A Drink in Toulon - Part 1 - (A Kip the Quick Adventure)

A thrilling romp with theft, magic, and humor.

Kip the Quick is a thief and a rogue, but he wants to go legit. Really, he does. So, when he meets with a nobleman to talk trade, all is fine and dandy until someone comes knocking. Loudly. And violently. Where’s a good spot of the Essence, when you really need some?

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Part 1

A SEAGULL CRIED OUTSIDE OF THE WAREHOUSE as I crept through the shadows, listening for patrolling guards, hunting for treasure. A couple workers labored at the other end, unloading goods under the watch of a beefy guard. Stacks of crates and barrels lined the walls and filled the center of the vaulted space, waiting for their chance at transport.

“That’s everything!” called a worker with a harsh accent and red hair, climbing up to the driver’s seat. The now empty wagon rolled toward the set of wide doors, the guards watching placidly. And then I found two crates stamped with a black stylized “A”—the emblem of Aengus and Carrick.

“At last…” I ran my hand over the symbol, knowing the value of the contents within.

Two months in the making, I’d finally uncovered the time of delivery and snuck my way in, clinging to the undercarriage of a wagon that smelled like fish and bird droppings.

Earlier that morning, my erstwhile associate, Twinky, had asked, “You sure you want to do this?”

“Of course.” I had given her my most wounded-pride look.

“You know what they do if they catch you.”

Oh, I knew. But... “First, they have to catch me.”

And it was all worth the risk, for this crate right here would make me handsomely rich…

But no time to get lost in thoughts of how fast I would spend my silver. Not when I had to time the noise of my theft just right. So, I dropped to my knees and waited till the wagon drew even with the guards, the noise of the mule’s hooves thumping the boards of the river dock, the axle grinding, and the harnesses clinking like a bag full of copper macs.

I wedged the heavy claw bar into the gap of the lid, gave a heave, and popped the top with a squeal of the nail.

Peeking over the crate, I watched, waited, then smiled wide when the guards didn’t turn my way. The wagon driver waved as he pulled out into the morning fog.

Reaching into the crate, I pulled out a small sack. The dried leaf inside was surprisingly heavy for a small bag; the paper wrapping unremarkable except for the stamped “A”. But inside, the leaves were worth their weight in gold. This was no tea leaf. No. It was colaine. A drink of the wealthy. A vice of the Ashen. My hand hesitated, I wanted to pull out another—really, I wanted ten. But one was already pushing what I could sneak through the city undetected.

So I only took two.

Pushing them into my satchel, I rose, adjusted my hat down, and resettled my ragged coat, hiding my clean shirt beneath. Time to go…

Right out the front door.

It should be said that the spoils went to the bold, and Kip the Quick was as bold as they came.

Walking careful, quiet, I approached the doors, growing the volume of my step from the subconscious to just barely audible as I drew even. The guards were still faced out, each one strapped with a short sword, a small club, and chiseled features possibly earned by an actual chisel. My heart was beating hard, but all was planned, and in the heat of the moment, I was as calm as a child at slumber.

When they turned their heads in to see me walking out, I called to the wagon driver like he was daft, “Wait for your partner, fool!” For all they knew, I was nothing more than a dockhand following the wagon. A dockhand with a limp and one shoulder raised higher than the other, like some deformity.

I nodded at the guards, keeping my head down, sowing my doubt. “He’d forget the wagon if it weren’t harnessed to the mule.”

Mistress Filelle would have applauded my performance, even if she would not have approved the motive. Either way, I won the trust of the guards, for I got a full five paces past before they realized something was amiss.

“Hey! You!”

I wasn’t about to stop and exchange names, so I took off at a lumbered, limping run across the docks.

“Stop, thief!”

So predictable that, but Kip the Quick didn’t stop for anyone. 

Running straight for a two-masted ship bobbing on the river’s current, I ran up the ramp with my affected limp. At the top, I grabbed a bucket and tossed it down, one guard jumping the bucket as it rolled, the other tripping and falling into the dirty River Lon below. I wove across the deck to the other side, a sailor emerging from below deck at the cry of the guards.

“Hi!” But I wasn’t here to chat. Running at the low wall, I jumped to the top and pushed off, leaping through the air to the adjacent boat two feet below. A couple sailors jumped after, arms wheeling, one missed, hitting the murky water with a curse and a splash. The others continued the chase, a couple guards following. The cry of “thief” was repeated behind. So unimaginative. I pounded down the deck to aft, up the short set of stairs to the upper deck where a fellow was sprawled against the low wall with a bottle. I grabbed a rope, hooked my arm, and went swinging to the adjacent ship, feet dangling over open water, wind in my face.

I would have shouted for joy, but I had to keep my head.

“Pardon me!” I bumped two sailors to the deck as I landed, ran down the ramp to the docks, and then toward the bustling river market with my awkward gait. Winding past morning shoppers, the smell of fish in the air, I ducked behind a stall, shedding my coat and hat. Then I popped out into the street wearing a clean shirt with a nice ruffled collar, a man reborn.

Standing straight, shoulders back, perfectly unaware of the morning’s theft. I strode with purpose away from the market, docks to my left, as the group of now four guards and two sailors scrambled across to the last ship yelling at the seamen I had bumped.

“He went that way!” They pointed behind me into the market. I smiled, approaching a small painted carriage, trying not to gaze with too much pride as the men swarmed the market behind me, oblivious of my escape.

The driver of the carriage hopped down, a short gal shaped like a sack of potatoes. “Need a ride, sir?”

“Sounds delightful, Twinky.” I didn’t know where the name came from, but there was no one quite like her. And she was trustworthy…for a price. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?” I gestured to the dreary fog, a column of foul smoke from a smithy and a tannery running a slide of sludge into the River Lon’s putrid waters.

“Enjoy your shopping?”

“Always.”

Twinky shook the reins, and her old roan gelding I had taken to calling Pruneface started to pull the carriage forward. Sitting back, I relaxed, patting the satchel softly that was full of two sacks of colaine. The carriage rolled over cobbles, leaving the docks of the River Lon behind, men still shouting as they searched the market.

As expensive as colaine was, it was nothing like the price of a vial of Essence. But this sale would set me up for a month of good living: relaxed nights and carefree days. Or it would have…

But I would use the proceeds from this theft to go legit. Story of my life. And sometimes I had to wonder…

What was the point?

If I was born into this life of thieving, then maybe this was just my lot. Why should I dismiss such god-given skills? I shook my head. But there was a short, curly-headed girl in Tander that would have twisted her lips up at me, and perhaps…if nothing else, perhaps I would keep trying…for her.

“Time to make me into an honest man, Curly,” I whispered. I had the money, I had an appointment with a noble and a trade deal that could lay the work for some regular income.

If I could stomach it.

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Thanks for reading Part 1 of A Drink in Toulon. Part 2 is coming in 2 days. Click Subscribe to get an email as soon as it comes out. Share this post and leave a comment below.

Have you read the first book, Kip the Quick? The sequel is coming soon. Read the book that started it all here.

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