by Jane Glatt
Brenna slipped over the locked gate and dropped to the dirt of the small back lane that was used for deliveries. With her pack slung over one shoulder she headed towards a less prosperous part of town.
The Silverdale library had a book about local plants and their medicinal properties that she hadn’t had a chance to really investigate last time she was in town – she’d been more concerned with evading Thorold’s men and dealing with Stobert’s betrayal. But after her bout with altitude sickness, she wanted to see if there were other cures - Falladian cures - that her grandmother didn’t know about.
The sun didn’t quite reach into the narrow alley that ran along the back of the library. No one was in sight and the window she’d used before was open on this late summer day. She hoisted her head above the window ledge and peered in - the room was dark but Brenna could still make out rows of shelves, books lined up along them. She slid her pack off and tossed it inside before pulling herself up to perch on the windowsill. She swung her feet through the frame and gently dropped to the floor. Crouching, she reached out to snag her pack and … encountered nothing. She looked around, sweeping her hand in an arc, brushing it along the floor. Still nothing.
Frowning, Brenna stood up and scanned the room, concentrating on the old steel in her pack. Her pack was moving! Something scraped against wood along the back wall so she edged around the shelves, following the noise. She dropped back down to the floor and peered past some scattered books. There was a small hole, dark in the gloom, under the bottom shelf. She tried to squeeze through it but her shoulders caught and she had to back out. She sat up, her back against a shelf.
“Brothers!”
When she searched for old steel her pack was further away - the thief must be outside the library now. She fingered her knife. Should she let Kane know? She hesitated then shook her head. No, she’d follow the old steel and get her pack back herself - there was no need to tell Kane that the mortar and pestle and Wolde’s coronet had been stolen from her.
Brenna watched the door to the tavern for a moment before edging away from the mouth of the alley. It was a ramshackle place - the wooden slats of the building were weathered gray and the door hung crookedly. The small sign out front had just a few flecks of paint left on it, not even enough for her to decipher the name of the tavern.
But her pack was inside - the old steel tucked inside it hadn’t moved in over fifteen minutes. She had to assume that whoever had taken her pack used this tavern as their headquarters, just as Eryl and his gang used the Crooked Dog.
Brenna grinned, feeling her spirits lift. Despite its sorry state of disrepair this tavern reminded her of home. She’d probably find the same sour beer and thin stew she was used to at the Dog - and a gang who now had her pack. She hoped they hadn’t looked inside it - the mortar and pestle they might not care about but the coronet, they would know that was worth something. No matter, they wouldn’t have her things for long. With a deep breath Brenna schooled her face, stepped into the alley and walked slowly to the tavern door.
The inside of the tavern was dimly lit. She lingered over closing the door to allow her eyes to adjust. Before she settled herself at a table near the door, she surveyed the room, comparing the layout to the location of her pack. Four large men - well into their ale - sat at a table by the window. They didn’t look like thieves but other than the tavern staff, there was no one else in the room. Brenna waved her hand at the bar keep to order an ale and sat back to watch. There was a door past the bar that probably led to a kitchen - her pack was somewhere in there.
A worn-looking woman with brown hair tied back with a string placed a mug of ale in front of her. Brenna slipped two coppers onto the table in front of her.
“There’s double the coin if you can tell me who to talk to about finding something I’ve misplaced,” she said quietly, keeping her fingers on the coins as the woman reached for them.
“You don’t want the Black Swan for that.”
Brenna looked up into cool, gray eyes.
“Just drink your ale and leave if you know what’s good for you.”
Brenna lifted her hand from the coins and the serving woman slid them towards the edge of the table. She bent closer to Brenna to pick them up.
“It’s not safe here for a woman alone,” the barmaid said before she left to tend to her other customers.
At the table of four, despite hurrying to retrieve the empty mugs, the poor woman struggled to slap away roving hands. She sent a worried look toward the barkeep. Brenna was certain that he saw what was happening but he turned away and poured four more ales. The barmaid put the ales on her tray and returned to the table, this time her heavy load preventing her from escaping the slaps and pinches of the men she was serving.
