Grim Views

"Oy, Ashagga!"

Ashagga looked up from her dealings with Fuzruckle, the Ratchet banker, smiling a bit as she saw her friend Drohn waving at her. When she waved back, he motioned for her to come over. She nodded, handing Fuzruckle another stack of felweed to keep for her, and headed across the road to see the Brewmaster.

"Whatcher need, Drohn?"

"I got something for you, Ashagga, if you're interested." Ashagga's ears perked a bit, but the Brewmaster held up a cautionary finger. "But it ain't free."

The rogue smirked, taking up a casual lean on the pole of the tent hanging in front of his ragged shack. "Oh, aye? An' I s'pose yer got summat what proves it's worth what yer chargin', I 'ope."

Drohn laughed. "Only my word, Ashagga."

"Then it better not cost a lot."

"Fifty gold crowns."

Ashagga let out a low whistle. "Old Gods, Drohn, yer'd t'ink yer was sellin' yer ma fer that."

"No, my mother wouldn't fetch that kind of price."

The rogue smiled. "All right, what is it, if I may know before I pay?"

"An original recipe manuscript from Chen Stormstout's own hand."

Ashagga perked again. "Izzat right? What kinda recipes?"

Drohn shrugged. "Not a clue. Never have been able to get the damned thing open." He reached between some of the kegs at his side and pulled out a thick book, written on scratchy bamboo paper and bound with hemp string and wooden covers. He tossed it to Ashagga, who caught it and looked it over.

"S'locked." She pointed to the bronze lock on the cover, peering at the tiny, unusual keyhole. "I never seen one like this."

"Neither me. I figured if anyone could unlock it, it'd be you... but I want the cash up front." Ashagga peered intently at him. "Look, if you mess that thing up trying to get it unlocked, I don't want it back. It's worth a lot, unless it gets ruined, and no one would even look at a damaged copy."

The rogue pondered a bit. Chen Stormstout was a legendary Pandaren Brewmaster, once a companion of Rexxar. He'd vanished, and Rexxar had moved on to Draenor, but Chen's legacy remained in Azeroth. It hadn't been all that long ago that Ashagga had found one of his old kegs and returned it to Drohn, and they had shared some brewing recipes. Nodding, she reached in her pouch and handed Drohn some coin.

"Pleasure doin' business wi' yer."

When her second set of thieves' tools snapped in the lock, Ashagga had been frustrated.

When her fourth set of thieves' tools snapped in the lock, Ashagga had gotten angry.

When her tenth set of thieves' tools snapped in the lock, Ashagga had thrown over her entire alchemical lab table, spilling inks and reagents and catalysts all over her floor.

What was this lock?! She stared at it, her arms crossed, chest heaving with deep, calming breaths. She wanted to drive her sword into the book, wanted to hurl it into the Nether. Only its massive cost kept her from doing either. No lock had ever been so impossible for her to pick. She had cracked locks on the doors of Tempest Keep and Scholomance, of Hellfire Citadel and Ironforge. She had picked every lock she had ever encountered, from steel lockboxes to thorium, from small to heavy junkboxes, and everything in between. And yet, one lock on a simple bamboo book had her stumped.

She took another deep breath, trying to calm herself. She lifted the book, as she had a hundred times before, turning it over in her hands. Her keen eye focused on the lock, peering into the tiny tumblers. In theory, she knew how to open the book. In practice, her tools snapped every time. Wryly, she wondered how many sets of tools it would take to rival the cost of the book.

It didn't matter, now. She HAD to have the book open.

Disgusted, she resumed looking at the lock, desperately seeking its weakness. Her fingers trailed over the spine, and she felt something there, something she'd somehow missed. She looked at the spine, saw nothing but the texture of the wood, but her fingers felt indentations.

She tore a sheet of parchment from one of her notebooks, salvaged a quill and some coal from the mess on her floor. Carefully, she placed the parchment against Stormstout's book. Gently, she rubbed the charcoal over the strange indentations, until they become darkened runes on the parchment.

She took the parchment to one of her few, precious books, began rummaging through for markings similar to these. Swiftly, she identified the Pandaren language, and smiled. Something... anything.

It took her another two days to find the proper translations, partially because the damned things didn't read from right to left, but from up to down, so she had them sideways for a time. In the end, however, she determined the word.

Patience.

She almost screamed. This patronizing stuffed bear was giving her advice on how to be patient?! She crumpled the parchment in her hands and tore at it, destroying the rubbing almost completely. Panting again, she closed her eye and tried to calm herself.

Patience. Suddenly, she understood.

When her twenty-fourth set of thieves' tools broke in the lock, she calmly reached for the next set and resumed work.

When her twenty-fifth set of thieves' tools turned and the lock popped open, she smiled.

Patience.