By Grace Alone (The Death Dealer Book 2) (13 page)

“Go back to Marcus’s, wash my hair, and sleep. Then rely on your help, I suppose.”

“My ears and eyes are ever at your service, my lady.” Jack put an arm around Grace and steered her off toward Rogue’s Lane.

~*~*~

“You’re sure she meant what she said? She wasn’t just putting on a show for your benefit?”

Marcus situated himself on top of a headstone; perched like a crow waiting to feast. Thom grimaced at the sight and silently prayed to Ciro to forgive the hubris of his friend. He prayed to Kamaria that the grave’s owner didn’t come back to haunt them.

“No, I don’t think she much cared for Ericson. Maybe if Sergeant Moore had approached her alone… Their ideals match up, but not Ericson’s. As long as he’s involved, I think she means to stay neutral.”

Marcus jumped down from the grave. “Good. Keep an eye on her. Like I said, she’s not done hunting for Harris. I’m going to watch Ericson tomorrow and make sure he stays out of trouble. Watch Grace and wait for my signal.”

Eleven

Grace awoke to a quiet house and saw Ridley sleeping like the dead across the room. The room was stuffy but peaceful, however the day before quickly rushed back to her. She remembered Jack saying he couldn’t protect her from her own crushing guilt…then her flight from the Guard. How could someone who professed to aid the righteous run from the embodiment of the law? Grace already felt guilty and the day had barely begun.

She remembered, back before Jack left, when she would wake up some days unable to drag herself from bed. Her mind would swirl with the faces of the men who had died because of her. There were always tears, sometimes tantrums, and once she went without eating for three days. Jack was always on hand; cradling her, tucking her into bed, and letting her cry it out. She had let him in to her innermost thoughts and shared everything she had to offer, and foolishly thought he did the same. Then he was gone. Looking back on how she acted, how she still acted, it was a surprise he had stayed as long as he did.

Grace curled up on her side and waited for the feelings to pass. By the time she felt better, Ridley was starting to wake. Her friend stretched and Grace heard her back snap and crack. Elsewhere in the house Thom, or possibly Ginger, was already moving about.

Ridley rolled over in her bed and faced Grace with a sleepy smile. Grace was about to say something when the Princess of Thieves began to snore softly. Apparently it wasn’t quite time to wake.

Grace changed out of her sleep shirt and back into the dress she’d worn the day before. Padding downstairs, she found Ginger alone in the kitchen. As Grace walked by, she snatched up a roll from the basket set on the table.

Ginger swept the floor, making sure the dirt and dust got outside. “No one in this house wakes up so early. Lazy bones,” she said, and used the broomstick to point upwards. “I can make you something more substantial for breakfast, you know.”

“A kind offer, but I’d best head off for the Angel.” Grace pressed a coin into Ginger’s hand for her troubles.

Marcus’s house was close to the Angel. It made sense that he stayed close to his ‘throne room’, and it was a nice change not to have to pass the fish market. Grace’s mood brightened some as she walked. The ghosts of her past were momentarily forgotten and she focused on enjoying the overcast day. The world couldn’t get so hot if the sun wasn’t allowed to appear. Her mood changed entirely when she arrived at the Angel.

A black painted wagon blocked the entrance to the Angel. One solitary nag was pulling it, though currently the horse chomped through the contents of its feedbag. The beast was old, ill fed, and had a tangled mane and tail. The wagon driver didn’t look much better. The guards could pretend otherwise, but they hadn’t the funds for a better arrest wagon or horse.

But why was the arrest wagon at the Angel? It never made the trip there. Gathered around the wagon, keeping a respectful distance from the driver’s whip, were Jeremiah and Rosemary. Old Mayhew shouted profanities next to them, shaking his fist and stomping his feet. A guard emerged from the tavern, dragging Jim Little alongside him.

Grace was rooted to her spot, unsure what to make of the scene. At first she thought they must have found Harris, but what was this? She hurried forward and caught one of Mayhew’s arms.

“What’s happening? Where are they taking Jim?” she begged; her eyes still not quite believing what she saw.

“They think he’s hiding Marcus and that Atkins fool!” Mayhew spat at the nag’s hooves, but the poor beast was oblivious to all but the feedbag. “Fools! Ninnies! Motherless dogs!” the old man shouted.

“They think Jim will give them information he doesn’t have,” Jeremiah continued. “I think they’re just trying to smoke Marcus and Harris out.”

