On her knees, her weight leaning against the bed, she waited out the night. Just before dawn his fever broke, and for the first time since Haern had brought him there he opened his eyes.
“I’m thirsty,” he said, his voice a croak.
Evelyn smiled and clutched his hand.
“Fresh milk,” she said, “coming right up.”
A squad of twelve mercenaries escorted Alyssa’s litter through the city. Anyone foolish enough to linger in their way received a quick slap with the flat edge of a blade. They stuck to the main streets, where thief guild presence was weakest, the town guards too numerous for the thieves to act rashly. The distance between her estate and Leon Connington’s new mansion was enough to be a bother, but she felt it necessary to carry her message in person. She pulled her fox fur coat tighter about her and waited.
When they arrived she stepped out and surveyed the place. She’d been there once, just before its completion. After Leon’s old mansion had burned down during the Bloody Kensgold, he’d rebuilt with security in mind. An enormous wall of stone surrounded his estate, perfectly smooth so there’d be no handholds. There were no trees in the yard either, nothing to hide behind. Four men stood at the gate, wearing ornate plate mail and wielding halberds. Beyond she could see the building, the walls stained a deep red, the roof sharply slanted. If Leon was nothing but roundness and fat, his new home looked the opposite, long and stretched thin.
“Greetings, Lady Gemcroft,” said one of the gate guards. “Please wait while we summon an escort. Make sure you stay on the path, for an errant step might prove deadly.”
Bertram wasn’t there, but Alyssa could imagine the scowl he’d have given them. For her part she was willing to understand Leon’s craving for safety. Perhaps he took it too far, but it had been his belongings destroyed in the fire, not hers. Ten armed men came from the front door, approaching in neat formation along the cobblestone path leading across the yard. When they reached the front they unlocked the gate from the inside and ushered Alyssa through.
“Your men must stay outside,” said their leader when her mercenaries started to follow. Alyssa paused, gave him a glare to show she didn’t appreciate being told just before entering, but then complied. If she felt safe anywhere other than her mansion, it was here. An assassin would have to be a lunatic to risk the guards, the wall, and the various traps hidden underneath the grass. The men’s heavy boots clacked across the stone as they entered the mansion.
Leon waited just inside the door, a large smile on his face. Everything about Leon was big: his face, his eyes, his home, and most of all his belly. Hugging him was like hugging a giant sweet roll wrapped in silk. Only his mustache was thin.
“I’m so sorry about your loss,” he said as he let go. “I’m sure he’d have been a fine man, very fine. If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”
“Thank you,” she said, doing her best to smile and forget how he’d always glared at Nathaniel as if he were a cockroach whenever Nathaniel was in his presence. “Bertram is busy finishing the arrangements for the funeral, so I thought it best I stay out of his way.”
“Of course, of course. It’d do you good to get out of that stuffy old mansion anyway. Always told your father he should fire whoever was in charge of his maidservants. Every breath in there was like licking the bottom of a dustbin.”
Another smile. Her last head maid had died coughing and gagging on blindweed. She had a feeling Leon would have approved of such a fate for one who had let his sensitive allergies be affected.
“Have you any news from Laurie?” she asked as they walked toward—of course—the dining area.
“Ever since the Kensgold he’s refused to come to Veldaren,” Leon said as he took her hand. “I think your father’s death spooked him more than a little. Such cowardice is inappropriate for a member of the Trifect, but what can you do?”
“Surely someone who lives with an army of mercenaries behind great stone walls has no reason to question another’s bravery,” she said, unable to hold back.
Far from upset, Leon only gave her a wink.
“It’s one thing to be brave, and another to be stupid. I won’t die from a garrote in my sleep. Neither would Laurie, if he took proper precautions.”
“Maybe staying in Angelport is his precaution.”
Leon laughed. “True, maybe it is. Still, he is going a little overboard, eh?”
