Death of a King

by Robert Evert

  “It’s a long story. What you need to understand is that if this man finds me, if you tell people my real name—”

  “Oh! Don’t worry about that! Not now! Believe me, I’ll take it to my grave. I’ll even keep calling you Samantha. No problem.”

  The name she had given him was Sarah, but she didn’t feel like correcting him.

  “I’d appreciate that, Magnus. By telling you what happened, I’m putting my life in your hands. One slip of the tongue and you could get me killed.” She looked at him closely. “Are you sure you want to hear more?”

  He nodded fervently. “Yes! Yes, please. Go on!”

  “Very well.” She got up and walked across the tiny room, wondering what to say and what not to say. Talking about it felt cathartic. Sir Edris and Reg always avoided discussing what had happened, as though everything in her life had always been rosy. But deep down, the blackness still lingered.

  “Somebody has helped me hide from the person who cut me. Don’t ask who. I won’t tell you. He’s a friend of mine. A dear friend. In exchange for protecting me, I do things for him. We’re kind of a team.”

  “A team? A team to do what?”

  “Do you remember my shop?” she asked.

  “Yeah, of course. You have—” Understanding swept over Magnus’s young face. “He steals things, doesn’t he? And you sell them for him. You pretend to be a shop owner and you sell what he steals. Oh man, that’s brilliant! Is he high up in the thieves’ guild? Could he speak for me and get me in?”

  She couldn’t have thought up a better lie, so Natalie went with it. “Yes, he’s a member of the thieves’ guild. But I don’t think he’d—”

  “What does poisoning a lord and returning a book have to do with your shop?”

  “Magnus, you can’t ask too many questions. It’s for your own good.” Natalie could see he still needed some sort of answer. “All right. Remember what I said about learning things to make money?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not the only one who does that.”

  Magnus stared at the ceiling as if trying to put two and two together. “So these guys broke into the library to learn something from the book you had me return. It must have been something that could’ve made them a lot of money. Otherwise, why shoot somebody for it?” He shook his head, baffled. “But what could they learn from Anals of the Kings?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I mean, Annals of the Kings.” He giggled. “Sorry. Though it’d be kind of funny to have a book named Anals of the Kings.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t read.”

  “A friend told me what it said.”

  “You showed somebody the book?” Natalie asked, trying to imagine the ramifications. “That was dangerous, Magnus. You could be putting all of us in great peril, especially your friend.”

  “Believe me, he deserves it. And I didn’t show him the book. I wrote the words from the cover and showed him that. I must’ve miscopied it because I wrote ‘anals’ rather than ‘annals.’”

  Natalie gazed out the window but couldn’t see anything through the dirt and film.

  He told somebody about the book? Things were getting out of hand, like a fire surging from one building to another.

  “Who did you tell?” she asked as calmly as she could. “About the book. Was it one of the friends you’d mentioned before?”

  Magnus grunted dismissively. “I don’t know how much of a friend he is. He’s always telling me everything I do is wrong. But yeah, I showed it to Allyn. He’s the musician.”

  A musician…They’re a chatty lot. If he—

  “Are you angry?” Magnus asked. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have mentioned it to him. But when you see somebody get shot in the back, it’s kind of hard to keep it to yourself!”

  “What did he say?”

  Magnus gave an apologetic frown. “He…he told me to stay away from you. That’s why I didn’t come by your shop when I said I would.”

  She watched him absentmindedly finger the boning knife. “Is that what you want, Magnus? For me to stay away from you? Because if you want me to leave you alone, I will. But I need you to promise you’ll forget you ever met me.”

  Magnus grumbled something.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said louder. “I mean, I don’t want to forget about you. I, well, I like you. And I know telling Allyn about the book and what I saw was bad. I’m sorry. I was scared. It won’t happen again.”

  “I like you too, Magnus,” Natalie said. “But if you keep working for me, you will be scared again. It’s part of the business. Will you come to me next time?”

