RINGS (The Paladin's Thief Book 2)

by Benjamin K Hewett

  “How touching! Another visit from my failed apprentice. I really should have just let that barmaid pickpocket me!” But the fool's grinning like he's forgotten to be dead.

  I wake up to the most beautiful sight. Timnus and Valery staring at me, foreheads worried.

  Carmen is nearby, her face flooding with relief when she sees my eyes open. “Teamus. Stop trying to get away from me.”

  My head spins a little, either from the blood-loss or the blood-rush to my cheeks, I can’t exactly calculate.

  They keep asking me how many fingers they’re holding up, dumbest question ever.

  “Thirteen?” I mumble.

  “Da-aa-aa!”

  It's the tone they take when they know I'm joking.

  Lucinda leans over and whispers in my ear. Her voice is serious and a little sad. “Reverse grip works well. From behind.”

  When I press her for details, she shakes her head. “I did what had to be done. Everyone else was unconscious or headed there, and that monster had Magnus by the throat. I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner.”

  At dinner, Magnus pulls out a chair for Lucinda. He’s being awful nice to her. Too nice.

  I mean to warn him about it privately, but he beats me to the punch. “What’s this about rings in Ector?”

  Lucinda, Carmen, and Valery exchange surreptitious looks, and then concentrate extra on their food. Timmy’s eyes go wide.

  “I’m not really sure,” I blush.

  He knows I’m not being straight with him. He’s learned that much at least.

  I sigh, giving in. “Show a little courtesy to a girl in Ector and it means you like her. Show enough courtesy and she might give you a ring. Show too much courtesy and the law might agree to her claim on you. Don’t ever be in that boat, Magnus, not unless you mean it.”

  Magnus doesn’t seem convinced. “All men and women have claim on my courtesy. I’m not supposed to treat people poorly just because it might incur obligations.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Magnus.”

  “Of course I do,” he protests. “I’m not afraid of obligation. Life is obligation—to the righteous.”

  “Are you afraid of marriage?”

  That shuts him up. It’s obvious that he likes Lucinda, and equally obvious that he has absolutely no experience with women.

  Silence at the table. Tense chewing.

  “Hang on,” he says. “You mean to tell me that if I’m too nice to Lucinda, she might have a binding marital claim?” He seems both horrified and piqued by the prospect.

  “Out with it, Magnus.”

  And then I see what he’s hiding under the table.

  “Magnus. What is that in your hand?”

  “It’s a ring.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Lucinda gave it to me. She says my hair sets off the gold. Says it was her dad’s.”

  He has the look of a whipped puppy that knows it’s peed somewhere it shouldn’t. Magnus is smart about some things—fighting, for instance—but he can be so simple.

  “I told you not to accept any jewelry in Ector!”

  Lucinda scowls at me, suddenly indignant. She knows the customs in Ector, and how to use them to her advantage. Maybe Solange is different, but in Ector—and all of Eastmarch for that matter—we know commitment. We may not be perfect, but if you can get us to commit to anything then it might as well be carved in stone. And Magnus has just made a huge commitment.

  “It fits perfectly,” he defends.

  “Of course it does!” I say. “She’s been sizing you every time she checks the scabs on your knuckles.”

  Now Lucinda looks surprised.

  “Don’t look so surprised, Lucy.”

  She blushes at a nickname Barkus invented for her years ago, but uses rarely..

  “You know me better than to think I’d miss a detail like that,” I say.

  But the surprises aren’t over yet. Like I said, Magnus isn’t stupid, he just needs experience to connect all the dots. And now he’s got it.

  “Wait,” he says. “What about you and Carmen? You’ve been awfully nice to her lately.”

  I blush. “That's different. We're friends. We’ve known each other for a long time."

  “Lucinda and I are friends.”

  “And your ring says you’re ‘committed’ to her. Committed. You’re practically married. All you need now is a quiet–”

  “Hang on,” he says cutting me off. “So you haven’t gotten a ring from Carmen? You’re not due for one of these ‘committed’ rings?”

  Suddenly I’m glad we’re leaving tomorrow. “I . . . uh . . .well . . .That’s a good question for tomorrow.” My scalp prickles and I try to excuse myself, but the rest happens too fast, even for me.

  “Don’t move,” Carmen blurts. “I made you something.”

  I can’t move now if I wanted to. It’s like I’ve been glued to my chair with pine sap.

  She leaves the table and rushes to her sewing chest. “I was saving this for tomorrow, but now seems like the perfect moment.” She hands me a pair of neatly-folded leggings. They look soft, comfortable, and silent—the kind that don't even whisper while moving across rooftops. Her secret project. It’s what she’s been working on in the evenings, what she’s been hiding in her wooden box.

  They’re beautiful.

  Lucinda smirks. “Look at that grin. See? I told you he’d like them.”