They sat down at one end of a luxurious table easily able to seat more than eighty people. Alyssa watched the servants parade a variety of treats and pastries before her. She didn’t feel like eating, but it seemed Leon would keep them coming forever until she picked. Deciding on a small flour cake topped with strawberries, she scooped a tiny bit with her spoon and ate. The flavor awakened a dormant part of her, a tiny voice reminding her of her own needs and not of others’. Her stomach grumbled, and she wondered how long it’d been since she ate. She was horribly tired, and in the fog that was her mind she couldn’t remember.
The rest of the cake vanished as she wolfed it down. Leon smiled at her and tore into his own assortment of desserts, as if he’d known all along she’d been neglecting her appetite.
“You are more than welcome to stay the night,” he said, sipping some wine from a silver goblet, but only after a servant tasted it first. “Just say the word, and I’ll let your men at the gate know they can go home.”
“Thank you, but I’d still prefer my own bed. Besides, the funeral is tomorrow, and I should make sure Bertram has everything in order.”
“Where will it be held?”
She sipped her wine. The alcohol tasted strong, and she pushed it away, fearing how much it might affect her.
“My mansion. We’ll bury Nathaniel in the garden out back.”
“Beautiful.”
She debated, then called over a servant and asked for another pastry. The woman bowed, and moments later returned with a cake topped with blueberries. Alyssa wondered how much Leon spent keeping such stock deep in winter. Did he have some secret to keeping it from spoiling? She made a note to ask him once she had some free time on her hands.
Halfway through her second cake, she decided she could delay no longer.
“There is another reason I’m here,” she said, pushing her food away. “I will soon be putting something in motion, and I’ve come to ask for your cooperation.”
“Oh?” he said, that one word pregnant with meaning. The way he lifted his eyebrow, the way he let his lips linger in an O shape … he knew he was about to be asked something he wouldn’t like. He could read her too well. She had to improve. She felt like an imposter walking in her father’s shoes. No wonder Bertram always harped at her to host more, visit more. Her social skills were lacking their proper finesse.
“We’ve crossed ten years of this nonsense with the thief guilds,” she said. “I once thought my father inept, but I’ve come to see how difficult it is finding these rats and bringing them to their proper fate. Worse, I thought we could make peace, at least reach a level of understanding. There will always be those who steal from us, but neither of us should fear death in the night. They live off our trade, after all, and should that trade end, they will be like leeches sucking a corpse without blood. But this won’t happen. Though it may sting, we must pull them off. My son died because we have gone soft, tried to pretend they would finally calm down and leave us be. No longer.”
“Does this have something to do with what Potts has been telling me about you hiring every mercenary able to lift a sword?”
“It does.”
Leon sighed and, shockingly enough, pushed his own plate away.
“Listen, you’re just a silly girl trapped in your position, so I’ll do my best to save you from this embarrassment. You can’t find them all, Alyssa. You’ll never win. You’d sooner drive out every flea from the southern district than bring the guilds down. Half those you’re paying will just sit in taverns and claim they killed a rogue or three before dinner. How will yo
u know? How will you keep track? Every damn beggar you passed on your way here might have been a Serpent, or a Spider, or a member of the Ash. Can you know for sure? Can you prove it? You’re throwing your money in the damn gutter. I’ve killed more thieves trying to sneak onto my grounds than I have actually going out and looking for them.”
She felt her neck reddening, but she pressed on anyway, his arrogance be damned.
“They want us to think that,” she said. “But it isn’t true. They act as if they’ll endure, but their organizations can crumble, their loyalties break. They threaten us with poison and razor wire, and they’ve convinced the city that they are the ones to fear, they are the vicious ones. It is our fault for believing the lie.”
A guarded look crossed Leon’s face as if he realized how far off his first read of her had been.
“What exactly are you planning?” he asked.
“We break into every building. We search every crack of every wall. I have many men skilled in interrogation, and the men we’ve hired are even better at it. We’ll find where they run, every time. These men have no pride, no honor. They’ll point us the right way until they run out of places to hide. Every guildleader will fall, as will their replacements. If they wear a cloak, they die, regardless of the color.”