  Magnus nodded.

  “Good. So where would you like to go from here? We have another job for you to do, one that might be hazardous, but we’ll pay you five gold if you can manage it. And you may need help.”

  “Five gold!” Magnus turned suspicious. “Why’re you doing this? Why me? Is it because of this?” He shook his deformed arm at her.

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t want your—”

  “Magnus, you’re an attractive, intelligent young man. If you were born with two good hands, you’d have your pick of jobs and women. I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see that?”

  “Modest.”

  “What?”

  “You forgot modest. And I’m also very modest.”

  “Indeed. Please forgive the oversight.”

  Magnus hid his deformed hand. “But I don’t want your charity.”

  “If you keep doing what I ask, it won’t be charity, now will it? I’ll be hiring you because I trust and can count on you, not because of your hand.”

  Magnus thought for a moment, then gave her the boning knife. “Tell me more. What exactly do you need me to do?”

  Chapter Ten

  Magnus sat in the darkness of the deserted alley behind the lady’s crazy shop, propped against a cold brick wall. He shifted his weight, trying to alleviate the aching in his butt. It was going to be a long night if he didn’t get the blood flowing in his legs. He should’ve brought a cushion.

  Would he stay all night?

  Damn right he would! This woman, this Natalie or Sarah or whatever her name was, wasn’t telling him everything. Sure, she told him some things that were obviously true. She wouldn’t have whipped out her breast like that otherwise. But when he asked if her “friends” were thieves, her eyes lit up like she wished she’d thought of that. She was lying, and he hated being lied to.

  The tingling in his thighs grew worse. Magnus shifted his weight again.

  She’d shown him her breast. That was unexpected. Well, maybe not the entire breast—not the good part. But she’d shown him some of it. That was better than nothing.

  He had to admit, it was outstanding…except for the scar.

  The scar. By the gods, somebody cut her. She wasn’t lying about that. No wonder she was using a fake name.

  His anger began to dissipate. He pulled his cloak tighter around him.

  She had every right to keep secrets. After all, they hardly knew each other. Shit, he hadn’t told her his secrets. Even Allyn and Syntharin didn’t know half of what he’d done.

  He couldn’t feel his legs.

  This was senseless. He should go home and get warm. Maybe buy himself a drink or something. He shouldn’t spy on her. After all, she seemed to care about him. Why else would she have come to his room?

  Wait…

  How did she find out where he lived?

  Maybe she had been spying on him…

  Anger bubbled up again, but he pushed it away. She was in danger. She had every right to spy on the people she’d hired.

  He rubbed his numb legs.

  Nothing was going to happen. He might as well go home and get warm.

  He got to his feet.

  Heavy footfalls echoed toward him.

  Magnus crouched behind a discarded crate.

  Two people were approachin
g, whispering.

  Why were they whispering? Who’d overhear them? The garbage?

  Maybe they were worried about running into some cutthroats.

  What if they were cutthroats looking for a victim?

  He drew the long, thin boning knife the crazy shop lady had given him.

  Two figures came into view. Magnus couldn’t see them clearly in the dimness, but one was huge—tall and broad, and built like the statues in the park. The type of man who could crush rocks with his bare hands. The other was tall as well, but less muscled and more wiry.

  Magnus wondered whether the thinner one was the man who’d shot the guy in the library. He wasn’t whistling, but he was roughly the same build—maybe.

  The muffled clink of metal on metal grew louder as the figures approached.

  Chainmail? And longswords, by the looks of it.

  Maybe they were guards. Then again, he didn’t think guards patrolled the alleyways in the middle of the night. Only ruffians did.

  The smaller figure was carrying something. What was it? A mace? A hatchet?

  They drew closer.

  Flowers? Who’d be carrying—?

  The two men stopped behind the lady’s crazy shop and glanced up and down the alley. Then the big fella rapped on the door three distinct times. The door opened almost immediately, revealing the woman with the scarred breast. She was holding a candle. Seeing who it was, she brightened and ushered the men in. Before she closed the door, she glanced up and down the alley as well.

