Loved the part with the spider :rofl:

I'm still really enjoying this. Keep it up.

(Glad you're enjoying it, RemkoNL and Helena. )

Oh, ye great and glorious king of bunglers,
Who but you could so much mischief make?
Oh, ye chosen and blessed pawn of the gods,
Who but they could choose such a flake?
-- Tribute to Edward

Chapter Seventeen

Edward had left the Dark Brotherhood hideout to reconnoiter with his valet, but, emerging from the abandoned house covered in dust and cobwebs and with his eyes accustomed to the darkness, he stood there and blinked very stupidly for a number of minutes. A guard passed by, glanced at him at first, then paused to eye him with suspicion. Edward stared back, and then remembering his sullied attire, he began to brush himself off vigorously.

"Excuse me, sir," the guard stated, coming nearer, "but is everything alright? You look as though you tumbled down an abandoned staircase covered in cobwebs and dust, or something of that sort."

Edward frowned deeply at the man, declaring rather haughtily, "For your information, I'm an exterminator, and it is my job to crawl into all sorts of nasty places to hunt and exterminate the worst and most dangerous varmints." He wasn't sure where, exactly, that lie had come from, but he certainly didn't want to admit the truth of where he had been and why.

"I see," the guard said, but his air showed plainly that he did nothing of the sort. "So you've been exterminating things?"

"Yes," Edward declared, smiling inwardly as this wasn't, technically, a lie -- although the "things" the guard had in mind were almost certainly not murderers and vagabonds, which he had been exterminating and planning to exterminate.

"I see," the guard repeated. "And in that old house?"

Here Edward hesitated. "Maybe," he declared at last. "I don't see that my business is your business, though."

The guard crossed his arms. "Well," he said, "seeing as how I have the power to throw you into prison for anything I darn well please, I think all business is my business if I choose it to be my business, and I choose that this is my business."

Edward frowned. "Well, when you put it like that," he replied, "I guess it makes sense."

"Precisely. Now, were you exterminating in that house?"

"Sort of," Edward answered, still not sure of how to answer.

"Sort of?" the guard repeated. "What does that mean?"

"Well," he returned slowly, inspiration suddenly coming to him, "I was looking for things to exterminate, but didn't find any."

"Oh," the guard said. "Well, why would you even bother looking in that old dump?"

This was indeed a puzzler, and Edward didn't immediately have an answer. After humming and hawing for a few moments, though, he replied, "Old houses are the best gauge of what you'll find in a town, you see. Oftentimes they're the source. If there are rats in town, likely they came from there. So, if there are rats in town, they'll be there too."

The guard frowned. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Edward assured him, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

"I've never thought of it like that," the guard pondered.

"Trick of the trade," Edward smiled.

"So," the guard said slowly, "you're saying there are no rats in town?"

Something in the ponderous tone set off an alarm in Edward's mind, and he answered in kind, slowly and thoughtfully. "Well, that remains to be seen. There are no rats there and around here."

"Really?" the guard asked, a little too eagerly for Edward's liking.

"Yes," he said cautiously, adding quickly, "Unless they have another lair."

"Another lair?" the guard asked.

"Yes," Edward repeated.

"But I thought you said that..."

Edward interrupted him. "Oh yes, and that's all very true. But a good predictor isn't a certain predictor, you see?"

The guard frowned, but said nothing.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," Edward said after a few moments of silence, "I'll be on my way."

"Not so fast," the guard intervened. "There are rats in this town. In the castle dungeon, in fact. You make a crazed sort of sense, so I guess you must be what you say you are. Since we don't have an exterminator in town, I'm going to need you to do the job."

"Me?" Edward balked. "No thank you. I'm not interested."

The guard frowned. "Either you're going to go into the dungeon as a rat exterminator, or you're going there as prisoner," he said finally. "Your choice."

"Oh," Edward responded. His brow creased in thought. "Well, I suppose I'll go as an exterminator," he said at last.

"Wise choice," the guard returned sarcastically. "Come along then -- we'll go there directly."

"No!" Edward interjected, hastening to add, "I mean, not today."

The guard's eyes clouded with suspicion and anger. "What? Why?"

"Because...well, because I will have to prepare my tools."

"Your tools?"

"Yes, my tools of...of extermination!"

The guard frowned suspiciously. "How long will that take?"

"Umm...two days?" Edward answered almost hesitantly.

"You've got one," the guard returned. "You better be at the dungeon tomorrow evening at 5:00." He grimaced. "And I mean it! I am so sick and tired of listening to those damned prisoners scream whenever a rat comes into their dungeon that I've half a mind to exterminate them myself -- and I don't mean the rats!!" With this cheery thought, the guard departed, leaving Edward to wonder what, exactly, he had just gotten himself into.

The world is boorish and callous,
With no appreciation for my talents
My dark heart and beautiful malice,
Are wasted on this barren planet.
-- Lament of Mehrunes Dagon

Chapter Eighteen

Edward stepped out of the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn disgustedly -- or rather, he picked himself off the stoop of the Inn disgustedly. He had never been so rudely handled in his entire life! "Well, alright," his mind admitted, "there was that time on my last birthday, when I'd had too much to drink...and then that time when I got caught attempting to pick a pocket, and denied it but nobody believed me...and then that time when the priest caught me sticking my hands in the offering box, and didn't believe that my hand full of gold coins was actually an offering...and then..."

"Oh shut up!" another voice, his own again, declared, interrupting his train of thought. Edward frowned. It was bad enough to hear that from other people; he hated when his mind did that to him too.

"You're supposed to be on my side, here," he said inwardly.

To which an inward voice responded, "Then stop babbling like an imbecile and I will be!"

Engaged in this internal dialogue, Edward stumbled through the streets of Cheydinhal without paying much attention to his surroundings.

His vexation, of course, was easily explained. He had stepped into the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn -- which, he observed disparagingly, was located nowhere near a bridge -- and asked for his valet. The proprietress had been extremely insolent, and even implied that he was an impostor and that one such as he would never have a servant. This irritating insinuation drew from him a response that his valet had indeed come to take a room for both of them that very afternoon. The innkeeper merely laughed at him, declaring him to be a liar, and saying that no one had requested a room, much less two rooms. Edward, already irritated by his run-in with the guard, and the way the cobwebs stuck to the perspiration on his skin (thanks to his the nervous sweating that the encounter with the guard had produced), had snapped back some smart reply. From there, the already bad situation had escalated to a worse one, which ended with Edward being seized by several patrons and thrown headlong out of the door. Certainly, he had lunged across the counter at the proprietress, spittle shooting forth from his mouth, and threats to murder her issuing from his lips, but he had never meant to actually murder her. "And, anyway," he wondered, "what ever happened to 'the customer is always right'??" He sighed, as his thoughts came to this milestone. "Customer service has indeed gone downhill," he thought dejectedly.

"And where, exactly, is that damn valet of mine?" he wondered, his mind taking up another train of thought. "I told him to rent rooms for us! If he didn't do that, then where is he? And what are we going to do now that we've been kicked out of that stupid inn?" He loosed another sigh, and continued his pensive, pointless wandering.

"Sir!" a familiar voice called to him.

Edward looked up. It was his valet! "There you are!" he exclaimed. "Where have you been? I thought you were going to rent us rooms?"

"I did sir," the valet answered.

Edward frowned. "But I just spoke with the innkeeper, and she insisted that you had not!"

The valet, in his turn, frowned. "I'm not sure what to say, sir. I've heard that the Newlands Lodge is trustworthiness itself. I am shocked to hear..."

"Wait, what?" Edward interrupted.

The valet stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Where did you say?"

"The Newlands Lodge," the other replied. "Of course, sir. The only other inn in town is the Cheydinhal Bridge inn, and it is very pricey. Plus this establishment is reputed to..." Here he lowered his voice. "Well, sir, to be very discrete concerning its clients."

Edward grumbled something incoherent. He was kicking himself for not realizing that there might be more than one inn in town. No wonder that arrogant woman had been so...well, arrogant to him.

Excellent work. I've chuckled my way through it and enjoyed it completely. I love his attitude.

(Glad you've been enjoying it, Beniamus! )


Hear the tolling of the bell,
Hear it sound the death knell.
It must be answered, that bell;
It must be silenced, that knell.
-- Song of the Doomed

Chapter Nineteen

Edward had slept for hours, woken to eat, and then slept again. He was tired, irritated, and not a little sore from his many misadventures. However, now that it was midday on the day after his rendezvous with the Dark Brotherhood, he was growing very apprehensive. He was expected, after all, at 5:00 that afternoon at the castle, and he had no idea how to get out of the predicament. He couldn't see himself as an effective exterminator, yet he couldn't skip town, either. After all, his Dark Brotherhood hideout was here in town, and he would be expected to return here often; if he became an outlaw in Cheydinhal, that would be impossible.

He had thought about consulting his valet, but could not reconcile himself with the idea of seeking assistance from his paid subordinate. Even when his mind had argued that, so far at least, he had not actually paid the man anything, his pride still balked at the idea. No, this was something he would have to face by himself, come what may, he determined. With this determination set in a deep sense of depression, and Edward, feeling sure that his doom was near at hand and that he was likely to spend the remainder of his life in prison after his deceit was uncovered, moped about town.

