by Katie Roman
“What trouble is there now?” Marcus yelled. The sound of his own voice bouncing around made his head hurt worse. He cradled his head and put it between his knees.
“The guards are chasing the Death Dealer, Your Majesty!”
Marcus’s body stiffened and he slowly rose his head up. “What did you say?”
“I was, uh, kissin’ my wife good-bye and we heard a great ruckus with whistles and shouting. I looked outside and saw a figure clad in black, runnin’ away. That Captain Ericson means to kill our ally!”
The men loved the Death Dealer, but it wouldn’t do for Marcus to help Grace. She had made her position clear. But Marcus couldn’t renounce her in front of Wulfric. He needed the Guild to believe the Dealer was still on their side. He needed to make some sort of show.
“Wulfric, take me to a healer. Thom, go help our ally.”
Bind her in a sack if you need to. Just get her out of the way, Marcus thought.
The men hoisted Marcus up. Wulfric had an arm around his shoulder as he helped him to the door. Marcus looked back at Thom. “You know what to do.”
~*~*~
The sound of whistles followed Grace everywhere. It didn’t matter if they knew where she was headed; they blew their whistles all over. Once one began, they all picked it up. People hung out of their windows screaming for silence. A few “concerned” citizens even pointed Grace’s position out as she ran.
Grace ran to the privies behind the Angel and dropped to her knees, wheezing from the heat under the hood. She peeled it away from her face but instead of cooling her skin, she just let in the stench. She gagged from the heat and the odor.
The blowing of whistles was a faraway chorus at least a block away. No one screamed her position, and then the whistles all but stopped. Grace freed her ears from the hood to listen. The trills were far enough away so that whoever was blowing wouldn’t be able to get to her in under three minutes. Grace took a deep breath and put the hood back on over her face. She knelt, breathing heavily for a minute or two.
“Looking for help?” Grace knew Nathaniel’s voice even under the hood.
She got up and dusted off her knees, keeping the sword at her side. It did no good to raise it against him now.
“Well?” he said. Nathaniel had a baton in his hand, raised up against his chest, and blocked the only exit from the privy area.
“I have work to do. Please get out of the way.” She knew he was strong because she’d felt his muscles under his shirt when he held her. But she had a sword now. True, it wasn’t her usual weapon, but she could wield it.
“I’m not letting you go.”
Nathaniel moved closer and brought the baton up, leaving his midsection open. Grace tried the pommel trick again and moved to jam it into his stomach, but he anticipated this move and swiveled his body, causing her pommel to hit his ribs. He made an “oof” sound and staggered a little, but not enough. He brought down the heavy wooden club right between her shoulders.
Grace went down on one knee and dropped the sword as she went. She loosened her dagger and hit the hilt into his knee, and this time it was his turn to drop. Kneeling before each other, Grace met his eyes. With how dark they normally were, now they looked like pits in the darkness. The moon and privy lamps didn’t offer up enough light to read his body movements.
Nathaniel reached forward and grabbed Grace’s hood. His fingers dug into hood and hair, pulling her head toward his knee. Grace kept a firm hold on her hood with one hand to keep him from ripping it off, and tried to lift her head out of the way. However, his knee slammed into her chin, causing her teeth to reverberate with the impact.
She used a gloved hand to pinch the pressure point on the wrist that gripped her head.
“You bastard!” he shouted and recoiled.
Grace spider-walked backwards, rubbing her head. She stared at him. He glared at her. The sword was between them. His eyes darted to it, and then back to her.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with it,” she sneered. “Leave it and walk away.”
Nathaniel moved fast. He already had his fingers on the sword while Grace tried to scuttle back to where she was. She fell back onto her rump when he got the weapon in his hand and held fast to her dagger.
The sergeant got to his feet and swung wildly. Grace frantically rolled out of the way and scrambled to her feet. She dodged a swing, ducking under it. He made wide, sweeping motions with the blade; erratic, dangerous. It was clear he had never trained with a sword before.
