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Later, long after it happened, he would remember his carrier’s words. ”Not all of us are meant for this life, Jazzy. Some of us are meant for bigger things, and we don’t get to have a say in it.” She’d been talking about another member of the guild, one who’d gone straight and married rich, but her words would be applicable to his situation too. (And she would have laughed at him, on top of it.)
It started the way most of his days did, since her passing. He got up from his cot in the tiny room they’d given him in guild headquarters, out of sympathy or maybe pity, got his morning fuel and then went out onto the street to find a good mark or two. Jazz didn’t have a quota like some of the younger thieves, but he was expected to come back with something every day to earn his keep.
He’d just picked out someone who looked like a good mark, healthy looking with the sort of well kept armor that implied wealth, and an undisguised magic weapon glowing softly in the morning air. Jazz would have thought the mech was an idiot for having it out like that, but he’d learned long ago that most mechs couldn’t tell if a weapon was magical or not and they certainly couldn’t see the aura around them if they were. (He’d inherited that from his grandsire, according to his carrier, but he’d never met the mech to know if it was true or not.)
His mark seemed oblivious to the city around them, as he reached into a pouch and pulled out a map. It looked old, and was very worn, and it looked like it marked out parts of the city that his carrier had always claimed were important to one or another of the gods. The map was probably as valuable as the weapon, to the right buyer, and he decided it would be worth it to lift that, too.
Jazz followed the mech carefully when he started walking again, through the more populated part of the city and down into the old section, where the buildings were barely usable and the ancient graveyard attracted ghosts and ghouls. He was glad it was daylight as they passed, because he didn’t want to have to fight off a ghoul if it shambled into the street after them.
Though, as they wound their way into the old city’s depths, he couldn’t shake the feeling of optics on him. When a glance over his shoulder didn’t reveal any following ghosts, a trickle of unease made its way into his spark. But Jazz hadn’t come up as far in the Guild’s ranks as he had by letting a bad feeling or two stop him, not unless it was the doom and gloom that meant the guards were on their way, so he kept going. That map and that weapon would make sure that everyone in the Guild ate well for weeks, on top of giving him enough leftover to rent his own place somewhere outside of headquarters.
”I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
Jazz had no idea where that voice had come from, because there still weren’t any ghosts around that he could see, but his mark didn’t appear to have heard it. In fact, the mech was consulting that map again and not even paying attention to anything else. He was close enough that he could be certain that it mapped out the sacred places in his carrier’s stories, and apparently they were almost on top of one.
Not gonna let a spooky voice stop me, Jazz thought to himself. I’m gonna get that map, get that knife and get myself a place of my own. And then I never have to come down here again.
”You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”
Jazz wasn’t entirely sure about that. He was motivated, that was different. He followed as his mark started walking again, ducking into the shadows when they went inside one of the dilapidated buildings and using them as an almost perfect cover to reach the other mech’s side.
His spark thrilled with victory as he reached out and grabbed the hilt of the magical knife with his fingertips and pulled it gently from its sheath. Its glow cut off as he slid it into the pouch at his waist, and that was what finally got his mark’s attention.
The mech whirled around, looking for who or what had cut off the glow of his weapon. “Who’s there?!”
Jazz froze, letting the shadows conceal him.
“Come out, or I will make you.” The mech looked angry, but he didn't sound confident. There might have even been a layer of fear underneath the anger.
He might have been a rich adventurer, but he didn’t seem to be very good at it.
Jazz didn’t move.
“All right, fine!” The mech wiggled his fingers, obviously casting some kind of spell. Jazz resisted the urge to try and duck behind some cover; the mech obviously couldn't see him, so the odds of being hit were low. The spell flew off of the mech’s fingertips, a bright angry blue fireball that lit up the room and would definitely hurt even if it didn’t hit him full on.
The fireball flew into the support pillar next to him and, instead of flinging magic fire around the room or catching the whole place on fire, it splattered into glowing blue sparkles that gave away his position but didn’t hurt when they landed on his head and shoulders.
“What the frag?” His mark’s optics went wide and he stared at Jazz.
Jazz shrugged. He had no idea, either.
”I like this one,” the disembodied voice from before spoke again. ”He has spark.”
“It seems Lord Maximo favors you.” His mark lowered his hands and frowned. “But you still have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Jazz did a quick calculation of his odds of getting away. They weren't great. “Yeah? Prove it.”
The disembodied voice laughed. It probably should have been terrifying, but they’d just saved his life a moment ago and Jazz could either waste time being scared or try and figure out how to get away with his loot.
His mark sputtered. “You’re the only one here!”
Jazz shrugged. “This whole part of the city is haunted as frag.”
”Yes, I like this one.” The voice might like him, but Jazz wasn’t sure he liked them. ”Give him the sheath and be on your way. You must still complete your task before nightfall.”
The mech turned and looked up at a spot in the air. There wasn’t anything there, but that didn’t seem to matter as he addressed the voice. “You can’t be serious! That is my only weapon!”
”And you were the fool wearing it where any thief could see. Give him the sheath and return to your task.”
“Yes, Lord Maximo.” The mech sighed and unfastened the empty sheath. He tossed it to Jazz before turning away.
Jazz didn’t try to follow or move to pick up the sheath until he was lost in the shadows at the back of the building.
”I will be watching, young thief. I expect you to come, when I require your services.”
“Yeah. Guess I owe you one,” Jazz agreed carefully. His mark had called the voice ‘Lord Maximo’ twice, which meant he might actually be talking to a minor deity and not a ghost. “You gonna be fragged off if I sell the knife?”
”No. Consider it a pre-payment toward our future arrangement.”
“Great, thanks.” Jazz’s earlier feeling of concern doubled, and became edged with at least a little bit of doom. However he wanted this to turn out? Wasn’t going to happen.
The voice didn't say anything else, and Jazz turned and fled the building before his luck ran out. He’d fence the knife, give money for fuel to the guildmaster and then figure out what else he was going to do. Maybe after a few shots of fearkiller at the pub.