Fell Beasts and Fair

by C. J. Brightley

  It was too easy a mark to pass up.

  I felt my fingers twitch in anticipation and brushed them free of sugar on my trousers as I angled my course to intercept his. I assumed a nonchalance I didn’t feel as we approached, and at the last moment, pretended to stumble on a cobblestone, taking care to fall into him. That cobblestone almost did me in; it rocked under my foot, and my ankle gave a faint twinge of protest, but that didn’t stop my fingers from sliding into his pocket and snagging the edge of the purse that peeped through the gap.

  I gasped and apologized, sacrificing the last of my nuts in an attempted distraction, and tucked the purse into my pocket even as he righted me.

  “I’m so sorry!” I gasped, using my now free hand to brush sugar and cinnamon from the sleeve of his tunic. Since my other hand was actively sprinkling him with what was left in the paper sleeve, this was an exercise in futility and he quickly pushed me away, preferring to finish the job himself.

  “It’s no trouble at all,” he said, glancing up and offering me a grin that made my heart skip a beat. My, but he was handsome.

  Sternly telling my heart to calm down, I offered an apologetic bow and quickly turned away. Which was when my pocket started wailing.

  “Thief!” it cried in a high-pitched wail. “Thiiiiieeeeef!”

  Spitting a curse directed at mages and mageborn alike, I took off down the street, yanking the purse from my pocket and flinging it away. Or, at least, trying to.

  It stuck to my hand like spirit gum, clinging to my fingers and continuing to wail. Darn mages and their tricky spells.

  I clenched the purse tightly in my fist and stuffed it inside my vest and under the other arm, hoping to stifle its cries. I put on another burst of speed, dodging the curious street vendors and passersby who looked at me strangely.

  Rule number one of being chased is don’t look back. It doesn’t help, and only gives any pursuers that much of an edge.

  Actually, I thought, rule number one should be don’t get chased in the first place. If you’re being chased, it’s because you got sloppy. Or you missed the signs of magic and robbed a thrice-cursed mage of his thief-proofed purse. Tourist he may have been; naïve he apparently was not.

  Several alleys and shortcuts later, I risked a look behind me. No one was actively following, and this part of town was unlikely to raise a fuss about a thief. I slowed and put a hand on my racing heart. The purse was still whimpering quietly to itself, and I began to look around for something to silence it. A bucket of water would help, drowning the spell and limiting its effectiveness till it dried; but fire would be a more permanent solution.

  As I turned another corner, I spotted someone’s pan of laundry bubbling over a fire. No one was in sight, so I quickly snagged a burning brand from the fire. Holding it awkwardly in my left hand, I brought my right hand with its clinging purse out and put it next the brand. This would be difficult to accomplish without burning myself, and I stuck my tongue out in concentration.

  “I’d really rather you didn’t do that,” a voice said, and I nearly ran my hand through with the burning stick.

  The purse stopped wailing and, when the man stepped forward and plucked it oh-so-easily from my fingers, positively purred.

  I scowled, telling my heart that, good-looking or not, this man was about to make my life very difficult, so you may as well calm down, you stupid muscle.

  I stepped back, brandishing my burning stick in a lame attempt to keep him away. If he had any more magical trinkets, hauling me off to prison would be a piece of cake.

  “You’re really quite good,” he said, apparently deciding I wasn’t going to speak. “I didn’t even feel you take it. Though the distraction was a bit over the top. You didn’t need to douse me in nuts. Having you throw yourself in my arms was quite distracting enough.”

  I felt a blush suffuse my cheeks and cursed my body for betraying me. I also dropped the stick, as I was in imminent danger of being burned.

  “What are you going to do?” I managed to say, wondering if I had gotten my wind back enough to risk another attempt at flight.

  He looked surprised. “Why, nothing. Nothing at all. You haven’t stolen anything from me,” he added, patting his pocket. “And, obviously, I merely followed you to make sure you didn’t injure yourself when you fell against me.” He glanced down at my ankle that was, come to think of it, throbbing faintly. It hadn’t appreciated my flight through the back alleys of Etherwind.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I managed, backing away another step.

