Thief's War: A Knight and Rogue Novel

by Bell, Hilari

  “It’s a good thing you’re bringing them along,” I told Roseman. “You’re right, no one would ever use them in any conspiracy.”

  Roseman snorted. “Unless the conspirator was looking for a henchman who would never realize that he’d been used. Is that what you’re about to say? Don’t push your luck, Sevenson. They’re coming.”

  This man wasn’t a fool. What else to try?

  We were walking down the wharf now, with all its usual bustle and chaos. A man in front of us pulled a cord that dragged a big hook and tackle back against a warehouse, then looped the draw cord loosely around its cleat.

  I was on the inside, while the Rose walked by the water. It would take only a moment’s distraction.

  When we reached the tie-off I came to a sudden stop, staring as hard as I could at the ships out in the bay.

  “What?” The Rose turned to look too. I reached behind me and fumbled the rope off the cleat till just one wrap and my grip held the heavy hook in place.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just thought… No, it’s nothing.”

  Roseman’s suspicious gaze turned to me. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.” I let the line go and walked on, keeping Roseman’s attention on me. I fancied I could hear that rope unwrapping from its final loop, whipping though the rings that held it—but that might have been my imagination. “I thought I saw one of the Liege’s—”

  Several men shouted in alarm, as the big hook and its tackle swung down into the street and over the water.

  We both spun, and I saw that my hope had been misplaced. The massive weight hadn’t come near the guards who followed us. It didn’t hit anyone at all, though it did knock the top crate off a stack into the water.

  “That’s vanilla bean!” a clerk shrieked. “It’ll be worthless if it gets wet!”

  Vanilla extract sells for a sliver roundel the cup.

  “Reward?” I shouted helpfully.

  “Yes! Get it out of there.”

  Along with half the men in hearing range, I started forward, but Roseman held me back. “Not you, Sevenson.”

  But the guards, accustomed to doing whatever those around them did, had already joined the men who rushed to hook the crate, cast a rope around it, get it ashore before it sank.

  I stood still, not resisting the firm grip on my arm, and let desperation pull the cover off of my magic. It flooded out, eager as always. I had channeled magic through my animal handling gift some months ago, to make Chant more than what he was. ’Twas harder, though not impossible, to make these two men less. To make them slower, clumsier—so much so that those they sought to help cursed them for dullards, and tried to thrust them aside. Clumsy enough that no one thought it odd when Phearson, reaching out to help haul the dripping crate ashore, toppled into the bay.

  I felt a flash of concern, but he rose sputtering to the surface and ’twas clear he could swim. Once the crate was back on the dock, several men helped Moult—who moved more swiftly now that I’d released him—to pull Phearson from the waves.

  Roseman had roared with laughter when his man splashed into the bay—though in fairness, half the bystanders had laughed along. Now, staring at Phearson’s huge dripping form, he frowned.

  The man looked most pathetic. His hat was gone, his hair plastered to his skull. His sodden coat, the black and dark red of Roseman’s household colors, dripped like a small rainstorm on the cobbles at his feet. It must weigh twenty pounds. He pulled off a boot and poured the water out, setting it aside before he reached for the other. One toe protruded from a hole in his sock.

  “Put them back on.” Roseman turned his scowl on me. “You’re not winning this easily.”

  “I was standing right beside you when he fell in.”

  “Humph.”

  We had to wait while Phearson dragged his boots on, and as we continued down the street we could hear the flop and slap of his wet clothing. And more distressing to his master, a scatter of muffled chuckles.

  No one dared laugh at the Rose to his face, but they were ready enough to laugh behind his back. A hint of color darkened his cheeks, growing deeper as we went on—though whether it sprang from embarrassment or anger I couldn’t say.

  Eventually we reached the apothecary shop I’d chosen, because ’twas not too far from the stockyards where our trap was set. And also because the only apothecary who worked there was an elderly widow. I’d told them the apothecary I’d spoken to was a man, so if this should fail they’d know I’d been lying, and no innocent herb-grinder would be blamed.

