by Ross Dupree
complicated, even if the guard did not know the route he would be able to follow. He moved faster, if he could get across the canal then he should be safe. But he had to get out of these tunnels. Judging by the scraping sounds the guard was moving at a near run and closing in fast.
He drew his dagger. Rickard did not want to fight. In the dark, against an armored man. Those were not good odds. And while Rickard had fought and won many brawls, he had never killed a man, much less a guard. He desperately wanted to avoid this fight if he could, but he also knew he could not be taken to jail. The fate that awaited him in the captain's tender grasp was not one to contemplate.
As he turned the next corner, he saw the grating that led to the canal. Now that he had a little light from the entrance, he moved much faster. Once he got out, he might even be able to lock the grating and leave the guard to turn around and find another way out. He also knew he'd be silhouetted against the light coming in from the city and the guard would know where he was. He got to the gate only to find it locked.
Rickard had unlocked this gate last night, in case he needed this route. His plans were wild, but his preparation had been thorough. The gates were not inspected very often, so he'd either gotten unlucky, or...
Had someone seen him? Did someone know what he had been planning tonight? The lock was easy to open, but Rickard fumbled slightly as he rushed in his attempt to pick it with his dagger. Focused on the lock, he was surprised when he heard metal on stone very close behind him. He spun around, dagger in hand, to see the guard a few paces away.
The man was large, with broad shoulders and huge arms bulging from his chain tunic. His heavy face was red with the exertion from the chase. Rickard had seen this guard before. He'd seen all the guards as he walked the streets of the city, but this one he had marked as a man to avoid. He had seen him beat a bread thief to his knees for no other reason than because he could. This was not going to be a pleasant fight.
The guard had his sword drawn, and he came at Rickard, not even offering an easy surrender. This man meant to kill him, here and now.
When the guard swung at him, Rickard dropped to one knee, letting the sword arc over him and clang loudly into the bars of the gate. He rose quickly, jamming his dagger into the guard's midriff. The blade did not pierce the man's chain armor, but the effect was the same as punching an unarmored man in the kidney. The guard shifted off balance from the hit and cried out in surprised pain. Rickard slammed himself with full force into his side, at the same time sweeping his foot under the heavy man. The guard fell against the gate, his arm through the bars. Rickard completed his motion, coming up slightly behind the man and pounding the pommel of his dagger against the base of the guard's skull. The man went limp, and Rickard heard first the sickening crack of the man's arm caught in the gate and then the splash of his sword falling into the canal.
Rickard pulled the guard free of the gate, the man's arm bent at an unnatural angle. Captivity under this man and his friends would not be at all fun now. Rickard would not allow himself to be taken alive.
He quickly finished picking the lock, and stripped off his gray woolen clothing. Time to swim, and the wet wool would just drag him down. He put his dagger and the purloined box in a small waxed waterproof pouch he tied to his waist. He looked up and down the canal, he did not see anyone on the water, but that would have been very unusual this time of night. His destination was the grate on the other side, about twenty yards down-current and about twenty yards across the canal. An easy swim, but he would be out in the open the entire way.
He slipped into the water, hoping to avoid an attention-attracting splash. But as soon as he was out of the grate, he heard excited yelling above him. The guards had been waiting. He dove deep and swam hard to the other side. When he touched the opposite canal wall, he surfaced and saw his aim had been good. He was directly below the sewer entrance. This gate had a lock that had long ago been broken.
He opened the gate and began to pull himself up from the water. With the previous injuries to his arm, he moved slower than he otherwise would have. An arrow struck the stone between his hands, having just missed his head. A second later another arrow nicked his ear. It wasn't painful, but it did begin to bleed. The archer was good, but not experienced enough to be aiming for his torso. Or too cocky. Either way, Rickard was lucky. He finished pulling himself up and ran into the dark sewer, safe now from the arrows.
