He pulled up the hood of Tessa's cloak with one hand and buried his face in the rough cloth as best he could, hiding his skin from the light of the approaching lantern.
The clump of the constable's boots heralded his arrival far more than the glimmer of lantern light that carried through the rough fabric of Tessa’s cloak. His steps slowed and then stopped as he turned, first this way then that. “Damned street-rat bastards,” the man muttered. He hawked and then spat.
The spittle struck the stones not three feet from Gavin's huddled form and he felt Tessa shaking in his arms. In truth, they had done nothing wrong but being found in this area of the city, at this time of night, and carrying a grapnel would raise questions that Gavin was not prepared to answer.
The Wretched and the constables of Hesk had an odd working arrangement. It was an accepted fact that the thieves of the city would never really be stopped. The constables tended to turn a blind eye, so long as the Wretched kept their activities within acceptable limits. Minor acts of theft from market stalls or the disappearance of the occasional purse were largely ignored. Burglary in one of the most affluent areas of the city would not be. A beating was more likely than arrest, but neither option especially appealed to Gavin.
He squeezed his arms slightly against Tessa, trying to reassure her with the pressure. A faint squeak was followed by a metallic scrape on stone and then the puffing sound of the constable lighting a pipe. “Too old for this nonsense, anyway,” the man muttered to himself in between puffs. Tessa's trembling became more pronounced. Gavin risked a peek as the light began to recede and, as he watched the constable make his way out of the alley, he realised with shock that Tessa wasn't trembling. She was laughing.
He stepped back from her and fixed her with a sour look, as she pulled her cloak straight and came out of the doorway. Her elfin face was twisted into an image of barely suppressed mirth.
“Don't you think you owe me some kind of explanation?” he said, with a scowl.
“Well, they are a bit funny,” she grinned. “I haven't had this much fun in months.”
“I meant an explanation for what the hell you are doing!” Gavin grated, his temper fraying.
She looked back in the direction of the cathedral. “They have Khiv,” she said and the humour drained from her face like wine from an upturned glass.
“Khiv? Your brother?” Gavin asked, unnecessarily. “I thought Ylsriss put him in the church orphanage? Surely he's supposed to be in the cathedral? Hell, I thought you were there too!”
“Oh Gavin, I'm too old for that sort of thing. But Khiv...” She looked down at her feet and cleared her throat, making a rough tearing sound. “There are stories, Gavin. Children disappear from there. There are empty safeholds all over Hesk where children of the Wretched were sleeping only two nights earlier. It's even worse in the orphanage, though.”
He looked around. “We shouldn't talk here. Come on.” He led her back through the twisting streets and alleyways to the cellar.
The cellar was still filled with the faint sounds of sleeping children as they made their way quietly through the corridors to the kitchen. Gavin waved her into the room and closed the door tight behind her. Waking the children was the last thing he wanted to do. He pointed to a chair at the makeshift table that had managed to last through the years, despite all the odds.
“Sit,” he said, and bent to get a fire going in the small wood stove. The stove was easily the most valuable item in the cellar. Small and compact, it was nonetheless made of thick cast iron and it would have taken three strong men to move it. He blew gently onto the wisp of old frayed rope he had been striking sparks onto until it started to smoke. Reaching into the stove, he blew again as he touched the faintly glowing rope against the dried leaves and slivers of wood. Within moments, he had a small fire going. Tessa watched with a faint smile as he fed first twigs, then sticks and then more substantial pieces of wood to the fire. “You were always better at that than anyone else, even Ylsriss,” she said.
Gavin grunted and shrugged as he filled the heavy iron kettle and then set it onto the stove to boil. “Why don't you start at the beginning, Tessa,” he said, as he sat down across from her at the table. “I thought Ylsriss had you settled in at the church orphanage before she left?”
“She settled you in there too, Gavin, as I recall.”
