King's man and thief cov-2 Page 2

  They look just like dolls, she told herself fiercely. That's all. Just like broken dolls.

  She took one step, then another. Her poorly shod feet squelched in blood, and she swallowed hard. Allika did not look down, but kept her eyes on what was left of the tavern door. Step carefully, over the limp arms, between the sprawled legs, next to the bloody heads… broken dolls. Just broken dolls.

  The thought got her through the seemingly endless walk to the smashed door. Once out in the cool, safe emptiness of the streets, Allika gasped the brine-scented air as if it were the sweetest fragrance in the world. Then, no longer dragging Miss Lally but clutching her tightly, she broke into a run.

  She would deliver the Black Man's message to Fox, and Fox would know exactly what to do.

  Fox, known to everyone but the thieves of Braedon as Lord Deveren Larath, patron of the arts, connoisseur of the finer things in life, and incidentally possessor of a slight bit of hand magic, did not know exactly what to do. But he had a good idea.

  Thirty-four years old, he had no crow's feet and only a touch of gray in his light brown hair. His hands were the hands of a musician, a surgeon, or a thief-slim, delicate, and clever. The fact that he had the gift of hand magic, magic that allowed him to manipulate objects to a certain degree, accentuated his dexterousness. Tonight, Venedae, only one night after the massacre, he wore an unembellished, royal blue tunic and comfortable black breeches-clothes that would allow for swift, unencumbered movement should the need arise.

  Allika huddled in his lap, her small face nestled against his broad chest as if she could absorb his strength. Absently Deveren stroked her short black hair, his eyes flickering over the assembled company as they waited for the emergency meeting to begin.

  Rabbit, a local apothecary and herbalist, had volunteered his shop for the meeting. Once, such a gesture had been commonplace, even expected. Now, in light of the murders, the offer was an act of quiet courage. The back room was where the herbs used in his medicines dried, and those who entered had to brush aside fragile, fragrant bunches of basil, marjoram, fennel, and other plants that hung from the ceiling. The warm, friendly scent of cinnamon vied with the strong odor of garlic and the tang of some kind of citrus. Rabbit had done what he could to clear the floor so people would have places to sit, but the quarters were still cramped. A few encased candles provided flickering illumination.

  Deveren noticed that, to a man, the thieves all wore the same strained, wary expression that he himself bore. Everyone here knew that it was simple luck that he or she hadn't been in the Whale's Tail Desdae night, quaffing a toast to the soon-to-be-deceased Bear. As they entered, the men and women, some clad in finery, some in functional, working clothing, and some in rags, spoke soft, somber greetings.

  Deveren knew them all: Clia, "Sparrow," the fortuneteller whose sultry charms diverted attention from her quick fingers; the noble-born Pedric, known as Otter, who delighted in audacious plans and narrow escapes, and his current woman Marrika, "Raven;" Freylis, "Wolf," whose bullying manner and greed would have embarrassed any pack of real wolves; Hawk, Mouse, Cat, Hound… tonight, all their voices would be heard as they selected a new leader.

  After all the surviving thieves were assembled, a pitiful twenty or so, the low conversation ceased. With their leader dead, no one was sure who would conduct the meeting. The thieves raised eyes that mirrored their inner apprehension and turmoil. Only black-haired Marrika, seated cross-legged on the floor with her ubiquitous chunk of wood and her carving knife, seemed at ease. Save for the scritch-scritch sound of her whittling, the room was filled with an awkward silence. At last, Deveren gently pushed Allika off his lap and rose.

  "If I remember correctly," he began, "anyone may volunteer to be leader, and then we pare it down from there." He raised his own hand. "I'm willing. Anyone else care to put his neck in the noose?"

  Freylis's big hand shot up at once, as Deveren could have predicted. Freylis had been close to Bear and was certainly that man's equal in strength and viciousness, though he lacked the late leader's cunning. Of course, Freylis would covet the position. And he was popular enough that he just might get it. Deveren sincerely hoped not.

