By Grace Alone (The Death Dealer Book 2) (15 page)

Some time passed. Grace tried hard not to constantly shift around, but her legs ached from crouching so long. Jack refilled his pipe, watching around and above him. Grace fidgeted. She was hot, and the fabric of the hood just held her sweat and breath in. She was getting ready to rip the blasted thing off when Jack began to whistle. Finally! The signal.

She crept forward, doing her best to keep out of the lamp light. “Up there, second floor.” Grace looked up. She saw a lit candle but didn’t see anyone. A shadow passed by the window.

“You’re sure?” she whispered.

“Yes, now hurry up.”

“How do I get up there?”

Jack was prepared to help her, but had he thought about how she was to gain entrance to the house? She couldn’t very well climb up, and no landlord or landlady in their right mind would open the door to a masked figure wielding a sword.

Jack groaned under his breath, like he was frustrated with her. “It’s abandoned. There are a few squatters, but they won’t give you any trouble. If you walk ‘round the alleyway, you’ll find there isn’t a door in the frame. Walk in and up.”

Grace returned to her hiding spot and moved past it, further into the alley. Sure enough, there was a door frame with no door. She stepped inside and took a moment to decipher where Harris would be in relation to her. The window with the lit candle was on the south end of the house, and the door was on the east. If the stairs didn’t have a landing and Harris didn’t extinguish the candle, it shouldn’t be too difficult to locate the room.

Ascending the stairs, Grace removed the hood to make sure she wasn’t making too much noise and to make sure there were no noises that there shouldn’t be. At the top of the stairs she checked the floor for any creaking, put the hood back on, and continued. There were three rooms on the second floor, but only one had any light coming from under the door.

Grace kept her sword sheathed for now.  Harris had a temper – he was notorious for it – and it was what had started this whole mess to begin with. Hurting him was not part of the plan, but he was too unpredictable not to take precautions. If Harris viewed her as a threat, he would likely attack. She prayed it wouldn’t come to violence, because if it did, her plan was pointless. She made sure her hidden knives were easy to reach and then took a deep breath before gently pushing the door open.

Seated on the floor cradling a flask, Harris was lost in thought. He had a haggard look; his eyes sunken from lack of sleep and his hair sticking up at odd angles. His clothes were dirty, caked with dirt and other filth. Even through the hood, Grace knew he desperately needed to visit the city baths. He had obviously spent some time around the sewers. Harris nearly jumped out of his skin seeing her, although he didn’t move at first.

Taking advantage of the moment, Grace spoke, “We need to get you someplace safe.”

“You killed my brother!” he yelled, more from fear than anger. Now he had his wits about him again.

Grace knew he would be armed, and she was not disappointed. At the first glint of steel, Grace slid one of the hidden knives from her sleeve. Jack had given her the sound advice to learn how to use knives and daggers in Glenbard, otherwise she would die, and she was thankful for the closeness of such a small blade now. It was easier to handle in these close quarters. If Harris came at her she’d never survive a knife fight, but she wouldn’t let him walk away without his own lasting injuries, marking him and slowing him down for Jack to catch.

He lunged first, but apparently killing her was also something to be avoided. He barreled into her and threw her hard against the wall. His knife was only in his hand as a precaution. If he’d wanted, he could have sliced her already but he didn’t. Instead he used his weight as a weapon. Grace used the hilt of her little knife to bring it down hard on his shoulder. She’d been aiming for his head, but the charging beast moved too fast. He had his arms around her waist, making sure if he went down, she went down with him. The two tumbled in a heap with Harris firmly on top.

He managed to kick her weapons away before clambering to his feet and running from the room. Grace didn’t have the necessary moments to recover, so she staggered up and retrieved her knife from the dirty floor before giving chase. Even through the hood, she could hear Harris pounding down the stairs and into the street. If Marcus had indeed followed her he would most certainly catch Harris now. Grace cursed and ran in the direction of the noise. She unsheathed her sword as she ran, feeling the comfort of cool steel in her hand.

Harris didn’t make for the alley, but turned upwards to the street instead. Did he know Jack was watching the Emerald’s door? He must have had an idea, because the alley should have been the logical choice, unless he knew that way was blocked. He’d been staying in the room for some time, and he probably knew that at this time of night it’d be safer to take his chances on the open street than with a rusher of such notoriety. The open street was not where Grace wanted the chase to head, but there was nothing to be done for it now.

She followed his movements and saw they were on the boundaries of Rogue’s Lane and Seafarer’s Way. On any given night, a vast number of unsavory persons typically lurked around it. The only choice was to stay close to Harris. He had to be weak or drunk, as his gait was unsteady and slowing after barely a block. Grace was fast closing the distance he had put between them with his head start and knew she’d be on him in moments. She forced her legs to move faster for one final push.