  “Don’t go!” he said. “You might actually be able to help me. I’m new to town”—I couldn’t contain a snort of derision—“and I’m a bit lost.” He smiled at me again, a blinding smile that made me wonder if that was how snakes were said to hypnotize their meals into walking down their throats. I had a sudden sympathy for the meal.

  Almost against my will, I found myself replying, “What are you looking for?”

  “A tavern.”

  I silently pointed out the three that were in sight.

  “No, a specific tavern.” His smile was starting to irritate me, and my sixth sense was buzzing that something was a little off.

  “Stop that!” I cried, kicking the burning coals from the brand I’d dropped in his direction.

  His smile faltered, and he looked at me with sudden intensity. “You felt that?”

  “Yes.” I rubbed my arms. “It was creepy.”

  “Amazing!” he smiled again, and this one had a depth that had been lacking in his previous attempts. “My first day in Etherwind and I meet a null.”

  “A what?” I hadn’t understood the word, but it didn’t sound flattering.

  “A null! You can sense spells in progress, even though you can’t work magic. It can be a very useful talent.”

  I let out another snort. “If that were true, wouldn’t I have felt your purse before I stole it?”

  He waved away this objection. “You’re untrained. That’s only to be expected. Anyway. I’m looking for the Spotted Sow. Do you know it?”

  I gave him a wary look. “Yes. You sure that’s the one you want? I know several where you’re less likely to get a knife in the back, and the cider is better, too.”

  “No, it must be the Spotted Sow.” He smiled sunnily at me. “I’m meeting someone.”

  “Yeah, Lady Death,” I muttered, but I turned away and motioned for him to follow.

  We wended our way through the poorer districts of town and into what could only be called the slums. It was the sort of place the noblemen preferred to ignore the existence of, until they needed a particular sort of problem solved. And then they came to places like the Spotted Sow, to make deals in the dim taproom after which people “mysteriously” disappeared. I stayed away, though I could’ve been in on the take of a number of lucrative jobs that had use for a small, silent sort of person. I preferred to continue breathing.

  I stopped across the street and nodded in the direction of the tavern. “There you go.”

  I turned to leave and felt his hand on my shoulder. It was uncomfortably warm and, I fancied, made my skin tingle.

  “You should come with me. I think you’d be useful in the expedition I’m planning.” He smiled warmly down into my eyes, and I felt my feet still without my willing them to.

  Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “What sort of expedition?”

  “It’s a sort of treasure hunt,” he said, still not removing his hand. I shrugged it off my shoulder, not sure I liked the sensation.

  “The take will be more than enough for you to open up any sort of business you like,” he went on. “It could be enough to buy you title and manor of your own, if that was something you wanted.”

  I allowed myself to be swept up in sudden dreams of wealth. I could picture myself mincing down the cobbled streets in those perilously high heels, with a parasol over my head and two or three lackeys carrying parcels trailing behind. I would be so blindingly wealthy that my background could be ignor
ed as an eccentricity, and all of the young men would fall at my feet adoringly. I banished these pleasant dreams with a wave of my hand, but another idea crept in. I could, it suggested, set up a home for the street children. Rather than sending the occasional stolen purse their way, I could instead create a haven for them, and give them some hope. I waved this image away as well, but I couldn’t deny that it was a temptation. It couldn’t hurt to at least listen to his proposal, right?

  “Fine,” I said at last, but held up a forestalling hand. “I’m willing to listen. But no promises.”

  “Excellent!” he cried, and, taking my hand, pulled me across the street and into the Sow.

  It was worse than I remembered. Even now, in the middle of the day, it was packed with ne’er-do-wells and idlers who gulped ale from dirty wooden tankards. Women of questionable morality brought refills, sat in laps, or dodged groping hands as their whim led them. I found myself shrinking against my still unnamed mark, preferring the dubious protection of his presence to the alternatives.

