Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) (2 page)

              Ridley hated him upon his return to Glenbard. When the real Death Dealer fled, Jack went too. He returned six months later and joined the Guard. Ridley thought they were friends once, but those days were long gone. However, he was still the only guard she trusted.

              “I need to speak with you,” she said.

              Jack’s nose crinkled, having caught her stench. He didn’t cover his nose, but shifted his position so he was no longer downwind. “Walk with me,” he instructed.

              Ridley fell into step beside him. Overhead the first rays of sun made their appearance, the faint pink giving way to a fiery red. A few other citizens were coming out of their homes, getting ready to begin their days. She would have to make her news quick to avoid anyone overhearing.

              “I saw something.”

              “Does this have something to do with the bells?”

              The bells’ tolling had ceased, but Jack would have heard them since they were impossible to miss. And they’d ring at dusk as well. “I saw the Death Dealer,” she blurted out. Jack kept his stride. He didn’t look at her, but she saw his eyes narrow. He dodged a pile of horse muck, his frown deepening.

“It was an imposter,” Ridley continued quickly. “I thought maybe…well, you know. But no, this Dealer was too tall and too vicious. Jack, he killed Duke Brayden in cold blood.”

              This time his steps faltered and he swung to face Ridley. “What?” Jack grabbed Ridley by the shoulders, holding her tightly. His forehead creased and his eyes widened in panic. He pursed his lips until they became a tight line, devoid of color.

              “I followed him to Golden Road. I thought, well, you know what I was thinking, but it wasn’t her. He scaled the wall to the old castle, where he met His Grace and they spoke in hushed words. The Duke became agitated and said no one was above the law; that he’d erred and the gods should protect him. Then…” Ridley stopped, shaking from the memory.

              Jack released her. He put a hand to his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Did anyone see you?”

              She nodded. “But they didn’t know it was me. The guards who gave chase called me ‘boy.’”

Jack looped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. He guided her down the street, keeping her close to speak into her ear. “Go home. Stay there. I will come see you after my patrol. Marcus will have heard. Ease his mind as best you can.”

“People will think Marcus hired the Dealer; that their alliance is firm again.”

“I know. Could be that whoever hired the imposter wanted to do just that. Could be an unexpected side effect, too. Just go home, Ridley. I’ll come by to speak to you tonight.” Jack patted her shoulder, nodded, and picked up his pace.

              Ridley moved slowly, watching him head toward the guardhouse. She sighed and turned toward home.

~*~*~

              Since being removed from their meeting place at the Angel Tavern, the King of Thieves had set up the Guild in his own dwelling. Ridley came home to find the place buzzing with activity. Her adoptive father had many ways of getting information, so she knew he’d know all about Brayden’s death by now. Normally Ridley would like to brag to him, to everyone, that she saw something no one else did. However, the thought of recounting the Duke’s murder made her skin crawl.

              Ridley elbowed her way through the kitchen and into the small sitting room. Men and women occupied almost every inch of space. Some even sat on the stairs that led to the bedrooms, a place no one was allowed to go. Most houses on Rogue’s Lane didn’t have the luxury of a second floor, not unless they were boarding houses. The house originally contained only the kitchen and the sitting room, which served as a bedroom, however, Marcus spent his thieves’ gold on a tiled roof and the addition of bedrooms upstairs.

              Marcus looked old and wizened as he sat on his cushioned “throne.” His hair had gone entirely white and his face was more wrinkled than it had ever been. His second in command, Thom, stood behind the makeshift throne looking just as old and tired. Thom’s blond hair was mostly gray now and he hadn’t bothered to shave in days. Across from them, in a borrowed kitchen chair, sat Captain Nathaniel Moore.

              The Guard captain looked positively vibrant in comparison. He turned in his chair at Ridley’s arrival and nodded his greeting. His skin was brown, denoting him as a Nareroc Island native, while his black hair, which he normally kept long, was cut closer to his head. Under his left eye a pink-white scar ran, marring his otherwise pleasant face. Ridley crossed the room to take her place behind Marcus.