Gavin cleared his throat and clasped his hands together on the table to stop himself fidgeting. “It wasn't the right place for me. Too long on the streets.”
“Yes, well it wasn't the right place for me either,” Tessa replied, a little harsher than she had intended. She reached across the table for his hand, but then thought better of it and pulled hers back awkwardly into her lap. “You're right though, about being too long on the streets.” She shot him an apologetic smile. “It changes you. I don't think I could live a life like normal people do now.”
Gavin nodded and glanced over his shoulder at the kettle. “So you left? What about Khiv and all the other little ones?”
“They're why I left. I couldn't fit in, couldn't accept the things they were trying to teach us. Letters and all that stuff about their Lord.” She curled her lip in derision. “If their God is all powerful and loves us all so much, then why are people living in the streets? Why are there merchants getting rich from selling over-priced food to people who can barely scrape by?”
Gavin shrugged again. “I didn't make the world, Tessa. I just do what I can to get by in it.”
“Well, that's why I had to leave, Gavin. The little ones deserve better than what we have. If the orphanage can give them that with their letters and learning, then that's great. I could feel them watching me though, following my lead. They'd never have had a chance so long as I was still there.”
“But Khiv? You left your own brother?” Gavin's voice was hushed because of the children, but even so his tone did little to soften the accusation.
“He was better off without me, Gavin,” she replied, in a flat voice. “They could give him things that I couldn't. I would just have led him back to the streets in the end.”
“Which brings us to tonight,” Gavin said, as he stood and turned to lift the hissing kettle from the stove with a thick, fire-scarred cloth. He went to the corner and returned with two chipped cups and a small earthenware jar, stoppered tightly with cork. As he worked the top loose and carefully poured a small measure into the cups, her eyes widened. A strong, rich smell filled the kitchen as he added the steaming water. “Is that keft?” she asked, in hushed, almost reverent, tones. “Where in the Isles did you manage to get that?”
Gavin grinned as he handed her the cup filled with the steaming dark liquid. “A Dernish scow came to trade about three weeks ago. You know how lax they can be about guarding their ships. Honestly, they're so interested in the whores and taverns, it's a wonder they ever have anything left to sell!”
Tessa laughed as she sipped at the cup, sucking the liquid through her teeth to strain out the grounds. “It's been a long time since the Dernish tried a trade. We don't have much to offer them.”
Gavin sat across from her and fixed her with a serious look. “I think we've danced around this enough now, don't you?” She swallowed slowly and then gave a small nod.
“So explain.” He folded his arms and sat back, waiting.
She curled her hands around the chipped cup and looked across the room into the darkened corner as she began to speak. “I used to go and visit Khiv. Not as often as I should have, but every month or so, just to check in, you know? He was doing well. You remember how thin he used to be?” Her eyes flicked at him long enough to register the nod, then her gaze drifted away again as if seeking a corner in which to hide.
“He was filling out and he was doing well in their lessons. He'd learned things I could never get my head around. Figuring and letters, not just the God stuff. Anyway, I got busy with stuff. Life got in the way, you know?” Gavin didn't nod this time. He just looked on, as impassive as stone.
/> “I guess a couple of months slipped past, maybe three or four. Then Elsra came to find me.”
“Elsra?”
“Tiny little thing, like a waif. You must remember her, Gavin, surely?”
“It's not important. Go on.”
“She'd been out on the streets for three or four days before she found me. She was soaked through and she'd obviously been sleeping in doorways. It's a miracle she wasn't snatched up by one of the perfumed ladies and put in a brothel. She's pretty enough once she's cleaned up. Anyway, she’d made so much noise asking after me that I found her myself easily enough.” She looked at him, fear plain on her face. “She told me that children were disappearing from the orphanage, Gavin. They were there one day, and then gone the next.”
“I expect that they leave all the time, Tessa,” Gavin said, but his voice did not sound convincing, even to himself.
