By Grace Alone (The Death Dealer Book 2) (19 page)

“He’s wounded and I need help carrying him up here.”

He wrinkled his nose. He was not at all interested in climbing below the docks. Besides the stench that would linger for weeks, carrying a man up would be messy work; made worse if he was so wounded he couldn’t do it himself. From under the executioner’s hood, two points of gray light watched him. He sighed.

“Will you help me? I can’t leave him down there alone with naught but rats to watch him die. To eat his flesh while he continues to draw breath.”

It didn’t take much convincing for Jack to return with her. Harris looked up, sudden recognition in his eyes.

“I know you…Mad Dog Anders. You nearly broke my fingers once at the Emerald.” Harris laughed lightly, although he winced at the effort.

“Were you using your fingers for something you shouldn’t have been?” Jack knelt down and leaned Harris gently forward. Grace couldn’t see his face, but she heard his sharp intake of breath upon feeling the wound.

“I was trying to grope a barmaid and steal her purse in one go.”

“Then be grateful I didn’t
cut
your fingers off.” Jack returned Harris to his original position. “My friend here says you wish to go up. Will we be carrying you to the healers on Golden Road? The priestesses cannot speak, which means they cannot betray your location.”

Harris shook his head. “I have Immortal dream, only your friend took it from me. I just wish to be in my city one last time.”

“A reasonable request, and not completely unwise. Perhaps it is the least foolish thing you have ever done, Master Atkins. Death Dealer, I’ll need your help.”

He took Harris by one arm and she grabbed the other. With some effort and plenty of curses from Jack, they toted him through the water. Jack sent Grace back up the docks first.

She knelt down and held out her arms. Jack hoisted Harris upwards, though the effort was made easier by the wasted away Harris. Grace hooked her arms under Harris’s armpits and pulled him as gently as she could manage, but he still whimpered from pain. Jack crawled up last, lifting Harris into his arms like a baby. Harris was once again on level with the city.

“Put me down near the market,” Harris instructed.

“I am
not
walking you all the way there,” Jack growled. “I have already dragged you farther than I would have liked to.”

“Jack...” Grace began.

“No, it’s too far. We’ll never make it undetected. As it is, two guardsmen have patrolled this area twice since I arrived. Content yourself with a last view of the ocean, Master Atkins.”

It was harsh but true. They’d never get anywhere dragging and carrying Harris as they were.

Jack carried him to a nearby stall where a lamp still burned vigilantly above them, and laid him out.

“Come on, Harris.” Grace helped him into a sitting position and propped him up against the empty fishmonger’s stall.

Harris uncorked his vial and put the liquid to his lips, emptying it in seconds. “For someone who brings death, you certainly try to make it better at the end of things.” He laughed and smiled faintly.

She could see him better now in the one lamp that burned. His face was bruised and the shoulder wound was worse than Grace imagined. The flesh around the bolt was ragged, blackened, and had been gnawed on by rodents. Dark tendrils branched out under the skin where the infection spread, hastened by contact with dirty water and rodent filth. He had either lost weight or stolen the clothes he currently wore, because they hung off his slight frame.

“I never wanted this to end in your death.”

The choked laugh returned. “I’m sure you wanted nothing more than to see me swing, but thank you for not slitting my throat under the docks when you had the chance. You could’ve done me in like you did ‘ole Mac. Hunted and dead in the woods, alone.” His eyes began to droop. “May I?” His hand tugged at the fabric of her mask.

She locked eyes with Jack and he gave a negative shake of his head. Well, this wasn’t his choice. Harris would be asleep, never to wake, and she hadn’t been able to let him die near the fountain like he wanted. Where was the harm?

She pulled up the mask so he could see her face. “You used to bring me my ale,” was all he said.

Grace pulled the mask down and stood upright. The guardsmen were making another round. “Run. Let them see you, but run,” Jack instructed, and then slipped into the shadows.

