The Arcane Artist & The Tattooed Thief

Submitted for the Woodland Writers short story competition. Theme was DRAGONS & WYVERNS, and the prompts were as follows: A PRIZED COLLECTION, A DOOR THAT WON’T OPEN, and AN APPRENTICE.

Results: Eliminated Round 1

The bell above the front door chimed as Velk sauntered into Mythical Markings. Fia, the tattoo shop’s long-time apprentice, looked up from the dust pile she’d been sweeping. She sighed and returned to her task.

“We’ve closed for the day, sir. You’ll have to come back another time to speak with one of the artists.” 

Velk ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair. His lips curled into the sort of smile that usually earned him a second glance. “That’s odd, I seem to be talking to an artist at this very moment.” 

“You must be mistaken.” Fia’s words were as decisive as a door slamming in his face. 

Velk frowned, bending over to get a better look at the woman. A thick curtain of coiled black hair served as yet another closed door between them. He closed the distance with perfectly silent footsteps.

“Are you not Fia?” he pressed, deft fingers nudging the veil open. “Famed arcane artist and personal tattooer of King Ulysses?” 

Fia swatted violently at his bold intrusion, but Velk was far too quick. His hand was well out of reach before she could even blink. 

“What do you want?” she demanded. Her black eyes narrowed at him, chin held high. Velk was at least a foot taller than her, but she seemed intent to make him shrink a few inches. 

Her efforts were in vain. His wide smile snapped the tension like a tripwire. 

“A tattoo, of course.” 

She scoffed. “You cannot afford me.” 

“So it’s true, then? That your tattoos are imbued with magic?” The glint in his eye made him look much younger than his thirty some-odd years. “Did you really grant King Ulysses his dragon?”

Fia set down her broom with a groan. Clearly, this man was not taking a hint.

“I did, and if I’d known the pains that would come of it, I might have thought twice before doing so.”

Indeed, when the handsome young adventurer had come into her village all those years ago, she hadn’t thought twice about his request. A great winged dragon on his back seemed like an enjoyable, if challenging project. Until that point, her magic had only yielded minor manifestations: a set of wings here, an infatuation there. At worst, he might sprout some horns or suddenly speak draconic. She had never imagined her talent could produce a fully grown, fire-breathing dragon. 

And she certainly never imagined that the adventurer would ultimately usurp the entire kingdom with it.   

Velk leaned against the wall, surveying her thoughtfully. “Which pains are we talking about here? The reluctant fame, the pestering patrons, or the chains that now bind you to our avaricious king?” 

Fia blanched. Her scathing expression was gone now, replaced with utter shock. Who was this man, and what arrogance moved him to voice his opinions so freely?

“I’ve heard King Ulysses is a collector of sorts.” Velk continued, clearly baiting her. “He identifies rare finds and keeps them for himself, like his dragon and its prized hoard.” He shook his head, his lovely face contorting with disgust. “A gifted mage like you ought to have her own studio, her own apprentices. Tell me, what cut does he take from your work? Seventy, eighty percent?”

More than that, Fia wanted to say. Enough that I am paid in sacks of gold, but cannot even afford to butter my damned bread. 

The long silence that followed was answer enough. 

“What do you want?” Fia asked, still defiant.

Velk smiled again. This time, however, it wasn’t with the charms of a charlatan. He looked sincere. “Like I said, a tattoo.” 

A frown pulled at Fia’s lips. She crossed her arms impatiently. Obviously, the next answer was the one that mattered. “A tattoo of what?” 

Velk rose from the wall, fingers dancing with a flourish. “A skeleton key. My life is filled with too many doors, Fia, and some have proven difficult to open.” 

Fia’s lungs filled with a sharp intake of air. She got a proper look at the man now. His black cloak was parted, revealing pockets filled with twine, pliers, and other tools she could not name. Two palm-sized blades were strapped to each thigh. She gawked at the realization. “You’re a thief!” 

Velk leaned over with a dramatic bow. “I’d prefer you call me Velk, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Fia began to shake her head rapidly and pointed sharply towards the door. “I cannot aid a thief! You must leave. Now. Go, and do not come back.”

Velk straightened once more. He put both hands in front of him, palms out. “Please. Hear me out. If this works, your key will open any lock. Any lock, Fia. Even the ones that shackle you to the king.”  

“That’s—” her head was still shaking. “That’s an abstraction. Such a tattoo isn’t possible.” 

Her protestations only seemed to further encourage him. “It is! I have spoken with your clients. You have manifested love where there was only indifference, given knowledge where there was once ignorance. Your powers are not limited to what is tangible, Fia. You can do this. We can do this.” 

Fia looked around at the tattoo shop — at the floors she swept and counters she wiped every day for the past ten years. She thought of her shabby apartment just up the road, with its cracked window and the roof that never stopped leaking, even when there was no rain. She could leave. Hope threatened to blossom in her chest. The sensation was so beautiful, so fragile, it pained her. She steeled herself against it.

“Thieves do not just open doors. They lie. How can I possibly trust your word?” 

Velk pursed his lips as he considered the question. In truth, he had usually won people over by this point. 

“You may tattoo it on me,” he concluded. “The assurance of my promise to you.”