  A slight movement attracted his attention, and he saw Marrika elbowing Pedric. The young man, his fine velvet doublet and hose clashing with his woman's manlike working clothes, rolled his eyes and stuck his own thin, aristocrat's hand in the air. Marrika had paused in her whittling and her dark eyes snapped fire. Deveren knew that, had tradition not forbidden women to become leader, she would have raised her own hand.

  He waited a few more moments, but no one else seemed to be interested in either the great honor or the great danger that came with the position.

  "We three, then," he said, leaning up against the wooden wall of the room. He gestured to Rabbit. "We'll need three colors of pebbles." Rabbit, who had spent the better part of the afternoon sorting a variety of colors of beads and pebbles, nodded and slipped out into the front room. Deveren returned his attention to the gathering. "Who would like to speak first?"

  Freylis rose. His bulk loomed large in the tight, packed room, and the flickering flame of the candlelight made his bearded, scarred face look even more sinister than usual.

  "Bear was my friend," he said quietly. Deveren raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected a mournful Freylis.

  "I been in this group for a long time, and there wasn't never a better leader than Bear. He gave us back our pride. He had plans for us, plans so that we wouldn't have to skulk around like cowards, jumping at our own damn shadows. We went out and we took what we wanted, when we wanted, and all of Braedon was afraid of us!"

  "That's for certain, Wolf," said Clia, her lilting voice now dripping scorn. "So afraid that they slaughtered unarmed men, women, and children!"

  "So we fight back!" roared Freylis. His eyes were bright, burning with fervor. The small hairs on the back of Deveren's neck rose, a primal response to present fear. This was the Freylis he'd been expecting to see emerge tonight: a fanatic.

  "Don't you see?" Freylis continued when the group did not immediately respond. "Either we're the hunters, the killers, or we're what they eat! Bear was right-I want to follow where he tried to lead us. We have all the power because we're the ones who break the laws! I say, let's let Braedon know that we won't be intimidated!"

  The spirits of more than a few thieves revived under Freylis's tirade. Fear and helplessness gave way to eagerness and arrogance, and some cheers went up.

  Deveren's heart sank. 'Thank you, Wolf. Otter, it's your turn."

  The Otter, Pedric, had just turned twenty-four but he was a veteran thief. Deveren had been witness to his coolness under pressure before, and this time was no exception. In fact, if anything, Pedric seemed bored by the whole proceedings.

  "I've been in this organization for quite a few years now, and I think it's been improved by my participation in it." Murmurs went around the room. Deveren suspected that, while Pedric's statement was undeniably true, his superior attitude wasn't going to win him many votes. "I've got some pretty good social contacts-" here a few people actually burst out laughing at the understatement; like Deveren, Pedric traveled in the very best circles possible, "-and sometimes that comes in handy."

  His casual pose bespoke his utter lack of interest. Marrika gazed up at her lover with thinly concealed fury, her expression darkening with every word Pedric uttered in his soft, disinterested voice. Her hand tightened on her knife, and for a moment it looked as if she would like to stab Pedric's leg with the little weapon. Deveren assumed that Pedric was going to be alone in his bed tonight when this was all over.

  "Anyway," Pedric continued, "if I'm chosen leader, I'd do my best to fulfill my duties."

  He sank down beside Marrika. She stared at him with eyes that sparkled with anger, her lovely face hard and unforgiving. "What?" Pedric asked. "What?"

  The other two had spoken, and now all eyes turned to Deveren. He crossed his arms in front of his chest in an unc
onscious gesture of defense. What he was going to say was, he was certain, not going to be well received.

  "I don't think that we as a group call ourselves loyal templegoers." He grinned, and the crowd chuckled. "We know well enough what the gods have to say about us. Light, in particular, couples us with traitors and murderers. I don't know about you, but I'm neither of those. There's a saying, that there is no honor among thieves. I say, that's a lie, and I want you all to help me prove it.

  "What I would do as leader is to prove that there is honor, that there is fair play and some kind of decency- that the title of thief doesn't have to taste like filth in our own mouths. Wolf speaks of unity, of reclaiming lost pride, and I'm all for that. But where is the pride in butchery? Last week's… haul… got us some trinkets, yes. But the three councilmen we ambushed last Travsdae were unarmed, trapped in their carriage. I don't think there's too damn much to be proud of in running a blade through men as if they were rabbits in a hutch."

