The pair regaled their audience with two more performances. One was humorous, centered on an annual festival competition in Gola-Didrith, involving some recalcitrant dire goats. The second was more suspenseful and involved stealing a painting from the highly secure tower of a local wizard. That familiar, unspoken bond with the crowd, so easily earned, was intoxicating. That’s it. Give me your trust, so I can take your coin!

  Maybe it was his vulnerability, laid bare through the stories, or the shared laughs. But when he was done, the audience felt like they knew him, trusted him, and treated him like a friend, a stark contrast to the feline spectacle of suspicion that turned heads when he first entered a room. Whydah experienced the same, even from the background. They had discussed it back in the earliest days of their travels. Time to exploit it.

  As Bird wrapped up the third tale, he cast out their usual request for information.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” He bowed his head in appreciation.

  “A big part of our material starts with tales of local curiosity, rumors, myth, and legends that we learn from folks like yourselves on evenings like this.” The tabby cast his arms wide. “We investigate them, and sometimes, there is a story for the world to hear. So, this is your chance to become part of the show.” He gestured towards Whydah. “We are sticking around for a drink or two and would love to hear about anything peculiar or interesting happening in the area. Even if you don’t have all the details, please, tell us about it!” The cat bowed deeply. “And once again, thank you for your generosity!”

  With that, he gave a final flourish and retreated. The audience cheered enthusiastically, some rising to their feet. Bird stepped to Whydah, the post-performance rush of euphoria racing through his veins. Beaming at the crowd, they raised their arms together in a final curtain call and began to pack up.

  Buffered from the crowd by a few feet of separation, applause, and animated post-performance discussion, these moments of transition provided the opportunity to plan The Take. What the crowd hadn’t noticed, and never did, was their deliberate reconnaissance during the performance.

  While their attention was focused on him, Whydah had all the time in the world to observe every patron. She noticed where they kept their coin purses, how full or empty they were, who drank heavily, who was mindful of their surroundings, and who wasn’t. This was how they set up “The Take”. Through the intelligence gathering before and during the performance, the pair would identify five or six juicy marks, fat of purse and lean on sense, and then make their move.

  They never targeted too many or took too much. Some doubt in the victim and the establishment about any robbery occurring was key. That kept them below the attention threshold of local law enforcement.

  He shot her a grin. “Fantastic show tonight, as always! Did you put a little something extra in your spell? I felt it, more than usual.”

  She beamed in appreciation. “I think I’m getting better at the casting.”

  “So, what did you see?”

  “Green hat and red beard are both still definite candidates. Accessible, fat purses, and moderate drinkers. Both have swords, though, so we’ll need to be a bit careful.”

  Bird nodded. “I saw that. Did you notice they also have matching tattoos? A line with a circle underneath it—on the backs of their necks. Weird.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, we can’t hit both; that’s too obvious. Which one do you like better?”

  “Red beard, I think. And I’d like to grab it. He’s quite tall, and I think I can get it with the right jostle.”

  He beamed. “Look at you—going for your first pull! Okay. I’ll engage the two of them in another story over a drink. Look for my cue, and I’ll give you the jostle you need.” He scanned the room. “Who else? How about overalls or blond braids?”

  Whydah shook her head.

  “Braids has a pouch that is part of her dress in the middle, at her waist. It’s tough to get to, and she isn’t carrying much. I haven’t seen overalls pay for a single drink all night.” Her eyes narrowed as her gaze shifted to the far side of the room. “But that elf...” She trailed off, with an upward nod toward the potential mark.

  “I was wondering if you noticed him. Definitely not local—too well-dressed. Belt purse left side.”

  “Yes, I saw him digging around in there for the right color.” She tipped her head, with one raised eyebrow.

  Satisfied, Bird glanced left, switching targets. “And did you catch the blacksmith? Keeps his scratch in the side pocket of his apron. How many coins left, do you think?”

  Whydah’s eyes narrowed in reflection. “I saw at least two, one tin, one yellow. He pulled them all out when paying for his last drink. Guessing he didn’t want to give her the yellow accidentally.”

  That was all they had time for, but it was enough. Packing complete, the two travelers left the stage area, threading their way to the bar while several audience members converged to intercept them.

  Bird surveyed the room one last time before stepping into the fray. This is what we want. Chaos: bodies pressed into tight spaces, unsuspicious contact, lots of shifting positions. The tabby purred quietly as he moved deftly among the crowd, using his body and fingers to search for coins.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The blacksmith was first. After shaking his hand with humble gratitude for his appreciation, Bird’s fingers deftly slipped into the apron pocket as he moved past the man to greet the next well-wisher. Sure enough, Whydah was right—two coins. Well-practiced in differentiating denominations by touch, the cat made his choice and removed his prize in one smooth motion. Child’s play.

  Meanwhile, Whydah gathered up the hat from the floor and emptied it. A glance revealed at least twenty coppers and four silvers. Not bad at all for a crowd this size. Turning her back to the room, she shoved the hat into her pack and put the coins into the purse she carried around her neck—not the most convenient, but certainly secure.

  Turning to follow Bird towards the bar, she was cut off by a dwarf who had been watching her intently all night. Suitor or fellow musician? It was usually one or the other.

  “Sharp work up there, Lassie!” Speaking in a heavy accent, he offered his hand.

  “Thank you.” She smiled and accepted the handshake. Careful; just because he’s a musician doesn’t mean he isn’t a creep. The calloused fingertips of his right hand pressed into hers as they shook. A lefty. Rare among lutists.

  “I love the sound you got, working the neck. What were you using on your index finger?”

  Reaching into the pocket of her pack, Whydah pulled out the neck of a whiskey bottle she had broken off and sanded down to avoid injury.

