King's man and thief

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Surely it is not much to ask," said Captain Porbrough, more widely known as Captain Cutter. The most hated pirate of the oceans seemed very little like a threat now as he sat across from Bhakir. He was not a big man, barely over five feet, and much softer and rounder than his reputation would have one believe. But he had eyes hard as flint, and a grim set to his mouth that promised he would brook no disobedience. Few survived unharmed who dared oppose him. His voice was nasal and grated on the ear, but Bhakir paid attention as if the man's voice was sweet as music.

He turned politely to his new head of the Mharian navy. "And what do you say, Commander?"

Lord Carroc Zhael, as tall and lean as Cutter was squat and soft, pursed his thin lips. He leaned back in his chair. "Well, we'd have to do it very carefully, that's for damned sure," he said. "The safe harbors requested by Captain Porbrough-that's easy enough to manage. He's in the navy now, with ships under his command. Every harbor is theoretically open to you, sir, and your men in His Majesty's Navy."

"But the men who haven't joined-what of them? They've served me well, and will continue to serve well, provided that you grant my requests."

Those requests had been expected. The pirates that, till now, had been plaguing the coasts of both Byrn and Mhar had agreed to ally temporarily with Mhar in the attack that Bhakir had been months planning. In exchange, they wanted a few safe harbors in Mhar, and first pick of the plundered city of Braedon. The former Bhakir had been willing to grant, and Zhael seemed willing to agree as well. But the latter… Bhakir took another sip of the fine Mharian wine as he watched the two men, so similar yet so different, interact.

"We could arrange a mass clemency, if your men agree to serve the interests of the navy."

Cutter spluttered indignantly. "They are pirates, sir, not members of His Majesty's…" Changing ideas in midsentence, Cutter turned toward Bhakir. "Speaking of His Majesty, when's the boy going to be brought into this? He didn't seem too eager to sup with us this evening."

It was an understatement. The dinner with Castyll, Cutter, Zhael, and Bhakir had been little short of a disaster. Castyll endured the event with poorly contained contempt and hatred, often making subtle, biting comments that Bhakir was able to counter only with the quickest wit. The two men had been left seething by the time it was over and Castyll "retired to his quarters."

"He won't be brought in at all," Bhakir replied sourly. "I'm afraid Shahil's ghost still lingers, gods rot his soul."

Zhael frowned. "If he opposes us-"

"He won't," Bhakir assured the commander smoothly. "I have him completely under my thumb, I promise you. When I cease to be able to manipulate the youth as I choose-well, then, accidents do happen, don't they."

He raised his glass and, grinning, heard the two other men silently toasted Castyll's eventual — and no doubt tragic-demise. At that moment, one of the guards burst in. Bhakir frowned. "You were told not to disturb me," he said in a warning, rumbling voice.

The guard bowed obsequiously low. "Your great pardon, my lord, but there is news I felt you would wish to hear." When Bhakir did not answer, the man continued hesitantly, "News from Byrn, my lord."

At that, Bhakir rose. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said to his guests, "but a good cook sees to all his dishes, lest any of them spoil for want of attention."

Zhael and Cutter chuckled appreciatively, and Cutter reached for the bottle. "You're excused, sir, but I suggest you return or else Zhael and I shall put an end to this delicious vintage you've provided."

"There's more where that came from," Bhakir replied gaily, and hastened out as quickly as he could without seeming to be in too much of a hurry.

In a small receiving room, one of Bhakir's finest spies paced back and forth, looking up anxiously as his lord entered. Bhakir waved the guard away, then greeted his servant.

"Khem, I had not expected to see you back so soon. I hope the news you bring me is good, not ill."

"Indeed it is, my lord," replied Khem, his small eyes gleaming. "I have found you a worthy group of allies."

"Excellent! Don't tell me you've convinced a councilman to turn traitor?"

Khem shook his head. Bhakir winced a little at the odor of the man. In his guise as a less savory member of Byrnian society, Khem was able to move unnoticed among the populace. It was clearly a fruitful venture, but unfortunate from a hygienic point of view.