He had no real or clear idea of where he was going or why in mind, so he walked about aimlessly, growing sorrier and sorrier for himself with every passing minute. After traveling in what must have been circles for what must have been hours, he paused to figure out where he was. There were buildings all around that seemed strangely familiar, but, though he sensed he had been there before, he had no idea when or how he'd got there.

At the same time, he heard the sonorous tolling of a bell.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

"Please, please, please stop!" he pleaded with the bell.

Five, it chimed, oblivious to his supplications.

Edward took to his heels, knowing that he was already late. It didn't matter to him what direction he was he going -- he didn't know anyway -- so long as he was going. He ran to the end of the street, rounded a corner, and came to a sudden, sharp stop as he impacted with what at first he assumed was a giant moving rock, as it didn't budge an inch at the encounter, and seemed solid as stone. Careening backwards, and landing painfully and heavily on his behind, Edward glanced up. The rock was nothing of the sort, but the same armored guard he had met the day before.

"Oh," he said, wincing in pain. "It's you."

"Yes," the guard answered. "And why aren't you at the castle??"

"I'm on my way," Edward replied.

The guard frowned. "You're late."

"So are you," Edward pointed out.

The guard's frown deepened. "Just get a move on it."

"Right," Edward answered, picking himself up with much difficulty. He ached all over, all over again. Glancing around him, he remembered that he had no idea which road would lead to the castle. "Umm...which way are we going?"

"To the castle!" the guard returned, irritably.

"Right, but...well, which way is the castle?"

The guard stared at him, eyebrows raised, and then pointed. "See the giant stone building on the hill? The one with all the walls and towers? With the big gate? That's where we're going."

Edward frowned at the condescending tone, but rightly thought it better not to further irritate the guard. And, beside, he did feel a little silly. "After all," he thought, "the gate should have given away which building it was. Nobody gets to have a gate like that, unless it's on a castle."

The pair walked in silence, each pondering his own thoughts, until at last they reached the castle. "This way," the guard said, taking the lead. Edward followed until they reached the dungeon. He felt the skin on his neck crawl as he glanced around, anticipating the sight of rats. But, much to his surprise -- and relief -- there were none to be seen. "I thought you said you wanted me to kill rats," he said.

"Quite so," the guard answered. "I don't know how you go about this, but I imagine that, if you sit still for a few minutes, and I put out this light..." With this, he paused to douse a torch, and throw the entire dungeon into an eerie dimness. "...well, they should come out in no time. I'll shut the door behind me -- you just knock when you're done, and I'll let you out."

Edward gulped loudly, a thousand fears flooding him; but, before he could collect his thoughts into an even mildly coherent mass, the guard was gone. He heard the door scraqe shut, and then the lock grate. Chill dread stole over his entire body, and he slumped backwards against the door, too frightened to speak or move, except to whimper and shake. He, Edward, was alone in a dungeon with prisoners and rats. And, in his state of depression, he'd forgotten to bring any weapons with him. He shook more violently at the thought. He, Edward, was alone and unarmed in a dungeon full of prisoners and rats.

Cowardice will never pay,
At least, that's what they say
But see you Edward's tale
And wonder, will the coward fail?
-- Tribute to Edward, author unknown

Chapter Twenty

Edward stirred ever so slightly. He wasn't sure where he was, what time it was, or why he was where ever it was that he was, but he was aware of a vague apprehension. This apprehension, however, was a secondary sensation; the primary sensation he felt was a tickling of his nose. "Almost like cat whiskers, except from a very big cat," he thought absently, still struggling to consciousness. "Or a dog...or a ra..." He was suddenly wide awake, on his feet, and screaming wildly. The room was very dim, but he could make out the shape of the very thing he had feared to find: a giant rat.

He remembered now what had happened; he had collapsed in fear against the door, and somehow, in his terror, lost consciousness. Now the rats had come out, and he was surrounded by them. Edward did not think or reason at this realization. He just screamed and flailed blindly.

He felt teeth bite into his leg, hard, and his mad flailing intensified. He screamed and trashed and cursed and ran and smashed into everything around him. One moment his shoulder was in contact with the wall, the next he felt the cold iron bars of the nearest cell on his face, then the floor underneath him; in an instant, screaming, kicking, punching out wildly, he was on his feet again, and the cycle continued.

"Oh gods," he screamed, "they're gonna eat me! Save me! Save me!"

Almost in answer to his plea, another voice sounded. But this was not the voice of a god, but rather an annoyed inmate. "Will you please stop screaming?!" it asked. "I'm trying to get some sleep! I'm going to the gallows tomorrow, and I want to look my best!"

This other human voice reinstated at least a measure of reason to Edward, and he stopped screaming. "I have to do something," he thought. "I can't be eaten by rats! I can't go that way! How undignified!"

"What are you whining about, anyway?" the annoyed prisoner continued to speak. "It's just a dead rat!"

"It's trying to eat me!" Edward screamed, his control slipping quickly. "What do you mean, 'it's just a dead rat'?? Dead rats can...wait, did you say dead? As in, dead?" His senses seemed to regain a measure of control, and he peered into the darkness. Squinting hard, he was able to make out the slumped form of a giant rat. His eyes grew wide in amazement. "But...it was alive!" he said. "It bit me! It sniffed my face!"

"Yes, and then you kicked it to death," the prisoner added. "So, it was alive, but only until you killed it. You see how this works?"

Edward frowned. Not only did he not like the tone of this man's voice, but he couldn't believe what he was saying. How could he have killed the rat? All he had done was attempt to flee it. In fact, though he was loath to admit it, he had simply panicked. He could vaguely remember flailing about, and kicking and punching wildly, but nothing that would have been effective.

He straightened up in surprise. "Ha!" he said aloud. "It was me! I kicked it to death!!" He started laughing triumphantly. "Guard!" he shouted. "Guard! It's done! Your rat problem is finished!"

All was silent for several moments, except for Edward's gleeful laughter, and then the bolts of the dungeon door slowly scraqed open.

The guard peeked his head in, almost suspiciously, blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, and then said in a tone of surprise, "You killed it!"

"Of course!" Edward snapped, none too pleased by the other man's tone.

"But...but how? It sounded like the rat was killing you!" Edward frowned. "I mean, you were screaming bloody murder in here!"

Edward's frown deepened, and he answered in a very condescending tone, "Well, you clearly do not understand the finer points of psychological warfare, so I will not bother to waste my time in an attempt to enlighten and reform your primitive mindset. Suffice it to say, what you heard was all part of the tricks of the trade -- and, as you can see, very effective tricks at that."

The guard took turns between frowning, glaring, and then frowning again. "Alright, alright," he said at last, "I admit, you did a good job."

"Of course," Edward said. "Now, since it is done, let me out of this dungeon."

Now the guard hesitated. "Well..." he said slowly, "I don't know about that...it's a handy thing to have an exterminator on hand."

Edward's anger boiled at this point. It wasn't enough that this guard had threatened him into coming and left him to what was nearly a terrible death of being eaten by a rat, but now he meant to keep him here?! "Listen you," Edward stated, his eyes flaming, "I suggest you take a good look at that rat, because my speciality isn't limited to rats of the animal variety!"

Now, an observer might have thought that Edward was being extraordinarily brazen and betting that his calculated risk would pay off by winning him his freedom; the truth of the matter was simpler and less grand. Edward was furious, and he was doing what he was best at when angered: very sincerely threatening his opponent, without giving any thought to the fact that he was in no way prepared to back up that threat.

Luck, or the gods, or what have you, were on Edward's side that day, however, because the guard blinked at the verbal onslaught, and then declared hesitantly, "Well, I could just lock the door, couldn't I? You couldn't do anything then, could you?"

"Why don't you just see?" Edward demanded menacingly. "I dare you to try, you lily-livered, tin-suited sack of crap!" This last bit of Edward's bluff -- if a bluff it could be called, because, in the heat of the moment, Edward meant every word he said -- had the beneficial effect of completely demoralizing the guard, who threw open the door and retreated.

"Now, come on," he said as he stood aside, "I was just joking. You know that."

Edward, still furious, considered staying in place and demanding that the coward of a guard return and try, just try, to keep him a prisoner; but then that shred of common sense that managed to save him from situations like this kicked in. Subsequently, Edward made haste to leave the dungeon, leave the castle, and, gathering his belongings and his valet, leave Cheydinhal.