  “Oh, you mean this—my slide?”

  “From a whiskey bottle. That’s brilliant! How does it work?”

  Appreciating the positive feedback for her play, Whydah illustrated how she used the slide and transposed the frets she needed to play above it with her remaining fingers. Instinctively, she noticed the dwarf’s reasonably plump coin purse on his left hip. As he still looked a little puzzled, she seized the opportunity.

  “Here, let me show you.” She quickly dropped her pack and freed the lute after handing over the slide. The dwarf squeezed his plump right index finger into the glass tube before accepting the instrument. Stepping behind her mark, Whydah used her right hand to guide his fingers into place. The dwarf bridged all the strings with the slide, placing his other fingers on the fretboard ahead of it. He didn’t notice her left hand delicately fishing into his coin purse, relieving him of three silvers. Gotcha!

  “Aye, I get it now—brill! Thanks for that. I’ve got to make me one of those.”

  She took back the lute and turned away, reattached it to her pack while simultaneously sliding her silver spoils safely into the side pocket. With some effort, the dwarf pried the slide off his sausage finger and offered it back to her.

  “You know what…keep it. That one’s a little too big for me. Consider it a gift.”

  The dwarf beamed in appreciation, thanked her, and shook her hand again before leaving. As he turned to go, a wry smile spread across her face.

  Feeling rather proud of herself for making her first pull (as Bird called it) all on her own, Whydah picked up her pack and navigated towards the tabby’s fuzzy black head bobbing above the crowd by the bar.

  For his part, the cat had already notched two successes, having secured the entire coin purse from the previously identified elf. He reflected on how he’d slid his finger between purse and belt and severed the silk, liberating the currency and its vessel into his gentle grasp before tucking it safely under his jerkin. Retractable claws do make things so much easier. He stood at the bar with the evening’s primary targets—Green Hat and Red Beard with their matching tattoos—whose names he learned were Aarol and Vern. Or was it the other way around?

  Regardless, he was regaling them with a detailed account of the time they had been plucked out of thin air by a gnomish inventor mage to deal with an ice dragon terrorizing the local community. He shivered involuntarily, recalling the bodies of other local champions, frozen trophies entombed within the dragon’s lair. His audience, however, couldn’t get enough.

  They hung on every word, precisely the objective, as he set the stage for his halfling protege to make her bump and grab. Where is she? His annoyance bubbled up. The timing for this was critical. He drew out the detail to stall, waiting for her to cross the floor.

  As it happened, the cause of Whydah’s delay was at least worthwhile. Heading for Bird’s position, she was once again cut off. This time by a sheepish, middle-aged human. He repetitively made brief eye contact before returning to look at the floor, hands nervously clasped at his waist. Not a threat. Nonetheless, he stood directly between the halfling and her desired destination.

  “Miss Whydah?”

  “Yes, hi!”

  “Your friend, the cat, he said you were interested in hearing about anything out of the ordinary…” His voice trailed off. His pronunciation of the word ‘ordinary’ told Whydah he was uneducated, and his clothes were the shabby garb of a lifelong farmer.

  “Oh yes! We are very interested in anything like that, especially if it involves magic or strange creatures…mister…?” His eyes rose to meet hers, and his gaze softened.

  “Garn. Ned Garn. Now this is somewhat second-hand, mind, but one of my waggoners was telling me just this morning about the Luminarium abbey.”

  Her brain tingled in unexpected recognition. An old adventuring partner and good friend had opted to settle down at the Luminarium a year or so back.

  “What about it? What happened?” Her tone shifted to genuine concern.

  “Now, he didn’t know exactly what happened, but he said the abbey was razed to the ground, still burning. He saw it from Shand Road on his way back from Godobeth. He planned to stop there but thought better of it after seeing the smoke and camped rough by the riverside instead.”

  Oh shit! Tsuta!

  Over the next few minutes, Whydah learned they were a day's ride from the Abbey and that the detail was one day old. Can’t think about this right now. Stay on task. She thanked the farmer and resumed her journey towards the outbursts of laughter and amazement over by the bar that would undoubtedly have Bird at their center.

  The tabby felt a sense of relief as he spied her skulking through the crowd towards him. Finally! He was nearing the trigger point of the story and couldn’t stretch it out much longer. Catching her eye, he raised his right brow, telling her to get ready. She’s as white as a ghost. Can’t worry about that right now; the wheels are in motion. He was at the point in the story where they subdued the dragon with a magic ball of iron bands. It’s now or never. Come on, girl, get yourself together.

  Whydah knew the tale well and quietly took up position unnoticed behind Red Beard, her pack at her feet. As Bird described throwing the magic ball at the dragon, its iron bands exploding in a burst of light and lashing the creature in place, he leaned forward and grabbed Red Beard by the shoulders for emphasis.

  Shifting his weight to lean slightly on his target, the move surprised the human, and he took a half-step back to steady himself, stumbling right into Whydah. This was “the bump”. With the impact, she made her move.

  Feigning a backward fall, she grabbed the man’s coat in her left hand, sliding her right into the pocket holding his coin purse. Once secured, she withdrew it and allowed her left hand to slide down his back as she “fell” to the floor. Taking care to roll onto her stomach, shielding his line of sight, Whydah tucked the purse into the open pocket of her pack.

  Surprised by the contact, Red Beard instinctively turned, realizing he’d knocked the halfling over. There was an extended pause as he gazed down at her, expressionless. His hand drifted slowly toward the now-absent purse.

  Her breath caught in her throat. He knows!

  Heart racing, her mind screamed to flee, but her limbs wouldn’t respond.

  The Glimmerstone Enigma?

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