'There is a splinter group of thieves in Braedon, sir. Normally this wouldn't be of much use, but their leader has allied with a Blesser of Vengeance."

Bhakir's eyebrow went up. The Blessers were powerful people indeed. "Go on." "This Blesser," and Khem shook his head again, this time reaching for words. "He's not a well man, if you know what I mean."

"Sickly?"

"No, he's… I think he's but a step or two away from madness. He takes great pleasure in hurting things, sir. A few nights ago, we murdered a councilman's daughter for the leader's revenge. That Blesser-well, 'twas almost as pleasant for him as lying with the girl, sir."

"You weren't caught?"

"No, sir. This group-the leader's very smart, sir. Very intelligent. I spoke with her about supporting your cause- in a very roundabout way, of course-and she's very interested."

Bhakir could only gape. "Her? She?"

Khem looked uncomfortable, but did not flinch from his lord's displeasure. "Aye, milord. The leader of the splinter group is a woman. She hides behind a rough brute of a fellow, but not for much longer. The Blesser of Vengeance holds her in high regard-calls her Vengeance's Chosen. She's spent many years in Mhar herself, as a thief, so she is not a blind patriot to her country. I think we could use her. She has great goals, and I believe she is destined for bigger things than simple thievery."

Bhakir regarded Khem with a searching gaze. The man met his lord's eyes evenly. Khem was a good and trusted spy. He had proved his worth on more than one occasion, and Bhakir knew of no better judge of character. At length, the counselor sighed.

"Then you may go ahead and reveal what we have discussed. Ally yourself with this-what is her name?"

"Marrika."

"Marrika." A thought struck him, and Bhakir smiled. "She is the Chosen of Vengeance, eh? Then I have a gift for the Chosen and her followers." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "A dark gift, for performing dark deeds. A gift that will bear the mark of the god himself. An appropriate gift for a group of thieves who would overthrow their betters. Khem, when you return to Byrn, you will take with you the first Mharian warrior to lay foot on Byrnian soil- my first soldier."

Khem's dark eyes were confused, but he knew better than to question. "As you wish, my lord."

Allika nestled in among her pile of rags and sighed contentedly. It had been a good day for eating. She'd stolen a whole loaf from the bakers, filched fruit from a market vendor, and been able to gather many pocketfuls of nuts when the crate had unexpectedly broken open as it was being loaded onto the pier.

It was too warm for a fire, and she lay back, cuddling Miss Lally. The early summer storms had come and gone, leaving the occasional wreckage of small vessels on the shoreline of Braedon like ruined skeletons. A few days ago, Allika had found one such boat, half buried in the sand, and had decided to make it her home for the time being. Every home she had was for the time being; it could change from day to day, sometimes hour to hour.

The dinghy, about eight feet long, lay on its side, providing a perfect shelter from the winds that blew in over the ocean. It was easy enough to find a few rags and blankets to further block what little chill reached the girl, and as for her personal possessions, they all fit in the small pouch that was constantly by her side. Now she huddled back, gazing out across the sea that was lit up with starlight and moonlight.

"Pretty, huh, Miss Lally?" she asked the doll.

"Mmm-hmmm!" agreed Miss Lally, using Allika's voice. The waves sounded a soothing song, and Allika felt her eyelids start to grow heavy. By force of will she kept them open. Today was Lisdae. Most ships left port on a Travsdae if they could help it; it was a "lucky" day for travel. It usually took three or four days for a ship to reach Braedon from the neighboring port of Ilantha; hence Lisdae usually meant a lot of activity on the dock.

Allika was a good pickpocket, but her primary coin was information. She was quiet, but she had sharp ears and eyes, and more often than not gleaned something by quietly slipping around the docks. So now, though she was warm and drowsy and her belly was stretched tight with good food for the first time in days, she forced herself to stay alert.

Her diligence was rewarded. A ship came into her view, and the moon was bright enough for her to determine that it flew the flag of the lion of Mhar.

