NINE

Encounter

 

A lone figure trudged down the road.

Bram had left the merchant caravan - if that wasn’t too grand a name for two wagons and two pack mules, where the road branched off toward the village of Relling - just before sunset the night before.

There was a good inn in Relling; they had a first-rate shepherd’s pie, and they brewed a noble ale. Not as good as his mother’s cooking or his father’s home-brew, though. The young man had squared his shoulders, swung his pack over his shoulder on the tip of his bowstave, and set off down the road once he’d made his goodbyes.

By avoiding the loop in the King’s Highway where the road headed off to Relling, and by walking most of the night - he usually slept for four hours - he would see his home just before sunrise, just in time for his mother’s breakfast. There was little danger along the trail he hiked, few animals that would trouble a grown man, and no robber was likely to be lurking along such a byway in the dead of night.

Every hill that challenged his legs was a step nearer to home.

He recognized trees he’d climbed as a lad, fields he’d worked in or tended stock through, jumped over a creek that crossed the roadway and grinned at the memory of the first time he’d been able to do that dry-shod. He was already man-tall in his seventeenth year, with a little soft yellow fuzz on his cheeks and a shock of rough-cropped gold hair, broad-shouldered and long-legged, his open blue eyes friendly. A lifetime’s hard work had put muscle on his shoulders and arms, but it was stalking deer that had given him grace, and made his soft boots fall lightly on the dirt of the road.

And thinking of which, he thought, his head coming up. Something fairly large crashed off through the roadside brush. Pig? he wondered, then stooped. The false dawn gave him light enough for tracking. No, deer, right enough. The cloven print was a little too big and a little too splayed for swine.

Bram chuckled. ‘Run off and get chased by a nobleman,’ he said.

Nobles hunted deer on horseback, with dogs; which was rather like killing chickens with a battle axe to his way of thinking -easily done and not much sport in it - but there was no accounting for tastes. The joy was in tracking and stalking, not the kill. After the kill came the hard part, dressing out the carcass and lugging it back home. But then nobles had servants to do the hard work, he conceded.

He took a deep breath of the musty-cool air and continued down the roadway, whistling. A brisk four-mile walk had brought him almost to his own door and he paused with a smile on his face to look at the old place.

The lane to the farmhouse looked so welcoming in the early morning that the sight of it lifted his heart. There were lanterns on the fence posts on the way up to the house and one beside the door, while the downstairs windows of the house were aglow with candlelight, the flame blurred to a warm yellow through the scraped sheep-gut or thin-sliced horn that made the panes. There was a lantern by the barn door as well, he saw.

That’s a real welcome! he thought; beeswax candles were expensive, and tallow dips weren’t free either.

Then he remembered that they would have had no way of knowing that today would be his homecoming. Which meant that all this extravagant light was for some other cause. A wedding? But there hadn’t been any in prospect when he left. Besides, it wasn’t Sixthday afternoon, when most weddings were held. That meant a wake was the mostly likely explanation, since nobody stinted in honouring the dead. And many of the men would drink through the night until their wives said enough and took them home.

Everyone had been healthy when he left, but that meant little: illness or accident could take a healthy man or woman suddenly enough, and farmers knew that as well as any.

Bram hastened up the drive, pausing when he noticed Farmer Glidden’s wagon, which had been hidden by his mother’s lilacs. Then he glanced into the barn, where another lantern was lit, and he noted several horses belonging to the neighbours and a few beasts that belonged to Lorrie Merford’s family, including their dairy-cow Tessie.

Something was most definitely going on and it probably wasn’t good. Why was the Merford stock in his father’s barn? Bram knew that his family couldn’t possibly afford to buy them; nor would the Merfords sell them.

Bram hurried to the house. Hearing voices raised inside, he entered quietly through the rear door, the better to hear the fast and furious discussion that was going on. The big, single room that held the main hearth was filled with neighbours, many seated on the benches around the kitchen table, others on stools around the room, the rest standing or squatting against the wall.

‘It was animals! Wild dogs or something like that!’ said Tucker Holsworth, smacking the table for emphasis as he waved his pipe in the air. His face was black with soot and dirt.

‘But what about what Lorrie said?’ asked Bram’s father.

‘Y’mean about men doing it with some sort of tool?’ Holsworth puffed on his pipe as he sought to keep it lit.

‘Well, she was there. If that’s what she said she saw should we be doubting her?’

‘But those marks were made by some animal’s teeth! No knife did that to them,’ offered Rafe Kimble, who stood by the kitchen hearth. He was also black from soot.

‘And little Rip? Where did he go to if someone didn’t kidnap him, then?’ asked his wife, Elma.

‘He could have perished in the fire, and the girl just didn’t see it,’ insisted Allet.

‘If the animal was big enough then it could have dragged him off to its den.’ That came from Jacob Reese, who sat at the table with the other two men.

‘But how could an animal like that or even a pack of animals, be in the area and us not notice?’ asked Ossrey. ‘Where have they gone then? I’ve heard no rumours of such as happened to the Merfords happening anywhere else.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Bram exclaimed. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Bram!’ his mother cried. Allet jumped up from her seat and made her way through the crowd to embrace him.

‘Son!’ Ossrey said. ‘Good to see you, boy!’ He offered his hand across the kitchen table and Bram leaned through the crowd of neighbours to take it with a brief smile. From the leftover food on the table and the open jugs, it was clear the women had been in the kitchen all night, cooking breakfast for the men, who had just finished eating.

‘You must be starving,’ Allet said. ‘Sit down, Bram,’ she pushed him toward her place at the table, ‘and I’ll get you something.’

