The Death Dealer - The Complete Series

by Katie Roman

  Grace crossed over to her window. Upon her arrival in the port city of Glenbard, she’d lived above the stables she worked in. It was a dank, musty place, with smells alternating between hay and manure. The ability to see the ocean from her current dwelling was a happy improvement, though sometimes she missed the comfort of the horses; their warmth and musk comforting her on the worst of days. The room she rented was dingy, small, and generally smelled of salt water and, on hot days, fish, but it was home. It was comfortable despite its smallness.

  She recalled the dead men of the past. Now she added Adam to the list. It was easier to forget the guilt when she was happy, but these days her mind was consumed with it.

  Outside, the fishmongers plied their trade and sailors walked the wharf. Dark clouds moved in off the coast, over the open ocean, and Grace saw jagged streaks of lightning. The storm was moving inland. Rain was a great reason to stay inside. No one would question that.

  ~*~*~

  The storm broke in the evening. Claps of thunder and lightning flashes kept Grace from uninterrupted sleep, but she wouldn’t have slept well anyway. The ghosts of the murdered ones hovered over her. She felt them most acutely in the hours she should have been sleeping, when no one was around to distract her. The lightning flashed and she could almost swear she saw Adam’s sad face in the shadows. When dawn finally broke, the storm had yet to let up.

  Grace dressed in a simple brown skirt and a matching sleeveless tunic, with a short sleeved white chemise underneath. She wrapped a shawl over her hair, although she knew it would do little to protect it against the downpour.

  The reek of fish was more apparent as the water brought long lost entrails to the surface again. Grace covered her nose and mouth with a rag and scurried from overhang to overhang until she arrived at the Angel Inn and Tavern.

  She hung her shawl to dry and grabbed an apron from behind the counter. After months of working in the stables, she was given a job as a barmaid. Sometimes she missed the physical labor of her old job, but on days like this, when no one wanted to venture out more than necessary, she enjoyed the calm of being a barmaid.

  The common room of the Angel was generally clean. There were ten circular tables set around the room; each had four chairs, but some were lucky enough for five. One long table in the center of the room that sat eight was Marcus’s self-appointed “throne”. The fireplace was along the opposite wall of the entrance, and the tables around the fireplace were routinely moved to make room for dancing. Next to the innkeeper’s counter, stairs led up to the rooms available for rent. A door behind the counter went into the kitchen, while opposite the main entrance, near the fireplace, was the door that went into the stables.

  Marcus was there with his man, Thom. Grace’s friend and Marcus’s adopted daughter, Ridley Hunewn, was absent. She was probably picking pockets in the rain.

  “Stew and ale for His Majesty.” The innkeeper, Jim Little, gave a tray to Grace when she came into the kitchen. “He requested his favorite to serve it.” Grace took the tray and used her backside to push open the door. “And happy birthday, dear. I hope you didn’t decide to stay home and wallow over Jack when you could have been here celebrating.”

  Jim meant well, but his comment only managed to dredge up her pain. Still, it was better if he thought she was pining for love rather than over the crushing guilt of a dead man. Grace’s sour mood worsened. Guilt on top of a broken heart…what a fine morning it was shaping up to be.

  She crossed the common room to Marcus and put down his tray of stew. “You better not go into the stables,” Thom said. “You’ll cause the cow to spoil all her milk with that face.”

  Marcus smirked. “Our Grace is nothing but the sweetest of girls.”

  “I only jest.” Thom took a bowl and rose from his seat. “Happy birthday, Grace.” He dug a few copper coins from his pocket and dropped them into her apron pocket. “Use it to buy something sweet.” He winked and was gone.

  “I heard the name Jack escape Jim’s lips earlier today; some nonsense about lost love and whatnot. That wasn’t a reminder you needed, I see.”

  “Not after what’s happened recently.” Her gray eyes cut to him sharply.

  “Jack’s been gone four months, and like all wounds, broken hearts do heal.”

  “Your stew, Majesty.” Grace put the bowl down, letting plenty spill onto the table. She had no use for the musing clichés of an old man.

