A jaded master-thief finds himself having to choose between his own gain and the good of others.
Paying a visit to The Black Pony had been a bit more of a problem. I didn’t expect Durmond or his top two men to be there, as Orella had said they liked to frequent her place on midweek evenings. But, there were a lot disreputable folks around there who knew me all too well, and just strolling into one of the areas of the ordinary not open to the general public was likely to draw a bit of attention.
My foray at Ashleigh’s had set me up pretty well for coin, so I went out into the street near The Black Pony and offered a couple of hard-drinking gents there a lucrative opportunity. A loud, drunken fight was good sport, and one conducted in the common-room, then taken out into the street, was just the sort of room-emptying diversion I needed. That a couple more boys decided to join the fun at no expense to me was an appreciated boon. I’d tugged my hood well over my face, scooted into a room just outside his office where Durmond liked to conduct business, and left Birdsall’s bull's head statue on the dusty shelf of a tall bookcase crammed with a collection of odds and ends.
The fight had ended just about the time I’d slipped back out into the common-room, folks talking and laughing as they had made their way back inside. The two gold coins it had cost me were some of the best money I’ve ever spent.