At first he maintained a reserved posture viewing his associates as a rival faction for a time, but eventually he settled in without reservation. He did not forget what his father had said those many years ago, but he was not in a position to exact his revenge.

A torrent of water rushed down the draw and soaked him once again. He observed that the water level in the lower chamber was climbing. The box should float he thought. Surprised he had not considered is sooner. Looking around he spied several waterlogged boards and discards from the limner. The flotsam would work nicely to clog up the lower drain. If he loosed the sack cloth first followed by the timbers it may allow the water to build up enough for him to reclaim his prize. Using his nimble fingers and keen ability to place objects at a distance he managed to block the grate. Further debris entering the chamber added to the blockade. He sat back satisfied that soon the water would rise and give him opportunity to reclaim was was by rights his.

It wasn't long before his skills garnered attention from members of his cell who held sway. A steady stream of successful jobs found him in a position to command his own cell. This too was within his abilities and success and respect seemed to cling to him. He was only eighteen at the time and he was drunk on the power and the thrills associated with his position. Then the call came down through channels that he was to accept a new duty. In a secret meeting he was introduced to a man who seemed to embody grace and confidence. The others referred to him as Rhett. Mouse recognized the name from his youth. His father had known this man and had forfeit his life in an attempt to smite him.

How odd it seemed then to be faced with a hereditary enemy at this time in his career. Rhett seemingly unaware of the blood feud welcomed him into the fold. Mouse knew his opponent was strong and in a position to make him powerful or miserable at a whim. He remembered the merchant's family and the oppressive nature of the state. Though this did not sit well with him he knew patience was his only option.

Assigned to a new cell in Eldred's Cross he departed is home city of Florenta for the first time. After a journey of two days across the Inner Sea he arrived in Eldred's Cross.

The port town held much of the character of the capital city without the sprawl and pious misgivings. This was a frontier town and thick with vice. Mouse was opening his eyes anew.

Contact with the cell was handled that first night. He was still near the docks when he was greeted by a wiry boy with greasy hair, dirty pants, and a tattered leather jerkin. What caught him off-guard was the boy's shoes. Of his whole attire the only item that seemed to garner any attention from the boy was his shoes. The polish was remarkable. The manufacture was magnificent. The joined pieces of leather showed no evidence of visible stitching. Tassels adorned the tops and a blued steel buckle held the flaps of leather comfortably and securely to the boys foot. After a brief introduction the boy announced that he was responsible to convey Mouse to his new handler. He chatted with they boy as he made his way across town. All the wile he was fixated on the boy's shoes and only gave fleeting attention to the conversation. Just before he entered the appointed place of his meeting with his new superior he question the boy as to the origins of his shoes. The youth seemed to beam with pride. He shared the name and location of the cobbler with animation that made the boy look weightless.

The two of them stood on the crowded street bathed in the soft glow of the gas lamps that snaked up and down the avenue. Before them was a wood and stucco building wearing signs of age. Patches of new stucco dotted the exterior giving it a molted look.

Pushing past the front door and entering the hazy smoke filled interior, Mouse took the time to appraise the environment. The clientele were a mixed lot. longshoremen, middle-caste merchants, seasoned travelers, and a smattering of mercenaries. The man behind the bar looked to share ancestry with a horse. His oversized teeth and exposed gums completed the look.

The boy navigated the morass of people and stopped at a table. Seated at the table was a hooded cloaked figure. The recesses of the the hood only hinted at eyes. The reflection from the ebony pools carried no emotion. The figure gestured for him to sit.