She bent down and gave Harris’s hand a solid squeeze, but his eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. Doing as Jack said, she waited until the guards spotted her. When one called out, “Death Dealer!” she ran in the opposite direction. They would inevitably come across Harris, already dead, and give up the chase. Although she didn’t want to wait around to make sure this actually came to pass.

Sixteen

The shadows on the ceiling lessened as the sun rose, and Grace was vaguely aware the day had begun. The fishmongers had been out for hours already. The smell of gutted fish started early near Mistress Fisher’s lodging house. As dawn turned to morning, there was commotion outside. Glenbard was alive with gossip and there was no need to go outside to know what it was.

Grace lay on her back, on the floor, and she could feel the bruise between her shoulder blades from Nathaniel’s blow. If she didn’t move too much it didn’t hurt so badly. A smaller bruise had formed under her chin, and her hair smelled of dirty water. Changing into a clean dress helped mask it, but she’d need to visit the baths as soon as possible.

She tried to make sense of what happened; of what she had done in the night. Initially her goal was to see Harris tried for his crimes, and then it became focused on saving him. She did neither. Death by his own hand was the best of all the available options. When she closed her eyes she could still see the mangled wound, his weakened body, his sad eyes. So she kept her eyes open, afraid to face the wounds over and over. She expected Jack to come by. She wanted him to. She knew he could scare the visions away. But he didn’t come.

If the guards caught him, he would still be busy explaining why he was there. If he got away, Marcus might have nabbed him. She’d go find him eventually, but now her body just wanted to remain immobile. When a knock sounded on her door, she didn’t move to get it.

“I know you’re in there, Grace Hilren!”
Ridley!

That was good news. It meant Ridley had been freed in the wake of Harris’s death. She’d already know about Grace incapacitating Marcus, and without a doubt that would lead to a fight. Still, she wanted to make sure her once and hopefully future friend was all right. Grace pulled herself up off the floor to open the door.

Ridley pushed her way inside and closed the door hard behind her. “The Death Dealer poisoned Harris. Poor sod was banged up past repair, anyway.” Ridley stood in the center of the room, but everything about her was more serious than Grace ever remembered seeing.

“Did Marcus decry him as an oathbreaker?” In her own mind Grace didn’t see herself as having broken any promises. Marcus had acted in a way that went against their original agreement, and her actions to slow him down were justified. But just because she saw it that way didn’t mean others would.

“No, not yet. He is furious, though. He’s rarely been in a worse state. And the Guard – they think the Death Dealer is a murderer and a dangerous rogue. They’re planning something big at the market, and they’ve sent the fastest rider to deliver a message to the King. He’ll be setting a bounty on the Dealer’s head.” A lump formed in Grace’s throat. “The Death Dealer has officially taken Harris’s place as the most hunted man in Glenbard.”

Grace put both her hands on her desk and bent her head down, trying to steady herself. Some backlash was to be expected, but a king’s bounty was a heavy price! Jack had warned her not to bother with Harris; that nothing good would come out of her interference. Why didn’t she listen? Nothing had changed. The hunters were still trying to snare a quarry.

“Marcus will try to collect that bounty, Grace. He won’t go out of his way to help those who betrayed him by granting a merciful death over torture. Then, of course, there’s Kay. She’s always wanted the head of the Death Dealer on a pike.”

The King had already wanted to hang Grace once for impersonating a knight. If she was caught again, the punishment would be much worse. Ridley rested her hand on Grace’s back and leaned in close to Grace’s ear. “Run. Don’t stay here another minute.”

“Does Marcus know you’ve brought these warnings?”

“I can’t say. I told him I was going out to enjoy some fresh air. He’s never had me followed before, but I think the circumstances may have called for it this time.”

“Someone will be watching me for sure. He’ll track me if I go now.”

Ridley pulled Grace upright. “You can’t afford to wait. I’ll trail you and stop anyone who shouldn’t be.”

“Why would you help?”

“I owe you that much. Now grab what you need.”