“Stop!” She jumped aside, barely avoiding another blow. “I’m not here to make things difficult!”
Nathaniel kicked out, catching Grace’s legs. She fell backwards and landed flat on her back. He held the sword over her neck in the kill position.
“Yield,” she mumbled.
“I’m taking you to the lockup,” he panted, “and I’ll slit your throat if you try anything.”
With the sword still positioned over her throat, he used his free hand to find his leather thongs to bind her.
“Sergeant, why don’t you pick on the real Death Dealer?”
A tall figure had come up behind them stealthily. Grace thought she knew the voice but she couldn’t quite place it. The figure was dressed in black with an executioner’s hood to match her own, and he held two long daggers in his hands.
“Leave this imposter alone.” The new Death Dealer took the two daggers and pressed them against Nathaniel.
“I met this tiny hooded foe in the temple of Diggery-” Nathaniel started.
“I heard about that nonsense. This fool parades around, dropping my allies and making secret meetings with the Guard. Tsk, tsk. I should send this whelp into the bosom of Kamaria, and I should do the same to you for causing so much trouble! However…” The second Dealer cleared his throat and continued, “I am going to be merciful.”
He brought the butt of his dagger down across the back of Nathaniel's head and the sergeant went down at the feet of the imposter Death Dealer. From under the hood, Grace heard a familiar laugh.
Thom removed the hood and smiled down at her.
“My goodness, Gracie, it smells terrible. This is a bad place for a lover’s spat.”
Grace looked down at Nathaniel and realized she had left Marcus just like this.
“You’re smiling because you’re about to gut me, aren’t you?”
“Not this time.” Thom pulled Grace to her feet and gave her a sniff. “Better hit the baths when this is over. Run along for now. This is our secret, understand?”
“But why?”
“You saved Marcus and Ridley, two of the people I treasure most in this world, and I haven’t forgotten you are still owed a debt for that. If you don’t find Harris tonight, I suggest pleading with Marcus. He seems to have forgotten what you did for him last summer. Go on, now, get out of here. The guard signals have stopped for now.” Thom pulled Grace into a hug and Grace lifted her hood long enough to kiss Thom’s cheek.
Thom patted her head. “Tomorrow we’ll be back on opposite sides. I can’t rush to your side against Marcus.”
Grace nodded. She had always known her alliance wouldn’t last forever, but it was comforting to know Thom was there for her now. She’d worry about what happened when the sun rose in a few hours.
She darted past him. Jack was probably running around looking for her.
~*~*~
Saltwater assaulted Grace’s nose as she crawled along. Getting below the docks was a chore, as she had to reach the end of a pier and carefully swing herself underneath. The tide wasn’t in, so no swimming was required, but the water still came up to her waist. Forward she pushed on, knowing Harris was somewhere close.
Sloshing along, Grace scanned under the docks for movement along the beach other than rats. There was a mile of coastline Harris could easily hide on, and Grace entered somewhere in the middle. To the north everything curved out of view, and to the south there wasn’t much to see in the dark. No hulking figures kicking away
vermin. No crazed drunk brandishing a knife. Above her, nothing made a sound. The guards were obviously focusing their attention closer to the city center because she hadn’t crossed one since she went into the dock region.
This actually wasn’t a bad hiding place. The wood above her head would announce any footsteps and, unless the wind was high and the waves overpowering, the water was still enough so that anyone walking through it would be heard. Maybe Harris wasn’t as big a fool as Grace thought he was. With nothing to see south, Grace reached the sand and turned herself north. She removed her hood to listen, took a few steps, and listened some more. A few steps. More listening. Nothing yet. She trudged forward on the uneven ground for a bit. It wouldn’t take long to clear the docks. Harris had to be here. Grace stopped after a few more paces, thinking maybe he had actually gone south. She moved on a little more around the curve and caught a glimpse of whiteness in the dark.
