"The Lions" by Dewi Morgan

Brian the Light-Fingered strode through the inn doors and straight up to the bar, unaware of the hooded figure watching him from the shadowed alcove in the corner.

His watcher, Kurt the Quick, was enjoying his role. In his youth, he'd strode into many a bar himself, only to end up discussing business with mysterious cowled figures in the darker recesses of the room. Nice to see it from the other side for a change. He hid a grin at that thought under his own cowl.

The watcher watched, as the thief bought a tankard of dark, murky ale from the obligatorily surly barman. He watched as his subject quaffed happily, a joke raising a chuckle or two from those who knew him. Brian obviously little suspected he was being watched, his value weighed.

The watcher waited patiently until Brian's third such tankard thunked into the solid, oaken planking of the bar before deciding it was time to make himself known. He waved over a lusty bar wench (they were so much more lusty in Kurt's day, of course...).

"Here, slip that fellow another tankard of whatever he's having, and ask him to come join me at my table, would you? There's a couple of gold in it for you if you don't draw too much attention."

She looked him up and down appraisingly, raising a scornful brow. "He doesn't do men, you know."

"Madam, this is strictly a business matter!"

"That's what I meant", she said with the malicious grin of one for whom teasing cowled figures is one of the few pleasures in life, and made her way through the tables to the thief. After a whispered conversation featuring far too many suggestive motions in his direction, the thief rose and slapped her rump, to the laughter of his friends.

Her grin and half-hearted swipe back annoyed Kurt. In his day, the barmaids had more decorum, and he himself would never have assaulted them in that way. Well, he might have, and worse, but it was expected of you in those days. It was a game, not as serious as nowadays. Why, the games got so boisterous, one of them had even broken his arm for his attentions. What was her name? Hilde?

"What you want, oh mysteriously cowled and shadowed one?" Brian's coarse voice shattered the momentary reverie as he slipped into the seat opposite.

Brian was unhappy. He'd started off on the right foot, aggressive and cocky, but he'd had one too many to talk business, really, and he desperately needed to pull in a good job. Leren was starting to get sarcastic about the way none of his promises panned out. He so painfully wanted to get her away from that barmaid job, to somewhere better. He kept telling her, "I just need one good job. Then we can go away from here, somewhere..."

He had to focus. The spooky man had answered, introduced himself, and already the name was completely gone. Still, he could probably get by without knowing it. Focus.

"So have I got the right man, Brian?"

"Yeah, that's me. Brian. Brian the Light-fingered. So known by those wishing to keep their spleens in their... wherever spleens are normally kept. Look, like the lady told you, I don't do any of that... any iffy stuff. I just... I just uh, not with other men, you know?" Damn! Not a good start. But his nickname had caused one or two embarrassing incidents recently, particularly since that rumour started by Billy the Bellows.

The figure spoke in a reassuring voice. "I understand perfectly. A bit of a loner, I'm led to understand. Like to do it by yourself, don't you? Well, my client has quite a big job you can probably deal with all by yourself. And he pays quite handsomely."

Brian thought about this for a moment. "Uh... good. I think. Let's just get this straight. There's going to be no... no funny business, right?" Behind him, he thought he heard a snigger from one of his friends.

"I assure you, the job will draw only upon your well-reputed professional abilities."

"That's... erm. Yeah, but..."

The voice from under the cowl was beginning to sound impatient. "You will not need to share a bed with him, if that's what you're asking." The laughter from his friend's table was definitely audible, now.

Brian lent forward across the table. "What about," his voice dropped as low as he hoped was still audible, but still heavy with remembered horror "what about threshing tables?"

The cowled figure was motionless, obviously baffled. There was a cough that sounded suspiciously like a choked laugh, and his frame trembled with gargantuan forces battling within. Willpower won over hysterical laughter in an expletive. "Clem's tooth! No! You will share no beds, threshing tables, floors, be they carpeted or bare, no chairs, no trees, no couches, no benches, slabs, hayricks, counters, boards, dressers, trestles or sideboards!"

Brian was knocked back by the man's vehemence, but could not but be impressed by the other's imagination. A tree? Have to have a word to Leren about that oak tree in...

"In fact the ONLY piece of furniture you will briefly be sharing with him is a DESK!"

Brian's imagination was far ahead of his drink addled brain, and his mouth was not far behind. "Good grief, a desk? I mean..."

The cowled man's voice sounded close to despair. "You will be sitting, fully clothed, either side of the desk, with no occasion to become intimate. You will merely be discussing a theft, the greatest heist this century: the theft of Balzahir's Eye!"

