King's Man and Thief

by Christie Golden

  Trapped in the snare of her dark gaze, the unfortunate Blesser could only nod.

  She'd thought as much. A quick flash of loathing shot through Marrika. She wondered how many of the animals, pet or livestock, that went missing in Braedon had fallen prey to this pathetic, depraved man. She squelched the thought at once. Keeping her voice low and seductive, she murmured, "And I think you want this, too, Kannil. Don't you." It was not phrased as a question, and his answering nod was almost unnecessary.

  "When?" he asked, his voice dreamy.

  "Soon," Marrika promised. Soon enough to satisfy her anger, and this twisted man's lust for pain.

  CHAPTER SIX

  And the Dark Knight turned over his cards, but lo, they were not what they had been! And he knew fear such as had not been his to know, as he looked at She who smiled at him and said, "None shall cheat Lady Death."

  —from the folktale, Cheating Lady Death

  Deveren was in high spirits as he rode Flamedancer into the bustling crowd that glutted the marketplace. At age ten, the gelding was well into his adult years, but he still had the fiery spirit which had inspired the first half of his name.

  The wind was coming from the west, bearing with it the strong, familiar scent of fish and seawater. The salty tang of the ocean mixed with the similarly salty but not so pleasant tang of human sweat. Deveren grimaced slightly. Summer was indeed well on its way; he didn't like to imagine what Market Day would smell like two months from now.

  From his elevated perch atop his steed's broad back, Deveren had a good view of all the market stalls. He found what he was looking for—a sign that stated "Griel's Apothecary," with smaller letters proclaiming "Herbs, Incense, Teas, Baths, Cures For All Manor of Ailmints." Griel was intelligent, no doubt, but he couldn't spell worth a copper penny. Smothering a grin, Deveren urged his mount through the pressing crowd of people. The animal, uncomfortable around so many humans, laid his ears back resentfully but complied. The great chestnut horse picked his way through the throng, lifting and placing his powerful hooves down with the surprisingly delicate grace that had earned him the second part of his name.

  Deveren dismounted, letting the animal's reins trail in the dust. No one would steal Flamedancer. Deveren was known in these parts, if only as Fox rather than Lord Deveren Larath, and that was enough to ensure the horse's safety. No thief in his group would touch the beast, and they were well aware that they would probably make more money reporting a theft to Deveren rather than aiding a would-be horse stealer. He gave Flamedancer an absent pat on his sweat-darkened neck and went inside the building.

  "Good morning, Griel," he called, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He saw the thin, elderly man assisting several customers. Griel turned at the sound of his name, and the expression on his face when he saw Deveren changed from slightly annoyed to apprehensive.

  "Oh, good morning, Lord Larath. I'll be with you in a moment, sir." He turned directly back to his customers. "For your son's respiratory problem, I would suggest this tincture of sundew and hyssop. Mix one drop with ten parts water and have him drink it twice a day before he eats. It will ease his breathing." He glanced again at the boy, a thin, wheezing child with large dark eyes. The boy glared back sullenly, his little chest heaving. "Mix it with a little honey," Griel added. The boy brightened a bit.

  The mother smiled warmly, fished a few coins out of her pouch and handed them to Griel. The older man's thin fingers closed over the money as he waved his patrons politely toward the door. He shut the door behind them and leaned against it.

  "Fox, you know I can't do anything to help you. You must complete the Grand Theft completely without aid from any the rest of us."

  Deveren feigned innocence. "Sweet Health, Rabbit, can't I patronize a fellow thief without being accused of ulterior motives?"

  "You've never bought from me before," Rabbit said, still suspicious.

  Deveren shrugged his shoulders lazily. "I happened to be passing by. But, if you're convinced that I'm trying to enlist your aid in my Grand Theft—or Thefts, I should say— then I'll take my business elsewhere. There are certainly other apothecaries in Braedon." His voice wasn't angry, and in fact he was speaking the truth. If Rabbit proved recalcitrant, he could always go somewhere else. He took a step toward the door, and the herbalist's cupidity won the battle.

  "All right, all right, but if you are going to use anything I sell to accomplish your task, I didn't know about it. So, what do you need?"

