<strong>Name; Zam Sharrow</strong><br/><strong>Location; Merchants' District, Everesta</strong><br/><strong>Tagged; -</strong><br/><br/><br/>The wind made his sleeves flutter as he soared over a chasm. The moonlight glinted off stovepipes and temple roofs. A trade cutter was silhouetted against the night sky, anchored to a mooring over in the docks, the brilliant stars visible through the rigging under its gasbag.<br/><br/>In no mood for stealth, his feet slammed into the terracotta roof tiles, and he slipped. He scrabbled for purchase on the smooth surface, finally grabbing hold as his chest scraped painfully over the guttering. A crossbow quarrel<em>thocked</em>squarely into a rafter not six inches to his left, followed by a<em>crack</em>and the whine of a musket ball ricocheting off the tile. "Oh, fuck<em>off</em>!" he growled as he hauled himself up.<br/><br/>He needed to get below roof level. Up here, despite chimneys and roof gardens and towers, he had a bullseye painted on his back. He looked down into the street he was running parallel to, as another quarrel hissed past his face. He was running through - or, rather, over - a relatively poor district. There were few dedicated laundries, so there were plenty of lines webbing the lane. A glance behind showed half a dozen or so crossbowmen and fusiliers still trying to catch and/or kill him. He jumped down into the street.<br/><br/>He snagged a washing line, swinging into an arched second-floor promenade, and carried on running. The streets here branched often, so once he reached a junction he should be able to lose his pursuers and go and have a long talk with his fence.<br/><br/>Half an hour later, breathing hard and sweating profusely after running, jumping, and climbing what felt like twenty fucking<em>miles</em>, Zam Sharrow burst through the door to the Rusty Shiv, scowling around the room.<br/><br/>He saw who he was looking for, and marched over to his table, ignoring the patrons staring at him.<br/><br/>"Zam, m'boy! What- ack-" Sharrow grabbed him by the throat and dragged him towards the back room. The chair clattered to the floor.<br/><br/>"Come with me, Bors," he snarled.<br/><br/>Inside the back room, he slammed Bors against the wall, pinning him there by his neck.<br/><br/>"You mother<em>fucker</em>!" he screamed. "You set me up you backstabbing fucking bastard!"<br/><br/>Bors could only gurgle in reply, turning puce. Zam let go in disgust, watching him slide down the wall and gulp air down again. "There was no fucking way they could have known I was coming. I told one person where I'd be tonight, Bors. One fucking person."<br/><br/>"And I," gasped Bors, "... didn't tell anyone."<br/><br/>"Bullshit."<br/><br/>"I'm sorry you were discovered. It hurts both our incomes, see? But, really, Zam, m'boy, you can't blame this one on me. I-"<br/><br/>"You saying this was my fucking fault?"<br/><br/>"No, that's-"<br/><br/>"I don't fucking make mistakes, you little shit."<br/><br/>"Sometimes you don't have to! Sometimes the guards get lucky, or their bosses do, or whatever. You don't win them all. Put it down to expenses and experience, and move on."<br/><br/>"Oh, I still got the item. And you're still going to pay me."<br/><br/>"What, after they saw you leaving with it? No fence in town'll take that now. Not the ones I know, anyway."<br/><br/>"I didn't say I was going to give you the stone, I said you were going to pay me."<br/><br/>"That's not the deal, Sharrow." Bors' eyes hardened.<br/><br/>"You pay me now or I take it from your purse while you sleep."<br/><br/>"I'd like to see you try. Piss off, Sharrow, and don't come to me again. You don't threaten a fence. It's not done."<br/><br/>They stared at each another for a tense moment. Zam stormed out of the tavern.