The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (63 page)

Seeing the soldiers occupied with the pickpockets, Mattais whistled to his friends, and they immediately halted their conversations. As one, they charged the first stall that Elouise had picked out for them, kicking the table over onto the terrified vendor. Goods were crushed underfoot or thrown out into the crowd, where people scrabbled for them, causing more obstacles for the soldiers.

Smiling at the chaos that reigned through the market, Jake trotted over to the drop-off point near a textiles trader. A minute later, Emma came pounding past him, soldiers hot on her heels. She flashed a smile at him as he held out a hand, keeping it low near his waist.

Brushing past him like a feather, Emma kept on running, jinking suddenly as she headed for one of the alleys that ran out of the market. Jake had to jump out of the way of the soldiers who, in their frustration, were beginning to flatten anyone who did not move quickly enough.

Seeing them disappear after Emma, Jake walked away casually, feeling the weight of the stolen pouch within his own tunic.

H
IS HEAD HUNCHED
over the table, Reinhardt Perner cursed as he read the figures on the sheet before him, over and again. The conclusion was inescapable.

The Vos councillor had been right; more customers were indeed coming to the city. However, the taxes now levied on his business were sucking him dry. The figures did not lie. He was working harder than ever, but earning no more than before.

Sighing, he reached across the table to grasp his beaker of wine but he halted, the drink at his lips. He sniffed at the wine and placed it back on the table. Even the imported vintages lost their taste when his finances were looking so bad.

The sound of a scuffle at his front door caused him to lean to one side to look past the sacks of corn stacked around the central pillar of the main shop floor. With alarm, he realised that the Vos soldier posted outside was brandishing his spear at someone just out of sight on the street. As Reinhardt watched, a scrawny man in ill-fitting clothes sneaked up behind the soldier and with a single, swift motion, stabbed him in the ribs with a broad-bladed dagger. The man withdrew his blade and stabbed the man again and again.

Rendered speechless and immobile with alarm, Reinhardt watched helplessly as more men appeared and the soldier, his struggles growing ever more feeble as blood poured out of his side, was dragged into the shop and dumped on the floor. Stepping over the body, the scrawny man walked over to Reinhardt’s table and sat himself opposite. He reached over for the beaker of wine and, after sniffing it suspiciously, downed it a series of gulps.

“Good evening, Mr Perner,” the scrawny man said with a leer.

Behind him, other thieves spread out around the shop, selecting sacks of grain, small barrels of ale and cuts of beef. Reinhardt started to stand, his mouth open to protest, but the scrawny man brought his attention back to the table as the large dagger was produced once more, still wreathed in the soldier’s blood, and slammed hard, point first, into the table.

“Now, don’t you go worrying about my friends there, Mr Perner,” the scrawny man said. Reinhardt sat back down, his attention fixed on the dagger embedded in his table, blood running down its blade and pooling on the varnished wood.

“You’ve been a little bit naughty, haven’t you, Mr Perner?”

Reinhardt looked up, blankly.

“What do you mean?” he managed to say.

“Oh, don’t be so coy, Mr Perner,” the scrawny man said. “You have been just a little bit naughty. Talking to those nasty, rude, Vos-types. And getting them to put a soldier on your doorstep, if you please! It seems you don’t remember your old friends, Mr Perner, and that makes us sad.”

Realisation began to dawn on Reinhardt, and he closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped. He suddenly knew exactly where this was going.

“What do you want?”

“Well, Mr Perner, we are not greedy men, as you well know, and we really only have your best interests at heart. Even though you have been naughty recently, we are willing to forego all that nastiness. And we won’t even be charging interest. Just see to our man when he comes around for the collections every week, and we’ll say no more about it. Seems to me that is very fair.”

“I can’t...”

“What was that, Mr Perner, I could not quite hear you.” The scrawny man had stood up, and was now towering over Reinhardt as he leaned over the table.

When Reinhardt finally looked up, the thief could see the worry and fear in the trader’s eyes.