Her mouth hung agape. “You would trust me to do such a thing?” 

Velk shrugged as if he had just offered her a sweet, rather than the bonds of a magical oath. “Trust goes both ways, my talented friend. And if there is anyone I trust myself to be bound to, it is one who has felt the fathomless weight of their own chains.” 

Fia was speechless. The hope was growing into something more substantive, stoked by Velk’s blind faith. It could work, couldn’t it? What other choice did she have? Before the doubt could sink its teeth into her, she thrust out her hand. “You have a deal.”

Velk’s fingers wrapped around hers. They were surprisingly warm. “Deal.” 

Fia moved swiftly but diligently as she set out her materials. Her colleagues had gone home for the night, but with her luck, one of them might have forgotten something in the shop. With her setup complete, she instructed Velk to spread his hands, palms down, onto the table. 

“Your tattoos will be visible,” she warned, needle hovering over his fingers. “Your hands are the source of your talents, and the tattoo will be most effective there. You’ll need to wear gloves in public. This cannot come back to me,” she emphasized.

“I’m a thief, remember? Gloves are practically part of the uniform.” 

Something about Velk’s easy confidence steadied her nerves. The moment the needle touched his skin, golden light shone at the point of contact. She chewed her lip in concentration. 

“Tell me about your chains,” Velk said after a few minutes. “I must know everything there is to know if I’m to unlock them.” 

Fia hesitated. She’d never spoken of her unwilling arrangement with the king. Yet Velk’s logic was sound, and she desperately wanted this to work. So, she told him everything: about the records the king kept in the archives, documenting the names and whereabouts of her family; about her landlord, whom she suspected was in the king’s employ. She even told him about the full-body inspection she underwent every morning to ensure she had not tattooed any mischievous magic upon herself.

They talked through the hours she worked, stopping only a few times when they heard the approaching footsteps of passersby. When she finally finished, they both admired her handwork. Velk’s fingers were now covered in a series of strange markings, each resembling the wards and bittings of a hundred unique keys. Tiny glyphs added additional intricacies, barely visible to the naked eye. 

“Magnificent,” Velk breathed, twisting his hands this way and that. “Where is the one that signifies our agreement?” 

“It’s hidden,” Fia responded quickly. “So that you cannot burn or cut it away.” 

Velk raised an eyebrow. “Clever. Tell me, have you ever considered the life of a charlatan?” 

Fia laughed. She could not remember the last time she’d heard the sound. It felt strange, but lovely. “Perhaps I will, once I’m free of this place.” 

Rising to his feet, Velk bowed once more. “I hope you do. Then perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of enjoying your company a little longer.”

Fia adjusted her collar to hide the creeping flush in her neck. From the drop in Velk’s gaze, she suspected her efforts were fruitless. 

“I’ll come collect you when the chains have been broken,” he said, voice full of promise.

“How will I know?” She hated how uncertain she still sounded. 

Velk laughed, loosening the tightness in her chest. “Oh, you’ll know. I’m terribly unsubtle for a thief.”  

He gave her one last wink before turning heel and walking into the moonlit streets, the bell chiming behind him. 

***

A week passed, and Fia was beginning to worry that the thief would never return for her. Had he been captured? Killed? She trusted in her talents, but even the most powerful magic could not overcome death if it found him.

After a month, she was all but certain that Velk’s plans had gone awry. She had resolved to forget about him and resign herself to the chains that tethered her to this place. 

Three months had passed when the alarm bells rang through the town square. Looking up from her illustrations, she saw hundreds of people crowding in the streets through the shop window. She rushed out the front door to see the cause of the commotion. 

Castle Ulysses was consumed by the blue flames of dragonfire. She could see the king’s dragon flying circles around the eastern wing, shooting its molten breath into every crevice. Its furious roars shook the cobblestone roads.

Fia pressed forward, straight towards the nearest guard. He was ushering people towards the city gates. She caught his attention.

“Guard! What’s happened?”

“There was a break-in, Miss.” He spoke quickly. “Apparently, the criminal thought it wise to steal from the dragon’s hoard. It broke out of its shackles just to chase them down.” He motioned towards the fiery tower. “They ran to take refuge in the king’s archives. Bloody fool. Every exit is magically locked. They’ll burn, along with everything else in that place. Pity about all the paperwork, though. A real inconvenience.”

Fia’s skin grew several shades paler. No, it couldn’t be. 

“Best get on, Miss,” the guard urged, shooing her in the direction of the gates. “The town should be safe, but it’s wiser not to take any chances.” 

Fia allowed herself to be carried by the waves of the crowd. The pull subsided as soon as she passed through the city gates. Townsfolk dispersed in all directions. Only she stood still amidst the chaos, too dazed to think straight.

It couldn’t be.

She looked down to her feet, black curls falling forward, vision blurring with tears. 

She startled when a gloved hand parted the drapes of her dark hair. Her head jerked up to find a familiar, self-satisfied smile. 

Velk tucked the lock behind her ear. 

“C’mon,” he said, reaching down to interlace his fingers with hers. She could feel her magic coursing through them. “A promise is a promise. Now, let’s go open some doors.”