The old stable hand watched with interest. Something had lit a fire under her, and now the girl worked with one solid purpose. She ground her teeth, gripped the handle of her shovel with a new found fury, and she kept this pace when anyone else would have tired. Finally Mayhew decided to award her with a break. “Girl, enough for now. You’ll be no good if ya exhaust yourself before lunch. Get something to eat.”
Grace pushed the shovel into Mayhew’s hands and stormed into the common room. Jack was in his usual corner, smoking a pipe and glowering at the world, but no one else was about. Instead of wasting her meal in the same vicinity as Jack, Grace headed into the kitchen.
Jim Little and the cook, Georges – a fat, old, bearded man – were talking over mugs of ale. Jim cocked an eyebrow. It was impressive to see that the girl made it so far, but no doubt she was finished now.
“Is there any chance for a meal? Mayhew expects me back.” The full force of the morning was catching up with Grace. Her anger was running itself out, and that made her tired. Still, she had more work to do. She’d prove to everyone how strong and capable she was.
The cook and Jim exchanged looks. From where Grace stood, she couldn’t tell if they were impressed or concerned. “Of course, lassie.” Jim pulled a chair out and beckoned her to sit at the table with himself and the cook. “Master Georges will ladle ya out some soup. I’m sure you’re in need of it after a morning with Mayhew.” Georges ambled around the table to a giant pot that hung over the fire.
“He has said little of my performance since his return from lunch.”
“He’ll be unbearable when you return. Meals always put him in a more pleasant mood.” Georges placed a bowl of unidentifiable broth and chunks before Grace and she ate it gratefully.
~*~*~
Grace’s survival in the stables was the talk of the tavern later that night when she ate dinner with Ridley. She ignored it all and simply concentrated on the night ahead; keeping a close eye on Marcus’s table while she ate. Memorizing faces and voices, she turned in for the night around ten and at midnight, took to the streets as The Death Dealer. She was much too tired to actually do much, but she went out to learn the city better.
Waiting in the shadows outside of the Angel, she trailed the first thief to exit. If what Ridley said was true, then this thief would take from a merchant or two and then bring the gold or silver back to Marcus. What happened after that was a mystery, because Ridley wouldn’t offer any more hints as to what Marcus did with his spoils. Or what other activities his men were up to.
Grace wasn’t sure what she hoped to see when she trailed the thief into the night. Part of her wanted to witness more than petty theft from a merchant’s house. If the Thieves’ Guild committed murder or anything else, she could go after them without worrying she would offend her new friend.
She felt wrong allying herself with Ridley, given the girl’s profession, but Grace wanted Marcus to be as charitable as his adopted daughter claimed. Partly because she liked Ridley and found a friend in her, but also because she knew death would be waiting for her if she tried to take on the Guild.
Thus far, the thief had taken her to the richest part of Glenbard. The merchants mostly lived in the Northeastern section of the city, nearest the exit to Glenbard. Grace watched the thief sneak into private offices under the cover of darkness. Grace attempted to peek into the homes and though it was dark, it looked as if most were well-furnished. Many of them had small houses built nearby for servants’ quarters.
The thief climbed through a window to the largest house in the merchant district. So far Grace saw nothing she hadn’t been warned of. Ridley said the Thieves’ Guild stopped stealing from their own class when Marcus took over, and even the drifter Kit stated the Guild kept murders within Glenbard down. Still, Jack spoke his piece on the morality (or lack thereof) of the Guild, making Grace doubt them. Her current thief turned up nothing, so for now The Death Dealer called it a night.
~*~*~
“That stall is filthy! Do it again!” Mayhew pushed the shovel and pail into Grace’s hands.
To her, the stall looked clean. She wasn’t sure what Mayhew wanted her to do to make it better, but she went right back in. Pilgrim looked up from his hay and blinked at her while Mayhew went to his corner to polish some saddles and bridles.
Grace patted Pilgrim’s neck. “You think I do a fine job, don’t you?” Pilgrim nipped at her pockets, looking for food.
