Picking one's way through the streets unseen was always a slow and tedious process, but for two unnamed scavengers, it was a labor they were experts in.

It was almost a game to them, in a way. A puzzle of analyzing routes forward, balancing the freakishly heavy cargo strapped to their backs, and listening intently for any unexpected noises that might signal danger lurking nearby. To outside observers, most would consider it a painstaking exercise in splitting your focus in every direction. For them, it was just another day on the job.

But, even if they were good at what they did, neither of them wanted to do it for longer than they had to.

In the middle distance, a sight came into view that made the two of them audibly sigh in relief. Buildings lay flattened in a systematic fashion for several dozen paces ahead. Behind that, a wide, deep trench layered with wooden stakes was erected, the fog seeping in to fill the lowest points. Past that, a massive battlement of too-smooth concrete sliced cleanly across the breadth of the avenue, complete with a drawbridge, gatehouse and lots and lots of arrowslits.

The Noble Lands beckoned from the other side of that gate. And these two were more than ready to turn in for the night.

Upon reaching the clearing, the two of them abandoned all attempts at stealth and approached the main entrance. The more assertive of the two took the lead, relaying a series of predetermined hand gestures over his head to signal that they were, indeed, who they said they were. The first layer of defense against infiltrating vampires, of which there were many.

The chime of an old bell rang out in response, signaling that their approach had been spotted by the men stationed inside. As they got closer, the drawbridge lowered, and they were hurriedly escorted over by the local militia. The massive wooden gates had barely closed behind them before they'd started unslinging their packs, sighing deeply in relief as the crushing weight disappeared from their spines.

"Bugger, I needed that," the first scavenger bemoaned, stretching in a way that made his lower back crackle concerningly.

One of the guards walked up to him, carrying a shortsword at his hip and chuckling at the familiar face's response.

"I'd imagine," he said, "You're not the only one who's come back complaining about back problems."

"Seriously? Who else made it, then?"

"Ah, ah, ah… first, you know the drill. I need to see your palm."

The guard drew his blade and held it parallel to his body, like a handlebar. The sharp side was pointed towards the floor, and with a weary sigh the scavenger complied to his request.

"Ugh… This part is always the worst…"

"Yeah, yeah, save your breath. I've heard 'em all before."

When the scav held his hand out beneath the sharpened steel, one quick cut was made along it's center crease to draw blood. The man on the receiving end of the wound winced, but otherwise remained quiet as the front of his palm split open, leaking blood in between the webs of his fingers and onto the ground below.

"Good news, you came back red," the guard muttered disinterestedly. "Guess you weren't a vamp this time, either."

He lazily tossed over a small roll of gauze, which the other snatched out of the air with his good hand and began to carefully unroll. The motions made betrayed the fact that both were well practiced with this routine, more interested currently with getting on with their life than the dangers that forced this vetting process upon them.

"So, you were saying other groups have made it back already?"

"A few." The guard talked over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back at him while he performed the same test on his buddy from the most recent expedition. "Just the ones assigned areas close by, for now. But there's a bit more to it than just that."

The scav paused in the middle of tying off his bandage, narrowing his eyes at the back of the guard's head. "More to it? How so?"

"Well, like you guys, they've all been coming back loaded with preserved food. At first, I thought it was just the usual. You guys hold the locations for the best stuff close to your chest, and we get the scraps, so the first ones that came back got told off for it by the captain. Then the second pair came back, and got their ears boxed much the same way. Wasn't until the third one came around that he started to suspect something had changed."

"Okay…"

Well, now he knew that he wasn't the only one finding fresh crates around. Still, a windfall such as this was a little… out of the blue.

"So what did happen, then?", he pressed.

"Turns out, the flares that dropped from above a few nights ago were actually fresh supplies, like the higher ups expected." Now the guard turned around, a crooked grin on his face as he stared down the scavenger mockingly.

"Looks like somebody owes me thirty quid."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The scavenger mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

"Was hoping you'd forgotten…" he griped as he fished the wad of notes from his back pocket. The paper bills slapped into the guards waiting hand, and while the goodbyes made weren't necessarily pleasant, they were at least professional. Now all that was left to do was drag their loot back to the quartermaster for cataloguing, so that they could be paid their share of the spoils.

Well, their share in addition to the amount they'd skimmed off the top. Securing your own future before you secured others, and all that.

As the two of them began walking out the door, the general alarm bell started ringing again, making them pause for a half step as they watched the guards assemble once again. They weren't moving in a way that their regard was completely relaxed, but they didn't seem like they were in too much of a hurry, either.

Probably fine, then, the scavenger thought to himself. As he continued his trek down to the warehouses, all he heard was a few snippets of passing chatter from the gathering welcome party.

"At this rate, we might be making it back to full rations for a bit…"

"In yer dreams, kid."

< -|- -|- >

The bells had started ringing long before Henry and the rest of the group had even gotten close to the outer walls. Despite being the culmination of their efforts for the past few days, a sullen mood hung in the air over them as they trudged towards the crenelated walls of the Noble Lands, on account of the bitter loss they'd been meted out a half day before.