Dear Brother Clarence:
Blessings and the mercy of the square root of eighty-one upon you. I write to you in distress, brother. Since the grievous news of our beloved emperor's death, I have heard nothing from the chosen messenger. Baurus -- our brother, who was the last living Blade to see the Emperor -- writes to tell me that His Majesty chose a man, an escaped prisoner, to deliver the amulet to me. He did not say so directly, but his tone made clear his apprehension. I do begin to fear that our Emperor made a most grievous mistake in his last moment of desperation, in entrusting so precious an amulet to an unknown. Pray, good brother, that the 10 minus 1 remember us in these troubled times!
Yours,
Brother Jauffre
-- Letter from Brother Jauffre to a fellow Blade

Chapter Twenty-One

Edward sighed, thinking despondently that, whatever city he came to, he always seemed to end up in the dungeons. "Well," he thought, "at least so far I've been able to get out each time!" Nonetheless, he was none too keen on the idea of returning to the Imperial City. He still remembered the cell he'd been in, and he had no desire to return; and, after all, his mission was that of an assassin -- even if a justified assassin -- and so he was, technically, on the wrong side of the law. Not that, truth to be told, he was ever technically on the right side of the law. After all, even if his prison break had been pseudo-legal, he had fled the scene of the accident with Simplicia, he had struck and robbed Snak gra-Bura, he had illegally killed the murderer Rufio, and he had joined a brotherhood of assassins! "Hard to get less legal than that," he thought, "unless I joined the Thieves Guild too, or something like that."

This idea, that he was not behaving as illegally as he potentially could, and consequently, if caught, would not face as much trouble as he might otherwise, cheered him somewhat, so he continued with a lighter heart.

He and his valet rode in continued silence for several minutes, until, passing through the city gates, the latter spoke. "Sir," he said, "not meaning to put too fine a point on it or anything, but...well, I read the Black Horse Courier, and I did happen to read something about a theft here in the Imperial City...a theft of a horse..."

"Oh?" Edward asked, a sense of trepidation swarming him. "Really?"

"Yes sir," the other man continued, clearly hesitantly. "Well, sir, the thing that really stood out was that this was the theft of a very old and stubborn horse."

"Really?" Edward repeated.

"Yes sir. A horse like yours, sir."

Edward blinked. "Really?"

"Yes sir. And I think, sir, it might be advisable, seeing as how like your horse this horse was, that you do not ride your horse in the city. Otherwise, people might -- preposterously, of course -- assume that you were...well, the thief."

Edward blinked again. The valet's words, as insincere as they had been regarding the other man's belief in his innocence, made sense. "Damn it, man!" he cursed, glancing about him, "Why not mention this before we enter the city? Now how am I supposed to get rid of this stupid horse, in the middle of the city, without attracting too much attention?"

"I have a plan, sir," the valet replied.

Edward rolled his eyes, so thoroughly annoyed that the fact that his valet's plans were almost always good ones made no nevermind to him.

"I will take your horse," the other man said, ignoring the show of displeasure, "and you will take mine. I will bring your horse to the Imperial Watch, and say that I found it abandoned in the woods and, hearing about the theft, assumed that this was probably the stolen horse."

"Well, why don't I just do that? Why switch horses?" Edward asked.

"Because, sir, they might bring me to see Snak gra-Bura."

"Oh, right," Edward said. "But...well, of course, I'm not the thief."

"No sir, of course not. Still, better to let me...take care of the dirty work."

"Yes," Edward agreed, more enthusiastically this time. "No sense me wasting my time on trivial things like that. You can take care of it."

"Yes sir."

"That's what I pay you for!" Edward finished.

The valet coughed. "Oh, about that, sir," he started.

Edward flinched. As of yet, he still hadn't paid his valet any wages. "Later, man, later! We have important business that needs attending to."

"Yes sir."

He whose name is forgotten,
We had something to say about him,
But we're not quite sure what it was,
Because it seems we've forgotten.

-- Tribute to the Gray Fox

Chapter Twenty-Two

In the end, Edward's valet had taken both horses. It turns out that there was a city ordinance that you could not ride a horse inside the city gates. "Stupid ordinances," Edward thought. "They should make sure people know things like that!"

While Edward, now on foot, set off to find the Marie Elena, his valet set off to stable his own horse, and to return Snak gra-Bura's horse. Neither noticed the cowled figure that had observed their entire conversation, and then took off after Edward's valet.

So it was that Edward, who seemed to lack any sense of direction, headed into the city and, after much exploring, many wrong turns, and infinite retracing of his steps, eventually made his way to the water front. "Ahh," he thought, "the sea! I love the sea!" Breathing deeply -- so deeply, in fact, that he broke into a violent coughing fit -- he walked toward the docks. He smiled as he neared them.

"Pirates, cutthroats, murderers, smugglers, thieves, villains of the worst sort!" he thought admiringly. "I could have ended up working here...how in Oblivion did I end up on the other side?!" He frowned, but remembering his earlier reflections, took solace. "At least," he thought, "I'm still on the wrong side of the law, even if I am working for justice and the greater good or whatever."

With this cheering thought, he focused on finding the Marie Elena. There were two vessels docked in the harbor, and so, having no way to distinguish between them, Edward headed to the ship on his left. "Hmm," he thought as he neared it, "I wonder how you tell what a ship is named?"

At that moment, an ecstatic voice interrupted him from his reverie. "Sir! Sir!"

He turned to see his valet running toward him. Staring in frank surprise at the other man, he asked, "What's the matter with you? Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Yes sir," the valet replied, coming to a stop and panting heavily. "But -- you'll never believe this, sir! -- but the Grey Fox himself has invited me to join the Thieves Guild!!"

Edward just blinked at first, the words making little impression. "You? The Grey Fox? Why?"

"He heard our conversation, sir, and he said that my loyalty to my friend -- you -- impressed him, and that he needs thieves with honor to join his ranks!"

Edward frowned. "Honor? But why? They're thieves!"

"Oh, yes sir, but good thieves. You see, the Grey Fox is a thief who robs from the rich to give to the poor. The beggars and the unemployed, they're all dependent on him!"

Edward's frown intensified. "What sort of criminal..." he began, but was interrupted.

"Oh, it's very simple, sir. He lives among the poor; he knows what they suffer! He's a Robber from the Hood, so to speak, who robs the rich stuffed shirts to feed the poor and downtrodden."

Edward's frown continued to intensify. "And he asked you, and not me?"

"Yes sir," the valet said, adding quickly, "but I'm sure that's only because he knew you were already busy!"

"Well," Edward shot back, "you're busy too! You work for me!"

"Yes sir," the other man said a bit hesitantly, "but, well, you don't always have need of my services!"

"Yes, but I don't employ you so that you won't be available when I do need you!"

"No sir," the valet agreed. He seemed to hesitate, and then brighten immediately, as if a flash of inspiration hit him. "But one of the perks of being a member of the thieves guild is that I get to sell stolen goods to various fences, since no one else buys them. That means that I can be your door to the fences! I can resell any goods that you come across!"

Edward stared at him, feigning shock. "What do you take me for?!" he demanded. "Do you really assume that I would stoop to robbing people, and reselling their property through you?! And, anyway, you'd probably charge an outrageous fee for the service..."

"No sir!" the valet exclaimed. "Not a penny! It would be my show of appreciation to you for allowing me to take this second job."

Edward frowned, but didn't dismiss the idea outright. After all, it would be good to have an outlet to sell his stolen property. Plus, it would be good if his valet was actually earning money; so far, Edward hadn't made a whole bunch of money, and he seemed to lose more than he earned, anyway -- it was hard to forget the loss of all his swindled gold after his accident with Simplicia. Not only would it be impossible to pay his valet's wages at this rate, but he might not be able to afford basic supplies with a similar stroke of bad luck. "Well," he answered slowly, "I don't want to hamper your prospects...if I was sure that you would be around when I needed you..."

"Oh, yes sir, absolutely sir!" the valet responded.

"Alright," Edward agreed. "You may as well."

In a flurry of profuse thanks, the valet disappeared. Edward sighed. "Damn Gray Fox," he thought. "How dare he ask my servant, and not me? And what is it with these criminals now, anyway?! The assassins go around killing murderers, the thieves go around feeding the poor, and the real bad guys are a disgusting, pathetic lot that no self respecting criminal would want to associate with!" He sighed again. "Criminals these days just aren't what they're cracked up to be..." he thought despondently.

When in trouble, when in doubt,
Run in circles, scream and shout.
-- Edward's motto, borrowed from a popular rhyme

Chapter Twenty-Three

After realizing that he had in fact chosen the wrong ship, and was at the Bloated Float Inn rather than the Marie Elena, Edward sat down to think. It seemed reasonable to him that he take a moment to think through what, exactly, he was going to do. He considered that, so far, he had been fairly successful. He had located the Marie Elena, which is more than he had done fifteen minutes earlier. From there, his next step was simple enough: get inside and locate Gaston. It was at this juncture, however, that things began to grow foggy. What did he do when found Captain Tussaud? Should he say something to him? He smiled at the idea. Something witty, something to show off the brilliance of his masterful mind -- that would be good. "Unfortunately," he thought, "the only one to hear it will be the stupid pirate -- and just before I kill him." Somehow, the idea lost some of its appeal, and he found himself wishing he could have an invisible audience to admire his eloquence and wit.

"Of course," he thought, "I had better think of what I'm going to say...hmm...how about 'Alright, Pirate dog! Time to go to the pound!'...hmm...yes, I like it!" He smiled at his own genius. "Gad, but I am brilliant," he congratulated himself.

At that moment, he heard hinges creek and felt a heavy wooden object impact sharply with his back and behind. He found himself flying forward, and landing face first on the dock in front of him.

He heard someone gasp, and then footsteps run toward him. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," someone said. "But I didn't see you from inside the inn! You must have been sitting in front of the door!"

