Adam had left and the team were gathered in the lounge, warming themselves by the fireplace. They grumbled and groused, and let out curses when Fritz told them that the man had agreed to be their tutor. They swore more when he informed them of his price.

  "Three silvers a day?!" Bert burst out.

  "A total scam!" Cal cried.

  "Hate that bastard," Rosie said.

  Dale whistled, joining the outrage.

  "Much less than I thought, how did you haggle him down?" Lauren said as the shouts died down.

  "Wait. That's a good price?" Cal asked.

  "Yes, very good," Lauren said.

  "It didn't take much. Just some small persuasion. He was actually quite interested in training us. Said we had some potential," Fritz admitted.

  "He did?" George asked.

  "Then why didn't he say it to our faces?" Cal interrupted.

  "He had his reasons," Fritz said, trying to make the man sound mysterious rather than just an arsehole. "And you can ask him yourself, tomorrow. For now, rest up. We need to prepare for more of the same. And worse."

  "Fine," Cal sighed.

  "I think I'll retire to my room," Lauren said wearily as she rose from her armchair. "I shall see you all again at dinner."

  "I too, shall retire," Fritz said, feeling each and every ache he recently earned.

  "What about the weights and other equipment he told us to buy?" Cal asked.

  "I'll ask him for a list, and we can acquire them tomorrow with the team's funds," Lauren said, stifling a yawn and rubbing at a sore hip.

  "Now that you speak of funds, how is the selling of the sirensilk proceeding?" Fritz asked.

  "Well enough. That tailor you brought us to had some helpful advice, however, we still have plenty of sheets left to sell," Lauren said.

  "How well is well enough?" George asked.

  "So far we've sold three sheets for three-hundred-and-sixty triads. And we were able to sell all the monster materials we had for just over half of that. All said, we currently have five-hundred-and-forty gold in the vault," Lauren explained.

  The room went silent. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard.

  "Sorry, could you repeat that?" Fritz asked, almost thinking he had misheard.

  "The part about the gold," Bert added eagerly.

  "Five hundred and forty gold triads," Lauren said. A slight smug smile slid up one side of her face as she watched all their stunned expressions.

  "That's a fortune," Bert said.

  "It is quite a bit," Lauren allowed. "For now."

  "For now? We could live for years and years on that much. We wouldn't even have to work," Cal said.

  "We likely could. Though it would run out, eventually," Fritz said.

  "And doin' nothin' would be borin'," Rosie said.

  "Agreed," Bert said.

  "Well, now that I know our funds are so flush. I can trust you to gather the recommended equipment without any restraint," Fritz stated.

  "Of course," Lauren said primly.

  With that, the team broke, either staying in the warm lounge or returning to their rooms to recover.

  Fritz called out to Lauren in the hall. "A moment if you will."

  "Yes?" She asked.

  "I wanted to ask you about our maid," Fritz said.

  "What do you mean? You hired her."

  "Ah, yes, I did. And I think she'll be a great addition to the household. It is just that I haven't had servants since I was a child and I have very little idea what tasks I should set her to do," Fritz said.

  "I see," Lauren said, frowning slightly.

  "And I was thinking that you, with your greater experience with hired help, would be more equipped than I in directing her. I know it's another burden, but can I entrust her to you?" Fritz entreated.

  Lauren sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, then said, "Yes, I can do that."

  Fritz didn't think the request warranted as much exasperation as Lauren expressed, but he kept his face grateful. It was likely just the weariness from their admittedly exhausting morning.

  "Thank you. And I'm sure you'll find her a pleasant presence in this house soon enough," Fritz espoused.

  "Yes, I suppose so. She's a pretty thing, if a little timid. Though, who wouldn't be so when settling into a house of Climbers," Lauren said. "I'll see to her now."

  "Good. Everyday I wonder what miracle brought you to our team," Fritz flattered.

  She scoffed and slapped him on the chest. "You did. Fool. Now out of the way."