The inn was silent. You could have heard a pin drop onto the sawdust. Only a low whistle of awe from a far corner broke the silence, and that cut short, embarrassed.

'Oh, heck,' thought Kurt. 'Screwed up again'. That idiotic thief! He'd...

Someone broke the silence. It was that floozy of a barmaid again. "Oh, Brian. Finally! A big job like this could... oh, Brian!"

Brian looked up, his face flushed with a new excitement and hope (no self-control the youngsters nowadays). "Uh... with all respect, sir, maybe you oughtn't have said that so loud. If you'd just have said it quiet like, then ol' Bobby the Ear there could have got a pretty penny for the information, but now it's common knowledge, he'll get almost nothing."

A mock-sympathetic "Aaaw" of sympathy rose from the crowd, and Bobby the Ear bowed deeply to them from his trolley in a nearby corner, the one remaining ear being about the closest to a limb the old war veteran had left.

"Yes, yes indeed, terribly sorry, Mister Ear." Flustered, he threw a far larger than intended coin into the pot on the trolley. "Perhaps we'd best go to my client now and you can iron out the details."

The crowd, not blind to the apparent wealth of the cowled figure, began to chant as they made their way to the door. "Brian. Brian. Brian! Brian! Brian, Brian, BRIAN, BRIAN!"

As the door closed behind them, there was a great cheer from the throats of the regulars, and the sounds of drinks being ordered in honour of his new-found status. Brian knew he had finally found the bigtime.

Brian peered out from under the blankets. The day glowering through his shutters was grey and bland, like week-old porridge, but with less character. He didn't want to get up. He would probably get himself killed today if he got up. Killed by his future wife if he didn't do the job, killed by the Guardians of the Eye if he tried. How, he asked himself, did he ever let himself get talked into this?

Trying to roll over and go back to sleep, his head reminded him exactly how. Too much drink softens the hardest business sense. He moaned, feebly clutching his head.

"Wakey, wakey, rise and shine! Time to get up, sleepyhead, you've got a big day ahead of you so I thought I'd bring you breakfast in bed. I brought your favourite."

Leren's voice was happy and sparkly, filled with happiness at the birth of a new day. Once again he cursed himself for falling in love with someone so obviously a morning person, but that didn't stop her from flinging the shutters open wide with a completely gratuitous crash. He moaned again, and wriggled deeper into the blankets. "Ooh, please. Give me a break, that's not even until this evening. Can't you see I'm suffering here? The pain, the agony, oh, my poor malabusified head, my tragic, innocent, maltreated, battered..."

His poor attempt at melodrama (and regaining sleep) was whisked away violently with his blankets. "Don't be silly. Now, you lie on your front, yes, like that, and prop yourself up on these pillows like *hgnnf* like that, and remind me to put you on a diet some day, and I'll just let you eat your breakfast while I give you a nice back massage, hmn?"

He found it very hard to eat his breakfast in this position, and drinking was even more of a problem, but after an invigorating back massage and a lot of mutual giggling, he had it finished with a merely acceptable number of spillages.

"So," he asked, once the more important business of returning the massage was completed, "what do you think I should do, then? Get myself killed by the Guardians, or chicken out and doom us both to a lifetime of poverty, and forever kicking myself for not taking the chance?"

"Couldn't you just ask Pete the Paste to make a fake, and tell your client it's the real one? Then you'd get the credit for being so skillful they didn't even notice it being nicked?"

"No, he'd have ways to detect it. I think that guy he sent to get me was some kind of powerful wizardy type, and you don't think you'd use that kind of guy as your messenger boy unless you've quite a lot of clout yourself. But I guess I should get a fake to replace it, so it's loss isn't noticed too soon. Good thinking, my buxom love strawberry."

She ignored the implicit invitation to enjoy the morning some more, and frowned a little, pondering the job ahead. "I don't see that just one man would have any advantage. At the very least you're going to need a distraction to lure the guardians away. You could really have done with a lot more notice. Did they give you floorplans for the temple of the Eye?"

"Uh, yeah, they gave me one when I was on the way out. I think I must have put it somewhere safe on the way to bed last night," he ventured.

Leren's voice held a laugh. "So I see." She twitched aside some discarded underwear to reveal a scroll. "This it?" She started to unroll it, weighing the corners with clothes and pushing the other clutter on the floor out of the way.

"Uh, yeah. Well, when I said safe I didn't mean like I locked it in a... oh heck, it's a fortress. I'm a dead man."

