Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) (16 page)

Loren laughed at him. “A thousand and one purses every day? You must be the wealthiest man in the nine lands. How could you count them all?”

“I know my numbers better than a wizard,” the boy boasted. “And my letters as well. I could have been a scholar if I’d been born in a noble house, and a wiser man you’d never have seen.”

Loren rolled her eyes. She’d never learned to read, and might have been impressed by his boasts if she’d thought there might be a crumb of truth to feed them.

“Very well, master scholar. Or was it wizard? Or thief? Consider me honored to be in your presence. Now, remove yourself from mine before I give you a beating you will not soon forget.”

He scowled, trying to look fierce. But his dirt-browned face and fawn’s eyes made him look ridiculous. “Why don’t you, then? I can take it. I’ve grown up fighting, and many know to fear my fists. You’re clearly a stranger to this city, if you’ve never heard the tale.” He raised his hands to demonstrate, waving them back and forth as though he might throw a punch.

Loren seized a wrist, used it to spin him around, and caught the boy’s feet with her ankle. Rather than let him crash, she lowered him gently to the roof, and put a foot on his throat to hold him there. He lay there for a moment, blinking as though unsure of what had happened.

“Oh, I can see the strength of your fists most clearly. How could I have thought to challenge such a mighty warrior?”

“I
am
mighty!” he said, hitting her boot with his free fist. “I’m Auntie’s favorite! She always says so!”

“I do not know your aunt, but she seems a poor judge of character.” Loren let him go.

“Not
my
aunt,” said the boy, rising. He rolled his eyes as though she were an idiot. “Auntie. She runs us. Me and the children, I mean. At least until I’m of age to take over, for as I’ve said, I’m the most fearsome pickpocket in Cabrus.”

His words drew Loren’s interest. “This Auntie you speak of. You say she commands you? You and the other . . . children?”

“Aye, the most feared thieves’ guild in all the nine lands.” The boy nodded emphatically.

“And you all pick pockets? Cut purses?”

He shook his head. “Only the smallest, like me. Everyone thinks we’re too young to be a threat. The bigger boys, Auntie has them do the heavy work. Steal from wagons, taverns and inns, jobs of that sort.”

Loren’s pulse began to race, an idea forming in her mind. The boy surely exaggerated, but she had heard tales of thieves’ guilds from Bracken. The old man had said that gangs of pickpockets and burglars roamed the underbelly of every great city in the nine lands. They knew the alleys better than anyone. Thieves delved into the cracks and corners and crevices that no one dared explore. What better way to find Annis?

And failing that, where better to begin her new life as Nightblade? She could not remain in Cabrus by herself forever, but what if she had a dozen or more companions to help her stay hidden?
 

Her mind made up, Loren placed her hands on her hips, eyes hardening as she fixed the boy with a stern glare. He quailed despite his bravado.

“Do you have a name, boy?”

“Only the best,” he said, lifting his chin. “Gem, they call me, for I’m a jewel among dirt.”

“Well, Gem,” said Loren. “I think you had best take me to this Auntie of yours.”

nineteen

Loren had feared she might have to convince Gem, but he easily agreed to take her.
Almost too easily,
she thought. As Loren followed him through the city streets, she kept one careful hand near her coin purse and the other by her dagger. She would not be made a fool of twice.
 

But no danger presented itself. If anything, Gem took to her well, mayhap because she had not beat him as he feared. Soon after they began their walk through the streets, he spoke, and once he started Loren thought he might never stop. It reminded her of Annis, and she felt a twinge of sadness.

“Auntie will quite like you, I’m certain,” said Gem. “You with your fine cloak and climbing. They’re quite useful things. Though you should not expect her to enjoy your eyes.”

Loren looked at him askance. “My eyes?”

“Green,” said Gem, as though that were the only explanation needed. When Loren looked at him without understanding, he sighed. “Folk remember green eyes. You don’t want anyone to remember you. No one remembers me.”

Loren let it pass without an answer.
 

Their path wound north and west, and for a moment she feared they aimed for the district where Corin had released her. But it was not long before Gem swerved suddenly left, ducking through a hole in a fence where a board had been removed.
 

Loren followed him to find a small yard floored by dirt and straw rather than cobblestones. It was empty save the two of them, but a foul smell lingered on the air that told her this place had once held many pigs. The building attached to the yard lay empty, its back door fallen from iron hinges and lying on the ground. No one looked to have lived here for quite some time.

“Where are we?” Loren’s nerves prickled at the possibility of a trap.

“This is Auntie’s place.” Gem walked to the gaping back door, leaned his head in, and cried, “Fresh blood!”
 

After a few breathless seconds, Loren heard the quiet pitter-patter of feet.
 

Then they came.

Children poured from every crack and corner. Some spilled through gaps in the fence, others from the home’s doorway and windows. A few even climbed down from the roof. Soon, dozens of children filled the yard, all more than a head shorter than Loren, all small and looking starved. Their wide eyes mirrored Gem’s as he stared up at her.

“Er . . . hello.” Loren thought she ought to be frightened but could see no threat in their wan eyes. “Which of you is Auntie?”

“None of these,” scoffed Gem. “She—”

“She is here.”

The voice came from the house, where a woman stood in the frame. And a true woman she was—Loren immediately felt gawky and childish. Auntie wore a tunic with short sleeves that did not reach her elbows, over which she had donned a pale green vest that clung tightly to her supple frame. Her arms bore olive skin, with fine-fingered hands that looked free from grime or callus. Loren curled her own fingers into her palms, for they felt so suddenly peasant-like.
 

