The Sanguine Scroll, page 2
When the man shoved him to the ground, Gareth let himself fall. “Beg your pardon, sir. Forgive me, I was distracted.”
The guards shared a disgusted look and stomped off, their swords swinging and mail clinking. Gareth waited until they were out of sight, hopped to his feet, and dusted himself off.
Easy money.
He sheathed his dagger and ambled back to old lady Wren’s table. “You okay?”
She looked up at him, her face crinkling as she smiled. Had anyone ever had so many wrinkles? “Fine, dear. The guards stopped to collect my stall rent for the second time this month.”
She spat through her toothless gums. That about summed up everyone’s opinion of the local constabulary.
“Funny thing.” Gareth pulled out the pouch he’d stolen and set it on her table. “I just ran into them and they felt so bad about cheating you, they donated this generous purse. Best not let anyone see it.”
“Heaven bless you, boy.” Swollen knuckles didn’t slow her down when she made the purse disappear.
When her hand came back up she held a small treat wrapped in wax paper. “Taffy?”
Gareth accepted the treat and grinned. “Thanks, Mrs. Wren.”
He left her stall and made his way double time out of the market. Soon enough that guard would notice his missing purse and Gareth wanted to be in another district when he did.
The walk from the market to the docks took only five minutes and was blessedly guard free. He strolled down the boardwalk, ignoring the happy couples out for a noon stroll. While he didn’t begrudge them their happiness, he didn’t have any great desire to observe it either. Just ahead waited his destination, a disreputable tavern that worked hard to look rundown, but was actually built like a fort.
Lucky for him and his empty money pouch, he had a friend that owed him a drink. The bartender at the Belching Mermaid had a sideline fencing stolen goods. Gareth had used his services plenty of times, even offering an extra five percent on his end for future consideration. Plenty of thieves would balk, but Gareth had learned fast that having people owe you could be more valuable than a few extra coins.
He pushed through the swinging doors and found the common room as empty as he’d hoped. Not a single one of the twenty tables had an occupant. Behind the bar, Tobias restocked the bottles seemingly unaware that Gareth had entered. Tobias’s broad back and bald head made him instantly recognizable.
While the place did a fantastic business after dark, in the early afternoon you had your choice of seats. You could also discuss less-than-legal business opportunities without fear of anyone overhearing.
Gareth had never understood why everyone assumed illegal business always happened at night. The planning, at least, was usually best accomplished in the middle of the day when no one expected it.
“What’s a guy got to do to get a drink around here?”
Tobias spun, a bottle of whiskey in each hand. His face looked freshly shaved and even his eyebrows were missing.
“Gareth. And here I was hoping for a paying customer.” Tobias pointed at one of the barstools. “Take a load off.”
Gareth settled down. “How’s business?”
“Oh, you know.” Tobias placed a mug of ale in front of him. “Why, you looking for work?”
“Yeah, things are tight. Besides, I think I’d best avoid the market for a while.”
Tobias laughed and poured himself a shot. “What did you do this time?”
Gareth told him then shrugged. “What choice did I have? Those bastards can’t pick on an old lady and get away with it.”
“A thief with a sense of honor. I always said you were crazy. Depending on how crazy, I might just have a lead for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
After dark, the streets of the merchant quarter were nearly silent. Certainly Gareth did little to break the hush. The biggest trick was avoiding the magical lights situated every twenty paces. Years of practice made it easy for him, almost like dancing. They were far enough inland that you couldn’t smell the docks unless the wind was blowing from the wrong direction.
Mansions surrounded by iron fences sprawled here and there while smaller homes filled in the gaps. Even the more modest buildings would have housed half a dozen families from Gareth’s neighborhood with ease. He currently lived in a one-room garret on the fourth floor of a disreputable tenement.
Of course, if Tobias’s tip paid off, he might be able to upgrade his living situation. But that was a big if.
According to the bartender, one of the merchant council members, Melisandre Raven herself, had recently received a delivery. Servant gossip said it was a small statuette made of solid mithril. More likely it was silver. In this neck of the woods, mithril was harder to come by than morals. Not that there was an oversupply of the latter. Even if it was silver, a couple pounds would bring him enough coin to last three months at least, maybe four if he was careful.
A faint jingle alerted him to an approaching patrol.
Gareth ducked into an alley and crouched behind a metal garbage box. At least the quiet made it easy to hear the guards coming. While far from the most diligent of guardians, they at least knew enough not to talk while out on patrol.
The pair went rattling on by and he waited until the clinking moved beyond his hearing to emerge onto the street. A quick look left and right revealed nothing to concern him. The guards were so overconfident in this part of the city it almost made sneaking in too easy.
Almost. Gareth never complained when a job was too easy. Only idiots strutted around claiming to want a real challenge. A real challenge was apt to see you dead or in a jail cell. Unimpressive as his little garret was, he had no desire to trade it for a stone cell.
He reached the wall surrounding Raven Manor and paused to consider. It was a proper wall too. Solid stone and twenty feet tall. Far more impressive than the iron fences the other merchants used.