"Ash a matter of facsht," Edward replied as he struggled to rise, his lower lip already having swollen to the point that he was finding it difficult to articulate his thoughts, "I wasch."

"That's a dangerous spot to be sitting!" the speaker, who extended his hand to assist him up, said. "You can't be seen from inside, so someone can open the door and smack you with it."

"Oh, really?" Edward asked, grimacing in agony as he finally was able to raise himself to his feet. "You don't shay..."

He saw his inadvertent assailant and eager assistant for the first time now. He was an orc, with large teeth, green skin and not a lot of hair. "I'm Graman gro-Marad," he introduced himself.

"I would shay pleashed to meet you," Edward said, spitting blood out of his mouth, "but shum pleashures go a long way..."

Graman shifted his weight, seeming very apologetic. "Look here, I'm terribly sorry," he repeated. His expression brightened. "Say, maybe I can make it up to you!"

"I doubt it," Edward replied, trying to determine what hurt more -- his swollen and swelling face, his battered and aching back, or his wounded and stinging pride. "Very musch..."

"Well, I work at the inn here, and I'm sure I could get you a room, so that you can rest up for a bit," Graman told him. "And of course we can get you whatever food or drink you need, too."

Edward scowled -- at least, as best as he could when his face was inflated and stiff -- at the eager orc. Nonetheless, though he hated to lessen Graman's guilt, the offer seemed like a good one. "Alright," he said. "Schince I'm nearly dead, I schuppose I have no choisch..."

The orc flinched at his words, but gently led him into the inn. If Edward had ached any less, he would have pretended to be more injured and sore than he already was; as it was, however, he hurt so badly that he could not imagine feigning further injury.

Graman got the door for him, led him inside, spoke a few hurried words to the publican, an Altmer named Ormil, and then led him to a room off to the left. On the way, Edward noted that the inn had a fair selection of foods, and a goodly supply of alchol.

"Now," Graman said as he opened the door and stepped aside to let Edward into the room, "is there anything that I can get you?"

"Schomething to dull this pain," Edward moaned. "Do you have any liquor?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Graman answered. "I'll get it right away."

"And!" Edward exclaimed, stopping the orc in his tracks. "And schome food...lotsh of food."

"Food?" the orc asked. "Are you sure you'll be able to eat?"

"Of coursh!" Edward snapped. "I have to eat to...to regain my shtrength!"

"Oh, yes," Graman replied. "I see."

"And bring lotsh of alcohol," Edward called after the orc. "I'm in scho much pain!"

The gods help them whose servants help them.
-- Scripture of the Square Root of Eighty-One, translation funded by the Coalition of the Noble Born

Chapter Twenty-Four

Edward stirred groggily. The unpleasant sensation of rocking, back and forth, back and forth, was interrupting his dream -- and it was too beautiful a dream to be interrupted!

There he was, atop a glorious mountain of gold, reaching forward, forward, forward, just about to sieze the largest diamond he had ever seen; and then he would rock backwards, just out of reach. Barely catching his balance before he tumbled down the mountainside -- which seemed to grow steeper with every rocking movement -- he would just steady himself before tumbling forward, just past the diamond. Again, he would be just out of reach of the gem, and would have only enough time to steady himself before he'd find himself plunging backwards.

Finally, unwillingly, angrily, he opened one eye, and then another. As the shadows of dreamland fled, brilliant sunlight assailed his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to remember where he was. The last thing he could remember was imbibing an unbelievable amount of really bad wine and beer, and eating more than a little food, before deciding to lay down for just a moment to rest. It had been late in the afternoon then, with dusk settling in on the land.

"Land!" he thought. "That's right -- I'm not on land, I'm on that ship, the Floated Bloat...Boated Foat...Bloated..." His mind froze, mid-thought. The rocking -- it wasn't just in his dream! He really was rocking back and forth; or, rather, he wasn't rocking, but the boat was rocking!

He blinked in amazement. There must be a terrible storm outside, for the boat to be rocking that hard in port!

He frowned. No, it couldn't be storming out -- there was far too much sunlight streaming into his window for there to be a storm outside.

He knit his eyebrows in concentration. If the boat was rocking, and it wasn't because of a storm, what did that mean?

He yelped in fear as the answer struck him. "Ye gods! We've set sail! Nobody told me?! Where are we headed? Will I ever get back? What's going on?" Then, a more terrible thought struck him. "What if...they deliberately didn't tell me? What if they're slavers, and they plan on selling me for a fortune on some distant shore? Is that why they offered me a room, and so much alcohol? To intoxicate me, so that they could get me away silently?" His face grew pallid. "Slavers can probably sum people up easily...they probably realized that they had a goldmine in me...after all, my skills and brilliance would be perfectly suited for anything...scholar, warrior, inventor, gladiator, anything." His train of thought shifted. "Or...or they could be taking me to some far away, exotic land, where they'll sell me to an empress or sultaness, who has been looking for a man like me for years!" His mind filled with images of his marriage to a rich and powerful -- not to mention insanely beautiful -- woman, who had searched the entire globe before finding someone good enough to marry, and make the emperor or sultan of her kingdom -- that someone being him, of course. "Well," he thought, "this might not be too bad after all...I could deal with ruling an empire or a sultanate...is that a word? Well, whatever...and, of course, it wouldn't hurt to have a gorgeous, brilliant woman absolutely, madly in love with me...particularly when she's deliciously rich...and powerful..." He smiled at the idea. He was a sort of Joseph, he decided, except that he wasn't stupid enough to refuse a beautiful woman, her powerful empire, and a life of ease and luxury. Yes, he had certainly been in worse predicaments, he concluded.

A loud, brusque thumping on the passage near his door roused him from his reverie. Starting, he crept to his door, wincing as he did so -- he still smarted from his run in with the inn door the day before. He listened for a moment and, hearing nothing, opened the door a sliver. Peering outside, he recoiled in fright as a man outside his door started in surprise. Here was a man he had never seen before!

In unison, both men asked, "Who are you?!"

"I'm Edward," Edward answered, "and I'm sleeping at the inn!"

"I'm Lynch," the other man replied, "and I'm going to lynch you!"

While the Nord laughed at his own joke, Edward thought fast, and slammed his door shut, jamming the bolt in place. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he cursed. "They're going to kill me, not sell me to a gorgeous Sultaness to become a rich, powerful and adored Sultan!"

Lynch, meanwhile, was banging at the door, demanding, "Come out, you coward! Come out and get what's coming to you!"

"Why do you want to kill me?!" Edward shouted back. "I don't even know you! I have no idea how we even got afloat! I'm innocent!"

"We're afloat because we set the ship afloat -- and by we, I mean me and the other Blackwater Brigands. And innocence is no excuse -- you're a dead man! And after I finish you, I'm going to finish the stupid orc we locked up!" With this, the Nord renewed his assault on the door.

Edward flinched as every blow landed. The door was strong, but not that strong. It would break soon, and then he -- slightly hung over and completely unarmed -- would have to fight a fully armed brigand. Then, an idea hit him.

Creeping toward the door, cringing every time the wood shivered with a new blow, he seized the handle and the bolt; then, in one fluid movement, he pulled the bolt back and turned the handle just as a new kick was sent forward. Lynch, not meeting with the resistance that he had anticipated, tumbled forward and into the room.

At the same time, Edward sprung forward, and pulled the door closed behind him. Now, holding the handle firmly and bracing himself with his feet against the door jam, he waited for the Nord to attempt to leave the room. He didn't wait long; in an instant, he felt a strong pull from inside. But Edward was ready, and using his legs as much as his arms, he managed to put up a good fight for several minutes.

However, the Nord was considerably stronger than he was, and, even though Edward was fighting for his life, eventually his strength succumbed. His hands slipped from the handle, the door went flying backwards, and he careened into the floor with a horrifically painful crash. Expecting his opponent to rush out and murder him at any moment, Edward lay in place, his eyes closed, grimacing and praying to all the gods he didn't believe in for some sort of miraculous intervention. He promised everything he could think of, from eternal servitude to the sacrifice of his first born children if only they would spare him.

As he lay there, inwardly groveling and praying, it seemed that an eternity of time passed. He had always heard that time stood still when you knew you were about to die, but he honestly never expected it to take this long. In fact, laying in place, aching from his fall, his eyes pressed tightly shut, Edward almost began to wish that his killer would hurry up and finish the job, rather than leaving him in this uncomfortable limbo.

The thump of a heavy footfall overhead, sounding very much in real time, startled Edward, and he opened his eyes. Amazed that there was no sword wielding murderer directly over him, Edward blinked. Surely, this hadn't been a dream, had it? Was he still in his bed, where he had laid down the night before?

He looked around. No, he wasn't in his bed, and, no, this hadn't been a dream. He was lying on his back in a hallway, staring up at the ceiling above, and the door to his room lay in front of him. Cautiously, fearfully, he raised himself upward, looking for his would-be murderer.

Not seeing him immediately, he drew himself up further still. Then, he saw the man. He was lying in a heap opposite him, blood pouring from his head. Over his body, there was a telling patch of red on the corner of the window frame.