  Back in the kitchen she went to work on the dishes, where the fishy smell of the stew mixing with the summer heat made her eyes water. At least, that’s what she would tell people if they asked. Her face was hot and her temper hotter. The cook kept his back turned and Jim cleared the other workers out, sending them to do menial chores. No one liked to mince words with Grace when one of her dark moods took her.

  Jack! As though the little barmaid could never be upset over anything else. As though her life revolved around a broken heart! It had been four months since he hopped on a trade ship. Four months since he broke her heart. Four months since he left without a goodbye or an explanation, and no one stopped reminding her. “Poor little Grace, abandoned like that.” “Poor Grace, how will she survive?” Always poor Grace; never stupid Jack. This had nothing to do with Jack, but the fools and gossips liked to concoct stories that it did. She wanted to show them all her bloodied blade and make them understand that her life was more complicated than hurt feelings over a man.

  A broken plate cut open Grace’s palm. Did she break it, or had it already been broken in the washbasin? Blood dripped into the suds, making pinkish foam. “Damn!” she fumed and wrapped her hand in her apron.

  The cook, Jeremiah came over. “Well let’s have a look. Ack, it’s nothing. Bet it stings though. Jim! Dump this water and let Gracie handle the customers.”

  Jeremiah took Grace by the elbow and led her back into the common room to watch over the counter. She kept pressure on her hand and leaned forward. Handling customers at this point meant standing there and making sure no one robbed them blind. Since there was only Marcus and Thom to look after, Grace just focused on getting her hand to stop bleeding. Those men could tend to their own business.

  The heat of the common room always brought out the most unpleasant of odors. When she was busy Grace found it easy to ignore, but just standing there she could smell the long lost smells of vomit, urine, and blood, with Jeremiah’s stew sitting heavily on top of it all. To combat the nausea fighting its way up, Grace switched to breathing through her mouth. For all its nice weather and the promise of picnics, Grace hated summer for the heat and the smells.

  The door opened and in came a man drenched head to toe, wearing a red shirt underneath a black jerkin. Black trousers were tucked into an old pair of knee high riding boots, while over his left breast a pair of crossed swords was stitched; the sign of the Rogue’s Lane guardhouse. Underneath the swords was the silver bar of a sergeant. Grace quickly noticed he wasn’t one of the usual guards who came in to accept bribes.

  Mad as she was at Marcus, Grace rushed to intercept the guard. Guards didn’t come to the Angel unless it was for bribery or trouble, and by the looks of it, Grace didn’t think this guard came for a simple bribe.

  “Sir, are you here for some stew? Perhaps a fine, crisp ale? A good meal to lift your spirits after being out in the rain?”

  He looked over Grace with brown eyes that verged on black. His hair was an unruly, black mess tied back with an almost unnoticeable black ribbon. His skin was an olive color, which placed him as a Nareroc native’s son. At one point in time he’d met the business end of a sharp implement that left a pinkish scar just under his eye. Grace could tell his nose had been broken because of the nasty crook in it that couldn’t be natural. He was of a lithe build and stood about six inches above Grace.

  “I am here on business.”

  Marcus got out of his seat and moved slowly toward the guard. Thom fell into step behind him.

  “I will take some cider though, if it’s availabl
e.” Marcus and Thom now flanked Grace. He flicked his eyes to them and then back to Grace; his features softening when he did. “Thank you, Miss— “

  “Hilren,” Thom offered.

  “Ah! The noblewoman!”

  Grace narrowed her eyes for just a moment. Her life before exile was the fallback rumor in Glenbard. Barony Arganis must be so proud that one of its daughters was a much talked about tavern wench. “I’ll get you that cider, sir.”

  “I’m Sergeant Moore,” he said, smiling at her.

  She bobbed a quick curtsy out of respect for the guard’s uniform and went back into the kitchen. In the back the other serving girl, Jim, and Jeremiah were sweating and joking.

  “Trouble?” Jim asked, reading Grace’s tense face.

  “A visitor from the Guard, and he just wants a cider.”

  While the serving girl, Rosemary, located a clean mug and the barrel of cider, Jeremiah and Jim gathered around Grace.