  “Da, aren't you going to try them on?” Val’s eyes jump sideways to Carmen and back to me, smiling.

  I can see the impression of a ring somewhere in the fabric, in a secret pocket that she knows I can find, but clever still. She wants commitment. “Give me a minute, Val. Trying on a new pair of pants is not a thing to rush into.”

  Timnus giggles. “You’re not making any sense, Da!”

  There’s a rapping at the door, like Redemption Alley has become the newest tavern now that Nightshades are falling left and right. Magnus, Timmy, and I all scramble to get it. Magnus’s sight seems to be getting better and better. He only trips over one stool in his haste to help me answer the door.

  I open the spy hole and glimpse a gap-toothed man in a cloak. One I know well. One who returned my ring. Petri has his usual sour look, with his hands out in the open where I can see them.

  I open the door slowly. There are no apologies, no groveling. For Petri, even being here is an apology, a bending of stinging pride. He hands me a black queenpence. “It was the only thing in the box that Sanjuste didn’t want. Thought it might be important.”

  “Thanks.” It’s Tom’s penny, from the pin-box. There’s a little more silver on the face of it. Two pinpricks, like Petri’s been trying to polish it. “Thanks,” I say again.

  “I seen what you did to Sanjuste. This town’s going to sleep a lot easier from now on.”

  I don’t tell him it was Lucinda. I just nod.

  “If anyone deserves that ring, Teacup, it’s you,” he says after a long pause. “That one’s different than the others. And you’re going to need it. They’ve put a bounty on your head, no doubt.”

  “Thank you,” I choke out. “You saved my life.”

  Petri says nothing for long seconds, eyes shifting from me to Magnus to Timmy.

  I can see he’s favoring his bad leg again. “Do you want it back? You. . . .”

  Petri shakes his head. “Stupid, no. It won’t fix my leg. It won’t make me better at things I’m not good at.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  Petri’s nose twitches, raising one side in a half snarl. “‘Cause I still can’t climb a drainpipe.”

  “You were faster than I’ve ever seen you.”

  “Teacup, get it through your thick skull. It helps everyone like that. Sneaking. Running. Hiding.” He pauses. “Killing. But it pours its soul into what you’re already good at, and you’re a natural. Except maybe the killing part.”

  “And you?”

  “Not those things. I’m good at countin�
��, and I don’t need any extra help. Now I know exactly how many steps it takes to get from home to the Black Cat, from the Black Cat to the docks, from the docks to the fish market, from the fishmarket to your house. . . . Pan’s mangy beard! I’m already good at numbers, I don’t need all that extra garbage bouncing around in my head. And I made Barkus cry.”

  He laughs his mean laugh. Some things don’t change.

  “It was funny. Big, fat tears. Sobs. Couldn’t talk for ten minutes, kept saying you wouldn’t last ten days.”

  Then he scowls at me, assuming I have my ring in my pocket. “Get that thing away from me. I don’t need help being mean, either.”

  I shrug and tilt my head, by way of invitation. “Want to come up?”

  “Nah-h, Teacup. I’ve got better things to do tonight.”

  All the same, he stares wistfully up the stairs. “Is Carmen there?”

  I nod.

  He nods back. “Good.”

  He pushes his tongue through his pearlies and makes a soft whistle. “If you ever have any goods you want to move,” he says finally, “you know where and when to find me. Just don’t try to slip me another of those Pan-cursed rings.” Then he’s down the back steps and into the square, hobbling on a new crutch, one that looks suspiciously like Magnus’s old sword.

  Magnus is smiling, watching him go.

  “Da, I’m hungry.”

  “Good point, Timmy. Who knows when the coach is going to get here. Let’s eat.”

  We head back up the risers to food, friends, and commitment, hoping that the door stays un-knocked for a good, long while.

  Or at least for one night.

  If I hadn’t been so exhausted I might have noticed the note scritching between the threshold and the door.

  About the Author

  Benjamin K. Hewett is a NASA Program Analyst who lives in Houston and chases numbers for a living, though he’d rather be writing fiction. In graduate school, he won 3rd Place in the Mayhew Short Story Contest and continues to write short stories amid larger novel projects. Ben also enjoys playing with his three kids, coaching soccer, and juggling fire. He has a BA in French and a Master’s Degree in Public Administration, both from BYU. To stay informed about upcoming sequels, subscribe to Ben’s newsletter or follow his blog at BKHEWETT.COM.

  About the Illustrator

  Marta Maszkiewicz is a Warsaw-based artist specializing in the fantasy and fairy-tale genres. She creates art for books, advertisements, and computer games. When not at work, she can be found reading, gaming, doing traditional Indian dance, or serving the whims of her very own cat. Marta also has a degree in architecture, which she carefully avoids using.