A Court for Thieves

by Morgan Rice

  So they walked, as quickly as they could manage, leaning on one another for support. The corridors seemed to stretch out forever, so that Sophia was sure that they would never make it from the palace before Rupert woke up and called for help.

  If he woke up. Would Sophia feel bad if the man who’d just tried to rape her died? For him, not for an instant. She would even be happy knowing that no other girl would ever suffer through what she’d just suffered. Even so, she would feel bad for Sebastian, who would feel the pain of losing a brother. Then there was what would happen to her if Rupert died.

  They would never stop hunting her.

  Sophia pushed that thought away, continuing to walk with Cora. Servants glanced at them, but said nothing and made no move toward them. Sophia doubted that she and Cora were truly acting well enough for things to appear normal, so why didn’t they intervene?

  She knew the answer to that at once: they were used to seeing young women staggering from Prince Rupert’s rooms, looking haunted and shaken. They’d seen it before, and they’d learned from experience that it was better not to get involved.

  Sophia found herself hoping that Rupert died again.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  Sophia turned to see Milady d’Angelica approaching down one of the corridors. Sophia did her best to ignore her. There was no time for this.

  “I told you before,” Angelica said, “if you didn’t leave I would have you dragged out. Did you think I was joking?”

  Sophia turned toward her. “Right now, I don’t care if you live or die,” she said. “But if you don’t turn and walk away, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Angelica raised her hands, stepping back in obvious shock from the sheer venom of it. Perhaps that would have been an end to it if that hadn’t been the moment when voices sounded behind Sophia, demanding answers and action at a volume that could only mean one thing: they’d found Rupert.

  Angelica stared at the two of them for a moment, seeming to realize what was happening. A slow, vicious smile spread over her face.

  “They’re here!” Angelica called out. “Guards! This way!”

  Sophia shoved her back, enjoying the sensation of sending her sprawling. Then she grabbed Cora’s arm and ran.

  “Which way?” she demanded, not slowing down for an instant. “Cora, you know the palace. Which way out?”

  “There’s a servant’s entrance,” Cora said. “This way.”

  They ran, and behind them, Sophia could hear shouts now. She ran ahead of them, and only spotted a cluster of minds ahead of her, jerking Cora to the side just as guards burst from a side room.

  They ran on, heading into a kitchen space filled with heat and noise and bustling work. Sophia and Cora pushed their way past cooks and kitchen helpers, ignoring the shouts of outrage as pots clattered from work surfaces and spit dogs ran around yapping. Sophia dared a glance over her shoulder; there were guards there, pushing their way through it all, slowed only slightly by the chaos Sophia and Cora had caused.

  There was a door ahead of them, bound in iron. They ran for it, and Sophia was relieved to find it unlocked. She threw it open and then ran out with Cora in her wake, hurrying through a kitchen garden planted with thyme and sage, vegetables and fruit trees. Sophia dodged through them, all too aware of the risk that the guards might give up chasing and simply shoot after them with lead shot or arrows.

  “This way,” Cora said, pointing to a set of small side steps.

  Sophia ran with her down them, to a door that opened onto the city’s streets. The two of them sprinted out across the cobbles, ignoring the shouts of the guard who stood by the small gate, obviously there to keep intruders out and caught completely by surprise by people running from the palace.

  He quickly joined the others in running after them, and now Sophia could feel her lungs burning with the effort of running from them all. She chose streets at random, twisting and turning as the pursuers followed them, joined now by some of the people of the city eager to help bring them down from some sense of justice, or because they suspected that there would be a reward.

  Kate, Sophia called, help, please help!

  She sent it more in hope than in any expectation that her sister would hear. She threw the plea out as widely as she could, hoping that she could make Kate hear through sheer volume.

  And then what? If she wasn’t there, she wouldn’t be able to help. Even if she was, could she really hope to fight off the guards who were following? This was Sophia’s problem to solve, and right now, the only way she could think of to deal with it was to keep running.

