King's Man and Thief

by Christie Golden

  Again, she tried to rise. Her ankle wasn't broken, but it was twisted badly. Clutching the saturated toy, she managed to make it to her feet. Every instinct was crying out, telling her to run, but she couldn't run. Instead, she found a weapon—a length of nail-studded wood from the crate used to house the thing.

  "Where are you?" she called, sounding as brave as she could. "You're not gonna hurt me or Miss Lally."

  A soft splash came behind her. She whirled unsteadily, and yelped, horrified.

  It sat in the square of light that came from the street above, barely a yard away from the little girl. The thing was a rat—enormous, as bit as a cat, bigger, and pitch black, save for its eyes, which burned in the dark like two hot coals. It was sitting up on its haunches, regarding her evenly. As she stared back, one ear twitched.

  Then, with no warning and no sound, it sprang, leaping for the soft flesh of her face. Allika stumbled backward, swinging the nail-studded slat with all of her wiry, seven-year-old strength. It caught the rat in the side, and the creature squeaked in agony and rage. It came again, and this time managed to sink sharp yellow teeth into Allika's upper arm. She screamed and lashed out, slamming the wood on its head. The blow, though not as strong as an adult's, ought to have been enough to crush the thing's skull, but the rat darted away. As it vanished into the darkness, Allika saw something painted in white on its back.

  It was two lines, one long, one shorter. The shorter line bisected the longer line about three quarters of the way down its length. The symbol was somehow familiar to Allika, but at the moment, in her pain and terror, she couldn't place it. For a moment she stood, panting, clutching the wooden slat like a club, her ears straining for a telltale splash that indicated the thing had returned to renew its attack. She heard nothing.

  "Think we chased it away?" she asked Miss Lally.

  "We sure did!" she said in a higher voice, speaking for the doll. "You're wonderful, Allika! I knew you'd come save me."

  Turning, the little girl took a deep breath. She was almost a half a mile away from the port; a half mile from the nearest place where she could scramble out of the sewers as they opened into the sea. Low tide would be coming soon. If she didn't make it, she'd be trapped.

  "Come on, Miss Lally. Let's go find Fox."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Unkind thoughts breed like rats in the darkness; but good thoughts grow like the oldest of trees.

  —Mharian folk saying

  Tap, tap, tap. Deveren tossed in his sleep. Kastara wanted him to get up for some reason, but the bed linens were so warm and comfortable ...

  Tap, tap. More insistent now. "Love, what is it?"

  And with the sound of his own voice, soft and sleepy, he came fully awake and realized that it was not Kastara tapping on his shoulder, trying to rouse him; would never be Kastara, not ever again, and even as the grief resettled upon his heart he was fully alert.

  Tap, tap, tap!

  Something was rattling on the glass panes of his solar window with a regularity that put the thief leader instantly on his guard. This was no random clatter of tree limbs in the wind, and the memory of his attempted murder flashed starkly in his mind.

  Moving in silence, Deveren pushed aside the curtains that shrouded his bed and glanced about. There was no one in the room with him. He reached for the knife he kept beneath the bed and swung his legs out onto the floor. His feet sank into the thick sheepskin.

  Tap, tap, rattle.

  That was it. Someone was outside, throwing stones up against the window, trying to get his attention. While this deduction brought some relief, Deveren did not drop his guard. It could yet be a decoy. Quickly tugging on a pair of breeches, Deveren moved toward the window and cautiously peered out.

  Allika stood on the ground beneath, her ubiquitous doll clutched in one hand. She was in the process of gathering more stones, and Deveren saw that one little hand was clenched around a rock that was significantly larger than the pebbles she had tossed up hitherto. The child was clearly growing impatient.

  She pulled her hand back as if to toss the stone when she saw his face. Her own was a pale blur in the moonlight, but when Deveren waved, signaling that he had noticed her, she waved back. Quickly she disappeared into the shadows, moving toward the library, where she would not be seen.

  Deveren lit a lamp from the fire that had burned to embers in the bedroom. He quickly shrugged into a fur robe, stepped into slippers, and rapidly descended the stone stairs. As he hurried past the dining room, he paused long enough to grab a peach for the little girl, then continued to the library.