Grace survived three days under Mayhew’s command. It was a shock for everyone, causing no one to win the original bet set forth. However, now Grace’s patience with Mayhew was waning and she was prepared to throw down her shovel and walk out. It was a tempting prospect, but self-preservation won out since Jim provided her with a free room above the stables to live in. He said all the stable hands had lived there, and since Grace seemed to be holding her own, he expected she’d want to move out of the tavern’s inn. The biggest perk to living in the small room above the stables was that it was easier to sneak out at night for her nocturnal duties.
Grace spent her first night in the stables and found her window’s exit was completely covered in shadows; making it easier to climb out without attracting attention. That night Grace trailed two more thieves and came up with nothing. The pattern suggested that each night Marcus sent out one thief to burglarize or vandalize a merchant’s house. The men Marcus sent couldn’t have been doing much damage, because the merchant class didn’t hire goons to assault the Angel. Donald started making rounds around the marketplace for Grace during the days.
He noticed a few pickpockets whom he recognized as Marcus’s men. Like the night thieves, they went after the most well-off people. Donald listened to the gossip and surmised that people generally didn’t even know they were robbed in the night.
Watching the thieves was getting Grace nowhere and she longed to be back out as the traditional Death Dealer. Since gaining her first knowledge of the Guild, she had been formulating a plan on how to deal with them. Tonight she would set the plan into action. With any luck, before the sun rose she would have something worked out with the thieves.
Grace propped her shovel up against the stall door and cracked her back. Her stomach rumbled a bit, but Mayhew didn’t like her asking to go to lunch. He liked to control her life while she worked during the days. She lifted the shovel again and exited Pilgrim’s stall. She’d just have to wait for Mayhew’s permission.
~*~*~
The thief’s name was Roddy, and he was heading quickly toward the merchant district. As he moved through the dark of the night, a figure darted in front of him. Roddy stopped; unsure if the lights of one of Glenbard’s taverns were playing tricks on him. Nothing moved in the shadows, so he continued on his way. Just as he started walking again, he saw something shift in the darkness. He stopped once more, positive he saw something.
Out of the shadows, a small figure moved. “You.” The voice was soft, strained. Roddy moved his hand toward his dagger. “I have questions.”
“Who are ya?” A hooded, black clad person moved into Roddy’s line of sight. “The Death Dealer?”
“I need you to answer some questions, thief. How exactly does Marcus run the Fishermen’s Collective?”
“He was poor in his youth and ’e don’t want no one to suffer like him and ’is family did. So we’s always steal from those that can afford it, or that cause trouble down in the lower city. Then we’s give a portion to a fund Marcus uses to keep the widows and their babes clothed and fed. So Death Dealer, you needn’t worry about us harming folk. I know ’ow you are about that. People who stir up things have a funny habit of disappearing from Glenbard.”
“I want to speak to Marcus.” The Death Dealer took a step closer to Roddy and he saw the glint of a sword. “Tonight. And I want you to bring him to me.”
“I won’t let you ’urt my king.”
“I won’t hurt him. I want to talk to him.” The Death Dealer tossed a bag to Roddy and
the thief bent down; never letting his eyes stray from the drawn sword. The bag had a fair amount of coppers in it. “Bring Marcus to the temple of Diggery by two. I have business to discuss with him.” Having said her piece, The Death Dealer deftly returned to the shadows.
~*~*~
Marcus brought his right hand man, Thom, to the temple, even though Roddy didn’t seemed particularly spooked. He showed the bag of coins to Marcus, and Marcus and Thom tested the money to make sure it was good. Once they were satisfied, they returned it to Roddy. The King of Thieves was hesitant to go, but he didn’t want The Death Dealer obstructing his work every night. Do-gooders always managed to do just that.
Inside the temple, The Death Dealer stood before the wolf statue of Diggery. Most of the flames were extinguished; either by those who maintained the temple or by this vigilante.