‘I’m fine, Mother,’ Bram said, but he did take her seat after he’d unslung his bundle and propped the bow and quiver against the wall beside the door. ‘What’s happened? It sounds bad.’ He looked around at his neighbours, then turned expectantly to his father.

Ossrey bowed his head and looked at Bram from under his shaggy eyebrows. He was a dark hairy man except for a thinning patch on top of his head, and broader-built than his son would ever be. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve come home to such bad news, son,’ he began. ‘The Merfords have suffered a terrible tragedy.’

‘Lorrie?’ Bram asked immediately.

His mother’s lips thinned and she frowned slightly, her eyes shifting to Farmer Glidden to see how he took Bram’s singular interest in Lorrie Merford.

‘She was fine the last time we saw her,’ Allet said, crossing her arms.

‘What do you mean the last time you saw her?’ Bram demanded. When no answer was forthcoming, he gripped his mother by the arms and asked, ‘Mother, what happened?’

‘Lome’s parents were both killed,’ Farmer Glidden told him quickly. ‘Their house and barn were burned down and we spent the night over there putting out fires in the fields. Just got back here an hour ago.’ He was silent a moment, then added, ‘Her brother’s gone missing. I’m told Lorrie took her horse and rode out. Probably gone after the boy.’

There was a flurry of’tsks!’ both sympathetic and condemning, accompanied by nods and shaking heads.

Bram released his mother’s arms. ‘So Lorrie and Rip are both missing?’

‘Didn’t I just say so?’ Glidden said.

‘Has anyone gone after them?’

From the glances exchanged around the room, Bram could tell no one had.

‘When did all this happen?’ Bram ran a desperate hand through his hair, looking around in confusion.

‘The marks on Melda and Sam’s bodies looked like they’d been made by an animal of some kind,’ Ossrey said. ‘We think the boy must have been dragged away by whatever killed them.’

‘Animals!’ Bram said. ‘Here?’ He looked around again. ‘Has anyone tracked the beasts? Are you saying they.. . had they eaten Melda and Sam?’ Then it struck him. ‘Do you mean to tell me that Lorrie has gone alone, tracking some animal big enough and dangerous enough to kill two adults? When did she go?’

‘Lorrie said something about men doing it,’ Dora Commer said, looking defiantly at Allet and Ossrey. ‘Said they tore up the bodies with some sort of tool to make it look like a beast did it, then headed down the road toward Land’s End. She wanted to follow them at once, but of course we couldn’t let her do that. We thought she was in a panic.’ The woman shrugged, looking guilty. ‘And there was the fire, we had to take care of that. For all we knew the boy had been in the house or the barn and she just couldn’t take the idea. Besides,’ she continued into his silence, ‘if there were men and they’d killed both her parents what could one girl do against them?’

‘We brought her here and put her to bed,’ his mother said. ‘The men had to fight fires in the fields all night, and have been arguing this thing since they got here. When the Lormers were leaving, a little before you got here, they saw the Merfords’ horse gone. I checked your room and it was empty. She’d gone out of the window, wearing some of your old clothing, and she stole your purse from under the bed!’ She said the last as if it was more important than the other news.

‘She’s welcome to it,’ said Bram, ‘if she needs it to find Rip.’

‘I checked her farm,’ Long Paul, the foreman of Glidden’s farm said. ‘I took a lantern, rode out there and checked. No sign of her.’

‘Well, there’s nothing there for her now, is there?’ Jacob Reese’s wife asked, sniffing sadly.

‘We’re going to send word to the constable after sunup,’ said Glidden officiously. ‘It’s their job to deal with things like this.’

Bram looked incredulous. ‘The constable?’

Glidden looked displeased. ‘Doubt much will come of it. No doubt they’ve much more important things to do than be after a girl looking for her brother.’

‘But wasn’t he right there on the minute when it came to evicting the Morrisons from the farm their family had worked forever?’ Dora said indignantly. ‘They jump right to it if you’re a money-lender needing to foreclose.’

At this more arguments broke out and threatened to go on for some time.

Bram watched them in wonder then finally shouted over the uproar, ‘What have you been doing to find Lorrie and Rip?’

‘And what should we do?’ his mother asked, sounding offended. ‘We offered her our home and our comfort and she ran away, with your purse, without so much as a thank you or a farewell. If she doesn’t want us we can’t force ourselves on her.’

He looked at her, then turned to his father. ‘And there’s been no further sign of these so-called animals?’ he asked.

‘None,’ Ossrey said. ‘None before, and none since.’

‘We didn’t find any tracks to follow,’ Long Paul told him.

Bram stared at him. Long Paul was the best hunter in the district; it was he who had taught Lorrie and Bram to hunt. If Long Paul couldn’t find tracks then there were no tracks to find. ‘Doesn’t that strike anyone as odd?’ he asked. ‘The Merfords’ farm is seven miles from any sizeable stands of woods. Any animal large enough to savage a full-grown man and woman would have been seen by someone if it was crossing the fields from the Old Forest or the Free Woods. Unless you think it just trotted down the King’s Highway without a trader, traveller, or horseman noticing it, then it turned down the Old Mill Trail to Lorrie’s farm.’

His neighbours looked at one another in confusion.

‘Well, yes,’ Long Paul said. ‘Not that it signifies. Tracks I mean. Those marks on the bodies were definitely made by an animal’s teeth, Bram. I’d swear to that. The fact that it’s odd doesn’t change the evidence. Could have been a flyer.’ He shrugged.

‘A flyer?’ asked Bram.

‘Well, never saw one, but heard tell of some things on the wing up in the mountains that are big enough to attack a man, wyverns and the like.’ Then he cocked his head, frowning. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘That something’s not right here,’ Bram told him. ‘Lorrie said she saw men taking her brother away, and you didn’t believe her.’ He glanced pointedly at his mother. Her face became more pinched. ‘But the only evidence of animals is the marks on the bodies and she said that men did it with some sort of tool. Meanwhile Lorrie has run off alone and everyone’s just sitting here talking about it.’

