drawer. He opened the drawer and flicked the catch to release the false bottom. He idly traced a finger over the hilt of the knife that lay in the drawer. It was very old, and magic. He’d felt that magic himself, used against him. But the knife had killed its owner effectively enough in the end. He supposed he should thank the witch, in a way. It was her knife that had started him down this path.
It was over six years ago. And though at first he’d simply wanted to find a weapon with magic that he could use, the discovery of that family history had changed his plans. If the old man’s sword hadn’t been of interest to him he’d never have bothered with the documents. But he needed to find out more about this Brotherhood and the significance of the ancient weapons - he had a feeling they were important. If possible, he would use them to cement his grip on the throne. With enough information, he could use this story to back his son Beldyn’s claim to the throne. But if the group still existed and got in his way, he would need to destroy them.
Brenna rubbed the grit from her eyes. Brothers, but she’d slept poorly. It was early, at least for her, though she could hear the sounds of the Quarter’s morning commerce outside her window - carts making the first deliveries of the day, shopkeepers greeting each other, shutters banging open against the sides of buildings. Usually she slept straight through these sounds, but not today. She’d gone to bed unusually early last night and as a result had woken up early.
Brenna had long been one of the night folk of Thieves’ Quarter, sleeping until well into the afternoon in order to be rested in the small hours of the night. Thieving was best done under cover of darkness, of course, and her busiest times as a healer were also during the evening hours. People left alone with their illnesses and thoughts seemed to worsen when the sun went down. But now she needed to stay close to home, and with no requests for her healing skills last night, she’d simply scrounged a cold supper and gone to bed early.
She pulled on her cleanest breeches and shirt and quickly gathered up her dirty laundry. At least she could get her clothes washed early. She’d need to be careful, but really, who would expect her to be up and out at this hour?
Brenna twisted the breeches to wring the last bit of moisture from them. She’d been lucky. She’d arrived at Tork’s laundry just as Mistress Tork had pulled open the shutters. As soon as the woman had settled into her sturdy chair by the front door, it seemed as if the whole Quarter had descended on them. But Brenna had been first inside and had been able to secure one of the big washbasins. Now she was in the process of wringing out her clothes before she took them back to her rooms to hang.
Mistress Tork had lines strung up behind her shop for drying, but Brenna wasn’t going to chance using them. One time she’d hung her laundry and then left to pursue other chores. She’d returned to find that her clothing had been trampled into the ground and required another wash. What was still there, of course. Her best shirt had mysteriously disappeared. As in all things in Thieves’ Quarter, even the simple act of doing laundry had risks.
Brenna flattened the breeches on top of the rest of her damp clothes and scooped them into her arms. She trudged past the lines of customers waiting to use the washbasins and squeezed between two stout women carrying heaps of bed linens. Brenna glanced up and looked directly into the brown eyes of a young woman. The young woman’s face paled and her eyes went glassy and lifeless. Startled, Brenna stopped.
“Are you all right Mistress?” Impossibly blue lips formed the words.
“I, uh …” Brenna groped for words as she tried to understand what was happening. Had a dead woman just spoken to her? But she’d been the picture of health just a moment ago.
“Keep moving,” someone said and Brenna felt a push from behind. She blinked. Now the young woman’s face glowed with health.
“Do I know you?” Brenna asked, terrified that the woman’s face would change again - that she’d be looking once more at a death mask, pale and lifeless.
“No, I don’t believe so.” The reply was soft and hesitant.
To Brenna’s surprise the woman dipped her head in a bow. Near her own age, her long brown hair was pulled back with a string. She lifted her head and looked at Brenna with worried eyes.
“I’ve just arrived in town. I’m hoping to get the worst of my travels out of my clothing.”
Brenna was shoved from behind and then she was past the young woman. She craned her neck and glimpsed her in the throng by the washtubs. What was going on? She knew what she’d seen. As a healer Brenna had seen her share of death and that’s what she’d seen on this woman’s face - death. But she’d never experienced this before. The girl was obviously healthy. Brenna shivered. So why had she seen her lifeless face?