Leon looked ready to explode.
“Are you out of your mind? We haven’t had that level of conflict since this started, not even during the Bloody Kensgold. The guilds are growing complacent, Alyssa. You act as if you want an end to this war, but the war’s already over. Sure, my guards die sometimes, but they take with them twice as many thieves. Veldaren is learning to accept this, to live with the precautions and the death. But what you want? What you’ll do? You’re throwing away an entire fortune to thrust fire into a hornet’s nest. You’ll get every single one of us killed, and all because you’re grieving over the loss of some … of some … bastard?”
She stood and flung what was left of her cake into his face.
“Father was right,” she said as he wiped icing from his cheek. “Your cowardice is as big as your gut. I will not fear them anymore, and neither should you. It was my fear that sent Nathaniel away, my fear that left him vulnerable. And his executioner, this … Watcher? He is no different from the rest of them. He lives among them, and from what Zusa tells me he is the best of them. And so I shall bring them down. All of them. The best to the last, the leaders to the dirt-crawling scum. Come Nathaniel’s funeral, I will unleash my wrath upon the city that has sheltered the murderer of my son. Now if you would kindly request a servant to escort me to the door?”
Leon chewed on his lip a moment, his fat face blotched red. At last he clapped and did as she requested.
“Wait,” he said, just before she exited the room. “Just how many men have you hired?”
“Close to two thousand,” she said, and she felt a sense of victory at the way his jaw dropped. “As I said, Leon, I will destroy them. I will destroy everyone who dares try to stop me. Even the king. Even the Trifect itself.”
He muttered something, but she did not hear it. Still furious, she turned and followed the servant woman out, more than ever wanting to be home to plan with her mercenary captains. Hiding was no longer an option. It was time to act. The time for putting up with the criminals was at an end, no matter the risk, no matter the bloodshed. Come the funeral, it was a lesson the whole city would learn.
CHAPTER 12
Matthew was pouring grain for his cattle when he saw the men ride to his front door. There were two of them, their chain mail dirty from the road. Even far out in his field he could tell they were armed.
“Who are they?” Trevor asked beside him. He squinted against the light reflecting off the snow. “Do you know them?”
“No, I don’t,” Matthew said. “Remember, if anyone asks, Tristan’s your brother, and he caught infection from a spider bite. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And just in case, get your knife, but don’t you dare let them see you holding it. This is serious, Trevor.”
The lad’s eyes widened. He started to ask a question, thought better of it, and then just nodded.
Matthew led them back to the house. Evelyn had answered their knock, and after a moment invited them in. He trusted her to keep her wits about her, probably more than himself. His other children were in there, though, and once the strangers were outside the public eye, he wondered just what type of men they might be.
Should have made them wait outside until I got back, he thought. Damn it, Evelyn. Sometimes you ought to act the proper wife.
Just before reaching the house, he stopped at a small shed and ducked inside. He heard his son gasp as he yanked their pitchfork off the wall.
“Won’t do much against their armor,” he said, inspecting its four teeth. “But they ain’t wearing helmets, so that’s something.”
He set it beside the door to the house, then opened the door and stepped inside. The two men sat beside the fire, their cloaks stretched out to dry at their feet. They both had swords, still sheathed, thank Ashhur. The rest of his children kept a safe distance away, again something to be thankful for. The strangers held small wooden bowls of a broth Evelyn had prepared for breakfast. His stomach grumbled involuntarily. He hadn’t eaten yet himself. He wondered how much of his own portion sat in the strangers’ bowls.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said, taking off his gloves. “I see my wife has helped you feel right at home, which is proper. It’s cold work riding in winter.”
“She’s a lovely host,” one of them said. He was a plain-looking man, dark-haired, flat nose. Only the scar running from his eye to his ear made him seem dangerous. He wore no tabard, but his accent was distinctly of the north, most likely Tyneham or one of the smaller mining villages near it.
