The Death Dealer - The Complete Series

by Katie Roman

  “I don't bow to that man anymore, Master Anders.” She set the bucket on the table. “A man offered me gold to get you. It was enough gold that Stephen and I can quit the Thieves' Guild. Maybe even make an honest start somewhere.” She frowned and threw a blanket at Jack. “Nothing personal, you know, though you did give Stephen a nasty bump.”

  Jack wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. The little room was cold and the water gave him a chill. “Who is this man?”

  “Don’t know. Rich, though. I didn't really ask, but he'll be here soon.” Mary looked guilty as she stared at Jack. “You’re not a bad sort, Jack. I hope he doesn’t want to kill you.”

  Jack didn’t think Mary meant to be funny, but he laughed anyway. He couldn’t blame her for taking gold in exchange for his life. Times were always hard for folks on Rogue’s Lane, and they were only getting harder.

  She frowned at his laugh. “Don’t go laughin’. I mean it.”

  “If you really meant it, you wouldn’t have clubbed me in the alley. If it’s forgiveness you want, ask the gods. You won’t get it from me.” He shifted positions so he was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. The movement caused pain to shoot through his head.

  “Well there’s no need to be salty,” she said.

  Jack rubbed his head. It was only a dull ache when he didn’t move too much, but he felt a bump forming just above the temple on the right side. “Tell me about this man.”

  “Not much to tell. He approached me and offered me gold. He was dressed well enough and had a big bushy beard and curly hair, mostly gray, but there was still a bit of brown left. Didn’t say much. Asked if I knew you and then gave me some coin.”

  “And how much coin is my life worth to you, Mary?” Jack looked up at her.

  “Ten gold pieces.”

  Jack’s mouth dropped open. Mary and Stephen could live for years on that much. Who would pay so much for him?

  There was a knock at the door and Mary looked at Jack, biting her lower lip. “Hope it all works out for you, Jack.” She sauntered over to the door.

  Upon opening it, a tall man came in with his cloak’s hood pulled up to cover his face. Jack saw the shine of gold in his hand. He pressed it into Mary’s. “That’ll be all, woman.”

  Jack’s entire body went rigid at the sound of the man’s voice. He knew it all too well, and had no trouble believing he paid ten gold nobles for Jack. Mary waved good-bye to Jack and flitted out the door. The man closed it behind her and removed his cloak.

  Age had not been kind to the man. His face was wrinkled like a leather pouch and his hair was grayer than it was the last time Jack spoke to him. He wore brown trousers and a green shirt. They were clothes below his station, but he must have wanted to blend in easier. The complete lack of dirt and muck on his clothes still indicated he was not a man who belonged in the dregs of Glenbard.

  “Jonathan. I trust that little trollop did not hit you too hard.” His voice was rough and gravelly, and it grated on Jack’s ears. He glared down at Jack; his little eyes, so dark they were almost black, filled with malice.

  “Ten gold pieces, eh? That’s my ransom these days? And here I thought you didn’t care.” Sarcasm was his only defense against those eyes. “Your money could have been better spent, I think.”

  “It was not my money that bought your capture. As though I would spend even a copper on you. No, no. Someone else wants to speak with you, and I am merely here to transport you.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Robby, where ever are we going?”

  “Don’t call me that, boy.”

  “As you like it. Where ever are we going, Father?”

  ~*~*~

  Ridley bit her thumb nail. She’d about gnawed down to the nail bed and still was no closer to going up to the Rogue’s Lane guardhouse. There had been no word of Jack since their dinner at the Beard. When one full day passed, she thought nothing of it, but it had been almost two days and he was still nowhere to be found. She was loathe to see Captain Moore, but thieves didn’t bother keeping track of constables like Jack. Moore might know something, though.

  She smoothed down her skirts and marched across the street to the guardhouse with bravado, went inside, and banged her fist on the clerk’s desk. “I need to speak with the captain,” she demanded.

  The pig-faced man just blinked at her. “No.”

  “This is an important matter and I will not leave until I see him!”

