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The morning had been busier than usual with raw materials being delivered to and from the warehouse. It was not only Drustan's job to speak with the gentleman in charge of managing the smaller of the two warehouses his family owned in Prybridge, it was also his duty to go over all the product they had coming and going and check for quality, visit with the employees to keep morale as high as possible during these troubled times and, once a week, meticulously go over the ledgers.

Drustan had spent the early hours of the morning chatting with the mind-numbingly inane dock hands who relied on the Carmody's business to feed their families. It was not a task he particularly enjoyed, as most of them were godless heathens who followed a false religion. But he pasted on a friendly and open smile and asked after wives and children and health just as he was supposed to do. At least Dirge Burgess, the day-to-day manager of the warehouse, was a like minded gentleman who Drustan felt infinitely more comfortable around. He was keen-minded and intelligent too.

Dirge had just finished walking Drustan through the warehouse, pointing out some particularly fine bolts of fabric they had recently gotten in that were already sold to a clothier in Helios. In fact, the caravan that was to drop off a shipment of wool at the warehouse was also to pick up the fabric and continue on it's merry way. Dirge had also proudly shown Drustan the tightly sealed barrels of seed that, come early spring, would begin being sold to farmers throughout Panyma. Everything looked to be in order and Drustan had just sat down to go over the ledgers when a shout arose.

The caravan had been spotted. He made a small notation in the little black notebook he kept always on his person before tucking it neatly inside an inner pocket on his jacket and then set his quill down. He supposed it would only be appropriate, since he was here, to greet the caravan and remind them who they worked for. Perhaps if he offered to spot them a few rounds at a tavern he would be spared having to make unnecessary and painful conversation. The thought brightened his mood considerably, and when he joined Dirge at the front of the warehouse to watch the group of wagons pull in, the expression he wore was cheerful, pleasant and gave no indication whatsoever that in general he didn't care much for the bulk of the people he came in contact with.

As the wagons approached the denziens lurking around the warehouse suddenly went to work in a flurry of motion. There were three wagons in total, two of which were destined to the warehouse and one which continued on to the docks. As they came to a halt several scrawny urchins swarmed the horses, immediately bringing bags of oats and buckets of water. The Carmody family had a longstanding policy of taking exceptional care of their working animals. Since his arrival in Prybridge six months ago Drustan had adopted the policy of tossing a coin or two to any ragged child who came and helped with the beasts. But even better than that, word had gotten around that if a boy were to accompany the Carmody horses to their stables, which were also in the warehouse district, they would be given a warm place to sleep if they desired. It had gone a long way for the family's reputation in Prybridge and fostered the charitable image that they worked so diligently to cultivate.

Both of the wagons that stopped in front of the warehouse had two men attending. On the road they would alternate between driving and they were invariably handy with a weapon of one sort or another. As the drivers removed themselves from the wagon a group of four men began unloading the wool from the wagons. This process Drustan watched carefully with narrowed eyes, muttering under his breath until the stock had been moved into the warehouse.

"Gents, lets retire to the Drunken Mermaid and wet our whistles before loading the next batch here. Mister Carmody has opened a tab for you!" Dirge announced with a broad grin. This was met with cheering and Drustan suffered several hearty and dusty pats on the back. He suffered in silence with a smile on his face while his insides cringed a bit. He was not fond of being buffeted by heathens. In fact, he was immensely grateful when the loud crowd of men began making their way to the nearby tavern. Drustan himself had never set foot in there, but the dockhands and other men who did heavy work seemed fond of it.

"Finally." Drustan sighed once the dust had settled. He pulled out his notebook and flipped to a point about midway through, making a notation with a bit of charcoal. "Why don't you young fellows take these horses to the stables and come back with four fresh ones." The crowd of boys eagerly went to work, knowing there would be some sort of compensation involved.

The young heir to the Carmody empire sighed again, running a hand habitually through his hair. It was going to be a long day, and it wasn't even lunchtime. He watched the horses being led away, not even noticing the shadowy figure that lurked nearby.

Growing up as he had, Drustan was imbued with a natural sense of paranoia. And yet he was naive enough that he didn't immediately register suspicion when the drunk young man bumped into him.

"Quite alright" Drustan responded automatically to the drunk's apologies and protests, helping him to his feet. He wasn't entirely comfortable touching the fellow, as he was sure that this was yet another heathen tainting the world and Drustan didn't exactly have fond feelings for people outside of the House. But just as he was trained to be paranoid, he was also trained to be reflexively polite.

In fact, it wasn't until the other man had bowed and started to back away that the fact that something wasn't quite right registered with Drustan. Perhaps the man's eyes were too bright or his movements too controlled in their clumsiness. Perhaps it was Obscuvos whispering in Drustan's ear. It could have been a subconscious reaction the vaguely lighter feeling in his jacket.

The book. He didn't quite know where the thought came from, but his hand went to his inner pocket, just to find it empty. That b*****d took the book! As the thought registered the man had only made it about ten yards or so. Without thinking about anything beyond preserving his secrets, Drustan leapt into action, running towards the thief with determination glinting in his eyes. He bounded the way a gangly, awkward youth was. But there was wiry strength and speed despite his clumsiness and there was also a burning anger and fear to fuel him. He didn't shout after the man, only ran doggedly at him intending to tackle the thief to the ground once he reached him.