  She was there, outside, crouched up against the wall. As he entered, she turned to the window. Her face was not the lively, cheerful visage he was used to seeing; rather she reminded him of a small, forlorn little ghost.

  Quickly Deveren opened the window and helped the little girl inside. His hand closed on her arm, trying to maneuver her, and she uttered a sharp, pained ejaculation and jerked out of his grasp. Surprised, Deveren glanced down—and gasped himself at the ugly wound on the child's soft flesh. "Sit down," he said, "and let's take care of this first thing."

  "Here, let me," came Damir's voice. Deveren's head whipped around and he saw, to his annoyance, that his brother stood in the doorway. Like Deveren, Damir was only partially dressed, but he was clearly awake and alert. He moved to the little girl, who ducked away from him, burying her face against Deveren's thigh.

  "Come on, Little Squirrel," Deveren soothed, patting her dark head. "My brother won't hurt you. You can trust him like you trust me." He glared at Damir. "Can't she?"

  Damir's eyes glinted with amusement, but his voice was sober. "Certainly you can. Here, let me see." He waited, and finally Allika, after glancing from one brother to the other, slowly stuck out her arm.

  Deveren winced as he took a good look at the wound. It was a nasty gash, and the flesh around the wound was red and painful. Damir probed it gingerly with long, gentle fingers, but even that delicate touch prompted the girl to yelp "Ow!" and twist away. "What happened to your arm, sweeting?" Deveren asked softly, stroking the girl's dark hair.

  "Rat bit me," she replied in a low voice. "Big rat."

  Damir and Deveren exchanged glances. It couldn't have been a rat; the bite was far too large for that. And yet, Deveren thought to himself as he regarded the injury in the lamp's glow, it did look as if it had been made by the teeth of a rodent.

  An idea came to him that made him stagger. "Little Squirrel—where did this happen?" "In the sewer. I dropped Miss Lally."

  "Are you sure it wasn't a Ghil?" The Ghil were sometimes called "giant rats." They were far more intelligent than regular rats, and far larger—they stood five feet tall when they rose on their hind legs. The Ghil certainly did have rodentlike teeth. But for her to have found a Ghil in the sewer system of Braedon was unthinkable.

  Allika now frowned impatiently at him. "I know what Ghil are, and I know what a rat is. This was a big rat. Wolf and Raven and Hound set him loose." Her frown mutated into a sly grin. She reached with her good arm into her clothes, scratched busily. "Want to know more?"

  Deveren rubbed at his eyes, startled to hear the names of three of his thieves in connection with a giant rat. Damir rose and with a jerk of his head indicated that he wished to speak with Deveren alone.

  "We're going to get some water and bandages for that... that bite," Deveren reassured Allika. "In the meantime, have one of these."

  He placed the soft, fragrant peach into the child's small hand. Allika sniffed it and grinned, biting into the juicy fruit eagerly. With her mouth full she pointed at her ankle and said, "Foot hurts, too." Deveren nodded acknowledgement and followed Damir outside the library, closing the heavy oak door softly.

  Damir spoke first. "She's clearly hurt herself somehow and is making up a story to justify coming to you for help," Damir stated.

  Deveren shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Allika's imagination has, up till now, anyway, confined itself to Mis
s Lally. Her doll," he added for Damir's benefit. "Whenever she makes a report she's usually very accurate. She's actually one of my more trusted observers."

  Damir seemed skeptical, but pushed it no further. 'Then what do you make of this, if she is telling the truth?"

  "I won't know till I've heard it all. You get the water and cloths, I'll go find some coins. She does expect to be paid for her information, you know."

  A few minutes later, the two brothers returned to the library. Allika had finished the peach, and its sticky juices covered her mouth, chin, and dress. But she was smiling, and deigned to let Damir tend her wound and her twisted ankle while she told Deveren her story.

  The leader of the thieves of Braedon listened intently. Enough of it rang true for him to swallow the rest. The landing of the boat by night, the ordinary box housing an extraordinary box, and, most convincing of all, the bitter barbs between the thieves. Allika recounted the dialogue verbatim.