  She did, dragging Cora with her, heading from the richer parts of the city into the tangled snarls of small alleys that marked the poor quarters. They ran through lines of laundry hung across streets and jumped over fences. None of it seemed to slow their pursuers.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can keep running,” Cora said.

  “If we stop, we die,” Sophia shot back. It was as simple as that. Given the anger of the shouts behind them, she wasn’t even sure if the royal guards would bother with dragging her back for a trial. They would probably just kill her where she stood, whatever the pretense of a system of laws and judgment.

  Sophia ran on, and now the streets opened out. That wasn’t a good thing. She and Cora couldn’t hope to outrun the guards on a flat stretch. Only the obstacles and twists of the alleys had stopped them from being caught so far.

  Quick, a voice said, sounding in her head. This way.

  A girl stood on the opposite side of the street, next to a cart stacked high with boxes and barrels. She was blonde-haired and her blue dress was streaked with dirt. She was waving to Sophia, and Sophia knew that she was the one who had sent the message.

  “This way,” she called, out loud this time. “Quick, into the barrels. They won’t look there. The merchant is away, so he’ll never know.”

  That was enough for Sophia. She ran over, pulling herself up. The barrels were huge, and most were filled with the strong scent of beer. Sophia knew that there was no choice.

  “Inside, Cora,” she said. “Quickly.”

  She leapt into one of the barrels, and the girl pushed the lid down.

  Immediately, Sophia couldn’t breathe. She’d thought that there might be enough space between the liquid and the top for her to keep her head above the ale, but now she found herself beneath it. She crouched there in the dark of the barrel, her lungs painful with the need for air, and it was all she could do to keep from pushing the lid off.

  Then the lid did come off, and Sophia had to fight against the urge to surface as faces peered down into the dark beer.

  Just a little longer, the girl sent. “There,” she said to figures above, “I told you. Nothing but empty barrels. Now, you should hurry. They’re probably getting away.”

  The space above the barrels cleared, and still, Sophia forced herself to wait.

  There, they’re gone.

  Sophia burst from the barrel, gasping for air. The street around her wasn’t empty, but there were no guards there now, only the usual people of the city. She’d done it. She’d escaped.

  Who are you? Sophia sent to the girl who stood there by the cart.

  My name is Emeline. I know your sister. And a friend of hers is a friend of mine.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Around Sebastian, men died, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. They died as musket balls and arrows struck them. They died as the New Army’s men charged in with swords and pikes. The sand around him turned to a bloodstained mess, and there was no sign of its cessation.

  Sebastian saw a man fall as an arrow struck him through the chest, another cut down by the sweep of a sword, and then there was no time to think, because the rush of men reached him.

  He drew his sword and shoved aside a pike, getting in close to strike back at an opponent and feeling the blade sink in. There was very little art to it this close, just a frantic stab and the hope that it would be
enough. His opponent’s eyes widened as he struck, and the man fell.

  Another stepped forward quickly, and Sebastian had to parry, giving ground. He struck out at a foe who was tangled in grappling with one of the sailors who had come with him, striking the man in the leg. He reared back, and that gave the sailor enough room to kill him with a knife.

  The battle had been going a matter of moments, but already, Sebastian felt exhausted with it. It felt as though he’d been fighting for a lifetime. He ducked under the swing of a pike, parried another, and gave ground again. Around Sebastian, men milled in confusion, fighting for their lives, with no orders to follow.

  The general’s body lay on the sand, still against the gold of it. Sebastian knew that there would be no orders coming from there. The general had ordered him not to risk giving commands, but now, who else was there? Sebastian had no way of knowing which officers still lived and which had been brought down by the brutal volleys of projectiles.

  As if in answer to that thought, there was another roar of cannon, the shots slamming into their already stricken ship to bring it down quicker. Musket fire struck more of his men, and Sebastian knew he had to act before they were cut to pieces.