Edward stood now, and walked carefully toward the body. "Are you dead?" he asked, not entirely expecting an answer. When none came, he kicked the body, just to make sure. It didn't move. Edward smiled. "Yup." With this, he set about looting the corpse. After all, he needed a weapon; plus, this guy's clothes were pretty nice, so he likely had some money on him, he reasoned.

I really like this. Not only do you write really good, but its very funny. I love how Edward always wins cause he's so clumsy and "cunning".

I laughed good at the Mr.Guard bit.

(Glad you've been enjoying it so far! )

News flash from the Imperial Docks!
In a shocking bit of news, the well known inn, the Floating Bloat, has vanished from harbor! As of this writing, the cause of this disappearance is unknown, although speculation has reached this correspondent that an unknown man was seen sitting on the stoop outside the inn door the evening of the vanishing, behaving in a sullen, peculiar manner. Whether this man is involved in the disappearance or not is purely a matter of speculation, but the City Watch has circulated a description of him in hopes of locating him for questioning. He is described as being sulky, with baby-like features, and a deviant air. If you see this man, please alert the nearest officer.
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Twenty-Five

After thoroughly looting Lynch's corpse -- which was not a particularly challenging job, since he only had a sword, a key and a few gold on him -- Edward had managed, with much difficulty, to shove his body underneath the bed. "Good thing he's dead," he thought, surveying his handiwork, "because I heard things snapping as I was doing that..." Standing, he felt pain shoot through his body. "Oh gods," he groaned. "It was me??"

Slowly, painfully, straightening out, Edward felt anger surge through him. This was ridiculous! The only reason that he was even in this damned floating inn was because of that stupid orc smashing a door into him; now he faced death at the hands of a band of murderous brigands, for gods know what! He paused as these thoughts ran through his mind "That stupid orc!" he repeated. "That's right! He's onboard, and alive! Lynch said he was going to kill him after he killed me, so he can't be dead yet!" Edward smiled. "All I have to do is let that idiot out, and he can take care of the rest of these pirates, and I can go home!" His smile had turned into a broad grin, and he turned for the door eager to find and free the orc. But he stopped short.

"Wait a minute," he thought. "I might as well see if there's anything worth stealing, since I'm here...now that my valet is a member of the thieves guild, he can sell it for me...and, anyway, after all I've suffered, I'm entitled to a little restitution, aren't I?" With this justification in mind, Edward began to search the room for valuables.

In a few moments, he stopped disgustedly. The room was quite bare, with only a few pieces of well worn furniture -- all too large to lift, much less carry -- and an old clay pot. "Well," he thought hesitantly, surveying the pot, "I suppose it might be worth something, especially if I cleaned it up." It seemed an injustice to leave the room without at least taking something, so he at last decided on taking the pot.

Lifting it, he observed that there was something inside it. Peering into the pot, he saw a small bag of rough cloth. "Hmm..." he thought, taking out the bag and opening it. His eyes bulged as he did so, and he laughed with glee. There, inside that shabby bag, was a handful of beautiful, sparkling gems!

Pocketing the jewels, and still determined not to let his pot go, Edward surveyed the room for some means of carrying his pot -- and anything else that he might pick up along the way. At first, he found nothing, but eventually his eyes lit upon the worn pillow and its case. His gleeful smile returning, Edward ripped the pillow out of the case and then, reverently, placed his first stolen item -- an old, shabby pot -- inside the case. He then tied the pillow case to his belt, exited his room, and shut the door behind him.

Not knowing how many other brigands there might be on the level that he was on -- but imagining that it was unlikely that there were any more, as no one had come to aid Lynch despite the ruckus he'd made -- he explored carefully, keeping a constant eye out for loot, but finding little that even he could justify lugging about with him.

At last, however, he found the orc's prison.

"It's you!" Graman shouted, exuberantly. "We're saved!"

Despite all the aggravation he had felt at this orc, Graman's tone managed to placate him somewhat. "Well," he said, "these brigands are mad if they think they can take me down without a fight!"

Graman nodded vigorously. "Quite right!"

"Now," Edward declared grandly, "I suppose we'd better get you out of this cage!"

The orc nodded again, saying, "Yes, the guard, Lynch he calls himself, has the key."

Edward frowned, feeling rather disappointed by the revelation; he had hoped that the key he'd found would open some amazing treasure, not just the key to the cage where the dumb orc was being held. Sighing, he said, "Not anymore."

"You mean, you already took him out?" Graman asked, clearly impressed.

"Of course," Edward returned haughtily.

Pirates roam the high seas,
Bandits haunt the lonely paths,
Assassins traverse the quiet halls,
And fools infest the forsaken empire.
-- Lament of the Ninth, decrying the desolation of the empire after his demise

Chapter Twenty-Six

Edward crept along, cringing every time his already heavy loot bag impacted with a wall, or a crate, or the floor. Despite the fact that he only had managed to find a few items, they were all large, and mostly heavy pottery -- and they made a fair amount of noise when bumped.

"Damn that orc!" he thought to himself. "He should be the one doing this, not me!" His happy plan of Graman slaying the remainder of the pirates whilst he hid safely in the background had vanished after he freed the orc, and saw that his ally had been badly wounded in the original scuffle with the brigands. So badly wounded, in fact, that he could not fight them a second time.

"I'll be able to bring the ship back to harbor," he'd said, "but I'm afraid I won't be able to help you take care of them."

"Damn him!" Edward cursed again. "If only they killed the bastard the first time!" Then, he checked himself. "Except that I need him to get home...that is, if I survive this...which I probably won't anyway." He frowned darkly. "If they do kill me, I hope they get that damned orc afterwards!"

Creeping up a ladder, Edward stopped as one of the pots in his pillowcase hit particularly loudly against the rungs. Sighing, he pulled himself up carefully, hid behind a crate, and sifted through his bag. He would have to get rid of that pot, he determined sadly, or else he would certainly get caught. Seeing the offending piece of pottery, he pulled it out. And then froze.

Footsteps were coming his way. He didn't dare to move, except to hunker down lower, so that he would be completely hidden behind the crates. A head came into view, and then a body. Edward grew still, not even daring to breathe now. Still the figure approached, stopping only when it was nearly on top of him, directly on the other side of the pile of crates. Edward was still holding his breath.

The figure turned, but stood still to survey the passage. Edward tried to concentrate on the blood coursing through his veins, and not his ever more desperate need of fresh oxygen. Still the figure did not budge.

Finally, his vision blurring and his lungs readying to explode, Edward did the only thing he could think of. He jumped upwards, his grip tightening on the pot he held, and brought said pottery into sharp contact with the brigand's skull; then he collapsed downwards, inhaling and exhaling deeply several times.

He had been so desperate for air that he had not noticed the pirate collapse, and he was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was not already dead at the hands of a furious killer. Only when he had entirely regained his breath did he become aware of the fact that his plan had, in fact succeeded, and that his foe was felled.

Then, he groaned despondently. "My pot!" he murmured. "It's completely shattered!"

Edward spent several minutes pouring over the shards of pottery, wracking his brain for various means of putting them back together, but he eventually abandoned the scheme. There were too many pieces, he decided, and, even if he could glue them back together, there was no way he could conceal the breakage, not even by painting over it. "No," he thought dejectedly, "I'll just have to call it a loss."

With this mournful resolution made, Edward continued on his way to the upper deck. Once there, he looked around. Everything was surprisingly quiet. Too quiet, considering that they were at sea. "Ye gods!" he exclaimed out loud. "Who is manning this darn ship?!"

As if in answer to his question, a sound issued forth from the captain's cabin. The next moment, the door opened and a woman stepped out. Edward stared, enchanted. Despite the fact that she was clad in full body armor, Edward was immediately impressed by her beauty. "Hello gorgeous!" was all he could think of to say, and, judging by the fact that she was drawing her sword and approaching in a very menacing manner, it hardly seemed appropriate.

Dear Armand,
I'm writing to caution you in regards to the latest addition to our guild, a brilliant, loyal young man who you will meet shortly. My reason for cautioning you, however, is that he is currently employed as a valet for a pompous, ridiculous fool. Our new initiate's sense of loyalty to his wastrel of an employer may prevent him from seeing this, but I see it plainly. Please keep this in mind, should our new guild mate make any recommendations about his employer.
Yours in stealth,
The Gray Fox

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Edward wasn't quite sure what to do. Here was a woman -- a beautiful woman, who his first thought had been to ask out! -- charging at him, ready to kill. What did he do? He hadn't so much as opened his mouth to speak to her yet, and she already wanted to kill him! What should he do? How should he respond?

Now, to be fair, his hesitancy wasn't borne of a misplaced sense of chivalry -- or chivalry at all; rather, his hesitancy came of a paralyzing fear. His attacker's cold, unruffled air seemed to freeze his marrow, and he was fixed to the spot where he stood, unable to move to defend himself or even escape the onslaught.

Most opportunely, however, a voice called out, "Hold, you there!"

It was the brigand's turn to freeze, and just before her blade met with Edward's body.

Edward was so dazed that he hardly heard the thumping behind him or noticed the orc come hobbling up, armored and wielding a heavy sword; likewise, Ormil's entrance mostly passed him by. He was too busy staring at the sword mere inches from his face to notice much else.