  Fritz stepped aside, letting Lauren make her way to the servant's quarters. He saw her straighten as she approached the ajar door, smoothing her robes and hair so as to appear more dignified.

  She knocked, opened the door the rest of the way and soon she was efficiently dictating the maid's duties.

  Fritz smiled as he left all that hassle to someone else, trudging his tired legs up the stairs, into his room, then falling into his bed.

  He groaned, then closed his eyes for merely a moment, just to rest them. He dozed for some seconds before forcing himself up and away from the siren song of sleep. It wouldn't do to waste the daytime hours. Instead, he decided to work on his swordsmanship.

  Although he did admit that he was lacking in skill, his pride had still been bruised by Adam's disdain. He couldn't let it lie, it felt like a small needle pricking his brain over and over. That look of disappointment flashing before his eyes again.

  Fritz considered his path forward, he felt he needed to pull forth his father's Technique from the depths of his recollection to ever have a chance of striking the man within a week. And that meant training.

  Taking up Quicksilver, Fritz made his way down the stairs and into the yard. To his mild surprise, he found George already there, swinging his copperchange sword and counting out each overhead chop with a grunt.

  Fritz watched for a moment or two before finding a spot to train for himself. He started with a couple of exercises intended to stretch his muscles, increase his flexibility and render him more limber. His body felt loose and heavy from his prior exertions, but he bore with the uncomfortable aches. As he readied himself for more training, some strength was beginning to return to his limbs, likely a result of a second wind and the mana-dense lunch he had eaten.

  Fritz took his stance, raising Quicksilver while leaving his dagger in its sheath. For now, he wanted to focus on the proper forms his father had drilled into him all those years ago. He brought back those memories and tried to picture that precise and perfect stance. He bent his knees slightly, straightened his back and adjusted the angle of his blade an inch or two, trying to imitate what he recalled.

  Imagining an opponent before him, one that bore a resemblance to his new tutor, he concentrated on his form. Fritz let his Grace suffuse his arms and legs. Then he thrust. Right for the imagined man's heart. His blade wavered for an instant and the tip would have pierced a lung rather than its proper target, even if the imagined foe hadn't parried the blow in his mind.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Fritz frowned, pulled back his blade and thrust again, and again, for nearly nine minutes, until he could no longer keep his sword steady. He sat heavily, panting out one breath after another. He felt he was close to something, some sort of breakthrough. Yet, he also felt like he was a mile away, that he was missing something important, something that made the Technique, and himself, whole.

  George joined him, he was also heaving from his own practice. He smiled at Fritz, who tried to return it. It must have looked pained or too bitter because the other man's face fell.

  "Are you alright, Fritz?" George asked.

  He considered lying, assuaging the man with some false confidence, but seeing the man's concern he knew it wouldn't be right.

  "No," Fritz admitted. "It's just as Sir Needle said. I'm a terrible excuse for a swordsman."

  "He said the same to me," George commiserated.

  "Yes. Though it's different for you. You never had the privilege of an expert teaching you from a young age to wield both a sword and a powerful Technique," Fritz said, and it sounded like petulance to even his own ears. "I feel I've squandered all that was given to me. And like I'll never grasp what my father was trying to teach. I should have aligned more to Memory, maybe that would have helped."

  "Maybe," George said.

  They sat in silence for what felt like six minutes, their breaths slowing to a normal pace. It was comforting in a way.

  George stood. "Fritz, you'll get there. We both will."

  That small statement helped, then George's outstretched hand lifted him back to his feet.

  "How about we spar?" Fritz asked, knowing that his solitary method wasn't doing him much good.

  "Yes, let's," George agreed.

  "Though, for now, why don't we use sticks rather than swords," Fritz hedged, eyeing the man's massive blade. "Not too keen on being split in half by that."

  "Indeed!" George chuckled, then spoke more seriously. "Sir Needle left his bag of training weapons. We can use those."

