06 - Rule of Thieves (10 page)

He must have sensed the coming response to that, because he rushed on. “The intriguing part is this was to be done in secret, and nobody seems to know exactly who put the word out.”

“When you say ‘in secret,’ you mean without the knowledge of Praetor Tarius,” I guessed.

“Or other powers that be, possibly. At any rate, I heard a few Iron Fists learned of the reward and hoped for a piece too. But that ended yesterday, when orders came from on high that you are now untouchable. The captain of the Fists, your old friend Terrac, is threatening death and doom on anyone who troubles you further. You’re lucky to have such a well-placed friend. But who knew the city guard and Fists were so corrupt in the first place? I’ve been bribing them for years and have never seen a conspiracy like this.” He looked offended at the dishonesty of his own informants.

I called his attention back to the question at hand. “Someone must know who offered the reward. Surely the captain of the guard is aware of their identity?”

“If he is, he’s not saying. All my digging turned up is a faceless man with money and influence. But that doesn’t mean no one was prepared to offer guesses. The most common suggestions that popped up were the counselors Torg Branek or Asmund Summerdale. You know who they are?”

“Only what’s commonly said, that Branek is ambitious and Summerdale is unimpressive. Did you discovering nothing else?”

“Nothing?” he repeated. “I think what I found out was more than enough. So much, in fact, that a pair of Fists came after me for nosing around in their business.”

“A pair of Fists, you say?” My mind immediately went to the two Fists who had arrested me the other night.

Fleet nodded. “Yes, they’ve been following and watching me since yesterday until I finally got nervous enough to come down here. I hope you’re planning to sort out your enemies soon, because I don’t fancy living like a mole underground for the rest of my life. This level of interest from the Fists and the guard is very bad for my trade.”

“I’ll deal with it,” I promised. “You’ll be back to picking pockets without interference in no time.”

Then I filled him in briefly on all that had happened to me since we last met, ending with instructions for him to contact me up at the castle the next time he had anything to report.

“Next time?” The street thief looked alarmed. “You don’t expect me to stretch my neck above ground again with those Fists on the lookout for me?”

“Why not?” I teased. “Whatever happened to your daring? The Fleet I remember never used to fear the city guard, and he could take on any number of Fists.”

“The Fleet you remember didn’t have to take on anyone. He only had to outrun them,” he pointed out.

“Then do that again. I don’t care how you manage it. I need a reliable pair of eyes above ground, and there are none I trust as well as yours. No other weasel ferrets out information the way you do.”

“All flattery aside, I get the feeling you have something specific in mind for me,” Fleet observed.

I hesitated. “I may have set something in motion recently, believing I could gain Praetor Tarius’s approval of the plan. As it turns out, I cannot. At least, not without buying more time to persuade him. Until then, I may need you to intercept and hide them.”

“Them?” Fleet’s dark brows drew together in confusion. “Them who?”

“Magickers,” I said. “I encountered a whole community of them when Hadrian, Terrac, and I were traveling through Cros. On learning a few days ago about the returning Skeltai threat, I sent word to these Swiftsfell folk, asking for their help. Whether they will respond at all, I do not know. But it’s possible they will send a representative or two to discuss the possibility of an alliance with Selbius. If that happens, I cannot have their envoy appearing at the castle without warning, expecting welcome. I don’t know what the Praetor would do if these magickers fell into his hands after he has expressly forbidden them entrance to the province. Until I can be sure of their safety, Tarius can know nothing of their arrival.”

“And I’m supposed to what? Tell these magickers to turn themselves invisible?” At his nervous laughter, I was reminded that Fleet had never been quite comfortable in the presence of magic users. Most folk of the province were not, due to long-standing prejudice. Still, he had got used to the idea of mine and Hadrian’s magic, and he would have to grow accustomed to that of the Swiftsfell folk too.

I said, “I need you to keep an ear to the ground and both eyes open. If you see or hear anything of the magickers here in Selbius, you must whisk them into hiding and get word to me at once. Hadrian can be relied upon to help you in this if necessary. I do not know how aware of his magical abilities his priestly hosts at the temple may be, so use caution if you approach him. I’m reluctant to involve Hadrian at all in a business that could easily go bad.”