Ossrey looked shamefaced and he wasn’t the only one, but no one spoke up and no one moved a muscle. Bram picked up his pack and rose.

‘Where are you going?’ Allet asked, alarmed.

‘Mother, Lorrie is a neighbour, more, she’s my friend and she’s only fifteen. She’s just lost everything in the world and she’s out there on her own. Rip may be out there too or he may be as dead as his parents, that’s something we don’t know. But we do know about Lorrie. We have an obligation to help her.’

‘No,’ his mother said, thin-lipped. ‘No, I don’t see that. We tried and she spurned our help. As far as I’m concerned that ends our obligation. And as for her being fifteen, you’re only seventeen yourself. So there’s no reason to think that you’ll do more going after her than she could do for herself.’

Bram was disappointed in her, but not surprised. As soon as he’d begun taking an interest in Lorrie his mother had turned against the girl: this was just more of the same. He looked at his father.

‘Do what you think is right, son,’ Ossrey rumbled.

Allet hit Ossrey’s arm and glared at him.

‘Would anyone else like to help me hunt for Lorrie?’ Bram asked.

There was a certain amount of foot shuffling and mutterings about not liking to be away from their families while a threat lurked near. And the constable, they should wait on the constable.

‘All right,’ Bram said. It was what he’d expected. He kissed his mother’s cheek and nodded to his father, then turned to go. ‘I’ll  be back when I’m back, then.’

Allet reached out, her face a study in astonishment, but her husband held her back. He placed a large finger athwart her lips as Bram threw a few things into a haversack - a loaf of coarse brown bread, a lump of cheese and some smoked pork - and then took up his bow and quiver, nodding to the assembled company before he stepped back out into the night.

Lorrie drew rein half a mile from the gates of Land’s End. The sun was burning down over her shoulder. It had taken old Horace longer to cover the distance than she had thought. Rather than reaching the city by early morning, the poor old creature had managed to get there by midday. She’d been to the city as a child, of course: it was the only market town for the area within two weeks’ travel, and her father had let her come along to the Midsummer’s festival once, but she hardly had any sense of the place.

And I’ve been all night on the road.

It hardly seemed possible that only one night had passed since her world had ended .

A mule-drawn wagon went past her, and pack-horses; folk were hurrying to get to town and settle their business before the market stalls emptied out. A half-day’s commerce still waited those seeking to trade. She urged Horace into a fast walk, scanning ahead.

The town lay in the cup of the hills. Those immediately around it were too steep and rocky to be good farmland, but they’d been logged clear and a good deal of the traffic on the road was firewood from further away. Behind her rose hills dotted with lovely farms, many reminding her of her own, and but a day’s ride away the smouldering ashes of that farm were all that was left.

There were some sheep about, but mostly dairy-cows, which surprised her, until she realized that a city would be a good place to sell fresh milk. Nearer to the town there were worksteads on both sides of the dusty white road: trades that weren’t allowed in the city or needed more space - a big tannery whose stink made her blink and cough, a potter’s kilns like big stumpy beehives sending off waves of heat she could feel a dozen yards away, some smithies, and .. . yes, a stock-dealer. Horses, mostly. She could see them milling about in the pens behind chest-high fieldstone walls. And a saddler’s next door, with some of their own. Probably they both rented mounts or draught-animals, as well as dealing in them.

Lorrie felt her stomach rumble at the smell of cooking from a booth; she had had nothing to eat since the previous morning, the shock of the day’s events having driven all hunger from her. Now, yesterday morning seemed a long time ago to her stomach.

She’d known that she couldn’t keep Horace once she got to Land’s End even though the thought broke her heart. There was no money to board and feed him and only the little in Bram’s purse for herself.

I’ll make the money up to Bram! she thought. I’d better get the best deal I can.

The saddler was sitting in his open-sided booth, packing his tools before shutting down for the day. He looked up as she swung down from the saddle, a man in his thirties in breeches and a sleeveless jerkin, his arms ropy with muscle and his hands big and battered, scarred by awl and knife and strong waxed thread. His eyes were green, and shrewd. ‘Can I help you, lad?’ he said.

She hesitated. It never occurred to her that wearing Bram’s clothing, with her hair tied up under a hat, she looked like a boy. For a brief moment she considered that it would prove an advantage, for a young man would be far freer to move around than a farm girl would. Thought what would her mother think? That brought a thought of her mother, and she forced herself to answer before tears came: ‘I’m looking to sell the horse,’ she said.

‘Come to town to make your fortune, eh?’ the saddler said, sizing up the animal and the bridle. ‘Well, that horse is past mark of mouth, and the bridle’s no younger. Let’s see them both.’

A few minutes later, the saddler sat back on his bench with a grimace. ‘Five silvers for the lot, bridle, pad and girth, and no more,’ he said. ‘And I’m being generous, at that.’

‘It’s fair,’ Lorrie said virtuously. Country-folk aren’t easy marks, whatever a city man might say, she added to herself.

‘I’ll  give you twenty-five for the horse,’ the saddler said. ‘That’s a gift, mind you, a gift.’

Lorrie hesitated. The price was fair, but she didn’t like the look of the stock behind the shop. I don’t think he feeds them well enough, she thought.

There were men who’d buy horses cheap, work them to death and buy more; a fool’s bargain, she thought, but perhaps worth while in a city, where fodder had to be cash-bought and was expensive. What she couldn’t bear was the thought of Horace used so, wondering in bewilderment why he’d been abandoned.