  One drunken man reeled in front of us, careening into chairs in his attempt to accost my companion. There was a brief scuffle that left the man on the floor with a bloody arm and a suddenly sober look on his face. Jostling for position in the sudden chaos, I caught a glimpse of my protector’s face, and drew back at the glittering smile. It was as hard and merciless as diamond, and I felt a wave of doubt at my decision. However, when he turned once more to me and offered his arm, my misgivings faded. We made our thereafter unassailed way to a table in the corner, where we sat, facing the room.

  We had not even had time to catch a waitress’ eye before two men placed themselves in front of our table.

  “You Ariel?” One of them asked, a burly fellow with a bushy brown beard and a scar that ran across one white, sightless eye. The other eye looked over my companion and then me. “You’re late.”

  “I’m Ariel,” my companion affirmed, ignoring the comment, and both men sat down. The bearded fellow flipped his chair around and straddled it, making room for his sword and the buckler on his back. The other sat in his chair normally, but his eyes never stopped roving over the inhabitants of the room. He was clean-shaven, but I rather thought that was through lack of facial hair rather than any personal penchant towards cleanliness. His long, greasy hair was pulled back in a tail and his nails were dirty as he fidgeted with a sheathed knife.

  “I am Ariel,” he repeated, “but I’m not familiar with your names.”

  “Hendar,” said the bearded one, and, “Ivis,” said the other. All three turned expectantly to me.

  “Lily,” I said, returning their belligerent gazes as well as I was able. I’d heard things about Hendar, and they hadn’t been nice things. I wasn’t sure about Ivis, but if he was hanging out with Hendar, that wasn’t a mark in his favor.

  “Lightfingered Lily?” Hendar grunted. “I’ve heard of you. Just an ordinary street thief.”

  I shrugged, unwilling to return the compliment.

  Ivis looked at Ariel. “Is she in on the take? I wasn’t planning to split four ways.”

  Hendar pinned a gaze on him as well.

  “Gentlemen,” Ariel said, and I rather thought that was using the term generously, “if we are successful, one more split will not make a difference. And if we are not,” he shrugged. “Well, if we are not, one more member might mean one of us survives to tell the tale.”

  Even more nervous now, but a bit intrigued, I leaned forward. “What is this job, exactly?”

  Ariel beamed. “We’re going to rob a dragon.”

  “No. Absolutely not.” The voice cut through the bedlam of the tavern, causing a moment of silence. It wasn’t until Ariel pulled me back down into my chair that I realized the voice had been mine.

  “Shut up, you fool,” Hendar whispered. “You want the whole city to know?”

  I gave him my most derisive snort. “Know what? That you’re a pack of fools?” I’d abandoned caution at some point, and didn’t exactly regret it.

  Ariel raised placating hands. “It’s not such a fool’s errand as you think. I have a few… trinkets”—he patted his pockets and winked at me—“that should allow us safe passage into the dragon’s cave. After that it’s merely a matter of sneaking past without waking him up. The treasure is in the cave beyond.”

  “Oh, is that all? I needn’t have worried.” I rolled my eyes. “Where did you get this inside information?”

  “I had an… associate who went with me before. He was able to get past the dragon and reported what he found.” His smile slipped slightly. “Unfortunately, he didn’t make it back out.”

  “How did he report if he didn’t survive?” That was Ivis, as skeptical as I.

  “Communication stones.” Ariel flourished the ring on his hand. “If we all wear these, we can stay in constant contact.”

  “I’ve already said I’m in,” Hendar growled. “I don’t need your baubles.”

  Ivis had gone back to darting glances around the bar, but said, “If the take’s what you said it is, I’m in.”

  “Excellent,” Ariel beamed. He turned to me.

  I was still undecided. While fabulous wealth was a definite draw, I kept reminding myself that we were stealing from a dragon. A dragon. You know: sharp teeth, breathes fire? Stop gazing into his beautiful blue eyes, you ninny!

  Ariel placed a hand on top of mine. “We need you.”

  I thought I heard Hendar snort, but I was drowning in blue and couldn’t be bothered to care.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m in.”