“Heya Neemah, how’s about a little kiss,” one man said as his hand cupped her buttocks.
Seeing the fear and revulsion on the woman’s face, Brenna settled her hand on her knife hilt.
“I want more’n just a kiss,” a second man said. “We know from yer brat that ye know how t’ tumble a man.”
The barmaid, Neemah, put the last mug of ale on the table and tried to back away but the second man held her wrist. Neemah sent a panicked look towards the bar keep. When the man simply grunted and wiped the counter, Brenna stood up in disgust.
“Take your hands off her,” Brenna said. She was over at the table and had her knife at the man’s throat in a moment. “I mean it.” She dug the point of her knife into his skin and clamped down as the old steel sang its bloodlust to her. She reached for old steel and found Dasid just a few streets away. He’d lost his own sword the night of Avery and Neal’s rescue and his borrowed old steel was very noticeable on her internal landscape.
The man let go of the barmaid and she darted out of their reach. Brenna backed away from the table, holding her knife up in front of her.
“Please don’t,” the barmaid said. “They’ll hurt you. I’m all right, I’m used to it, really.”
“No woman should be used to that kind of treatment.” Brenna took a deep breath to calm her anger. The man she’d blooded with her knife stood up, his face red with anger and drink.
“You should listen to her, little girl,” he said as he took a step towards her. “She’s a witch and a whore and she gets what she deserves.”
“My own mother was called that by a man with a lot more power than you,” Brenna replied. Duke Thorold’s taunts echoed in her head as she took a step back, eying the other three men, but her opponent’s companions stayed seated, seemingly content to let their friend handle her. “I took offense then and I take offense now.”
The man lunged at her and a moment later he was staggering and clutching his groin. Brenna followed with another kick to his left leg and he stumbled to the floor. Balanced on the balls of her feet, her knife held chest high, Brenna watched the room. It was silent, except for the man’s groans of pain - then a chair scraped across the floor as one of the other men stood.
“What did ye do to Symes, ye witch? I’ll get ye fer that.”
He moved towards her and Brenna shifted her weight, staying low to the ground.
He lunged at her, pulling out a dirty knife. Brenna hoped the man didn’t fall on it. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, not really, but she couldn’t sit by as they harassed that poor woman. But she really didn’t want to have to explain to Duke Ewart why she was killing his people. Even if some of them deserved it.
By the time the second man was on the floor nursing his knee, the first one, Symes, was back on his feet, angrier than before. He’d found a long wooden club somewhere and he slapped it lightly against his thigh.
“Give it up Symes,” Brenna said. “You’re no match for me. I’ve been taught to fight by two former captains of the Kingsguard.” She smiled at the look of surprise on his face.
“Yer still a witch and I’ll make ye pay.” Symes carefully circled her.
Brenna kept eye contact with him. The man was angry, and drunk, and she
easily ducked his swinging club.
“You’re right about that, I am a witch. Likely the first real one you’ve ever seen.” She stepped back as the second man joined Symes. He limped slightly but held his knife high. She whispered a spell and the second man’s knife slipped from his hand and landed, point down, in the floor. “There, we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“That’s not witchery. Osker’s jes clumsy. Pick up yer knife, Osker.”
Brenna grinned as the second man, Osker, tried in vain to pull his knife from the floor.
“Can’t Symes. It’s really stuck there. Maybe she really is a witch?”
“I am a witch.” Brenna checked for old steel. Her pack had not moved, and there, very close, was Dasid. She nudged him through the old steel and he headed her way. “If I wasn’t a witch how would I know that my friend was about to come through that door? He has sword, not a little knife like this.” She heard the door open behind her and then the hiss of a sword being drawn.
“Brenna?” Dasid calmly positioned himself off her left shoulder where he wouldn’t interfere with her right-hand and knife. She nodded once, keeping her eyes on Symes.