  "First of all, some pine soap."

  Rabbit raised a thin eyebrow. "Bit early for hunting season, isn't it? No, don't tell me —I don't want to know. 'Spensive, too. I suppose I should have known you'd prefer the best," he said. He trundled over to a shelf where a variety of soaps, sorted by scent, were piled. Pine did not grow well this far south and this close to the ocean. It had to be imported from the northern climes and was only occasionally made into soap. Its primary users were wealthy landowners who enjoyed hunting; the strong, natural odor of the pine completely obliterated human scent and gave them an edge over their prey. Few cities south of Kasselton had any pine at all, but Braedon was a major port city. Everything in Verold had passed through here at one time or another. If you looked hard enough in the town, you could find just about anything.

  Finally Rabbit found a lone cake wrapped in dark green cloth. "You're lucky. That's the last one, but I'll be getting more in toward the end of the summer."

  "Excellent," Deveren approved. "Next, I've been having trouble sleeping lately." Rabbit's thin lips twitched in a slight smile. "Guilty conscience?"

  "Not in the slightest," Deveren responded, chuckling a little himself. "I suppose I'm a bit tense, with the Grand Thefts coming up. What do you recommend?"

  "I have a special tincture for sleeplessness already made up. It contains vervain, chamomile, mugwort, a few other similar herbs. Ah, here it is. Mind, this is an extremely strong preparation, so you don't need much. Just a spoonful about an hour before bed should work just fine. Don't increase the dosage."

  "Why not?" Deveren uncorked the vial and sniffed gently. There was the faintest whiff of rum and the not-so-pleasant fragrance of the bitter, earthy herbs themselves.

  "Because if you take more than I tell you to take, you'll be sleeping for a week. As I said, strong."

  "Just what I need. How much?" Deveren reached into his bulging pouch, rummaging among the gems and gold kings for more common coinage. A few items tumbled to the hard-packed earth that served as a floor for the shop. Deveren knelt and hastily picked them up, glancing toward the door as he did so.

  "Death's breath, Fox!" hissed Rabbit, his parsimonious nature offended by Deveren's cavalier treatment of valuables. "Empty the damned thing once in a while, will you? Our group isn't quite the noble robbers that you'd like us to be, at least not yet!"

  Before the apothecary could blink, a slim, needle-sharp dagger had appeared in Deveren's hand. It seemed to have materialized from nowhere. A second later the weapon quivered in the wooden countertop a fraction of an inch from the startled Rabbit's left hand—exactly where the leader of the thieves had aimed it.

  "I've got good reactions," drawled Deveren. "But don't think the friendly advice isn't appreciated. Now, how much?"

  Shaking, Rabbit clutched his nearly missed hand with his right one. "Uh .. . two princes, Your Lordship."

  The man's face was milk pale, and Deveren regretted his impulse to show off before Rabbit. After all, the apothecary was more or less on his side to begin with. He badly wanted to bring the price up to a king—a gold piece—by way of apology, but he knew such generosity would merely further damage his reputation in Rabbit's eyes. Thief leaders were expected to be fair, perhaps after a fine haul even generous, but they never overpaid.

  So he contented himself with dropping the two silver princes on the counter, thanking Rabbit, and leaving the poor man alone for the day.

  Alone in his solar, Deveren worked the fresh-scented pine soap into a lather and p
roceeded to bathe his entire body and hair. As his fingers scrubbed his scalp, his mind went back, as it did every time he sat in this tub, to the last night that Kastara was alive. Even after the passage of seven years, the pain always caught him by surprise. It was nowhere near as overwhelming as in the beginning, of course. Nor was it as constant a thread running through the fabric of his day-to-day activities. But occasionally an odd phrase, or image, or scent, would come to whisper her name to him, and Deveren would feel his heart actually ache, as though squeezed by an unseen hand.

  And for some reason, this innocuous wooden tub seemed to be the one thing that always triggered her image in his mind.

  You don't have very long to get ready.

  I told you, I'm not going.

  It's a premiere. You're expected to attend premieres, love. That's why you 're called a patron.

