Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) (12 page)

Vanora smiled a little at him.

“I mean this is an inn, right? You have been serving people my food?”

She smiled in spite of herself and got up.

When she tried to walk past him without saying anything, he reached out to her. She instantly grabbed him, and they stood there, each embracing the other. He was only a little taller than her, but he felt like a titan to her, and she felt like a little girl to him.

Eventually they disengaged and she walked to the door.

“I still have some powerful friends in this city,” he said, and she stopped. He was still trying to reassure her, but she saw he was clenching his fists. Something about the polder, something about what Vanora had told him, had added to his anger.

“Well, one less in a little while,” he said, as she walked out of the room.

“Get up,” the king snapped. “You only do that here when you’re feeling guilty.”

“Sorry my liege.”

“Stop it,” the king scowled.

“Yes my lord. I forget.”

“No you don’t.” The room was small, too small for any furniture. At best only four people could stand comfortably. At the moment, it was just King Richard and his spymaster. The stone walls sweated in the cool air.

The spymaster stood up and straightened his outfit. He was an actor, first and foremost. A man of many parts. For this meeting, he knew to play the deferential servant. He had been careful not to dress more stylishly or more expensively than his king, for once. The table and rack outside held the king’s finery and the two men stood as equals, or as nearly so as a king could.

King Richard was somewhat less inspiring without his crown, his rings or his cape. That was the point of this room. He looked smaller in here. Dressed in the plainest clothes he owned, he appeared thoughtful, not regal. His hair was still long, thick, and luxuriant, swept back in a natural wave. A deep coppery red that looked almost black in the shadows of the candlelight. His natively black skin, by contrast, looked dusky, like dark earth in the lamplight. No windows in this room.

It was safe to talk in the small chamber because an ancestor of the king’s destroyed a powerful artifact and embedded its fragments in the walls to prevent any spell or prayer from revealing the room within. Protection from spells could be accomplished by more common means, but keeping the eyes of the gods out of the room was far more difficult. For this reason, it was called the Godblind.

“I didn’t realize I was that obvious, you’re very perceptive…”

“Stop performing. I have to hold court in a turn and a half and it takes half a turn just to get down to this damned place.” The king appeared to notice his master of assassins for the first time. His face looked like he’d taken on five men, and lost. It was lumpy and covered in bruises. By the king’s estimation, the fight had taken place days ago.

“Black gods man, what happened to you?”

“The Arrogate has returned to the city, my lord.”

The king blinked, parsing this statement. “Heden?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“He’s alive?”

“Yes, sire.”

The king took a steady breath. “Good,” he said. “You said he was dead.”

“I said I
thought
he was dead.”

“That’s true, you wouldn’t commit. What happened?”

“The Green Order has been disbanded.”

“That’s unfortunate,” the king snapped. “Can they be recalled? Restored to duty? They may be the only….”

“They’re dead, sire.”

The king stopped breathing for a moment. “All of them?” The spymaster remained silent.

King Richard ran a hand over his thick mane of hair. “Did he…do you have any reason to believe that Heden….”

“That he killed them?” His spymaster had not considered this. “There’s no way to know. But it would be grossly out of character, my lord.”

“For the man we knew. The man who’s been holed up in that inn for three years?”

“I stand by my statement, sire.”

“Mm. I tend to agree. Has he reported back to the bishop?”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“And why has he not?”

The spymaster took a breath and composed himself. “Sir, according to Heden, whatever happened in the wode was ordered by the bishop.”

The king frowned, his head darted around as he tried to place his information in line with what he already knew.

“Are you saying…Conmonoc
ordered
Heden to
assassinate
the Green Order?”

“No my lord. I mean to say…rather, it’s possible, but that is not my interpretation. I don’t have all the facts yet.”

“You so rarely do.” It wasn’t a real complaint, they both knew. Just frustration bubbling over.

The spymaster considered how to respond. “Something happened in the forest, my lord.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…something happened to him, to Heden. Something…something changed him.”

“Is he injured? Is he….”

“No, my lord. It’s…I know of no other way to say it sire. The difference is one of character.”