“Time to sit back down, gentlemen,” Brenna said, gesturing to the table with her knife. “Barkeep, get these men another ale.”
Symes looked from her to Dasid and back. Finally, he scowled and stepped back to the table.
“Not you,” Brenna said as the barmaid, Neemah, went to pick up the mugs. “The barkeep will serve this time.” She ignored the black look the man sent her and stepped back beside Dasid.
Brenna relaxed slightly as the barkeep delivered the mugs to the four men, who continued to sit and watch her, their faces red with anger.
“Neemah?” Brenna slipped her knife away and walked over to the serving woman. “I want you to come with us when we leave. Pack up anything you really care about. You’ll never have to come back here, I promise”
“What about my job? I need this to fend for my boy and me.”
Brenna met her sad, gray eyes. Neemah wasn’t as old as she’d first thought. In truth, she couldn’t be more than a few years older than Brenna herself, though the lines and sorrow that etched her face aged her ten years or more.
“Not many places will let an unmarried woman and her bastard son work for them,” Neemah said quietly.
“I’ll find you a better position,” Brenna replied. When she saw the doubt in the woman’s face, she touched her hand gently. “Trust me. I spoke the truth when I said my own mother had been called witch and whore all her life. You see, I’m bastard born too. I will not let anyone hold that against you or your son.” Brenna held the other woman’s gaze for a moment then finally, Neemah nodded.
“Can’t be many places worse than here. I’ll get my boy.”
“First I need to retrieve what’s mine. That’s what I originally came here for.” Brenna turned to Dasid. “My pack got pinched.” She narrowed her eyes when she saw his lips twitch. “You can have a big laugh after I recover the old steel.”
That stopped him. Dasid’s eyebrows went up and he mouthed the words the coronet. She nodded and he stood a little straighter.
“All right Neemah. What’s mine is back this way. Why don’t you come with me and we can find your son and pick up your things along the way. Dasid will keep an eye on our friends.”
Brenna headed to the kitchen door. A woman scurried away from it as she went through it, Neemah following. She stopped a few steps inside the kitchen - a small boy looked up at her with Neemah’s gray eyes. Brenna smiled at him.
“I have a feeling you were at the library this morning,” she said. Her smile widened when his eyes saucered. He backed away from her. “I’m not going to hurt you - I just want what’s mine. What’s your name?”
“Ronan, do you have something that belongs to this lady?”
Ronan ducked his head and mumbled a response at his mother’s question.
“How many times have I told you not to steal? I’m so very sorry.” Neemah turned her distressed face to Brenna. “He just doesn’t listen to me and with having to work so much, I can’t keep a close eye on him.”
“Don’t worry. My pack was left unattended. I’m sure he thought it had been lost or forgotten,” Brenna said. “Now get your belongings and I’ll find my pack.” She looked at Ronan. “I know just where it is, too.” The old steel was towards the back of the kitchen. Brenna headed there, Ronan trailing her like a puppy. She stopped in front of the cold storage room and dropped to the floor. One of the wooden slats on the wall was loose one - she then reached in and pulled her pack out.
“I told you I could find it,” Brenna stood up and she slung her pack over her shoulder. She grinned down at the boy, who looked up her in awe. “I’m sure this isn’t your only hiding spot - go get anything you want to keep - you and your mother are coming with me.”
Ronan knelt down and pulled a few of his treasures out from behind the loose slat - a tattered goose feather, a fork that was missing all but one tine, a small roll of string. Neemah came back into the kitchen with a small bundle - he handed her his treasures before scurrying out the back door.
“I told him to get his things from his hiding spots,” Brenna said as she led the way back to the tavern room. “I’m sure it won’t take long. I doubt anything is very far away. How old is Ronan?”
“He’ll be eight next spring. And a handful too.” Neemah paused and lowered her voice as they got closer to Dasid, who was still watching the tavern patrons. “Are you sure we’ll be welcome with you?”