  The clerk looked back down at his work. “Suit yourself. I’ll just call someone to throw you into the lock-up. It’ll help cool your heels.”

  Ridley saw the man smirk into his work and she wanted to reach across his desk and slap it right off his face. “Captain Moore!” she screamed.

  The clerk’s head shot up and he grabbed her wrist, twisting it hard. For a man who spent his days bent over stacks of paper, he was surprisingly strong. Ridley’s mouth dropped open in a noiseless scream. His fingers dug into her wrist’s tendons.

  “Ciro bless us!” Captain Moore clattered down the stairs from his upstairs office. “Let her go!”

  The clerk released Ridley and went right back to his work, acting as though nothing had happened. Ridley rubbed feeling back into her wrist, glaring daggers at him.

  “Ridley, to what do I owe this visit?” Moore snaked an arm around her shoulders and ushered her back to the door. He opened it with his free hand and they moved outside.

  “Jack Anders is gone.”

  “Gone?” Moore leaned up against the side of the guardhouse. A cool breeze picked up and his hair blew about. “Are you sure he didn’t just run off to Arganis?” He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it.

  Ridley snorted. “You can sit and be hurt that your courtin’ couldn’t convince Grace to stop loving Jack, or you can take me seriously. Jack and I have been meeting every night to talk, and I didn’t see him last night. Then this morning, his landlord said he hasn’t been home for two nights.”

  At this, Moore frowned. “What does your father have to say about it?”

  “If you think Marcus kidnapped Jack, you better watch your tongue or I’ll bring it home as a trophy.” Ridley felt her face get hot with anger. She knew coming to see Captain Moore was a mistake. She touched her hands to her cheeks, letting her frozen fingers cool them. “Marcus wouldn’t dare kidnap a guard, much less one he knows so well,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Fine, he wouldn’t pluck Anders off the street, but does he know who might?” Moore pushed himself away from the wall and paced a circle around Ridley. He kept his hands locked behind his back and his head down.

  “What are you doing? You’re circling me like a tom cat. Stop.”

  “Shh, I’m thinking.”

  Ridley watched him circle her. His face was scrunched, causing wrinkles to form around his eyes and mouth. He mouthed words she couldn’t hear.

  “Serenity Place guardhouse hasn’t officially reported Anders as missing, but I’ve heard other people say Jack hasn’t been seen. It was assumed he went to be with Grace, I think.” Moore stopped his pacing to take stock of Ridley. “But you’re sure he wouldn’t?”

  Ridley shook her head. “He won’t go to her until she calls for him to come. And he’d tell me, I’m sure of it. I think something happened to him.”

  “We can’t be sure of that, but let me get some men on it. Have you alerted the Serenity Place guardhouse? That is where he reports.”

  Ridley clenched her hands into fists and put them on her hips. “I know very well where he reports to.”

  “Then why did you come to me?”

  “’Cause I know you, for all that you’re trying to ruin my family and friends, and I know I can trust you not to be bribed out of finding the truth.” Her disgust for Moore aside, he was a good captain. He’d not ignore a call for help just because it came from the Princess of Thieves.

  Moore nodded his understanding. “Can you name any enemies he has?”

  “Wh
en he was a rusher at the Emerald, he broke a lot of fingers and skulls.” She eyed the scar under Moore’s eye.

  He’d gotten it busting up a brawl at the Emerald Tavern, and it could very well have been given to him by Jack. Moore touched the scar and pursed his lips. A lot of other men had gotten hurt in Emerald brawls, and Ridley knew some were even damaged beyond repair. How many of them blamed Jack for doing his job and breaking up fights?

  A few guards came out of the guardhouse. They eyed Ridley suspiciously, but moved on when they saw their captain standing next to her. Ridley realized she’d stayed too long. “I should be off home, Captain.”

  “Can you meet me in the morning at the King’s Beard?”

  Two meals in a week at the guard’s tavern? Ridley thought. I may as well stop cutting purses and take up the guardsmen uniform. Out loud she said, “I suppose, but what can you find out in a night?”

  “Never you mind. I will let you know what I find out in the morning.”

