." Sasha waves a hand in front of my face and I snap out of my reverie. 

"Whoa. Sorry. Lost in thought there."

"You're staring at that guard like he's an old boyfriend." She giggles, and I follow suit as we turn away. "Come on, before he thinks you're interested."

"I am interested in seeing if I can beat him one on one."

"Geez, Hero, you're impossible."

"Don't tell me you aren't thinking you could take him in cards."

"I'm not...right now. Because right now, we're out shopping." She emphasized the words to remind me that we weren't supposed to be attracting attention and staring at people tends to do that.

"Right," I say, shaking my head, my brown curls swaying over my pink face. "Shopping, not working. Shopping, not working." I spend most of the rest of our walk admiring the clouds in the sky or noticing scavenging animals--anything to take my mind off the next score. 

"Here," Sasha announces, pulling my focus away from a bird that had found some bread to pick at. I look up and see the symbol of our order: the capital A overlaid over an O. Word had it that it used to be associated with criminals on Ord, so it seemed appropriate to continue its use here. We slip in to what appears to be a book shop.

The elven owner greets us warmly. "Sasha, so good to see you again," and she turns her deep blue eyes to me, sizing me up. "And who is this?"

Sasha returns the warmth with her winning smile. "Elauren, may I introduce my friend Hero to you. Hero, Elauren. She has the most fascinating books in Northwatch." Hands are extended, taken, shaken. The book shop doesn't appear to have any security at all besides the almost-useless lock on the front door. I'm guessing "fascinating" doesn't translate to "expensive" or "rare" or "worth stealing."

"Fascinating books, huh?" I ask almost absentmindedly. Reading isn't really my thing. 

Elauren chuckles. "Not a reader, I take it?" She says is so neutrally, I have to grin. 

"More of a doer than a reader of the word, me." I shrug and she returns the gesture. Most elves are kind of pretentious around the other subspecies, but this one seems to be one of the rare ones that remembers we are all human.

"Different strokes for different folks," she says in a voice that sounds rehearsed, like she's used the line many times before. She continues. "That's an old Ord saying." See? I was right. 

"Anything particularly...rare? Valuable?" I mean, sue me, but this is who I am.

"Oh, I'm sure there are some who would consider every volume valuable, and I have a few rare tomes in the back, but I know better than to tempt you."

Sasha cocks a brow and I just glare at the elf. "What's that mean?"

The woman smiles and shakes her head. "It means that your friend has already warned me about you and your...hobby."

Sasha glances around, but I already knew we were the only ones in the shop at the moment. "Is she here now?"

Elauren nods. "Yes, yes, I think I do have something you might be interested in. Follow me." She holds a blanket that had been covering her inner office chambers aside. We walk into a dark room, lit only by a candle, and she follows us. The blanket falls into place and we are in almost perfect darkness. 

Almost perfect, because we dwarves have slightly infrared vision, and I can see in the dark, especially the warmth of a hidden door in the wall, behind which is a crackling fire. Elauren pulls a lever and the door opens a crack, then pushing it, it swings wide, revealing a well-lit, warm room. Behind a desk sits the old woman we know as Q. 

Q is an elf as well, but a darker shade of blue than Elauren, who is practically pale by comparison. As we enter, she smiles at us and motions at a couple of chairs in front of the desk, which we take. Elauren bows, Q nods, and she slips back out, closing the hidden door behind her. 

"Welcome, my lovelies," Q says brightly. "I'm glad I find myself here today. You two are always fun to visit with." 

"Cut the crap, Q," I say, while she and Sasha frown slightly. "Let's do the business and get on with our lives."

Sasha recovers, smiles at Q. "Never mind Hero. She's casing the bank." Damn, but she does read people well. "It's always great to see you, Q. What news from the others, yourself?"

Q nods, recovers her smile. "Oh, I'm fine as always. Planning a bit of a trip east shortly, hopefully for some recruiting."

Sasha curls her lip--a tell that says she's intrigued. "Oh? Who would this one be?"

"Anti-aging," I expect...but if not, then perhaps Anti-establishment. Who knows? Maybe both."

"Ambitious. Do you really think one of them would join us? They are sort of the people we go after, aren't they?"

"Yes, normally you're right, Sasha. But I've had eyes on the queen for some time and I think she's sympathetic." She throws her hands in the air. "Of course, I could be walking to my grave, if I've read that wrong."

"Just be...diplomatic," Sasha advises. "See where the conversation takes you."

Q nods. "Of course. I won't force it."

"And what about the others?" Sasha repeats. 

"Doing well. Antigen and Antidote continue their valuable work in Landfall. Antimatter is in Broadleaf Manor now, keeping an eye on things there. Of course, Antithesis continues her work in the communes. Not sure where she is specifically--she moves around a lot. And Antivirus wrote to me from Lavacoast Harbor, where she's been doing some magical studies there."

"What about Antipathy?" I ask. Of all the Aunties, she's the most fun. That is, her skills and my skills align in a lot of useful ways. It's just that while I go in with a mind for capture, she goes in with a mind for murder. Good times, really. 

"She's fine. Got a note from her just yesterday saying that she's got a job in the North and wouldn't be able to meet with us, but she does miss you, Hero."

It's not like I'm going to cry, but...damn. Maybe I should take a trip north...but then, if she's on a job, that wouldn't really work. "That's...good. If you will, send my regards. Maybe I'll join her there."

Q nods. "A vacation would do you good. Which is one reason why I'm going East. 

"Oh?"

"While you're expert in your craft, I don't want to rely on your skills to continue to finance our operations. There are other, more...reliable...ways."

She's questioning my reliability? I feel my pulse quicken as my eyes narrow. "Are you saying I'm not reliable as in not making enough money, or...?"