“Of course you will. We’ll just wait behind Dasid while we wait for Ronan. Ah, see there he is.”
Ronan flew into the room and then skidded to a stop when he saw Dasid wielding his unsheathed sword.
“Come along Ronan,” Brenna said.
The boy warily edged around Dasid. When she could reach it, Brenna took the small bundle from him and passed it to his mother.
Brenna left the tavern first with Neemah and her son close behind her. A moment later Dasid joined them in the street, his sword now sheathed.
“Dasid Addems this is Neemah and her son Ronan.”
Dasid greeted Neemah politely and then he solemnly clasped hands with the boy. He took Neemah’s bundle from her and they headed off down the street, Neemah holding tight to her son.
“You are giving them some warning I hope?” Dasid drawled.
Brenna sighed. “Yes. You’ll tell Kane everything anyway so I might as well do it now.”
“You won’t get in trouble from this Kane person because of us, will you?” Neemah’s pinched face looked worried but before Brenna could answer, Dasid laughed.
“Don’t worry - you and your son will be more than welcome. Brenna just doesn’t want to tell Kane she had her pack stolen by a boy.”
“But she said her pack was left unattended?” Neemah looked down at her son. “Isn’t that what you said?”
“Oh, I think the best thief in Kingsreach knows when she’s been stolen from.” Dasid said.
“I didn’t want you to worry about coming with us.” She glared at Dasid who at least had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t want you to think we wanted to punish him.”
“Are you really the best thief in Kingsreach?” Ronan looked up at her with awe.
“So I’ve been called.”
“And are you really bastard born like me?”
Brenna smiled sadly at the shy look on his face. It was a hard thing for a child to be ashamed of something he had no control over.
“You heard that, did you?”
Ronan nodded shyly.
“Yes, I really am bastard born. The world doesn’t treat us very well, does it?”
“Nor our mothers,” Ronan whispered.
“Nor our mothers,” Brenna agreed, thinking of how her own mother had been forced into Duke Thorold’s bed and then killed by him. “We need to look out for each other, don’t you think?” Brenna met Neemah’s solemn gaze and nod
ded when she felt a small hand steal into her own.
Kane shook his head. Brenna turned even a simple visit to the library into an incident. He wouldn’t be so calm about it if both Brenna and Dasid hadn’t claimed she’d never really been in danger. Brenna’s skills with a knife were up to handling four untrained drunks and she’d also used magic - and she’d called Dasid for help. It showed that she was willing to use all of her talents, if she needed to. Kane counted that as progress. A few months ago she would have dealt with this on her own – she might have used magic, but she would never have called for help. Kane chuckled. She certainly hadn’t wanted to tell him what took her to the tavern originally.
“You better not be laughing at what I think you’re laughing at,” Brenna said. She glared at him from where she sat across the room and he shrugged.
“Do you read minds now?” Kane asked, trying to sound innocent.
She frowned at him and he had to look away to hide his smile. He met the serious, gray eyes of their new, young guest and he winked at the boy, his smile widening when the boy looked from him to Brenna and back to him.
“I’m still the best thief Kingsreach ever saw,” Brenna said.
“But obviously not the best thief Silverdale ever saw or young Master Ronan here wouldn’t have been able to steal your pack,” Kane said. “What do you say Ronan, how did you get the best of Brenna?”
Ronan looked nervously across at his mother, Neemah. She sat stiffly on a couch beside Dasid looking overwhelmed by her surroundings.
“Well, Master Kane, I was in the library when I see’s her head, Mistress Brenna’s I mean, peeking in the window all quiet like,” Ronan said. “Well, I knew no honest person comes to the library through the window. So when she tossed her pack in I grabbed it and ran. I figured there’d be no call for the law since she weren’t there on honest business.”
“You can’t fault the boy’s logic on that one,” Duke Ewart drawled from the doorway.