The inspector strode up to the temple gates. The gatehouses loomed threateningly over him, but he appeared barely to notice them, banging imperiously on the gate.

"Wotcha want?"

"Delgadas the Inspector, here on the King's business. Open up in the name of the King!"

"Uh... sez who?"

"So says this paper in my hand. Open up or all the forces of the King will rise up and flatten this insignificant little house with the wrath of nations. If you lack the authority to open the door for me, then fetch me someone with clout."

He smiled thinly as he heard the sounds of the large but stupid doorman stomping away to find someone in authority. He was Delgadas, inspector extraordinaire. He ALWAYS found the guilty, he was like a bloodhound. Even his features were dogged and determined. No mere doorman would stand in his way when he walked on the King's business.

"Uh, hello, sir. Mister Delgadas, is it? Kenneth, here. Kenney the keys, they call me, on account of I look after the keys, Sir. Heh. Just their little joke. Um. What can I help you with?"

"I am here on King's business, regarding the safety of the Eye. It has come to our attention... but I should probably discuss this with your superiors. Let me in, would you? Thank you, my good fellow. No, no, that's quite alright; I'll keep my coat. An inspector never removes his coat, must be ready for action at any time, you know. And, though I didn't tell you this, it rather adds to the image of mystery, don't you think? What mysterious tools do I carry under the coat? The fact that it's just a standard sword, a couple of documents and my lunch is neither here nor there, right? Thank you, my good man, now close and bolt the door, and let nobody in who cannot prove their identity. Now take this scroll to your superiors, which should serve to prove my own identity, and bid them come here at once. And I am sure I need not impress upon you the urgency of this matter, or that you must tell nobody who asks that I have been here, other than your superiors in the building. And even then... make sure they are whom they claim! The walls have ears. Go, man, and hurry."

So, without letting the poor man get a word out edgewise, he had got into the courtyard and bustled him off to get the real movers and shakers to attend him. That's the way to do it. Give them time to think and they get all officious. And it doesn't hurt to flatter them by letting them into a little confidence, like the cloak, particularly if their pride has been pricked by not letting them in on the Big Picture.

In moments, the doorman returned. "Right, they'll see you shortly. If you could just come with me to the waiting room?"

"I shall wait here. They will be down in seconds. I estimate they will be here in about the time it takes them to read the first half of the document. I shall be surprised if they even bother to check the veracity of the King's seal." His voice betrayed a slightly scornful sorrow for people whose respect for the King had slipped so far.

Kenny the Key's face creased into a knowing grin. "Doubt it, Sir, they're a thorough lot. Won't be down for a while. Maybe we'd best go to the waiting room just in case, right, Sir?" he moved to herd the inspector in the direction of the waiting room, but stopped as he heard an almost-hurried patter of several feet behind him. His grin slipped as none other than the chancellor himself came puffing down into the courtyard to join them, trailed by his advisors.

"What's this all about, then?" The portly figure brandished the scroll like a club, crushing the Kings seal beyond all recognition, almost making the Inspector wince at the loss. But he bore up well, and took back the initiative.

"It has come to the attention of His Highness that your charge is in danger. He would like to be assured that you have made adequate provision for its safekeeping. He has sent me to ensure this."

The Chancellor was fat, but his mind was sharp as an arrow. "I'd not willingly impart information on our security measures to even one such as you. That would in itself be a breach of security."

"Indeed, and you are a wise man to say so. His Highness may not have chosen as badly as I had feared for his human guardian of the Eye. Be that as it may, your defences are already breached. I have obtained this map of this building," and here he partially unrolled a large, detailed scroll, "which shows your defences to be pitiful at best. But we had best retire to some room to discuss this, away from prying eyes and eager ears. Should you wish to keep the details of your current security measures to yourself, then I am sure His Highness will not mind TOO much. My recommendations will merely be for additions to the existing measures."

So he eased the Chancellors fears and was led to a room in a high tower, with two trusted guards set to ensure the stairwell remained clear. The map was spread on a table, weighted down at the corners by heavy brass paperweights.

After several intense minutes of discussing the security of the building, the chancellor was looking considerably less sure of himself. "So... these sewers pass right under the armoury in the western wing? They could easily break through there and effectively disarm us. Or use our own weapons against us."