‘It’s the first time in a long year that Swidin Betton’s made a gift to anyone, kin, friend or stranger,’ a voice said.

The man leaning over the fence was about the saddler’s age, with curly reddish hair and a friendly smile.

‘I’ll  take him off your hands, lad,’ he said. ‘And I’ll match the price. He’s a good horse, looks to me a draught beast mostly, though, eh?’

And your horses don’t look underfed, she thought. The saddler shrugged and handed over the price for the bridle and pad; Lorrie led Horace to the stock-dealer’s pen. There were some stables off to one side, and she checked them: the straw looked to have been changed fairly recently, and the hooves of the beasts there were in good shape and kept clean, none cracked, the shoes not worn too thin.

‘He’s like an old friend,’ she said, handing over Horace’s rein. ‘I wasn’t that old myself when my father brought him home.’ She scratched Horace under his chin and the old gelding’s eyes half closed with pleasure.

‘There’s always someone looking for a gentle, hard-working creature like this one,’ the trader said. ‘He’s no colt, but he’s got years left, no doubt. Don’t you worry, he’ll find a home.’

‘He can plough the straightest furrow you ever saw,’ Lorrie said stoutly.

The trader chuckled. ‘Lad, you’ve already sold him. But I’ll remember to tell that to prospective buyers.’

Lorrie smiled and nodded, then turned away, somehow managing not to look back, even when Horace gave an enquiring neigh. She came to the edge of the animal market and sighed. Before her was one of the city’s gates and beyond, somewhere within the city, was her brother.

Lorrie wandered along the street, unsure of what to do next. She had some sense of Rip still being alive, but no sense of his proximity. Maybe she’d erred in coming here. She had found the constable’s office, but the one fellow on duty was an old gaoler, and he said he could do nothing for her. Best to come back at the end of the day when the constable would be bringing in whoever he arrested. He’d be filling cells just before supper, the man had said.

Lorrie’s mind turned to finding a place to sleep. Putting her hand in her pocket, she squeezed the purse she’d taken from under Bram’s bed now fattened with the thirty silvers she’d got for Horace and the harnessing. She’d done well in her bargaining, but this was no fortune. How long it would keep her Lorrie had no idea: city prices were higher than country, she knew that much.

She felt herself start to go light-headed, and realized she still hadn’t eaten. She had to find something decent to eat before she fell over.

Half an hour later Lorrie was licking the few remaining crumbs of a meat pie off her fingers and contemplating buying another one. Afternoon was fleeing, and the streets were crowded but already starting to thin out. The vendor had only one pie left and was moving away. If she wanted another, she had to decide now. She was just about to rush over to the pie-seller to see if she could get a bargain on the last sale of the day when a man walked up to her.

‘Hey there, young fellow,’ he said cheerily.

Lorrie looked at him. He was about her father’s age and short, only a little taller than she was. He wasn’t any too clean, though not beyond the bounds of respectability, and his clothing wasn’t worn at the collar and cuffs. All in all he looked like a city man and probably a bachelor. He sported a wide black moustache and an even wider grin. Lorrie was certain from the lines in his face the man used dye to make his hair and moustache so absolutely black. She had heard of noblewomen colouring their hair with different things, but never heard of a man doing it. It struck her as odd, but he seemed friendly enough.

‘Hello, sir,’ she said cautiously.

‘You seem a likely lad,’ he said.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘How would you like to earn two shiny silver pieces?’ he asked.

‘Very much, sir,’ Lorrie said eagerly. That would help. Gods knew how long it would take to find Rip.

‘Can you run, boy?’

‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Lorrie assured him, ‘faster than anyone.’

The man laughed and pointed to an alley nearby. ‘There’s a fellow waiting there at the far end of the alley who needs someone to take a small package across the city for him. His name is Travers and he will give you your instructions. Tell him you’re the lad Benton sent him. Now, go, let me see you run!’

She raced to the alley and down it to the corner where a man stood picking his teeth under the creaking sign of a tavern; it was a relief to get out of the narrow lane, where daylight hardly filtered through. The city looked to Lorrie to be worse than a forest at night, with houses that towered up three and even four storeys on either side. She wrinkled her nose: a farm-girl didn’t grow up squeamish, but where she was raised dung went on the fields where it belonged, and people didn’t piss up against buildings.

‘Sir?’ she said, ‘would you go by the name of Travers?’

The man nodded and swept a glance over her from head to foot. ‘Who’re you?’ he demanded.

‘I’m the boy Benton sent you,’ Lorrie told him.

‘Ah.’ He pulled out a purse from his pocket. ‘I need ye to take this to The Firedrake, an inn near the north gate. There’s a gentleman there named Coats who’s waiting for it.’ He handed it over. ‘Go on, then. What’re ye waiting for?’

‘Urn, Benton said that I would get two silvers for this errand,’ she said.

‘And so ye shall, when ye’ve done it,’ Travers roared. ‘The sooner ye do it, the sooner ye’ll be paid. So get goin’!’

Lorrie took to her heels feeling foolish and just a little unnerved. Of course she wouldn’t be paid until she’d delivered the package, no one would take your word on such a thing here. But she couldn’t help reflecting that Travers was a very surly man, not nearly as nice as Benton.

The streets were far less crowded now as the day waned and she still had nowhere to spend the night. Perhaps if The Firedrake looked like a reasonable place she could stay there. Lorrie paused and looked around. Then she dashed down a short street toward the city wall, reasoning that following it would lead her to the north gate eventually.

Suddenly she went flying, knocking her forehead on the cobbled pavement with an oof! and a dizzying wave of pain. Blood trickled down into her eyebrows, warm and sticky. Through the buzzing in her ears she heard far in the background a cry of’Stop! Thief!’ and was glad she’d got past the place without trouble.