  Freylis frowned, his rough face made more malevolent than ever with the slow flush of anger. Now he bellowed, "By Lady Death, you want to castrate us!"

  Others joined the outburst, crying "Make us weak!" "We're criminals, not king's men!" "Quit slumming and go back where you belong!" Some of the catcalls came from people that Deveren had considered friends, and the insults stung. But he had known that his idea, revolutionary and alien, would not be understood-at least not at first.

  "You don't understand!" he shouted, his strong, clear voice barely heard above the din. "Don't you know what went on at the Whale's Tail? Those weren't our own city guards, you fools, those were hired assassins!"

  The single, dreadful word "assassins" was heard above the growing clamor, and the group fell silent, shocked. In the sudden quiet, Deveren continued.

  "I know the guards. I'm friends with the captain. Don't you think I'd have warned you if anything like this was going to happen?"

  "Maybe they didn't want anyone to know," said Clia uneasily.

  "Even so, think for a moment. We all know Vandaris. Does anyone here seriously believe that he would have given the order for that kind of a bloodbath? And the constabulary-do you really think they'd be able to carry out something like that so quickly-and so successfully?" No one replied. Deveren began to feel, for the first time that evening, that maybe he might win.

  "Besides, Allika, who's got as sharp an eye as anyone I know, tells me they were all in black. Had soot smeared on their faces." He lifted his hands and mimed the gesture, underscoring the point. "Now, as Otter said, there are advantages to social position. My brother's an ambassador, and thanks to him I know assassin technique and costume when I hear about it. We had gone too far when we killed those councilmen, and someone high up- very high up-wanted it stopped." He grinned without humor. 'There's a balance, my friends, between crime and honest labor, and whoever did this knows the politics of such a situation very well indeed. This wasn't an outraged citizenry trying to quash a few cutpurses. Whoever did this doesn't care if we steal. They want us to know our place. The murders in the Whale's Tail were a message, and by the gods, we're going to either listen to it or be destroyed. Next time, they won't spare Allika-or you-" he pointed at Rabbit, who paled visibly, "-or you" and Clia glanced down at her tightly laced fingers. "It's simple. Change, or die. I know how we can change. I know techniques, tricks, other things I can teach you. Now, either you choose me and let me help-let me lead you-or I'm leaving the group. This out-and-out war with assassins is too risky a game even for a gambling man like me."

  His appeal to their noble sensibilities had failed, but his harsh, truthful assessment of their current danger had given his colleagues pause. There was a long silence, as the thieves digested the new information. At last Rabbit, who had been sitting in a corner quietly observing everything, stepped forward.

  "Are we ready to vote?" The thieves nodded and a few voiced affirmatives. "Then let's be about it. It's been a long time since we've had to do this, so let me explain the process. I've collected pebbles and beads in three different colors-gray, black, and white. Everyone gets one of each."

  He began handing out the pebbles as he continued to explain the voting system. "Wolf is gray, Otter is black, and Fox is white. Think hard about your choice, and when you've made your decision, drop the appropriate pebble in the box in the corner."

  He peered back at Deveren, then glanced over at Pedric and Freylis. "The candidates will please cast their own votes first, so they don't know who's voting for or against them."

  Freylis went first. He tossed his gray pebble in with undue force, glowering back at Deveren. Pedric then dropped his own bead into the box. When Deveren reached to deposit his own vote, he was surprised and moved to see a white bead, not a black, next to Freylis's gray.

  He cast his own vote and went back to his place, watching the eyes of the thieves as, one by one, they stepped forward to make the decision that would have a vital impact on their lives. Deveren tried to read their faces. It was no easy task in the dim lighting, and thieves, more than most folk, learned early on how to cloak their expressions. Not for the first time, Deveren wished he had his brother's gift of mind magic. There were times when it would definitely be useful to be able to read thoughts. When it was done, Rabbit rose.

  "I'm going to count the votes. Um, Cat, Sparrow, would you come with me? No one can accuse me of cheating then," he added grumpily. Cat and Sparrow nodded and accompanied him to the front room.