As always, for an instant, the thought of the neighboring country hurt the girl. She had come from Mhar, and not so long ago, either; come to Braedon on just such a ship. The Death Ship, it would later be called. Allika's family-her parents and her two younger brothers-had decided to travel to Byrn. Allika's father was a strong man and hoped to find better employment as a soldier; Byrn needed men to fight the Ghil to the north. But there had come with Allika's family others, not so strong. The memory of one man, pale and sickly, stuck in the girl's mind.

Disease had broken out on the ship and spread like wildfire. Those afflicted had run high fevers and had terrible visions. Allika knew she would never forget the name: cloud sickness, so dubbed for the "clouding" of the mind. They had been forbidden to enter the port, lest the disease spread to Braedon.

For days the ship had sat in the waters, forbidden to dock, forbidden to leave. The food had run out. Allika had watched as, one by one, the dreadful illness had claimed all the members of her family. Her only solace was Miss Lally, who never got sick.

When the Byrnians finally came, it was not to find and help the survivors. It was to torch the ship and its victims- both living and dead. A terrified Allika, who had somehow been spared the ravages of the disease, had jumped overboard and swum to safety. Huddled on the sand, clutching her doll, she watched that night as the ship burned, lighting up the ocean with a dreadful crimson and golden glow. She had been the only survivor of the Death Ship, and as the long days turned into months and then years, became convinced that she was somehow "cursed." It was why she refused to live with any of the kinder-hearted thieves. She did not want ever again to bring sickness and death upon the heads of those whom she cared for ever again. Every time she saw a ship, for an instant, Allika saw not the true ship, but a burning ghost-ship as it sank slowly to the ocean depths; and she was reminded of how alone she and Miss Lally were-how alone they would always remain.

The ship from Mhar did not sail steadily up to the port, as was customary. This pricked Allika's curiosity. She crawled out from underneath her shelter, straightened, brushed sand from her buttocks and legs, and proceeded to make her way toward the port. She kept an eye on the ship as she walked through the soft sand, expertly sidestepping buried rocks, wood, and the occasional dead thing washed up from the depths.

"What do you think they're doing, Miss Lally?" she whispered to the doll. She held Miss Lally close, then placed the doll's mouth to her ear to hear the rag doll's "reply."

"Hmm, I don't know. But I bet we'll find out!"

She giggled a little to herself, then quieted as she drew closer to the pier and people. This late at night, no one noticed a small, silent shadow slip beneath the wooden pier.

Allika plopped down, sat Miss Lally in her lap, and waited with a patience that was almost unnatural in a child her age. But she had had to learn it, as she had had to learn many things over the last two and a half years, in order to survive.

After a time, another, softer sound was heard over the lull of the ocean. It was a rhythmic splashing noise, and Allika now saw that the big ship had dispatched a dinghy. It came closer, and the little girl could see that there were two men and some kind of crate in the smaller boat. At the same moment, she heard feet walking just above her. Sand, stirred up by the booted feet of the people above, sifted down to land in her short black hair. Silently, she tried to brush it out with one hand, listening intently.

"It's about damn time." The harsh, booming voice, loud even when its owner was trying to be quiet, was familiar to Allika. It was Wolf.

"Quiet," hissed another voice. That was Raven. Clearly, they were here to meet the little boat. Who was in it? What were they there for? Her curiosity now well and truly aroused, Allika got to her feet. Dragging Miss Lally behind her, she moved cautiously to the edge of the pier. If she moved just so, she could see up, catch a glimpse of her two fellow thieves.

The splashing was closer now. Allika strained to see who was in the boat, but the man saved her the effort.

"It's as I promised," came Hound's voice. Allika narrowed her eyes. What was Hound doing in a ship from Mhar? "A sign of good faith. Here-help me get it up onto the pier. And by all the gods, be careful. We don't want to drop it!"

There was much grunting and splashing as a box was heaved up from the boat onto the dock. Allika peered up, trying to catch a glimpse through the cracks in the boards. She stifled a grunt of pain as sand showered on her face, getting into her eyes. She knuckled the grit out of her watering eyes, listening hard.