Lorrie started to push herself up when something hard struck her in the middle of her back and pushed her back down again.

‘Stay where you are!’ a familiar voice barked.

The girl turned her head and stared in astonishment at the cheerful Benton, looking far less than cheery at the moment.

‘Ah ha!’ Travers said, arriving in a hurry. ‘Caught the little rat I see!’

‘Then this is the thief?’ Benton said.

‘Indeed, sir! With my purse in his hand!’ Travers said loudly.

Lorrie looked in disbelief from one to the other. The few people about were pausing to see what the excitement was about and she felt compelled to protest.

‘But you gave it to me!’ she cried. ‘You told me . ..’

Benton smacked her with his cudgel on the back of the neck with precisely calculated force, and she fell back, dazed.

‘None of that!’ he cried. ‘You can tell your lies to the judge and see what he thinks of them.’

Some of the people around them looked smug and nodded in agreement; a few were doubtful, but disinclined to interfere.

‘I am Gerem Benton, an independent thief-taker, sir. I must ask you come with me, as witness,’ Benton announced.

The doubtful among the onlookers now seemed satisfied. The thief-takers worked indirectly for the Baron, being paid a bounty for each thief caught and turned over to the city constabulary.

“Tis no less than my duty,’ Travers agreed. He nudged Lorrie with his foot. ‘Up with you, boy!’

Lorrie couldn’t seem to co-ordinate her limbs and after a moment stopped trying.

‘What a dainty head the creature has,’ Benton said. ‘If you’ll take one arm, sir, then I’ll take the other and we’ll be on our way.’

They hoisted her up and everything went black for Lorrie. Throbbing pain spiked its way up both sides of her neck.

When she came around it was to find herself flat on the ground in a dark lane behind a building. Benton and Travers were having an argument with two other men.

‘. .. is my territory, Gerem Benton, and well you know it!’ growled a man with an eye-patch. He towered over Benton who was trying to reason with him.

‘It all started over in the East Market,’ Benton was saying. ‘But we have to go through your territory to get to the gaol. Be reasonable, Jake.’

‘I saw the whole thing!’ Jake roared, by no means inclined to be reasonable. ‘I don’t care where you started, you carried out the business end of it in my territory!’

He pulled back his fist as if to strike and Travers caught his wrist. Then Jake’s companion chose to interfere, giving Travers a hard shove.

‘Ah, demons take it,’ Benton cursed. ‘You have the right of it, then, if it’s your territory.’

He turned half away, and then shoved his club into Jake’s middle just below the floating rib, a hard swift jab. ‘But who says it’s your territory, dog’s-pizzle!’ Benton grabbed the other man by the hair and yanked his head back. Cutting off the man’s airway with the club he growled, ‘Remember who’s running things here, boyo. You and your little crew are free to boost and cut purses, but only because I keep the constables off your neck. I haven’t had a thief to turn in for almost three weeks now, so if I have to, I’ll turn some farm boy into a thief. But I’ll hear no more about “your territory” and “my territory”.’ He let the man go and watched as he staggered back. ‘When it comes to things dodgy, all of Land’s End is my territory.’

Lorrie crab-walked away for a few paces, then turned over and scrambled to her feet. Before she’d taken two steps the four of them had grabbed hold of her and were cuffing her about the head and shoulders, shouting at her and each other and pulling her arms.

She sank to her knees with a keening sob. Someone had drawn a knife . . .

Something about having his rapier on his hip, even if it was carefully hidden by his cloak, gave Jimmy a sense of being taller - even full-grown. He could feel it in his walk, a new swagger -let him cross my path who dares! He shifted his slender shoulders and grinned.

He’d never dream of wearing the sword on the street in Krondor; the watch would have it off him and himself in a cell before he could begin to argue about it. As for the Mockers, well, unless you were a basher they didn’t encourage the open wearing of weapons. It tended to lead to trouble.

Which it could in Land’s End as well, I suppose.

But here he was dressed quite respectably, which he knew counted for a great deal and, even more importantly, had a very respectable address. Of course he hoped he wouldn’t have to fall back on that. Flora would kill him - assuming she hadn’t already revealed all to Aunt Cleora and wasn’t sitting on the front steps weeping. In which case they were both likely to be arrested. But when he had last seen them, they had been sitting together while Aunt Cleora regaled Flora with family stories, holding the girl’s hands as if they were gold. With no children of her own, it seemed Cleora had found a suitable object for all her maternal instincts. Sometime this evening, Jimmy assumed, they’d finally get around to visiting Grandfather.

Resisting the urge to throw back his cloak off his shoulder, showing the blade, Jimmy continued on. No point in borrowing trouble, he thought. Must continue to look as respectable as possible, he reminded himself. And there are advantages to it. I can case any target I please, and the shopkeepers bow double and ask me to take their inventory, instead of calling for the watch or throwing horse-apples!

So he strutted as he walked, enjoying the mild air as dusk fell and the way his cloak swung about his calves. He rather liked this town. It was so compact compared to Krondor, and so quiet.

‘Leave me alone!”

Jimmy’s head snapped toward the sound. Down a dim alley he saw four men fighting over a struggling shape. See, he thought smugly, there’s where an organization like the Mockers comes in handy. In Krondor such an unseemly situation would never occur. Any freelance thief would know better than to contest a prize with a Mocker and two groups of Mockers would simply take the loot and let the Day- or Nightmaster sort it out. This was uncivilized. And it was not even dark yet!

For just an instant a last, golden ray of sunshine struck the face of the victim, turned toward the end of the alley where Jimmy was standing. His heart seemed to stop and his breath caught in his throat. Then she turned her head and the light was gone, leaving the alley darker than before and Jimmy in a state of paralysis.