“Vos is taxing me through the teeth. I don’t
have
anything else!”

The scrawny man took a step back and stood up straight, rubbing a hand across his chin as if in deep thought.

“Well, that
is
a problem, and no mistake,” he said. “I could quite easily see how a man might be ruined when he pays two masters, and neither of us want that, do we, Mr Perner?”

Reinhardt shook his head dumbly.

“Seems to me that you can pay us or pay Vos. Hmm... Best you pay us, I think. It would be better for both you and your family. Yes, I am convinced, you are better off paying us. We’ll take care of any nasty men Vos sends your way, just like we took care of that poor sad bastard lying on your floor. In the meantime...”

Plucking the dagger from the table in one heave, the scrawny man turned and grabbed the nearest sack of corn, slinging it over his shoulder. He put his other hand to his mouth and whistled. Another thief trotted in, carrying a lighted torch, its flames flickering as it passed through the threshold of the shop. As Reinhardt looked on, the thief began to dip the torch in amongst the dry sacks, then tossed it onto a bale of cloth stacked along a wall.

The scrawny man waved cheerfully as he left with the other thieves, ignoring Reinhardt’s plaintive wail as the man rushed across his shop, trying desperately to extinguish the flames with his cloak.

“Think he got the message?” asked the thief who had thrown the torch as they began to walk up Lantern Street.

The scrawny one smiled. “Aye, I believe we did good work there.”

“Didn’t we just burn down his entire shop?” asked another.

“Nah, he’ll put out the flames, if he moves fast enough. And I’ll wager he will, men tend to be motivated when their livelihood is at stake. He’ll lose a good portion of stock in the process, though.”

“Well, that will just make it harder for him to pay us later in the week, surely?”

“It will teach him that, between us and Vos, we are the ones that should be feared. Vos will just arrest him for non-payment of fines. We can finish him off completely.” The scrawny man looked over his shoulder as thin trails of smoke began to pour out of the windows and door of Perner’s General Stores. “Right now, that is what is important.”

L
EANING CAUTIOUSLY AROUND
the side of the tall wooden warehouse, Grayling watched the red-liveried soldiers of the Vos patrol march stiffly across the street junction a few dozen yards away. As always, they were right on time, their carefully planned misdirection using multiple patrols and rotating routes easily predicted by thieves who had watched them for days on end.

Pulling back, Grayling unslung her short bow and drew a single arrow from the quiver strapped to her back. She took one deep breath, then stepped away from the warehouse, in full view of the soldiers. Aiming for just a second, she let the arrow fly, and watched it thud with a dull smack into the chest of the rearmost soldier along the line.

To their credit, the soldiers reacted quickly, the sergeant shouting commands as his men unshouldered their spears and began to charge towards Grayling. Ice ran in the short thief’s veins for a second as she watched the heavily armed and armoured soldiers start pounding for her. Keeping her bow in hand, she turned and ran back around the warehouse, raising her fingers to her mouth to whistle as she went, praying the others heard the signal.

Angry at having already lost one of their own, the soldiers flew around the corner. The sergeant, leading the squad, was run down in a flurry of hooves as another thief, riding a large grey horse, smashed into him. Throwing themselves to either side, the other soldiers managed to escape the horse’s impact, but their formation was instantly scattered and, with their sergeant out cold and not giving orders, they split up. A handful continued the chase after Grayling, while the rest tried giving chase to the rogue horse rider, throwing their spears uselessly after him.

Seeing that she was still being followed, Grayling crossed the street and dived into a short dark alley between two more warehouses. A low, terrible growl faced her within the alley, and she kept to one wall, moving quickly but carefully. Lunging from the shadows, a large black mastiff slavered as it barked and strained against its chain to reach her.

Holding a hand out in a futile attempt to calm the creature, Grayling quickly passed it, and hoisted herself over the six-foot fence crossing the alley. She heard the soldiers just steps behind her and unsnared the mastiff’s chain from the hook on her side of the fence. The threatening growls changed into a roar from the dog and screams from the soldiers as the mastiff was unleashed.

