“Good morning,” Anrel said.
No one replied. Three pairs of eyes remained fixed on him, but none of the boys spoke. The old man was staring at the ceiling and muttering something to himself.
“I’m called Dyssan,” Anrel said.
“I’m Shoun,” said the lad Anrel judged to be second in age, perhaps nine or ten. “That’s Apolien.” He jerked a thumb toward the old man on the bed.
“I’ll get Doz,” said the youngest. He jumped up and ran out the door.
“His name is Po,” Shoun said, nodding in the direction his comrade had taken.
Anrel nodded. He judged Po to be seven or eight. That left one boy unnamed, the oldest, who Anrel thought he recognized as the thief who had stolen his coat at the Emperor’s Elbow. “And you are…?” he asked.
“Mieshel,” the boy said softly.
“I believe we met last night,” Anrel said.
“Yes,” Mieshel agreed.
Anrel was debating what to say next when Shoun volunteered, “There’s no chamber pot. There’s a privy out back.”
“Thank you,” Anrel said, though he was not yet urgently in need of such a facility. The miserable swill the Elbow served as wine had not tempted him to drink deeply.
“There’s a water pump in the courtyard,” Shoun added.
“Thank you,” Anrel repeated. “What do you lads do for food?”
“Whatever we can,” Mieshel replied. “Begging, sometimes.”
“We run errands sometimes,” said Shoun.
“Or we steal,” Mieshel said. “As you know.” He flashed a brief, crooked smile.
“Well, yes,” Anrel said. “But I was thinking more of who feeds you. Who cooks for you?”
“No one,” Shoun said, startled. “We feed ourselves.”
“When we have money, we buy food,” Mieshel said. “I ate supper at the Emperor’s Elbow last night—that’s why old Guirion let me sleep there.”
“I see,” said Anrel. “And when you have no money?”
“We get a lot of food from sorcerers’ servants,” Mieshel said. “We do them favors, and they give us their masters’ leftovers, or food that’s not fresh enough for the masters.”
“Not just sorcerers,” Shoun added. “Rich commoners, too. And inns, and shops.”
“Ah,” Anrel said.
“And if that doesn’t work, we don’t eat,” Mieshel said.
“There isn’t much sometimes,” Shoun agreed.
“Especially this time of year,” Mieshel said.
“What about him?” Anrel asked, jerking a thumb at Apolien.
“He’s not as dumb as he looks,” Mieshel answered.
The other boy had nothing to add to that, it seemed. They were content to leave their elderly companion a mystery.
“Where did you live before you came here?” Anrel asked. “Or have you always lived here?”
The boys exchanged glances.
“We don’t talk about that,” Mieshel told him.
“That’s the rule,” Shoun explained. “Here in the quarter we never ask each other about where we came from, who we were, who our families were.”
“For most of us it’s too painful,” Mieshel concluded.
“Oh,” Anrel said.
With that, he found he had nothing more to say. He slouched in his corner, waiting for Doz.
The wait was not long; Po reappeared a few minutes later and scurried to his own corner, and a man who must surely be Doz stood just inside the door, looking at Anrel.
“Good morning, sir,” he said.
Doz was a young man himself, perhaps no older than Anrel’s own twenty-three years. Anrel had not gotten a good look at him in the darkness, and took a moment to study his host.
Like everyone Anrel had seen since arriving at the Emperor’s Elbow but the innkeeper and the prostitute’s patron, Doz appeared underfed. He seemed otherwise healthy enough. His long black hair was oily, as if he had not bathed recently, but was neatly combed. He wore a white linen shirt that had seen a great many better days, nondescript trousers that might have been either brown or gray originally but were now somewhere in between, and no coat, but a thick, slightly frayed blanket of brown wool was wrapped around his shoulders and pinned at his throat. A crumpled ruin of a hat sat atop his head, and his boots were bound with rags to hold the soles to the crumbling uppers.
“Good enough,” Anrel acknowledged.
“Have you considered my offer of employment?”
“I fear that I have insufficient information on which to make a decision. You have not as yet told me the nature of this employment.”
“And you have not yet told me why your coat is so heavy.”
“I found out,” Shoun said. “While he was asleep.”
Anrel blinked in surprise, and turned to stare at the boy. He brushed both hands on the velvet coat; it felt unchanged. He thought he would have noticed if the hidden coins had been disturbed.
Doz turned to look at Shoun as well. “Did you? Good lad! And what, then, is in our guest’s mysterious coat?” Before Shoun could reply, Doz added with a smile, “The boy is quite a talented pickpocket.”
“Magic,” Shoun said proudly.
Anrel’s eyes widened.
Doz frowned. “What sort of magic?”
“I don’t know,” Shoun said. “I’m no sorcerer. But it’s magic. My hands slid off every time I touched it. It looks like velvet, but it felt like cold steel.”
For an instant Anrel thought the child was lying, making up some absurd tale to amuse himself, but then he remembered the ward he had tried to place, there in the hospital court in the snow. Apparently it had worked, and had lasted longer than he expected. In fact, now that his attention had been brought to it, he could sense that the ward was still in place, though weakened. He tried to reach out for magic to reinforce it, but apparently the floor here was too thick, or something else was intervening; he could not find more than a faint trickle of power.