"You didn't think those bonds would hold me, did you?" Ormil demanded.

"Or those wounds slow me down?" Graman asked.

"My band!" the brigand exclaimed. "Where are they?!"

"Dead!" Edward declared, finding his voice -- and also his legs, for he stepped back, out of reach of her blade, very quickly. "I killed them!"

The brigand's eyes bulged, and she shot angry glances around her. Sensing that she was hopelessly outnumbered, however, she said, "Are you going to kill me?"

Edward, furious at her and her band's treatment of him, was about to scream, "Yes!" But, before he was able to speak, Ormil replied. "Not if you cooperate...hand over your sword, and we'll deliver you to the Imperial Watch."

The woman scoffed, but did as she was told. Ormil led her to the same cell in which Graman had been imprisoned, while Edward turned to the orc. "Who the heck are these people? And why did they hijack our ship?"

Graman sighed. "Well," he said, "business was not going so well for our inn...so Ormil made up a story about having a fantastic treasure onboard to attract patrons...these fools decided to hijack the ship in order to search it without interruption."

Edward's eyes gleamed. "Fantastic treasure?" he repeated.

"Yes," Graman nodded. "It was a stupid story, but, apparently, some people are dumb enough to fall for anything."

Edward smiled inwardly, but changed the topic. "Well, to be perfectly frank with you, when I saw that the ship was afloat, I figured that you and Ormil must be some sort of slavers, who had lured me on board so that you could sell me at some foreign port."

The orc stared at him.

Edward shrugged, somewhat abashed; he thought it best to leave out the bit of his reverie dealing with being sold to an sultaness, becoming a sultan, and all that. "Well, you never know..." Then, clearing his throat, he said, "Aren't you supposed to be manning this stupid ship? I don't want to spend the rest of my life on a Floated Bloat!"

Graman stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Right you are," he said.

Edward, meanwhile smiled inwardly. "That orc can say what he likes," he thought, "but he can't pull the wool over my eyes...there's treasure on this ship, and a lot of it! And I'm going to be the one to find it!"

Have the gods succumbed to senility,
To promote and protect such inability?
Have the planets strayed from their orbits,
To favor and empower such a king of nitwits?
-- Ode to Edward, II


Chapter Twenty-Eight

By time the Bloated Float pulled into harbor, Edward was exhausted and not a little cranky. His search efforts had been futile, of course, because, as Graman had said, the treasure for which he searched didn't exist. Rather than admitting this to himself, however, Edward concluded that the pirates must have already found it, and found a way to get it off ship.

Armil offered to let him spend another evening in the inn, but he quickly refused. There was no way that he wanted to spend an evening in the room where someone had been killed, nor did he want to risk waking up and finding that he was afloat again. "Henceforth," he determined, "I sleep on land, and land only!"

So, exhausted, ornery, unprepared, and lugging around a pillow case containing a few old pieces of pottery, two skeins of yarn, a pair of shears and some torches, Edward set forth for the Marie Elena.

When he arrived at the ship, it was dark. There were a few torches lighting the main deck, which was patrolled by a gang of none-too-friendly looking pirates.

Edward found a barrel on a pier opposite the ship, and sat down to rest and think. How was he going to get onto this ship? The main entrance didn't look like a very good one...if the brigand gal he'd run into earlier had been mean, these charmers put her to shame; hard, grizzled men and a fearsome chieftain, these seemed like the last people Edward wanted to run into. There was, interestingly enough, a stack of crates near the gangway that Edward suspected were meant to be loaded into the ship. It wouldn't be too difficult, he mused, to sneak over there, pry open a crate, and jump inside. That way, he could stowaway onto the ship, and then take the Captain by surprise.

"No, they'd probably expect something like that," Edward decided, dismissing the idea. "I have to do something bold, something unexpected, something glorious and worthy of me!" He paused his mental monologue, and then added, "And something that won't get me killed."

His brow creased in thought as he surveyed the ship again. He had already dismissed the only two means of entrance...so how on earth was he going to get in?! Then his eyes lit up. On the opposite side of the ship was a balcony -- with a door that had to lead to the Captain's cabin; and it looked like it was within jumping distance.

His eyes aglow with excitement, Edward headed to the nearest point of the pier opposite the captain's quarters. Mounting the ledge, he shifted his pillow case of worthless treasures to one side, inhaled deeply, exhaled, inhaled again, and then leapt forward.

No sooner than had he left solid ground did he regret his action; all at once the brilliance of his strategy was replaced in his mind with a surety that he would miss the balcony and end up in the harbor below, dragged down, down, down by the weight of his weaponry, armor and loot bag.

Even as visions of drowning flooded his senses, Edward felt his right knee impact sharply with the ship’s stern, and his left elbow smash into the balcony. “Gods damn it!” he cursed, clasping onto the balcony for dear life with his right arm. “Why the Oblivion do they call it the ‘funny bone’?!”

Wheezing in agony, he managed to make some use of his left arm, and swing it over the balcony. With both arms thus straddling the ship, he was, with difficulty, able to pull himself over the side of the rail and onto the ship. He promptly sat down to recover from his success.

Fifteen minutes later, still sore but somewhat more collected, he tried the door to the captain’s cabin. It was locked. By now, his temper was flaring, and he loosed a torrent of cuss words at his intended victim, finishing with, “Why can’t the no-good SOB just get what’s coming to him, without making it so damned difficult for me?”

Kicking at nothing in particular in frustration, Edward lurched forward as his foot caught on the “Unwelcome” mat outside the captain’s door. He careened into the door, barely having time to shield his face with his hands and thereby prevent a face-to-portal collision. Straightening himself up, he kicked again, but this time with a definite target in mind. "Stupid mat!" he cursed, flinging the mat into the balcony railing.

All at once he paused, glancing from the mat to the planks at his feet. He had noted a glint, very faint in the torch light, but a glint nonetheless. "Did someone drop a coin?" he thought greedily as he bent down to find the source of his observation.

He frowned, his hand coming in contact with a long, skinny metal object. "A key?" he thought disgustedly, lifting the object to examine it. Sure enough, it was a key. Edward sighed a long, unhappy sigh. Of all the luck...not only was he stuck outside with no chance to get inside, but even his hope at a meager conciliatory coin had proved vain. He lifted the key, intending to chuck it into the water, but froze. "Wait a minute!" he thought. "What if this is the key to the captain's door?"

With hands so eager that they trembled, he tried to insert the key; it bounced off the lock, it was so large. "Damn!" he thought. "That's not it either." Again, he readied to chuck the key into the sea, and again stopped. "Oh...I had it backwards," he realized, flushing a little as he did so. "No wonder it couldn't even go in..." He sighed, flipped the key around, and tried again.

This time, much to his relief, it fit perfectly. Turning the key, he heard the door unlock.

Wreaking havoc where he goes,
Leaving destruction in his wake,
Making trouble for those he knows,
How much more can the empire take?
-- Musings of the Ninth

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Edward was inside the captain's quarters, and the captain was nowhere to be seen. Truth to be told, Edward was strangely relieved. He still wasn't sure how he was going to kill the dreaded pirate, and he explained away his relief at not finding him around by saying that the pirate's absence gave him an opportunity to plan his attack.

These ideas were soon pushed from Edward's mind, however, as he looked around the cabin he'd entered. His eyes sparkled as he saw the finely laid out table, and its ornate silverware. "Ye gods!" he thought, "I'm rich!"

Hastening to the table, he proceeded to scoop all the silverware and fine plates he saw into his pillow case. Then he proceeded to loot the foods throughout the cabin, noting with particular glee two fine bottles of wine. He also noted a book, "The Fall of the Snow Prince"; he considered taking this, but decided against it. "Books are worthless anyway."

Then he stopped, his eyes resting on a small but charming plant, that he'd heard called Ninroot. "Sooooo pretty," he thought, heading toward it. "Soooooo pretty!" He reached forward to touch its leaves; they were very soft. He smiled, drawing closer. A delicious aroma, indefinable but something like all the foods that he most liked, assailed his nostrils, and his eyes widened in surprise. Was that smell from that beautiful little plant?

It was! That delightful aroma, reminiscent of all manner of fine delicacies, was emanating from that little Ninroot! All at once, Edward was moved by an impulse to eat the plant he admired so much. Without even thinking about it, he seized the stem, uprooted the plant, and proceeded to chew it up and swallow it.

It tasted every bit as good as it looked, and all of a sudden Edward felt very lightheaded. Blinking, he felt himself staggering forward, looking for a seat. He felt strangely weak and tired and sick, but somehow good all the same -- right up until the moment that he collapsed.

Half an hour later, Edward was able to collect himself. The plant, he realized, must have been some sort of poison; Ninroot, apparently, wasn't very good for you. He sighed.

At that moment, he heard the creak of a bolt on the other side of the room. His heart froze. "It must be the pirate," he thought. "He must be coming back!" Then another thought assailed him. "And he's bound to notice that everything's missing!"

Edward made an instantaneous and desperate decision: he would hide under the pirate's bed. "He'll never think to look there," he thought, scrambling for the bed. Unfortunately, he was too late.