“Whereas I am expendable?” Fleet feigned offense.

I smiled. “What you are is slippery and too much so to be caught.”

But my mood was less confident than my words. Why did I feel such a weight of responsibility for the safety of my friends these days? I never used to worry about whether they could handle themselves.

Shoving my doubts aside, I took leave of Fleet and ascended the stairs letting out of the under-levels. After that depressing world below, it was a relief to enjoy the fresh air again and feel the warmth of sunlight on my skin.

Morning had passed, and I judged midday was approaching. My empty stomach reminded me I had missed breakfast and the afternoon meal was probably being served back at the castle. I was turning my steps that way and about to leave behind the beggar’s quarter when someone on the street brushed against my arm. There were many pedestrians pushing past and it could have been any of them. But one fellow fell in step alongside me. Watching this skinny, grubby-looking young man from out of the corner of my eye, I knew there was something familiar in his face.

Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he suddenly broke his silence, murmuring, “I have a message from Dimmingwood.”

A messenger of Dradac’s. No wonder I had not noticed him trailing me. No one was as stealthy as a forest outlaw when he wanted to be. Now I recognized this one as Kipp’s brother, Kiril, who used to run information for our secret circle during the last Skeltai war. Kipp was dead, long since hanged by the Praetor for thieving, but apparently his brother had not been dissuaded from continuing the risky life.

I followed his lead in keeping deliberately casual lest passersby overhear our conversation. “What is the word from Dradac? Has he found the boy?”

“The lad lives with a miller at Low Hills.”

My mind went at once to my vision of the mill house with the waterwheel by the stream. “Is he safe? Is he well?”

But I was talking to thin air. The messenger, having imparted his news, was already fading away into the crowd.

Back at the castle, I hastily located the kitchens and ducked inside long enough to beg a meat pie from a servant. After scarfing it down, I was out again, heading to the stables. Briefly, I contemplated bringing my bow with me before deciding it was best off remaining where it was, hidden in my room. I was always vaguely anxious when separated from the weapon, but it seemed to attract too much unwanted attention these days.

In the castle stables, I told a stableboy I had assurance from the captain of the Fists that I was welcome to any horse I wanted. Terrac hadn’t said anything of the kind, but the boy wasn’t to know that. At mention of Terrac’s name, he fell all over himself to saddle a fine horse for me. Then it was my turn to do the falling as I struggled to mount the tall animal. I was growing a little more used to horses but doubted I would ever feel quite natural astride one. My own two feet would have been more reliable, but I could not afford the delay of walking. After last night’s troubling vision, I was impatient to fulfill my promise to Martyn.

____________________

It was late afternoon when I reached the outskirts of Low Hills. I had expected to ride into the hamlet and ask folk there for directions to the local mill. But that proved unnecessary when I found I could clearly see my destination from the road. My horse’s hooves clattering loudly over the cobbles, I crossed a short bridge spanning a swift-flowing stream. The water rushed past the small cluster of cottages that made up Low Hills, flowing through a grove of trees.

Here I found the mill and its neighboring cottage and outbuildings exactly as I had envisioned them. But unlike in my dream, the place was not deserted right now. Workers bustled in and out of the main building with the waterwheel around back.

My knocks on the door of the near cottage going unanswered, I left my horse and crossed the yard to catch the attention of one of the busy mill workers. One sturdy fellow paused in loading his sacks of meal into the back of a wagon, long enough to hear my inquiry. On understanding I wanted to speak with the mill owner himself, he went off in search of the man.

As I waited outdoors beneath the warm sun, I rehearsed what I would say. From what little my dream had shown me of the stepfather to Brig’s sons, I had a deep distaste for him. But I mustn’t give away the personal nature of my dislike.

Despite the thought, I was unprepared for the rush of anger I felt when the mill worker returned with his employer and I found myself face-to-face with the man. At once muscular and thick bellied, the miller had the typical surly look of a bully. His heavily lidded eyes looked me up and down, and it was clear he was unimpressed with what he saw.