The murmur Thom had heard over the past weeks had become a roar. Guards had never bothered Jim before. He was a simple man who was paid for allowing his establishment to be used by the Thieves' Guild, but this didn’t mean he was privy to any information. A guard followed closely behind Jim and his escort, and she recognized the follower as Constable Trenton.

She rushed up to him. “What do you think you’re doing? Jim is no criminal!”

“He harbors the likes of them that are,” Trenton retorted, although he refused to make eye contact with her.

“That’s not fair! Everyone in Glenbard knows Jim Little is an innocent man!” She tugged on the sleeve of his uniform.

Trenton withdrew his arm roughly, and for a moment he looked as if he’d strike. “Just because Sergeant Moore is sweet on you doesn’t mean you can expect to get away with flaunting the law. Jim’s going to the lockup to be questioned.”

“Sergeant Moore already questioned him!” Grace shouted, but Trenton moved on; ignoring her protests. “You can’t do this!” she screamed. It was her turn to stamp her feet and shake her fist.

It was all for naught. Jim was loaded into the wagon and the escorting guard jumped in behind him. Trenton took the feedbag from the nag before getting in as well, and off they went.

Rosemary was the first to recover. “Do something.” She turned to Grace, her face serious.

“What?”

“Sergeant Moore is the one who started this trouble, and he likes you. Convince him to let Jim go,” the other serving girl pleaded.

Mayhew gave Grace a shake from behind. “You better do something to fix this, you little minx!”

They think I’m against them?
Grace gritted her teeth to keep from crying. They all thought she was on Nathaniel’s side; that she wasn’t one of them anymore. She looked to Jeremiah for confirmation of her fears, since he had always been a level-headed man. He bit his lip and looked away sheepishly.

“I’ll talk to Sergeant Moore and see if he can’t be persuaded to let Jim go.”

~*~*~

“It wasn’t my order that got Jim locked up,” Nathaniel said, taking a pull of his ale.

Grace had requested a meeting at the King’s Beard for their noonday meal. If nothing else, she might hear some gossip from the guards about where Jim was and what was happening to him.

“A city magistrate gave the order after a complaint was filed by Captain Ericson. I guess they weren’t pleased with what I reported about Jim or the Angel.”

Or about your failed meeting
, Grace thought bitterly.

“But Jim hasn’t done anything wrong!” She tried to fight for control over her emotions, but was quickly losing the battle. “You talked to him! He’s as furious as anyone over the situation. He didn’t kill Taylor, and he certainly didn’t kill Adam.” At Taylor’s name, those around their table grew silent. Grace checked herself. Guards met here…no use mentioning a fallen comrade.

She lowered her voice to continue, “Everyone was content to just let this stay a Guild matter before you started poking your nose around the Angel. You must hold
some
sway.”

“A Guild matter?” he repeated, and arched his eyebrows. Grace didn’t like his tone. “You are a very misguided young girl.” He reached across the table to pat her hands, but she withdrew them instantly. She didn’t like the arrogant tone he had suddenly taken. “I
poked around
because a guard was killed in cold blood. I want justice served, and you said you wanted the same. You made it sound like the Death Dealer wanted the same.”

She did want the same, and if she thought Nathaniel could bring in Harris alive before a magistrate, she’d help bring the murderer in, but carting Jim off was not justice. “He’s my friend, Nathaniel. They’re all my friends. Marcus sees to them, and the Guild sees to the Lane. And yes, sometimes they make grievous mistakes, but they have always handled it amongst themselves. They’ve always stemmed the tide. This…this
thing
you are starting with Marcus is only going to hurt more people than it helps. It’s going to hurt more than just the Guild; it will hurt the whole of the Lane! If you could just work together—”

Guards were slowly inching toward the table, and Grace’s attention shifted to the knife strapped to her forearm. It had a flat blade and handle, which made it easy to conceal under her sleeves. It wasn’t convenient to reach, but she was willing to make the effort. She didn’t like the looks she was getting. A prudent voice inside told her to shut up, but she powered on.

“Harris did wrong, but why start a war over one man?”

“Taylor wasn’t just ‘one man’!” an unshaven man with salt and pepper hair shouted as he slammed his mug down in front of her. “He was a guard!”

“Don’t let that trollop go back to her fellows! Send her to the lockup to teach her some respect!” someone else shouted.