Trotting out of the opposite end of the alley, Grayling looked up and down the wide road into the merchants’ quarter of Turnitia, dominated on all sides by the long warehouses that handled most of the city’s trade. A little further along, another thief was being hotly pursued by more Vos soldiers and, seeing the opportunity, Grayling whipped out another arrow and sent it flying. It buried itself in the back of one soldier’s leg.

Realising that his squad was in danger, this sergeant barked orders, and one man split off from the rest, running away from the thieves and into the main part of the city. The others continued after their original quarry, leaving their wounded comrade in the middle of the street, writhing in pain as he clutched his wounded leg.

Grayling let the single runner go, knowing full well where the man was headed and how necessary it was to the thieves that he remain untouched, however tempting a target he might present. Instead, Grayling had already settled on her prey – news of the guildmistress’ bounty on sergeants had swept through the thieves, and she intended to be the first to claim it.

Running after the fast disappearing squad, she tore past the wounded soldier, breaking her stride only to kick the man hard in the face. The tables had turned, and the forces of Vos were going to feel the wrath of the thieves.

The squad, fixated on the thief they were chasing, pursued him into a warehouse whose doors had been left wide open. As soon as the last soldier ran past the threshold, two thieves jumped from behind a wagon next to the warehouse. Moving swiftly, they flung the doors shut, driving a wooden pole through the handles to seal the entrance.

More thieves appeared from the surrounding area, armed with burning torches, and set light to spots along the walls of the warehouse that had been prepared with lamp oil. The flames took hold fast, and the thieves retreated, dooming the soldiers inside, and eager to move on to the next task. Grayling, however, slowed as she approached the warehouse and waited, pacing outside the building.

The flames clawed their way up the sides of the warehouse, and thick black smoke began to pour into the sky. After a few minutes, Grayling was ready to give up, presuming the men inside had already succumbed to the roiling smoke, if not the flames. Then she heard a crash from the opposite side of the building, and she sprinted around, readying another arrow.

A section of the wall splintered at about head height as she rounded the corner, then the thin wedge of an axe blade appeared as someone started to hack their way clear of the growing inferno. After a few more blows, smoke started pouring out of the gaps growing in the warehouse’s wooden walls. The axe blows stopped and the wall thudded once, twice, then three times, as if something heavy was being thrown against it.

In a crash of splintering wood, the sergeant burst through the weakened wall, coughing and spluttering from the smoke as he fell to his knees. Grayling gave a low whistle that made the sergeant look up at her, straight into the point of an arrow. Releasing the string, Grayling smiled as the shaft was buried in the sergeant’s throat, its bloody head emerging from the back of his neck. Stooping down, Grayling took the bronze sergeant’s crest from the man’s chest. The sergeant pawed weakly at Grayling, desperate for aid, but she pocketed the crest and turned, content to let the man die slowly in pain.

Wanting to see how other thieves were faring, Grayling retraced her steps but came to a sudden stop when she reached the main street leading into the district. The runner sent by the sergeant she had just killed had done his work.

Marching down the street, the Vos military had arrived in force. A dozen squads moved toward her in unison, brandishing spears, swords and shields, armed for a real battle. Grayling vowed that the thieves would give them one.

She sent an arrow soaring toward the assembled ranks, but the range was too great and the shot fell short. It was enough to catch the soldiers’ attention, though, and two squads detached themselves from the main body to pursue her.

Grayling immediately retreated, diving back among the warehouses and locating a storm drain she had earlier marked as a point of retreat. Lifting the grate, she lowered herself inside quickly, slipping and sliding down the wet, moss-strewn tunnel into the sewers. Too excited to even notice the stench, she quickly got her bearings and headed east to begin the next phase of the plan. With any luck, they would soon have half the soldiers of Turnitia in the merchants’ quarter, tied up and useless as they chased fleeting shadows.