The Inspector nodded agreement. "True, though it's unlikely, I'll admit. We're expecting just a small, stealthy force, not more than half a dozen, to strike sometime in the next fortnight. One of them is a notorious gem thief, renowned for his skill. He has yet to fail a commission. The others are likely to be hired grunts, distractions. Your existing security should easily be proof against them. It's this Lightfinger that I'm worried about. Brian Lightfinger. Heard of him?"

"No, can't say as I have." The Chancellor looked distracted, poring over the map. "This map is far more detailed than our own - where did you get it? You must be a regular bloodhound, eh?" The Chancellor stopped, looking a little embarassed at mentioning the Inspector's nose.

"Now, Chancellor," the inspector grinned, deciding that now was a good time to turn on the friendly charm, "you know I can't answer that. But I'll let you keep it, to add to your library. You can see for yourself it's quite old. Looks like some of these passageways were drawn on it when they were originally laid. I'm hoping that this is the original, and any copies the assailants have will be inferior copies, but it is always possible that they will know of some route other than those shown here. For that reason we must ensure that the security in the main hall is tighter than a... a drum."

"Nonsense, they'd never be able to get in that far. The Guardians would tear them apart if they even tried."

"Don't be so sure. LightFinger is uncommonly resourceful. Here I've marked the most likely route he'd take, from a study of his previous actions. Either right through Sir Henry's passage as far as the main hall, then break through into the scullery below to avoid the guards you'll have on the far side of the door, and in through the passageways at the side. Though I imagine he could just as easily come in through the kitchen, up the chimney, along the roof, then swing in through the stained glass window here, and be sitting right by the Eye before anyone saw him."

"Dear Lord." The Chancellor's face had paled slightly, and he had lost all his brash confidence. "And I didn't even know about that passage. Sir Henry's, you said? How old's that one? Why is it there? It goes right in from the perimeter... probably right from the inn, by Gad!"

"About the oldest part of the map, if I'm not mistaken." The Inspector, on the other hand, was obviously in his element. "See how it's barely visible, and the lines are overwritten by later additions. I remember there being a brief note about it in the margin somewhere... ah, here we go. 'The passage of Henry, later Saint, added to provide for removal to a safe place of the Eye, blah blah, dates and mason's names.' If it's not a passage known to you then I imagine it has been bricked over securely long since, but probably best to check. Admittedly, even if they do manage to get in the central hall, they have the Guardians to worry about, but still... there are ways around even them."

The Chancellor was immediately on the defensive. "Nonsense! The guardians are unbeatable! They cannot be poisoned, cursed, charmed, talked around, or even killed, damn it, at least not without heavy siege weaponry! They have twice the reactions of a normal man, not to mention ten times the speed and a hundred times the strength! You surely can't think some upstart jewellery thief without even any military training could come close to taking even one of them down, let alone the whole dozen."

A slow smile spread across the Inspector's face. "He wouldn't need to. You see, your defences rely on someone coming into the hall, walking up to the main pedestal surrounded by Guardians, smashing the glass case, then walking off with the Eye. What if someone were to stand, say, here, "he stabbed at the map with a finger, "fired a slingshot at the case, then ran off, retreating to wherever. The Guardians would run toward the door, leaving a clear shot from a bowman at this door here to fire an arrow to the Eye, with a sticky or clawed end to grab the eye as it passed, and carry on to a receiver standing at this window. No matter how fast the reactions and legs of the Guardians, all three would be gone before they could be caught, and nobody the wiser. Of course, there are other ways. Someone could come in through the ceiling, which isn't reinforced, and..."

"Enough!" The chancellor seemed close to crying. "So basically we are at the mercy of anyone who decides to take it? That gem is the cornerstone of our faith! Its loss... we'd be hard put to recover, if we could at all. The country would be in turmoil!"

He had them, the Inspector thought. He could tell them to put banana skins on all the window ledges and they would do it, just because he had said so. He had them in the palm of his hand. "The King likes his country stable. While he does not share your pessimistic view of the outcome were it to be stolen, he yet feels that there are some simple steps that could - and should - be taken to ensure the safety of the Eye. Let us adjourn to the main hall, and I shall go over them."

The main hall was impressive. Huge buttressed slate pillars rose, intricately carved, to the ceiling, joining with gently curving beams that swept in towards the centre, supporting a domed ceiling over the centre, covered with pictures so fine that most of the detail was lost on those walking beneath.

But the room was not what made the Inspector's pace falter for a moment.

No larger than a milking stool, the ornate gold pedestal rose from a series of four slate steps in the middle of the large room. Four candles rose around it, drawing sparks from the heart of the gem inside.

For there, seated on a white velvet cushion, was the Eye.