Auntie’s eyes captured her most. A light hazel, unremarkable in itself, but their intelligence dazzled the mind. They flitted back and forth, up and down, assessing her surroundings, observing everything. Loren felt underdressed. She grew even more self-conscious at the sight of Auntie’s face; slender with high cheekbones, long, entrancing eyelashes, and framed by hair cut short, almost like a man’s. Her hair was so blonde as to be almost white, except near the scalp where it darkened toward black. Loren had never seen anything like it, or like Auntie herself.

“Well, don’t gawk forever, girl, lest I think you wish to marry me.”
 

Loren’s eyes widened and quickly turned away as her cheeks flushed full crimson. “My apologies, my la—”

“Just Auntie. None of that ‘lady’ nonsense. Ladies are who we steal from, and quite well, too.” She lifted her hands to brush against the front of her vest, displaying its fine pattern. “It is how I gain such niceties and keep the children fed.”

Loren did not know what to say, so silence it was. But Auntie spoke not, and Loren realized she bore the burden of introduction.

She bowed low. “I am Loren, of the family Nelda. I thought . . . I had hoped you might help me. And, mayhap, entertain my company, at least for a while.”

“I hardly see how I could help you if I did not,” said Auntie with a wry twist to her mouth. “Presence is oft required for assistance, unless one is paid to leave. I know many a bard who plays worse than they are capable for just such a purpose. But come, tell me: What do you require? You seem a capable girl, and unless I miss my guess you are well acquainted with that bow on your back. And mayhap the knives at your belt and in your boot.”

Loren gave a small gasp and glanced down. Her cloak still hid the dagger. And the knife in her boot remained invisible, for the leather was too thick to show a bulge.

“It is the way you hold yourself.” Auntie pushed off from the door frame and came out into the yard. The children parted like water in a pool, closing in behind her to complete the effect. Auntie walked in a slow half circle to stand behind Loren. She placed one gentle hand on Loren’s left wrist, the other on the right of her waist. “This hip juts out slightly. That might be a stance of rest, but this hand you hold a bit farther from your body than the other. It is ready to leap to the hip and draw forth the knife.” She released Loren and came around in front of her again.

Loren swallowed. “And the one in my boot?”

Auntie smiled warmly. “I have never known a forester who didn’t carry a knife there. Those who wander the woods for long hours cannot keep their tools in drawers and cabinets like us city folk.”

The answer left Loren with even more questions—how had Auntie known she came from the forest? She had to swallow again to continue. “As for your question. I seek a girl within the city. I thought . . . you might . . . ”

“That the children and I would have eyes in all quarters, and that we might help you find her?” finished Auntie. “Aye, that is as may be. And what of the other thing? You spoke of keeping company for a time.”

Loren looked around her uneasily. The idea seemed suddenly ridiculous, surrounded by these children who had grown up lifting coins from unwary victims. “I thought mayhap you could use a willing hand. Though now that I stand before you, I see you have many to spare.”

Auntie stepped forward and took Loren’s hands in hers, raising them to her chest. She gave Loren a smile filled with enough secret promise to utterly entrance her.

“Willing hands are never in enough supply here. Especially when attached to one who, unless I am mistaken, has traveled far and done much using them. I love my children after all . . . but sometimes a woman grown serves better.”

“Does that mean you will have me?” Loren swallowed again. “I will learn all you can teach, as quickly as I might. You will find me an excellent worker and a quick study—”

Auntie cut her off by drawing her hands away and letting Loren’s fall limp to her sides. A sad smile dusted her lips. “Ah, that it were so simple. But Loren of the family Nelda, you must understand something. I am mother to these children in all but blood. My first duty is to them. I hold myself the sole caretaker of their well-being.”

“Of course,” said Loren, looking at the urchins that surrounded them.

“Then you know I cannot simply accept any person who offers to serve us. First, you must prove that you will help the family, and not make yourself a drain upon us.”

“I would never,” said Loren, shaking her head.

Again, that small smile. “I believe you. But if belief were food, none of my little ones would ever go hungry again. And so I must beg you a task. A small something to prove yourself. A token of faith, a proof of skill, and something to fill the bellies of my children.”

Loren’s heart raced, and she smiled. “I think you mean to tell me that someone’s purse sits overfat, and I must lighten it for them.”

Auntie grinned. “I knew you for a clever girl. Just so. And if you fetch this thing for me, you may consider yourself my . . . well, not my daughter, for you and I are near of age. But family nonetheless. My children and I will spare no trouble in helping you find your friend.”

Loren could not remove her smile. An auspicious start, indeed. Her first task as a thief other than what she stole from her village.

“Only point the way, and I will do as you ask.”

Auntie smiled. “I thought you might.”

twenty

Gem led her through the streets as light faded from the sky. Torches sprang to life all around them, and townspeople readied themselves for the approaching night.

The woman you seek spends her time near the northern gate,
Auntie had told her.
She often frequents the square outside the Bottomless Mug, or the common room of the tavern itself. But if you are wise, you will not approach her within the building where too many eyes will sit upon you.

The northern gate?
Loren had asked, thinking of the constables’ station, lying between the northern and western gates.

Yes,
Auntie had said, thin eyebrows arching.
Is that a problem?

Loren had forced herself to look carefree, shrugging indifference.
Nothing I cannot overcome. Go on.
Her heart sank lower by the moment.

You will find her in a pink gown and will know her by long yellow curls. Darker than my hair, but not by much. She carries a purse at all times. I need it.

And so Loren had struck out with Gem as her guide. With every step, she had to shove herself into another, resisting an ever stronger urge to flee. Mayhap she could find Annis on her own after all.

But then the two of you would be alone,
she thought.
And you would be on the run rather than a thief learning her craft.

Loren pressed on.