“Roddy said you accosted him in the dark.” Marcus kept a hand on his sword hilt, and with one call Thom would be inside to help. The Death Dealer’s sword was laid out on the altar.
“Stepping from the shadows is hardly accosting, but getting Roddy was the only way to bring you out of the Angel.”
“And what does the hero of the people want with me? You surely can’t expect to bring me down so the righteous will rule the day.”
The Death Dealer was silent a moment. “Don’t be daft. King Frederick has not brought you down yet, and he has an army at his disposal. I am only one person. I come to you for another reason. I have been watching your men and I questioned Roddy as to your intentions. You certainly are the honest thief they claim you to be.”
“If you refer to my philosophy regarding poor children, no one should be unable to feed their children because of a lack of coin.”
“I agree, and I see we have a common goal.” The Death Dealer’s soft voice dropped even lower. “We both want the people of Cesernan taken care of, so I propose an alliance. I certainly could never take you down, but people love a hero and that’s what I am. If you killed me, it would only hurt your reputation as a good thief. I know you usurped the previous king for your crown, and I also know of your fund for the survival of widows; a most honorable venture. However, I can see to it that someone takes your crown if you deviate from your current path.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“I am simply keeping you mindful of what has happened to other leaders in the Thieves’ Guild. But if you keep to the role of honest thief and take care of your own, I will be ever vigilant to stop any who come to take your title.”
“How do you propose something like that? You can’t be everywhere at once.”
“No, and even my extra sets of eyes have limits. But what I do unearth, I can stalk and see to it that they never reach you or your throne.”
Marcus put his hands on his hips. “You are making quite an assumption, here.” The Death Dealer waited for an elaboration. “You think I want your help; that I need your help. You are sneaky, that is clear, but you are not invincible. What makes you so sure I won’t have you killed?”
“As I said, many of your thieves think I am powerful enough and respectable enough. I could be a valuable ally while I am here in Glenbard. I can clear out rogue thieves and murderers outside the city, saving you time and energy. Together, the people will view us both as heroes.”
“I need a sign I can trust you.”
The Death Dealer took up the sword from the altar. He pointed to Marcus’s dagger, which was tucked within his boot. “A blood oath. A prick on our palms and the mingling of blood. I have heard only terrible stories of those who violate blood oaths.”
Marcus removed his dagger and made a small cut on the palm of his hand. Grace did the same. They clasped hands; sealing their oath. People were always threatening Marcus’s power. While none had yet come with any true force, fighting them all back could be daunting. People were always buzzing about The Death Dealer, and petty criminals nearly wet themselves at the mere mention of his name. That kind of backing could keep some of the trash away from Marcus’s seat of power.
So it was done. Whether Marcus was comfortable allying himself with The Death Dealer or not, it no longer mattered. The two were bound by their own blood. If Marcus failed to withhold his tradition as an honest thief, The Death Dealer would find someone who would. And in return, The Death Dealer would stay out of Guild affairs; letting the thieves do as they needed. Both parties would watch out for one another as best they could and see that no one attempted to destroy the other.
The next day in the tavern was hectic. The talk was all about The Death Dealer’s visit, but Marcus didn’t betray what transpired. Neither did Grace, even when Donald begged to know. For the time being, the nature of the agreement stayed between the King of Thieves and The Death Dealer.
Seven
The next week passed quickly in Glenbard. Grace made friends with many of the thieves in the Guild through Ridley’s intervention. Marcus warmed to Grace, and even let her join his table for the evening meal. Even Donald found his way into the thief King’s favor. Each day as Grace worked hard to impress Mayhew, Donald went about doing odd jobs here and there. Oftentimes, members in the Guild would send him on errands to run fresh bread or fruit to their families or to deliver messages to any ships that were in port. Over dinner, Grace and Ridley encouraged Donald to take a position on a trade ship and sail to the Nareroc Islands, and he continued to say no. Grace knew why, but Ridley only assumed it was because Donald had fallen in love with a merchant's daughter or something of the sort.