A huge diamond, as big as the Inspector's fist, with a fiery red flaw in the centre, making the whole look like a glaring red eye, the facets making the red wink to fill the whole gem, then disappear completely.

But that, still, was not what made the Inspector pause.

Seated around the gem were the twelve Guardians. One at each point of the compass, and two more between each of those, like the hours on a clock. They stood, as they had stood for centuries, monolithic lions facing the gem, taller than a man at the shoulder. Their claws were out, their teeth bared, but only their eyes moved, following the men as they approached the Gem.

The Inspector drew a small iron box with hefty clasps from beneath his cloak and placed it, opened, on the ground. In the inside was a velvet lined recess, the same size as the Eye. "Place the gem in this box, Chancellor."

"No! The Eye must remain in this room, in this pedestal, guarded by the Guardians! It is written! It is the Law, and I sill not disobey it. We have only your word for it that you are who you are, and you couldn't take it from this room even if I did put it in the box!"

The Inspector was ready for this. "Indeed. Only you may do this, for anyone else will be killed for touching the Eye. That, and our obvious reliance on the Guardians, is our major strength. Nobody would expect us to move the Eye from it's position on the pedestal. So we shall move it, to ensure it's safety. It will remain in the room, and indeed, in the pedestal. But the one that people see, and try to steal, will be the paste gem I have in my belt. Once the danger is past, a fortnight hence, you may reopen the box and replace the gem. Does that satisfy your requirements?"

Without saying anything, the Chancellor took the gem with trembling hands and placed it in the box, never taking his eyes from the Guardians. In his mind they were already doubtless rending him for such a desecration.

"Good. Now lock the box, and pass one each of the keys to your assistants." He withdrew a set of keys and passed them to the chancellor, who did as he was bade.

"Now, here is a similar box. Within it is a paste gem, which you shall put in the place of the Eye, and you when we walk out of this room you will be carrying the box, very gently and carefully, to cause a little more distraction. Should the keys be taken from your assistants, it will naturally be assumed that they are for the box you will be looking after, and on opening it and finding it empty, it will be assumed that the gem has already been stolen. Understand?"

A glum nod from the chancellor as he reached for the second box was all the response he got. As the Chancellor swapped the gems, the Inspector carefully checked the locks on the first, finally nodding his satisfaction.

"Now tilt the pedestal over, and slide the box under it. It will be just as safe as before, for the Guardians know where we have put it and will be guarding it still, but it should be safe from the eyes of thieves. To catch anyone should they make the attempt, place a dozen bowmen along each wall, in three eight hour shifts throughout the day. You will personally oversee the shift changes, but at all other times you will remain in your quarters, with the rather transparent excuse of meditating on something. Everyone will assume you are guarding the dummy box. I shall endeavour to return tomorrow, duties permitting, to check that this and the other measures we have discussed have progressed adequately."

Brian loved shoulder massages. When not trying to eat breakfast during one, they gave him a chance to expound his theories on life to his beautiful newlywed wife.

"So, you see, Leren, it's always worth the investment in a decent forgery, and a good cabinetmaker. And the name of Lightfinger will now be infamous, and we are rich. In a day's time, the box will be opened, and I will be credited with the mysterious disappearance of the Eye from a locked casket, under a heavy pedestal, guarded by practically godlike guardians. I am, to put it mildly, a genius."

And the originator of the plot tickled him, and they rolled together on the bed to enjoy the rest of the morning.

Author's addendae:

The beginning was tricky. I really wanted to give the whole thing in the bar from the point of view of both characters: to focus on being the cowled guy in the corner (a point of view I've always wanted to see from :) and also on being the thief as well. I wanted to show how insecure both were in their roles, how the thief feared the cowled figure, and the cowled figure scorned him and at the same time was identical to him. Any suggestions on getting around that? Flashbacks and backreferences are one way, but there has to be a better way than that, and yet not write the whole thing twice, once from each point of view, or flick from person to person as I did.

I also ended up having to give them both names, which was annoying, but otherwise I'd have sentences with uncertain subjects, like "he watched him as he drank". Who drank? I guess I could have had one or the other a woman, but that would have detracted from the comparison I was trying to draw between them. Ideas?

The other problem I had (oh, apart from several others, like too much dialog and a slow moving plot and stuff like that) was expletives. I didn't want to use any ones that were blatantly Christian, but a depressing percentage of them are, it seems. Hmmm. Rewrite time. But it'll be another two episodes before the threshing table is explained. If at all.