Brynjolf showed Dagnell a quicker way to get out of the Guild, a ladder that led out of the Cistern to an exit in the Riften cemetery. When he pulled the chain next to the wall, a heavy stone false sarcophagus slid back over a staircase, opening into a shelter behind the Temple of Mara. Then he walked back to the Flagon with her and resumed the same spot at the bar, sliding a few more coins across for Vekel.
After a few moments of silence, she spoke up. “So. All this coin you’ve told me about. How do I get my cut?” She needed it. She wanted out as soon as humanly possible.
“Simple. Do as you’re told and keep your blade clean. This isn’t the Dark Brotherhood. We can’t make a profit by killing. It’s expensive to dispose of bodies and get rid of evidence.” Dag tried not to think about the background behind that statement, and failed.
“Alright. That seems reasonable. Tell me about Goldenglow.”
Goldenglow Estate, he told her, was a bee farm, on an island in the middle of Lake Honrich. It was the one she had seen the previous day; the only way in was over the bridge. There had been men guarding it. They hadn’t looked friendly.
“They raise the wretched little things for the honey. It’s owned by some smart-mouthed wood elf named Aringoth. It used to be a substantial source of our income, but suddenly he’s replaced our city guards with mercenaries, and cut us out. We need you to teach him a lesson by burning down three of the estate’s hives and clearing out the safe in the main house. Nothing will tell the people of Riften we mean business better than a huge column of smoke.” He paused to take a drink. “The catch is that you can’t burn the whole place to the ground. That important client Mercer mentioned would be furious if you did, and the last thing we want to be doing is crossing our clients.”
Dag nodded. “Makes sense. But…”
“Yes?”
“What do I do about Aringoth, assuming I can get in past the guards?”
“Maven prefers that Aringoth remains alive, but if he gives you any trouble,” and he stopped for another swallow of mead, “kill him.” His voice had an edge to it that ran a shudder up her back. She didn’t want to get on the wrong side of that. But whether purposefully or not, he’d also just told her that Maven Black-Briar was the “important client.” Things got more complicated by the moment.
“The Guild has a lot riding on this,” Brynjolf said. “Don’t make me look foolish by mucking it up.”
She snorted. It’s all about you, isn’t it, Red? “Don’t worry, I won’t. Haven’t mucked anything else up for you so far, have I?”
He frowned at her. “No you haven’t. Keep it that way. Oh, and talk to Vex and Delvin Mallory. They know their way around. Vex can give you some pointers about Goldenglow.”
She pondered for a moment. He’d been sitting here drinking for ages; maybe he was feeling a little mellow, and she was dying to ask him something. “I know it isn’t really my place, but as you’ve no doubt noticed I’m not above sticking my foot in it. Can I ask you a question?”
His eyebrow rose. “Shoot.”
“Well, ok. Almost everyone in here is pretty much unremarkable-looking, could blend right in with any crowd. Including me, if you’re counting me as part of the Guild. I’m tiny and nondescript.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I do,” he said. “That was the general idea.”
“It makes sense,” she continued. “Blending in strikes me as one of the best qualities for this work. Well, you’re – not either. Tiny, or nondescript. How on earth does someone with your build and voice and bright red hair manage to, well, be a thief? And a good one, too, given your standing here. You’re not exactly inconspicuous.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Seriously, lass? Have you ever heard of a hood?” He pulled his up over his hair. It was startling; he completely disappeared into its darkness. He might just as well have had a black beard, for all that she could see. Standing in a dark corner he would have been almost invisible, big or not.
“I see what you mean. Sorry to be an idiot. Told you I’m not a thief. Or at least I wasn’t.” Ha, her inner voice told her. Keep telling yourself that. She stood to leave, but Brynjolf grabbed her arm and gave her an intense look that she couldn’t quite decipher.
“You watch yourself on that island. Those mercenaries don’t take prisoners.”
She paused a moment, surprised. “Ok, thanks.” Was he actually concerned about her, or just about how he would look if she failed? She guessed the latter. Annoying man.
Vex was stunningly beautiful, to the point where Dag wondered how she survived in this mostly male outfit. She also, as it turned out, had an enormous attitude. She was the best infiltrator in the place, she said, and if Dag intended to replace her she should think again.
“Back off, I know the drill.” Dag hadn’t been surviving on her own so long by trying to usurp people’s places. She had seen what happened to people who did.
Vex nodded. “Good. Now you, I like. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
According to Vex, the reason she hadn’t succeeded at Goldenglow was that there were a lot more mercenaries than there had been city guards. There were eight of them at minimum, and they were nasty. However, there was also an old sewer grate near the estate that dropped down into passages leading right to the house; that was the safest way to get inside. Then she looked at Dag, serious.