It can’t be! he thought.

It was impossible, yet ... In that last flash of daylight he’d have sworn that he saw the face of the Princess Anita. But she was safely on her way to the far coast. What would she be doing, alone, here in Land’s End?

The girl made a cry of pain, galvanizing the young thief into action.

He’d passed a box of ashes by the steps of a house just a step away; he grabbed a handful and rubbed it on his face, then pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as far as it would go and ran back to the alley. Jimmy yanked out his sword and with a blood-curdling yell rushed at the heaving, shoving group at the end of the alley.

‘At ‘em boys!’ Jimmy bellowed. ‘No quarter!’

Up to now it had been hard words and harder clubs, and one man waving a dirk without using it, but the introduction of an edged weapon and the possibility of more attackers threw the four thief-takers into confusion for a crucial moment. Jimmy slashed out at waist level and the men let go of the girl and jumped back.

Whereupon Jimmy grabbed her tunic and pulled. She was older than he was, he judged quickly, but no taller. And a game lass, he thought; on her feet in a second to follow him out of the alley. He let go of her and slid his rapier back into its sheath, leading her toward that box of ash.

It hadn’t taken the four men long to recover from his unplanned attack, or to realize that there were no ‘boys’ intent on giving ‘no quarter’, and they were soon hot on Jimmy’s heels. He suspected that they might happily let the girl go free in order to pummel him into the cobbles. It was sad, but he often had that effect on people.

When they reached the house with the ashes Jimmy picked up the box, spun round and flung the contents into the air right in his pursuers’ faces. They fell back, cursing and coughing. With dexterity bordering on the supernatural, he again drew his blade and delivered a few well-placed nicks and cuts to the four men, who tried to fend off the much longer blade with clubs and a single dirk. Jimmy had only a few weeks’ practice with the blade, but his teacher had been Prince Arutha, and more, Jimmy was faster than most experienced swordsmen. The men tried to fan out and approach from two sides. For their efforts they received some nasty cuts on the arms and hands from Jimmy’s much longer blade. Jimmy laid about, his blade hissing as it cut air, and each time it made contact, an attacker yelped in pain and fell back. Then the leader of the group, the man with the black moustache, tried to leap in, and Jimmy cut him deep across the shoulder. One of the men turned and fled, and in a moment, the rout was on, the attackers beating a hasty retreat; the price of the girl and the boy wasn’t worth bleeding to death.

Jimmy grabbed the girl’s hand and led her through the narrow space between two houses. It was barely wide enough for him and in a few steps his cloak was strangling him where it had caught on the rough surface somewhere behind him. He managed to get a hand up to release the clasp and with the girl’s help dislodged it.

‘They won’t be able to follow us through here,’ he said.

‘What’s to stop them from going back down the alley and coming around?’ the girl asked. She had a low, husky voice, and she asked very sensible questions.

Jimmy liked that, but she didn’t sound like the Princess, meaning he’d probably interfered with something that was none of his business. Ah, well. Win some, lose some, he thought philosophically. Perhaps there was something here he could turn to his advantage. And if it was a madness, it was a noble madness.

When they came out behind the house, Jimmy looked around and traced a path to the rooftops. The roofs were different here in Land’s End, slightly steeper and mostly tiled, but not impassable; the walls had more stone and less brick and half-timbering, but his fingers were strong and his toes nimble.

‘Can you climb?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said shortly.

‘Then follow every move I make,’ he ordered.

He unbuckled his belt and refastened it over one shoulder so that the hilt of his sword lay between his shoulder-blades.

Up the drainpipe, he thought: it was bored-out wood and quite strong enough, fastened to the stone with bolts. Onto the transom of a window, thence over the eaves and onto the roof. From there, it seemed to Jimmy, the city was theirs. The girl put a hand up and he took it, giving her a lift that helped her scramble up. Then he led her to the deepest shadow he could find, hoping they’d be invisible from the street below.

And not a moment too soon, as around the corner of the alley came four very angry men, now bearing swords or clubs. They looked up and down the street, then took a moment to argue, until the short one pointed one way and then the other, whereupon two men went up the street and two men went down. The man with the moustache shouted, ‘Find them. They’re worth three silvers each!’ He headed up the street, while the other men took off in different directions.

‘Three silvers!’ the girl exclaimed. ‘Those bastards!’

Definitely not the Princess, then.

‘What was that?’ asked Jimmy.

‘That man said he was a thief catcher. They were going to turn me in for a bounty.’

Jimmy was silent for a moment, then said, ‘It’s an old grift. Two or three “citizens” testify you’re a thief, and if you don’t have no one from around here to vouch for you, you’re off for the work gang or worse.’ He paused. ‘Did you happen to catch the name of that fellow with the moustache?’

‘Yes,’ Lorrie replied. ‘He said his name was Gerem Benton.’

‘Ah,’ said Jimmy slowly.

‘You know him?’

‘I know him,’ said Jimmy with a nod. ‘Gerem the Snake. Used to run a confidence game up in Krondor. Thought he was dead.’ He stood up. ‘I’m Jimmy. If you like I’ll escort you home.’

‘I don’t live here,’ the girl said gruffly, then was quiet for a moment. ‘Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t interfered.’

‘It depends,’ Jimmy said. ‘But nothing good, you can rely on that. So what’s your name?’

‘Uh, Jimmy,’ she said.

The young thief laughed so hard he slipped a couple of yards down the roof. He elbowed his way back up and grinned at her.

‘No, no, that’s my name,’ he said. ‘You weren’t paying attention.’ He leaned a little closer and whispered, ‘I know you’re a girl.’

She looked startled, and her lips parted as though to deny it.

‘I know you are,’ he insisted.

