While packing for the picnic later, the Bee Queen’s speech remained with me. The way she spoke about her subjects and the care she held for each of them was touching. She protected them and would go to war for them. Which begged the question.

The monsters could do it. Why not The Council?

They left us to suffer, to be preyed upon like the worker bees ambushed by the slimes. Magical pollen, or gold, both gave the side who collected the most an advantage. So, why not steal it from those who couldn’t defend themselves?

At least the Slime Queen did it for survival, unlike the Thieves Guild. Too dishonest to get an actual job. So they stole what they needed to live, making it harder for the rest of us. Brown paper crinkled under my fist until Pitch flew over to pat my hand.

She was right, getting angry wouldn’t help. My thoughts turned to how they would fight their monstrous battle, while Pitch pointed at which food to pack next. Would the bees swarm into the caverns, using numbers to crush the opposition?

No, it would never work. The caves were huge, and the Slimes blended in among the stones with ease. Though the slimes would struggle to invade the hive, the bridge was difficult to cross if the bees didn’t allow it.

Victory would come to whoever collected the most information. And with my provided maps? The Bee Queen held that edge.

Light glinted off the jar of the honey that acted as a paperweight, my upcoming payment to Torug’s boss. It held down the edges of the demonic pages, now bound with twine. Any time a job didn’t steal my focus, my fingers flipped through the book, hunting for any secrets the Succubus hid inside.

The page on top was about elementals.

Small to start, they grew in both size and maturity by consuming their element. My lips twitched into a grin at the thought.

“What would happen if we gave Nonasia a water elemental, you think?”

Pitch laughed long and loud, even as she settled onto my shoulder as we made our way to leave. Temptation filled me to do it. Nonasia might appreciate a friend. A creature like that wouldn’t go unnoticed at my next stop, however.

Plus, the Adventurer’s Guild might consider that a threat big enough to go after. How big would one get if it had the entire ocean to consume? Yeah, probably a bad idea. As funny as it might be.

Besides, there was no point risking another beating at Torug's hands.

Shadows followed me along the streets, urchin children no doubt. Our hardly hidden tails kept up easily, even as we walked through the busier parts of the docks. The repairs were on hold. Officials electing to build makeshift docks and machines, so work could restart.

Dockworkers jostled all around me, and the smell of seawater and sweat filled my nose. From the corner of my eye, the scene of one of the less attentive children getting reprimanded by a sailor caught my attention. A good thing, too. Without that, Torug’s hulking form would have escaped my notice. Now the large orc moved into view to cuff the obstruction as the child darted away.

He was training the children then. Interesting.

The Thieve's Guild’s headquarters turned out to be in an unused warehouse. A gruff-looking pair, a male elf and a woman with a single horn protruding from her forehead, let me inside. Another creature, a Ratkin wrapped in bandages, herded me past rows of wooden shelves stacked to the ceiling with crates, all bearing The King’s seal.

With a mighty heave at a hidden trapdoor, we descended a rickety set of stairs.

Wood creaked with each step, as dust from the bare earthen walls filled the corridors. Support pillars kept the tunnels up, and at each of the various intersections, the beams were notched with strange symbols. Each time, the Ratkin would touch them before leading us onward.

The occasional open door would show off large interconnected rooms, or more intimate spaces where people spoke in hushed whispers. Pitch growled as we passed one, in which an Imp flew after a gold coin that bounced around the room. A middle finger from the Imp’s owner was the only response we received.

More corridors, more doors, both open and closed. Symbols covered the closed doors, different from the ones that were etched into the pillars. More ingrained, and ordered, though not comparable to any language my Master showed me. Bursts of light flickered beneath a few, an easy identifier that someone was using magic.

Eventually, we reached the last door.

Nothing about it made it stand out until two figures materialized out of thin air to block our entrance. The two guards, armor covering everything but their eyes, nodded at us. The Ratkin guide turned, speaking in a hurried tone.

“Hand in your stuff. You say nothing. Bow. Get going,” His voice was high-pitched, squeaky, and quick. Fear displayed prominently in every syllable.

The guards pushed on the door, which opened without a sound. At their subtle gesture, we entered the audience chamber.

Time to meet the leader.

Time to meet Winfield Grimm.

***

Pitch flew from my shoulder to float above my head, her pitchfork at the ready as her wing beat in time with my footsteps. It wasn’t much of an audience hall. A throne made of boxes sat at the end of an otherwise unfurnished rectangular room as thieves and scoundrels laid about playing dice and cards.

The throne appeared empty until we both approached within an arm’s length. Long strands of red hair were the first visible part of her. Boxes shifted and creaked, which seemed like an obvious sign to step back. When we were far enough away, Winfield Grimm shifted and contorted out of her nook.

