Shit..shit..shit..shit..shit!!

  Corin would mutter under his breath as he rushed across the stone passageway, the corridor walls tightening with every passing second.

  He didn′t even feel the pressure plate, in fact, he actively double checked every single tile on the dam floor from the moment they had entered the tunnel network… and yet, despite his best efforts, there he was - cluelessly running through the dark while the bloody walls encroached on him in a silent threat of turning him into smuggler’s pudding.

  His thoughts raced as he lifted his torch.

  All that time he put into studying Adara′s tunnel network, and the only thing that came out of his first mission would be the need for Sheila—wherever she vanished to—to scrape him off the walls when she came back for him—if she came back for him!

  No. Calm down you coward, think…

  With a deep breath Corin forced himself to ignore the dry sound of dragging stone echoing in his ears and focused his eyes as he examined his surroundings.

  The stone walls were unremarkable: grey, empty…about to squash him…no! Don’t think about that!

  But still, there truly were no markings on any of them, seemingly no way out …except…was that?

  Narrowing his eyes to better see, Corin noticed something carved onto the stone, a small compass, the telltale symbol of the Radical Association of Trade and Services, its needle pointing to the path from where he came from…. That was exactly what he was looking for!

  Following the direction of the needle with his gaze, he saw it, just barely on the edge of his torchlight, was another one! Its needle pointing to the same place as the last one.

  In light of the new information, the Smuggler’s Apprentice was quick in turning on his heels, his eyes peeled for more engravings of compasses as he squeezed himself through the concerningly tight corridor…the harsh stone already brushing against his shoulders….

  He passed another one, then another…needles all pointing to the same direction until…

  There, where he moments ago lost track of his mentor, a compass needle pointed upward, and Corin′s eyes followed it, squirming within the remaining space in order to raise his torch and better see the wall.

  At first, he saw nothing, his stomach sinking at the realization he had only a few seconds left to figure this out at best…but then he spotted it.

  An engraving like the others, but with a small difference… in the place of the usual needle at its center rested the carving of a rat′s face. With a grunt, Corin reached for it, forced to support himself on the tips of his toes.

  He felt his torso getting squeezed tightly on both sides by the cold stone wall… At this point, breathing was getting difficult…

  His palm met the slab of stone where the engraving rested…it was loose!

  He pressed on it…it sank into the wall.

  Hidden gears – too silent for anyone that didn′t have their face actively squished against the stone to hear – started turning within, and just as the embrace of the walls was transitioning from uncomfortable into painful…….

  SWWOOOOOOOOOSH

  The stone he was leaning against opened up into a hidden passageway, causing the boy to lose his footing and find himself getting acquainted face-first with the hard floor of the newly revealed path.

  “Ouch” he grumbled against the dirt as he pulled himself up…only to find Sheila standing in front of him, her amber eyes matching the impish smirk plastered on her face as she leaned off a pillar to give him a mocking little clap.

  “Took you long enough little mice” the quip would come in his mentor′s usual singsong tone, given as she adjusted the strap of the Good′s satchel dangling from her shoulder.

  “Me and Byron had a bet on whether or not you were gonna get squished by The Masher, glad to see you won me five gold”

  Corin′s hands were still trembling as he swatted away the dust from his leathers, the look he gave his Mentor equal parts tired and annoyed

  “You were the one who stepped on the pressure plate, weren′t you?” he asks

  “Maybe.” Sheila says with mocking sweetness, curling a strand of auburn hair between her fingers…the playfulness turning into a nonchalant roll of her eyes once she takes note of Corin′s face.

  “Oh, c’mon. The way you were second-guessing every other step you took had us walking at snail pace, and I do want to meet up with the client before dawn." She would shrug.

  “Besides, once you pass this test, you will be a fully-fledged member of the R.A.T.S. and start heading down here on your own, you SHOULD learn how to survive the traps, not just avoid them.”