That said, the wall was rough, with plenty of hand- and toeholds. Climbing shouldn’t be a problem. What would be was knowing what waited on the other side. Ending up in the lap of a guard would end his night in a hurry.
Gareth shrugged, pulled on his thin leather gloves, and started climbing. At the top he chinned himself up and had a look at the grounds. Glass crunched under his hands, making him extra glad he brought his gloves. Beyond the wall waited nothing but open lawn. There were no shrubs to hide behind, no statues, no nothing. At least there were no lights, beyond the stars and a quarter moon.
Quick and quiet, working mostly by feel, he topped the wall and started down the opposite side. At the base he paused and listened for any sign that his entrance had been noticed. After a full five minutes he decided that it hadn’t and snuck away from the wall.
Stealth was pointless with nowhere to hide.
Gareth went for speed.
He sprinted across the open ground, skidding to a stop beside a closed door.
Once more he stopped and listened for five heart-pounding minutes.
Still no sign of guards. In the back of his mind, doubt nibbled. There had to be mercenaries around here somewhere. All the rich and powerful had private armies at their beck and call. He seriously doubted the richest and most powerful of all didn’t.
Should he bolt or did he keep going?
As usual, greed won out over good sense. That statuette, whatever it was made of, would keep him flush for months. No way were a few bad vibes going to stop him.
He tried the handle but of course it was locked.
Crouching, he pulled two stiff wires from a pouch in his pocket and got to work. After a bit of teasing, the tumblers fell into place and he twisted the lock open. The inside of the mansion was even darker than the outside. Lucky for Gareth, he’d always had good night vision.
On both sides of the entry hall, paintings were firmly affixed to the wall. Not that he had any intention of trying to steal a painting half as tall as he was. Gareth preferred his loot a bit more portable.
Quiet as a summer breeze, he snuck through the halls. Once again, not a guard or servant or anything. He was getting a bad case of the willies. The sooner he found the statue and split, the better. According to Tobias, the statue was on display in some kind of private museum, happily on the ground floor.
He passed through a dining room bigger than his entire apartment, a living room with a huge fireplace filled with dying embers, and a library with more books than he’d ever seen in one place.
At last, he came to another locked door. This had to be it. He was running out of rooms to check.
He knelt and looked the lock over. The picks came out next and he got to work. Immediately he felt something that shouldn’t be there, a thin wire that had nothing to do with the actual mechanism. That had the feel of a trap. He felt oddly better. Finally, some security.
Not particularly good security, but something.
Gareth moved off to one side and pressed the wire.
A dart shot out, passing through the space he’d just occupied. The spring hadn’t made much noise, but in the dark, silent house, it sounded like an explosion. A few more wiggles confirmed that it was a single shot. He’d seen designs with up to four darts in the magazine.
Satisfied that the door was safe, he picked the lock and pushed it open on silent hinges. Dozens of stands filled the room, each holding something rare and valuable. The statuette was supposed to be the centerpiece.
He snuck across the room, quiet as a mouse. When he reached the halfway point, a blinding light filled the room.
Dazzled, he threw an arm across his eyes.
The familiar jingle of mail came from every direction.
Gareth really didn’t want to lower his arm, but pretending if he couldn’t see them, the mercenaries couldn’t see him wouldn’t accomplish much.
Finally, he lowered his arm and sighed. Fourteen guards, all armed with loaded crossbows, had him surrounded.
He grimaced and raised his hands. “Okay, you caught me. What happens now?
Hopefully not him getting dragged to a room with an easy-to-clean stone floor and having his throat cut.
“Now we have a chat,” a voice from above said.
Gareth gazed up at the source of the voice. A stern, harsh-looking woman with cold eyes and long dark hair stood on a second-floor balcony overlooking the museum. Though he’d never seen her before, he was pretty sure she was the lady of the house, Melisandre Raven.
“About what?” he asked.
“A job. Bring him.”
The guards were none too gentle bringing him. They searched him everywhere, including places that should never be searched. Next they relieved him of his dagger and tools. Not that he was dumb enough to try anything, but he would have felt better if they’d allowed him to retain his gear.
At last they half dragged him to a side room that appeared designed for conducting interviews. Melisandre waited, seated behind a plain, empty desk. Gareth was thrust into the empty chair in front of her. His possessions were placed on the table in front of her.
She waved the guards off and they withdrew.
After silently staring at him for a full minute, she said, “You’re the first, and so far only, thief to take my bait. I’m uncertain whether that makes you brave or stupid. Perhaps a little of both.”
“So you had Tobias send me here?” Gareth asked.
“I have no idea who that is. No, I had a ‘wayward’ servant spread the news of my newest acquisition through the rougher parts of the city on the assumption that someone like you would make an appearence. We’ve been waiting for over a week and as I said you’re the only one to show up.”
If his legs were longer, Gareth would have happily kicked himself. “Okay, you caught me. What do you need a thief for? You’re the richest woman in the city. I can’t imagine there’s anything you can’t just buy.”
“In the city, you’re quite correct. But what I want isn’t in the city.” He stayed silent, waiting for her to go on. “Are you familiar with Amet Sur?”