She appeared human at first glance, but her pointed ears and too-perfect cheekbones betrayed her Elven ancestry. With an overdramatic leap, she stood up, her hands brushing against the set of knives at her hip.

A slight twang in her voice betrayed her roots outside the city, and though she whispered, the room amplified her words to perfection.

“You got the honey, Basement boy?”

Without knowing the correct form of address, a fact missed during my guide's warning, my best guess would need to do.

“Yes, Miss Grimm.”

She laughed, and the others laughed along with her. “Miss Grimm would have been my mother. The jars?”

Pitch spoke up, her voice filled with laughter that died almost as suddenly as it started. Her body hit my shoulder with a thud, and it was luck more than reflexes that allowed me to catch her. Still quivering, a thin metallic needle stuck out of her wing, small enough it would have gone through my eye with ease.

Tears streamed down my pixie’s face as she reached a hand up towards me. The next bit of metal wasn’t a needle, the knife lodging in her skull. Winfield’s eyes met mine, her expression full of hate that matched my own.

“Keep your next pet under better control,” Her tone was razor-sharp.

My sword was in my hand before my brain caught up to the situation. Another knife flew, catching me in the throat. Someone knelt beside me, rummaging through the small bag that hung on my waist. Nothing but the jars were inside, but that didn’t stop them from turning it inside out.

Everything went dark as Winfield’s smirking face stared down at me.

Gods above, my hatred for that smirk ran deep.

***

My heart started beating again once Pitch reappeared in my room. My resurrection completing moments prior. We were going to be late for our date with the siren. Both the respawn charge, and the needed demonic research playing a part.

The sobbing pixie clung to my legs, while my somewhat stolen notes explained what was going on. Our bond gave her access to a weaker version of my Soulbound trait. She would respawn after me, and she would appear nearby after my death.

Her red curls bounced with each racking sob, and she leaned back into my hand. No part of me begrudged her for it. Dying was a traumatic experience, no matter how quickly one died. Though with time, it got easier. She calmed down after a few minutes and, giving the basket one last check, we left the apartment.

No passerby spoke a word to us, not that it would have changed anything. My attention was reserved for Pitch. She still gave small sobbing hiccups, and her swaying made me worried she would fall off my shoulder.

Nonasia waved at us from the water. A small sailboat pulled up at our predetermined spot. Though calling it a sailboat was being generous, a patched-together raft would have been more appropriate.

Once we boarded the boat, Nonasia grabbed a rope, and we flew through the water.

“So, out with it. Why were you late? I almost had to drown a couple of too-curious teens,” Her smile showed her amusement, though at the joke, or because it was true, was impossible to discern.

Her expression fell at my description of Winfield’s smirk. There was a glint in her eye. Recognition? When would they have met? By the time the story was done, the boat had picked up considerable speed. No one spoke until we arrived at the island and unpacked the food.

“You walked into a predator’s lair. With no promises of protection. Are you an idiot?” Her voice was as cold as her eyes, and it was a relief when she dropped her gaze to her food.

“I—” My voice quavered, and she cut me off.

“—How do you plan to deal with them? This can’t go unpunished. You’re my friend, and you look weak. I don’t have weak friends.”

It didn’t take a genius to guess what her plan would be — Murder. She was a monster. A predator of the seas, violence was her normal.

It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. There were too many issues, retribution being chief among them. A low-ranking guild member picking a fight with the Thieves Guild? The Council would sell me up the river for a used napkin. Not to mention the upgraded protection payment everyone else would have to face.

No, there was nothing to be done. Not by me. Besides, even if Winfield died by my hand? It wouldn’t stop them for long. Nonasia didn’t share my view and didn’t hesitate to let me know.

“It would stop them hunting you. Hurting others. If another predator targets your hunting grounds, you stamp them out. You spoke of lost…” she paused, as though unsure of the word. “Coin?”

With my nod, she continued.

“And coin buys food like this?”

“Yes.”

“Then they intend to starve you out. A common tactic. Once you disorientate your prey, you go in for the kill,” Her hand brushed up against my thin frame. “It appears they have already started. Though, I prefer to separate men from their ships. Drown them. Wait for them to pass out. Delicious.”

She was right, and about more than the Thieve’s Guild. Separation. Disorientation. Weakening. The Surveyors Guild practiced those exact tactics. Keep us poor, keep us separated. Her hand gripped my shoulder.

We weren’t like Nonasia or Minnius. Low-ranking members like us couldn’t survive when left on our own.

“No friend of mine should be prey.”

Her breath tickled my ear as she leaned in closer, the food forgotten. “You have heard my song and returned. You are strong. Don’t let them weaken you.”

