Page 40 of Dishonor Among Thieves
“By the gods, boy.” A man nearly as tall and massive as Neo filled the doorway. The sides of his head were shaved, and his shoulder-length hair was held back by several lengths of leather. “Is this what you call subtle?”
The cutler shook his head and held the door open for us.
“Go on, now.” He nudged Flynn on the shoulder, a loving look in his eyes despite the grumpy set of his dark brows. “Keep our father busy.”
Neo and I joined the man in his office while Flynn ran back around to the front of the shop. Syndrian crossed his arms over his chest and nodded at Neo. “Lord Oderisi.” Then he looked at me. “Miss.”
Neo extended a hand to the man and introduced me. “Syndrian, this is my wife, Brexia.”
Syndrian uncrossed his arms and shook Neo’s hand, then turned to me. “Milady, my apologies. I’d not heard that there’d been a wedding.” His sour face turned surprisingly appealing when he relaxed into a smile. “Perhaps my young brother is not the failure at thieving I suspected he’d be. At least he’s proven he can keep his mouth shut once in a while.”
At the word thieving, Neo’s visibly stiffened. “I was not aware that Flynn had shared the nature of the…work…he…”
Syndrian waved a hand. “Speak freely, and if it’s all the same to you, informally. My brother is incapable of keeping anything confidential for very long. He needed an ally in the family. Someone who understands your line of work and can assist—or cover for him—when needed.” Syndrian tapped the front of his leather apron. “Let’s just say, I dabble from time to time in the less savory side of business, if opportunity presents. Consider myself an ally to your cause, whatever that cause may be.”
Neo didn’t seem comforted by that, but we didn’t have much choice. How much Syndrian knew, I was uncertain. But was determined to find out.
“We stumbled upon a weapon,” I explained, not waiting for Neo, “in our work. Can you tell us anything about it? Where it was made, perhaps?”
Neo pulled the dagger from a scabbard inside his cloak but hesitated before setting it down. “We require absolute discretion. Not only about the visit itself, but about…this.”
I shook my head and grabbed the dagger from his hands. “Flynn wouldn’t have brought us here if he didn’t believe we could trust Syndrian.” I offered the man the weapon, but like his brother had earlier, he declined to touch it. I set it on the bare wooden desk.
The man inspected the dagger from a distance. As his well-schooled eyes studied it, he appeared to grow less suspicious and more fascinated. “I don’t believe it’s enchanted,” he said, his voice low. “May I touch it now?”
I nodded and Neo waved him on, so he carefully picked up the grip and turned the thing every direction, inspecting the way the light hit the blade, the details on the pommel.
“This craftsmanship,” he said, his voice echoing with wonder. “I’ve not seen anything like this. How did you come upon it? Where?” he asked.
Neo shook his head. “It may be safer that you remain ignorant of the details,” he said. “I mean no disrespect by that.”
“Just knowing such a blade exists is dangerous in these parts,” he agreed, running his fingertip reverently across the blade. “I assume it’s goblin-made?”
Neo and I traded a look.
“You hardly seem afraid. Not of the blade itself, and certainly not of its maker, if it is indeed as you’ve suggested,” Neo said.
“Fear.” Syndrian grimaced. “Useless emotion. I avoid it when I can. Which isn’t always, but when it comes to fine tools such as this? I feel nothing but admiration.”
“Admiration?” I echoed, thoroughly confused. The sleek, light dagger with its intricately shaped hilt was finely made and far from common, but I saw nothing that would arouse admiration. Especially in one as skilled as even the average cutler in weaponry, and from what I understood, Syndrian was far above average as far as this trade was concerned.
“Listen.” The cutler laid the dagger flat in his palm, bobbing his arm lightly up and down. He nodded in satisfaction. “There’s something inside the hilt,” he said.
“Inside? Open it,” Neo demanded, leaning over the desk. “Can you? Without destroying it?”
“Wait.” I took hold of his arm. “What if it’s a trap? Filled with poison? Perhaps we shouldn’t…”
But by the time I let the words fade from my lips, Syndrian was already unraveling the complicated leatherwork that wound its way up the grip. “Certainly could contain poison, but I don’t think there’s a mechanism to release it. Unlikely to be a trap. This is a no more than a trickster’s tool, designed to transport and conceal. Hiding cargo inside an otherwise functional weapon.” He worked intently, a look of pure fascination on his face. He muttered to himself as he loosened the plaits of leather with deft fingers. “Well-made dagger… Blade extends the length of the grip, but… Aha!”
Once he’d unraveled the tightly wound leather, it was clear the pommel could be unscrewed from the hilt. He started to twist it but then looked at Neo for approval.
“May I?” he asked. “There may be no putting back whatever’s inside.”
“Stand behind me,” Neo demanded, stepping between the desk and me.
“Syndrian said it couldn’t be a trap. Come, now.” I moved past him to get a close look as the cutler separated the pommel from the weapon.
He gasped in admiration as he peeked inside the partially hollowed out hilt. He tipped the handle, and two long, yellowing bits of something—bone, perhaps—dropped onto the desk.