  I won't enjoy it without you. I don't like leaving you alone here while I'm off enjoying myself. It doesn't seem fair.

  We'll be fine.

  Oh, but she hadn't been fine, had she, not she, not the child she carried. Gods, he could almost hear her, could almost feel her smooth little hands washing his back .. .

  The soft plop of a teardrop landing in the soapy water jolted him out of his reverie. Deveren took a deep, shuddering breath and bathed his face with the soap.

  Kastara was gone. He had mourned her, and would, he felt certain, continue mourning her for the rest of his life. But now he had other people who depended upon him. He had come to the thieves thinking to expose and kill a murderer. He had stayed to help them, and had made them a promise. If he failed at his Grand Thefts tonight, someone like Freylis would take over the group. Everyone, from Pedric to Clia to little Allika, would suffer then.

  No. He rose, shook off his moodiness, and began to towel himself dry. Experimentally, he took a sniff at his forearm. "I feel like a forest in springtime," he quipped, the old sense of humor that had come to the rescue so often in the past returning to him now. He truly did smell like an evergreen forest, at least to his own nose. He only hoped the three large, rather unfriendly dogs that guarded the Vandaris home would agree.

  The Councilman's Seat was located in the heart of the Garden. Deveren could see it from his window as he finished dressing—a beautiful, large building that was as much a landmark in Braedon as the Godstower. The upper level hosted the current Head Councilman and his family, complete with dining rooms, gaming rooms, wine cellar, and a huge hall that would, tonight, serve as the stage for The Queen of All. Well below the finery were the cells in which prisoners awaited judgement. Deveren had always though it ironic that the only time a commoner could see the Garden was if he were sentenced for a crime. On the other hand, it was terribly civilized that Braedon's criminals had a pleasant view while they waited for sentencing.

  He toyed with the idea of riding, and decided to walk. He might need to slip off without being noticed once the thefts were completed, and didn't want to have to worry about retrieving Flamedancer from Vandaris's stables. Besides, it was a lovely summer evening.

  So Deveren selected breeches and boots rather than slippers and hose. Instead of clothing that he wore often, tonight Deveren chose a blousey red silk shirt and over-tunic that he had tucked away in a chest of cedar wood for several weeks. It would be less likely to retain his scent.

  He grinned a little. Cedar and pine, how refreshing.

  There was nothing he could do about his walking boots, save hope that there was more of Flamedancer about them than Deveren Larath. As he adjusted his pouches, making sure that the false bottoms wouldn't reveal the second space beneath, he mentally reviewed his challenge. Part of the "test," he assumed, lay in deciphering the code and figuring out just exactly what it was "his" thieves wanted him to acquire. Or it could be simply a case of young Pedric having a little fun—well, a lot of fun—at his expense. Deveren hoped that he wouldn't be disqualified if he, for some reason, didn't steal the correct items. Freylis would be overjoyed.

  The thought of the big man erased any hint of a smile from Deveren's lips. Others were attending the theatrical performance for pleasure. He was certain they would find it—The Queen of All was a fine play. He, however, had a job to do.

  He was glad he had chosen to walk. The air was thick with the scents of the Garden, which bloomed almost all year round with one sort of plant or another. Only in the dead of winter was the Garden anything less than redolent with fragrance. Now, in summer, the scent was almost as intoxicating as wine.

  The play wasn't due to start for a while yet, and Vandaris's guests milled about, enjoying the balmy evening. They stood on the magnificent stone steps, draped themselves across the finely carved wood-and-stone benches, walked in groups or pairs through the paths. As Deveren approached the entrance, he was met by one of Captain Jaranis's men.

  "Good even, Lord Larath," said the guard courteously. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to submit to a search, sir. What with the deaths of them three councilmen and all..."

  "Of course," Deveren replied smoothly. The guard patted him down gently, respectfully, and halfheartedly, clearly not expecting to find anything. He glanced briefly into the pouches and nodded, indicating that Deveren might proceed.

  This boded well. He'd been able to smuggle in nearly all of his tools —the larger tools, such as heavy metal crowbars he had, of course, been forced to forgo—and hadn't aroused the slightest suspicion.