Something made angry, chittering noises. Allika's curiosity grew. Some kind of animal? What in Verold was going on up there? The little girl followed the scraping and scratching sounds of the box being dragged the length of the pier. There was no more talking. Then, with a grunt, Wolf and Hound hoisted the box and moved onto the main streets. Allika scrambled out from under the pier, losing her footing in the soft sand.

Keeping them in sight, she followed, a silent little shadow. The thieves were silent, wary. Hound and Raven kept glancing about furtively. Allika shrank back from the look on Raven's face, caught for a moment in the silvery moonlight. Something was happening to Raven. Allika had never liked her much to begin with, but now that dislike was growing, backed by a fear of something the child couldn't articulate. She licked dry lips, tasting sand, and knew that if Raven caught her spying on them like this, something very, very bad would happen to her.

Fortunately, now that they were entering the winding streets, there were more shadows in which the child could hide. She was able to move closer, get a good look at the crate, memorizing every feature. It seemed to be simple enough-a large wooden box. If it housed an animal, it would have to be something the size of a small dog. But why would Raven want to steal an animal?

For an instant, Allika's childish imagination concocted something exotic, like a baby mountain cat, or a fabulous creature out of legend. Perhaps this was the king's special pet, stolen in order to exact a bribe. And then another thought struck her, sobering her at once: The cries and noises could have issued from the throat of a kidnapped child-a child just like her.

Unconsciously Allika folded Miss Lally just a little bit tighter in her embrace.

The three thieves stopped over a sewer grate. Wolf and Hound carefully set down the box, handling it as if it contained something fragile and valuable. Then the two men set to work heaving aside the grate, while a clearly nervous Raven kept watch. Allika pressed her back against the stone wall of a building, hardly daring to breathe.

"This whole damn thing doesn't sit well with me," grumbled Wolf as he rose, panting. "It doesn't have to," snapped Raven icily. "I am the Chosen. You serve me, Freylis, not the other way around."

Wolf growled. "Without your mad priest to protect you, bitch — " He moved forward menacingly. Allika whimpered, softly, her eyes going big with terror. She tried to make herself invisible, but could not tear her gaze from the scene.

Hound smoothly stepped between them. "Our fight is not with each other," he soothed. "Let's set the thing loose and be gone before we're discovered. If we waste time arguing, we may lose all!" "Khem is right," said Raven. "Let's hurry up and get out of here."

Now the two men eased the crate forward, close to the opening of the sewer. Hound produced a metal tool of some sort and began to open the crate. At the final sound of tearing wood, the three leaped aside.

Nothing emerged.

Wolf peered down and swore. "Another damn box. What in the Nightlands is this, Khem, some kind of Mharian puzzle-game?"

"Security, I think," replied Hound absently. "I told you — this is quite the weapon." "So you say. But how do we get the thing down there?" asked Wolf.

Hound flashed Wolf an angry look, but said nothing. Instead, he set to work disassembling the innocuous-looking crate. He tossed pieces of wood down into the sewer as they came loose. After a moment, Wolf joined in. Raven watched for a moment, then moved away. Tension radiated from her. She hunched her shoulders and tucked her hands under her arms as she glanced first one way, then the other.

"This is taking too much time," she hissed between clenched teeth. "I'm going to take a look around. You two are making enough noise to rouse the Nightlands King himself."

Wolf uttered a careless epithet, and Raven moved off. She sprinted down the alley, peered out, then returned.

Allika bit back a whimper. Now Raven was heading her way! Desperately the girl crouched back further, wishing there was a pile of refuse in which to hide. But there was nothing on this street, save the shadows themselves.

Raven moved closer with a steady pace.

"Got it," came Hound's voice laced with triumph.

Raven halted, wavered between continuing to investigate the length of the alley and returning to help her compatriots. If Raven moved another two yards down the street, Allika knew, she'd be close enough to penetrate the shadows that were Allika's only disguise.