Grace heard the trill of a whistle just in time to turn aside. The guard swung out in front of Harris, taking aim with a crossbow. Harris ducked out of the way and Grace dropped to the dirt. She flattened onto her stomach as the bolt flew over, and her sword positioned uncomfortably under her hipbones. She landed hard, and she knew there would be a fine hilt-shaped bruise tomorrow. At least she had managed not to impale herself. The guard blew on his whistle again.

In the dark, as it caught light from a torch, Grace saw the glint of steel as Harris threw a knife. It wasn’t a kill shot but it definitely hit something, although Grace wasn’t sure what or whom. The knife fell to the ground with a clatter and the guard screamed in pain and fell. Harris took this new opportunity and ran off into the alley. He was gone in an instant, while the guard kept trying to blow his whistle.

There was only a moment to decide what to do. It would be easy to recover the chase, but Harris ran down an alley. He could effortlessly lose himself in that maze. The guard needed help now, though, as the poor man was bellowing like a dying cow. Grace pushed herself up out of the dirt, sheathing her sword as she walked over to him.

The knife was bloodied and collecting dirt in the road. The man held tightly to his upper arm and blood dripped through his fingers.

“Up with you and to the healer’s,” Grace mumbled, keeping her voice low. She reached her hand down to help him up.

But it was a mistake to think anyone in Glenbard would want to show the Death Dealer any amount of kindness. The knife appeared in his good hand and ran a quick line down her forearm. Grace gasped and pulled back her arm.

“What’s the Death Dealer done to Francis?” a voice sounded nearby.

The man’s fellows were finally responding to the whistle and it was best not to stay and find out how many would answer. Grace kicked some dirt into Francis’s face and ran in the direction she had come, away from the new voices. Her body would eventually tire as the blood flowed freely from her new wound, but for now she ran solely on adrenaline. She heard the shouts of the guards and if she didn’t move faster, they’d be on her. Grace ducked into an alley. She’d lose herself in the maze, same as Harris.

Thirteen

Grace dodged the sounds of guards for an hour, circling Rogue’s Lane and Seafarer’s Way via the alleys. Finally, she returned to Jack’s and changed into a skirt and linen shirt, which she tucked into the skirt. Jack hadn’t come back from the Emerald yet, though it would have been a comfort to have him with her. She wrapped her breast band around the wound. The first rosy hues of dawn were in the sky when she started for the temple district. Healers in Kamaria’s Temple took vows of silence, and they’d seen to her Death Dealer wounds before. Grace didn’t feel safe going anywhere else.

Her heart beat faster and her body felt like it was weighed down with stones when she finally reached the temple. The blood on the breast band hadn’t soaked entirely through, but there was a great red spot where it covered the wound when she peeked underneath. Dirt and grime from the streets mixed with the blood, making it an odd, red-brown color. She’d had worse, but she was unconscious at the time. Being awake made the pain infinitely worse.

Around the back of the temple was an entrance to the healers’ hut. Grace banged on the door and a lithe woman with gray hair opened it for her; dressed in the white and purple robes of a healer. Arm trembling with the effort, Grace held it up to the healer for inspection. The healer gently unwrapped the breast band to look over the damage. With no words, as her vows dictated, the woman put an arm around Grace and brought her inside.

The woman sat Grace at a table and had her extend her arm on it. She carefully removed the breast band from Grace’s arm and Grace winced as it stuck a little to the sticky mess of skin and blood underneath. The healer grabbed a bottle of clear liquid from one of the many shelves around the room. She forced Grace to lock eyes with her, and then she nodded. Grace returned the nod, intuiting that the woman planned to clean her wound with the liquid. She was a healer…how bad could a cleaning be, compared to a stabbing?

Fire seared through Grace’s arm when the first drop of liquid hit her wound. It bubbled and fizzed while Grace struck out and yelped in pain. The priestess tried to pour on more, but Grace cradled her arm against her chest, shaking her head and trying to re-bandage it with the soiled breast band.

It took another priestess to hold Grace down after that. The liquid burned Grace’s wound to a point where the pain was unbearable. Her screaming brought five other women into the room, checking to make sure more help wasn’t required. Each one smirked and moved on when they saw it was only a cut being cleaned.

The second priestess brought in was a trainee. She was probably permitted to stay because she could talk to Grace and attempt to ease her distress. “Priestess Silver is only trying to make sure infection stays away.”

Trainee Matilda was a big girl with enough weight to flatten Grace. Her voice was soft and sweet, although Grace might have been more comforted if the trainee wasn’t currently pinning her body into her chair.