Grace stuffed the one nice dress she had and one of the Nareroc dresses from Donald into her bag. The rest she gifted to Ridley. She took the jerkin but decided to leave the rest of her garb behind. She asked Ridley to burn the hood as soon as possible. Then she scribbled a note and folded it for Ridley to bring to Jack. Thinking on it, she wrote another one for Donald. He’d be baffled enough when he returned to find her gone. The hurried packing ended with a hurried hug.

“I won’t make the same mistake Harris did. I’m not going to linger here.” She’d made enough mistakes lately. Apparently it was the hallmark of her personality. Impulsive and impatient were a deadly combination when stealth and good judgment were called for. She frowned, disappointed that in a year she had learned nothing.

“I’ll do what I can to ensure you get out safely.”

“Thank you for that.”

Ridley patted her shoulder. “Off we go.”

~*~*~

As Ridley promised, the guards were up to something in the market. They were hard at work, burning a black clad straw figure; a Death Dealer effigy. A pillar of smoke rose up, making the market cloudy. People around her coughed and fanned their faces. A sergeant stood on a crate, calling for the rogue’s blood. He cried out that justice had to be served, and that every citizen had a duty to help catch such a dangerous criminal. She stood transfixed for a minute or two, but when the sergeant talked about Sergeant Moore’s heroics, she touched the underside of her chin. The small bruise hurt from even that light touch. She kept her hand where it was and walked on, not caring to see the straw figure burn.

The market was the best place to lose pursuers or suspected pursuers, since Glenbard had plenty of traffic in and out every day. Most were bound for the market to sell their wares, and those leaving originated there. She’d find a group pulling a cart and fall in behind them.

“Grace!” That was, of course, if men like Nathaniel Moore didn’t always manage to pop up at the most inopportune times.

“I hear there’s good news for the Guard.” She tried to maintain eye contact but her eyes roved around, looking for traders who looked like they were bound for the road out of Glenbard. Her hand stayed firmly over the bruise.

“In a manner of speaking.” He was too angry to notice Grace had no interest. “Where are you off to, carrying a traveling sack?” he asked, tugging at the bag playfully.

“Away.” Saying anything else could bring about gossip. “To Escion,” she added. There was no way she would ever go there, but there was no telling who would follow her when she left. At least no one she loved still lived in Escion. Let them search for her there.

Nathaniel looked shocked. “Why? What’s wrong with Glenbard?”

“I don’t like what’s been happening. I was friends with the Dealer. Besides, he's a wanted man now. I don't feel safe here.” She uncovered the bruise to point at the effigy.

Grace felt the roiling tension as though it was a fog that settled over the city. Harris’s death had done nothing. The effort was in vain, and she’d only given the people of Glenbard someone new to hate.

“What happened there?” He stopped their progress to tip her head back, spotting her bruise.

“Bad luck. I was knocked over last night while some men ran after the Death Dealer.” She shrugged him away and picked up the pace again.

“Everything will be alright,” he said. But it wouldn’t be. There would be a ruckus no matter what happened. Marcus was a powerful man and he wouldn’t simply roll over if the Guard became strong. “You should trust in the protectors of the city. And as for your friendship with the Death Dealer, unless you plan to hide him, you have nothing to fear.”

“I can’t stay here any longer. Death Dealers, thieves, the stench of fish every morning. I’ve lived here for a year and the bustle of this city wears me down.” Honestly, she loved it. She craved it. But leaving Glenbard was a necessity.

Nathaniel leaned in to kiss her. Grace wondered if they could have made a go of things if she’d met him before Jack or Marcus or anyone from the Lane. She pulled away, smiling. He was a handsome man and a good man, but not worth risking her life for.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Moore.” She took his hand and kissed it, the same as he did when he first tried to impress her. “I belong away from this hub of activity.”

“Have it your own way, I suppose,” he sighed. His dark eyes looked her over. “It’s a real shame all the pretty girls leave. At least let me walk you to the gates.”

She took his proffered arm. Walking with him was safer than making the walk alone. He chatted away as he always did. Grace caught Ridley’s eye, who nodded and waved before disappearing into the crowd.