“I’m Master Luken,” he said impatiently. “I’m told you’re looking for me, although I don’t recall havin’ any business with city folk of your sort. Speak quickly so I can get back to my work.”

Realizing the clothing supplied at the Praetor’s castle made me look a degree more respectable than the grubby woods villager I was usually taken for, I decided to take advantage of the fact.

I said, “Ilan’s my name. I’ve come from the castle in Selbius to make inquiries on a personal matter. My master, Praetor Tarius cannot spare me long, so I will soon be out of your way.”

I glanced around at my humble surroundings and winced as if I were even more impatient for my departure than he was.

But at mention of the castle, the miller’s whole demeanor changed. Clearly I had been right to drop the Praetor’s name, no matter how it grated to do so. Suddenly respectful, Master Luken apologized for his brusqueness and asked how he could help me. He assured me any member of the Praetor’s household was welcome and invited me into his home where we could talk more comfortably.

I allowed him to lead me there. It was a rough house, sparsely furnished, with a single room that acted as both kitchen and living quarters. A ladder disappearing into a loft above suggested the inhabitants had their sleeping pallets upstairs.

I took this in with a glance as the miller ushered me to a flour-dusted table and served me a drink of no-longer-warm
skeil
from a kettle above the cold fireplace. My host tried to make small talk about the weather and my journey here, but I barely responded. I found this obsequious behavior of his even less likable than his former manner.

I had been keeping my eyes open for the boy, Jarrod, ever since my arrival but had seen no sign of him. Now I came out and asked, “Where’s your son? My business involves him as much as you.”

“Son?” The miller shrugged. “I have no sons.”

“I am informed otherwise. He would be a young lad, perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age.”

I did not say I had arrived at that knowledge by glimpsing the boy in a dream.

“Ah, you speak of Jarrod, the son of my wife. But what can you know of him clear up in the city? The boy keeps close to home, unlike his brother Martyn. Not that one of them is worth much more than the other. I’ve never got a decent day’s work or a scrap of gratitude out of either of them boys, even when I kept them on and raised ’em like my own after their mother died.”

“This Martyn, is he around too?” I asked casually, as though I did not already know the answer.

“Nah, the older boy took off a year ago, and good riddance to him, I say.”

“Why? Was he that troublesome?”

Master Luken sat down eagerly, as if the faults of his stepson was a topic he was happy to expand on. “At first, it wasn’t much. Just sulks, fighting with the workers, and general uselessness. But then, the brat started getting ideas about going in search of his real father, some outlaw who abandoned the boys and their mother long ago.”

That “abandonment” didn’t match the stories I’d heard of Brig’s separation from his family, but I held my tongue.

Master Luken continued. “Martyn started sneaking off, shirking his chores to run away to that cursed Dimmingwood, where he fell in with that same lot of outlaws his no-good father used to belong with. Turns out his father was long dead, so you’d think that’d be the end of it. Only it wasn’t. The boy became fascinated with those forest brigands, and eventually he up and ran away for good. I suppose he’s with them now. I ain’t seen his hide around here in a year or more, and I’d give him a good strapping if I did.”

I wondered if this was truly the extent of the miller’s knowledge. It was strange that none of the last people to see Martyn could account for his actions after his involvement with the Dimmingwood thieves. Pieces of his past were coming together, but there was a murky area between his visits to Dimmingwood and the time he left the province to hunt me down in Cros. At some point, someone had lied to him, telling him I was responsible for Brig’s death. And that same someone had hired him to destroy me. But who?

“Did anyone come visiting Martyn during his last days here?” I asked.

Master Luken shrugged lazy shoulders. “Not that I noted. Why? Has the brat gone and made some sort of trouble?”

He began to look suspicious, and I wondered if I had been too obvious with my interest in the two boys. Still, I pressed further. “What about the younger boy, Jarrod? He would know if his brother was seeing anyone in secret. I’ll have a word with him.”