              The room surged with tension. Although Moore came alone and no one moved against him, Ridley could tell they all wanted to.

              “I’m sure your daughter is aware of the morning’s goings on,” Moore said. His dark eyes fell on her. Was he searching for guilt?

              “No doubt,” Marcus replied. “But as I said, no one from the Thieves’ Guild would murder a man as important as His Grace, Duke Brayden. That sort of crime is committed by men who have manpower and gold to waste. I can’t and won’t risk a purge of my people for such nonsense.”

              “But you’re not above allowing for the murder of a city guard?”

              “The Atkins brothers are dead and buried, and your crooked Constable Taylor has been avenged,” Marcus said. He curled his upper lip back, baring his teeth a little to the Captain.

              The summer before, the death of the constable almost brought war to the lower city of Glenbard. Moore was at the head, refusing to let the Guild punish the Atkins brothers quietly, as they’d always done for offenders of Guild law. Moore wanted true king’s justice in the magistrates’ court, but everyone knew that once the Atkins brothers went into the guardsmen’s lock-up, they’d never come back out alive. One Atkins brother died swiftly at Marcus’s hand, but the other fled and a manhunt encompassed the whole city. The innkeeper at the Angel Tavern was arrested for simply allowing Marcus and his thieves to use his common room, and bad blood boiled as Marcus and Moore, with his superior, faced off for control.

              The real Death Dealer eventually intervened; helping the remaining Atkins brother shed his mortal coil and join the gods. However, the issue never really went away. For his efforts, Moore was promoted to captain and he worked tirelessly to bring down Marcus’s Guild. He made sure the men of the Rogue’s Lane guardhouse grabbed any thief they could catch, no matter how small their plunder. His lock-up and cart guards were to demand higher and higher bribes for the release of thieves. He meant to beggar Marcus, even though the Guild helped take care of its people. And yet here was Captain Moore, very cordial in his calling on Marcus.

              “The men in His Grace’s employ swear they saw the Death Dealer flee the scene,” Moore continued.

              Ridley balled her fists and her spine stiffened. She felt sweat at her hairline and fought the urge to wipe it away. Moore’s attention was focused solely on Marcus, so she could have and no one would be the wiser. Except maybe Thom, who knew and saw all.

              “And?” Marcus didn’t even blink. The air felt so thick with tension, Ridley found it hard to breathe.

              “And the Dealer was a valued ally of yours at one time.”

              “At one time yes, that was true, but that is no longer the case. If the Death Dealer is back in Glenbard, he has made no attempt to get back into my good graces. Look elsewhere for your assassin, Captain. You’ll not find him here.”

              Moore leaned forward in his chair. The assembled men and women shifted, all stepping precious inches closer. Moore’s eyes darted around, but he remained forward in his seat. “Some say Thom is the Dealer.”

              “And some lay that burden on Constable Jack Anders. Some even go so far as to claim your precious mentor, Captain Ericson, is our hooded friend. Cast doubt upon my man if you will, but perhaps you should look closer in your ranks.”

              “Thank you for your time, ‘Majesty.’” Moore rose from his seat and bowed slightly out of respect for tradition. Marcus inclined his head, and then Moore turned on his heel and strode out. Thieves moved quickly to get out of his way.

              Marcus tapped his knee, face blank. “Thom, Ridley, stay here. The rest of you, go about your day.”

              As Ridley watched the thieves filter out, dread settled over her. She knew it was time to recount her tale to Marcus and she feared his anger. They’d only recently returned to good terms.

              Marcus heaved himself from his chair. He paced, hands clasped behind his back. Thom took the chair Moore vacated while Ridley shuffled her feet and waited.

              “Thom, head north. Make sure our old ‘ally’ can be accounted for.”             