Silver washed the wound, and with all the blood gone, Grace could see it wasn’t as bad as she believed. It was about four inches long but wasn’t too deep. It still tried to bleed, but the blood was slowing. Silver sterilized a needle and set to work stitching. Grace whimpered and bit her lip, but the needlework ended eventually.

Matilda released Grace and said, “You should stay here for a while. I’ll make you a tea to give you strength and get you some food.”

“Do you have anyone here who can run a message?”

“I’ll get someone. Follow me. You should lie down after that ordeal.” Trainee Matilda tried to hide a grin behind her hand.

Grace was raised to respect anyone who served the Divine Twins, so she waited to stick out her tongue until Matilda’s back was to her.

~*~*~

Grace brightened to see Ridley a few hours after her unpleasant experience. The trainee had put Grace into a little room with two cots, and a wash pan and pitcher of water were set on a stand between the cots. A wooden engraving of Kamaria’s crescent moon hung on the wall over the doorframe, but other than that there was nothing to distinguish the little room. It was private, since no one occupied the second cot, but it was dreary. Even scowling as she was, Ridley was better company than brown walls and a single ray of light through the tiny window.

“Are you hurt badly?” Ridley asked as she sat down on the free cot.

Grace forced herself to sit up. Matilda was right; the tea did give her strength. “I’ve been hurt worse.” Grace rolled up the tunic to reveal a white scar on her stomach. “Mac’s work from last summer.”

Ridley’s face clouded at the name. “You saved me from him.”

The tunic fell back into place. “I didn’t mean to show you to upset you or make you think you owed me.”

“I know.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “Seven feet tall, they say…fought a hundred men, crippled a hundred more.” Ridley’s eyes took in Grace. “A dashing
man
.” Her words hit the last bit hard.

“I only scared off about seven men in the north. I cut a few and bruised some more, but only to teach them a lesson. Nothing special. It became eighty before I left last summer. Stories are one thing, but I am another. Small, unassuming, plain,” she said, and motioned down her body. “But things are different under the hood.” She checked herself. Healers weren’t allowed to speak, but nothing bound trainees. She hadn’t heard any footsteps since Ridley’s arrival, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t looking for gossip.

“Why? You had a life in Arganis. A good life.”

“My father died and my mother became a weak shade of her former self because of it. For a long while I did, too. It seemed wrong of me to continue down that path, though. I trained, and one day took to the roads.” She wanted to tell Ridley she had never imagined the stories that would be told of her fighting giants and rabid beasts, but there would be a safer place for that later. “Are you still mad?”

“Yes,” Ridley replied, and looked away from Grace’s steely gray eyes. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be.”

“I’m sorry, Ridley.”

“I am a braggart, though. You’re right. I go from one end of Glenbard to the other flaunting the newest gossip. Like, did you hear the Death Dealer stole coin from the Guild?” Ridley’s eyes locked again with Grace’s. They weren’t sad or angry, but mischievous. “Thom caught ‘im, but the slippery demon gave ‘im the slip. People’ll be talkin’ and lookin’ for that stolen gold for at least a year!”

“No! There was an alliance in place!” Grace retorted playfully. “The Death Dealer must be trying to take Marcus’s crown!” This brought a laugh from Ridley. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Aye, though I think we had better not speak for a while. I’m still mad, and so is Marcus. He heard about the Dealer hunting Harris last night. Thom witnessed it but couldn’t keep up. Like I said, the slippery demon gave him the slip.” Ridley shook her head and shrugged. “Then there’s the talk of what Glenbard’s noblewoman said in the Angel.”

Grace’s heart fell again. “I never meant what I said.”

“Of course you did. You’re a right proper lady, used to fine folk, dances, and jewels. I’ve muttered a few cruel things about your kind before, but you have made a number of folk sore. Myself among them. I know you don’t mean any harm, though. But this whole Harris situation is setting everyone on edge. It’s best if Guild sticks with Guild and everyone else minds their own.”

“Did the bribe buy Jim’s freedom?”

“No!” Ridley snorted. She folded her arms but was too anxious and flapped them like a great bird instead. “There’s never been a time in living memory that a bribe so sizable hasn’t been taken!”

“Maybe you need a bigger boon.”

“Like what? We’ll beggar the whole of the Lane if we collect more. Or do you suppose we swap Jim with an unsuspecting fool?”

“I could offer up myself to take his place.” Grace was young and more adaptable than Jim Little, and he’d done so much to help her over the past year. He couldn’t linger in a cell. Harris was a lost cause now anyway. At the very least she could help Jim.

“No one is going to put up as much of a fight for you as they did for Jim. Or has the blood loss ruined your mind?”

