(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

"Me name's Ratbone, cutter. I'm a thief-fer-hire in the employ o'
Sharegrave, the boss o' the Collectors ye see 'round this square. He pays me
mostly ta learn his lads ta be real quiet-like, an' how ta fight if they runs inta
a spot o' trouble. That's likely the only questions I'll answer fer ye, cutter."
He sniffed and shrugged.
I relaxed, "Thief for hire? Could you train me?"
He nodded and pursed his lips. "Sure, fer a spot o' jink. Been trained
before?"
"No, I haven't."
"That's fine. I'm gonna cuff ye, now, so dodge it." He suddenly swung his
open hand at my head, and I leapt back in time.
He gave a nod of approval. "Not bad, cutter. Now about that spot o' jink...
fifty commons an' I'll see ye trained right up."
"Sounds good. Here," the coins clinked thickly into his palm.
I had already spent too many hours and done too many jogs between
Mebbeth's hut and the marketplace for training, but Ratbone made things
short and sweet. His lessons on the basics of thievery were detailed, but I
found myself picking up the subtle nuances of the trade quickly. The stances
and techniques were oddly familiar, like the handshake of an old friend.
After a long period of training, Ratbone nodded at me in satisfaction. "I must
say, cutter - never have I run across a faster learner. I'd almost say ye've
done this all before!"
I dusted off my hands. A good set of skills if I ever needed it, but for now
magery would probably help a bit more. "Thanks, Ratbone," I said, and
pointed back to the pathway. "Do you know how to get through that
trash-packed archway northwest of here?"
Ratbone blinked. "Eh? Nay, I don't. Say... ye could ask Creeden, the
Rat-Catcher. Sometimes he goes pokin' about up there an' disappears for an
odd while. Creeden's usually in the Hive, right outside the Office o' Vermin
and' Disease Control."
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