Read Part One HERE
Previously, the Glory, Joachim and Bingo, the Freelance Hunters, returned to the city of Carabos just a few days before the winter solstice. Bingo confessed some dislike for the holidays, and explained that before he made his break from the Proudfoot clan and went straight, he was forced to steal and commit other crimes instead of celebrating. The trio returned to their apartment to find a package waiting for Bingo, and he recognized it as coming from his former orphan master, Rosemary.
“A trap?” Glory asked, and stripped off her elbow-length gloves, revealing the angular, rune-like tattoos that stretched from her forearms to her fingertips. They were scribed in metallic ink favored by the Riverfolk and she used them to shape her spells. “If that’s a trap, let me eliminate it.” She began gesturing at the brown paper package. Bingo set a hand on her arm.
“Magic might set it off. Best to let me do it the old-fashioned way. But if you could start a fire, I’d be grateful.”
He pulled up a stool and selected a lens from the kit and put it to his eye. “Joachim, would you get the curtains? I could use more light.” He did nothing but look closely at the package for several minutes, never touching it save to slowly and carefully turn it to better examine the opposite side. Finally, he stretched and scratched thoughtfully at his short brown goatee. “Well, there’s no obvious traps, but it’s most likely to go off when I open the damn thing.”
“Perhaps she’s trying to make amends,” Glory offered.
“Are all Spark-fingers as soft as you, Glory?”
“It is the holidays, you cynic.”
Bingo sighed. “The Proudfoot orphanage is a system. Some kids get adopted from it, but most of us, we just a pool of laborers. And as much as they call it a charity, you go through those doors, you owe a debt. Someone buys your debt, you’re their’s to adopt, and very few questions are asked.” Glory gasped.
“Some isn’t none, Glory. Rosemary had her line. Nothing too dirty, no kids ended up in the brothels or begging in the gutters. She never did nothing that would raise the Mage Lords’ hackles. But lots of kids got adopted into manual labor, and they were the lucky ones. I got apprenticed into the clan itself. They taught me to pick pockets, break locks, that sort of thing. It might not seem like a lot, but the clan invested a lot in training me. You can pay off a debt, but Madam Rosemary never got over losing her investment in me. So no, I don’t think it’s a box of cookies.”
“Why not just toss it away,” Joachim asked.
“That is such a Tallfolk thing to ask. It’s a gift. Handed off by Maile Man, so there’s a paper trail. Gifts are a big deal among our people, Joachim.” Bingo selected a fine scalpel from the kit and made a careful, slow slash down the front two corners of the package, then a third along the top. A flap of paper fell outward, revealing a layer of tightly packed straw inside. Bingo repeated the motion on the other sides, then gently lifted up the stamped paper.
He set the scalpel down and took a small brush from the kit. With controlled motions, he brushed the straw away, revealing a plywood crate about a foot square. Returning to the lens, he spent a few more minutes examining it from all angles. Finally, he selected a small screwdriver and undid the screws in each corner of the lid, setting each one carefully aside.
“Well, time to see what all this fuss is about.” He gently lifted the lid and looked inside. An extended silence followed.
"What is it?" Joachim asked. “A trap after all?"
“Worse,” Bingo said. He reached in and pulled out a metal bird slightly larger than his palm. It had a long, needle-pointed beak, and large, hooked feet. A spray of tail feathers sprang from a smooth, oval body made of brass and steel. “She sent me a pair of fledges.” Bingo looked like he was fighting tears.
Glory gasped. Joachim looked from one companion to the other, perplexed.
“I’ve heard of them,” Gory said. “They are a sort of magical all-purpose tool carried by high ranking Thieves’ Guilders. And she sent you two?”
Bingo set the device carefully on the table and backed towards a couch. He collapsed onto it with his head in his hands. “She doesn’t want revenge. She just wants me back under her thumb!”
"There's a note," Glory said, and reached into the box. The stationary was delicate but stiff, and the watermark in the corner was a pink rose. Despite the ladylike card, the writing was as clear and no-nonsense as the address. Glory cleared her throat and read the card aloud.
“My Dear Bingoran,
I hope this package finds you in good health. Although it has been some years since we have last spoken, your matron thinks of you often. As do, I am quite certain, your childhood friends from your days here at the orphanage. Please enjoy these Fledges, which I have commissioned on your behalf. I worry about you being all alone in the world since you left. Come visit your old Matron sometime and let her know how you are faring.
Sincerest Regards,
Ms. Rosemary Proudfoot.
“Bingoran? Really?”
“Shut up,” Bingo snapped.
“Sweet of the old lady,” Joachim offered.
“Sweet nothing. It’s a trap after all,” Bingo said, composing himself.
“What am I missing?” The fighter asked.
“It’s like this,” Glory explained. “For Hillfolk, gifts have a high social significance. And this is a princely one. It’s not merely expensive there’s status implications. It has a lot of invisible strings attached.
“So, why doesn’t he just refuse it?”
“Refusing a gift such as this one would be an insult. And you do not insult the Proudfoot Clan if you enjoy breathing.”
“So get her some flowers and write a nice thank-you note.”
“Bingo,” Glory asked. “What would you estimate is the value of that emerald we returned with?”
“After cutting, it should bring in, I don’t know, eight hundred gold krakens. Enough to pay our rent and give each of us enough to live on until spring.”
“And how much would you say one of those fledges is worth?”
“You don’t just run down to the corner and buy one, but probably, oh, ten thousand krakens, easily.”
“So a thank-you note isn’t going to cut it, and if he refuses them, we’re, what? Swarmed by three-foot tall assassins?”
“Precisely.”
“So what do we do?”
“We aren’t doing anything. This is my trouble, and I won’t have you two mixed up in it.”
Joachim shook his head. “We’re a team. We stand by you.” Glory voiced her agreement.
Bingo stood, his expression unreadable. “I’m going to bed. Tomorrow I’ll fence the stone and take care of the rent. After that? I’m not sure yet.”
“Where did you hide that emerald, by the way?” Glory asked. “The guards searched that searched at the gate was thorough in his work.”
“Nowhere comfortable,” Bingo said, and disappeared into his room, taking his presents with him.