Grace wiped the splatter from his ale off her face and rubbed her hands on her dress. She tucked her arms under the table and put a hand inside her sleeve; fingers touching the cool blade. Nathaniel’s eyes kept darting around the room.

“What do you even hope to accomplish?” Grace wrapped her fingers around her arm and unclasped the blade from its holder. One threat and she’d show them steel. She refused to be threatened and bullied.

“We want Harris,” Nathaniel said. “If Marcus gives us Harris, we’ll let Jim go.”

“And if Marcus kills him first?”

“Then he’s a murderer and will be tried as such.” Grace blinked; taken aback. Even hearing the words directly from his mouth, she still couldn’t believe what Nathaniel said.

Grace was fast being disillusioned by Marcus’s ways, but he was a kinder man than other kings of the underworld. He saw to his people when no one else bothered. If Marcus was tried, he’d certainly be found guilty and hanged, and then the entirety of the Guild would erupt into violence amongst itself. Grace wouldn’t help Marcus hunt men, but she couldn’t let him be dethroned. It was too dangerous a proposition to consider. Maybe that’s what Nathaniel wanted – for the Guild to fold in on itself. It was certainly what Ericson wanted, but Nathaniel had to see that the violence would spread beyond the Guild.

“If you bring Marcus before a magistrate—”

“I’ll be doing the city a service. I’ll be ridding a scourge from Glenbard.” He smiled at Grace, trying to show his softer side again. Sergeant Moore wasn’t a bad man. He held the same ideals she had once stood by, but reality had long since shattered Grace’s perception that stated thieves were ruthless villains that needed to be harshly dealt with. She thought of Jim, Rosemary, and her other friends at the Angel. They relied on Marcus and it would ruin their livelihood if he was hanged.

“The Lane will crumble, Nathaniel, and then someone worse may step into Marcus’s place.” The sergeant was silent. “I have to go.”

“Can I call on you?” He really
did
like her. At least she knew he was genuine in his affections. She liked him too, but she couldn’t associate with him while poor Jim Little rotted in a cell.

“If you let Jim go, you may call on me again.” The blade was fastened back in place and her arms fell to her sides.

Grace rose from her seat and stalked out with her head held high. She walked several blocks before allowing weariness to bring her down. A few minutes passed as she rested, and when the weariness subsided she sprinted back to the Angel.

Upon reaching the Angel, she saw that the Thieves’ Guild had gathered around Marcus, Thom, and Ridley for instruction. With them stood Rosemary, Mayhew, and Jeremiah. Most telling was the fact that Marcus deemed this a worthy enough reason to come out of hiding. At the King’s usual table was a small pile of coins. She pushed through the thieves to the front of their gathering, enduring a few nasty names being thrown her way.

“A magistrate ordered Jim’s arrest. Sergeant Moore and his fellows want Harris or there’ll be trouble.” Grace locked eyes with the King of Thieves. “The Guard will try Marcus for murder if Harris is killed by the Guild.”

A ripple of uncertainty flowed through the room. Marcus nodded his head and called for silence. “Ridley, put on a fine dress and bring this coin to the lockup after dark. Take Grace with you for safety. See if we can’t buy Jim’s freedom. Now, I want everyone to go home. If a guard comes knocking on your door, send them here;
I’ll
deal with them. Thom, stalk Sergeant Moore. If you find him making trouble, tie him up in a very public place. Everyone go now.”

Grace marched up to Marcus, ready to slap him. “This whole mess is because one of yours killed a guard, and now you’re ready to escalate the matter? You can’t just order Sergeant Moore to be tied up like a hog!”

In her mind’s eye, Jim sat in a cramped cell, sharing it with rats. He was without food or clean water. She couldn’t let him stay there.

Thieves and those friendly to Jim milled about, moving away from Grace and Marcus. Grace’s head spun. She saw both sides of the issue, and all the fools involved made her crazy. This was no way to settle anything! Marcus couldn’t be allowed to enact his own law and slit a man’s throat, and Ericson with his pawns couldn’t be allowed to bully and break the natural hierarchy of the city.

“Moore started this mess by not allowing us to see to the issue, and I won’t let anyone else bring trouble to my doorstep.”

The spinning in her mind stopped suddenly and Grace looked at Marcus as though she looked through a tunnel. Only he existed; his wrinkled face, untrimmed beard, and calculating, brown-green eyes. Even the noise of whispers was blocked. Her vision went red.