Thief (9781451689112)

by Landsem, Stephanie

  “Shut up,” Gestas hissed, coming between them. He grabbed Nissa by the arm. “Tell him, Mouse.” He glared down at her.

  Nissa swallowed, her throat dry. “Don’t worry,” she squeaked.

  Dismas turned on Gestas. “I don’t like this. Something will go wrong today. I can feel it.”

  “Don’t be such a woman! Look at these crowds.” He gestured to the men, women, and children packing the streets. Pilgrims coming in for the feast like herds of sheep. “And we aren’t even close to the Sheep’s Gate yet. I heard thousands follow this man. They won’t even notice we’re here. We’ll steal a few purses and get out.”

  “But the temple guards and the Romans—”

  “Didn’t I just explain all that to you, you dense Greek?” Gestas said. “Pilate is returning today. And he’s coming in the Jaffa Gate, on the other side of the city. The Romans will be there, every one of them. This will be like stealing from the blind.”

  Dismas planted his feet and crossed his arms. “I still think Mouse shouldn’t be here. I told you before. They’re looking for him.”

  Nissa’s hopes sunk like a stone. No Romans patrolling the streets? How could she hope to get rid of Gestas? And why was Dismas suddenly so worried about her? Did he know something she didn’t?

  Gestas squared his shoulders and glared up at Dismas. “Mouse is the best we’ve got.” He narrowed his eyes at Nissa, and his hand dropped to his belt where the hilt of the dagger glinted. “You aren’t turning into a girl on us, are you, Mouse?”

  Turning into a girl. As if she needed reminding of his threat.

  She’d find some way to get him caught. If not by a Roman, then by a strong pilgrim or a temple guard. With that dagger he carried, he wouldn’t go without a fight. She’d just have to hope it was a fight he wouldn’t win. She shook her head and looked up at Dismas. “It will work, Dismas. It’s a perfect plan.” She tried to make her voice easy. “Think of the wine and women you’ll have tonight.” She felt sick at the words. Dismas didn’t deserve her lies.

  Dismas’s shoulders relaxed, but his voice was unsure. “You really think it’s a good plan? Even with the Romans after us?”

  No, but she didn’t have a choice. “Yes. Gestas is right. They’re all on the other side of the city. It’s our best chance until after Passover.”

  Dismas’s brow was still folded, but he moved closer to the street. “All right, Mouse. But stay close to me.” He bent his head toward her ear and whispered, too low for Gestas to hear, “And after, meet me at our old spot, near the tower.”

  She dipped her chin in a quick nod. He looked so serious. What did he want to talk to her about? If she had any luck at all, when this day was over, Gestas would be gone, and she’d tell Dismas good-bye. A pang of remorse stung her. She’d miss him. But she was so weary of secrets, and if he knew who she really was, he would reject her anyway.

  Gestas’s smile glinted at her. “Good work,” he mouthed.

  Nissa dropped behind Dismas, watching his faded blue tunic weave ahead of her toward the Sheep’s Pools, two immense, shallow pools on the east side of the city—both bigger than Siloam. The marketplace around the pools was deserted except for pens of mournful-sounding lambs. When Passover arrived, they would be washed in the pools and brought to the temple for sacrifice.

  She had to get Gestas alone. Dismas’s weakness was his love of women, but Gestas’s love was for silver. Somehow, she’d find a way to use that against him.

  The crowds thickened, and excited voices buzzed as they neared the Sheep’s Gate. Women stood on tiptoe, craning their necks to see over the heads of the crowds. Children were hoisted onto their father’s shoulders. Men tore palm branches from trees and passed them to the onlookers. Nissa surveyed the crowd and, for once, was disappointed to see no red-plumed helmets, no armor-clad soldiers. Gestas was right. This was a perfect place to steal.

  “He’s coming!” someone shouted.

  As the crowd surged toward the gate, Nissa spotted three guards—hired muscle for a rich man—pushed close around a well-dressed merchant. They weren’t Roman soldiers, but they had weapons and could manage Gestas. All she had to do was get them to chase him . . . without getting caught herself. She sidled close to Gestas, keeping her eye on Dismas, who was still ten paces ahead. “I need money for rent.”