  “Sheil, you could have gotten me killed” Corin deadpans

  “But I didn′t! Aaaand now you know how to survive the Masher so you're welcome!” Corin would feel her index finger playfully tapping his nose before she turned on her heels and gestured him to come along…a long way still ahead of them.

  “She is fucking crazy” he whispers to himself as he starts walking.

  (…)

  The next couple of hours came and went without much of an issue as the duo continued their way through the Adarian tunnels.

  Once Corin gave up on being annoyed with her, Sheila broke the silent walk by pointing out a few hidden passageways that were absent from his -apparently outdated - scrolls when they passed them.

  Later, she showed the apprentice how to deactivate The Tickler before its wall spikes turned them both into the latest pieces of mounted décor within the tunnels, even though she did take her sweet time doing it.

  Alas, by the time they were reaching a fork in the Tunnel′s system the boy′s annoyance had all but (mostly) evaporated, replaced by the same excitement he had felt that afternoon back at Headquarters when Sheila burst into the initiates chambers, threw a R.A.T.S issued leather armor and a pack of lockpicks at him and told him to gear up quickly before she changed her mind about letting him tag along on an actual job.

  A grin rises to the Smuggler’s apprentice's face as he recalls his fellow initiates' reactions at the event.

  He could still see how Silas had turned green with envy, how Mavery and Three-toed Tim had stopped their conversation cold in its tracks, mouths open wide, how Eleana pursed her lips and gave him a fearful glance. “No one returns from a Catacomb′s run with Sheila Corin.” she told him.

  He could see why, of course…hells, the woman had tried to kill him once already in the name of experience, but she IS the best of them, the one that gets the best jobs, the one with the deeper pockets…Sheila is everything Corin wanted to be from the moment he joined the Association… craziness aside, of course…and he could already hear his fellow Mice chanting his name once he returned from this job.

  Corin! Corin! Cori…

  “CORIN!” Sheila′s voice rang out, ripping him from his momentary daydream…the hand on her hips and her cocked brow a clear signal this was not the first time she called on him.

  “Soo? Which one is it?” she asks.

  “Uhhh….” That is all that leaves Corin′s mouth.

  A sigh would echo from his mentor′s lips as she points to the branching paths in front of them.

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  “I asked you to look at the contract. I can′t remember if we were supposed to deliver the drop at the Iron Docks or by Ship maker’s Bay” she repeats, a hint of amusement in her voice as she adds. “Daydreaming gets you killed here ya know little mice?”

  He blurted something between an apology and confirmation as he reached for his pack, withdrawing a rolled-up parchment marked with a broken seal of black wax with a rat′s face stamped into it.

  With deft hands, he unrolled the writ, eyes glancing across the written text…

  At the very top stood the name of the client, not his true name of course, but an alias given to the Association – Garnet in this instance - then there was the requested list of goods, nothing too outrageous this time…just some banned books, alcohol from Calandria, a worryingly large amount of hallucinogenic powders….if this didn′t scream nobility party Corin didn′t know what did.

  The sound of Sheila′s impatient foot taps made him skip the remainder of the text and go straight to the last paragraph – drop off point…

  “It's Ship Maker′s.” He announces, rolling the contract back up before storing it.

  “Took you long enough.”

  Sheila states dryly, turning back to the fork in the tunnels, her hands busy unbuttoning the right sleeve of her armor in order to reveal the black ink compass tattoo engraved within her forearm.

  The Apprentices’ eyes lingered on it…the Delver′s Brand…the mark of a fully-fledged R.A.T.S member…a flash of it was enough to persuade the common street guard to turn a blind eye or a merchant to show you where the good stuff was stashed…it was status, recognition, and above everything else, it was the key to his order′s success down there.

  “Drav’el.”

  With the spell uttered Corin woud watch as the compass becomes animated, the inked needle starting to spin - slow at first, but quickly picking up speed – as the outer edges of the tattoo lost their shape, living ink slithering across his mentor′s arm, forming a web of narrow pathways and winding hallways.