“Jim will fight for me. He may even close the doors to the Angel to get the Guild to comply.” The blank stare she received in turn answered that question. “Right?” The Princess of Thieves looked at her like she was speaking in a foreign tongue.

“You’re in a bad place with everyone right now, and there’s a chance Marcus won’t turn over Harris, even to get Jim out of jail. He’d just as soon let you rot, at this point. You’re right, though, someone should take Jim’s place. He’s not a bad sort, even if he thinks I’m a saucy wench with bad manners. However, if anyone takes his place it’ll have to be someone the Guild will want free.”

“I don’t think Thom or Marcus are going to volunteer.”

“Of course they won’t, but I will.”

Grace let her mouth hang open. “You?” Certainly Ridley was a nice person, but her existence relied on thieving, lying, and downright trickery. Selfless sacrifice was not one of her stronger attributes. It was a foolish idea. Now that Ridley put herself forward, Grace saw how clearly it would fail.

“What?” Ridley must have some half-formed plan in her mind. She’d never willingly put herself in the lockup otherwise. Not even if Marcus himself could be freed by it.

“Are you sure?”

Ridley nodded. “It’s the right thing to do.” A glimmer of something was in her eye. “You said yourself…someone the Guild would fight over needs to take his place.”

“Whatever else you have planned, spare me the details,” Grace said.

“I didn’t intend to let you in, anyway. After all, we’ve only just hatched this plan.” She was lying and Grace knew it. Some plan was already in place, or some idea had been pitched around the Guild. Ridley just played that she’d only just conceived it. “When will you be well enough to walk me to the guard house?”

~*~*~

After the noon meal, the healers released Grace from their house. Her arm was wrapped in a fresh linen bandage with several spare ones and some ointment given as well. Priestess Silver gave her a set of written instructions to change it at least once a day, keep it clean, and put a little ointment on before bed and upon rising. The priestess refused to let Grace leave until she was able to recite the instructions. Satisfied her patient would take care of herself, she blessed Grace and saw her on her way.

The bandage made Grace’s arm unbearably hot, but she couldn’t very well rip away the linen. There was a dull pain and itch around the stitches, but she tried to ignore it. She pulled her sleeve over the bandage as best she could, since people would have heard about the Dealer’s injury. Her name had come up once or twice as a possibility in the past and it did no good to further those rumors.

Ridley looped her arm through Grace’s good arm and led her onwards. Grace suspected her friend took the free arm to keep her from scratching the wound open. Thinking back a year, there was no memory of the itch or pain caused by such a wound. It probably helped that she was unconscious through the worst of it.

Jim was being held in the Serenity Place guardhouse. He belonged in the Rogue’s Lane one, but for some reason the magistrate saw fit to house him elsewhere. No doubt it was to keep him far away from the Guild. Nathaniel said he was given better accommodations on Serenity Place as well, which was a small comfort.

Ridley and Grace wound through the streets toward Serenity Place, and Grace attempted to engage Ridley in talking about the Guild's plans. She wasn't dense enough to believe her friend when she said she was just doing a good deed for Jim.

“Come now, what is your aim? I don’t believe for a minute that Marcus is fine with you doing this.” Overhead the sun beat down, heating Grace and making her temper flare.

“Did you know Jim Little was married once? To Jeremiah's sister,” Ridley said, dodging Grace's question.

Grace's jaw tightened and internally she counted to ten before speaking again. “Ridley, why are we
really
walking to Serenity Place's guardhouse?”

“Jim, a husband! Can you imagine?” Ridley laughed. “It's a shame the pox took her when they were still newly married. I would like to see what Jim would have been like as a father.”

“Ridley...” Grace held back, trying to stop her friend. The market was straight ahead, and once they walked through the time for questions would be over.

“Are you hungry? We can grab some roasted meat or fresh pastries on our way.” Ridley didn't stop when Grace did. Instead she just pulled Grace forward by her good arm, ignoring her silent protest.

The young women entered the market area, stepping around the merchants hawking their wares. Grace trudged along beside Ridley while inside, she was boiling. The first time Ridley kept from wagging her tongue and bragging, and it was when Grace needed her to talk most. As they moved through the press of people at the market, Grace refused to allow Ridley to stop. Each time her friend tried to dally and buy food, Grace continued her gait, dragging Ridley behind her. The sooner she got her to the guardhouse, the better.

All guardhouses were two stories; with bunks for the men to live in, a room for the captain, cells in the basements, and one cell near the captain's room for more well-to-do prisoners. The cells weren’t meant for long internments; they were generally for drunks to sleep off their rage or for holding cells before prisoners were transported to the Redbank prison outside the city walls.