  Fritz nodded, and soon they were testing each other's skill. He found his opponent to be ponderous though practical. George's solid, sweeping strikes had little flair, however, what those swings lacked in grace they made up for with overwhelming strength and a surprising speed.

  Fritz couldn't hope to parry the blows, he would be knocked out of his stance or off his feet in the worst case. So he had to slip around the man's guard, flourish and feint to force the man to commit to one of his tremendous slashes before striking himself. He felt like a sly bird flittering around a snapping tortoise.

  Little by little, they learned of each other, of their strength and skill, and Fritz was left feeling both impressed and stymied. George was indeed an amateur, but more and more he failed to fall for Fritz's tricks, while he himself learned little in the process. It was easy to strike the man, but over their time fighting it was getting harder to score clean hits against where his vital points would be.

  The sparring wasn't all for nought, Fritz was finding it easier to step, strafe and lunge without misplacing his feet and weakening his stance and fencer's forms. And maybe that was one of the things he was missing. He didn't know, he just moved and cut, dodged and sliced, stepped and thrust.

  They continued as such for at least an hour before both were wrung out completely. Fritz had won the majority of their bouts, for all George's physical advantages, he just didn't have the expertise to keep up. Only when Fritz was reckless, or idiotically attempted to parry, or concentrated too much on the positioning of his body, did the man land resounding, bone-jarring blows.

  Fritz could feel those attacks coming through his Danger Sense and was able to slip away from most of them, still, those chops came fast and some found their mark regardless of the forewarning. He knew the man was pulling his sword strikes, but they still hurt, and he would have bruises all over himself by day's end.

  "Ouch," Fritz said, wincing as he sat and rubbed his shoulder.

  "Sorry," George said sheepishly, taking a seat beside him on the clover.

  "No fault of yours. In fact, you're teaching me a valuable lesson."

  "Oh?"

  "Don't fight a man in plate armour. Swords do nothing," Fritz bemoaned.

  "It's only half plate," George corrected. "And if you used Abilities, I'm sure you wouldn't lose even one round."

  "The same could be said of your powers," Fritz said. "Your sword could cut through me like butter."

  "If I could see and hit you," George argued.

  Fritz smirked, that was entirely true. While his Illusory Shadows wouldn't work on those with powerful senses or some other detection Ability, against anyone without such advantages he'd be a true terror.

  "What a day." George sighed. The sound wasn't melancholy or full of bitter recrimination like Fritz's own were. But was instead an exhalation of pride, of satisfaction in hard work well done. "Wearying, but I feel like we're on the right path."

  Fritz nodded in almost full agreement. It was always difficult to shake off his doubts about his choices, but hearing George voice his confidence was a balm to his bruised ego.

  "I'm dead tired," Fritz said, standing on loose, leaden legs. "We should get some rest. Training too hard today might ruin our performance tomorrow."

  George nodded and stood.

  With that Fritz returned to the house found some clean clothes, then showered outside. After he was done he slumped onto a couch in the lounge and attempted to read. It was not to be, he fell into a doze and was only woken when the hall's bell was rung. The signal for dinner.

  Fritz wanted to sprint toward the dining room, but his body wouldn't let him. Bert, however, did, thundering down the stairs.

  The team gathered quickly and they were ravenous. They ate a hearty stew of all the remaining monster meats with a side of bread, butter and some more of the delectable redroast sausages.

  "Is this that same shark we butchered, and is this lightning eel?" Lauren asked sceptically as she held up a spoonful of the chunky, grey-ish stew. "Shouldn't it be rotten by now?"

  Cal shrugged. "The mana keeps it fresh for longer. That's what my book says. And it smelled fine."

  "Smells fine indeed," Bert agreed slurping down the thick, salty broth.

  To Fritz's nose, the various meats were on the edge of going bad, but the choice between a mana-dense meal or a normal one wasn't much of a choice. They needed the restorative benefits, that, and he'd eaten far worse in the gutters and wouldn't complain about a little sourness.