After a moment that seemed like an eternity to the terrified girl, Raven whirled with a fluid movement and hastened back. Allika breathed again. She dared now to move a little, strain for a better view.

And gasped softly.

Inside the crate was a second box. It was as unlike the workaday crate as the sun at midday was to a dying ember. Allika guessed it was two feet long and over a foot wide. It was smooth wood, exquisitely carved and painted with symbols. None of them were familiar to Allika. It was clearly an item of value. The girl frowned and rubbed at her eyes. She must be more tired than she had thought, for it seemed to her the box was… glowing softly.

"I confess, Khem, I doubted," said Raven softly. "I doubt no more." She turned a beautiful smile on him and gripped his shoulder. He returned the grin. Wolfs frown deepened as he watched them, but he said nothing.

"I would not let it out now," said Hound. "Let's damage the box, and let it make its own way out."

"Good idea," said Raven. With his metal tool, Khem loosened the nails that held the front of the box closed. The creature inside-Allika was sure now that it was an animal, not a child-hissed and scrabbled at the confining wood, and the box rocked softly. All the thieves jumped back.

What was in that box? Something that was able to scare three grown-ups, that was for sure. Hound stepped forward and loosened the wood a little bit more. The thing inside raged now, and even as far away as she was, Allika could hear it beginning to gnaw on the wood.

"That's good enough," said Raven. "Push it down."

They began to shove the ornate box toward the sewer hole. With a final push, it went over the edge. Allika heard it crack as it hit.

"Excellent," said Raven, peering down. "That shattered the box. It's sure to work its own way out now. Come on, let's-"

They froze. All of them, even Allika crouched unseen in the darkness, could hear the muted sound of voices heading in this direction.

"Guards," hissed Raven. "Let's go. Now."

Hound glanced back. 'The grate…"

"Leave it. Let's go!"

They vanished into the shadows as if they had never been. All that was left to mark their presence was the open sewer hole cover.

Allika wasn't overly worried. If the guards happened upon her, she'd just start to cry and claim she was lost. They'd have pity on her and give her food and a warm place to sleep until the morning- by which time, of course, Allika would be long gone. She'd done it before, sometimes even on purpose. As long as the guards of Braedon didn't catch her with her little hand inside someone's pocket, she had discovered that could manipulate them as she chose.

But the booted footsteps and low talk died away without ever venturing down the alley. She waited a few moments longer, just to make sure that neither they nor the thieves were returning, then propped Miss Lally up on her bent knees.

"What do you think was in that box, Miss Lally?"

"Hm, I don't know, Allika. Let's be brave and find out! I bet Fox would want to know."

Her mind made up, Allika rose and walked softly over toward the open sewer entrance. Kneeling a safe distance away from the edge, she peered down.

The faint light of distant torches and moon's glow revealed nothing save some faint shapes. Allika frowned and scooted closer, angling her body so that she didn't block what light there was. Still nothing.

She plopped Miss Lally down near the edge, so that the doll could see, too, then stretched down on her stomach and edged forward an inch at a time, propelling her small body with toes and hands. Now her head was over the opening. Still, she could see nothing. Growing impatient, she also grew daring and leaned down, securing herself with her hands.

Something moved, and then two points of red light glittered up at her.

Startled, Allika gasped and flailed, trying to move back away from whatever was down there. One hand knocked into Miss Lally, and the little rag doll tumbled down, head over heels, to land with a soft plop in the sludgy water.

"Miss Lally!" cried Allika, heedless of the noise. She suddenly had a vision, of soft hands and a kind voice; a remembrance of a brand new Miss Lally, white and clean and unstained: You must take good care of her, site's your baby.

"Miss Lally," said Allika again, her voice a whimper now. Tears filled her eyes, dropped down twenty feet into the filthy water beneath. Miss Lally was made of light material; Allika had no trouble seeing her.

Again a movement, a flash of two red lights.