She gave him a frank look. “They do, but not like this.” She pinched at the bridge of her nose and sighed before going on. “Some children leave. They are not locked in, they are free to leave any time they like. This wasn't like that, though. Elsra and Khiv were close, I mean really close. He was never the strongest boy and places like that breed bullies. Those two clung together and tried to stay out of the way of the others. Then, one morning, he was just gone, without a goodbye, without a word.” She reached over the table and took hold of his forearm in her hand. “He wouldn't have done that, Gavin. Not without even saying goodbye.”
“No one ever really knows what someone else is capable of, Tessa.” He spoke the words softly, avoiding her eyes.
“Oh come on, Gavin,” she said in disgust. “Use your brains. Even if everything I’ve said is wrong, why is it the place never fills up? I've heard the thanecourts are even placing street kids in there now when they catch a pickpocket, instead of breaking their fingers. It should be crammed to the rafters, but somehow they always have room for more. That just doesn’t make sense.”
“Okay, I believe you.” He squeezed her hand where it gripped his arm, twisting his wrist slightly to encourage her to let go. She had dug her fingers in like claws and he rubbed his wrist gently while holding her gaze. “So why were you trying to sneak in there?”
“Because it's not just the children that are vanishing, there are babies that have gone too. There in the evening and then gone the next morning. Elsra told me that the priests say they have been adopted, but why at night? She told me she's seen priests waking children in the night and leading them out of the orphanage. They don't come back. Something very strange is going on there. She's not as hard as some of the Wretched, but she's still a brave girl. Gavin, she was terrified. She was shaking when she told me.”
“What have you done with her?”
“I've left her with a friend for now. She'll be fine for a few days.
He shook his head and then reached both arms up into a deep stretch. “So you thought you'd break in and then do... what?”
“To be honest, Gavin, I really hadn't thought that far through it. I was going to have a look around for starters.”
He snorted in disbelief. “Sure, you were just going to scale the walls and sneak into one of the most powerful organizations in Hesk. Where did you have next on your list? The reaving schools? The thane's palace?”
She glared at him silently, drawing her legs in under the chair and crossing her ankles as she grasped her cup, her knuckles turning white.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “Look, I know you're worried. Have you been to speak to the priests?”
“I'm not an idiot, Gavin, of course I have,” she snapped. “They told me that he'd left. I don't believe them.”
“Why haven't you been to Ylsriss with this?”
She looked at him with a mixture of pity and scorn. “With what? All I have is the word of a scared child and the feelings in my gut. That's why I was going in to look. Besides,” she said, with a toss of her head, “Ylsriss left over a year ago!”
“No, she's back. In a merchant's house, close to the new market square.”
She stopped at that, her eyes narrowing in thought. “I don't know what she could do...”
“More than we can. She's important now. People will listen to her.”
“I still need to go in and look around first,” she said, clenching one fist in expectation of the response. “I'd need something solid to go to her with.”
“We will go in and look. But tomorrow night now, and on my terms.”
“I hardly-” She cut off as he raised a finger warningly.
“We're not going to discuss it. Meet me outside the Pig and Whistle tomorrow night, three bells past midnight.”
“Gavin, you don't need to -”
“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. “I owe your brother, if not you. You should have come to me first, instead of just stealing the grapnel. Now, you're going to have to leave. The little ones will be up soon and I don't want questions being asked that I don’t want to answer.”
She gave him a strange look and then left without another word. Gavin sat at the rickety table slowly drinking his keft. He knew what the look had meant. Why was he helping her? In truth, he wondered about this himself. He didn't really owe her anything, no one on the streets ever really did. You lived in isolation. Sure, you might group together for protection; you might even work together on a job. The reality of it all, though, was that they would all abandon each other without hesitation if it needed to be done. The only one he'd ever known who was different was Ylsriss. That was what the look had meant. He’d picked up the pieces Ylsriss had let fall. Maybe one day he’d be able to let them go himself.