“It worries me when you speak of issues so far outside your brief. Like
character
.”

“It worries me too, sire.”

“Do try to be more specific.”

“He has purpose. He…sire do you remember when you chose Cathe?”

“That was years ago, man.”

“You asked us what we thought? I said Cathe was a good man, a good priest, and loyal. But if it came to war with King Adric, Cathe would be overwhelmed.”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember what you said to me, sire?”

The king didn’t speak for a few moments, the import of his spymaster’s words sinking in.

“I said if it came to that, if it came to war, we had Heden.”

“You wouldn’t have said that a month ago. You wouldn’t have said it three years ago. But this…this is that man. Like he’s returned from the dead, from four years dead. We wanted him out of the inn? He’s out.”

The king ruminated on this, then remembered who he was talking to. “You say this as though it is a cause for concern.”

The spymaster hemmed and hawed, seemed to want to duck the question. “Things are at a delicate state, my lord. If the bishop was ready to move against the Green that means his plan is finally ready and I don’t think we are. Not without more intelligence. Heden…Heden
angered
…he could destroy everything.”

“How is it you know this? You spoke with him?”

“He found me, my lord.”

“Indeed? Does that seem as remarkable to you as it does to me?”

“Perhaps not. He was a priest, he has resources.”

“What is it you’re not telling me?”

The spymaster looked at his shoes. “It was the first thing he did upon returning to the city.”

“Find you.”

“Yes sire.”

“Find you and confront you.” The king took a step back in amazed realization and looked his man up and down. “
Heden
did this to you?”

“Yes sire,” the spymaster stroked his still-tender jaw absently. “I was in mortal danger, my lord. I don’t mind admitting it.”

“By Cavall. I’ll have him brought to me. I don’t know what happened between you, but I’ll smooth it over. If you’re right—and I’m inclined to trust you on this matter—he might be able to take care of the bishop on his own.”

“I…that’s what he intended to do, my lord. I dissuaded him.”

“Black gods man, why?”

“If Conmonoc is moving now, it may mean he no longer fears what we can do. In which case Heden would waste himself in the attempt.”

The king thought about this. “We could be being too cautious. I respect your decision but…,” the king peered at his servant. “How did you dissuade him?”

It was going to come out sooner or later.

“I told him who really runs the Darkened Moon. I told him the Truncheon was a front.”

“You…!” The king composed himself before he could explode. He paced across the cramped room and then spun and pointed rudely at his spymaster. “The precedent that allows you to speak freely to me here without fear of retribution is not a law, not a tradition. It is little more than a
habit.
I am reminding you of this because right now I am very close to having you arrested for treason.”

“I needed to tell him something, to shock him. Otherwise he’d have gone straight for the bishop.”

“In which case either he would neatly solve our problem by destroying the bishop, or Conmonoc would destroy him but
no risk to us
in either case
!” Just as the spymaster was free to speak, the king was free to get blisteringly angry, something he never did outside this room.

“Yes my lord,” the spy had trouble admitting this. “But I judged in that moment that he had value to us.”

“Even though it meant exposing your…our…
my
entire network. Years of work. Dozens of men! Their lives now in the hands of a man beholden to no one! A man who nearly went mad with grief!”

The king seethed at his servant who stood unflinching in the face of his master’s rage.

“The only reason I let you talk me
into
taking over the Moon was because I thought it was a chance for those poor bastards to redeem themselves! That was
your
idea!”

The spymaster had no answer for this.

“I submit to you,” the king said, “that as my master of assassins and the secret head of the Moon it was in your best interests, and mine, and the organization’s and the kingdom’s to
let
Heden make his run at the bishop and see what happened. You let personal affairs blind you.”

“I felt…sire, such a calculation had not escaped me. But I reasoned that should I, acting for you, loose Heden on the bishop unawares, as nothing more than a gambit, then I would be risking the life of a man you’ve counted on before. A loyal one, if I may say so. And one who counted you as a friend once. I felt…I felt he’d earned it, my lord. And for me to act then as you entreat me to act now would mean we are no different than the men who plot against us.”