              Thom blinked slowly, his long lashes obscuring his eyes so Ridley couldn’t read them. His face certainly didn’t reveal his feelings. He crossed his arms over his chest and sank against the chair’s back. Thom understood why Ridley helped the Death Dealer escape Glenbard, and even counted her amongst his friends. He had to be displeased about being asked to hound her.

              “You can’t be serious,” Thom said. Marcus stopped his pacing, eyeing his second. “You can’t possibly think-”

              Marcus held up a hand. “Murder wasn’t exactly something she relished, but no false Dealer has dared to come into Glenbard before.”

              “She didn’t do it,” Ridley mumbled, looking down at her feet.

              “What was that?” Marcus turned a wary eye to her.

              “I saw it happen. The Dealer who stabbed Brayden was as tall as him. You know our girl. She was barely tall enough to reach into the cabinets, much less stand eye to eye with Brayden.”

              “You
saw
?” Marcus’s neck turned red and the color moved up his face at an alarming rate.

              “I saw a hooded figure, and I thought she was back.”

              Marcus sank into his chair. “I know how fond you were of her, but tricks can be employed to make a person taller. You are at least three fingers taller in those wooden pattens you wear during the winter. She must be accounted for, and if she can’t be, then she must be made to pay.” Marcus covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes.

              Thom looked at Ridley, allowing his face to betray his feelings to her. His mouth turned down and his brow knitted in concern. He didn’t want to do this.

              Marcus lifted his head and Thom’s face returned to its blank mask. “Ridley,” the King of Thieves said. “Rotate through the taverns. I want any information you can gather.”

~*~*~

              Ridley did as she was instructed. She went from tavern to tavern, through the marketplaces, and into whatever shops she could. Everyone talked about Duke Brayden’s murder, however, no one said anything of use.

              He was dead and the Death Dealer had been spotted. Those were the only agreed upon facts. In true Glenbard fashion, the most outlandish tales were the ones being repeated. There wasn’t even a whiff of what actually happened. By the time Ridley returned home, she was as clueless as she had been when she left.

              The sun was mostly down when Ridley stepped into the kitchen. Marcus and Thom were not home, and even their cook, Ginger, was gone. At least Ginger left some food out for Ridley’s return. Dinner would lift her spirits.

              The hearth only had a few embers casting off their light, so Ridley lit a few candles, giving the kitchen a warm glow. She was pleased to see three honey rolls on the table in a clay bowl, while in a pot on the hearth something bubbled. Ridley looked in to investigate and saw unidentifiable pieces of meat floating in brown sauce next to chunks of carrot and cabbage. This sort of food cost a fortune these days. It was a marked improvement over the unsalted and unsweetened porridge they’d been eating lately. Given the day’s events, Marcus probably wanted them to have a decent meal for a change.

              Ridley grabbed a wooden spoon from its hook next to the hearth and set to work stirring the stew. She fished out a piece of the mysterious meat. The little cubed meat could be anything, and Ginger had cut it and doused it so no one would ever know. Thinking about the disgusting porridge, Ridley decided even if it was rat, it was still an improvement.  She licked the spoon clean, savoring the stew, and returned it to its hook.

              The house was too quiet and it made her long for the Angel. Their old haunt was always bustling. Not only with Guild members, but with anyone who felt like stopping by. Even after their move, every inch of the ground floor was stuffed full of men and women with business for Marcus. As she stood alone in the kitchen, Ridley felt unsettled at the sudden absence of others.

              The door to the kitchen opened and Ridley spun away from the hearth, her hand finding the throwing knife she kept in her belt. Without thinking, she threw the knife toward the door. The blade stuck into the doorframe, quivering, next to Jack’s head.

              The throw was meant to scare off an intruder, but Ridley felt some pride knowing it gave Jack a start. His eyes widened and he jumped back when the knife hit the frame. With the danger past, he put a hand over his heart.