“It didn’t feel wrong last night, when I had it,” Mieshel protested.
“He wasn’t wearing it last night,” Doz said thoughtfully.
“He was when I checked the pockets.”
“You had my permission,” Anrel said, startling the others.
Doz turned to him. “Then the coat is magical?”
“I told you I lived in a sorcerer’s home for a time.” That was true, but in no way did it actually answer the question.
“So you did. And that is where you acquired this coat?”
Anrel nodded. “Indeed, it is.”
Doz studied him for a moment, then asked, “You stole it?”
“I did not. The burgrave of Alzur gave it to me.” That was not, perhaps, the exact truth, but it was close; Uncle Dorias had paid the tailor’s bill.
“You swear to this?”
Anrel frowned. “What does it matter?”
“I am trying, sir, to determine to what extent I can trust you, and whether or not you will be interested in the offer I hope to make.”
“I fail to see how my coat relates to your concerns.”
“Your truthfulness is obviously relevant. Also, the employment I thought to offer you is not, perhaps, entirely lawful, so an understanding of your attitude toward the property of others may also be relevant.”
Anrel looked at him, then glanced around at the three boys, who had cheerfully admitted to being thieves.
“I have stolen when I thought it necessary,” Anrel said, remembering his desperate flight from Naith. He had stolen a sword, a jacket, and a boat, at the very least. “However, I am not base or foolish enough to rob the sorcerer who took me into his home and treated me with respect and consideration. The coat is mine by right, and whatever magic it may have is mine, as well. My thefts were all committed after I left the burgrave’s roof.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! Then you have played the thief on occasion?”
“I have.”
“And you would be willing to do
so again, should circumstances require it?”
“I would.” Anrel saw no point in denying it; he had turned thief readily enough when it seemed the only way to get out of Naith alive, and he would do no differently now.
He really wasn’t worthy of Tazia.
“You say you lived in a burgrave’s home for several years,” Doz continued. “How did that come about?”
Anrel glanced around the room. “These lads told me that it is not the custom in the Pensioners’ Quarter to make inquiries into one’s personal history.”
“It is not, I confess, but your circumstances are rather unusual; will you not indulge my curiosity?”
“I was orphaned while still a small child. The burgrave took me in.”
“Generous of him.”
“The burgrave of Alzur is a generous man.”
Doz nodded, fingering his beard thoughtfully. “And how did you come to leave this sorcerer’s home? Did you simply overstay your welcome?”
Anrel shook his head. “No,” he said. “I was forced to sever my ties with friends and family in that area due a misunderstanding with the local magistrates.”
“Ah, I believe I have experienced such misunderstandings. But you said you were not yet a thief when you dwelt with the burgrave?”
“I was not.”
“Then what was the nature of this misunderstanding?”
Anrel smiled wryly. “The magistrates had the absurd notion that I committed sedition and treason in protesting certain actions by the landgrave of Aulix.”
Doz smiled back. “How very unfortunate!”
“Further, it has been said that I made my escape in a stolen boat, but I assure you, I had every intention of restoring my borrowed craft to its rightful owner, should the opportunity present itself.”
“I see.” Doz leaned back against the door frame. “And has the landgrave, or the boat’s owner, perhaps sent representatives to discuss these matters with you?”
“Not that I am aware of, no.”
“Are they aware that you have come to Lume?”
“I have no reason to think so.”
“Then why did you seek out the Emperor’s Elbow, when you had the money in your pocket to pay for a far better establishment?”
“I have no reason to think that I am not being pursued,” Anrel replied. “I am perhaps, at times, overcautious.”
Doz considered that for a moment, then asked, “What did you do to upset a landgrave? Or was that a fiction of the magistrates’ devising?”
“Oh, it’s true enough, after a fashion. I was in Naith when that troublemaker Alvos gave his speech, and I got a little carried away. I said a few things about the despicable Lord Allutar that the City Watch considered inappropriate. The part about the boat is simple fact.”
“Your burgrave couldn’t intercede for you?”
“The burgrave was kind to me, but I do not think his generosity extended to interceding with the magistrates. He and I did not share the same opinion of Lord Allutar, nor of the present political situation.”
“Did you ask him?”
“I did not. The opportunity did not arise.”
Doz nodded. “But you don’t think anyone is looking for you?”
“I don’t know,” Anrel admitted. “I wouldn’t think so.”
“You understand, if you’ve lied about this, and someone does come looking for you, it’s quite likely someone here in the quarter will either deliver you to them, or simply stick a knife in you.”
“I am not surprised to hear it. Until such time as that happens, though, just what is it you want of me?”