The sewers on this side of the canal were different. Older, less orderly. There were many side tunnels, and side tunnels off those side tunnels. Rickard relaxed slightly now, knowing the guards would be less likely to enter these tunnels, and even if they did it would be nearly impossible to track him as he flitted from passage to passage.
He came to very narrow passage, the walls so close he had to walk sideways, like a crab. He reached the point he was looking for and began ascending, using the walls for support as he climbed. When he got to the top, he pushed a wooden panel aside and emerged in a space between three buildings. The spot was forgotten even by those who lived and worked in the buildings, but it was one of several locations in the city that Rickard used as a staging ground. He found the clothes he had left here earlier today, dressed, and cleaned his wounded ear. At least the bleeding had stopped, but he worried about having a scar he could not readily hide.
He stashed the box that had caused all this trouble in a small niche, it was far too hot to be moving around with it tonight, even in this part of town. Maybe especially in this part of town. The guards would be out all night walking the streets, but Rickard was far less worried now. He just had to get home and sleep. Then he could start thinking about how to exchange this box for something less volatile to own, like gold coin.
As he walked the streets home, he passed two patrols. They eyed him closely, but he knew the only people who had gotten a good look at him was the housekeeper, and he didn't think she was going to give him up. Again. Maybe he shouldn't trust her too much, but he didn't think she would find his arrest and torture as amusing as she had found betraying him to the old man.
Rickard made it home without further incident. As he settled into bed he felt exhaustion overcome him and he fell almost immediately into a deep sleep, and that night dreamt of teasing housekeepers and hidden treasures.
He awoke late the next morning, refreshed but sore. His right arm was of even less use today than it had been last night. Full recovery was going to take some time. Still, he was happy to be alive and free. And to have a stash of treasure. The future looked good.
He went out and wandered the streets in what seemed like his usual aimless pattern, but he was watching everyone to see if anyone was watching him. He crossed the paths of a few men more than once that day, but nothing seemed unusual. Just the usual unpredictability of the world.
The guard patrols were at their normal level as well. Rickard thought about this and decided they were not going to flood the streets as the people would then wonder what was going on. And it wasn't worth that disruption to find him. But that didn't mean there wouldn't be more subtle efforts to locate him. He'd have to be careful, watchful. And not try to move any of the box he stole until he was sure the heat was off.
He went to retrieve the box now, more than ever he wanted to know what was inside.
Recovering the box was easy and fast. He took a direct route home, not wanting to be on the street with it any longer than necessary.
Back in his small room, Rickard examined the box closely for the first time. It was heavy for its size, much heavier than its dark wood construction would indicate. The lid was covered with an elaborate carving of a tree which was inlaid with a surprising number of rubies and emeralds. Whatever might be in the box, he would at the least be able to sell these gems for enough money to live on for quite some time. Gold leaf rimmed the edges of the box, though that in itself was of little value. The overall effect of the desig
n was one of beauty which added up to more than the sum of its parts.
He turned his attention to the lock. It was small but sturdy, steel rather than the brass you usually saw on decorative boxes. Though it looked as if it could be easily pried off with some applied leverage. Rickard was more inclined to attempt to keep the box intact for now. It was dangerous to be in possession of something so identifiable, but he had to admit that he enjoyed the beauty of it. He wanted to keep it for himself, as irrational as that was.
Rickard got his lockpicks and began working on the small lock. The mechanism wasn't as simple as the size implied, there seemed to be intricate workings inside. He involuntarily gave a start when a small needle suddenly clicked out from the back of the box. If he'd been holding it rather than keeping it on the table, his finger would have been pierced. He would not be surprised if there was poison on that needle. Nasty little box, then. He proceeded with great care.
Eventually, after much delicate maneuvering, he opened the lock. He opened the box slowly, cautious of any more tricks that may lie inside. The box was lined with a dark blue plush velvet, and sitting on the lining were a number of emeralds and rubies, some of the finest Rickard had ever seen. More than he had
