“You hurt?” he asked Daver.
“No, but—" Daver’s eyes flew wide and locked onto something behind Evren.
Evren ducked and spun in one smooth motion, and the dark-haired boy’s balled fist sailed over his head. Before the street tough could recover, Evren drove a quick punch into his kidney, then another into his liver. The boy fell back against the wall with a groan.
Evren whipped out his knife and pressed it to the boy’s throat. “You sure you want to keep trying to take my coin?”
The dark-haired boy blinked to clear his eyes then froze as he felt the steel against his neck. “No!” he said, careful not to move. “Coin’s yours.”
“Thank you.” Evren removed the knife but didn’t sheath it. He backed toward Daver, never taking his eyes off the street tough. “Now, if there’s nothing else, my friend and I will be on our way.”
“How about you join us?” the boy asked.
The question caught Evren by surprise, and he nearly stumbled. “What?”
“Join us.” The boy gave Evren another gap-toothed grin. “Fists like yours’ll come in right handy when facing the other crews. And that knife of yours is mighty nice.”
Evren glanced down at the wooden-handled knife Daver had stolen from the temple kitchens, then at the rusted blade the dark-haired boy had dropped. His knife seemed a weapon of legend by comparison.
“Join your crew?” he asked. “A crew of thieves?”
“Thieves, beggars, pickpockets, whatever we need to be.” Again, with the beaming smile that showed too-few teeth. “How we make our coin’s less important than the fact that we make it. We’ve got warm beds, food in our bellies—or at least, some food, provided Porky here don’t eat it all.”
One of the smaller boys, a rotund lad who barely reached Evren’s shoulders, blushed.
“And you want the two of us?” Evren asked.
“Well, the invite’s for you,” the street tough said, “but if you two are joined at the hip—"
“We are.” Evren’s voice left no doubt. “He comes with me, or no dice.”
“Fair enough, I suppose.” The dark-haired youth stroked his scruffy, fuzz-covered chin. “So long as he makes enough coin to pay his way, he’ll fit in well enough.”
Evren hesitated. Until a few hours ago, he’d been an apprentice, training to be a priest at the most respected temple for a thousand leagues. Now, he was going to be a thief? Anything was better than the horrors that awaited him in the Master’s Temple.
“Deal,” he said, thrusting out a hand.
The dark-haired youth eyed it, then shook his head. “Nuh-uh. The offer’s mine to make, but the final decision ain’t. You want in, we’ve got to take you to the Warren to see the Red Grinner.”
Chapter Four
“And who might you be?” asked the Red Grinner, a boy who couldn’t be more than a year older than Evren.
“Says his name’s Evren,” Tomaz replied.
“That so?” He studied Evren from head to toe, then his eyes went to the dark-haired street tough. “Another stray to join our fold, Tomaz?”
Tomaz nodded. “Stray he might be, Swain, but he’s got teeth and a nasty bite.”
The Red Grinner grinned. “Is that why the three of you look like you’ve pounded your face on every paving stone between here and the Court of Judgement?”
Here, turned out to be an abandoned three-story, stone building in the Ward of Bliss, a stone’s throw from the back entrance into Divinity House. The upper levels had begun to crumble from neglect, but the walls and ground floor had been built to last. Some of the wooden doors had even survived scavengers, and a few of the cheaper items of furniture remained intact.
The Red Grinner lounged on a stuffed armchair with frayed upholstery and sagging cushions, yet he treated it like a royal throne. The other boys around him, none older than fifteen or sixteen, gave Swain the sort of deference the boys of Grey Tower had treated Rhyris. Swain was the leader of this little crew—no more than ten or fifteen youths, from what Evren could see.
Not a very imposing leader, either, at least not compared to some of the opponents Evren had faced in the Master’s Temple. Swain was the same height and build as Evren, with matted black hair that hung in thick dreadlocks down his back. Not even his mother would have called him handsome, with his flattened nose, wide jaw, close-set eyes, and thick forehead. His threadbare clothes bore the same mud, food, and drink stains as the others. On his belt hung a double-bladed hunting knife, the handle made with silver-inlaid wood—the mark of his status.