He debated lying then shook his head. “Who is he, some foreign merchant?”
“Hardly. Amet Sur was the first Arcane Lord, a contemporary of Lord Colt.”
Gareth knew Colt’s name of course. The whole bloody continent was named after the man. “Okay, so what’s a long-dead wizard got to do with me?”
“I’m mounting an expedition to plunder one of his palaces. I need a thief to deal with any traps. You made it into my museum without getting hit by a poison dart. That argues for at least a minimal level of skill.”
“I suppose bowing out gracefully isn’t an option?”
“It is. If you decline my offer of employment, I won’t force you. I will, however, have you hung for the thief you are. What will it be?”
As if he had a choice. Maybe he’d find an opportunity to escape later. “I’d be delighted to join your expedition. When do we leave?”
“Soon. There’s one more person I need to hire before you depart.”
Gareth grinned despite his situation. “Will you be hiring them the same way you did me?”
“No.” The chill in her voice froze him to the core. “Approaching her will take a good deal more tact. Happily, I believe I have just the prize to tempt her. But first…”
Melisandre reached down and placed a bracelet of shiny metal on the table.
“What’s this?” Gareth asked.
“A control bracelet. As long as you have it on, my wizards can find you anywhere you might try to flee. Consider it an insurance policy. Put it on.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Put it on.”
She wasn’t making a request and his options hadn’t gotten any better. He picked up the bracelet, enjoying the cool feel of the metal. On the inside of the band, someone had carved fine markings he didn’t recognize.
At last he slid it over his hand. The band shrunk all by itself until the fit was snug, but not uncomfortable.
“Good.” She slid his dagger and other gear back to him. “Now we need to go talk to the sea witch.”
The blood drained from Gareth’s face. Maybe he should have taken his chances with the noose.
There was an area down by the docks where no one went, mostly because the people that did go there seldom came back. Every street kid knew the legend of the sea witch. She was supposed to be a hag more dead than alive, her servants shambling in mockery of the living. Not having a death wish, Gareth never made the trip to see for himself. A couple of his friends had claimed to have caught a glimpse of one of her zombies, but he doubted it.
Had he planned to pay the legendary witch a visit, he wouldn't have chosen to come calling after midnight. But his new employer insisted that they were more likely to find the witch up and in a good mood after the sunset. Hopefully she was right, but from the looks of fear twisting the faces of the guards she brought along, they didn't seem optimistic. Even worse, Melisandre had only brought four of them. Had it been up to Gareth, they would have brought a small army.
But nothing was up to him anymore. The moment he put the bracelet on, he lost his freedom. That he got to keep breathing, in hindsight, seemed insufficient compensation. Maybe when they found this treasure they were supposed to be looking for, he could help himself to a little bonus.
A block away from the forbidden section of the boardwalk, a thick, wet fog rose slowly from the ground. It came out of nowhere, like magic. Since they were going to visit a witch, he shouldn't have been surprised.
They hadn't seen a soul out and about for the last fifteen minutes. Maybe it was because of the hour and maybe it was because the locals had more sense than them, but either way Gareth envied those behind closed, hopefully heavily barred doors.
To try and break some of the tension, Gareth turned to Melisandre and asked, “So was the statue of silver or mithril?”
“There never was a statue, I just allowed that rumor to spread. Now be quiet, we’re getting close.”
Shapes appeared, moving through the fog like ghosts. They seemed unsteady, moving jerkily like puppets handled by a beginning puppeteer. The first one stepped out of the fog and into the light. Its skin sagged and where its eyes should have been, there were only gaping holes filled with glowing red light. It wore tattered clothes that might once have been a sailor’s uniform. Somehow the creature didn’t stink. That seemed impossible, but he wouldn’t complain.
The guards drew their swords and formed a circle around Melisandre. “We should retreat, Mistress.”
“Idiot. These are the witch’s minions. We have to be getting close to her home. As long as they make no aggressive moves towards us, you will make none towards them. Understood?”
The guards nodded but made no effort to sheathe their swords. How much good they’d do against already dead opponents, Gareth didn’t know, but he doubted it would be much.
If it came to a fight, he figured they were already dead.
A path opened in the fog, inviting them deeper into the witch’s domain. Not an invitation any sane person would be eager to accept, but Melisandre strode forward without a hint of fear. She was either the bravest person Gareth had ever met, or she simply couldn’t imagine anyone daring to harm her. Most likely it was the latter. He’d met a few powerful people, and to a person they all imagined they were invincible.
The problem with that attitude was that you only had to be wrong once.
Something squeaked under his feet. Gareth looked down and sure enough they’d reached the boardwalk. This section appeared as rotten as the zombie he’d caught a glimpse of. Hopefully he didn’t put a foot wrong and end up in the drink.
At last a light blossomed in front of them. The fog parted, revealing a woman seated on a crude stool beside a green fire that turned Gareth’s stomach when he looked at it. He nearly whistled when they moved closer. If this was the sea witch, he’d been badly deceived. She looked around thirty, with pale, smooth skin, a pretty face, a fine figure mostly hidden by a simple black dress, and eyes that glowed the same green as the fire.