At the gates, Grace found a family of five pulling along three carts of assorted earthenware and finely woven blankets. They were bound for the town around the king’s castle in Ursana. It was a two-day walk with so much to bring along, but if Grace stayed with them through the first night, she’d be far enough away to strike out on her own.

She kissed Nathaniel on the cheek and bid him farewell, but he just patted her shoulder and wished her well; face turned downward. She fell in step with the mother, who was happy to have another set of hands to pull the cart if needed.

~*~*~

Jack Anders was seated in his cell, drawing in the dirt with a stone he found. He’d be released soon enough, but one of the city magistrates wanted to question him. Why was he near Harris when the man passed from this world into the next? Why did he help the Death Dealer carry a wanted man around the streets of Glenbard? That he played no role in Harris’s actual death would ensure his freedom swiftly, however he’d be watched from now on.

Currently it was Marcus doing the watching through the bars. “I’m surprised they let you in,” Jack quipped. He didn’t bother looking up from his dirt drawings. “I imagine not
all
guards are above accepting bribes?”

“You helped that oathbreaker!”

“I helped a friend.”

“You weren’t so friendly a few months ago!”

Jack closed his fist around the stone. For the first time, he bothered to look at Marcus. The older man was frowning, but he wasn’t as furious as Jack would have thought. Perhaps what Grace did hadn’t fully sunk in yet, or perhaps he was conflicted because Grace was once his friend.

“Is there a reason the high and mighty King has come to me?”

“Where did he go?” Marcus wasn’t about to be so spiteful as to reveal the Death Dealer as a woman. His rage couldn’t be so great if he still took precautions such as that.

“Home, I would guess.”

“My men saw him leaving Glenbard, bold as you can please, right through the gates. Where is the Death Dealer going?”

She was gone? Jack threw the stone into the dirt. He got to his feet and came right up to the bars. She left. Of course. It wasn’t safe to stay, but he’d seen her only a few hours ago. Here he was, stuck in the lockup, when he should be joining her on the road. Marcus watched him with a simmering hate.

“Then you don’t know.” He bit his lower lip and growled.

“Do you think I’d tell you if I did?”

“No, but I could find ways to get you to tell me.”

Jack shook his head. “Take your hurt pride elsewhere. Harris is dead, Ridley is free, and your ‘oathbreaker’ has fled. Glenbard can rest easy.” It wouldn’t be so easy, though, and Jack knew it. Marcus wouldn’t say it aloud, but the balance had shifted. The Guild wouldn’t continue to have the power it once did.

The man didn’t have to say it. Jack could read it in his hands that trembled with pent up emotions, in his eyes that reflected a hate and helplessness at what happened, and in his stance of vengeful defiance of the change that occurred. “You’ll rot in here. I’ll see to it.”

“I don’t think so, Marcus,” Jack replied with a chuckle.

Sergeant Moore wouldn’t let Jack stay in the lockup. The sergeant had been quick to come to the guardhouse to see Jack. He was also quick to give orders that Jack be treated fairly. Moore wanted Grace to like him, and somewhere he’d gotten the impression that playing nice with Jack would win favor with her. Jack wasn’t about to complain. Moore wouldn’t let Jack rot in a cell once the magistrates declared him innocent. Marcus’s threat or no, he’d be let go. He would find Grace and they’d get far away from Glenbard together. Marcus could stay there and simmer in his anger.

“You shouldn’t be so smug, Anders,” Marcus said.

Jack laughed, backed away from the bars, and sat back in the dirt. He picked up his stone and returned to his drawing. His sudden noncommittal attitude was vexing Marcus. That made him smile.

“You’re a fool to think none of this will affect you.” Marcus threw himself against the bars, taking hold with both hands and shaking. The King showed too much anger today, and in a guardhouse, no less.

The sound of the guard returning drew Marcus back from the bars and he took a few steps away. The guard looked first at Marcus, red faced and sweaty, and then at Jack, who was laughing quietly and drawing in the dirt. “The wagon is here to transport Master Anders. Your Majesty, you’ll have to go now.”

Marcus spit in the dirt at the guard’s feet and shot one more glare in Jack’s direction before storming off.