“He don’t look like much,” Swain said after a moment. “And his pal looks one good blow away from crumbling.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Evren stepped in front of Daver. The smaller boy had grown more and more nervous with every second they spent in this place, and his eyes darted between the street toughs scattered around the building’s interior. “You want to come and find out for yourself?”
Even though his insides churned, he kept his exterior calm and hard. His many fights had taught him to never show fear. Fear put a weapon in your opponent’s hand and gave him the advantage.
“You want to fight me?” Swain raised an eyebrow, and his tone held a mocking edge. “Do you know why they call me the Red Grinner? It’s on account of the smile I give my enemies.” He slashed a finger across his throat for emphasis.
“How terrifying,” Evren said, his tone dry. “I’m sure you spent a lot of sleepless nights trying to come up with it.”
Swain’s eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. Evren tensed in expectation of a fight, his fists clenching. Provoking an enemy had worked in the past, as their anger made them act rashly. He’d be ready when Swain charged. Though if the Red Grinner brought out his knife, he’d be in trouble.
To his surprise, Swain broke into a laugh. “You’re right, Tomaz. He does have bite.”
The stiffness drained from Tomaz’ posture and a tentative grin touched his lips.
Swain clapped the dark-haired youth on the back. “Tomaz may not be much of a thief or pickpocket, but he knows his way around a dust-up. It’s why I allow him to run his own crew rather than working alone. He says you’ve got the goods, so I’m willing to give you a shot at joining up. What do you say?”
Evren glanced back at Daver. The smaller boy no longer looked terrified, but his fear hadn’t gone entirely. He needed to protect Daver, and if that meant joining a crew of street toughs to earn enough coin for food, clothing, and shelter, so be it. He had skills enough for both of them.
“What’s the catch?” His eyes returned to Swain. “This isn’t out of the goodness of your heart, so what do you want from us?”
“A share of your take.” Swain grinned. “Two out of every five coins you earn goes to me. For the upkeep of our little palace, of course.”
Judging by the filthy lengths of canvas hanging from the windows and the dust covering every surface, not a lot of coin went into that upkeep.
“And,” Swain continued, “if we get in a dust-up with one of the other crews that run in the area, you fight for us.” He thrust out a hand. “We got a deal?”
A percentage of his earnings—earnings he had no idea how he’d make—plus the requirement that he’d fight for them. This new life had a lot in common with his life in the Master’s Temple, though at least out here he’d have a shred of control over who he fought, when, and why. And out here, Lectern Uman couldn’t touch him.
“Deal.” Evren shook Swain’s hand.
Swain studied Daver up and down. “With a bit of effort, we’ll turn you into quite the beggar boy,” he said with a grin. Quick as striking lightning, the Red Grinner pulled back his fist and punched Daver hard in the face. Daver’s head snapped back, and he fell to the ground with a cry.
Evren lashed out at Swain, but strong arms dragged him backward before he could land a blow.
“Easy, easy!” A vicious light twinkled in Swain’s eyes as he raised his hands. “I ain’t go
nna hurt him for real. Just polishing him up a bit, making him look the part.” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Black eyes do wonders to open the pilgrims’ purses.”
Evren struggled in his captors’ grip, but they were taller and stronger.
Swain took a step back and eyed Evren. “Consider this his initiation into the crew. That gonna be a problem, new guy?”
With effort, Evren clamped down on the anger burning in his gut. “No,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Good.” Swain nodded, and the two boys released his arms.
Evren rushed to Daver, who still lay dazed on the ground. Blood trickled from the smaller boy’s nose and his right eye had begun to purple. Evren gritted his teeth. If Swain raised a hand against Daver again, they would have a real problem—one that could only end in a fight.
Evren dabbed at Daver’s nose with the sleeve of his apprentice robes, then helped him stand.
“But before you join,” Swain said, “there’s a little matter of entry payment.”