  In but a few seconds, Sheila′s right hand was marked in dark thin lines from the tip of her fingers to her elbow – a fraction of the underground system perfectly mirrored within that map of her very own flesh.

  The woman′s amber eyes scanned intently, shifting from the now still needle that stood by the same fork in the tunnels they did onto the mess of pathways that surely lurked ahead…

  Corin tried to follow Sheila′s gaze across the ink atop her skin, he tried to come up with suggestions for the best way to proceed, but before he could open his mouth the spell left her lips once more and the ink withdrew back, coalescing into the dainty dark compass as quickly as it had dispersed.

  “Each time you use it, it feels like they are poking you with those dam needles all over again you know?” Sheila quips towards him as she buttoned her sleeve back up, the smirk on her lips making it apparent she took notice of the initiate′s poorly contained fascination with the R.A.T.S navigation enchantment.

  The boy wasn′t sure on how to reply to that…he didn′t want to look like some wide eyed kid in front of Sheila, nor did he want to start some ramble about he thought her observation to be nothing but a minor inconvenient compared to the Brand′s usefulness and prestige…alas, before his mind could settle in on an answer the pressure of silence got to him and the words just forced themselves out of his mouth.

  “Sounds uncomfortable…” IDIOT, he thought to himself.

  The Smuggler, however, let out a snorted laugh at his words, turning to walk towards the left tunnel.

  “Like putting your arm in a wasp′s nest, kid. Now come along. There was a cave-in on the northwestern section, so we are taking the scenic route.”

  And, still flushed with embarrassment, Corin did as he was told, forcing himself to refocus as they went onto the left path.

  (…)

  By the time the duo reached what would -hopefully – be the last leg of their journey, Corin felt like he had been dragged through a gauntlet…

  His muscles felt sore in so many places from all the steep stairs, high ledges, and slippery pits Sheila pulled him through that the boy wasn′t even sure how in the hells he was able to keep walking, his throat felt covered in cotton, the water within his canteen expended about four traps and five stairwells ago, and his eyes had grown so used to the underground darkness that even staring directly at the flickering light of their last torch for too long gave him a headache…all in all he was having a miserable time, but he held his tongue, avoided complaints…Sheila might just stab him herself otherwise.

  Glancing at his Mentor the young apprentice was able to notice even she had started to resent the grueling nature of the job, her brow was furrowed, her skin clammy with sweat and her auburn hair frazzled and unruly due to the humidity – a detail that gave her a particularly pronounced unhinged appearance, which was no easy feat.

  Far too much had gone wrong since the fork in the tunnel system...

  The cave-in was larger than they had anticipated, forcing them into the older, deeper, parts of the Adara′s Catacombs on their way to Ship Maker′s Bay…and that - as Sheila explained to him amidst quite the colorful (and detailed) rant on how she wanted to shove her boot up the R.A.T.S tunnel maintenance crew - was a problem.

  Corin was aware of how no one knew how the caves that ran under Adara came to be, who built them, or even why they were filled with more traps than a nobleman′s vault during levy season. What he didn′t know was that the Brand failed to work if they went too deep, as not even the R.A.T.S had explored all the way down.

  Therefore, they were forced to wing it through dead ends, flaming spouts rising from the floor, poisonous darts shooting out of the walls, and even a flooding room that they only escaped due to the rusted disrepair of the iron hatch sealing them inside.

  In short, by the time they rose into familiar territory once more neither of the smugglers had a clue of how long it had passed since the start of the mission, whether or not they were late for the drop off of goods, or even in how decent of a state the cargo found itself after everything they had hauled it through…and frankly…they didn′t care…

  Or at least Corin didn’t, and he had a feeling Sheila shared the sentiment by the spite-filled way she adjusted the shipment satchel on her shoulder as they walked.

  Turning yet another bend in the path, they finally saw it at the end of a narrow hallway, a rusted ladder leading upward from where filtered rays of sunlight reached the cold stone below, illuminating an Association marker depicting a ship and a hammer carved into the wall…they were out!