  “You’d better let me go in first,” I told Roseman. “To let him know you’ve brought two men. I can convince him they’re loyal to you, and that neither could be the man to whom he sold the drug.”

  “I’ll send Phearson around to the back of the shop,” Roseman said. “To be sure the man doesn’t bolt, if you’re not convincing.”

  I shrugged and waited while he gave Phearson careful orders. He had the man repeat them, to be sure he understood. Then we all watched him walk down the alley that would take him to the shop’s back door.

  He’d stopped dripping, but his coat swung and clapped about him in a way that was quite comical. Glancing back to the street, Roseman caught sight of several stifled grins.

  His glare scattered the crowd for yards around us.

  I waited till I was certain Phearson would be in position, then went into the shop. I spent a few moments talking to the proprietor about any need she might have for magica herbs, and the price she’d pay. ’Twas likely our purse had grown thin, paying for Chant and Tipple’s stabling, and we’d owe whoever cared for True as well. Finding and harvesting magica herbs is a way I can bring in quick money, though this time of year most plants would be too young.

  After a few minutes I returned to Roseman and Moult.

  “He’s not there. His clerk says that the animal doctor called him down to the stockyards, to look at some case and make rec—”

  “An animal doctor?”

  “Apothecaries provide their medicines as well. They don’t know when he’ll be back, but we can wait—”

  “I’m not going to stand here all day. He’d be at the stockyard south of the docks?”

  I shrugged. “They didn’t say where. The clerk said something about a sick barn.”

  “I know where that is.”

  Anyone who’d dealt with the sale of livestock would, and I’d gambled that a man who’d made his fortune trading in this city would know it as well.

  “It’s not far.” His gaze fell on Moult. “Why are you just standing there? Go get Phearson.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Watching Phearson’s clothes flapping around him as they walked toward us proved the final straw.

  “You go back to the house,” Roseman told him. “You’re calling too much attention to us.”

  “Sorry, boss.” But the man stayed in front of us, swaying from one foot to another.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “The sergeant, he told Moult and me we’re supposed to protect you. Follow behind the boss and make sure no one bothers him, he said. I can’t do that if I go back.”

  Roseman took a deep breath and controlled his temper. “You’re also supposed to obey my orders, right?”

  “Of course, boss. Always.”

  “Well, I’m ordering you to go back to the house. I’m only going to talk to some snitch of an apothecary, in a public yard. If we get attacked by a savage sheep, Moult can protect me.”

  A full grown ram can knock a man off his feet, but Phearson must not have known much about sheep for the indecision on his face vanished. “Right.”

  He strode off, still followed by concealed smiles, and Roseman turned to me.

  “The stockyard. And he’d better be there. You know where it is?”

  “No. I’ve only spent a few weeks in this town.”

  “Then follow me.”

  * * *

  Leading the way reassured him, as I’d
known it would. When we approached the yard, it bustled with men and livestock—indeed, we had to stand and wait while a drover and his dogs brought a herd of twenty cows into a pen.

  But as we went further into the maze of pens, rife with manure and flies, we saw fewer and fewer people, and the only sound was the lowing and bleating of the milling beasts. They weren’t the only creatures destined for slaughter…but ’twould not be today. When I’d come here earlier, to leave the chain and shackle, I’d made the orphans promise me, upon the memory of their parents, that they’d hold Roseman alive till the Liege Guard came for him.

  In exchange, I’d promised them the Rose would hang.

  The high, planked walls of the pens cut off our view of the nearby streets, but they might have been in the next fiefdom for all it mattered. A cow, mayhap bitten by some insect, banged into the fence beside us and Moult jumped.

  Roseman didn’t even glance aside.

  The sick barn, where diseased animals could be separated from their herds and treated or put down, was at the far end of the stockyard, near the marshes that had grown where the river met the sea. The filled pens grew fewer and the air clearer as we approached.