‘How? They certainly didn’t!’

‘Well, I’m more . .. alert, I suppose. Or maybe it’s that you look amazingly like someone I know, and she’s most definitely a girl.’ He gave her shoulder a gentle poke. ‘So, what’s your name?’

‘Lorrie,’ she said, sounding discouraged. ‘Lorrie Merford.’

‘Nice to meet you, Lorrie,’ Jimmy said at his most suave, managing to copy Prince Arutha’s courtly bow in miniature, while lying on slippery red tiles.

She smiled at him. ‘Nice to meet you, too, Jimmy,’ she said.

The sun was now setting, and night was almost upon them. It would be getting harder to see in the gathering darkness, but the young thief crossed his ankles as though they had all the time in the world. Better to let their pursuers get farther away before they themselves moved on.

‘So if you don’t live in the city, where do you live?’ he asked casually.

‘Somewhere you’ve probably never heard of,’ she said. ‘The nearest village is a tiny place named Relling.’

Nope, never heard of it, he thought. Sounds like an early-to-bed-early-to-rise land of honest toil and earthy, peasant virtue. Hope I never have to go there.

‘Were you going to go back there tonight?’ he asked.

‘Uh, no.’ Lorrie shook her head. ‘I’ve got something to do here.’

I’ll bet you do, he thought. He’d also bet it was something her family wouldn’t approve of. Why else would she be in disguise? ‘So where are you staying?’ he asked. ‘As I said, I’ll walk you home.’

With a short laugh she said, ‘I’m not staying anywhere. I just got to Land’s End today and almost the first thing I did was meet Benton and agree to run an errand for him.’ Her voice was rich with self-contempt.

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself,’ Jimmy advised. ‘He’s pretty slick. I’m a stranger here myself, so I don’t know which inns might be good for you. Do you have any money?’

There was a long pause at that. ‘A little,’ she admitted cautiously.

Almost none, Jimmy thought. Poor kid.

‘Well,’ he said, rising, ‘let’s go exploring. Maybe we can find you somewhere really cheap to stay.’ He helped her to her feet and led her back to a place where they could climb down.

Jarvis Coe sat in the darkest corner of The Cockerel and sipped his beer with his cloak wrapped about him. There was a tired-looking roast of pork turning on a spit over the fire; but he’d contented himself with a hunk of dark bread and some cheese and a few good apples, since they were less likely to lay him out with stomach cramps. One advantage of being out of Krondor was that market-food was fresher and less expensive.

He’d paid for the use of the table at the outset of the evening, since he didn’t intend to drink much and didn’t want any difficulty about it. He was here to eavesdrop. Over the years he’d found that the gossip most useful to a man of his interests tended to be found in the roughest taverns. It was certainly proving true tonight.

The tables along the wall were separated by board partitions that didn’t run all the way to the rafters and lathes above. He could follow a very interesting conversation from the next one, given his training and a focused mind. The knotholes and gaps in the boards were helpful as well, giving him an occasional glimpse of the talkers.

‘Bring ‘em here, take ‘em there. I tell ye I don’t like this,’ a heavy-set man was saying to his companion. ‘It’s gettin’ worse there all the time! I don’t want to go there any more, I tell ye!’

‘Easy, Rox,’ his skinny companion soothed. ‘We’ve never been paid so well.’ He hoisted his goblet. ‘Drinkin’ the best wine, ain’t we?’

Which at The Cockerel, Coe thought, must be a whole two steps above vinegar.

Rox leaned in close to his companion, his glance nervously darting around the room. ‘It’s not right, what we’re doin’, not right at all!’

Skinny whooped with laughter. ‘Well, of course it’s not!’ he said.

‘That’s not what I mean,’ Rox snarled.

Skinny looked away impatiently.

Rox gave his shoulder a shove. ‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘That place, there’s somethin’ about it.’ Rox rubbed his lower lip with a dirty thumb. ‘It’s not right.’

Skinny shook his head and then the rest of himself, like a dog flicking off water.

Rox grabbed his arm. ‘You know what I mean!’

‘What I know is it’s the best money I’ve ever seen,’ Skinny said stubbornly. ‘And that’s all I need to know, or want to know, and if you’re smart, you’ll be like me.’

Rox subsided for a moment, scowling darkly. ‘What’s he want with all them kids, then?’ he demanded suddenly.

Skinny started to snicker. ‘Maybe he, hee-hee, maybe he’s running an orphanage!’ He smacked his thigh and whooped with laughter. ‘Out of the goodness of his heart, like.’

Even Rox grinned for a moment, smiling as he took a sip from his cup. But when he lowered it his frown was back. ‘I don’t want to go there any more,’ he grumbled. ‘Why can’t he get somebody else to take ‘em?’

‘I think he’s keepin’ it secret,’ Skinny said. ‘We know about it, so,’ he shrugged, ‘he uses us instead of tellin’ someone else. Keeps it more secret, see?’

Rox sat growling quietly for a few moments. ‘I want to quit,’ he said suddenly.

‘We can’t quit!’ Skinny snapped. ‘We need the money, best money we ever got. And beside . . .’ He stopped and rubbed his face with his hands, then looked over his shoulder. He leaned toward Rox and whispered, ‘I don’t think we can quit.’

‘Whaddaya mean?’ Rox sat up straight, looking worried.

Skinny leaned closer still. ‘He’s important.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘He can do things to us.’

Rox just stared at him, shaking his head slightly, confused.

‘You know what I mean. When people like us annoy people like him we don’t stay healthy.’

Rox’s eyes widened. ‘Ohhh!’ he said.

‘So just hang on, all right?’

‘I suppose so,’ Rox conceded. He picked up his mug and drained it, then smacked it down loudly. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Innkeeper! More!’