During the nights, Grace went out her bedroom window as The Death Dealer and patrolled the streets for trouble. Rumors quickly spread that The Death Dealer had come to Glenbard to become the new King of Thieves. Marcus publicly scoffed at this, but kept his secret about meeting with The Death Dealer. In any case, more and more people went to the temple of Diggery to thank her for protecting them by allying Marcus to The Death Dealer. Ridley began to get delusions of one day meeting The Death Dealer and possibly even marrying him, and Grace never tried to change Ridley’s mind. She would just smile as her friend talked about it.
Although Grace didn’t speak to Jack after the incident in the stable, she saw him every day sulking in his corner. He would come into the stables often enough to take Pilgrim out for exercises, but she never went to say anything and he did likewise to her. Grace never told anyone what he said. Many figured she just hated his negative attitude and didn’t try to convince her otherwise. Donald would talk to him every so often; asking how long he was a stable hand and what he thought of the knights who were there before he left the position.
Things finally seemed to be going right in Grace’s life until one unfortunate night.
Grace often traveled out of Glenbard to hide along the roadside and wait for troublemakers. It was almost always quiet and boring. The Guild kept the people in the city relatively safe, considering most were family members of those in the Guild. Any trouble that started usually took place on the country road leading to Glenbard, so each night Grace walked a mile out of town and spent a few hours patrolling about before returning for sleep.
On this unfortunate night, Grace was watching and waiting. Two men had kidnapped a young girl and were camped not far from the city limits; about a ten minute walk for her. Grace would have struck already but these men were huge, and she suspected they would be too much for her. She would have to wait until one nodded off. That way, she could dispose of the one on guard duty and knock him unconscious before he could raise the alarm.
The bigger of the two finally laid out his blankets and went to sleep. When he started snoring, Grace sneaked up behind his companion. She would have knocked him out successfully, except her shadow gave her away.
“Mac, wake up!” Grace panicked and hit the man over the head with the hilt of her sword. He lay in the dirt, unconscious.
The other man awakened instantly and was obviously angry. “The Death Dealer, huh? Awfully small, aren’t you? And I be
t you want to save this girl.” He looked at the girl, whose hands were tied and her mouth gagged. “Well, you failed.” The man pulled a knife and Grace lunged at him, but he was faster. The knife pierced the girl’s heart so quickly, she didn't even have a chance to scream. “It’s just you and me now.”
Grace took a fighting stance, raised her sword, and they circled each other. Grace felt she had an advantage with her sword, but she was very wrong. The man was incredibly fast for someone so big. He jumped at Grace and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, pulled her close, and took one stab at her.
Although she twisted away from him, she wasn’t quick enough to completely miss his knife. Blood dripped freely from her side. Using every bit of strength left in her, she cracked the man upside the head with her sword hilt and staggered away as he lay motionless by the fire.
The world spun around her as the dead man with the broken nose swirled around her mind. The memory of the sound of his nose cracking against her skull rang in her ears. Then she looked at the poor girl, dead and bleeding in the dirt. Grace no longer wanted to witness death. She vomited next to the fire; her throat burning as the bile surged upward.
~*~*~
Grace climbed into Donald’s window and collapsed next to him on his bed. He quickly rose and lit a few candles, and then he saw Grace on her back, bleeding all over his covers.
“I need to get you some help.” Grace still had The Death Dealer hood on. Her eyes drooped and she moaned slightly.
“No,” she gasped. “No, there is no one! We cannot let Jim or Ridley or even Marcus know about this.”
Cassandra always had a plan in case Grace was hurt; always had a lie at the ready to tell the healers. Donald had no such plan or lie. He panicked, and as he left the room he said, “I’m going to get someone!”
It was late, and of the few people who still loitered in the common room, they were either the drunks or the ladies trying to get money from them. Donald knew he couldn’t tell Jim. Jim Little was a nice fellow, but he told everyone everything he knew. If he brought Jim to see Grace now he would know her secret, and by the time the sun rose, so would everyone else in Glenbard. Then both Donald and Grace’s safety would be compromised.