It,
A client of mine desires a certain manuscript that is currently sitting on a desk at the offices of Tyme Waterdeep, Ltd. It is in a traveling folder in the top office overlooking the street, and the publisher returns this evening. Fetch it discreetly. An emissary of mine will take it off your hands later.
You will be ivell compensated should you succeed.
Murph
P.S. The traveling folder should have the monogram VG on it. Let me reiterate, discretion is desired.
I looked up, and the lad was still standing there.
'Kitten said I should lend you any assistance I could, provided I don't have to break the law or anything,' he offered.
'Of course,' I replied, then thought, I guess that's my job.
Dawn was still an hour or two away, and with no time like the present, I set off for the offices of Tyme Water-deep, Ltd. The lad showed me the way, and scurried home once I was firmly ensconced in the shadows of Faerun's most powerful publishing firm.
Not wishing to overlook the easiest and most obvious course of action, I tried the door. It was bolted from within. I would have to find another way.
My eyes were accustomed to the predawn light, and I scanned both sides of the street for another entry.
The buildings here were high and overhanging, as if to create a sheltered promenade on each side of the street. The top offices had huge, multipaned windows with sumptuous views, letting executives look down on their inferiors both metaphorically and physically. Every other building shared an external wall.
Walking up and down the street a few times, I noticed an occasional alley between buildings, some narrowed by sagging structures. One such alley was barely a body width.
Perhaps a point of access could be afforded from above. I scurried upward, left hand on one building and right hand on the other. It was hand and foot to brick and crack, upward, until I had reached the roof.
None the worse for wear, I crept forward until I was situated over the publisher's offices. My efforts were rewarded with a skylight.
Though it was obviously latched from within, I was quickly able to remove the pins from its hinges and shift it forward on the latch.
Silently I lowered myself inside, and came to rest on the publisher's desk itself. My steps were cushioned by various mounds of paper, one of which was crowned by a traveling folder bearing the monogram VG.
Securing the object of my quest beneath my belt and behind my cloak, I regained the roof. I quickly closed the skylight and replaced its errant pins. Creeping to the eaves, I descended a drainpipe that led to an alley at the end of the street.
Confident I was still unobserved, I returned to the furnished room from which I had begun my quest, scant hours ago, and waited to be contacted.
I nodded to sleep, my back still cushioned by the traveling folder.
Once again I dreamt. I found myself at the mercy of the cloaked men. The room was heavy with magic, and I could feel all eyes bearing down on me. I was undeniably guilty and remained passive, willing to accept my fate.
The circle closed in on me as the dream came to an end.
A few hours later, I awoke of my own accord (a pleasant surprise) and removed the parcel from its hiding place on my person. Undoing the drawstring, I looked inside and read the cover sheet, which bore the seemingly innocuous tile, Volo's Guide to the Moonsea, the Land of Political Intrigue and Conspiracy.
I recalled the name Volo-a best-selling hack writer. Perhaps Murph's client was a rival publisher. Still, it seemed a silly thing to risk life and limb over.
I was about to read the first page when I sensed I wasn't alone. I looked up.
Kitten had arrived as silently as her namesake.
'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' she instructed. 'You're being paid to get it, not read it.'
I placed the manuscript in its folder, rebound it, and handed it over.
'Good,' Kitten said, placing it firmly in the crook of her arm. 'Follow me.'
'Where?' I inquired.
'To the place where you will be paid,' she said curtly.
I followed her outside, pausing for a moment to close the door. I couldn't help noticing three burly bodies lying in unmoving heaps by the roadside. I tried to recall if they had been there earlier, and decided they hadn't. Kitten seemed to be waiting for me.
I asked, 'Friends of yours?'
'No,' she replied, 'of yours. They, too, desired the manuscript you so eloquently retrieved. It would appear I arrived in the nick of time.'
I looked at her, and at them. Had this sweet young Kitten dispatched these rivals with her own bare hands?
'Don't worry about them,' she replied. 'The city watch is used to cleaning up detritus in this neighborhood.'
I was dumbstruck.
Kitten couldn't help noticing. She giggled, and answered my unasked question. 'I had a little help. Lothar decided not to stick around.'
Kitten once again led me through the shadowed byways of the Dock Ward, darting from shadow to shadow, with occasional stops in doorways and alcoves, until we returned to an area I recognized. It was near my place of convalescence. She saw the look of recognition in my eye, and nodded.
'No place like home,' she volunteered. 'A new furnished room has been secured for you, one of a more permanent nature than last night's accommodations.'
We entered a tavern, passed behind the bar, and up a staircase to a set of furnished rooms. Kitten put a key to one of the locks and opened the door to my new residence.
The furnishings were modest, but adequate-a comfortable bed with a warm quilt and firm pillows, a chest, a lantern, and a table with two chairs. Upon the table were two small purses and an envelope.
'I see our payment has already arrived,' Kitten announced, hastening to the table to snatch the purses, the larger of which she pocketed, the smaller of which she tossed to me.
'Here,' she volunteered, 'your accounts of the past few days have been settled, Murph's cut deducted, and your rent paid for the next two weeks. That wasn't too hard now, was it?'
At this point I noticed her arms were empty. The package bearing the manuscript was nowhere to be seen.
'The package,' I sputtered, 'where did it go?'
'I delivered it along the way,' she answered coyly. 'Maybe you're not as observant as I thought you were.' With a toss of the head, she danced past me to the doorway, pausing only briefly to kiss my cheek. 'I have to go now,' she said, 'but I'll be in touch.'
She saw the look of disappointment in my eyes, and added, 'There's plenty more where that came from. You are no doubt a man of great potential.'
'A man without a past,' I reminded her.
'Whatever,' she replied, then added, 'I'll drop by later to show you around town. Our relationship doesn't always have to be just professional.'
Before I could blink, she had left the room, and I was alone in my new home.
I felt the bag of coins and instinctively knew there was more than enough to fill my needs for a while-and provide a few amenities that were lacking. I could do some shopping later.
All that remained was the question of my identity, the shadows of my past. I remembered the envelope on the table before me. Perhaps an answer was within?
Picking up the missive, I saw that it was unad-dressed. I tore it open. Surprisingly, it was not a letter, but