  “Into the shelter of the cliffs!” he yelled. “All of you. They can’t fire at you if they can’t see you!”

  He pulled back, hoping that the move would draw the others with him. Some men stood where they were, unwilling to take his orders. More went with him, his royal status giving him enough authority to carry them with him. They pulled back from the pikes and the swords, heading for a spot where cliff walls gave them at least some cover, and rocks started to break up the ground.

  “Stay together,” Sebastian ordered. “I want an orderly withdrawal, not a rout! We can hold them together. Stand, damn you!”

  He bellowed it, because it was the only way to be heard above the noise of the battlefield. The men around him looked shocked by the force of it, but they stood. They stood, and they fought.

  There was nothing elegant about the violence of the battle. Sebastian had seen duels on the walkways of gardens or in the long viewing galleries of houses. Those had always been displays of speed and bravery, skill and style. This was survival pure and simple.

  Sebastian hacked at a man who came at him with a sword, then shoved another who was about to skewer the man standing next to him. He felt the pain of a blade sliding across his cheek, but the kiss of it was barely a glance, and Sebastian killed the man who’d struck at him in return. Around him, men fought and killed and died, again and again, in a cycle that seemed to have no end to it.

  Then, suddenly, there was an end, as the men attacking them fell back, scurrying across the beach at the sound of trumpets with their pikes still set in case Sebastian’s men decided to attack.

  “They’re retreating,” a man close to Sebastian said. Sebastian could hear the relief in his voice, but it was a false thing.

  Sebastian shook his head. “They’re regrouping.”

  “Aye, they are,” a voice said, and Sebastian saw Sergeant Varkin step forward. He was bloodied, but still stood with an axe in his hands as though he might hack his way through the oncoming forces. He looked at Sebastian with something like respect now. “Good job back there, sir. If the general had listened to your warning…”

  Sebastian shook his head. There was no time for thinking about what might have been. They needed to think about what might be coming next.

  “Take positions among the rocks,” he said. “Load your weapons.”

  Almost to his surprise, the men there obeyed without hesitation, readying muskets and blunderbusses, hefting swords, or just trying to find a safe spot among the rocks.

  “Looks like they’re your lads now, sir,” Varkin said. “You saved them. You saved us.”

  “Not yet,” Sebastian said, “but I’m working on it.”

  For his part, Sebastian took out his pistol, loading a ball and checking the flint.

  He was barely in time, as a fresh wave of enemies moved forward, bristling like a hedgehog with pikes as they marched. A few of the enemy fired on them there, forcing Sebastian to duck down behind a rock as stone chips flew.

  “Wait for it,” Sebastian said, as a couple of men rose up in preparation to fire back. “Don’t waste it. Now!”

  He rose up from behind the rocks with the others to deliver a volley of fire that ripped into the advancing enemies. He watched as their entire front rank seemed to disappear, brought down by a hail of balls and crossbow bolts.

  “Do we charge?” one of the men asked.

  Sebastian shook his head. “Hold your ground. Hold!”

  They held, and Sebastian felt as though he was holding them in place by force of will. The enemy gathered momentum, moving into a run as they headed for the rocks. Sebastian prepared his sword and waited for them to break on those stony defenses like a tide.

  They struck the rocks, and for a moment, everything was chaos. Men rose above the rocks, seeming to blot out the light, and Sebastian thrust and cut, simply hoping to push them back. He treated the stones the way someone from another age might have treated a castle wall pushing back foes as they tried to scramble past, cutting and killing.

  Around him, the other men fought with the kind of savagery that only came from being cornered. Sebastian saw a man stuck through by a pike, only to push forward to stab the attacker. He saw Varkin hacking about him with his axe, and another man frantically reloading, firing a blunderbuss so close to an opponent that the sound was deafening.

  Most of the others worked with blades or clubs, knowing that there was no time to work with powder and rammers in the face of the assault. Sebastian kept cutting with his sword, slicing into whatever target he could find with no time or space for feints or complex binds. He fought until there was no one left to fight, the assault ebbing again like another wave of a rising tide.