  No one spoke. Freylis shifted uncomfortably. Pedric and Marrika argued in sharp, sibilant whispers. Many turned their gazes upon the candidates, though their votes had already been cast, and Deveren met each pair of eyes with evenness.

  Rabbit opened the door. Cat and Sparrow followed. Every person in the room tensed. The slim, older man cast a nervous glance at Freylis, gave a smile to Pedric. Then his squinty blue eyes met Deveren's.

  "Congratulations, Leader Fox."

  Deveren let out the breath he'd been holding with an audible whoosh. Suddenly he found himself in the middle of a throng of well-wishers. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to congratulate their new leader and shake his hand.

  No, not quite everyone. The door banged shut, and he looked up to see that Marrika and Pedric had gone. Freylis, looking angrier than Deveren had ever seen him, was following suit, shadowed by a few of his loyal devotees. Their expressions were sullen and their eyes glittered with a smoldering hatred. Deveren knew that, while he had a host of new, probably false, friends, he had also made a few true enemies.

  Through the press of people eager to ingratiate themselves with him, he felt the pressure of small arms going around his waist. He glanced down to see Allika beaming up at him, and an unexpected lump rose in his throat. To the Nightlands with Freylis and his group of malcontents. The child grinning up at him with delight shining in her eyes was the reason he had wanted the position. She was the future of the thieves' group, and more than he wanted to enrich the thieves, he wanted to protect them.

  "As you know, Fox, you've got a job to do before the election's official." Rabbit's voice managed to float to Deveren's ears over the babbling of the crowd, but Deveren didn't quite catch the words. "Quiet, everyone, please," he urged, and the chattering fell silent. "What did you say, Rabbit?"

  "There's still the Grand Theft," explained Rabbit patiently. Deveren's brow furrowed. He wasn't familiar with the term. 'The Grand Theft is your proof that you're worthy. Not," he added hastily, "that we think otherwise. Tradition, you know. We'll all meet sometime in the near future and decide on an item for you to steal."

  "What kind of item?"

  "Could be anything — the bell from the Godstower, perhaps, or a woman's brooch while she's wearing it, something like that. We'll inform you of our decision. In the meantime," he looked apologetic, "until we can put Leader Fox's plan of reformation into effect, I'll have to urge everyone to be going. We've been here a while now, and

  …" his voice trailed off and he shrugged his thin shoulder
s.

  "Of course," replied Deveren swiftly. "By ones and twos, everyone. I'll go first, just in case we've been spotted and someone's planning an ambush."

  He didn't think so. The assassins had come, done their job, and left. If they had meant to eliminate every thief in Braedon, they would have already done it. Nonetheless, his offer, as he had intended, was regarded as a sign of his courage. He heard the murmur of approval and half hid a smile.

  The night street was empty. Cool, moist air ruffled his light brown hair. He breathed deeply, tasting the slight tang of salt on the breeze. His ebullience stayed with him during the long walk home. He hadn't dared ride to the meeting, as the sight of a horse tethered outside the store would have drawn unwanted attention, and Flamedancer was unmistakable. The walk, though, was pleasant. The streets were deserted, the night still. Deveren enjoyed this hour, when the normally bustling port city was resting.

  He passed a few of the temples as he took the road that led up to the hills and the better part of town. The temple to Light was, of course, brilliantly illuminated. Made of wood and stone, it was set apart by its many expensive windows of real glass. Some segments were stained, and Deveren had to admit that the rainbow of illumination was beautiful and appealing. The temple of Light was the only lit building in the area. At this hour, even the lamps that lined the city streets had been permitted to burn out.

  He passed a guard post stationed on the road and saw the armed men standing over a makeshift brazier, for the bite of the sea wind could turn even summer nights chilly. One of them raised his hand and cried a halloo. It was more than a simple greeting; though polite, it was a challenge. Should Deveren not respond, not have a good reason to be out at this hour, the guards would be on him in a minute.

  "Good evening, gentlemen," Deveren called back.

  "Late night, m'lord Larath?" the guard who had hailed him asked.