  Odd.

  Maybe she did work for thieves. That’d explain all the weird things in her shop.

  Thieves in chainmail? Not likely. People would hear them a mile off.

  Then who?

  Magnus crept closer to the lady’s shop. Somebody was speaking.

  “Those are good tidings, Nat,” said a deep voice that must’ve belonged to the large fellow.

  Nat? So she wasn’t lying about her name.

  “I told you he could do it,” she told them.

  Who were they talking about?

  “Correct as always,” the deep voice said. “And you’re sure he’s up for something a little more…complicated?”

  “Absolutely,” Natalie replied.

  “Fine.” The big man went on, “I anticipate Wallace will be about here.”

  “Why there?” she asked, her Angle lilt more pronounced than when she spoke to Magnus.

  “Because, it’s a full day’s ride from Eryn Mas, and it’s the only logical place to camp.”

  “There’re these three hills that block the wind,” the other man added. His voice sounded younger than the other, larger fella. “And the fir trees smell great.”

  Fir trees? Who the hell would care about how fir trees smelled?

  “True,” the deep voice continued. “At any rate, that is where I’d guess he’d be. Do you think the little guy can pull it off?”

  Little guy? Who—?

  They were talking about him! Magnus edged closer to the door, straining to hear.

  “I said he could, didn’t I?” Natalie replied. “He’s quite talented. I think he has real potential.”

  Maybe they weren’t talking about him after all. Maybe she’d hired other people to do weird jobs.

  There was an unnerving pause. Magnus held his breath.

  “You aren’t becoming sweet on him, are you?” the big fellow asked. “You know how these things turn out when you become emotionally involved.”

  “You’ll become blind to the warning signs,” the younger guy added.

  Natalie huffed. “Sweet on him? No. Of course not. Why are you two looking at me like that? What?”

  “You have a soft heart, Nat,” the younger guy said. “Not that that’s bad or anything. Personally, I’m very grateful for how terrific you are.”

  “I’m not sweet on him,” she said, evidently stomping her foot.

  “Okay, bad choice of words.” Magnus imagined the smaller man with his hands raised, apologetically. “But you’ve said more than once he reminded you of yourself.”

  In the darkness of the alley, Magnus couldn’t help but smile. She liked him. He knew it! There was something in her eyes, something besides pity. Didn’t she say she had a mother who couldn’t walk or something? Maybe she wouldn’t mind—

  The big fella laughed. “Reg is right. You’re the kindly sort. In spite of that business with Brago, you’re still soft as a kitten’s fur.”

  Another unnerving silence settled in the blackness.

  Brago? There was a famous adventurer named Brago. It couldn’t be the same—

  “Is he—is he here?” Natalie asked.

  Even through a two-inch thick wooden door, Magnus could hear the terror in her voice. Whomever this Brago was, he’d have to deal with Magnus if he ever tried to hurt her again. Slice a woman’s breast—who’d do such a thing?

  “No,” the fellow with the deep voice said. “Last word we had, he was in Devonshire.”

  “Are you okay?” the guy called Reg asked, concerned. “Nat? Look at me.”

  “Yeah,” she said faintly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I…”

  “What?” both men asked.

  She hemmed and hawed. “I’m worried. My accent. People know I’m from the Angle.”

  Somebody made a dismissive grunt.

  “Magnus realized it from the start,” Natalie added.

  “The cripple?” the big man asked.

  Magnus almost swore out loud. Cripple? The mountainous ass. Six inches of steel ends anybody’s life, no matter how big and muscular they are. And you don’t need two hands to do the stabbing.

  “Don’t call him that,” Natalie said.

  Magnus beamed.

  “You are sweet on him!”

  “Oh, Reg,” she said. “Stop it. He’s just a stupid boy.”