  Moult and Roseman took deep breaths of the sea-scented air, but my heart pounded with dread. Fisk’s life hung on these next few moments, for if the stone in my collar went dark he would die within moments. The orphans’ lives were at stake as well, for Roseman wouldn’t rest till they were dead, and so were the lives of all who’d die in Roseman’s war.

  I wondered when the Liege Guard would arrive. Over four hours had passed since the young lad dashed into the inn where we stayed, and ran down the corridor shouting that Tilda’s baby was coming. My estimate was that a mounted man could beat walking men over that distance by a good five hours, but that depended—

  Roseman threw open the sick barn’s doors, and gestured for me to go in.

  “Master Horton?” I called. “Are you back there?”

  Roseman and his guard followed me in, and started down the long corridor between the stalls. There were half a dozen sheep in one big pen, and their restless movements covered any sound someone else might have made.

  “Master Roseman is with me,” I called. “He brought just one guard. I know you said not to, but this is a most trusted and loyal man.”

  No answer came from shadowy depths of the barn.

  “He’s afraid,” I said. “I promised you’d come alone.”

  “Poxy fool,” Roseman muttered under his breath. “Stay where you are, Master Apothecary. I mean you no harm, and I’ll pay well for your information.”

  “You sure?” The voice was a sort of gruff squeak. To me it sounded exactly like a child trying to sound like a grown man. But it might have sounded like a man, his voice high-pitched with fear.

  ’Twas enough for the Rose. He started down the aisle, ready to learn who had betrayed him. He would soon know.

  Moult followed his boss, paying no attention to the fact that, before I fell in behind him, I lifted the wooden latch bar from the door brackets and took it with me. I waited till he came up beside a rough wooden pillar, its foot buried in dirty straw, before I brought the latch bar down on the back of his head. It made less noise than I feared, a sort of muffled thump, all but lost in the slithering crash of his fall.

  “Are you all right?” I knelt beside him, feeling around the base of the pillar. I’d had no time to fasten the chain into place when I dropped it off that morning, but I trusted in the competence of my young allies.

  “What’s the matter?” Roseman came back, and stared at the fallen man.

  “I don’t know. He just collapsed. Help me turn him over.”

  Roseman bent to do so, and I clapped the shackle around his wrist. The click of the lock as it closed was the most chilling sound I’d ever heard.

  “What under…”

  As he spoke, I rolled out of his reach. Then I leaned in and grabbed Moult’s arm, dragging him out of Roseman’s reach as well. Injured or not, I couldn’t leave him here to free his master…or threaten the children. Or be threatened by them.

  The Rose straightened, sliding the loop of padlocked chain up the pillar till he could stand.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sevenson, but if you kill me your collar will go dark. Fisk will be dead in minutes. Minutes.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” I said. “And they’ve promised me they won’t, either.”

  And even if they broke their word, I’d still not have killed him. Which meant that Fisk would survive until the balance of power had shifted, and we could save ourselves.

  “When I get loose,” Roseman growled, “you’re going to watch your friend die. Then, when your stone goes dark, I’ll finish you off even slower than I’m going to kill him.”

  “I have no doubt you would,” I said. “As it is, I’d best get back to Fisk before the troops arrive.”

  I got a grip on Moult’s collar, preparing to drag him out. He was heavier than I’d expected, limp as he was, but his chest still rose and fell. I’d tried not to strike too hard.

  “Troops? What troops?” The chain rattled as Roseman yanked on it. “Stop being an idiot and let me loose. I’ll let you both live, if you do. I’d have to lock you up for a while, but you can survive this. My men know where I went, and people in the street watch me. They’ll be able to track me down.”

  “I’m sure they could, eventually.” The fear hadn’t appeared yet. His expression held only the exasperation of a man putting up with a temporary inconvenience, on his way to certain victory. “But it will be the High Liege’s men who come to retrieve you. Not yours.”