  The trouble was that the tide was rising, and eventually it would wash over them all. Sebastian had no way of knowing how many ochre-clad soldiers there were on the island, but he doubted that it was just the couple of hundred he’d been sent with to put down the islanders.

  “They’ll be coming again, sir,” Varkin said, and Sebastian noted the honorific. Not “Your highness,” but “sir,” as if somewhere in all of this Sebastian had proven himself worthy of being called an officer. Sebastian wasn’t so sure. He still had to get them out of this alive.

  Out of this. Those words stuck in Sebastian’s mind. There was only one way to survive this, and it was a desperate one.

  “We need to get back to the boats,” he said, gesturing to the spot where the landing boats lay on the edge of the beach. The path to them lay invitingly clear, because the bulk of the enemy’s forces were busy marshalling for the next attack. There were too many now, and their numbers were growing by the second.

  “And leave the cover of the rocks?” a man said.

  “If we stay here, we’ll be crushed eventually,” Sebastian insisted. “If we make for the boats, we at least have a chance.”

  “A chance of what?” another man demanded. “The ship is gone.”

  “We still have arms and oars, don’t we?” Sebastian shot back. “Men have swum the Knifewater before; we’ve all heard the stories.”

  “Aye,” one man muttered, “of men who drowned because they listened.”

  “Of men eaten by tooth-whales and hook squid,” another put in.

  Sebastian could see their terror, and he knew just how dangerous a stretch of water the Knifewater could be. It had earned its name in the storms that had ripped ships to pieces, the creatures that lurked in its depths. He wasn’t going to give up that easily, though, and it seemed that he’d made at least one ally.

  “Drown?” Varkin said. “We’ve got boats, lads! Not drowning is what they’re for. Now load up again. This is going to get hectic once it starts.”

  That was one way of putting it. Sebastian guessed that the moment the men made a break for the boats,
the main body of the enemy troops would attack them. At the same time, they would be in full view of any weaponry the enemies waiting on the cliffs chose to bring to bear. It would be a desperate gamble, but even that was better than the cold certainty that came with staying there.

  Maybe he would live long enough to see Sophia again.

  “We’ll need two groups,” Sebastian said. “One to hold the main body long enough for the other to get the boats into the water. I’ll head the first group. Varkin, you command the second.”

  “With respect, sir, that’s a stupid idea. A commander doesn’t put himself in danger, and you’ve already proved yourself too valuable for that.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “I’m going to. I don’t know enough about boats to refloat the landing craft, and I won’t ask men to hold on that beach if I’m not there.”

  He gathered them together, splitting them. The group to go with him got whatever muskets and pistols there were to go around, because they were the group who would need them most. Sebastian ended up with two pistols and a heavy musket in addition to his sword. Perhaps half of the remaining soldiers stood with him, and now they seemed pitifully few compared to the couple of hundred who had swarmed onto the beach, ready to take the island. Sebastian just hoped that they would be enough, as they looked to him as if expecting that he would have all the answers to keep them safe.

  “Ready?” he asked the men. There was a dull chorus of assent that said they all understood the dangers in what they were about to do. “Then let’s go. Forward!”

  Sebastian stepped forward onto the beach, and the men went with him. The ones who’d been assigned to the boats sprinted for them, while he and the others moved forward to intercept the bulk of the enemy forces as they wheeled to halt the escape.

  He lifted his borrowed musket to his shoulder, cocked the flint back in its hammer, and fired. Ahead, a man went down, but there were more. There were so many more.

  The battlefield exploded into renewed violence. Shots sounded from the cliffs above, and sand sprayed where they struck it. Where they struck men, there was blood, instead. Sebastian forced himself to reload his musket methodically, because the advancing enemies were still far off enough for it to be possible. He raised it again, and saw an officer with gold braid decorating his uniform fall.