  The Councilman's Seat was surrounded by a stone wall. Within was Vandaris's private garden, a section of the Garden allotted for his personal use. There was even a maze, smaller and far easier to navigate than the main one in the center of the larger Garden. The dogs weren't out yet; Vandaris would wait until all his guests were safely inside before loosing the beasts.

  Time to move on to another item, then. He'd get the dogs' "teeth" later in the evening. As he moved through the lovely home, admiring the Head Councilman's fine taste in art and furnishings, Deveren thought about the rhymes he'd memorized.

  That first challenge, at least, was easy to figure out. The trick was in getting Vandaris to take him there.

  He turned a comer, following the murmur of voices, and was rewarded by the sight of Lord Vandaris himself, chatting politely with his guests. Deveren felt a smile of satisfaction tug at his lips. The room was one of Vandaris's favorites, a smaller, more intimate, and more personal chamber than many in the Seat. The room was filled with the Head Councilman's hunting trophies. Like most of the landed nobility, Vandaris was an avid hunter. His one regret, he had told Deveren once, was that, now that he was Head Councilman, he couldn't escape from Braedon often enough to pursue his favorite hobby anymore.

  The walls were covered with tapestries depicting hunting scenes. One, commissioned by Vandaris himself, showed the lord—a considerably younger, slimmer man—pursuing a unicorn. Not that such creatures existed, of course, but when the art was that lovely and dramatic, who could object?

  Skulls of various creatures —deer, wolf, bear, and others—had been placed around the room. There was also a fine display of riding regalia and hunting bows, spears and other weaponry. Vandaris sat on a cushioned chair, chatting animatedly with two other members of the Council. Over in the corner, Damir, who had left earlier in order to have another private talk with Vandaris, was admiring a carving of a leaping stag. Pedric and Lorinda sat closely together on a cushioned bench. They had eyes only for each other, and found excuses to casually touch. Deveren had never seen Pedric like this before. He tried to brush aside his worry. In the end, when it counted, he knew Pedric to be a good man. And Lorinda, clearly, was a special woman indeed.

  At last, Deveren found what he was looking for. He took a deep breath and prayed that his plan would work. If not, he would have tipped his hand.

  Casually, he wandered over to what he had determined was the first "item" on his list for tonight. It sat on a small table, seeming to taunt him.

  It was a riding cup, shaped like the slim, elegant head of a fox. Its
purpose was to provide liquid refreshment to hunters on horseback. When so employed, it fitted neatly into a special place on the saddle, hooked in place by its slender muzzle. When the rider wanted a drink of wine, the head was turned upside down, revealing a hollow cup into which the beverage was poured. The Fox gives Fox a taste quite fine,/When out of his head you drink your wine.

  This had to be it. Picking it up, he examined it, as if he hadn't seen dozens like this before. "This is quite nice, Your Lordship. May I ask who the maker is?"

  As he had hoped, Vandaris warmed to the subject. He rose and went to Deveren, taking the little stone shape from him. "That, Lord Larath, I purchased from an obscure stone carver in Kasselton a few years ago. Can't recall his name. It's a bit crude, here—" he pointed at the slightly uneven eyes "—and it's too small. Barely holds enough to moisten your throat. That's why I've consigned it to display rather than putting it to use."

  "I like the crooked eyes," said Deveren. "Gives the little fellow personality, don't you think?" Jokingly, he mimed petting the fox between the ears.

  Deveren could feel the gazes of Pedric and Damir boring into his back. He ignored them and continued.

  "Flamedancer stepped on mine, and I'm without one at the present moment. I rather like this one—don't suppose you'd be willing to sell it?"

  Vandaris shook his head, and Deveren's heart sank. Now he'd be forced to steal it, and everyone would remember that Deveren Larath had made much of the small object.. .

  "Goodness, no, Deveren, take the thing if you like it so much. It's been sitting here collecting dust for—well, more years than I care to remember."

  Triumph burned in Deveren's heart. "Thank you, sir! It's much appreciated, I assure you. I'll just leave it here and pick it up on my way out."