Allika sobbed brokenly. What was she going to do? Miss Lally was twenty feet below the surface, down there with that… whatever it was that Raven and Hound and Wolf had put there. But Allika couldn't just leave her. Miss Lally was her baby; she had to take good care of her.

She wiped her eyes with a dirty hand, forcing them to clear. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Allika whispered bravely, "I'm coming, Miss Lally."

The shaft that led down to the sewers was about three feet wide. Allika pulled off her ragged boots and swung her body around so that she would be descending feet first. Small, strong toes groped for crevices, protrusions, anything to ease her passage downward. Allika forced herself not to think of the thing down there in the dirt and dark, but only of Miss Lally. Slowly, she lowered herself, her small, soft mouth pursed in a grim line of concentration. The rocks were not smooth, and she was able to find purchase.

She was hanging by her hands now, and it took a great effort to move them down to the holds that had secured her feet. By leaning back, Allika was able to wedge herself in more securely and inch her way down.

She had already gone several feet. The rock was unforgiving and tore her already ragged clothing, left bruises and scrapes on her soft, pale skin. Allika paid it no attention. The main thing was getting down to Miss Lally, and finding her, and getting back to the docks where she could get out without running into that thing that was down there and The slippery walls turned traitor. Allika's feet shot out and she fell. There wasn't even time to scream before she landed, on her back, in six inches of filthy water and at least two soft, squishy inches of waste matter. The wind was knocked out of her and she gasped like a fish, splashing. Her shoulders and tailbone hurt, and as she flopped herself over and tried to stumble to her feet, her ankle shrieked in white-hot protest and she fell.

But Miss Lally was right there, smiling up at her with her faded, painted face. Allika's breath came back and she sobbed with joy as she seized her beloved toy, now soaked with filthy water. She sat in the sludgy water, clasping the doll tightly, completely oblivious to everything save her dear, sweet Miss Lally.

"I will take good care of you," she whispered fiercely.

Something moved in the dark, inches away. Memory returned and Allika's small body went taut. The thing. It was still down here. It was down here with her in the darkness.

Again, she tried to rise. Her ankle wasn't broken, but it was twisted badly. Clutching the saturated toy, she managed to make it to her feet. Every instinct was crying out, telling her to run, but she couldn't run. Instead, she found a weapon-a length of nail-studded wood from the crate used to house the thing.

"Where are you?" she called, sounding as brave as she could. "You're not gonna hurt me or Miss Lally."

A soft splash came behind her. She whirled unsteadily, and yelped, horrified.

It sat in the square of light that came from the street above, barely a yard away from the little girl. The thing was a rat-enormous, as bit as a cat, bigger, and pitch black, save for its eyes, which burned in the dark like two hot coals. It was sitting up on its haunches, regarding her evenly. As she stared back, one ear twitched.

Then, with no warning and no sound, it sprang, leaping for the soft flesh of her face. Allika stumbled backward, swinging the nail-studded slat with all of her wiry, seven-year-old strength. It caught the rat in the side, and the creature squeaked in agony and rage. It came again, and this time managed to sink sharp yellow teeth into Allika's upper arm. She screamed and lashed out, slamming the wood on its head. The blow, though not as strong as an adult's, ought to have been enough to crush the thing's skull, but the rat darted away. As it vanished into the darkness, Allika saw something painted in white on its back.

It was two lines, one long, one shorter. The shorter line bisected the longer line about three quarters of the way down its length. The symbol was somehow familiar to Allika, but at the moment, in her pain and terror, she couldn't place it. For a moment she stood, panting, clutching the wooden slat like a club, her ears straining for a telltale splash that indicated the thing had returned to renew its attack. She heard nothing.

"Think we chased it away?" she asked Miss Lally.

"We sure did!" she said in a higher voice, speaking for the doll. "You're wonderful, Allika! I knew you'd come save me."

Turning, the little girl took a deep breath. She was almost a half a mile away from the port; a half mile from the nearest place where she could scramble out of the sewers as they opened into the sea. Low tide would be coming soon. If she didn't make it, she'd be trapped.

"Come on, Miss Lally. Let's go find Fox."