Andante sat at his favorite table at the Bee and Barb, eating a sweet roll, sipping a Colovian brandy and enjoying the trailing edges of a skooma rush while watching the usual ebb and flow of noisy night life in Riften. The drawback to having only one bar in town – at least, only one reputable bar – was that absolutely everybody other than the beggars showed up every night. The place was packed, and it was noisy, and it smelled of people who had been working hard with fish all day long. But it was the best place to be to pick up tidbits of news, see anyone new in town before they weren’t new anymore, and generally be in the thick of things.
Sugar, skooma and brandy. What a mix. All that’s missing is the salty-sweet, metallic taste of… He licked his fingers and made a satisfied noise. What an awful sweet tooth. It’s a good thing I do all that running. I’ll never be fat. His lip twisted up into a sardonic grin. Not that I would ever be fat anyway. I was slim then, so I will forever be slim.
Across the room, Haelga was trying to talk a man into a night at her bunkhouse. Too much makeup, as usual, and I can smell her perfume from here. I wonder what makes her think it’s attractive. It wasn’t that Haelga wasn’t pretty enough, but she went out of her way to make her intentions obvious. What you want to do, dear, is slide up next to him and breathe on his neck, whisper in his ear… Her target tonight was Hofgrir Horse-Crusher, the steely-haired stable master, and his elevated heart rate suggested that he was more than interested in spite of her forward approach. Well, I’ll wait for another night, then. He’d admired Hofgrir for a long while, but that wasn’t really what – or whom – he wanted.
One of the inn’s doors burst open and Brother Maramal from the Temple of Mara strode in. “People of Riften!” he began. Oh good, Andante thought. Here we go. Maramal always amused him. Here he was, the man who was overcome with joy any time a couple came to him to be married, and yet looking down his nose disdainfully at people’s efforts to get to know each other. He was nearly as bad as Heimskr in Whiterun. The message was always the same and it almost always fell on deaf ears.
Iniquitous ways, check. Indulgences, check. The return of the dragons is retribution for your decadence, check number three and right on cue, it’s Keerava.
“No, no, Maramal. We’ve talked about this. Talen!”
And here he comes, Andante smirked, obedient as always to the call of his mate. Talen was calm and pleasant as usual, but, Andante noticed in amusement, his tail was twitching in annoyance just a tiny bit.
“We’re not kicking you out, Maramal, but keep the sermons in the Temple. Let us sin in peace.”
“Very well.” Maramal pivoted on his heels and swept out of the inn. There was a collective sigh of relief.
Andante chuckled. He drained the last of his brandy, caught Talen’s eye, and waggled the snifter at him. Time for a refill. Talen responded at once, as he always did, undoubtedly because Andante was a good tipper.
“The usual, milord?”
“Of course, Talen. Thank you.” He nodded at the Argonian and sent him on his way.
I wonder whether it’s always been the usual or whether it’s just something I’ve picked up in the last couple of years. Who knows. Well it tastes good, in any event.
He reached into his pocket, feeling for the skooma bottles he knew were tucked into its deepest recesses. Pricey, but could he indulge himself once more this night? It always gave such a pleasant overtone to a meal, and once he left the inn he needed to find a meal.
Talen returned with his drink; Andante rewarded his promptness with an extra-large tip and waved him on his way. He reached into his pockets again.
“Again, lad? You have a regular habit, don’t you.” The voice was just above a whisper, a low, sweet brogue that never failed to get his complete attention no matter how far away it was.
“You’re as bad as Maramal, Brynjolf,” Andante said, looking up at him briefly and then returning his gaze to his brandy. The big redhead in the green robes was leaning against the wall next to Andante’s table, scanning the crowd, looking disgusted as usual. “How many times have I told you, I’m not an addict. It doesn’t affect me like that. It’s just a pleasant diversion. Yes, I have a habit; I enjoy it. Is my habit not good for business?” He was rewarded for his observation with a snort from above his head. “Besides which,” he continued, “why were you watching my pocket and my hand, hmm? You hardly need to judge how much coin I carry.”
“You’ll wish you had all that coin later,” Brynjolf mumbled, ignoring the question. Well done, Andante thought. Nice side-step. He was watching where my hands were going, though. What was he thinking?