The king was affected by this. The spymaster pressed the advantage.

“He saved your life, my lord.”

The king flinched.  “That is a low blow, I must say.”

Richard thought. Reached a conclusion.

“I accept your admonishment. I spoke hastily. And we do not yet know that your choice wasn’t the right one. Perhaps he can be converted to our cause.”

The two men stood, neither speaking.

“Tell me everything that happened between the two of you,” the king said. “Starting with how he found you. And quickly, man. I’ve court in a few moments.”

“He found me at my tailor’s shop.”

Gwiddon walked into his tailor’s shop and closed the door behind him.

“Well now, Maddoc, I hope you have a week free for I am in dire need of….” He stopped. He looked at Maddoc the tailor. The man was shaking, terrified.

Gwiddon’s skin went all over goosebumps and he tensed. In a flash, so quickly the tailor would never be able to accurately recount what he saw, Gwiddon’s hand went to his rapier and, anticipating the gesture, a hand from behind him grabbed his wrist and pulled, yanking him around and off balance.

As he turned, he fell forward. By the time he regained his balance, he had already been disarmed by...

"Heden!"

He was dressed in his campaigning outfit, his breastplate grey and badly dented. The lines on his granite face were deeper and his eyes looked dead. His hands were clenched into fists like stone bludgeons. He looked like the end of the world. Like a god of battle fresh off a bloody battlefield.

“The thief," Heden growled. "Who does he work for?”

“I don’t..who are you talking…”

“The polder!" Heden barked. "You and the bishop were the only people who knew I was in the forest. One of you sent the polder to make sure the Order was stopped. In case I failed! You sent an assassin to clean up after me!”

“Heden, Llewellyn hears me when I say this; I have
no idea what you’re talking about
. Cavall’s teeth, you look like something ate you and then shit you out again.”

A light exploded behind his eyes and the next thing he knew, he was on his ass. His jaw felt numb, and he was looking up.

Black gods he can hit
, Gwiddon thought. He touched his face, felt no sensation from his skin, saw blood on his hand when he pulled it away. He might have blacked out for a few moments.

“Heden,” Gwiddon said again, his mouth wasn’t working properly. “Does anyone know you’re….”

The arrogate reached down and grabbed him, pulled him back up. Gwiddon grabbed Heden’s arm but was unable to twist it away. Heden waited until Gwiddon stopped struggling.

“I’m going to ask you some questions.” Gwiddon betrayed no reaction at this. “Then I’m going after the bishop.” Gwiddon bared his teeth and sucked in his breath in alarm, but said nothing. This was a dangerous play and if Gwiddon didn’t do everything exactly right, he and Heden could both end up dead.

“Heden,” Gwiddon attempted.

The Arrogate let go of Gwiddon at the same time he punched him again. Harder than the last time, but this time Gwiddon was ready.  He fell against the counter his tailor did business on, then slumped to the ground.

“Wait,” Gwiddon said, putting up his hands ineffectually. His head swam, his jaw was going numb. Another hit like that, and Heden might break it.

The arrogate stepped forward and grabbed Gwiddon by his expensive ruff once again, pulled the man up again. It was easy. Though a little taller, Gwiddon was nothing like as heavily-built as Heden.

“Why are you doing this?” Gwiddon asked. He needed information.

“You sent me into the Iron Forest, remember?” Heden asked. Gwiddon tried to stand up, but the connection between his mind and his legs wasn’t operating. Two hits from Heden and he was already mildly concussed.

“I did,” Gwiddon said, breathing heavily. “And I’d do it again. I thought you were our only chance.”

Heden hit him again, this time in the stomach. Gwiddon wasn’t prepared, and the blow drove the air from his lungs. He gasped, tried to gulp air.

Heden released him and he crumpled to the ground.

“Was it you, or the bishop?”

Gwiddon held up a hand.

“He…gods,” Gwiddon’s eyes wouldn’t focus, his ears rung
.
“He said he wanted you, but thought you’d say no. I said I could talk you into it.”

Heden grabbed him again, lifted him up, and hit him again. There was a crunching sound. Blood erupted. Gwiddon’s broken nose was crushed, he couldn’t breathe.