Confused and worried Brenna hurried back to her rooms. She hadn’t seen anything. She couldn’t have. She trudged up the stairs to her room and eased inside. There was nothing to see. The young woman was very much alive. What’s more, she looked to be in perfect health. Brenna hung two wet shirts on the pegs by the door. She wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking about it - right now she would finish hanging up her wet laundry.
Brenna paced her room, frustrated that she was imprisoned in her own home. She’d always been proud of her rooms and happy to have them as a refuge from the Quarter. Not now, though.
She peeked out the window. The streets were dark and the shop keepers had all packed up and gone home for the day. Now the residents who gave Thieves’ Quarter its name were starting to take to the streets. Pearl and Rosetta, a couple of whores from the Red Dragon strolled arm in arm in front of the brothel, advertising their wares. Brenna traded her healing skills for information they learned from their clients.
Over by the wine seller’s shop one of Eryl’s young runners slipped into the alley, no doubt looking to lift a skin or two of wine and earn some respect from the older lads. She’d done much the same more than a few times.
She stepped back from the window and dropped into the chair. It had seemed so easy when she’d told Kane and Pater to leave her alone, but after only a few days of inactivity she wanted to jump out of her own skin.
Mistress Dudding had heard that word about Brenna’s scrape with the Kingsguard and the church had traveled quickly. Since no one in the Quarter wanted to chance a run-in with either one of those powers, her healer trade had dried up. She had to get out. She stood up and grabbed her cloak.
An hour later, Brenna entered the kitchen of the Wheat Sheaf tavern. At least three people had trailed her when she left her rooms and it had taken some time and effort to lose them in the twisting back alleys and dead end streets of the Quarter. Her clothes were a little disheveled after climbing two fences and a tree, but she’d lost the last man more than twenty minutes ago. They had to be Brotherhood - Kane Rowse knew where she lived and no doubt had assigned them to follow her for her protection. Well, she didn’t need their protection, hadn’t she told him that? She knew how to be careful, how to take care of herself.
The Wheat Sheaf, the most respectable inn in the Quarter, was Eryl’s second headquarters. The Sheaf was where Eryl usually started his evenings. He met with prospective clients here before arranging for quieter, more private discussions later at the Crooked Dog. Brenna wanted to find out exactly what Eryl knew about the Captain of the Kingsguard.
“Heya, Mistress Mundy.” Brenna lifted a hand in greeting.
The gray-haired woman held the end of a thick wooden spoon and stirred a large pot of stew by the fire.
“Rabbit or mutton today?” Brenna asked. The stew at the Sheaf was legendary in the Quarter. It came in two versions and everyone had their favourite.
“Brenna, dear.” The large woman wiped her hands on her apron and enveloped Brenna in a huge hug. “I haven’t seen you for a while.” She lowered her voice. “I heard about you and the Guard. You’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” Brenna said. “I need to stay out of sight as much as I can, though.” Brenna leaned over the pot and sniffed. “Mutton, y
um.”
“Ah, that’s why you came in the kitchen door,” Mistress Mundy said. “I was surprised to hear Eryl came through for you. Lucky for him he did. He’d not be welcome here otherwise. And I told him just that.”
Brenna laughed. “I think Eryl surprised himself. I am short on coin just now though. Do you have any discreet customers looking for a healer?”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Mistress Mundy said. “But you seemed to have enough of your own troubles, and Eryl said you planned on keeping out of sight, and I wasn’t sure if you were even going to stay in town, I, er…” The woman twisted her apron in a knot before continuing. “Well, there was this lass as said she had healer training, so I’ve been sending all that trade to her. I am sorry, Brenna.”
“Not to worry,” Brenna said. “It’s good to know a healer is looking after the people of Thieves’ Quarter, even if it’s not me.” And probably for the best, what with the church looking for her. But she’d be out of coin soon if she couldn’t make any money.
“Is Eryl here?” Brenna asked.
“Aye, he’s in that small private room he likes to commandeer. Here.” Mistress Mundy took a ladle from beside the fire pit, scooped out a portion of stew and plopped it into a nearby bowl. “Have some