by Ross Dupree
back. It wasn't anyone he recognized, which surprised him. What surprised him more was when the man ran for the door. Why run? He hadn't gotten the purse and Rickard had already punched him. He wouldn't swing at the man again. Rickard considered chasing him, but then saw Shortstump's back and decided he'd rather take his revenge.
Rickard sat at the bar, nursing an ale and nursing his sore, bruised jaw. He'd helped Winnie sweep the worst of the drunks out and clean up the tavern a bit. But not too much. It was The Pig after all.
Now they sat and talked and laughed, ending their night with the same easiness with which they had started it with. He reached to his purse to settle up with Winnie. He found a small scroll of paper rolled up in his purse. For a moment he was puzzled until he remembered the man he thought was trying to steal his purse. Had he put this note in instead?
The paper was long, but the message was short. It was written in a very common code, one that wouldn't even fool the guards.
Whoever had sent it claimed to be the Spider King.
The Spider King was the man who had pulled off the greatest capers this city had ever seen. Or so the stories went. No one knew who he was, no one that would say in any case. But he had robbed a caravan in broad daylight, stealing an entire wagon of exotic spices and oils. He had taken an emerald brooch from the bedside of a Princess. There were even rumors that he had made off with a set of molds from the royal mint. None of these items was ever seen again in Correndrum.
The Spider King requested to meet with him.
Rickard thought at first his friends were playing a joke on him. He considered throwing the note away, but then thought better of it. The Spider King, if he existed, might be just the man to answer a few questions he had about a few things.
He also couldn't deny a certain amount of flattery. If the Spider King was requesting a meeting, it was the first time Rickard had heard of such a thing. In an odd way, he was quite honored.
And, of course, he was curious. He wanted to know about the Spider King as much as anyone would. Take a measure of the legend for himself.
He would go, he decided, he would meet the man who claimed the name Spider King.
He rolled the note, returned it to his purse, and gave Winnie a gold ecu and a peck on the cheek.
"Let's do it all again tomorrow night, love"
She laughed. "You know we will."
The next morning, now that he was more sober, Rickard wondered if it was a trap. Lure him into an isolated spot to meet the "Spider King" and then take him prisoner with no witnesses. He had to admit it was possible. Those who were looking for him wouldn't snatch him off the street, they'd take him when he was alone.
But for the same reason he thought it was unlikely. If they wanted to take him prisoner there were plenty of opportunities. He spent most of his days looking for isolated spots for his own purposes. Just wait until he entered one and pick him up.
So here he was, watching a stack of barrels. The note had said if he agreed to the meeting then he was to write a reply at the bottom of the scroll and to place it here, between those barrels. The alley here wasn't quite isolated, it opened onto a busy market street, but it was quiet here. Especially in this abandoned bath where he was perched to watch the barrels to see who retrieved the note.
Years ago an eager merchant had built an elaborate multi-story bath house here in the market quarter, on the premise that citizens shopping for lamps and bowls might also want to relax in the warm waters and steam rooms of his luxurious building. And they did, but not at a price that covered the costs of heating the water and maintaining the luxury. Quality had fallen quickly, and within a year the spa was closed. The merchant was too proud to sell or even rent it to anyone else as that would admit failure. So it stood in the market, grand and empty. Men like Rickard used it for meetings and other small temporary operations. No doubt the Spider King was aware of that, which was why he arranged the dead drop next to it.
Rickard could not figure out a way for the dead drop to be picked up unobserved, so naturally he was here to see who showed up.
He waited and he waited. No one came to the barrels. A few times someone came into the alley off the main street to relieve themselves, and twice people came in to conduct some small bit of business they preferred not to conclude in plain sight. But no one approached the barrels. Not even the rat Rickard observed traveling the alley on a regular patrol.
The sun set, and still no one. He waited until dark, after most the shops had closed and the alley began being used for more illicit purposes. Finally, late in the evening he gave up. He went to retrieve the note since it wasn't the kind of thing you wanted to leave lying about for anyone to stumble over.