“You know we are thieves,” Doz said. “We prefer, however, not to rely on violence or other such crude actions. Shoun, here, is a pickpocket, while Mieshel, as you know all too well, is adept at carrying away unsecured belongings. Po is small enough to slip through unguarded openings and pass valuables out to his confederates. Apolien—well, he has his own methods. For myself, though, my hands are not small nor quick enough to pick pockets, and I am too large to go unnoticed or squeeze through half-opened windows. I have, therefore, made a career not of simply taking people’s money, but of convincing them to give it to me. I have employed a variety of ruses to that end—claiming to be a worker in various trades, or saying I need a small loan to redeem some family heirloom put up as security on a loan, and so on. However, my appearance and manner are such that I cannot expect anyone to believe I am wealthy myself, and merely momentarily embarrassed. You, on the other hand, with your velvet coat and elegant bearing, and your fearlessness—you could be a very useful partner in my enterprise.”
“I don’t understand,” Anrel said. “What would you expect me to do?”
“Talk to people,” Doz explained. “To the rich—sorcerers, merchants, and the like. They won’t avoid you, as they do me, not if you can keep yourself clean. You can look like a wealthy man, or at worst someone down on his luck who was wealthy. You can distract them, or lure them in.”
“I see,” Anrel said. He was not entirely happy taking on such a role, but he could see how it might be useful.
“We don’t need another pair of hands, not if they’re attached to a mouth that needs feeding, but a man who cuts a fine figure—that we can use. And you didn’t do anything stupid yesterday. Most men of your sort who find themselves in the quarter—well, they do something stupid, and wind up lying in the street with their throats slit.”
“The street? The watchmen don’t see?” Anrel said.
Doz snorted. “The watchmen can’t be everywhere,” he said. “They don’t come into the quarter very often, even on their arches and walkways, and when they do, there are still places they can’t see—around corners, behind pillars, inside our homes. Sometimes the best place to avoid being seen is right below a watchman’s feet.”
That could hardly be argued. Anrel knew well that the watch could not see what happened directly under an arch.
“Are you interested in playing roles for us?” Doz asked.
Anrel thought for a long moment before replying. He had always considered himself an honest man, but he was already a thief and an outlaw. He had no means of support, no idea how to find honest work; his training in history and law was of no use to a fugitive. Even before Valin’s death he had been unable to find himself a good position, and now—well, Doz had just made him the best offer he had heard to date, and quite possibly the best he could hope for.
And he felt certain that no one from Naith or Beynos would come looking for him in the Pensioners’ Quarter.
“We would split the proceeds evenly?” he asked.
Doz grinned. “That seems fair.”
“No unnecessary violence? We won’t hurt anyone?”
“Not unless they try to harm us,” Doz agreed.
“We will make an effort to choose victims who can afford the loss?”
“Of course; those are the ones least likely to turn violent.”
“I am free to leave if these plans do not work out?”
“I can scarcely watch you every minute of the day.”
“You will give up your absurd interest in the coat the burgrave gave me?”
“At least until you can afford better, I very much want you to keep that coat—it makes a great contribution to your appearance, which is an essential element in our plans.”
“In that case, let us give your scheme a try.” He held out a hand.
Doz reached out and took it.
That was how Anrel came to the Pensioners’ Quarter, which became his home for the remainder of the winter and through the spring.
6
In Which Anrel Becomes Acquainted with His New Home
Once he had accepted Doz’s offer Anrel found himself once again beginning an education in Lume, but a very different one from his earlier studies. He had been taught law in the court schools; now, in the Pensioners’ Quarter, he learned how to live outside the law.
He learned to play a variety of roles—the outraged
brother bursting in on a whore and her customer, the disgraced cousin selling his family’s glass-and-paste jewels, the drunken sorcerer entertaining a tavern crowd with sleight of hand while his compatriots robbed them.
He was too big and noticeable to become a pickpocket, but he made an excellent decoy for pickpockets. He was very believable shouting, “He went that way!” while pointing in the wrong direction.
Most of all, however, he played the part of a young man of good family who had somehow found himself without funds and who needed a guilder or two to see himself safely back home. Naturally, anyone who loaned him the money would be promised a generous reward, to be sent as soon as he was returned to his father’s hearth. The tale varied with circumstances—sometimes he had been robbed, sometimes he had gambled away his allowance, sometimes he had drunk it away but was now sworn to sobriety, sometimes he had fallen in with bad company and been led astray, wasting his money on wine and women. On occasion he confessed to having become enamored of some peculiar cult and given its priests his every penny, or enamored of a whore, and given her his every penny in hopes of restoring her to decent society, only to have her disappoint him. Coach fare to Kallai or Azar or Sorimel would see his fortunes restored, and whoever loaned it to him would be repaid tenfold.
If coach fare was too much, perhaps threepence to send a letter? And another penny for paper?
Anrel was especially convincing when bemoaning the loss of a woman; he had merely to remember Tazia to add a large measure of verisimilitude.
The deception Anrel found most amusing, though, was to sadly confess to having been swindled out of his money, leaving him destitute.
There were more complicated schemes, as well, where Anrel would pretend to recognize an artifact as a stolen family treasure and demand recompense, or where he would insist that he was owed a debt incurred during a night of drunken debauchery.
Often Doz took part in these performances, playing the role of debt collector, or family messenger, or whatever other character might seem appropriate. He claimed half the take, however much it might be, and Anrel accepted this without argument; he considered it rent and tuition. In truth, Anrel still had enough money concealed that he scarcely missed what he paid Doz.
Above His Proper Station Page 5