  But it raised as many questions as it answered. What was in the second, glowing box? What did the symbols mean? How could a rat be a weapon? Who was the mad priest that Freylis had mentioned so derisively, and what had Marrika been chosen for?

  An idea came to him. "Allika, I know you can't read, but can you remember exactly what those symbols were?"

  The child, stuffing herself with a crusty slice of bread thickly covered with butter, nodded. Deveren hastened to fetch several pieces of parchment and writing implements. He placed the parchment, quill, and ink in front of the girl.

  "Can you draw them for me, Little Squirrel?" he asked.

  She scratched herself thoughtfully, her gaze soft, recalling the images, then nodded. Damir had finished tending her wound, and her arm was now swathed in clean, soft cloth. Her ankle had been soothed with cold water and was also bound to give it support. Allika reached for the quill and, looking shy and embarrassed, tried to draw with it. It blotted and scritched.

  Allika's dark brows drew together in a frown. Angrily, she crumpled the spoiled parchment, flung the quill aside, and dipped a forefinger in the ink. Deveren was surprised. Allika was generally a mild tempered, sweet little girl—if a bit on the impish side. He'd never seen such a display of irritation from her before. But then again, if her story was true—and Deveren didn't doubt it—she'd had a rough, long, frightening night.

  Allika stuck her tongue out to aid her concentration. Beneath her small fingers, designs came to life.

  "Now, sweeting, what are these?" asked Deveren, crouching down beside her.

  'These are the things that were on the box," said Allika. "And it was glowing, too."

  Swirls and dots, arcs and circles. Deveren didn't recognize him, but across the table from him his brother's face grew pale.

  What in the Nightlands is going on? Deveren felt an icy finger of apprehension trace its way up his spine and he shivered.

  "Very good, honey," he approved. "Do you want another slice of bread?"

  "No," said Allika shortly, flashing him an annoyed glance. "I want to finish my drawing."

  Deveren said nothing. She completed the symbols and sat back. 'Those were on the box," she said. "And this was on the rat. It was done on its back in white paint." Softly, she added, more to herself than the Larath brothers, "It had red eyes."

  She dipped her finger in the ink again —by now the digit was stained completely black—and traced a long, single line horizontally across the page. She examined her work, then filled the line out a little bit. Again she inked her finger and drew a second, shorter line about three quarters of the way through the first.

  Even Deveren knew what that one was. He glanced over and saw comprehension in Damir's eyes. The Sword of Vengeance. The mark of the god.

  Allika had finished. She wiped her inky finger on her dress and announced, " Now I want some more bread." Busily she scratched her scalp. The poor thing's probably crawling with vermin after spending a night in the sewers, Deveren thought.

  "Would you like to stay here for the night?" he invited her, knowing she would reject the offer. As he predicted, she shook her dark head. "No. I got a place to stay tonight."

  He sent her on her way loaded down with bread; dried meats, and dried, sugared fruit. She exited the way she had come, climbing out the window, glancing around to see if she was being watched, then slipping into the shadows.

  Deveren closed the window, locked it, and drew the shades. He turned to face Damir. "You reacted to the symbols that were on the box," he said, wasting no time. "What were they?"

  Damir shook his head, gathering his thoughts. "I was convinced the child was lying," he said softly, "but when she drew these ..." He tapped the sketch with a long, thin forefinger. Deveren slipped into a chair beside his brother, and the two of them stared at the designs.

  'These are wards," Damir continued. "And not your ordinary, workaday wards, either. Nor was the box of the common sort, from what she described. It was built to order, and warded heavily. Something very dangerous and very evil was inside it, Deveren." He raised his eyes to meet his brother's. "Something that could indeed be called a weapon."

  Deveren felt a strange tightness in his chest at the thought of brave little Allika, alone in a dark sewer, battling this ... creature ... with only a toy for comfort. "Is Allika going to be all right? That bite—"

  "—should heal up just fine," Damir reassured him. "That's what sits ill with me about this whole thing. Something that dark and powerful—it should have overcome her at once."

