More thieving

After his fast and loose visit to the Trelawneys having turned a bit too exciting, Cowan was determined to find another job. Maybe something a little safer, unless he could get his hands on some really profitable high-profile burglary.
Strolling down the streets and sporting a mask of utter self-certainty on his face, in the hopes of avoiding any scrutiny from the patrols of watchmen that might show up to search for the thief breaking into Trelawney mansion, Cowan pondered his options.

Once he had descended from the richer neighbourhoods and passing through the areas inhabitated primarily by artisans and small-time merchants, a place were the streets would be booming with life and trade during the day but which were now almost completely void of people, Cowan had figured out of how to go about his further acts of business for the evening.

First, he would make a stop at old Haywood’s place, and see if the old man had any job offerings for him.
Navigating his way through the maze that the smaller streets of the Artisans’ quarters resulted in, Cowan eventually found his way to an inconspicuous-looking shop, a butcher’s shop to be exact, with a small sign hanging over the door advertising its owner’s profession.
Of course, Cowan thought as he walked past the sign and took a steep turn to the right to enter the narrow street between the shop and the neighbouring building; Haywood hadn’t always been a butcher.

Stopping at a small door that appeared to be in such a state that a mere gust of wind could prove enough to blow it off its hinges, and knocked four times in rapid succession, before putting his fist against the murky wood twice in a slower tempo.
Nothing could be heard for quite some time, apart from a few members of Tharros’ bourgeois who were out past their normal bedtime, until finally Cowan thought that he could hear someone moving on the other side of the door.
Locks were undone and bolts shifted from their hinges before a loud creaking noise could be heard, and then another more distinct wail of rusty hinges as the outer of the pair of doors was opened, revealing Haywood.

Haywood had never been much to look at, particularly not now when a potbelly had grown to take place of prominence on his otherwise decrepit frame, with a sparse beard in a colour that could best be described as smirched white rather than proper grey, a few yellowed stumps being the only remaining testament to the fact that he had once had something that at least resembled a full set of teeth, and a face that was little more than a thinly framed collection of wrinkles and scars.

“Kid!” Haywood sounded glad to see Cowan, “What can I do for you?”
“Hey Haywood,” Cowan replied, “I’m looking for a job.”
Haywood suddenly looked less happy, and lowered his voice substantially as he told Cowan to “Come on inside”.
The room which one entered through the back-door was where Haywood kept his meat until he brought out into the store where he would cut it up for his customers with an expertise and strength that his appearance did an excellent job of concealing.
“So,” Haywood asked as he stepped out into the shop, standing just by the thin stair that led up to the second floor, “what are you interested in? A fast and risky gig, or something a little less dangerous?”

Haywood had kept the contacts that he had made during his years as one of Tharros’ top thieves, his skill being shown in the fact that he had been an active member of the criminal classes for more than two decades without ending up having his head chopped off by some disgruntled noble’s guard or youthfully enthusiastic relative.