Not only was Drustan desperate, he was filled with the pent up feelings of shock, outrage and confusion that had never quite gone away ever since that damned ambush in Helios. He was frustrated that he was here all alone and terrified that he would let the family down. Somehow the bottled-up emotions he had been harboring for the last six months and maybe even for his entire life erupted. This was the last straw. That someone would steal from him, a Carmody for heaven's sake! It finally tipped the scales and the result was that Drustan found himself on top of a roof facing off against a young man who was certainly not the slightest bit drunk.

Breathing heavily, for he had never been the most athletic of boys, Drustan had to double over, resting his hands on his knees when he finally did reach the roof. From under his thatch of hair he glared daggers at the thief, but found that now he was here his energy had deserted him and he had no idea what to do next. Drustan had no fighting skills to speak of and even if he had, the burst of adrenaline had left in it's wake sheer exhaustion.

"Give me back my book." He managed to wheeze out, trying to look as threatening as possible.

As the thief paced, Drustan sank down to a sitting position, watching him. The other man didn't look as if he intended to run any more and even if he did decide to bolt, Drustan was fairly certain that after the chase and the climb up a building (which he still wasn't certain how he had managed) he was pretty much out of fuel and wouldn't stand a chance. So he made himself comfortable while Kalends moved gracefully, taunting him.

There was something about the man that seemed familiar, but it took Drustan several moments to put it all together. He recognized the thief from that wretched meeting in Helios. He was fairly certain that the thief didn't recognize him, but observation was second nature to someone raised in the Carmody family and Drustan had a good memory. He was trying to decide the best way to bring it up and attempt to defuse the situation when Kalends started speaking.

Drustan's eyes widened as the thief stated his belief that the notebook was a diary and he began to open his mouth to warn the man not to open the notebook. But it was too late. Kalends had set eyes on a random page and now... well. Now they would have to just see.

The notebook was something that Drustan's parents would never have approved of him keeping. Such secrets should never be written down but rather stored in one's head to prevent situations like the one Drustan currently found himself in. There were scribbled notes on many people in Panymium society, both high and low, wealthy and poor. There were notes on predicted behaviors, notes on secrets that could be used as blackmail, notes on interests and treasures that could be used to start a conversation or as pieces for manipulation. Drustan's precious little black book was a Pandora's box of potential intrigue he had collected over the years. In fact, this was only the most recent of several notebooks, he had started the project when he was twelve. Hidden in his house in Prybridge were dozens of the little books. Most recently, Drustan had taken notes regarding the meeting in Helios and had begun the arduous task of identifying the various players and trying to determine the essential information on as many as he could. It was slow going, however, as the various parties who had been present lived scattered about the continent and Drustan could not leave Prybridge any time soon.

He watched the thief's expression as realization dawned. "You shouldn't have done that." Drustan said in a resigned tone. "You really shouldn't have done that."

Drustan caught the book and fumbled a little, surprised that the thief had given it back at all, especially without a fight. That certainly indicated that the man had some sort of intelligence and was not your average petty cutpurse. And secretly Drustan agreed with the thief. It was stupid to carry such a thing around. He'd expected it to be safe in his inner pocket, tucked close to his heart. But he also had never expected that pocket to be picked in the first. He was, after all, a Carmody. Things like this didn't happen to the Carmodys, but for the first time in his life Drustan got the vague impression that it wasn't because there was some hidden power in the name but rather that a Carmody was supposed to be savvy enough not to let themselves get into such situations in the first place. His mother would absolutely kill him if she ever heard of this. That just wouldn't do.

He watched the thief pacing, his opinion of the man raising a little. When he was asked his name though, Drustan hesitated. Should he give his surname and potentially open himself up for more danger? Then again, in many circles the Carmody name automatically inspired awe and respect. On the third hand, Drustan was fairly certain that this fellow didn't travel in any of those circles. He decided, for the moment at least, to stick with his first name until he had a better handle on the situation.

"Drustan. You may call me Drustan." He stood, brushing the dust off his pants which seemed to have ridden into a position where one pantleg appeared obviously longer than the other. "And while I'm sure you're not intending to give me your real name, it doesn't matter. I know you anyways. You're the one with the satchel." He made this last statement in a low voice, not wanting to risk being overheard even though they were on the roof of a warehouse and more than likely out of earshot of anyone who might take interest in their conversation.

Kalends. The name rang a faint bell and Drustan was sure that he'd heard it before, but at the moment his memory was being evasive. The thief called Kalends seem quite clever and Drustan had suddenly begun to consider the man's potential usefulness. It was unusual for a thief to steal a notebook when there were other more obviously profitable items on his person. In addition, Drustan knew that Kalends was also a Grimm, though Kalends seemed unaware that they had this in common. Which was a potentially good jumping off point.

It was clear that being blunt would get him nowhere. Indeed, bluntness was not something that Drustan often practiced and had he not been so tired from the chase he likely wouldn't have blundered ahead as he had. Now that he had regained his breath and thought a few things out he realized his mistake. He was certainly not acting in a way that made his family look good. Still, there might be a chance to salvage things.

"Indeed. I've heard that it's also become a trend for certain members of the government to try and take things that don't belong to them. And that it's become quite fashionable not to let them."