Before he pocketed the note, he took a quick glance at it. To his amazement, the note had changed! The top portion that had told him to about the request and how to reply was gone. In its place were directions to the meeting location and instructions that only he would be admitted.
How did the Spider King manage to change the note? Rickard was starting to believe the legends might be true. This man might be the king of thieves in this city.
Rickard knew where the directions were telling him to go, it was a large candle manufacturer in the trade district. The chandlery had been owned by the same family for generations and made the candles used by the palace and court and everyone with aspirations to the court. It was one of the more unlikely places Rickard could imagine for a meeting with the Spider King. Which was perhaps why the audience would be granted there.
The candle workshop was one of the few tradeshops that worked late into the night. Workers trundled around the shop even now, making wax, blending in spices, molding the candles. Rickard had been watching them for half an hour. They seemed to be real chandlery workers, everyone knew what they were doing. If this was a trap, he was confident they were not part of it.
He was not certain what he was supposed to do now that he was here. He walked up to the workshop, cautiously approaching the nearest worker. The worker looked at him and wordlessly pointed to a large barrel of wax, indicating that Rickard should go to it.
He looked at the barrel, it was full of a white wax. He could see nothing to do with it. Another worker walked over and pulled up the wax, it was a layer just a few inches thick, concealing a ladder leading down below the workshop. The worker smirked at Rickard's surprise and motioned for him to take the ladder down below.
Rickard found himself in a small room lined with shelves of candles. A few of them were lit, enough to light the room. A dark narrow passage led from side of the room. He used a lit candle to light another much longer one. Might as well be prepared for a long time in the dark. He walked into the unlit passage.
The passage consisted of short distances punctuated by turns. Not every turn was at a right angle, and soon he was not certain of his exact direction. He could be anywhere under the tradesman's quarter, though he noted the passage was managing to avoid the sewers and the basements of other buildings. Perhaps he was under them. Or beside them. He had no way to know.
He eventually came to a long, wide room. At the other side was a small desk. Sitting at the desk, facing the room, was a tall middle aged man. He was writing in a large book, scribbling with quick, precise strokes. He looked up at Rickard.
"Welcome. I am happy to see you were able to join me tonight. Come. Sit. We have much to discuss."
Rickard sat across from the man, looking at him carefully as he finished writing in his book. Was this the Spider King? He was thin, almost frail. Balding, with a large nose, prominent chin. Very distinctive. A face you would remember and pick out instantly in a crowd.
So why was Rickard being allowed to see the king of thieves so closely? Wasn't the man taking a risk in revealing his identity to a stranger? Unless, of course, Rickard was not a stranger to him.
"Would you like some tea?" the man offered, gesturing towards a small steaming pot. Rickard noticed the man was drinking a cup of tea himself, but there was no guarantee it was from the same pot.
The man laughed. "Have some tea. You are my guest, I will not harm a man I invited into my office."
Rickard allowed the man to pour a cup for him and took a sip.
"This blend will sharpen your mind. We both need your mind as sharp as possible tonight."
Rickard decided to give in and gulped the remainder of the cup all at once. The man laughed louder. "Excellent!"
"A candle workshop. I must confess this is not where I expected the Spider King to center his web."
"And why not? What better way to bring my chemical creations into the homes of the rich and powerful? Indeed, into their very bedrooms."
Rickard saw the colors of the room intensify slightly. The smell of the damp mortar in the walls sharpened in his nose.
"We have produced a variety of special orders. Imagine a caravan prince who wanted the merchant he would be negotiating with in the morning to spend the night in a sleepless state of worry. Or gambler of flexible morals who would like for his opponents to have dull minds for an evening. There are many possibilities. Yes, this shop has proved quite useful."
Rickard examined the pores on the man's face. And noticed where there were no pores. The chin. The nose. The balding pate. He smiled.
"Why have you