Q puts her hand out to stop the thought. "No, no. You do splendid work. A one-woman Robin Hood, don't worry about that. No, what I mean is, eventually, we're going to run out of targets--or wear out your welcome, in any case. I don't mind the public thinking we are "the bad guys." That brings some street cred. But if we become too much of a threat, too popular with the right people, it will negatively impact our work."

"You're saying I'm going to bring the police down on us."

"Eventually, yes. It's not your fault, Hero, and it's certainly not an indictment of your skills. It's simply going to attract so much attention that we won't be able to work effectively. So we need another revenue stream."

At the word "another," I relax. "Another? So, you're not pulling me from my work?"

"No. Far from it. Instead of being our "cash cow," as it were, I want you to do more...targeted work. Stuff that I would otherwise have to assign to Antipathy, I'd rather assign to you."

This brings a smile to my face. Antipathy and I understand each other, but that doesn't mean there isn't some rivalry there. Q knows that I've always envied the fact that she gets to pick and choose her jobs while I just kind of grind on with mine. "Now you're talking," I tell her and she smiles.

Q turns back to her book on the desk. "All right, then, how is our revenue stream today?"

Sasha produces her bag full of coins from the game. "74 dinero." Q marks it down in her ledger and places that bag on the floor at her feet. 

I produce the necklaces, rings, and finally, unpolished stones, to the nodding approval of Q. "Very nice, very nice. Yes, I think we can get a few hundred for those necklaces and the unpolished stones...that's quite a treasure. It could set us up for months. Well done!"

"It might not be "reliable," but it does blow the mind sometimes."

"So true, Hero. So true." She takes all of it, picks up the bag from the floor and stuffs it all into her satchel. Then she puts her pen up, closes the book and sticks it in a cupboard with other nondescript books. "I'll fence all of this and see that you get your cut."

I nod. That's the usual arrangement. Sasha shakes her head. "Not for me. I already cashed out my portion."

Q gasps. "Seventy-four in pure profit?"

Sasha flashes that winsome smile. "It was a good night." 

I smile, too, and say, "Lunch is on you, then." That concludes business, and Sasha and I return the way we came. To this day, I've yet to see where Q goes. Part of the arrangement is that I don't stick around to watch--it would raise too many suspicions in a small town like Northwatch. 

We slide past Elauren, reading something at her counter, and say our farewells as we step into the street. Immediately, I feel something not right. An expectant hush, like everyone on the street is suddenly holding their breath. A few people are trying hard not to look our way, but failing. It's pretty obvious. 

"Ambush," I hiss, loud enough only Sasha could hear it. 

"I feel it."

"Where?" 

"Not here. They don't want to hit the innocent bookstore." 

"Split and meet up later?"

"Not until we know what we're up against. Hold steady. Let's spring the trap."

The whole conversation takes mere seconds. Sasha's former military, so she knows how to handle herself in a fight. I don't really worry about her. I do worry about myself because at the moment, I'm unarmed except for a couple of bootknives--and grabbing those is going to be obvious. 

Sasha touches my arm and points, smiling as ever, toward a shop a few buildings down. "Let's go there next," she says, a little too loudly. I nod, following her lead. The path will keep us close to "innocents" and give us time to work out the threat against us. We start slowly on, trying to look casual, but very much ready to duck, run, or drop as needed. 

By the time we make it to the first store, the tension is almost palpable. I use a window to see across the street and I see other shops closing for lunch, despite it being nearly 10.50. There's no one on the street for five buildings on either side of us. 

Sasha fakes a giggle and points to a window dressing. "Sniper, 2 o' clock high," she says under her breath. 

"Through the glass, then?"

"We won't make it. But if we turn down this alley, they won't have a shot."

"You packin'?"

"Just my hold out in the purse. You?"

"Couple of bootknives."

"Hmm. Blacksmith's shop is two blocks over. That's our best bet for weapons." 

"Sewer's only half a block over. We could slide out of here."

Sasha was walking point, so I couldn't see her face when she said, "Never suggest that to me again, 'kay?"

"Got it." But in my head, I'm thinking, "That's my out, so when I get there, you're on your own."

The alley between the buildings comes up and Sasha makes the run and I jump right after her. The sniper fires, but as expected, we caught them off guard and the shot flies high and wide. I'm just feeling my knives when I feel the unmistakable press of cold steel against my head. Sasha says, "Shit," and puts her hands up. I follow suit. The elf with the gun looks like a city-dweller by the pale blue of their skin and the fetching suit they are wearing. He wears a ceramic mask of some sort of animal. I'm guessing male, but it's hard to tell with just the corner of my eye. Sasha has a similar guy with a similar gun at her head, and he's definitely male, though a darker shade of blue. The suit looks like the same tailor made it as my captor. He's wearing a mask that looks like an angry bunny. 

A pale male orc in a well-tailored suit steps out of the shadows ahead of us and drawls, looking at me, "I believe you have something that belongs to us. I'd like you to return it." Once again, he's wearing a mask. This one is a teeth-baring wolf. 

Sasha is unfazed. "There are more polite ways to ask. What if the sniper hit us?"

"They were ordered to miss."

"Accidents happen."

"Then I'd have less time to interrogate you and they would be punished for their insolence. Thankfully, they did as they were told so it is no matter." To the guy next to me he says, "Bind them and bring them to the base."

The metal presses into my temple as someone binds my hands, reminding me that I don't really have a choice. 

Sasha looks at me as her hands are bound behind her. Looks like someone else got a good haul today, too. 

*Measurements on Nerd are different than those on Ord. Something to do with relative gravity and how much a bird can carry across the ocean, I understand.