» Wed May 02, 2012 9:16 pm “Summat like that. She's in an out afore you could git the lock offit, an' I wos 'alfway to 'Ammerfell when she made tracks.”
“Don' make fun of my accent, you git.”
“Sorry. But really – when she climbed in through the window, I was thinkin' to myself, 'Damn, she'll have the place right burgled before me'n you would even get in.”
“If you would 'ave kept the lantern straight I could'a had that lock open in a tiff.”
“Don't even pin it on me. You were still seven kinds of lit from that ale shipment we made off with. I saw you! Couldn't even keep your hands straight.”
Delvin slammed his mug down, sloshing some across the table toward Perin. “Now lookit here, I wos perfectly fine, that damn lock wos must'a been twenty tumblers deep.”
“You should just keep sticking your hand in pockets. Burglary doesn't suit you, mate,” Perin chuckled. “Anyways, when I saw her jump out of that window, I knew something was wrong, with her throwing the sack at us and taking for the river without even a backwards glance. If we hadn't moved when we did, we'd probably still be hanging from the Solitude gallows.”
“Y'er no' kiddin'. Tha' judge'd have our 'eads soon as lookit us. We shore kept them guessin' where'd we be next, though, din't we?”
“Yeah. I damn near split my side laughing when you clipped that guard's head with that potato, when he got too close to me. I swear, he was reeling so hard he probably didn't even hear me cackling.”
“I knew y'ed appreciate that'n. Wos even funnier when we hit the high road on their own 'orses. Shame we 'ad to sell 'em, but they wos too unique. Bet some dark elf 'is enjoyin' a fine meal right now, though. Figures Vekel'd sell 'em off at the border.”
“Hard to blame him, though. Them dark elf types can sure make a horse disappear, can't they? When I was in Mournhold that time, after the Cheydiinhal shindig, I had some of the best stew I'd ever eaten. Wasn't 'till I slipped out back to spill my ale back that I found the horse on the spit.”
“T'weren't too happy about that, were ya?”
“No, I was right glad about it. You spend two weeks on the road eating cheap scrib jerky, and tell me a horse isn't mighty good eating.”
A moment of silence went by, Perin suddenly engrossed in his ale. He looked up to see Delvin scribbling in his notebook.
“You still working on that book? You know, if a guard ever found that we'd be right screwed.”
“Still workin' on a better way to keep it. Wos finkin' about a tattoo, but that'd be right hard to get rid of in a pinch.”
“We'll just keep the books down here and have'm memorize the marks. Brilliant idea, though. Bet'cha came up with that after that padfoot slipped into Maven's new manor 'n made off with a satchel of gold that was supposed to end up in our coffers.”
“Right. Can't expect the new blood to study up afore they go sticking fingers where they'd not aughter, so I figures least we could do is come up with a system.”
“Like they'll even bother learning it. Either way, give me one of the copies and I'll mark Markarth when I slip in next month. Gallus has some small work for me to do, and it'd be a great chance to get the system out there.”
“Right-o, mate,” Delvin said, without even looking up from his notebook.
“I'll let you to it. I'm going to head topside to the Happy Hagraven, or Bee 'n Barb or whatever they calls it these days. I think there's a new guy in town, 'n he seems inclined to sell snake oils to the other vendors. Hate to see talent like that go to waste.”
And with that, Perin Cadlew slid his hood on, and slipped out of the Ragged Flagon, past a drenched and quite unhappy looking Vex just walking in.
-----
I was having a drink or six IRL, and sitting there thinking about being in the Ragged Flagon twenty-five odd years ago. Just some modest and lore-friendly speculatory conversation, I suppose. It amuses me at least, to think of these things.