  “I should have kicked Marcus out after the Atkins boys killed that guard. Did he give his name? If its Francis Bressler’s boy, he’ll have Guild sympathies and know everything’s already taken care of,” Jim said as he nervously wrung his hands.

  “He called himself Moore.”

  “That’s trouble,” Jeremiah grumbled. “Moore used to patrol by the Emerald Rose. A man who survives that isn’t going to gild threats into pretty words.”

  Rosemary, having located cup and cider, handed it off to Grace. Grace didn’t move. Annoyed, Rosemary scoffed, “Legs broken, then?”

  “Get a move on, Grace. He’s already seen you; don’t go changing the serving girl on him now. None of us could possibly take your place,” Jim said nervously.

  “Your bravery does credit to your gender,” Grace quipped and rolled her eyes.

  Back in the common room, Moore was sitting with Marcus and Thom. The guard had his back to her, which provided her the opportunity to eavesdrop before he noticed she had come back.

  “No one is pleased with this turn of events, but it’s our duty to uphold the law,” Moore was saying. As predicted, he stopped when Grace put down his drink. “Thank you, miss.” While she hovered, he’d say no more.

  She left, making her way towards the adjoined stable. She tightened her makeshift bandage and waited.

  Thom came in a few minutes later. “Even with poor Adam dead, we’re looking at trouble. We need to find Harris,” he said. He upturned a bucket and sat on it. “Moore won’t be as quick to accept our weekly bribe. Not now, at least. Not when one of his mates was killed by a Guild member.” His voice lowered. “Don’t take to the shadows tonight. Marcus will be paying you a visit after the midnight hour is called.” He rose and dusted off the back of his pants. “I need to get back. I shouldn’t linger so long at the ‘privy’.”

  Wonderful, Grace thought. Her mood was already foul. A private meeting, more likely a private argument, with Marcus was not going to help. This day was getting harder to face with every minute that passed by.

  ~*~*~

  When Donald returned from trips to Nareroc he always brought something for Grace. Usually he brought trinkets like the shell necklace, but recently he had given her two fine dresses from the islands. Currently, Ridley Hunewn was taking it upon herself to liberate the dresses from Grace.

  The bright blue flowers, with the subtle hints of white, decorated the wrap-around skirt. The loose, silken top was sleeveless and patterned to match. This was a dress for special occasions, but apparently heat and humidity was special enough for the bright-eyed thief. In the common room of the Angel, full of grays, browns, and various muted tones of green, she was a petite, blue sore.

  “I lent you that dress for the summer festival,” Grace said, and jabbed Ridley in the ribs with her index finger. “Now you’re sporting it just for fun and in the Angel, where someone is likely to be sick on it. You’ll have ruined my dress, and then I’ll have to explain to Donald why I was so irresponsible as to let you wear it in the first place.”

  “It’s so hot out, Grace. All the Nareroc women have them on.”

  The rain had stopped and the stifling heat began anew. Sweating through her own clothes, Grace wished she was dressed similarly. However, noblewomen weren’t raised to bare their shoulders in public; festivals such as the summer festival being an exception. Women went around with bare shoulders while men donned skirts and often went bare chested, all in good fun.

  “I want that dress back tomorrow.” She didn’t want to argue. It was too hot to bother.

  The young women sat together and enjoyed their dinners as the men elbowed each other over Ridley’s revealing outfit. They acted as though there weren’t already exotic women of Nareroc wearing them all over Glenbard. Their leers annoyed Grace and she thought, Let them try any nonsense. Both women had sharp knives within easy grasp.

  “I heard that a sergeant came in this afternoon,” Ridley commented.

  “Probably about Constable Taylor’s death,” Grace replied softly.

  “Did you overhear anything?”

  “No, but I would have thought Marcus would say something to you.”

  Ridley put down her mulled wine. “He hasn’t said anything to anyone. Well, except for Thom. He’s probably been out arranging meetings with the Death Dealer before he plans to tell the Guild.”

  “Let’s not talk about it then,” Grace said hurriedly. “I’m privy to too much Guild information as it is.”