‘So we’ll just deliver the boy to the manse, take our money and go. Easy. Just hold on. Maybe this will be the last time we have to make a trip out into the country.’

The bigger man didn’t answer but he made the innkeeper leave the pitcher of wine he brought to refill their goblets and then proceeded to get very drunk.

Coe listened to all of it and decided that he, too, might just make a trip out into the country. It might be very interesting to see this place that ‘wasn’t right’.

Jimmy led the girl down toward the warehouse district on the wharves. In his experience he’d discovered that one could usually find an abandoned space or two or more there. Besides, a lot of these places were sparsely patrolled; one or two watchmen to a row and those weren’t usually the most alert of men. Or the most curious.

He kept them to the shadows, which resulted in a lot of tripping on Lorrie’s part. At first he’d been sympathetic, then amused, but now she was beginning to curse and he was worried that she’d attract attention. The watchmen probably would not come looking, but if he and Lorrie forced themselves on them they wouldn’t turn a blind eye.

‘Lorrie,’ he whispered, ‘we have to be quiet.’

‘I can’t see where I’m going!’ she said between her teeth.

Jimmy stuck his tongue in his cheek and took a long, deep breath. He knew better than to get involved with ordinary citizens, they were nothing but trouble, yet here he was dragging one around by the hand. ‘I understand, but could you at least stop swearing? Out loud, I mean.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

They moved on. He was looking for somewhere run-down, preferably abandoned. But all the warehouses they’d passed so far seemed tightly locked and well tended. Land’s End seemed to be a busy port, for all it was a smaller one than Krondor. This close to Kesh I suppose it would be, Jimmy thought. Then he spotted a likely-looking place. He led the girl to a dark recess between two buildings. ‘I’m going to scout around,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take a bit of a rest?’

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then, in a highly suspicious voice she asked, ‘Why?’

Nothing but trouble, he thought. ‘Because I think I’ve seen a place where you can sleep for free. But I’ve got better night-sight than you do and I don’t want to drag you over there for nothing. I’ll be right back. I promise.’

‘Oh!’ she said, sounding as if the idea of free lodging had never occurred to her. ‘All right.’

Jimmy gave her shoulder a pat and moved off. The place had stairs to the second storey and he put one foot on the bottom step very lightly, only to have it squeak even when he kept his weight to the inner side of the riser. Going up there would probably make enough noise to wake the dead; he was going to have to find another way up.

After looking around he found a shorter building that backed up to his chosen site; the peak of its roof was just below a single window, and the shorter building was eminently climbable. He tested the route and found the window unlocked. Slipping inside . . .

A nice, long-deserted attic room over the main warehouse. Probably used to store occasional high-value cargo - brandy, say, or spices. It held very little now, a keg or two of what was probably nails, one or two bolts of cheap sacking cloth, some broken furniture and a wealth of dust. Jimmy walked carefully, but the floor was solid oak planks which were neatly pegged and made no noise: that sort of construction lasted forever if it was kept dry, and the roof seemed very sound. The door to the main loft opened inward - but there were crates stacked in front of it, almost touching his chest when he stepped into the doorframe. He gave an experimental shove and found he couldn’t move them. At least not without more noise and effort than he wanted to make. He pushed his knife gently through a crack between two slats, and it chinked dully when it hit the cargo within, but straw and willow-withy padding showed too.

Crockery of some sort, he thought. Damned heavy. Good as having a fortress wall in front of you - you could hear them hours before they cleared the door - and the only other way in is the window.

Doubtless others before him had found the building below to be the perfect route into this warehouse and the owner had moved to block them.

‘Perfect,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

Lorrie was exactly where he’d left her, sitting with her back against the building.

‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘I’ve found a place to stay.’

She was a game little thing, he had to admit, if far too trusting. I could be a slave-taker, or a brothel agent, or just a freelance rape-and-murder artist. This one is a little lamb far from home.

Once he’d described their route to the window and started to climb she followed him without question or complaint. Once they were in the room he began unrolling one of the bolts of cloth.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, sneezing at the dust he was raising.

As he’d thought, once you got through the first few layers the cloth was clean and dust-free, though still smelling sour from long storage. ‘Making you a bed,’ he said with a grin.

‘I can’t use that,’ she said, sounding honestly horrified.

‘Of course you can,’ he reassured her. ‘You’re only borrowing it. What harm can you do it by sleeping on it? Besides it’s obviously been here for years, so no one’s missing it.’ When she still hesitated he rolled his eyes and continued, ‘And if you leave it the way we found it no one will ever know.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Lorrie said. She grabbed the other bolt. ‘Perhaps one day I’ll be able to do a good turn for the man who owns it.’

Jimmy kept unrolling cloth, looking toward her shape in the darkness. Honest people never failed to amaze him.

Together they arranged the cloth into a reasonably comfortable bed and Lorrie thanked him. Jimmy considered trying to steal a kiss from her, then decided that might complicate things too much.

Then she decided to complicate things by asking, ‘Will I see you again?’

‘I’ll  check here tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you’re still here I’ll see you then.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. Reaching out, she found his hand and shook it.

She had calluses on her hands, he noted, but the hand felt small and shapely, her teeth were good, and she was tall for her age: working folk, but not poor. ‘You’re welcome.’ He felt suddenly awkward. ‘Good night.’

‘Good night.’

Jimmy climbed out the window and down the other building, then headed back to Aunt Cleora’s house.

That was strange, he thought. He wondered what had brought the country girl into the big city. Especially disguised as a boy.

He’d like to see her in daylight, see if that glimpse he’d had of her had told the truth. Did she really resemble the Princess as much as he’d thought? Maybe he would return tomorrow. Time permitting.