“I’m very careful with my coin. I’m never going to be destitute again.” Besides, he mused, it’s not as though I buy all of the skooma. Some of it I simply… liberate from its previous confinement. I am not an addict.
What a sour man Brynjolf is. He’s simply paranoid about spending money unless it’s absolutely necessary, which is amusing given our line of work. A body would think the Guild was on its last septim or something. To think he used to be such a good time when I first met him. That didn’t last long. A shame, really.
He looked back up at Brynjolf and smiled his most appealing smile.
“Don’t be such a wet blanket all the time. When was the last time you really cut loose? I could help you with that if you’d like.”
Brynjolf harrumphed, still scanning the crowd. He nodded toward Hofgrir, ignoring Andante’s statement. Hofgrir was smiling at Haelga, leaning in toward her. “It seems she beat you to it, lad.” Andante wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the tiniest smirk around the corner of his boss’ mouth.
“Well!” he snorted. “That’s quite an assumption to make, both about me and about my motives.”
This time there was no question – Brynjolf grinned.
“I doubt you could have sweet-talked him into it anyway. He doesn’t swing that way.”
“And you would know that because…?”
Brynjolf actually chuckled. “I’ll never tell.”
The damndest part of all this, Andante thought, is that he’s playing cruel with me. He’s been slippery as an Argonian about all matters romantic for as long as I’ve known him. There’s not a chance in Oblivion that Brynjolf has ever made advances to Hofgrir. He’s just making fun of me. And there’s not a thing I can do about it except sit here and take it, because I so badly want to keep him here, talking to me.
“Well, Brynjolf,” he said quietly, swirling his brandy, “if you’d just stop playing hard to get I wouldn’t need to resort to stable masters. I suspect he wouldn’t know what to do with me anyway.”
Brynjolf chuckled again.
Damn it all, Andante thought. I can’t get under his skin no matter what I do. Why do I even bother? He probably has some girl, some pretty little blonde Nord tucked away somewhere and I’ve just never seen her, and he laughs his ass off at me every time he’s on his way to visit her. Then he grinned, slowly. I’d love to be a fly on that wall, he thought. I’ll bet it’s a pretty picture. He was just settling in to enjoy the idea when Brynjolf’s voice broke his reverie.
“When are you going to get that job done for me, Andante? We could use the coin, and I’m waiting for that response from your…other boss.”
“Soon. Soon. I have another matter to take care of up in Dawnstar so I’m going to make a trip of it. I was actually planning on setting out shortly.”
It was a curiosity to Andante, this fixation everyone in the Guild seemed to have with finding the Redguard girl. They’d even brought the Dragonborn and his husband into the search, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He’d gotten a feeling from the husband, though, the blonde Nord. Roggi. That man, he thought, used to do more than soldier. The way he’d asked whether he was needed to apply pressure; well, that was a man who knew how to apply pressure. Regardless, Brynjolf had been pacing the floors waiting for a reply from the Listener, and Andante was going to do whatever he could to improve Brynjolf’s mood. A quick jaunt to Dawnstar was no problem, and he’d drop down to Whiterun afterward, to slip a stolen gem into a certain person’s home, on his way back.
He sipped his brandy and sighed as his vision returned to normal. “Very well, no more for this evening. You talked me out of it.” He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know why I listen to you. It’s not as though you haven’t been known to crawl into a bottle yourself. My bottles are simply — smaller.”
“Why not worry about taking care of business, lad, and keep my personal life out of it,” Brynjolf responded quietly. There was an unpleasant edge to his voice. All right then, time to wrap up this interlude and get on the road; no need to rile the Guildmaster up any more than he already was. It was a good time to travel. He tossed back the brandy and placed the snifter back on the table, then rose.
Brynjolf cast him a glance and then looked away. “Honestly. Most men would be on their backsides with the amount you put away.”
“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again, I’m not most men and I would be happy to share my secret if you’re interested,” Andante murmured, noting yet another increase in Brynjolf’s heart rate. Well my goodness, what a surprise. He’s intrigued this evening, he thought. He was playing with me and teasing me, and now he’s intrigued. So am I. He smiled his best smile at Brynjolf and noted the physical changes going on before him. Interesting, indeed.