  Ridley turned to leave, but stopped herself and looked over her shoulder at Moore. “Thank you.” She hurried up the street before he could respond.

  While she was talking to Moore, the sun sank behind the horizon completely. It grew colder by the minute and she just wanted to get home to enjoy the warmth of the hearth. She also wanted to get to Marcus before the rumors of her visit got out of control.

  Word would arrive ahead of her that she was seen talking to Captain Moore. The first messenger would say that. The next would say she pulled a knife on him, then he pulled a knife on her, then they made love passionately in the street. It was just the way rumors spread around the Lane. Ridley picked up her pace. Marcus wouldn’t believe the tall tales brought to him, but he wouldn’t be happy about her seeing Moore either. She had to get home and explain.

  The Lane was alive with light. Most couldn’t afford to light their homes all night, but many kept some candles burning for the first hour after nightfall. If they wanted more light to read or game by, they went to a tavern. Ridley liked the first hour after dark. There was something beautiful about all the little candles or hearth fires that filled the windows with light, each providing a warm glow for passersby.

  The street was empty for the most part. A few bent men passed by, tired after a long day at work. A few couples stepped out of their homes, hands locked, heading to a dance hall, no doubt. But for most of her journey, Ridley was alone. Then she noticed a stopped cart ahead of her with a cloaked figure standing by, talking to the driver.

  The cloaked figure stepped into Ridley’s path as she moved to pass. He had his hood drawn up, but Ridley could make out a bushy beard in the shadows of the hood. “Excuse me miss, but I heard you were looking for Jack Anders?”

  His voice was gravelly and she didn’t recognize it, although she doubted this man served Marcus. None of his underlings would dare to block Ridley’s path. She glanced up at the cart driver to see if he was someone she knew. He was bald and a mountain of a man. A man so large would be easy to remember, but Ridley couldn’t place him. The cloaked man snapped his fingers in her face to get her attention.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Shove off,” she said. Again, she tried to move past.

  This time the man grabbed her arm. He pulled it behind her back with one hand and covered her mouth with his other hand. With her free hand, she dug her nails into the hand that covered her mouth. He sucked in air and tightened his grip on her arm. Ridley let him go and reached for one of her blades, right as she opened her mouth and bit down on his palm. He still held on. Ridley bit down harder until the metallic taste of blood touched her tongue. She’d broken his skin and he still held on, tighter every second. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her belt knife. The cold metal felt natural in her hands.

  “Gillam!” the cloaked man snapped. “Get down here!”

  The carter jumped down and took hold of Ridley, knife now in hand. She tried to slash at him, but he grabbed hold of her hand and bent her index and middle fingers back. She screamed through the cloaked man’s hand and blood, and the knife fell from her grasp. The one called Gillam kicked her weapon away from the scuffle while the cloaked man dragged her backwards. Ridley dug her heels into the dirt.

  “Gillam…” the man said again. He sounded impatient.

  “Right, sir.” Gillam grabbed Ridley’s feet. She tried to kick him, but he firmly gripped her ankles. “Miss, do you want the same for your feet as you got for your hand?”

  Ridley went still, not wanting a broken ankle. The two men carried her to the cart and dropped her in the back. The cloaked man climbed in and kept his hand over her mouth. Gillam first tied her feet together, and then tied her hands behind her back. All the while, Ridley screamed through the cloaked man’s hand. She screamed every curse word she knew. She screamed for help. Her voice was muffled, but if just one person got close enough to the cart, they would hear her.

  Gillam ran around the cart and got back up in the driver’s seat while Ridley continued her string of muffled curses. The cart lurched forward. Ridley’s fingers ached and she wanted to spit out the blood in her mouth, but the man held firm. She’d given up biting him. His hand must have been made of a bleeding stone.

  “Calm yourself. You wanted to find Anders, I’m taking you to Anders.”

  Five

  Jack remembered Gillam from his childhood. The man was all hard muscle, height, and strength; the human equivalent of a draft horse for Duke Robert of Escion. He wasn’t exactly bright, but he did everything Robert asked and that made him incredibly valuable. Make sure the mistress is well paid off? Gillam did it. Mule died in the fields? Gillam would take up the plow. Put a bag over Robert’s eldest son’s head and cart him across Glenbard in the dark? Gillam made sure Jack had the itchiest bag over his head.