  “Finally.” Sheila would grumble “C′mon kid, lets deliver this shit, get payed and go back to headquarters”

  She didn′t need to tell him twice.

  Pushing past the pain flowing across his body, Corin made his way through the corridor with renewed vigor…He had survived the trip! With Sheila nonetheless! Oh, he couldn’t wait to see everyone′s faces, to tell Eleana everything he learned down there, to finally receive his Brand and move out from the rundown shack that was the initiate′s barracks…today was the start of the rest of his li..

  ccccccCCCCLICK

  The sound was soft, but in that moment, it hit him like a truck…. Corin looked down, half expecting to see the floor spit open into a bottomless pit, spikes, spiders, or countless other forms of painful death.

  But to his confusion, he saw nothing.

  At first, he thought he had imagined it, alas, once he turned back to look at Sheila, everything fell into place. He saw the Smuggler woman tense as a drawn bow, her body paralyzed mid-step with one foot pressing down onto a half-activated pressure plate, and her face furrowed with the realization of what she had done.

  A tired sigh would leave her lips as she met Corin′s gaze.

  “All this time….and the fucking Swing is what did me in” she grumbles, signaling Corin to come closer

  “Take the satchel off of me and book it to the ladder little mice…I am not sure how long I can keep the bloody thing from triggering, and I’m not dying over an unfulfilled job.”

  “What?” he asks…confusion muddling his thoughts, Sheila′s words sounding like they were said in a different language for a second.

  “No, no…I mean… C′mon Sheil, we are almost out! We can figure this out, right?”

  He did not wait for an answer as his eyes started scanning the hallway for clues or engravings…any compass that could help him figure out a way out of this mess…and he did find one…right under Sheila′s boot, engraved into the pressure place there was a compass, at its center not a needle but a rat′s head with X′s for eyes…the message within it clear…do not step.

  Corin′s stomach sank.

  “Figured it out, did you?“ Sheila muses, having managed to squirm the Good′s bag out of her shoulder and now dangling it in Corin′s direction.

  “The Swing is not like the Masher or the Tickler…There is no clever trick to outsmart it apart from being aware of it, and I wasn′t...and as a result, the moment I shift any weight in my foot axes will shoot out from the walls around us in twenty centimeters intervals, turning us both into pretty ribbons…”

  Once they are pointed out Corin would see them so clearly that he was surprised he had missed them in the first place…small slits in the stone across varying heights, exactly like Sheila described…there was no avoiding them.

  “Sheila, I...”

  “You are going to take the dam bag, fulfill the job and tell Byron to hand you over the five gold he owes me, or I am going to haunt him” the woman interrupts, a poorly masked sense of urgency behind her singsong tone as the position she is holding becomes increasingly harder to maintain.

  “I’m a Rat Corin…this is how we are supposed to go out…now get the fuck out of here will you?” as she says this she throws the satchel at the Apprentice’s feet with a dry thud…Corin′s hands trembling as he bends down to pick it up and throw it over his shoulder.

  “Thank you” he manages to say to the woman, words leaving his lips despite the lump that had formed on his throat “For not betting the Masher would get me.”

  And for the first time since Corin met her…Sheila would crack a genuine smile.

  “What can I say? I always had an eye to spotting the winning horse…now…I’m about to fall on my ass so get out of here kid…and good luck on The Branding, it will hurt like a mother…”

  Steeling himself for what was to come, Corin turned on his heels.

  He hesitated at first.

  But then...he started moving, running towards the exit. His pulse pounding on his ears, his legs trembling with every step…the breath he was holding without noticing only released as his fingers got a grip on the cold steps of the metal ladder….

  He glanced back at Sheila and saw her staring at him with a forced grin as her whole body trembled to keep its balance…

  Corin gave her a nod, and then he started to climb upward…the sound of swinging blades making itself heard just as he emerged into the sunlight.