“I’m not going to lie to you. The Guild is in a bad way down here. Old Delvin says we’re cursed. I just think it’s just bad luck. Either way, we need this job. Don’t muck it up.”
Delvin Mallory was the older Breton man she’d first seen when coming into the Ragged Flagon for the first time. He looked to be older than Mercer Frey, but it was hard to tell without hair color to give a hint.
“Brynjolf,” he said. His voice was strongly accented but soft and really rather pleasant. “Let me guess, he picked you off the street and dropped you into the thick of things without telling you which end is up.”
“More or less,” she nodded, smirking. “I could definitely use some advice.” Obviously he’d known Brynjolf for a long time. Delvin told her he or Vex could get her extra work any time; all she had to do was ask, and they all certainly could use the coin.
“Ok, I’ll do that,” she agreed. Assuming I survive this next errand.
Then he sighed. “Look at this place. The Guild, the Flagon, it’s all falling apart. A decade or two ago it used to be as busy as the Imperial City down here. Our luck is running dry. Something out there is piss-drunk mad at us. I think we’ve been cursed. But we’re going to spit in that curse’s eye and put things back the way they used to be.” Dag stared at him. He did sound crazy. Mercer and Brynjolf seemed to trust him, though, so it probably didn’t matter if he was. Besides, there was something about him that appealed to her, maybe the humor she’d seen hints of.
“By the way, be careful with Goldenglow. Those mercenaries are trained killers,” Delvin offered, in an intense tone that raised the hair on the back of her neck. She hadn’t asked him about Goldenglow, but Delvin knew. She nodded and left him, wondering what his story really was.
A surly blonde man with huge mutton chops spoke to her as she passed his table. “I don’t care if you’re best buddies with the guild master, pull anything and you’ll hear from me. Name’s Dirge.” She recognized his voice; he’d been in the Flagon when she came in.
“Oh? Why do they call you Dirge?” she asked.
“Because I’m the last thing you hear before they put you in the ground.”
Dag couldn’t help it; her mouth twitched into a grin.
“What, do you think that’s funny?”
“Oh no, not at all,” she said. “It’s a very scary name.”
He grunted and muttered “Yeah. Whatever. Watch yourself.”
She walked away laughing inside. Dirge was probably very good at something but humor did not appear to be that thing.
At the far end of the Flagon, near some of the bar’s tables, was a Redguard woman with graying hair, wearing a light brown leather outfit. She caught Dag’s eye and waved her over. “Welcome to the cozy little family,” she said, explaining that she was Tonilia, the Guild’s fence, and would gladly buy anything Dag didn’t exactly own. While Dag smiled at that wording, Tonilia looked her up and down, then reached into a crate near her and pulled out a set of leathers, built like the ones Brynjolf, Mercer, Vex and Delvin wore but in brown, darker than Tonilia’s but lighter than Brynjolf’s blacks. “Here. They should fit. Put them to good use, all right?”
Dag handled the armor and had a hard time not to drool. It was beautiful. This supple set of leathers was even better than the ones the bandits had stripped from her when they attacked J’hall’s cart, and immensely better than what she had toggled together in Windhelm. Better yet, they felt imbued with magic of some kind. She couldn’t tell what type of magic and didn’t care; ducking into one of the empty alcoves she hurried herself into them and sighed happily. Perfect. Comfortable. And there was a hood – a fact that made her snicker. It wasn’t as though she had bright red hair to hide, and as dark as she was already she was going to fade into nothingness in this armor; but the more cover the better if she was going to be sneaking into some estate.
Near the exit was a wood elf who introduced himself as Niruin, practicing archery; though why he needed practice was a mystery to her. Every arrow landed dead center in his target; he was clearly a master. Next to him were a couple of young men, both exceptionally attractive, one in war paint. They both had the air of people one did not mess with for any reason. All of them were wearing the same armor she now wore. She decided that the color must denote rank in the Guild, and that meant that Brynjolf had actually been pretty generous, given the amount of time he had taken with her. He could easily have just left her to fend for herself and walked away, as Delvin had assumed.
Dag watched them all for a moment. Family, huh? They did act like people who lived together, certainly; it was clear to see that there was the usual complement of annoyance with each other. She didn’t see a lot of affection. On the other hand, family was not a term Dag associated with herself or had a lot of experience with. What she did see was a lot of tension. It was palpable. Whatever was going on with the Guild had all of them on edge.
As she was leaving the Cistern, Dag saw that Brynjolf had come into the room and was talking to some of his thieves. He caught her gaze as she passed by. “All eyes are on you, lass. Don’t disappoint me.” For someone so sure of himself and his ability to read other people he wasn’t terribly good at hiding his own emotions, she thought. Either that, or she was just as good at reading people as he was. He was clearly more concerned about things at the Guild than he was letting on; and so were most of the others. A new recruit’s success on one job should not be so important.