Stonebane bolts punched into the walls with audible, metallic bites. Three in unison, two meters apart in a vertical line from top to bottom. The connected laminated fiber was wound tight by the turning of a small wheel at the base of the crossbow, leaving a solid line of rope from the wall to their belts. Methodically, the crew attached their threads to a joint-thread, realigning it with a specialized bolt before it was loosed. The joint-thread slid along all three laminated fibers, closing them up and making them a part of a single, securely fastened three pronged rope. Galt waited until the rope was as tight as it could be, and yanked on it for good measure. 

Bonnie and Steimos shouldered their crossbows as Galt vaulted over the lip of the building, taking point. He landed rougher than he wanted to, but he did his best not to cry out. Instead he cursed. Cursed himself and his Gods damned luck. He neatly leaped over some ornamental brush, silently sliding under a fence placed only for aesthetic purposes. His slide stopped right behind a walking patrolman. To Galt's credit, he didn't make a sound or even looked distressed, even as his heart banged in his years. The sheath at the watch's hip held a wicked sword, Galt had no doubts. The blades of Stauldin were infamously sharp and well forged. He only allowed himself to swallow nervously before he hopped up and slipped behind a garden wall, eyes soaking in the dim collection of foliage. Two seconds and he began to move again, finding purchase on the far wall of the building, following the line of the rope and ascending, grabbing lines and flaws in the stone of the wall. The whistling of the rope sliding through the steel ring of his belt. 

Behind him, he felt the rope shudder, suggesting further weight was now burdening the line. He glanced downwards and saw the other two members of his crew following. He was glad they had followed so closely, but knew without a doubt if he had aroused the guard, they would have left him to die. Couldn't exactly blame them, but he would be far happier with more loyal friends. He cleared his throat as silently as he could once he reached the fifth floor, taking out a glasscutter and pressing his sweaty palm at the center of the window, pushing off the wall with his feet until he was standing vertically, using naught but the thread to keep him from falling. Luckily, the three bolts held up his weight. 

Galt held his breath, the quiet deafening as he pressed the blade to the glass and pierced it, cutting a circle big enough for a man to shimmy through. It was slow going, the scoundrel certain it would snag and stop halfway. He almost wish it had. Bad luck could be traded in for good fortune. When everything went right, that was when you needed to be most careful. Once he was nearing the end of the cut, he dipped the blade beyond the circle of glass to tip the material toward himself, pulling with his sweaty hand in a common albeit less-than-sure trick. 

He placed his cutter back in his belt and grabbed the flat edge of the glass circle. Galt's eyes flicked to inside, the darkness permeating the room obscured his vision beyond the vague shapes of bookshelves and a large desk. There were no signs of anyone inside, but Galt hesitated. Galt wasn't first in because he was brave or foolhardy. Galt wasn't a brave man; some might even call him coward. He ran from every fight he could. He let others go before him, took chances only his arrogance would allow, and he never bet on a losing horse, no matter how much he liked it. 

But they had drawn straws, and his had come up short as a cold cock. 

Stepping in, he let the rope swing him within until half his form was through, shifting his weight to plant his feet on the floor, finally unhooking the thread from his belt. His eyes did not linger anywhere too long, searching the room for any sign of trouble. It was an office of some kind, a book-keeper's den of little worth but much information, like as not. Unfortunately, it wasn't what they were there for. Next in was Bonnie, silently sliding in head first as Galt surreptitiously hid the glass pane under the desk. 

She searched the room as if she was the first one in, Galt side-eyeing her with little patience. He let her do her thing, stepping to the door and checking for any traps, spring loaded or weight activated. As far as he could tell, none were present. He slowly gripped the handled and held his breath as he turned it, the door swinging open silently. His foot followed in its wake, placing his weight of the hall tile. It creaked ever so gently, but it wasn't loud enough to raise any alarm as long as they played it safe. Galt glanced behind him, Steimos wheeling the rope up, a grimace on his square face. Bonnie rolled her finger over and over like a wagon wheel, glaring at Galt, clearly impatient for him to move. The thief never knew what he saw in her, and regretting breaking the first rule of business. 

Don't mix it with pleasure.  

The corridor was rich with fine tiled wood the color of burgundy. Small lights gleamed from doorways, but any novice could tell it was the moonlight filtering in from open-curtained windows. Galt went right, and while he would have preferred to think of himself like a stalking tiger, he felt very much like a deer, instead. Quiet and frightened, ready to scream at the slightest hint of discovery. He had already been run out of his previous city, and he couldn't stand living out of garbage or stealing pocket change for another year. His stomach and psyche couldn't handle the shame. 