He felt responsible. It was silly, really. He wasn't even the one who'd been fighting the werewolf, and even then the fault should logically fall entirely on the beast's shoulders. From a pure strategic perspective, this entire encounter had been a success beyond the wildest dreams of most, considering the lethality rates werewolves normally racked up when running into a group of people.

But, no matter how much he tried to justify it, a kid was dead. Given a proper funeral pyre not even an hour ago. He'd been unable to console the grieving mother earlier, and the words eluded him now, too.

What was he supposed to say? 'Sorry for your loss, but I was really trying hard to keep everyone alive'? He felt sleazy just thinking it.

So, he said nothing. Hopefully, it was the right choice.

Their group stopped just a few meters from where the drawbridge would connect to their side of the trench. None of them really knew how to forced march, but they'd given their best approximation of it hoping to arrive quicker than a second werewolf might. Funny how the closest thing he'd had to a normal walk through London in months required situations like these to appear. He pushed the thought aside, and waved a hand to the battlements above.

With a clatter of gears and turning axles, the drawbridge slowly began to lower into place.

"Stay on this side," he reminded everyone. "We're looking for food, not an invitation."

A chorus of muttered ayes and nods sounded off behind him. Robb handed him the large sack they'd been using to store the various artifacts, which he slung over his shoulder as he stepped forward to address the inevitable standoff.

Glad I took the time to make a few preparations…

Naturally, he wasn't coming into this without a few tricks up his sleeve. Before they'd left, he'd donned a bulky scarf and jacket over his messy dress shirt, concealing the crystal in his chest as best as he could. Not the greatest disguise, but considering how conspicuous he was normally he figured it would probably do the trick. And besides, if anything went horribly wrong, He'd found his deaf copy a nice, elevated position that would be perfect for a long-distance ambush with the revolver, should the need arise.

The other clone was waiting at the ground floor in that same building. Someone needed to keep an eye on the little miscreant toy that had cost them a life, after all.

With a heavy thud, the drawbridge hit the ground, and the gates raised just enough for the militia to sally forth.

"You don't look like anyone we know," one of the foremost guards stated plainly, squinting through his broad-brimmed helmet. "Who are you lot, and what are you doing here?"

Henry took a closer look at the helmet. Not enchanted, but clear signs of fine craftsmanship stood out all across it. Comparing it to the mess of other headgear and, yep, it was the best looking one out of all of them.

"Are you the captain here?", Henry asked.

"So what if I am?"

"Because a little bird told me that now that the Club's out of the picture, loot's been falling into the hands of the Knights and their scavs more often now. We've got some choice pieces worth adding to that pile… for a price."

He flashed his best used car salesman smile. For the most part, he was just using Guillaume as his baseline, and adding a few tweaks of his own to the expression. No need to create new awful characters when others provided such a font of inspiration.

The guard captain still remained alert, but took his hand off his scabbard as a sign of faith. The rest of the militia remained battle ready with a wide variety of blades and axes, but progress was still progress.

"I don't know what you expect to get from us… But I should warn you that our current stocks are not cheap merchandise to be passed around to strangers at a whim. Cavendish holds claim over what we have, and the Knights enforce that at spear-point, if they must."

"I understand perfectly," Henry replied with a placating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I'm sure, with what we have on offer…"

He set the sack down with a loud thud, and grabbed an item at random from within. Making sure it was one of the artifacts with a more flashy application first, he pulled out what looked like a fingerless glove at face value. The sort of tacky accessory you might find at an emo clothing store. It totally clashed with his normal style, but for the false identity he was currently putting forward…

He slid his fingers through the holes, and flexed his grip a bit to make sure it was a good fit. Then, he reached out in the direction of the guard captain, making a motion like he was about to take his helmet off despite the 15 meters or so of no-mans-land between them.

"…We can come to some sort of arrangement."

The look of shock on his face when the helmet actually came off his head of its own accord was damn near priceless.

The helmet floated through the air to him in a sharp, snappy motion, and he put it on his own head with a jaunty tilt. Clearly antagonized, the militia took a collective step forward to address the offense. However, to their surprise, the captain of the guard raised a hand to stop them, motioning them to be still.

"Return to your posts," the captain said. "I'll handle this personally."

A brief silence overtook them as the order sank in. How many people suspected his true intentions, Henry wasn't quite sure. Propaganda ran rampant the closer to Cavendish you got, but the jaded nature of those on the outskirts tended towards a more discerning breed of person. At the very least, none of them seemed to care enough to call the captain on it. Without another word, they filed back inside, and Henry passed the helmet back over using the same method.

"Our offer is simple," he began once the rest of the guards were out of earshot. "We need to replenish our food stocks, and I happen to have a small pile of artifacts that we've… acquired. I am more than willing to submit to any questions you might have, as a show of good faith. If you wish to hold me somewhere secure to hammer out the finer details, I can tell you everything you need to know about our collection. The goods, however, will remain with my associates here until such a time that a deal has been struck."

This was it. Time to close the deal.

"So, what do you say? A missing shipment or two is more than a bargain for what we have on offer."

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