  Gestas looked at her sideways. “You’ll get what I give you.”

  Anger rose in her chest. Pigs get fat; hogs get slaughtered. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll find someone, like last time. Someone with a fat purse. It should be easy enough in these crowds. I’ll lead him to you, just like we did before with the priest.”

  Gestas stopped and turned to her, his eyes narrowed. “I thought you said no more killing.”

  Nissa bit at her lip. There could be no more killing, at least not of the innocent. She’d have to be very careful. “Do what you want. Just give me half.”

  Gestas’s hand dropped to the knife at his belt, and he licked his lips. “Where?”

  Nissa kept the rich merchant and the guards in sight. How far could she lead them without getting caught? “The wood market by the Sheep’s Pools.” It wasn’t far from where they stood. When she was a child, she’d spent many hours there with her father. She knew the streets around it as well as any in Jerusalem. The east side of the market was surrounded by high walls and dead-end alleys. “Wait for me behind the pillars on the temple side.” If she was fast, she could get out, but Gestas would be trapped.

  Gestas looked doubtful and jerked his head toward Dismas. “What about him?”

  Nissa shook her head. No. Dismas couldn’t be a part of this. He’d try to stop her. “If you want to split the purse with him . . .” She shrugged.

  Gestas grimaced. “I’ll be waiting for you. Alone. Now go do your job, Mouse.”

  Chapter 24

  LONGINUS, ASTRIDE FEROX, led twenty legionaries at double pace through the city streets toward the Sheep’s Gate. His tunic was damp under his armor, and a bead of sweat trickled down his neck.

  Anticipation coursed through his veins despite the weight of his worry. He was going to see Jesus, the man he’d heard so much about. He’d finally get some answers to his questions and see if the rumors were true.

  They passed under the shadow of the temple wall, then turned north to follow the road past the Sheep’s Pools. He turned the corner around the deserted wood market and into the street leading east to the Sheep’s Gate.

  He yanked Ferox to a halt. By the gods, where did these people come from?

  Thousands of people filled the streets, waving palm branches and shouting. Well-dressed merchants and landowners pressed close to peasants and farmers. Shepherds and laborers rubbed shoulders with pilgrims in traveling cloaks, all of them gazing toward the east.

  “You there!” He brought Ferox alongside a group of men stripping branches from a spindly palm. From their clothes, they looked like Greeks. “What’s happening here?”

  “It’s the Messiah.” Yes, definitely Greek Jews in town for the Passover.

  “Jesus of Nazareth?”

  “Yes. He brought a man back to life in Bethany! A man dead for four days!”

  The Greeks passed branches into the frenzied crowd. Longinus looked for a pathway through the mob. He needed to see this man they called the Messiah. “Marcellus, Petras. Stay here. Keep an eye on the crowds. Watch for any disturbances. I’ll move up.”

  He nudged Ferox toward the gate, pushing through the river of people like a fish swimming upstream. Where was Jesus, and how would he know him when he saw him? His hands were damp on the reins. Would he even get a chance to warn him about the Sanhedrin, to question him and decide if he really was a threat?

  A man’s deep bellow caught his ear. “Stop him! My money!”

  People jostled and shouted, one pointing one direction, another pushing through the crowd in the opposite way. But Longinus, seated on Ferox, caught the flash of the familiar dirty tunic on an undersized figure. The Mouse. Of
course the thieves would be here, where the people were packed like olives in a jar. He should have known.

  A merchant bellowed again and gave chase, along with what looked like three armed guards.

  He craned his neck toward the gate. No sign of Jesus yet. From his vantage point, he could see the Mouse pause and glance back, like he was waiting for someone. The guards were close, but Longinus was closer. Finally, the gods smile upon me. He could catch the Mouse who had eluded him all winter. He’d win the bet and get back in time to intercept Jesus.

  He heeled Ferox’s sides. “Get out of the way!” People shoved and shouted but were packed too tightly to move aside. He signaled to Petras, “Take ten men around to the Sheep’s Pool; then circle back.”