  Everything in the world froze.

  Stupid boy?

  Magnus didn’t know which word stung more—the stupid or the boy.

  “As long as he gets the job done,” the mountainous ass said. “I’m counting on him. I’m not going to lose this time.”

  “Don’t worry,” Natalie said. “He’ll do what I tell him.”

  Magnus stood in the alley, the blackness smothering him. He couldn’t breathe.

  He’ll do what I tell him…like a trained monkey. Like a dog. He was her pet. That’s all he was to her. A means to an end.

  If that’s how she saw it—fine. He’d take her damned money, but he wasn’t going to do it for her. He’d do it so he could build some sort of life for himself, some sort of future with only himself to care about. Only him. That’s all that mattered. Screw everybody else. Screw his father, and Allyn, and the mountainous ass. And screw her. The beautiful damned double-crosser.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Eleven

  Magnus and Syntharin followed Allyn as he hurried along the cobblestone streets curving around Eryn Mas’s fourth tier. They were in the exclusive section of the artisans’ quarter, and everything displayed in the charming shop windows looked as though it cost a fortune.

  Syntharin rubbed his shoulder.

  “Still hurts, Syn?” asked Magnus.

  The big man winced. “It’s manageable.”

  But Magnus could see he couldn’t lift his right arm above his head.

  If Syntharin’s shoulder didn’t get better soon, he was going to be out of work—perhaps permanently. Allyn had a trade. He was a skilled musician. Syntharin’s sole means of providing for himself was as a laborer. He was tall, and strong, and worked hard without a word of complaint. Of the three of them, he undoubtedly earned the most; however, with an injured shoulder, there wasn’t much he could do. One-armed laborers usually starved.

  “I knew this day would come!” Allyn said, striding briskly in front of them. “I knew it!”

  They entered a small shop smelling of freshly cut wood and lacquer. Along the far wall, a man sat at a table, two feet of wood chips piled around him, a long piece of mahogany ac
ross his lap. He inspected them over the wire rims of his glasses.

  “Mornin’ Allyn,” he said as Allyn dashed about the shop, examining the instruments hanging from the ceiling. The carver glanced up at Syntharin. “I hope to the gods you aren’t a musician.”

  “Why is that, sir?” Syntharin asked.

  “’Cause I’d need a tree and a half to carve anything suitable for you.” He tutted. “Look at those hands.”

  Magnus examined Syntharin’s massive hands. They were dirty, but no more so than anybody else’s. Clean hands were the luxury of nobility—and thieves.

  “Those knuckles of yours have seen better days, all right,” the carver went on. “Should take better care of them.”

  Flexing his fingers, Syntharin watched the cut and callused skin around his knuckles go taut.

  “How many times have you broken your fingers?” Magnus asked him.

  Syntharin shrugged away the question. “It doesn’t matter. Put a splint on them and they heal.”

  Shoulders on the other hand…

  Magnus could see Syntharin was thinking the same thing.

  “Where is it?” Allyn rushed over to them. “The red lute. The one made of rosewood. Where is it?”

  “Sold it not more than ten days ago.”

  “Sold it!” Allyn shouted at the ceiling. “Ugh!”

  “Now, Allyn, you know very well how I earn my living. I don’t mind you coming in from time to time to play what I have. It’s good for business. However, your playing, no matter how good it is, doesn’t put meat on my table.”

  “Damn it!” Allyn huffed. “Who did you sell it to?”

  “To whom did I sell it? That would be Lord Leslie from Langstonshire. Wanted it for his son. Apparently the boy is going to learn how to play.”

  “He bought it for somebody who doesn’t even know how to play?” Allyn shook his head in disgust. “Nobles!”

  “Noble or not, he paid hard coins for something that took me the better part of a month to create. Had you the money—”

  Allyn jerked his hand out of his pocket, revealing a fistful of silver coins. “I have the money!”

  Magnus and the carver eyed the coins, and then Allyn.