“Happy hunting,” he murmured, then nodded and started to turn for the door. Thinking better of it, he leaned closer, putting his mouth up to Brynjolf’s ear so as not to be overheard. “Feel free to use Honeyside while I’m gone,” he murmured, wishing he dared nibble on that ear, or better yet the neck beneath it. It was desperately hard to focus, this close to him. “It is your home, after all. Perhaps a nice soak would be relaxing. And check the bedside stand on the left, if you’re interested. Help yourself. I’ll likely be gone for a few days.”
There were a good solid two dozen bottles of skooma there, gathered over months and stacked neatly for safekeeping. He had no idea whether Brynjolf indulged but the idea of it was too delicious for words. He pulled back, smiling again and admiring the bright green eyes before him. He wondered what they would look like golden, surrounded by all that flaming red hair. Delectable.
Brynjolf never so much as blinked, nor did he give away what he was thinking. “Get lost, Andante. Go do something useful.”
Andante stifled a laugh. By the Eight the man is good, he thought. He knows what I want and he almost never acknowledges it. Once or twice he had, to hand him a firm “no,” but never angrily – always gently, with an air of understanding. Andante leaned back in to whisper into Brynjolf’s ear, close enough that he knew his breath was warm on the redhead’s neck. “You don’t really mean that, do you? You’d miss me if I were lost.”
Andante knew he had no chance of winning against Brynjolf in a battle of wills, but it was always a challenge to try. That was part of what made the man so fascinating. In the long months he’d known the man Brynjolf had easily — and often — nudged him in directions he otherwise wouldn’t have gone. He hadn’t a clue as to how Brynjolf did it. Try as he might, he’d not been able to break through the Guildmaster’s shell in return. He had the sense, though, that there was perhaps the tiniest chink in Brynjolf’s armor on this particular evening. Intriguing, indeed.
Brynjolf growled. “I’m telling you, lad, if you weren’t such a good thief I’d have to hurt you. Hit the road.”
Andante smiled again. Ah but you don’t understand, he thought. I can hear what’s going on in that lovely body of yours and you, my friend, are lying through your teeth this evening. I wonder what I’ve done to arouse your interest. Is it the idea of indulging yourself a bit in the quiet of your own home? Or is it just me and my peculiar charms? He sighed. No, of course it isn’t. Who am I fooling but myself.
“Alas, you are right, I need to be off,” he said, mocking a sad face. Then he dropped his act. “Seriously, Brynjolf, if you need to get out of the Cistern for a couple of nights, feel free. You look as though a break might do you some good.” As much as he loved to tease Brynjolf, he did like him, and he had seemed particularly on edge recently.
Brynjolf’s gaze shifted to him for just a moment, then went back to scanning the room. Ah, Andante thought. I surprised him. Interesting. Just be myself, is that the thing that you want? I’ll bear that in mind. If I ever figure out who I am I’ll be happy to share.
“Thank you, lad. I may just do that. But you can stop referring to it as my home. I gave it to you, didn’t I.”
Andante smirked, and bowed the slightest of bows. “As you say. I’ll be back in a few days and I’ll bring your coin and your information to you. And don’t feel as though you need to clear out. I don’t mind sharing.”
He grinned as Brynjolf rolled his eyes.
“Get going, lad, before I have to do something I’ll regret later.”
They locked eyes for a moment. Andante smiled and began to turn toward the door. Ah, you want me and you know it, he thought. In your dreams, Brynjolf’s eyes said in response. Then the most remarkable thing happened. Brynjolf smiled. A big, brilliant, knowing smile.
Andante almost tripped over his own feet. Holy mother of Mara, he thought. Lay me down and take me now, but that’s a smile. He shook his head as he reached the door. I was in no way prepared for that. I may need to fortify myself for the road ahead.
And he did just that. In spite of his vague assurances to Brynjolf, he whisked one of the small, expensive bottles out of his pocket and downed it before breaking into the fast, steady pace that only a vampire could achieve. He would be in Dawnstar in just a few hours. And he would be hunting along the way.