Grace realized the flash of white she saw was Harris’s dirty white shirt. He had pushed himself as far up the beach as he could go, but he was obviously injured. Grace put the Death Dealer hood back on and slowly walked out to him. His head turned to acknowledge he was no longer alone, but he didn’t run or cry out.
“Come to finish me off like you did Adam?”
Finish him? He was healthy and fit the night before! “I came to drag you into the temples for sanctuary. No one will touch you there.” Harris tried to shrug, but the effort he put in was greater than it should have been. “What happened to you?”
Grace moved closer. There was only a little moonlight and it didn’t offer much light under the pier, but Grace could see splotches of black on his shirt. Something oblong protruded from the back of his shoulder.
“I took a bolt as I ran away from you. I thought the seawater would help clean it, but it can’t remove crossbow bolts.” Grace shuddered with the thought of the unsanitary water near the docks, littered with debris and the filth of sailors.
Grace knelt down and gently leaned Harris forward. It was hard to tell the damage in the dark, but she knew he should have gone straight to a healer. The wound would most certainly be infected by now. She poked at the skin around the bolt, trying to be careful, but he still whimpered in pain. Under the hood, she bit her lip. It felt like some rats had been at it. The poor man was too weak to even fend off rodents.
“You blasted fool, why didn’t you flee when Adam was taken?”
“Where would I go? I’ve never worked a field, lifted a hammer, or baked a loaf of bread. I was born on the streets and I only know how to do one thing.”
“You could have learned a trade. Up in the north they’re always looking for strong men to swing axes. You knew only certain death waited for you in Glenbard. Do you even realize the damage you’ve caused? Do you realize the chaos you've thrown this city into? All over a crooked dice game,” she finished disdainfully.
His answering laugh was pained but genuine. “Marcus deserves some trouble for killing Adam the way he did. He knew I was the one who beat Taylor. Adam even tried to stop me! But Adam was the one they caught…the one you caught. Marcus punished him to make an example, and I hope the Lane burns for it.”
“Adam’s death was unfortunate. No,” she corrected herself. “Not unfortunate; it shouldn’t have happened at all. Not when he was only a witness to the crime. He shouldn’t have been made an example.”
Grace sat in the sand next to Harris. She’d never spoken to him much when she served him at the Angel. Back then he was a scrawny man with mousy brown hair and hard features, but now he just looked wasted and sad.
“My brother’s death was more than merely ‘unfortunate’!” he vehemently cried; ignoring all else that she said. Grace was amazed he still had the strength to yell.
“It’s not too late, Harris. I have a friend nearby. We can carry you to the healer.” A healer couldn’t save him, probably never could, but one might ease his passing at the very least.
“Ugh…I don’t want a healer. Don’t you see I’m in agony? Even if these wounds heal, I’ve lost Adam and I’ll always be hunted.” He reached into his coin purse and removed a little vial full of dark liquid. “This is ‘Immortal dream’.”
Immortal dream was a beautiful red flower that grew in the sands along the beaches. It bloomed for only three days and then died until the next year. The seeds were extremely poisonous, which was probably a preserving mechanism to keep rooting animals from driving the plant to extinction. Healers and executioners liked to use the seeds as poisons. Healers gave it to patients beyond repair who deserved respite from their pain, while for prisoners it was an execution reserved for the very privileged. The victim drank it, went to sleep after a few minutes, and didn’t wake up. Neat, clean, and easy.
“Where did you get that?” It was far too expensive a poison for a lowly thief like Harris.
“Marcus. I stole it from him after Adam was murdered.” The thought of Harris boldly breaking into Marcus’s house and taking the vial made Grace smile in spite of everything. She wished he had taken something else, though; anything but an instrument of death. “I wanted it in case the guards caught me first.”
He was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. Grace wanted him dragged before a jury or to the temples to seek sanctuary, to be spared of a terrible fate. His death now, at his own hands, would solve some of those problems. At least there’d be no more cause to hold Ridley, but it still didn’t seem fair.
“I don’t want to be left here among the rats. Can you get me out of here, Death Dealer?”