  He pulled his sword as he threw a leg over the saddle and jumped off Ferox. “Move!” He charged through the crowd.

  “Marcellus!” He pointed toward the gate as he passed his optio. “Watch for him.”

  The crowds thinned as he moved into the side street. He stopped, listening for footsteps or shouts. Which way?

  A bellow sounded from the direction of the wood market. It had to be the merchant and his guards. But why was the boy leading them away from the crowds? He sprinted toward the market.

  A short, thick man careened around the corner toward him. Too old to be the Mouse, too short to be the Greek. Longinus let him pass. This time, he wouldn’t let anything distract him from capturing the thieves. The wood market was just ahead. He crept through the winding side streets. The noise of the crowds dulled, but a muffled thud caught his ear as he passed a courtyard gate. A covey of pigeons fluttered upward from behind the wall. Whatever—or whoever—had disturbed them was in the courtyard. Trapped.

  He moved swiftly to the gate and silently pushed it open, scanning the courtyard. The walls were high, the door to the house barred. The courtyard was empty but for a bank of well-tended rosebushes.

  He tightened his grip on his sword and advanced on the bushes. A stone pinged off his armor, another off the wall on his left.

  He whirled toward the open gate. There, with a flash of blue striped tunic, the tall Greek darted away. Longinus glanced back at the bushes. The boy might be in them, but the tall Greek was only twenty paces away. Longinus put on a burst of speed. He’d catch him before he rounded the corner ahead.

  The Greek was five steps from the corner, and Longinus was one step behind, when Petras and five legionaries appeared at the junction. The man was trapped and surrounded in seconds. He struggled, but a quick strike to his head left him dazed and limp.

  Longinus pushed him toward his men. “Get him to the carcer. I’m going back for the Mouse.”

  He ran back to the courtyard where the gate swung open. Rose petals lay scattered on the dust, a scrap of dirty wool hung from the thorns. The boy had been here, all right, but he was gone. Longinus slammed his palm against the stone wall. The Greek had saved him again. He sheathed his sword and sprinted back toward the gate.

  Marcellus held Ferox’s bridle. Where the crowds had been standing, there were now only trampled palm branches and clouds of dust. Ferox sidestepped and snorted as Longinus pulled himself up. He turned toward the city where the last stragglers were heading. “Where is Jesus?”

  Marcellus shook his head. “He passed by. I followed him, but he disappeared when they got to the temple.”

  Longinus bit back a curse. Not even a glimpse. The pilgrims who had entered the city with Jesus had disappeared like chaff in the wind. When he got his hands on that Greek, he’d make him pay. And the other little thief as well.

  Longinus signaled his men to march back to camp. At least he had something to show for today. He had the Greek, and by the gods, he’d talk. By the time Longinus was done with him, he’d know everything he needed to find the Mouse. And when he got the little runt, he’d have some leverage with Pilate and could warn him not to fall for the schemes of the Sanhedrin. Then, he’d get out of Judea.

  NISSA WAITED IN the tiny alcove by the upper market. Her body shook like an earthquake. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. What had happened to Dismas? He’d saved her. Again.

  And this time, maybe he didn’t get away.

  Gestas should have been caught, not him. She’d led the men to the wood market, but Gestas hadn’t been waiting. She’d barely escaped herself. She’d climbed a wall, scraping and pushing herself up in desperate panic, and fallen into a deserted courtyard.

  But just when she’d thought she was safe, Longinus had opened the gate. When he’d come toward her hiding place, her heart crawled into her throat, cutting off her breath. Then, out of nowhere, a stone from a sling, and he’d run, giving her a moment to dash out the gate and disappear into the maze of streets.

  The horns blew the call to evening prayer. Dismas wasn’t coming. If she hadn’t convinced him to continue, he’d be in a crowded wineshop right now, drinking cheap wine and flirting, not thrown in a Roman jail, awaiting . . .

  She pressed her cheek against the cold stone. Crucifixion. The whole city believed Mouse and the Greek had killed Thaddeus. No one would believe Dismas when he said it wasn’t him. And Gestas wouldn’t step up to take the blame. But she could. She could save Dismas.