“Gods please,” Gwiddon said, his mouth having trouble forming the words.

“You were right,” Heden said. “He was wrong and you were right. And now a thousand people are dead. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Gwiddon stared up at him, his eyes watering from pain. Heden swam in his vision. “What happened in the forest?” he asked.

Heden clucked his tongue. “Ask your master. Ask the bishop.”

“I can’t!” Gwiddon shouted, his face smashed. “You don’t…what happened to the Green Order?”

“They’re dead,” he said, looking down at his friend.

“They’re…
all
of them?” Gwiddon was sprawled on the ground, looking up at Heden, one eye was closing, tears from pain and shock streamed down his face, his nose and mouth were bleeding all over his white ruff. Heden was like a stone statue about to topple over and crush him.

“They’re all dead Gwiddon. And you know why.”

“I don’t.”

“I think you do.”

“I swear to you, I don’t. You’re an arrogate damn you, am I lying to you?!”

Heden shrugged. “You’re lying about something,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t matter what anymore.”

Heden knew it wasn’t really Gwiddon he was angry with. He’d punished Gwidd enough. He turned to leave.

“Have an acolyte look at your face,” Heden said. “Before your eyes swell shut. I’m going to go deal with the bishop now. Avenge some people.”

“You can’t!” Gwiddon called out. Heden opened the door.

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But he’s an old man. I’ll give him a few surprises.”

Standing in the doorway, fully expecting to die fighting the bishop, or hang for his murder, Heden turned to his friend sprawled on the floor of the tailor’s shop.

It had been four years since the two of them were really friends. All the time in the inn, Heden was basically a ghost. Friend to no one. But they’d once liked each other quite a lot.

“Goodbye Gwidd,” Heden said, and walked away, leaving an empty doorway and bright light streaming in.

“Heden I’m the king’s man!” Gwiddon shouted. His white teeth covered in blood. This was his last gambit. He had to shock Heden out of his murderous rampage.

Moments passed. Then a silhouette in the doorway.

“What?” Heden asked.

“I’m King Richard’s spymaster,” Gwiddon repeated. He could barely see. The whole center of his face was broken. He looked like four men had worked him over.

Heden walked back into the shop, pulled the door closed behind him. He could tell Gwiddon wasn’t lying.

“You’re…,” Heden said, trying to absorb it.

Gwiddon stood up. Swayed, blood and spit oozing in a long slow drip down his lip to the floor.

“That’s impossible,” Heden said.

Gwiddon just shook his head. Used a jacket sleeve to wipe the blood from his mouth, then shrugged and pulled his jacket off revealing the expensive white shirt beneath, already stained with blood.

“That’s impossible,” Heden reiterated, trying to order the facts in his head.

“Alaric is a front,” Gwiddon said.

“That’s not…,” Heden said, and raised both his hands like he were warding something off. “Richard’s spymaster is the Truncheon,” Heden said.

“How…,” now it was Gwiddon’s turn to be astonished. “Who told you that?”

“I spent a year in that fucking war of assassins in Capital!” Heden shouted.

Gwiddon went still. “The Wire,” he whispered.

“He tried to have me killed!” Heden pointed at Gwiddon. The rest of his hand a clenched fist.

“He told me he feared
no man
,” Heden was yelling now, his arm shaking. “
But the
Truncheon
.”

“I didn’t know you knew,” Gwiddon said.

“And then he told me who the Truncheon was!”

Gwiddon shook his head. “I’m sorry Heden.”

“Why do you seem like you’re telling the truth Gwiddon?!” Heden shouted.

“Because I am.”

“That’s…I’ve
met
the Truncheon!”

Gwiddon shook his head.

“Another front. A stand-in.” He pulled out another handkerchief reflexively. Pressed it to his face for no real reason. “The man I send to meet the men I cannot be seen meeting with.”

“You’re the bishop’s adjutant,” Heden said, as though stating it clearly would make it true again. As though reality were slipping away and his words were a prayer that would put it back. “You,” he reeled, “you spy on the king for the bishop.”