Pitch giggled in my other ear before floating in front of my face. When she was certain she held my attention, she lifted her pitchfork and swinging it like a hammer. She then mimed a wall exploding, and people running about looking lost.

“Destroy the Thieves Guilds Headquarters?”

Pitch nodded.

It was an interesting idea.

Scatter them, take away their leadership, and their gathering place in one fell swoop. Whatever remnants survived would focus on rebuilding rather than planning attacks on the other guilds. They would rebuild, though. When they did? They would focus their anger on whoever caused that damage.

A fascinating thought experiment, but nothing more. A plan on this scale would take resources, something we lacked. Besides, it would be too easy for The Guild to expel us. Penniless and on our own, the Thieves Guild would tear us apart.

“You don’t need to decide now,” Nonasia pulled away, resuming her sandwich. “Eat. Tell me more about the surface city. Then would you like to see my world?”

“I would.”

My body relaxed at the thought. She was right. No need to decide right this second. Besides, how many people ever got a free trip to the ocean floor?

***

My new gills worked wonders as Nonasia pulled me along through the reef made up of rocks and sunken ships. Her spell, apparently, was to help her rescue sailors. After all, you needed someone to escape to tell the tales of sunken treasure. The best way to lure fresh prey was live bait.

Terrified fauna gave the siren a wide berth, schools of fish darting off in separate directions at the mere sight of the predator. Multicolored coral covered the wrecks of sunken ships, filled with holes at both the whims of storms and of my guide. Partial skeletons poked out beneath the homegrown funeral wreaths.

My favorite sight was the giant green jellyfish tangled in a crow’s nest. A circle of glowing balloons to celebrate the ship’s death day. Nonasia mentioned a single sting would kill even her, as she pulled me away from the hypnotic sight.

That was a sobering thought. A brainless lump killing something far more powerful than itself. My interest in going off on my own died in a hurry. Not that Pitch cared. She was content to zoom about underwater, investigating any nook or cranny she could find. Whatever allowed her to fly, still continuing to work underwater.

She stabbed at fish or darted around the plant life. At one point, she vanished into a wreck, coming out with a jeweled necklace she struggled to drag behind her. She handed the treasure to me with pride, before gesturing at the large hole.

Was there more? We both looked at Nonasia, who shrugged.

“You can keep anything you find. I’ve already taken anything I wanted from them.”

Pitch’s grin grew alongside mine.

The rest of the trip was both sightseeing and searching the wrecks for treasure. Most of what we found was useless; spoiled foods, or broken wine bottles. Which made sense. A majority of the ships had been trading vessels. A gold-painted spyglass from a captain’s quarters found its way into my belt.

As the sun fell towards the horizon, Nonasia showed us to one of the older ships, where we hit the jackpot. The largest vessel, with three masts and wood covered in glowing runes, sat as pristine as the day it departed the docks. Nonasia smashed the lock, giving us access to the lower decks.

Skeletons filled the ship, some laying on beds and others in piles in the galley. Each held a hand or a neck. Forever locked in conflict or friendship. No one was alone at the end. Which made what the hold contained odd. A single skeleton lay across a series of treasure chests, ring gleaming on a hand that grasped a lock.

A closer look at the ring revealed something interesting, the Adventurer’s Guild crest. Someone hadn’t come back from a job, a pity for them.

We tossed a chair at the skeleton, in case it was a mage who decided that no one would get the treasure no matter their state. It broke apart with a clatter, which we took as a good sign.

Now it was a matter of getting the treasure back to the surface.

***

It took multiple trips to get everything up from the boat, even after we found some magical sacks that acted as both extradimensional storage and protection against the ocean’s depths. Nonasia slapped me on the back as we marveled at the sight before us.

In the fading light, golden jewelry and coins glittered between propped-up paintings and pottery. Most of the art looked foreign, perhaps war spoils? Either way, it should be worth a pretty penny to the antique shops around the city.

There was a problem. A big one. How would we get it back?

Urchins tailed us, and the Thieves Guild wouldn’t ignore us over this much money. Besides, if they believed me of working outside The Guild again? My home was gone.

Nonasia saw my fallen expression as Pitch continued to play in the coins.

It wasn’t hard for her to grasp the issue, and when she did, a simple question followed.
“Can you change where you revive?”

“Technically? It usually never comes up. But yes. If you redo the ritual, you’re set. Provided you can sleep safely there.”

She gave a pointed look at my bedroll. “Change it to here. Would make it easier to come back. No more boat trips. Nor would I need to wait for you to bring me more food.”

That would work. It would give us a quick way out of the city and let us communicate with Nonasia without risking her presence. The ritual required a sizable blood sacrifice and muttering of incantations, but a glowing circle was now fading from my bedroll.

It was done, and now it was time to rest.

And tomorrow?

Time for the plans to begin.