“That she is,” he said. “On your way to Felwood, or beyond? I must say, I didn’t catch which direction you came from while out in my field.”
“Riding north,” said the other. He was uglier, with brown hair in desperate need of a cut. “Our horses need a rest, and we must admit, the thought of a warm building was too much for us to resist when we saw your farm.”
“A fire warms eight as well as six,” he said. Evelyn gave him a glare, and he realized his mistake. He had seven in his family if he counted Tristan.
“Been times we had to cram twelve of us in here,” he continued, hoping to make them forget the comment. “Neighbors had their house burn down, lost one of their sons too. Makes for a rough winter with no roof, so we brought ’em in until spring.”
“It must have been tough,” said the first, looking around the small home.
“Forgive me, I’ve yet to introduce myself. My name’s Matthew Pensfield. You’ve met my wife, Evelyn. This here’s my oldest, Trevor. Little Mark’s over there, hiding in the corner. And these’re my two daughters, Anna and Julie.”
The girls smiled and tilted their heads in proper respect. The soldiers tipped their heads back, and each of them had a leer that sent fire up and down Matthew’s spine. He hesitated, trying to decide what to do about Tristan. He didn’t know what was the right course of action. The boy had been asleep when he last went outside. His wife took the decision away from him, and as much as it scared him, he trusted her.
“You must forgive us for not introducing you to Tristan. He’s sick with a fever in bed. Just had to amputate an arm, the poor dear. Spider bite.”
“That’s a shame,” said the dark-haired one. “My name’s Gert, and this here’s Ben. Like I said, we’re riding the road, maybe to Felwood, maybe all the way to Tyneham.”
“Only wanderers and thieves ride the road without knowing how far they wish to go,” Matthew said. “I hope you’re neither.”
Gert laughed.
“Nah. We’re looking for someone, actually. A lost boy, five years in age. Perhaps you’ve seen him?”
Matthew shook his head. He’d played cards only a few times when trading in the bigger to
wns. He’d never been good figuring the odds of things, but he’d always done all right because of one thing going for him: he had one of the best card faces of anyone he knew. Only Evelyn could read what was going on behind his eyes.
“I haven’t, and I doubt I would, either. A boy that young running around in the snow? He’d be lucky to last a single night. How long’s he been missing? I hope I cause no offense, but a coyote pack’s probably gotten him, or at least what was left of him.”
“There’s the thing,” said Ben. “He might not be alone. Had another man with him, wore gray and carried two swords. He’s a kidnapper, and we’re trying to capture him before he can think of asking for ransom.”
“Kidnapped?” asked Evelyn. “From who?”
Gert sipped some of his broth. “That’s something I’d rather we keep to ourselves. Either you seen the boy and that bastard, or you haven’t. Don’t matter none where either’s come from.”
As they talked, Trevor slipped into his room. When he came back Matthew saw the bulge in his pocket that was a knife. Matthew walked to the door and put his weight against it. His short sword leaned beside its hinges, sheathed. Whenever he’d needed it before, it’d always been at the door. If either of the two newcomers had seen it, they hadn’t said anything.
“Well, I ain’t seen a boy wandering around here, nor some man in gray. We’ve been shuttered inside for most of the past few days, the storm and all. If they went this way, they probably rode right on by.”
“Not sure they’re riding,” said Gert. “Think they’re walking, honestly. Not too many out right now, and we managed to find what might have been his tracks.”
“That so?”
“Led this way, actually,” said Ben. “You sure you ain’t seen nothing?”
Matthew paused, trying to think of a lie. Again his wife beat him to it, bless her heart.
“We turned them away,” she said. “They came wanting shelter, but they were bleeding, and he was armed. Looked like a thief, he did. We didn’t want any trouble, and we don’t want any now. He said he was on his way to Veldaren, if he’s to be trusted.”
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