  No. They wouldn’t believe you. Be grateful that you escaped with your life.

  Was the voice right again? Was there nothing she could do? She waited until dark, then crept home through the half-empty streets, not even stopping to change out of her disguise. It didn’t matter now.

  She pushed open the gate. The courtyard was empty, the fire long dead and cold. Cedron was with the Zealots, getting ready for the revolution he was sure had arrived with Jesus.

  Jesus. She wrapped her arms around her shivering shoulders. What would he think of a woman like her? His words to the woman caught in adultery echoed in her mind from what seemed like years ago.

  Go and sin no more.

  If only she’d listened to those words, listened to Dismas when he’d told her to go home, listened to Cedron when he’d told her to trust in the Lord. Now she had no one to turn to. Not Longinus, who had offered to marry her. Not Dismas, her only friend.

  Now she must tell Cedron, and then he would hate her.

  She dragged her feet to Amit’s empty stall and collapsed into the filthy straw. She’d tell him where the money had come from all these months. She’d tell him about the priest.

  If he threw her out in the street, she deserved it. And if he did the worst—turned her in to the Sanhedrin, to Longinus—well, she deserved that, too. She didn’t deserve mercy from Cedron or anyone else.

  At the creak of the courtyard gate, she drew farther into the shadows, wishing she could disappear.

  “Nissa?”

  She didn’t answer, a lump like a stone lodged in her throat.

  Cedron’s uneven steps shuffled closer. “Nissa, what are you doing in there?”

  She buried her face deeper into her dirty cloak. Gentle hands pulled at her.

  “Nissa, what is it? Why are you dressed like—”

  He stopped as she raised her face to his. Her stomach twisted into knots. Now she would lose him, too. “Cedron.” She choked on a breath of air.

  His eyes widened and went from her wild hair, her dirty face, down to the men’s tunic and the heavy cloak.

  She ran her tongue over her dry mouth. “Cedron. Remember when Abba lost all the rent money at dice. The first time?”

  Cedron didn’t answer. He pulled her head covering off, his brow creased at her tied-back hair.

  “And Mama, she disappeared for days. We didn’t know if she was coming back.”

  He didn’t look at her. His hands closed tight around the coarse fabric.

  She had to get it out. “And when she did, she was drunk and slept for a whole day. Do you remember, Cedron?”

  She waited, but Cedron didn’t answer. He balled the head covering between his fists.

  Her heart sped up. “We didn’t have any food, and Gilad was going to throw us o
ut of the house.” Surely he would understand. He had to.

  Cedron stared at the scrap of fabric in his hands. “Longinus caught one of the thieves today.”

  She bit down on her lip. “I didn’t know what else to do, Cedron. I—”

  “They’re looking for the other one. The Mouse.” He picked up the hem of her tunic, feeling the rough wool with his fingers. “They say he’s quick, the Mouse.” His voice was hard, like soil without rain. “And short, like a boy.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Cedron ducked his head like he couldn’t stand to look at her. “The Greek and the Mouse.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “The temple thieves . . . the temple murderers . . .” He raised his eyes to her.

  The first time he had looked at her with those eyes had been at the Pool of Siloam. If only she could go back to that time. She swallowed a sob. “I tried to stop. When you got your sight, I wanted to. But the priests—and Mama and Abba . . .” She reached for his hands. If only she’d had his faith. Trusted in the Lord, like he’d said.

  He stood and turned his back to her. “The job at the laundry?”

  She bent double, hiding her face in the dirty straw.

  “They killed a man, Nissa.” His voice was flat, his back a rigid line. “You killed a man.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he was going to kill him.”

  She felt his shadow looming over her and ducked her head. Abba had hit her so many times for spilling water, for burning food. This time, she deserved it.

  But no blow came.

  Cedron walked to the courtyard. He kicked a jar that had once held their store of grain. “I should have known, should have seen it.” He expelled a deep breath. “The man, the one they caught—he killed the priest?”

  Nissa shook her head. “No. Not him. He’s a good man.”

  “A good man?” Cedron turned to her, his face a grimace of disbelief. “A good thief?”

  “Yes.” Dismas was good, in his way.