  “Good.” He smiled at me, a warm, personal smile that made something flip over in my stomach. He removed his hand and turned back to the others, and I felt suddenly bereft.

  Easy does it, I cautioned myself. You don’t even know him. Caution warned me to slow down and consider what I’d just agreed to; a reckless urge fed by my flip-flopping stomach said, why not? It’ll be fun.

  Travel plans had been made while I wrestled with myself, and next thing I knew, I was promising to meet them all at the north gate at dawn in two days’ time.

  The next morning, I woke up and stared at my watermarked ceiling for a very long time. Had I been ill yesterday? A brief fever that turned off my brain? What had I been thinking, agreeing to this sort of expedition? I rolled over with a groan. Stupid, stupid. There was nothing for it; I’d have to hunt down Ariel and tell him I’d changed my mind. I’d look like a fool, but at least I’d be a live fool.

  To that end, my first stop for the day was going to be the Spotted Sow. I didn’t know where Ariel was staying, and the Sow had a couple of rooms they occasionally let to customers. It was as good a place to start as any.

  I stood across the street, staring at the entrance to the tavern and rethinking my plan. While it was fairly quiet, relatively speaking, I didn’t really want to go in the front door without even the dubious protection of Ariel. I’d heard too many stories, and my experience of yesterday was fresh in my mind. I didn’t even own a knife; I’d be totally defenseless.

  All right, problem-solve: I could stand here and hope he came out. I laughed at myself for this one. I could peer in the door and see if he was in the taproom. Possible, but I could still get drawn into an altercation that I’d rather avoid. I could ask the kitchen. They’d know if anyone was staying over, as they’d be the ones waiting on him. Done.

  I wound through a couple of noxious alleys, giving a wide berth to the sleeping humans mixed in with the refuse, and eventually found the backside of the Sow. It was about as attractive as it sounds. The door stood open, and when I peered in, I could see one very large woman stirring a pot over the fire. It smelled of burned porridge, and my nose wrinkled in distaste.

  “Mistress,” I called, standing in the doorway.

  She glanced up at the sound, and waved me away. “Shoo. No handouts. Get out of here.”

  Stifling the urge to tell her I wouldn’t eat her swill anyway, I put on a polite smile and said, “I’m just inquir
ing about your current guests. I’m looking for a man—tall, black hair? Is he staying here?”

  She advanced toward me, brandishing her porridgy spoon. “No, no, no one is staying here like that. Now get out.”

  I retreated quickly, disappointed. Short of knocking on the door of every inn and posting-house in the city, I had no way of finding Ariel except by chance. With this vague notion in mind, I made my way back to the wealthier parts of town.

  Wandering the streets that grew more crowded as the day progressed, I saw no tall, dark haired forms that could be Ariel. I did lift a couple of purses out of habit, and nearly gave myself away when the unexpected weight of one caught me off-guard.

  Heart racing, I ducked my head and hurried around several corners so I’d be out of sight when the man I’d lifted it from inevitably noticed its loss. Slipping into a shadowy doorway, I opened the drawstring and gasped. It was almost entirely gold. I quickly closed the purse and tucked into an inner pocket. And then I stood and thought.

  While not enough money to set me up in a trade of my choosing, there was definitely plenty to make me think seriously about my life. I didn’t want to be a thief forever; the risk of getting caught and ending up on a ship to a prison colony would only increase as I got older. And I would, eventually, get caught. I nearly had yesterday. It had only been Ariel’s strange whim that led him to hire me instead of handing me over to the city guards. Speaking of Ariel’s strange whims, a percentage of a dragon’s hoard would definitely be enough to change my life. And with a little bit of preparation, I might actually survive the attempt.

  I set out again, but headed now for the mage quarter. I had enough cash to make some specific purchases, and the first one was accomplished at a weapons dealer at the edge of the mage quarter. A few minutes in the shop left me lighter in the purse but with a serviceable dagger at my belt. There was a green stone in the hilt that tingled when I rubbed a hand over it, which hopefully meant the shopkeeper hadn’t lied.