Evren’s heart sank. Of course that wouldn’t be the end of it.
“Everyone in my crew’s got to pull their own weight.” Swain gestured around him. “You want to join, you bring proof that you’re worth accepting.”
Evren’s hand tightened around the coin he’d stuffed into his pocket. Though Tomaz hadn’t mentioned it to Swain, Evren hated the idea of giving it up. He needed it to buy food, water, and shoes—three things he couldn’t do without in this new life of his.
Swain’s eyes went to Daver. “I think I’ll take that.” His finger indicated the platinum crescent moon pendant around the boy’s neck, which had spilled from his as he fell. “The trinket ought to be worth something.”
Daver’s hand went to the pendant and his fingers closed around it. He treasured it far more than Evren ever had.
Evren stepped forward quickly. “Let him keep his and take mine instead.” He lifted his necklace over his head and held it out to Swain.
Swain snatched it and studied the scrap of jewelry. He seemed not to recognize the shape and inscription for what it was. Few outside the Master’s Temple would. That was for the best. Evren wanted nothing to connect him back to the Lecterns. He wanted freedom from the reminders of the horrors he’d faced every day of his apprenticeship, but that wasn’t the only reason. His interaction with Swain made it clear that the boy would turn him over to the Lecterns without hesitation if it earned him a few coins.
“Done.” Swain pocketed the pendant and gave a dismissive wave. “Tomaz, find them a place to bunk, and give them the lay of the land.”
“Will do, Swain.” Tomaz turned to Evren and Daver. “This way.”
Evren shot a glance at Swain, who had returned to his ragged armchair throne and now sat like an imperious, mud-covered monarch. The vicious light hadn’t left the boy’s eyes. Evren understood why Swain had become the leader, even of boys older and stronger than him. The cruelest, most ruthless always attained power.
Tomaz led them through a pair of hanging canvas “doors” and into a cramped space along the eastern wall of the building.
“We ain’t got much in the way of blankets or beds,” Tomaz told them. “Those you’ve got will be a start, but if you want to be warm at night, you’ll need to steal some more. I can point you in the direction of a few merchants who pay more attention to their purses and less to their wares, if you’d like.”
“Thank you.” Evren nodded. “Where can we get some food and water?”
Tomaz shrugged. “Anything you want, you beg or swipe.” He lowered his voice. “Save that coin of yours for when you really need it. Like a day when no one’s giving, or you’re too hungry or tired to steal. Trust me, you’ll want it handy to get Swain off your back. When he gets into one of his moods…” His gaze darted to Daver’s black eye. “Just keep it somewhere safe for a bad day. This life has more of them than you’d expect.”
***
Evren felt safer as he followed Tomaz into the Prime Bazaar once more. The bustling mid-morning traffic would hide him from any searching Wardens or Lecterns, and he could always cut back into the narrow lanes to lose pursuers.
On Swain’s orders, Tomaz was giving them a basic primer to the life of a street thief.
“The Bazaar’s a good place to lift purses, but you’ve got to have quick hands and quicker feet,” Tomaz said in a low voice. “It’s thick with Warden patrols, and lots of the merchants have their own guards to protect their wares. Some actually hire men to pretend to shop, then pounce on us if we try to filch anything. You gotta be ready to run in an instant, even if that means abandoning your loot.”
The look he shot at Daver spoke volumes—“and your friend” it meant, even if he didn’t say the words aloud.
“Now,” Tomaz continued, “if you’re looking for wares—blankets, trinkets to re-sell, clothing, and so on—your best bet is to leave the Prime Bazaar.” He pointed down the main avenue toward the eastern gate. “The smaller merchants set up in the Summer Market, where it’s cheaper to set up a stall and there’s less competition with the ones who run the Bazaar. They’re the ones who can’t afford to hire guards, and the Warden patrols don’t pass as often. If you wait until the merchants’ backs are turned or they’re with a customer, you ought to be able to lift something small nice and easy.”
