So this is the story of my life. I’ve always been able to do the thunder and lightning stuff and that. Dunno what’s that about. Guess I was born with it. I was born in [CITY NAME]. Dad wasn’t around. My mum must’ve been poor. She got the flux or something and died when I was little. I was on my own after that. I’m not saying that for your pity, it is what is it and you asked for my story.
I’m living on the streets, getting by. Doing whatever for whoever to get food. I’m alright at it. The magic stuff helps. Yeah I steal and that’s alright ‘cos I’m hungrier than them I take from. And I’m good at it, better than the other street rat kids anyway.
When I was a bit older there was this big commotion. There’s these couple of folk in armour with weapons and that – not the watch, like adventurers. They’re dragging this bloke out of this posh house. Normally I wouldn’t care, right, but this crowd is mumming about a doppelganger who’s been causing some mischief. I’m like, “what’s that?” Some cobbler tells me it’s a creature that can change itself to look like other people. I go, “ah, right, thanks,” and lift his purse. Anyway, I’m moving through the crowd and glancing at this doppelganger bloke and, I don’t know how but, I know I’m like him. Weirdest thing. Like something woke up in me.
Thinking about I, that bloke could’ve been my dad. Whatever, he’s going to get fucked and he didn’t ever do nothing for me.
When you’re a street rat you don’t have a mirror. So I go down to the river at night when there’s a full moon. I’m hunched over on the muddy bank, check around to make sure no one’s about, and I do it for the first time. I think about my body and face, being aware of them – like when you think about your own breathing – and I change them. I watch myself change into that cobbler.
I ain’t simple. I know this has got to be kept secret. This is going to be my key to the high life. Roof over my head and hot food in my belly. I can see it all in that moment – life of luxury for Kosta.
Well, it’s not that easy. I can copy people, sure. That’s easy. But the real person’s still around. That can get awkward. I don’t want to kill someone to take their place – I mean I have done that before, but only in pinch and I don’t like it. It’s not enough to look like them, you’ve got to speak like them (the voice is easy, that comes with changing, but you got to talk like them with all the right words and that).
But I tell you what its great for. You wait for a rich bloke to leave his house then go in as him five minutes later. The servants don’t say nothing, they just think you forgot something. Then you go pilfer their expensive shit, like jewels and papers and that. I mean, there’s a bit more to it, but that’s the gist. After a few rocky tries, I got good at doing that.
So that’s how I made a living for myself. I do jobs for a few local goons. When they want someone turned over nice a quiet, they let me know and I go do the business. No mess, no fuss. Nice bit of income for Kosta. I got myself some digs, nothing fancy, but it’s got a roof and a fire. I’m always on the lookout for a big score, though. I want to move up.
Tarik the Eel who operates out of the Drunken Rat, he offers me a big score. He’s got a client who wants a certain book and that book is owned by a certain Lord Sharpe. Green and yellow leather cover. Tarik reckons Sharpe keeps it locked up in his cellar. A thousand gold for that book, he says. Fuck me, that’s a score, I think. “No problem,” I say.
Big score like that, I’m not taking any chances. Practice my lockpicking and I pack crowbar – always pays to have a backup. I scope of Sharpe’s townhouse. Big place, three storeys. Maybe a dozen servants and the family. You might think that the best way is just become Sharpe, stroll in one night after him and the family have gone to the theatre or something. Too many servants for that, one of them could spot the ruse. Got to be smarter than that.
So I use a throwaway face and I start asking around the local tradesmen if they need an apprentice. The Sharpe’s are fancy enough that they get their produce delivered, you see. Lucky me, the fishmonger is hiring. I spend a couple of days being an actual apprentice fishmonger. I fucking hate fish guts. Anyway, delivery day comes. “Can I come along, boss? I wanna learn the ropes.” He likes that I’m keen and says sure. We take the cart, go round the back to the tradesmen’s entrance. The boss is haggling with butler and I get a good nosey around. I clock the cellar door. Easy.
That night I put on the body of a harlot who died a while back. Tradesmen’s entrance is locked, but the lock is a piece of shit. Not a problem. I get down into the cellar before I light my lantern. I don’t know what I expected, but there’s nothing but dusty wine bottles. This book is worth serious coin though, so it’s got to be hidden. I take my time, have a nosey and there’s one bottle without as much dust as the ones around it. I have a closer look, it’s not even a bottle. Just a bit of wood that’s been turned to a bottle shape, painted and a label stuck on it. I give it a yoink and there’s a secret door.
