Twilight of Kerberos - [Shadowmage 01-03] - The Shadowmage Trilogy (Shadowmage; Night's Haunting; Legacy's Price) (59 page)

“When this is over, I want you out,” she said. “Out of the Council, out of the guild, and out of the city. I never want to so much as hear of you again, and you know I have my own ways to make sure that happens.”

Elaine opened the door and turned back to him with an expression of disgust.

“I will never trust you again.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
HE EVENTS OF
the past few days had come as something of a shock to Elouise. Her affiliation to the thieves’ guild had been born out of disaffection with the society into which her family had tried to propel her. Endless lessons in etiquette with alternative Vos and Pontaine influences – whichever her family happened to be trying to impress at the time – watching her tongue against unguarded comments, the fashionable balls, ridiculous clothes, the petty politicking that was all the more vicious because there was no real penalty for failure... the list went on.

So she had become a thief, stealing away when her family was not watching, or when she was supposed to be with some man of “quality” that her parents wanted her to court. Thieves did not ask questions, and were interested only in her abilities which, over time, had grown to some measure of competence.

Elouise had no illusions about becoming some criminal master, but the occasional raids and burglaries she attended under the leadership of senior thieves gave her life some substance, and not a little excitement. It had turned out to be quite profitable, too.

That part of her life had turned on its head when Vos had cracked down on the guild, tearing apart its headquarters and beheading those it caught. All of a sudden, being a thief was not as much fun as it used to be, and she had fled into the arms of her family and the society in which they moved. The irony that she had sought sanctuary among the same Vos nobles that had hounded her thievish comrades was not lost on her.

When she heard the thieves’ guild was not only still alive but was beginning to fight back, Elouise had been dubious. Being chased by the guard, even caught and fined, might shame her family, but she could shrug it off. She could not dismiss the executioner’s axe so easily. However, she had been sympathetic to the plight of her old friends, and stayed in touch. When they returned and said they were planning a massive strike against the Empire, and that there was a role for her, something perhaps closer to her ideals of personal safety, she had accepted the challenge.

So it was she found herself in the Five Markets, clothed in the tight fitting leather tunic and trews that she adopted when engaged in her thievish duties. Trailed at some distance by a group of seven teenage boys, Elouise inspected the vendors and stalls she passed with some care.

Already briefed on which stalls to concentrate on, she carefully gauged each, looking for telltales that would reveal the trader’s allegiance. Whenever she came across a trader who spoke with a heavy Vos accent or whose wares were of obvious Imperial origin, Elouise would lean forward and rest a hand on the side of the stall, hunched as if inspecting the goods closely. If her suspicions were confirmed, she would tap her fingers, three times.

Across the other side of the pathway between the lines of stalls, a group of boys gossiped, the breadth of their conversation ranging between girls of their own age, and those perhaps a little older, and who among them would win a free-for-all brawl. They were ignored by traders and passers-by alike, just a typical group of kids wasting time in the markets.

Anyone watching more closely might have noticed that the tallest of the group, a reedy boy called Mattais, spent little time engaged in the debates of his friends, his attention fixed firmly on a young woman as she moved from trader to trader. Every now and then, he would lean across to one of his friends and whisper something, perhaps a simple observation, perhaps an instruction.

Watching all of this, Jake stood with his back to a pile of stacked crates. Arms crossed, he hopped from foot to foot absent-mindedly with impatience, waiting for the fun to start.

Turning away from the older boys for a moment, he sought out Michelle and Emma from amongst the crowd, two girls he had never worked with before. They were easy to spot, as both wore bright tunics, of red and of green, guaranteed to attract attention.

Both were about eight or nine, a little younger than him, but he had been suspicious of them, instead wanting to rejoin his old team. However, when Ambrose had visited with news that the pickpockets were going back into business, the old thief had insisted this was a special team, with each member selected for one primary reason – all three were exceptionally good runners, and knew the alleys of the Five Markets better than anyone.

This reasoning, the creation of an “elite” team as Jake liked to think of it, had put him in high spirits and he could not wait to get started. He caught Michelle’s eye, trying to hurry her on. She shrugged and cast her head about, inspecting those closest to her, and inclined her head, surreptitiously indicating a family that pushed through the crowd past her.

Assessing the mark, Jake smiled. The family was obviously from a humble background, the father probably a craftsman who worked hard for every silver he earned. He also looked fit, and should not drop out of a chase too soon. Jake nodded to Michelle, who grabbed Emma’s attention, and then he looked back to see if Elouise was ready.

She was. Jake uncrossed his arms, letting her know that his team was in place and ready to strike. In answer, she reached up and, with great deliberation, tied back her long hair.

The signal was given.

Sidling up to the craftsman, Michelle reached for his belt pouch and, using a tiny blade, sliced the leather straps that held it in place. It dropped neatly into her hand, but instead of turning away with her stolen money, Michelle tripped and brushed against the man.

He looked down at her, frowning, then his hand went instinctively to his belt as he realised that he had been robbed. Giving a cheeky grin, Michelle turned and ran into the crowd, the craftsman just a few feet behind her, giving pursuit.

As the craftsman’s family raised the cry of “Thief!” soldiers began to move into the crowd, closing in on Michelle from several angles. Her bright red tunic made it impossible to escape their attention.

Squeezing through the crowd, dodging the grasping hands of citizens quick enough to spot what was happening, Michelle was joined by Emma, and the two girls ran side by side for a few paces as the pouch switched hands. Then, they split, both running as fast as they could in separate directions.

“No, it is that one, the one in green!” the craftsman shouted to the nearest soldiers, pointing at Emma as she sped away.

Confused, the soldiers split up, trying to chase both girls now, but their carefully constructed ring, designed to hem in a pickpocket, had been shattered. People were thrown to the side as the soldiers barrelled past them, sweating hard in their armour as they tried to keep up with the children.

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.”