Tomaz led them away from the Prime Bazaar and down the main avenue. Ten streets closer to the eastern gate, a smaller marketplace bordered both sides of the broad thoroughfare. The stalls were smaller and less colorful than those crowding the Prime Bazaar, the quality of the merchandise of lower quality.
“There’s where you go for blankets and cloth.” Tomaz pointed to a row of stalls where colorful but faded bolts of fabric and woven blankets were proudly displayed. “Those merchants are sharp-eyed enough that you’ll have to wait until the streets are really full before trying anything. But if you time it right, you can get away clean.”
Mid-morning traffic in the Summer Market hadn’t yet reached its peak, but enough people surged up and down the broad avenue that Evren didn’t have to worry about Warden patrols spotting them.
“You can find water at any horse trough in the Ward of Bliss or Prime Bazaar, if you don’t mind sharing with a few animals. Food’s down that way.” Tomaz indicated a section of stalls where merchants hawked fresh fruits, vegetables, dates, figs, honey, dried meat, and the flatbread that was a staple of the Vothmot diet. “Stick with the small stuff, anything you can fit in your pockets.” He shot Evren a grin. “Porky once tried to make off with a pair of melons. Let’s just say that did not end well, either for Porky or the fruit.”
Evren tried to smile back, but he couldn’t summon the energy. He was too hungry and thirsty for pleasantries, his anger at Swain hadn’t yet dimmed, and the wealth of information on street thieving overwhelmed him. It was just so much all at once.
Tomaz clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, Evren. You’ll get used to it soon enough.” His smile wavered. “Hunger’s a quick teacher.”
Evren nodded. “I’ll make it work,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
“You better.” Tomaz’ gaze pierced Evren. “I vouched for you, so it’ll be on me if you don’t. I got my own boys to worry about.” With those words, he turned and ran up the street, back toward the Prime Bazaar and his waiting crew.
Evren glanced over at Daver. The black eye made his face seem even paler than usual, and his gaze darted around nervously. No way he’d pull off any thieving today. The smaller boy would need more time to get used to his new life. That meant the burden fell on Evren—again.
“Stay here,” he told Daver, “watch for the Wardens. I’m going to get us something to eat.”
Daver nodded. “S-Sure,” he stammered. He looked a few seconds from collapse. Maybe they could use that.
“Better yet, sit over there and try to get us a few more coins.” Evren pointed to a bare patch of dusty ground beside the avenue. A nearby cloth merchant’s stal
l would offer Daver some shade, but he sat far enough away that hopefully he wouldn’t piss off the merchant or the beggar fifty paces up the street.
Once Daver was situated, Evren slipped into the flow of traffic and headed toward the section of stalls where Tomaz had told him he’d find food. His eyes roamed over the flatbread, the fresh fruits and vegetables, the dried meat, and the heaping piles of nuts, dried fruit, dates, and olives—an abundance that, as with his life in the temple, lay ever out of his reach.
But the rules of his apprenticeship to the Lecterns no longer bound him. He could take what he wanted if he was clever and quick enough.
He’d never considered himself a thief, but he’d had his fair share of practice swiping food from the temple kitchens. This couldn’t be that much different. He simply had to stay unnoticed, wait until the food was unguarded, then make his move. Instead of portly Lectern Nallin, he’d have to watch out for a merchant. The open-air market had many more avenues of escape than the darkened corridors of the Master’s Temple. How hard could it be?
His heart hammered as he sidled toward a cart heaped high with dates. He’d gotten within two paces of the cart when someone jostled him from the side, sending him stumbling forward. He caught himself on the edge of the stall, but before he could move, a strong hand snapped out to close around his wrist.
“Not again, you don’t!”
Chapter Five
The hand on Evren’s wrist was gnarled and twisted by rheumatism, and it belonged to an equally gnarled and twisted man easily in his sixth or seventh decade. His left knee, visible beneath the hem of his dull brown robe, was swollen to three times its normal size. Yet, when Evren tried to break free of the man’s grasp, he found surprising strength in his captor’s grip.
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