Writing Exercise: Bath-House Thieves

So there's this fun website/app called The Most Dangerous Writing App where you choose a time limit and if you stop for...I think 5 seconds or so, it erases your progress. I've played with it a little bit, and I like it for writing exercises, flash fiction, etc. So in an effort to develop some sort of public expectation/presence, here's what I wrote over the course of 20 minutes. It's unedited, unrevised, and not very good, but practice is practice and putting this stuff out there is the only way to improve.

By all means, feel free to provide criticism, comments, or whatever else.

20 Minutes
986 Words
48 WPM

Pashand sat on the roof of the bath-house overlooking the back alleyway leading towards one of the main thoroughfaires. The thieves supposedly came this way every night, using one of the upper windows to enter the building and make off with the day's take. His client was paying handsomely to follow them to wherever they went to ground and make sure the Hatchets would be able to find the spot and clear it out the next day.

It wasn't his usual type of contract, thief-busting, but the Shemant family paid far better than most other clients on the market, and there wasn't too much work in Vedergost for a man from the north.

The night was warm, far warmer than he was used to. Further to the north, in Gelalus, they caught the warm sea wind from the west, but here it was just hot. Pashand had left his coat in his room back at the boarding home and had taken just a thin linen shirt and trousers, alongside his knife and other gear. He'd purchased an iron climbing hook from a vendor the day before and a length of silk rope which had helped him reach the bath-house roof, but he hadn't planned on needing anything else. This was a simple job. All he needed to do was follow along.

Pashand looked up and made eye contact with a group of dark-clad figures on the opposite roof. They sat in a similar fashion, with legs dangling over the side of the building, heedless of the drop just below them.

One of the figures waved.

Pashand responded, more from habit than anything else.

Were these the thieves? Had he really been that distracted that they'd appeared just across the way without him noticing?

Footsteps sounded behind him and once again he cursed the heat that had dulled his senses.

"Don't turn yourself, or we'll give you a good shove," a voice said. It sounded like it belonged to a woman to Pashand's ears, but Vederesti accents made it hard to tell. Their language depended on pitch, which seemed needlessly confusing to the northman.

"No worries there," Pashand said, raising one hand off where he'd braced himself to show he held no metal. "I've no desire to see if I can fly."

"I don't doubt it," the voice said again. Closer, now, close enough that Pashand was fairly certain it was female. "I'm going to have to ask you turn over any sort of letters of note on your person."

"I don't have any," Pashand lied. He held his Document of Citizenship with the Gerneschmenk Empire, though it wouldn't mean much this far south, aside from delivering them his name. "And I don't carry coin on my person anymore."

"Any hidden metal?" the voice asked again. Closer still. The group of thieves across the way had stood now, and he counted three of them. The contract listed half a dozen potential targets, meaning the crew had split themselves to cover the property.

Pashand shook his head. "Just the climbing spike, but that's on the lip of the roof at the alleyway off Notary Lane."

A single pair of footsteps went off in that direction, but the sense of lurking presence diminished only partially. Most likely there were two of the crew behind him. If they were good at all at their work one of them would have a hand-bow trained at his back while the other one stepped close enough to interrogate him without the sound carrying to the street blow.

Pashand looked over the lip of the roof towards the street down below. Gendikan had a thriving night-life, and the bath-house was flanked on three sides by a green city park. The pathways through the greenery were lit with dimly flickering gas lamps in various colors and shades, giving the entire place a festive mood. From his height he could just make out citizens wandering the paths.

"It was there, like he said," the footsteps were preceded by another voice. "What are we going to do with him, Ashoshko?"

The name was almost cut short by the unmistakable sound of a hand striking cheek. "Idiot," the first voice muttered. "We leave him up here by himself."

"I appreciate it," Pashand said. He meant it, too. It seemed even in the south there was courtesy between professionals. "Though that climbing spike cost me fair coin. I'd rather you let me keep it."

The first voice, Ashoshko, grunted in approval. Metal clanged against the rooftop somewhere behind him. "Can't fault you that. We're all only trying to make an honest living, eh?" A chuckle.

Pashand returned it. "True enough."

The three thieves across the way had vanished from sight somewhere among the crowded rooftop. He waited for a few moments in case the folk behind him meant to continue, but no sound came. The young man took the chance to turn, and he wasn't surprised to find the rooftop empty, excepting himself.

It took him only a moment to find the climbing spike towards the center of the bath-house roof. His clients would be disappointed he hadn't apprehended the thieves, but he counted it as a victory that he only needed to descend the roof after being so effectively outplayed.

Six of them, he thought as he approached the lip of the building. Vederesti roof-tops were slightly sloped towards the edges, with overhangs which turned up slightly. It made finding a path downwards difficult, but Pashand had spent his childhood scrabbling up and down the cliffs near Crowntown; climbing man-made walls was nearly as simple as walking down an empty street for him.

He received a number of strange looks from night-time citizens as he let himself fall the last ten feet or so to the stone-shod streets. The front of his shirt had been ripped in a a few places on the descent, but he'd only been overcharged a few marks for the clothing.

And he had a name. There were people in this city who could work wonders with that alone.