“No,” Gwiddon said. He pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against his face.  “I infiltrated the bishop’s organization twelve years ago.”

“Twelve….” Heden echoed faintly. Was it possible?

“None of us knew how far I’d be able to take it. Becoming his attaché was just…lucky,” he finished lamely. The man’s fine words now sounded thick and low. He pulled the handkerchief away and looked at the blood. He threw the soiled cloth away.

“You mean…” Heden said, “when we met….”

“I’m sorry. You should know the truth.” Gwiddon swayed in the middle of the shop, blood spattered on the floor.

“You can’t be,” Heden said. “There’s no way you can be the king’s spymaster and the bishop’s and run an entire thieves’ guild on the side! It’s absurd!”

Gwiddon looked at the floor. “It’s easier than you think. And the more power I have, the easier it gets. I don’t get a lot of sleep,” he said.

“Who else knows?” Heden wondered out loud. “The Truncheon…the man I met, does
he
know? Is he just a fucking actor?”

“’Course he knows. I picked him. He’s good. Looks the part, that’s all that’s important. Says the right things.”

Heden just stared at Gwiddon. Gwiddon, exhausted as much from the moral dilemma as the beating he’d taken, slumped back to the ground.

“It’s just a name,” he said with a shrug. Beaten, bloody, crumpled in a heap, Gwiddon looked pathetic. He was contrite. Ashamed. He was confessing to being one of the most powerful men in the city, and he was ashamed he’d had to lie to his friend. “A reputation. It’s not me.”

Neither man looked at the other. But there in the small room, Heden was aware of how bloody Gwiddon was, and realized something. If this was the Truncheon, then he could have defended himself.

“I almost beat you to death,” Heden said, looking down at his friend. Seeing the damage he’d done to him. He wasn’t sure what was happening, he didn’t know what he thought. He just said the words that came into his head.

“Why didn’t you…if you’re the Truncheon, why didn’t you try to stop me?”

"I'm telling you, I'm not the man you imagine. I'm not an assassin. It's all...politics and double dealing. I'm just a man."

Heden knelt down and prayed over Gwiddon. The man shivered, and his wounds began to heal. Flesh repaired itself, broken ribs and nose knotted back into place. But he was still wet with blood and sweat. He’d be fine in an hour, but he’d walk through the city looking like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life.

Gwiddon ran his fingers over his newly healed and still tingling face. “Thank you,” he said, lamely. Heden stood and offered his friend a hand. Gwiddon took it. Heden pulled him up and they stood there for a moment, hands clasped.

“Heden if anyone ever found out that I run the Moon…even the castellan, if he found out those men are all secretly agents of the king, all those men’s lives are at risk. I told you who I am because you deserved to know the truth,” Gwiddon said.

“The truth?” Heden repeated, unsure now what that word meant. Gwiddon and Heden had come up together. Both in the church. Both servants of Cavall. Gwiddon had been one of the few who hadn’t deserted Heden after Aendrim.

“No one can know I’m the king’s man, Heden,” Gwiddon repeated. “Men would die, good men.”

Heden reeled at the magnitude of the conspiracy. He pressed his palm against his forehead. “No wonder Richard doesn’t have any enemies. You’ve got a third of the thieves in the city spying for him. Do they…do they know they work for the king?”

“They work for
me
,” Gwiddon corrected. “None of them know who my master is and if anyone found out….”

Heden nodded. “And me too. Me too. I’m part of that fucking network of yours, aren’t I?” He was getting mad now. For some reason, this comforted Gwiddon.

“Heden, they think they’re criminals, but they secretly work for the king. You of all people should…”

“
Aren’t I
?” Heden barked. His voice bounced around the small room.

“…yes,” Gwiddon admitted. “Richard likes you, Heden. He asks for you.”

“You’re saying when I…when the bishop sent me….”

“Don’t,” Gwiddon warned.

“Was I…?” Heden’s world was unraveling.

Gwiddon held his hands out as though trying to will Heden to stop this line of thought. “There’s no point in….”

“How often was I working for the king, Gwiddon!?”