The door opened, and Captain Tussaud entered and spotted him immediately. "Hello!" he cried. "Who in the name of Davy Jones is this?!"

Edward, who was half underneath the bed, pulled his head and shoulders out, stood up sneezing -- Gaston Tussaud apparently was no fan of cleaning under his bed, as there was years worth of dust underneath his -- and stared at the pirate. Then, his courage returned. "Alright Pound, time to meet the Dog!" he declared as threateningly as he could muster. Then he paused. "Wait," he said, "that's wrong...I meant, 'Alright dog, time to meet the pound!'"

Captain Tussaud stared at him blankly for a few moments, and then burst into uproarious laughter.

Edward frowned and flushed. Alright, so he had made a tiny mistake; it wasn't very nice of this stinking pirate to mock him like that!

As if in response to Edward's expression, the pirate laughed even more uproariously, and without ceasing.

"Cut it out already!" Edward demanded after a few minutes of non-stop laughter. "Prepare to meet your doom, pirate scum!"

Although Edward had hardly thought it possible, the pirate's laughter grew in intensity. His dancing eyes were almost buried underneath his cheeks, and his mouth was one gigantic grin.

Just as he had almost lost patience, and was about to attack the other man, Edward started. The pirate's face had gone from ruddy mirth to pallid shock; his hand clutched at his heart, and he stood frozen like a stone for several moments. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell forward with a tremendous thud.

Edward blinked, not quite sure what had happened. Then, slowly, timidly, he approached the pirate, and prodded him with a kick to the shoulders. The mass did not budge, but remained quite still.

"Dear me!" Edward thought. "He's dead! But how?!" Then he remembered how the other man had clutched his heart. "A heart attack?" he wondered, frowning.

At that moment, a colossal banging at the door roused him from his reflections with a start. A gruff voice demanded, "Cap'n? You alright, sir?" Silence followed, and Edward was not sure what to do. Then, "We're coming in, sir!"

Edward didn't need a second warning. He took to his heels, toppling everything that lay in his path, including the captain's writing table and lit candles, and made his way to the balcony. Shifting his now extraordinarily heavy pillowcase behind him, he made a running leap for the pier.

He landed on the stone with a smash and a rush of agony in his elbows and knees that replaced any memory of the pain he'd felt in leaping onto the ship.

He lay utterly dazed and in a state of semi-consciousness for several minutes. Then, groaning and only vaguely aware of shouts and a peculiar cackling noise behind him, he drew himself up. "It must be almost morning," he observed, noting that the pier was illuminated in a reddish glow. Turning toward the Marie Elena, he was frozen in place as he saw that the entire vessel was engulfed in flames.

This is so funny! The dude died from laughing! xD

Please, I want more of the inept, but oh so lucky, Edward! Keep 'em coming!

(Thanks, demonsshade! )

Of fools and thieves we sings,
Who come and take our things,
Robbing from the beggars and poor,
Always wanting more and more.
-- Imperial City beggars' song, after a recent rash of robberies against the homeless

Chapter Thirty

Edward and his valet had remained in the Imperial City for a few weeks. Ostensibly, this delay was a show of Edward's kindness to his faithful retainer, so that the latter could pursue his thieving missions, but realistically it was a chance for the former to recover from his various injuries.

Which isn't to say, of course, that Edward sat about lazily doing nothing the entire time they were in the city; no indeed! He only spent most of it lazing about; but the few hours a day every couple of days that he felt an urge of ambition (or the pang of jealousy, in comparing his servant's extremely successful endeavors to his own less notable ones), he would try his hand at thieving. So it was that there was not a beggar in the city who had not noticed something missing when he returned to his bedroll; so it was that there was not a church or chapel nearby without a story of something vanishing; so it was that the story of a strange pilgrim who carried a heavy, worn bag and traveled throughout the city leaving a trail of gems and cheap silverware behind him was born.

Near the end of their stay, Edward had learnt that his valet's fence was not in the Imperial City, but in Bruma. This had angered Edward, who had no desire to travel to a hub of barbarians, as he termed the Nord city. This in turn prompted his valet to volunteer to take the goods himself and return in a week's time with their payment.

Edward had approved this solution, and so relinquished his treasure horde -- only after meticulously listing out every item, and preparing a copy of the list for himself and his valet, along with space for his valet to record how much each item had sold for. Then, having only one horse between them, they had had to rent another horse to transport Edward's sizable stash. Edward had grumbled, but eventually forked over the 40 gold necessary for the rental.

Now, six and a half days later, Edward waited eagerly for his valet to return. The minutes seemed to drag by like hours as he awaited the arrival of his horde of gold, but, finally, he saw his valet from his hotel window. Racing down the stairs, two steps at a time, he rushed out to meet the other man.

"You're back!" he shouted exuberantly.

"Yes sir," the valet replied, smiling.

"Excellent, excellent! And how was your journey?" he asked, thinking it best not to appear too terribly eager, despite the fact that he was, in truth, that eager.

"Oh, very good sir. The mountains were a bit of rough going, particularly for your horses...yours particularly seemed hardly to be able to move under all your stuff, but he made it eventually. And then we did have a run-in with wolves as we neared the Jerall mountains, but that wasn't as exciting as our run-in with the bandits. You'll never believe what happened, but -"

"Yes, yes," Edward interrupted, unable to contain himself any longer. "I don't care about any of that. I just want to know about my loot!"

The valet cleared his throat, looked rather uncomfortable, and declared, "We'd better go in before discussing that, sir."

Edward protested, but the other man was unmovable, so at last he assented, complaining all the while. Once seated in their quarters at the inn, Edward repeated his query. "So, what about my loot? How much did I make?"

"Well, sir, I'm afraid that didn't turn out so well," the valet returned.

"Didn't turn out so well??" Edward demanded, his eyes coloring in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, your haul didn't sell for as much as...well, as much as we might hope."

Edward's suspicion was now full blown; he was sure that his valet had either been gypped by a conniving fence, or was attempting to gyp him of his well deserved profits. "How much is 'not as much'?"

"Well, sir," the valet replied, shifting very uncomfortably in his seat, "35 gold."

Edward's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and he began gesticulating wildly, finding it very difficult to put his fury to words.

"I have the complete rundown of everything," his valet hastened to add, "just like you said." Reaching into a leather bag at his side, he pulled out the piece of paper. "You see, most of the things you had, sir, no fence will buy...yarn...shears...things like that. So I had to find alternate buyers. I found a clothes maker for your yarn, and, after a lot of finagling, convinced her to buy it. Turns out that people either make their own yarn or trade it for goods," he explained.

Edward blinked stupidly, trying to understand, but having difficulty. He had collected such a glorious collection of yarn, of so many shades and colors, so many weights and materials, how could someone not buy it? "How much?" he managed to articulate. "How much did you get for it?"

The valet cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably again, and replied, "Well sir, I was able to convince her to give me 5 gold for it."

Edward grasped at his heart, certain that such news would stop its beating. "Five gold?!" he breathed. "Five gold, for my lovely horde?!"

"Yes sir, I'm afraid so," the valet answered.

"What about my pottery? And my shears? What about all the parchment? The silverware? The dinner sets?"

The valet shifted again. "Well, as I say, sir, it's all meticulously recorded, as you requested. But, regarding the particulars, the story was the same with the shears. No one is interested in buying them. I eventually found a metal worker who agreed to purchase the lot to melt down, but there was no one else interested."

"And how much?" Edward asked, afraid to know the answer.

The valet sighed. "Five gold, sir."

Edward's eyes bulged again. He had sweated, slaved, persevered lugging around pound upon pound of metal shears, day after day, for a mere measly five gold??

"And," the valet hurried on, "the pottery you had was in...well, very poor condition, sir, and nobody was really interested, except..." Here he trailed off, and seemed almost afraid to continue.

"Except?" Edward demanded. "Except who??"

"Well, sir, a health inspector happened to be passing by one day as I was trying to make a sale, and he noticed one of your pots...it was particularly dirty and unpleasant. He insisted on performing a test on it, and turns out it was covered in some rather disgusting decay. So he...well, he confiscated the whole collection of pottery, and charged a 15 gold fee for the cost of proper disposal."

This news was too much for Edward, who sagged back into his chair despairingly.

"But don't worry sir," the valet interjected, "I paid for it out of my own profits."

Edward glared at him. "Profits?!" he demanded. "You said I made 35 gold -- that's less than it cost me to rent a horse to get the stuff there! -- and you made profits?!"

The valet cleared his throat. "Well, a little, sir."

"How much is a little?" Edward demanded, his eyes blazing.

The valet shifted. "Well, sir, I can't remember exactly..."

Edward rose, inarticulate but furious, gesturing wildly and demanding, in broken, rather profane, language, to be answered.

"Well, a little over a thousand gold," the valet finally confessed.

Edward fell backwards into his seat, stunned. This man, his servant -- his lowly servant! -- had made almost thirty times as much as him! "But you had so little!" Edward protested. "My horse was loaded down, and yours just had a small bag on it!"

"Yes sir, but I found some very valuable items."

Edward glared at him. "Where is my list?!" he demanded. "Give it to me!"

His valet hastened to comply. Edward scanned the list.