  The two men sat alone in a personal library. Jack guessed they were probably in the old castle, maybe in the library of one of the four remaining magistrates. Before Gillam removed the bag, Jack heard the bells from the temple of Ciro, ringing loud and clear. They weren't the large bells of Kamaria's temple. They only rang so clear on Golden Road, and unless Robert bought his own private chamber in the temple dormitories, they could only be at the castle.

  Jack read from one of the tomes that detailed histories of the Cesernan monarchy while torches blazed with light and a fire roared in the stone fireplace on the far wall. Jack would have liked to sit closer. His fingers were cold and they could do with a bit of warmth from the fire, but Gillam had tied his ankle to a chair on the far side of the room, as far from that glorious fire as was possible.

  “Gillam?” Jack asked when the silence had stretched on for too long. The men had sat for hours, saying absolutely nothing.

  The burly man cleaned his fingernails with the tip of his dagger. He looked up, gray eyes dull, placid stupidity painted on his face. “Yes, Jack?”

  “Remember when you used to help me climb into the apple trees in my father’s orchard?”

  “I told ya, the sweetest apples grew on the top branches.” He rubbed his bald head.

  “I miss those days, Gillam.”

  “Aye, me too, Jack.” Gillam lowered his eyes. Poor man was so entirely owned by Robert, he didn’t know how to refuse even the cruelest of demands. Jack shook his head and returned to his book.

  Time continued to stretch on. Jack felt like he was being dragged into the gaping maw of a beast; a beast named Robert Mullery. His head eventually began to sag, his eyelids growing heavy. He didn’t know how long he dozed, but he woke with a start when the door to the library opened.

  Robert stood there with a bandage over his hand, and for one wild moment, Jack hoped a wild dog had bitten him. “Rise, boy,” his father instructed.

  Not one to ever argue with his father, Jack rose, tugging the chair along with him. Robert nodded to Gillam and the brute got up and left quietly. Robert said nothing, but silently appraised Jack. “He is as ready as he will ever be, Your Majesty,” he finally
said, although they still appeared to be alone.

  Your Majesty? Jack thought, and on instinct, he knelt. If the king was here, he didn’t want to appear disrespectful. The cold from the stone floor penetrated his clothes and he shuddered involuntarily. He kept his head bent, but heard the rustling of clothing as it dragged along the stones and King Frederick swept into the room. He smelled ale and lavender waft in with the king’s entrance.

  “Rise, Sir Jonathan of Escion,” the king said.

  Jack rose and took in the king. He was of medium height, entirely gray with age, and scowling. He wore a red cloak lined with ermine fur, black hose, and a white shirt. Like Jack’s father, he tried to blend in, but failed miserably. “It is good to see you well, given your time spent in this cesspool.” Frederick sat in Gillam’s recently vacated chair. “Please, sit.”

  Jack sat, but Robert remained standing. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Majesty?”

  “As you know, Duke Brayden has met with an untimely end. Lord Gregory is a fitting replacement, but we are still in need of a fifth magistrate. You were once a fine knight, groomed to be a fine duke for Escion.”

  “Until that woman ruined you,” Robert growled. His eyes bored into Jack.

  “Keep your peace, Robby. Your son has learned his lesson, I think. You are not so fallen, Jonathan, that you cannot come back.”

  “Am I to infer, Your Majesty, that you want me to be the fifth city magistrate? Magistrate Jonathan Mullery of Escion?” He tried it out. The title, the very idea, left a bad taste in his mouth. He’d left the life of a noble behind him a long time ago, and he was in no rush to return to it.

  Robert glared at him and Jack recognized the look of angered disappointment that flared in his father’s eyes. He had seen it often enough. “You would be a fool to turn this down.”

  Frederick continued, ignoring Robert. “It would be an excellent opportunity for you to regain some of your lost honor and prestige.”