“Not alone.” Afraid he might take the Immortal dream before she came back, Grace removed the vial from his fingers; prying them open when he resisted. “I need help carrying you. I’ll be back soon.”
~*~*~
Jack was walking around, looking through the boards and trying to catch a glimpse of movement when Grace found him. She was soaking wet and miserable.
“I found him,” she said quietly.
“Not before giving the guards a run.” He patted her shoulder. “I could hear the whistles everywhere.”
Jack looked her over and watched the dirty water pool around her feet. She smelled of foulness and filth. Jack frowned in the darkness. “Has he taken up amongst the rats and the reek?”
“He’s wounded and I need help carrying him up here.”
He wrinkled his nose. He was not at all interested in climbing below the docks. Besides the stench that would linger for weeks, carrying a man up would be messy work; made worse if he was so wounded he couldn’t do it himself. From under the executioner’s hood, two points of gray light watched him. He sighed.
“Will you help me? I can’t leave him down there alone with naught but rats to watch him die. To eat his flesh while he continues to draw breath.”
It didn’t take much convincing for Jack to return with her. Harris looked up, sudden recognition in his eyes.
“I know you…Mad Dog Anders. You nearly broke my fingers once at the Emerald.” Harris laughed lightly, although he winced at the effort.
“Were you using your fingers for something you shouldn’t have been?” Jack knelt down and leaned Harris gently forward. Grace couldn’t see his face, but she heard his sharp intake of breath upon feeling the wound.
“I was trying to grope a barmaid and steal her purse in one go.”
“Then be grateful I didn’t cut your fingers off.” Jack returned Harris to his original position. “My friend here says you wish to go up. Will we be carrying you to the healers on Golden Road? The priestesses cannot speak, which means they cannot betray your location.”
Harris shook his head. “I have Immortal dream, only your friend took it from me. I just wish to be in my city one last time.”
“A reasonable request, and not completely unwise. Perhaps it is the least foolish thing you have ever done, Master Atkins. Death Dealer, I’ll need your help.”
He took Harris by one arm and she grabbed the other. With some effort and plenty of
curses from Jack, they toted him through the water. Jack sent Grace back up the docks first.
She knelt down and held out her arms. Jack hoisted Harris upwards, though the effort was made easier by the wasted away Harris. Grace hooked her arms under Harris’s armpits and pulled him as gently as she could manage, but he still whimpered from pain. Jack crawled up last, lifting Harris into his arms like a baby. Harris was once again on level with the city.
“Put me down near the market,” Harris instructed.
“I am not walking you all the way there,” Jack growled. “I have already dragged you farther than I would have liked to.”
“Jack...” Grace began.
“No, it’s too far. We’ll never make it undetected. As it is, two guardsmen have patrolled this area twice since I arrived. Content yourself with a last view of the ocean, Master Atkins.”
It was harsh but true. They’d never get anywhere dragging and carrying Harris as they were.
Jack carried him to a nearby stall where a lamp still burned vigilantly above them, and laid him out.
“Come on, Harris.” Grace helped him into a sitting position and propped him up against the empty fishmonger’s stall.
Harris uncorked his vial and put the liquid to his lips, emptying it in seconds. “For someone who brings death, you certainly try to make it better at the end of things.” He laughed and smiled faintly.
She could see him better now in the one lamp that burned. His face was bruised and the shoulder wound was worse than Grace imagined. The flesh around the bolt was ragged, blackened, and had been gnawed on by rodents. Dark tendrils branched out under the skin where the infection spread, hastened by contact with dirty water and rodent filth. He had either lost weight or stolen the clothes he currently wore, because they hung off his slight frame.
“I never wanted this to end in your death.”
The choked laugh returned. “I’m sure you wanted nothing more than to see me swing, but thank you for not slitting my throat under the docks when you had the chance. You could’ve done me in like you did ‘ole Mac. Hunted and dead in the woods, alone.” His eyes began to droop. “May I?” His hand tugged at the fabric of her mask.