  Lauren's face scrunched a bit, though it seemed she also came to a similar conclusion and she ate more than her usual fare.

  After stuffing themselves, they all retired for an early night, Rosie and Bert even chose to sleep apart in their own rooms. A welcome relief for those with neighbouring walls. Trudging, yawning, Fritz collapsed into his neatly made bed and barely had the energy to take off his boots before crawling under the covers.

  ---

  Fritz awoke. It was dark. His stomach grumbled, but that wasn't the only intrusive noise. The was a knocking coming from his window and there, standing behind the glass was a figure in a dark cloak and a brown coat. For a second, his still muddled mind thought it to be Sid and his heart raced.

  His burgeoning smile fell away in an instant when he saw a man's scarred face and dark hair flecked with white. The man rapped hard on the pane and Fritz reluctantly strode to the window and opened it. Then he stepped away and motioned for Craig to come in.

  The man gave a crooked smile and glanced down at the bronze of the window sill. He purposefully placed a hand across it. In the moment that the man touched the metal a faint darkness slid around his fingers in wisping, black tendrils. He vaulted into the room without a sound and stood before Fritz, looking him up and down, judging him as if he were a fish at the dock markets.

  Fritz hid his scowl and the surprise that the window's wards hadn't activated as he was warned they would.

  "Fritz, isn't it?" Craig asked. His voice was almost a wheeze like he was at the edge of coughing.

  "That's right," Fritz said.

  "Not gonna ask who I am or what I want?"

  "I know who you are, Craig Cutter. And I already know the Nightshark sent you."

  "Good lad. Stops us from wastin' that precious prospect called time."

  Fritz nodded.

  "Well, let's get to it then. Put on some proper thievin' gear and meet me outside," he ordered.

  The man leapt out of the window and faded into the darkness, foiling Fritz's Night Vision with some veil of shadow.

  Keeping quiet, Fritz closed the window and slipped into his closet. He pulled on some of the darker articles of clothing he owned, desperately wishing that he had more time to sleep. Although his rest had rejuvenated him somewhat, his head and limbs still felt heavy.

  He looped on his Eelkin Belt and thought about what else he should take with him. He settled on what was left of his rope and both his favoured weapons.

  While Quicksilver and its long scabbard would get in the way, especially when navigating narrow alleys, he decided to bring it along. He wouldn't part with it in a Spire, so he wouldn't part with it out of one. This was a chance to practise handling its awkward length and maybe elicit a few tips from the Cutter himself.

  Ignoring his aching muscles, Fritz made his way downstairs cloaked in dusk. He slipped into the kitchen, then into the pantry and raided the remedies. He drank a small tonic down and took a small packet of herbs, choking the chopped leaves down with a glass of clean rainwater. He spied a bar of foul rations and swiftly ate it, blunting the edge of his hunger.

  After that, he scratched a quick note on a scrap of paper and slid it under Bert's door, then he was down the stairs again and crept out the front, closing the door softly.

  Fritz searched the street for Craig, his eyes darting from one shadowed alcove to another. A high whistle pierced the soft drumming of the rain and he turned to see the man standing just six yards away from him, right across the road. Craig tilted his head in that thief's sign that meant: "Get over here."

  Fritz strode to him with some apprehension, though he didn't let it show, and the man glanced over what he had brought with him. Craig frowned, seemingly displeased, but he didn't say a word, instead, he turned and beckoned for Fritz to follow.

  He began speaking, his rasp hard to catch in the rain. Still, with Fritz's high Perception, he could make out the man's words.

  "You'll be doing a few odd jobs for me. I'll be shadowing you for tonight, but you only need to get them done by the end of the week."

  "What kind of jobs?" Fritz asked warily. He wasn't about to do murder on Craig's whim.