  "But what do Freylis, Marrika, and Khem have to do with something like this? I know them all, Damir, and while I'd not trust a one of them with my back turned, I find it hard to believe that they've mastered this sort of magic."

  "I suspect they haven't. Allika describes the box as coming from somewhere else—probably a bribe of power to come or some such thing."

  Deveren smiled a little. "So now you're trusting her information, eh?"

  "I know a good spy when I see one, little brother," Damir replied.

  "Well, it wouldn't surprise me at all to find out that Freylis was the one behind my attempted murder. But a giant rat loose in the sewers? It doesn't make any sense to me."

  "You do not have all the pieces of the puzzle."

  "Well, one piece I intend to get," stated Deveren, "and that is the pelt of that damned rat. If it's skulking about in the sewers, then it's a danger to my thieves. I'm going to put out orders for it to be destroyed."

  It sounded so feeble. But it was the only thing he could do.

  The second rite was over.

  The corpse lay across the bloodied altar, the shell of what had once been an old man, now stiff and cold. They had found him begging in the streets; an easier abduction than Lorinda's, but, as far as Marrika was concerned, not nearly as satisfying.

  Kannil, though, fairly radiated joy. The thieves sat now in his temple, feasting on the food he had prepared for them. Marrika observed them—"her" thieves—with pride and excitement. She sat in a place of honor, her newly donned robes of black bringing out the blue-black sheen of her thick hair, the sparkle of her brown eyes.

  She had been inducted as Vengeance's Chosen, in a private ceremony with the Blesser earlier that evening. Kannil now provided for all her needs. She would never have to prowl the streets again, save for her own amusement; never know the press of a man's body against hers, save when she chose. She bit into a chunk of mutton, delicately wiped the grease from her face, and smiled to herself.

  When the feasting was done, she rose. All eyes were upon her. Even Freylis, now, was afraid of her. She walked past her thieves, making and holding eye contact with each one, before she spoke.

  " 'Unkind thoughts breed like rats in the darkness,'" she quoted. "That's an old folk saying from Mhar. Many of you have heard it, for relationships between Mhar and Byrn have been good these days. Very good," she repeated for emphasis, her gaze lingering on Khem's scarred countenance. He smiled.

  "As the Chosen of Vengeance, I have found favor
with certain elements in Mhar. And what favors come to me," and she spread her arms magnanimously, "I share with you, my loyal thieves. Greatness is coming our way—great riches, power. If all goes well, no one in this room may have to steal by cover of night again. By midsummer, we may be able to take what we want!

  "Vengeance has heard the prayers of Kannil, and has been pleased with the sacrifices. He has sent us a blessing, by way of certain people in Mhar. In the sewers beneath the city," she said, regarding them evenly, "our vengeance on the rich and sanctimonious of this city—this country!—is waiting. That old folk saying has been given life. There now lurks in the sewers a rat—not an ordinary creature, but a gift from Vengeance himself!"

  She was losing them. Looks of puzzlement crept across their faces. Some were incredulous. Marrika continued, speaking quickly.

  "It bears a great curse that will be laid upon this land. And it will breed, so the curse may travel. It is the size of a cat—nay, a dog!—coal black, with eyes red as flame."

  "I have seen it," said Khem, rising as the assembled crowd began to murmur. "I bore it from Mhar, locked in a box with protective runes to keep its evil confined. But now it is loose, and working for our ends."

  Clia couldn't hold back. "A curse? Then pray, what keeps us from being stricken? Curses are dangerous things to tamper with, My Lady Chosen!" Her accented words dripped sarcasm, and Marrika flushed.

  "I have been told how the curse works. It is very simple —almost deceptively so. But it will not affect us. Do you wish to hear, or would you rather continue to insult your leader? You are all in too deep; the blood is up to your eyes in a red tide. Betray me now and you will all certainly die!"

  That got their attention. Every person in this room had been party to deliberate murder not once, but twice. Clia did not say anything more, and dropped her gaze. Marrika waited, but the room was again silent.