"Pst," Galt heard, just as he was about to step into a luxurious dining room. A stolen moonlit glance showed it was connected to some sort of library, well stocked and ornate from the looks of it. A glint on the table reminded him of the silverware, and not a misleading name if their information was to be correct. The forks and knives were reputedly true silver. But he had to rip his eyes away from the delectable prize, catching Bonnie mimicking a jackdaw with her hands, subtle movements of her fingers displaying the thieves cant. 

'Not that way. We stay together!' She signed irritably. Steimos was behind her, stepping out of the door and checking for pressure plates along the floor with a surgeon's precision.

'This room connects to the other' he flashed, and continued forward without bothering to wait for a reply. By the luck of the Gods, there was a carpet in this room, and he could walk about easier. The opposite wall held a large window, where the light poured in and gave the forks a glittering, mesmerizing quality. Expensive porcelain dishes were arrayed on a tall cabinet to the right, and doubtless more utensils were stacked within the drawers. By the door stood a desk, and atop it, an archaic dagger sat on a stand. Its hilt gilded and the leather sheath arrayed in silvery patterns. Galt took it gingerly, knowing it was probably useless as a weapon but dangerous expensive. He then plucked every piece of silverware he found off the table and dropped them into his belt sack. Across the way, he caught dark silhouettes moving through the small library, opening cabinets and fishing through drawers. Bonnie, or what he assumed was Bonnie, knelt by a crate, no, a safe? She began to wheel the lock, ear pressed to the steel as her rump lifted in the air. 

Yep, definitely Bonnie. He would recognize that ass anywhere.

He turned back to the table, wondering if he could file off an arm of the golden candelabra at the center. Already, this seemed to be a sizeable score. The dagger and silverware alone could feed him for weeks in a comfortable inn, and he didn't have to tell Bonnie or Stiemos all that he found. Galt felt no remorse for any deceit either, because he fully expected the same of them. He had worked four jobs and been given a pittance of the split because he had no idea that's how the game was played. No honor among thieves is right! 

As Galt rounded the room, he was nothing but a shadow against the wall. His black hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin helped him blend in with the dark cowl around his form. He glanced out of the window, watching something ethereal move from somewhere across the courtyard. It wasn't until the very last moment that he realized the movement was not from something outside, but a reflection of a gun barrel rising behind him, catching the light as it moved. 

"Shit!" He cursed, feeling blood pumping through his veins as his heart rate spiked, the click of the gun followed by an ear-splitting crack. It was so loud Galt wasn't sure if the sound or the bullet shattered the window he dove past. Vaguely he heard Steimos swear in his native tongue, and suddenly the creaky hallway was clattering as footsteps thundered down the hall, the sound of swords unsheathing mixed with the cocking of pistols. 

Bonnie threw a small sphere into the hall, smoke billowing from its pores rapidly. Steimos, stronger than the other two, pulled down a towering bookshelf, books and wooden shelves crashed to the floor, pummeling the first soldier as he rounded the corner, coughing from the smoke. Galt turned and saw the man who fired on him round the corner with a saber. He wore a tricone hat and the handsome coat of a military man. Galt kicked the chair at the end of the table into his feet, causing him to stumble just before he was to give a thrust. Rolling across the floor, Galt smoothly made it to his feet just as Bonnie shoved a case into his hands. Galt felt the expensive wood, smooth on his skin. 

"What is this!?" He cried as Steimos threw a knife into a soldier's thigh, his gun firing into the ceiling. Dust and kindling fell onto his head. 

"I don't know! Just get to the rendezvous poi-!" Bonnie yelled, before a bullet punched into her lower back. The woman's body hit him, and Galt felt a wave of odd emotions as she clutched his form. Fear, anger, confusion. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but did he want her dead? Should he stay and fight? Steimos took a cut to his shoulder, crying out in pain. Bonnie's hands on Galt's cowl yanked at him one last time, and he saw her look right into his eyes as she mouthed 'go, you idiot.' 

Galt did just that. The window was no match for a ball of leather, cloth, and terrified thief, and as Galt plummeted toward the tall hedges, he remembered one man cry out in despair. 

"He has the Map of Algorab! Find him!"  
[hr]
The bleeding on his arm had stopped, but apparently so had his luck.  

Galt watched the churning waves with a new set of worries on his face. Gunsmoke and the spray of the sea filled his senses as the merchant vessel threatened to overturn. The ship was a brig, if Galt knew his ships, and truth be told, he really didn't. The ship was just not well guarded, and he had been dodging patrolmen all night. Several times he had been spotted, and like a fox on the run, he ran back and forth, doubling back to keep men off his trail as he circumvented the city, and once he felt relatively well-off, he went straight for the docks. The gates would be well guarded and roads traveled by the king's men. Apprehending a cloak from a warehouse, he had donned it and bribed his way onboard the merchant vessel just before it set off. 

Now he had to deal with sea bandits as well as the law. 

"Bloody pirates, just go the fuck away." He prayed, clutching the case in his hands as the battle raged on.