  "Nothin' too hard. A burglary or two, some stalkin' and sneakin' and I'll need you to pick a pocket," he replied. "And while I'm with you I'll teach you a few tricks of the trade."

  "Like what you did to circumvent the wards?" Fritz asked.

  "Uh-huh. We'll start on that once your done with the first trials," he said, turning a corner. The man then stopped and pointed at a small shopfront. "That hattery should do."

  "Need anything in particular?"

  "Not really, just need to see you get in and out without a fuss."

  Fritz nodded and cloaked himself in dusk. The man's eyes narrowed as if he didn't like the look of the Ability or found something wrong with it. Ignoring the man's disdain, Fritz looked up and down the lane only to spot a trio of drizzlers slowly patrolling. They weren't close and were walking away at the moment, so he took his time sneaking to the hattery's door.

  Fritz pushed down the worry that was building in his chest. The last time he had been out burglarising he'd been caught, and only his charming tongue and Colette's kindness had saved him from the pillories or the dungeons. Thankfully, he made it under the awnings without being seen or heard in the nearly empty streets.

  When he reached the hattery's entrance, he pulsed his Awareness twice. First lacing it with Door Sense, secondly with his Trap sense. Both came back with little more to tell him than that this was an ordinary locked door, with no alarms or hazards, save perhaps the bell that would ring if he opened it fully. Swiftly Fritz picked the lock with his fishbone picks, puled on the door's handle and pushed it ajar, making sure to grab the small bell above the door and still it before it could make a sound.

  Then he slid inside, picked a hat off a shelf and slipped out, making his silent way back to Craig. It was easy, not worth his time or the sleep he could be having. He stifled a grumble, stepping over a puddle that he knew was deeper than it looked.

  When Fritz offered up what turned out to be a lacy bonnet, the man nodded in acknowledgement.

  "Now go put that on one of those drizzler's cretinous skulls. Without gettin' caught, mind you," he ordered. "If you do get caught, run. And I'll meet you in the drowned district."

  Fritz almost sighed, Craig expected him to fail, he could tell by the man's smirk.

  "Get to it, we may have plenty of dark left. But I'd like to get a drink and a tumble in by the end of the night, rather than watching you," he added, waving Fritz away.

  Within moments, Fritz was under the awnings again, cautiously following the trio of drizzlers he'd seen earlier. He considered his approach. His Dusksong was half full at best and despite the remedies he'd imbibed, he was still dead tired from the day's training.

  With a stifled yawn, he settled on something simple. A distraction, then a simple bit of sleight of hand. He'd just have to hope his target wouldn't be one of the Guards with Awareness, or something like Hat Sense for that matter. He shook away the tired thought.

  He crept forward, and as the drizzler leading the two others stepped into a puddle, Fritz shifted the stone beneath that foot, twice. The man lurched and cursed as his leg plunged into the hole all the way up to the knee.

  The Stone Pit Ability had drained Fritz, but he was able to stop from stumbling or slipping as he slunk forward further. As the other two stared on and tried to suppress the chuckles at their fellow's misfortune, he slipped behind the one who was wearing a skullcap.

  In one smooth motion he gently, Gracefully, slipped the loose bonnet onto the man's head then snuck backwards carefully. Darting silently into the arch of a doorway and hiding himself in its shadow.

  "What are you laughin' at," the guard groused as he pulled his foot from the puddle.

  "Not laughin'," one said.

  "Why are you wearing a bonnet?"

  "What?" The bonnet bearer asked, before reaching up and clutching the soft fabric and lace over his skullcap. "Who did this!?" He asked before turning and glaring out at the empty street.

  When no one was apparent he turned on his compatriots. "Was it you!? Do you envy my helmet!?"

  "Of course not, it looks stupid," one argued.

  "Yeah, the bonnet suits you better," the other jeered. "Goes with your face."

  Soon the trio descended into blame and berating, and almost came to blows as they bickered.

  Fritz slipped away, unseen and unheard, a sly smile on his face.

  A job well done.