Havelock "Bob" Shepherd

Baszo Baz wanted a favor done — a little message to the Red Sashes. Said they had something shiny worth stealing, and the Lampblacks were paying for the privilege.

Before we went in blind, I reached out to one of my whisper friends — the demon sort, not the living kind. Setarra. He’s been useful in the past, though “helpful” isn’t quite the word I’d use. I asked for a look at the place, and instead of giving me a vision like before, he stirred up the silt on the floor of our hideout — an old narrow boat half sunk in a canal.

The muck shifted and rippled until it formed the shape of the target building, clear as day, with another structure beside it — half-collapsed, leaning right into it like a drunk on a barstool. That’s why we decided to go in through the roof.

Didn’t know what the others were up to at that point. Wren was probably working on one of his disguises — though knowing him, it was just another moustache on top of his moustache. Slug would’ve been finding the quietest way in, and I’d bet Cuz was somewhere high up checking his sights and keeping watch with that rifle of his, the dog curled at his feet. Good crew. Each of them doing what they do best. 

Setarra seemed grumpy about the whole thing. Maybe he’s having woman troubles again. I should probably catch up before he decides I’m next on his list.

Before we set off, I tried to butter Baz up — literally. Pulled a fork from my cutlery set and told him it belonged to his grandmother. Said I’d tracked it down myself, out of respect for her service to “fine dining and organized crime.” He didn’t buy it, but it earned a chuckle, and it gave the others time to do their part.

Cuz kept him talking by suggesting maybe the Lampblacks should “rebrand,” since their name was a bit old-fashioned. Baz didn’t take kindly to that, but he didn’t throw us out either — and Wren made the most of the distraction. Disguised as a bag, of all things, he managed to pinch something from Baz’s desk. Turned out to be notes on the very job we were about to be offered. Not exactly useful, but impressive all the same.

The plan itself was simple. Wren and Cuz were to deliver a crate of sashes to a Red Sash training house as a cover, while me and Slug slipped in from the roof. Simple plans rarely stay that way, but they gave it a solid try.

They told me later it all went sideways from the first knock. Cuz’s dog bit one of the guards to stop him shooting, Cuz fired a shot that took the man down, and Wren broke open the crate to unleash a swarm of angry bees. The chaos gave them a perfect distraction to move, even if the air turned into pure noise and panic. By the time me and Slug made it in upstairs, the lower floor was sealed tight, buzzing and full of trouble.

Up top, things weren’t much calmer. I’d tried cutting the power — clever idea until the hatch slammed shut and tore the wiring out. Not my finest tinker, but it did the job. Inside, a Red Sash challenged us, so I flashed a forged safety notice and claimed I was from the Department of Window Security and Fall Prevention. He argued about bribes. Said he’d already paid the last inspector. I told him that one didn’t count, on account of him being “disappeared.” Asked for two coin to make it right. He grumbled and handed over one. I took it — half is better than none.

While he was still arguing, Slug moved in and handled it quickly — clean and quiet until I stepped in and made a mess of it. Tried to help, cracked the man with a headbutt, and somehow managed to floor Slug too. A potion broke in his pocket, flooding the room with silence thick enough to feel.

Then — crack. A shot punched through the floorboards and dropped the Sash where he stood. Later I learned Cuz had sent his dog upstairs to find the target, then took the shot through the ceiling. Sharp shooting, right when we needed it. Moments later, Wren and Cuz stormed in through the smoke and noise, and together we made quick work of grabbing what we came for. 

I bottled the dead man’s spirit on the way out. Might come in handy. Might just haunt me. Either way, it’s something to show for the night.

We got the goods and got out breathing. Haven’t decided what to do with it yet — turns out it’s worth far more than Baz let on. Twelve coin’s enough to make anyone pause and think.

For now, the bag’s hidden and no one’s asking questions. Maybe we’ll hand it over. Maybe we won’t.  Depends what feels right when the time comes.

— Havelock “Bob” Shepherd