  “Right!” Ridley brightened at the subject change. “You just had a birthday and you didn’t let me fuss yesterday.”

  “Please don’t fuss today.”

  Ridley waved for people to come over. Jim, Marcus, and Rosemary surrounded the table. They bore a fresh smelling pie. Grace was pulled from her seat by Jim and forced to dance and sing with them. She left hours later, full of pie and warm feelings of friendship.

  Three

  “My landlady will talk,” Grace said upon opening the door. “She’ll think I’m a woman of ill-repute.”

  “She seemed pleasant enough when I told her I was bringing your shawl.” Marcus held up a garment of Ridley’s before he sat at her writing desk and propped his feet up.

  “It’s awfully hot for a shawl. The old bat is a vicious gossip, you know.”

  “Let’s drop the modesty and clothing talk. You and I have a problem.”

  “Don’t like what the guard said?”

  “Don’t be flippant with me,” Marcus growled.

  This was a man who was normally slow to anger. Grace knew she was riding his nerves already, and that it’d be best not to rouse him.

  “Atkins isn’t the first fool to kill a guard. We planned to make the troublemaker’s brother disappear, find his brother, and then do the same to him. In the past, the city guards have slapped a few wrists, taken a few bribes, and then it was over. But Nathaniel Moore has decided this isn’t enough. He’s reminding the guards that they have a sworn duty. My spies say he was rallying the men on the Golden Road District and Serenity Place. No, bribes won’t work this time. Even if we find Harris, he won’t give up.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “I need you to trail Moore.”

  Grace backed a few steps away from Marcus. When Grace first made her alliance, she knew little to nothing about the Thieves’ Guild or the city she’d moved to. All she was certain of was that worse men had come before Marcus and she was one against many. For the sake of saving her life, it seemed to be a fair plan at the time. But after only a year, Grace could see that Marcus wasn’t as benevolent as she once thought. He could have been worse; much worse. He shared his wealth and good fortune often, but now he toed the line by asking her to trail a sergeant. The guards were who she should have allied herself with.

  “Don’t look so shocked and appalled, girly. A lot of men are at risk if Moore has his way.”

  “I’m not a spy, Marcus. I help people, and you’re not making that easy for me. I should have stopped you from hurting Adam. I could h
ave taken him to the guard house.”

  “And let him be tortured? Let him be mangled so that he felt every wound? Let those dogs pull out fingernails and break bones, tormenting him during every waking hour? Guards delight in punishing men who kill one of their own, and we discussed this already. We did what had to be done, and your righteous act is growing old. You made an oath to me,” he added; his voice a deadly whisper. Grace shivered against the sudden tension.

  “I agreed to help you if you kept being an honest thief.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew he wasn’t the one who had changed…she was just more knowledgeable now. It was too late to take the oath back, but she could refuse this request. “I won’t follow Moore.”

  “Suit yourself. People know where the Death Dealer has allegiance, and Moore’s out for vengeance. If the Death Dealer is caught, who do you think will stand beside you?” Marcus dropped his feet to the floor and his boots thumped heavily onto the wood. Her downstairs neighbor would certainly give Grace an earful tomorrow. Marcus stood and opened the door to leave.

  “I don’t blame Sergeant Moore for his actions,” Grace said.

  Marcus slammed the door and his heavy boots clattered down the stairs. A few of the other tenants shouted insults and curses and the old woman below her banged on her ceiling. Grace picked up her brush and ran it through her hair like nothing had happened.

  ~*~*~

  Thom waited dutifully outside. “She said no,” he observed from Marcus’s glowering expression. “Should something happen to her?” He made the comment out of loyalty to Marcus, but hurting Grace would be akin to kicking a puppy.

  Marcus softened. “Of course not. She just wants to hold on to the tatters of her chivalrous code. Like a paladin out of legend; ever righteous, ever vigilant, ever annoying. She’s been afraid of death ever since the incident with Mac, and since she lost Jack, she doesn’t know what to do or where to turn. She’s not a real threat, though. We’ll just keep her in the dark.”

  “Ridley tells her everything, though. Girlish chatter and all that. And Ridley is always spying on you.”