  Now his expression changed. “The High Liege doesn’t know I exist. You’re lying.”

  “The Liege probably doesn’t, yet.” I started dragging Moult toward the door. “But his commander and judicars in Gollford do. Fisk and I sent for them.”

  He pulled at the chain, harder this time. “My men will kill Fisk the moment they turn up. He’ll be dead, do you hear me? Dead! The moment some yard hand comes to tend those sheep I’ll be free, and you’ll wish you died before you tried this stunt.”

  “No doubt I would,” I said. “But no one will come here. The children will stop them.”

  “The…”

  I saw his face changed then, terror dawning as he realized what I meant, and who his guards were. His eyes swept over the empty stalls.

  “Hey.” His voice wavered. “Hey, I’m rich. Really, really rich. Maybe we can make a deal?”

  “I doubt it. In fact, I’m leaving you in the hands of those who’d never be tempted by anything you can offer them…unless you could bring their parents back.”

  I dragged Moult down the aisle and out of the barn, leaving Roseman staring into the shadows, his face sickly with fear.

  And not without reason.

  “Timasus? I know you’re here.”

  I latched the door shut behind me as I waited for him to appear, and eventually he scurried around the side of the great barn.

  “He’ll start yelling soon,” I said. “You’re sure no one will hear?”

  “Naw, we’ve stayed here long enough ’t know how they work. They fed them sheeps in the morning. There won’t be nobody near this place till tomorrow.” His voice was sure, but his eyes were too wide for his thin face and his shoulders twitched.

  “So the Rose will be here, alive, when the Liege’s men arrive. Right? I needed your help to find a place he could be held, but remember what you promised in exchange?”

  “Yah, yah. I know what we said.”

  But his gaze shifted aside as he spoke, and instinct screamed for me to check his pockets for weapons. ’Twould do no good. I had to have a place where Roseman could be held, by guards who’d bow to neither bribe nor threat. The orphans were the only ones in Tallowsport who had that much courage…and that much hate.

  “I’m coming back in just a few hours,” I said, dragging Moult down the dusty path between
the pens. “I’ll be back, and I expect to find Roseman alive when I get here. You gave your word. Your honor depends on keeping it.”

  But Timasus had already slipped away, and I knew that honor would be a fragile barrier against the sweeping flood of vengeance.

  I’d better get back here quickly. Not to save Roseman, who’d deserved whatever fate he might meet at his victim’s hands—but to keep the children from having his death on their conscience.

  Down in the cellar, we couldn’t hear what went on in the world above. But after several nearly eternal hours had passed, a couple of new guards came down the stairs, wearing breastplates and grieves. They took the place of the six men, who’d been detailed to watch three prisoners locked into cells, and sent them to arm.

  Wiederman clung to the bars and demanded to know what was going on. They looked at him, but said nothing.

  Which probably meant that the Liege Guard had arrived in the city, but wasn’t at the house yet. In their boss’s absence, Roseman’s guards were preparing for trouble, but still clinging to the last orders they’d been given. Hopefully the last order Roseman would be able to give, though how Michael planned to accomplish that…

  Whatever he was doing must have been working so far—though the guards glanced at my throat occasionally, no one tried to kill me.

  More time passed, perhaps half of one of those interminable hours, before we heard the door at the top of the stairs open and a rumble of boots coming down. The first man who hurried into the room was one of Roseman’s captains, and he went straight to Wiederman’s cell and unlocked it.

  “The Liege Guard has invaded the city,” he said. “They’re marching on this house—be here in minutes. We may be able to hold out, but someone’s got to assume command till the boss gets back. You’re in charge of city matters, so we figure that’s you.”

  He swung the cell door open, but Wiederman stood gawking at him. “Liege troops? Are you sure? Why?”

  “Come see for yourself.” The man gestured impatiently toward the stairs.