He moved mechanically, his mind far away in thought, as he filled a large pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. The keft had left grounds in his teeth and he worried at them with his tongue as he worked. The smallest of the children were soon up and eating the watery porridge he had produced. Before long, they were filing out of the cellar, some with arms wrapped in slings, some feigning missing legs by binding them up tight inside their clothes, as they went out to work the crowds with begging bowls.
The older children would be sent to pick pockets and steal what food they could from the market. Such was the life of the street children of Hesk. There was a reason they were called the Wretched. All too soon, the cellar was silent again and Gavin made his way up the stone steps, through the ruins of the building, into the sunlight and onto the streets.
Chapter Two
Gavin wandered through the city streets. He had no real destination in mind and he simply drifted, moving easily and allowing the press of the crowds to direct his travel.
Though the fleets of reavers had gone to the Farmed Lands, Hesk was still a busy place and the numbers pushing through the streets seemed undiminished by the war effort. The shops were still as busy and the market still as loud, with stall owners calling out their wares. Ahead, through the sea of bobbing heads, he caught sight of the tall helmet of a constable strolling with the crowd. Gavin smiled to himself. The constables were a blessing to any skilled lifter. Most people believed that no thief would dare to operate near a constable. They unconsciously relaxed, dropping their guard. They may as well have just handed their coin over to Gavin.
He sliced the purse of a fat merchant, his hands working almost without him thinking about it. His knife was sharp enough to cut through the strings without even the slightest tug. Only a rank amateur sliced the purse itself just to catch a coin or two. He walked casually into an alleyway and turned out of sight before breaking into a run. Three turns later and he dropped back into a walk, bouncing the purse in one hand with a grin. The sprint was just force of habit. He'd been too smooth of a lifter for years for anyone to have noticed, but it never hurt to be a few streets away by the time the mark discovered the theft. Luck was a fickle mistress and he knew better than to trust to her changing moods.
He would have loved to waste the day away, but there were things that he was going to need. A glance ins
ide the purse revealed far more coins than he had expected, and he headed further into the maze of alleyways, deep into the slums.
A trip to a grimy back street and a knock on the right door earned him fresh greys, a shapeless mass of clothing in a strange mixture of colours, ranging from dark green to smoky grey. The outfit was loose-fitting and hung in an odd fashion, but it would serve to break up the shape of a man in the night. Gavin had never had to rely on greys himself, but he'd been told that wearing them when standing in shadows had saved the necks of more than one thief. Another two visits provided him with a newer, stronger rope than the frayed mess that Tessa had been about to use and a wickedly sharp knife, far longer than the finger-length razor he used for lifting.
The day passed too swiftly for his liking and he soon found himself back in the cellar, trying not to seem too distant as he gathered the children together for a late dinner. There were twenty children in all, ranging from fourteen, only few years younger than himself, to as young as six. As he watched them eat, he suddenly had second thoughts. What was he doing? He had a responsibility to these children. Only two of them had left the orphanage with him. Another eight or nine had found their way to him over the next few months. The remainder had never been inside the orphanage at all, but had found their way to him over the following months and years, drawn to him like stray dogs will form into a pack.
He looked around the cramped kitchen, letting the sounds of eating and conversation wash over him as he poked at his food, a heel of bread and something masquerading as a stew. He would be risking a lot to do this thing for Tessa. But then, he wondered, did they really need him? They had gone out onto the streets and come back with money and food. What did he provide for them that the cellar didn't provide itself? Tessa had been one of the ones he'd left behind. If he'd tried to talk her into leaving with him, then would Khiv have been sat at this table with them both now?
As the meal ended and the children began to drift away, he collared one of the older ones and explained he would be working that night. It was a while since he'd done it, but they all knew Gavin wasn't above a little burglary. Working the streets might net you a purse full of coppers, but then there were also days when it would get you nothing but a chase through the streets with an overly eager constable blowing his whistle. An occasional burglary had made the difference for them all more than once.
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