It opens up to a small cupboard. Some weird potion bottles, a few metal dodads I don’t recognise, a little statue of this snake-looking thing and a couple of books. One’s got a green and yellow leather cover, engraved with a twisty floral pattern. I pocket it, close up behind myself and I’m on my way out.
As I’m about the leave the cellar, I spot the fucking butler prowling around. Don’t know why he’s up, but him spotting a woman dressed like a thief coming out of the cellar is going to ruin my night. I use a bit of the old wind magic to knock over a candle stick. He goes to investigate and I bolt for the door. I left the cellar door ajar, that was sloppy, but I didn’t have time to close it and didn’t want the butler to hear the click. I get outside and make for ally. Nobody’s around so I change back to Kosta and head for the Drunken Rat, dreaming what I’m going to do with my thousand gold.
The Drunken Rat is a bloodbath. Dead folk and severed limbs everywhere. Tarik the Eel is slumped in a corner, looks like he died trying to hold his guts in. Tarik was a shady chap and I know what a criminal turf war looks like. Don’t know who did him, don’t want to. I don’t feel bad for him, he knew what he was getting in to; I’m pissed off ‘cos there’s not a trace of my thousand gold anywhere. I spent a week gutting fish for nothing. I home and collapse into bed. It’d been a long and pointless night.
That’s when I have the dream. But it’s not a dream. You know when you wake and you remember your dreams, you know that this is real and the dream wasn’t? Well after I knew this dream was real.
I’m wandering in a forest and it’s lit like it’s dawn or dusk. But I spent hours wandering and the sun didn’t rise or set. The colours were all too bright, vivid. There were things like dragonflies, but haloed with light like fireflies and when you looked closer they weren’t bugs, they were little people flying about. So I keep wandering and come to a clearing where I could look through the too vivid canopy and see the stars and they’re slowly moving around the sky, like they’re dancing.
In the clearing there’s a woman – she looks like an elf, but more – and her skin has a glow about it. She’s sat on this chair of intertwined branches with foxgloves growing out of it. And she smells like honeysuckle.
“Greetings, Kosta,” she said.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“You found my book,” she shrugged, like that was a proper answer. I don’t know why I accepted it like a proper answer.
“It’s Lord Sharpe’s book.” She smiled then. Her smile made me feel warm and safe. I’m scared of how much I liked her smiling at me.
“Not any more. He wasn’t doing anything interesting with it, anyway.” She looked me up and down then, and flashed me another wonderful, scary smile. “No, I think it’s much better in your hands, little changeling.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Does it matter? Come. Sit and eat with me.”
So I went and sat and ate. I think they were honeyed nut treats or something. I don’t normally have a sweet tooth, but they were delicious.
“I think I’m going to give you power, Kosta. If you promise to serve me.” I liked that. Everyone does everything for a price – you learn that on the streets – and I don’t trust people who pretend they’re kind for the sake of it.
“What do I have to do?”
“Oh. Not much. This and that. The odd favour here and there. When I want something, I’ll let you know. What do you say?”
“Alright,” I said. I wasn’t entirely sure what she was offering and, hell, if I didn’t want to do her bidding I don’t have to.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, why not?” I shrugged.
She cocked a quizzical eyebrow at me.
“Yes!” I said.
“That’s three times you’ve promised,” she said, “so the deal is done.” She winked at me then. “This is going to be fun.”
“So what now?” I asked.
“Well, you have to go. You’ve got business to attend to. Good luck, and I’ll be in touch.” She leant over to kiss me then. Just as her lips brushed my cheek, I opened my eyes.
… In time to see the knife plunging towards my chest. I rolled out of bed and scrambled away from the figure trying to murder me. He threw the knife at me and it buried itself in my shoulder. It’s funny, when you get stabbed you don’t feel it right away. You know it’s happened but it takes a moment for your body to notice the pain. I spent that time raising my hand. I was going to give my attacker a bit of my thunder magic, but instead a bolt of force shot from my hand hitting him in the chest. I swear it smelt faintly of honeysuckle.
He doubled over and I shot him again, this time in the head. He felt to the ground. I checked him. Dead. So I rifled through his clothes and found a note. The killer’s instructions from Lord Sharpe. He had my name and where I lived and that he was recover the book. It also cautioned that I was a changeling, so the killer should be weary.
A shit night, followed by a shit morning.
I was careful when I hit Sharpe’s mansion. I never wore my own body. So that means Sharpe must have used some magic to find me and about me. Changing my body, that useful trick I’ve used for years to hide, was going to be useless to me.
So, I’m fucked. That’s why I’m on the run. I figure my best shot is get out and make some powerful friends who can help protect me. Fuck my life.