I prime the musket before I round the corner, just to be prudent. Caskets and bales of hay. As expected. But no guards. That is not as expected. I can hear the constables patrolling a few streets away, so I cross the cobbles at a fair clip, keeping myself low to the ground, and to the shadows.
The solid oak door leading into the tavern stands ajar. I glance around behind me before slipping through the gap and into the warm glow cast by the oil lamps.
In the middle of the room is a single table. A solitary pigskin purse sits on it, looking heavy with its fill. I pick it up, open the drawstrings, and peer inside. Some manner of dust, black in colour. I sniff it, trying to catch its smell, and immediately my eyes water and my head spins. Darkness closes in quickly from all sides.
* * *
I slide a fresh clip into the 9, clear the chamber. I eyeball around the corner. Couple of boxes and bin bags, but no security. Thought there would at least be a rent-a-cop doing rounds. Sirens bounce off the concrete and around a few corners towards me, so I sneak across the street away from them.
The edges of the security gate are bent and bashed. The lock sits in pieces of the ground. I shoot a glance behind me, then head into the room with the cold blue bulbs.
A green plastic box sits on a brushed steel table. I open the box. It’s filled with black dust. I lick a finger, dip it in, and try a taste. Wow. That’s… I feel a blackout coming on.