Yarn (20 lbs) - 5 gold
Shears (150 lbs) - 5 gold
Pottery (20 pieces) - (-15 gold, paid by me)
Parchment (5000 sheets) - 2 gold
Paintbrushes (150) - 1 gold
Dinnerware (100 pieces) - 20 gold
Artwork (5 pieces) - 2 gold

Total 35 gold (not counting fine)

Edward started to cry.

Their busy days and a hundred ways,
Watch the world continue on its course
Though the promise looms of darker days
But, oh, things will get so much worse...
-- Mehrunes Dagon, contemplating the future

Chapter Thirty-One

Edward had sulked for the rest of the day, refusing to acknowledge his valet's existence. He had tried to convince himself that his servant had cheated him, but, this failing, he had determined to simply ignore the man. When the valet tactfully absented himself, rather than feeling relieved, Edward felt even angrier. Not only had the man most unfairly outdone him, but now he removed himself so as to avoid the well-deserved wrath he should be showered in!
When Edward at last settled in to sleep, he found that sleep eluded him. He was angry, sulky and unsure of how to avenge himself on his servant -- and the latter tormented his mind for many hours. At last, however, he settled on a plan.

He rose early the next morning, paid his tab, packed his bags without waking his valet, and exited the inn. For a minute, he considered stealing his servant's horse, but decided against it; not that he would have objected to robbing the valet, to be sure, but he couldn't stand the idea of depending on anything belonging to "that man".

Therefore, bright and early, Edward set out on his own, heading for Cheydinhal. After all, he had successfully completed his assignment, and he had a payment to collect. "I have my own stuff to do," he thought, "and I've already wasted enough time pandering to the needs of that ridiculous servant of mine...ex-servant!"

With a grim smile, he decided that his disappearance would be the best possible punishment for the wayward valet. "And," he couldn't help admitting to himself with a sense of guilty pleasure, "he'll never see a penny's worth of pay from me!" Although this tended to tarnish the otherwise stainless revenge, his practical side won out over the idealistic side; which is to say that his quest for pure vengeance, at least as he defined it, was second to his miserliness.

The beauty of the cruel deprivation of his company waned, however, as he trudged along his way. The morning was warm, and promised to grow hotter, and he was not terribly fond of exercise as it was, much less so such a long trudge as he was now embarked on. Huffing, puffing, sighing, sweating and feeling terribly sorry for himself, Edward walked in solitude for two hours. It was then that he heard the sounds of rapid hoofbeats on the road behind him. His first instinct was to pull off the road immediately. "But then," he thought despairingly, "perhaps I would be better to stay here...to end it all by being dashed to pieces under a horse's hooves, rather than continue in this futile, painful, degrading existence." The mental image, however, of actually being dashed to pieces under a horse's hooves quickly decided him, and he hurried off the path to wait for the rider to pass.
As the hooves neared, he divined that there were two horses at least. "Too much noise for one," he thought.

Sure enough, in a few moments, two horses appeared over the hilltop. Edward started. There were two horses, but only one rider -- and that rider was his valet!

The other man reined his horse to a halt near Edward. "Sir!" he exclaimed, dismounting. "I figured you had started on your way."

Edward felt elated that he was no longer alone, particularly when he saw that the other man had brought an extra horse. But his pride refused to acknowledge the sentiment, so, instead, he glared at the valet. "What are you doing here?"

"Following you, sir."

Edward's glare turned to a frown. He couldn't understand this...in all truth, he had been rude and discourteous -- and, to top it off, remiss in actually paying the man's wages. Why, in the name of heaven, would he follow him here? "Why?" he asked at last.

"Well, it's my job sir!" the valet answered, in a tone that seemed to indicate that the answer was self-evident.

Edward's frown deepened. "Well, how did you get another horse?" he asked and last. "And what for?"

"For you, of course, sir," the valet replied. "And I bought it."

Edward stared at the other man, attempting to ascertain if he was sincere. Seeing that he was, he then wondered if his servant was mad. Not only did he put up with his master's temperamental, even -- though he was loath to admit it -- absurd, antics, and all without pay, but now he was spending his own money to buy a horse for said annoying master?

"Well, come on, sir," the valet said. "Aren't you going to mount? It's much faster riding to Cheydinal than walking."

Edward shook his head, not quite sure of what to say, but took the reins from his valet's outstretched hand. The man was mad, he concluded, but at least he was loyal. Plus, though he hated to admit it, he seemed to be a pretty good thief, which just might come in handy some day.

Heh, good to see you still doing this, Rachel. I had hoped you'd not give up with it :goodjob:

Thanks! I haven't given up on it, but I've had very little time lately (I've had a million things going on, including moving to a new place ). So my progress is going to be slow for awhile, lol.

(Greetings all, and pardon the thread necromancy ( ), but I've continued on with the story, so figured I should post some of what I've got. )

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Unless you're talking the emperor's death, in which case no prevention is worth a nice shiny amulet...

-- Musings of Edward

Chapter Thirty-Two

After his misadventure upon discovering the hideout, Edward was able to navigate his way from memory, without mishap. Even the door didn't give him a problem, as he remembered the password.

Remembering that Antionetta Marie might be around, he drew himself up tall, puffed out his chest, and sauntered coolly inside, as nonchalant as can be. Nonchalant, that is, with the exception of his eyes, which roamed quickly around the room, back and forth, attempting to locate the girl. Exhaling, and slipping into his comfortable if not impressive stance, he sighed. Not only was Antionetta not around, no one was around!

Then, all at once, a side door grated open. Edward spun around, and, seeing Vicente and Antionetta emerge, planned to return to his previous stance. But he abandoned this idea as their eyes had already located him. Instead, he smiled as coolly as possible, which was not very coolly. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, this girl always managed to surprise him, and leave him feeling goofy and awkward rather than charming and impressive.

"Edmund!" Vicente greeted.

"Edward," Edward corrected.

"Right," Vicente agreed. "But you're back!"

"Ummm, yeah," Edward agreed weakly. He wanted to say something funny, something witty to impress Antionetta, who was approaching with Vicente, but couldn't think of anything.

"And no cobwebs this time!" Antionetta observed.

Edward flushed.

"So," Vicente declared, ignoring his companion's remark, "I heard about your venture." He frowned. "Was it really necessary to burn him to death?"

Edward blinked. "What?" Then he remembered the ship going up in flames, no doubt from the candle that he had knocked over during his hasty retreat. "Oh, no, he was already dead," he hastened to explain.

"Really?" Vicente asked, clearly relieved. "You killed him before setting the ship alight?"

This was a puzzler, because, though the man was in truth dead before the fire, it wasn't at Edward's hand. But he decided to reply in the affirmative, as the pirate had died laughing at him, so he had in some way contributed to his death. "Yes, quite," he answered.

"Oh, good," Vicente said. "You understand, despite the fact that the people we deal with are often cruel and terrible killers, we are not in the business of cruelty; we're in the business of justice and retribution."

Edward shifted. He always felt thoroughly nervous and ill at ease when people started talking about justice. "Yes, quite," he repeated.

"I, umm, just thought that that would, umm, add a deeper, err, psychological impact on his fellow pirates by, uhh, burning the ship down after killing him."

"Interesting theory," Vicente smiled. "But, I guess you're ready for your reward."

Now Edward smiled too, as the other man handed him a bag of gold. Something like a hiss of disgust passed from Antionetta's lips. He glanced up at her, but her expression was unchanged.

"And, what's more," Vicente said, passing him a ring, "as a reward for such a good job, you might find this useful. It's an enchanted ring that provides armor and security enhancements, and resistance to magic."

Edward smiled broadly, putting the ring on.

"So, are you ready for a new assignment?" Vicente asked.

"Of course!"

"Good. Our next one's a tricky one. We're going to 'arrange an accident' for an old man who previously 'arranged an accident' for his brother, thereby leaving the dispossessed son of the murdered brother to come into his rightful inheritance."

Edward frowned. "You mean...somebody killed his brother to rob him, and now we're going to kill the murderous brother so that the son of the murdered brother can inherit what the murdering brother stole from the murdered brother?"

Vicente blinked, as if absorbing the convoluted statement, and then nodded.

"Oh...well, it's simple when you put it my way."

"Anyway," Vicente continued, "the target is a wood elf named Baenlin. Now -- and this is very important -- he has an innocent manservant working for him, a man called Gromm. Gromm is absolutely devoted to his employer, so he will kill you if he sees you trying to harm him; he is innocent, though, and has no idea of Baelin's true nature. So be very careful that no harm comes to him."

Edward sighed. "Very well." These rules really were crazy, he thought, but as long as he got paid...

"Now, Baelin lives in Bruma," Vicente continued.

"Ugh!" Edward exclaimed. "Bruma?"

Vicente blinked in the face of his outrage. "Yes, Bruma."

"You mean...I have to sully my hands killing someone in that fortress of barbarity, that realm of savages?" Edward asked, recoiling in disgust.

ROFL!!! All your writing is funny; I really wish you had time to go back to the first few chapters and insert spaces between the paragraphs, I am sure I am missing some great lines from you in those chapters! This is great, hope you keep writing it!