Take A Thief v(-3 Page 21

  When the farrier had left, and Skif had taken the horse back to its stall, Halcom seemed disinclined to leave. “You've been doing good work here, friend,” Halcom said, looking around at the rest of the stable without getting up from the hay bale he was sitting on. “I'm glad you came here. Poor old Brother Absel just isn't up to the heavy work anymore.”

  “Thankee, sor,” Skif said, keeping to his persona of country bumpkin, and bobbing his head subserviently. “Would ye might be a-givin' me a character, too? That be what'm here for.”

  “I could probably do better than that, if what you want is stable work,” Halcom admitted, but with a raised eyebrow. “I've no doubt I could recommend you to several people for that. Is that what you want?”

  “Oh, aye, sor,” Skif replied, feigning eagerness.

  “Balderdash,” Halcom countered, startling Skif. “You're better than that. You don't really want to be a lowly stable hand for the rest of your life, do you?” His eyes gleamed with speculation. “You are much too intelligent for that. What are you aiming at? Master of Horse? Chief Coachman?”

  “Ah — ,” Skif stammered, before he got his wits together. “But I've got no training, sor. Dunno much but burthen beasts, and never learnt to drive.”

  Halcom waved that aside as of no consequence. “Nor have most boys your age when they go into service. As small as you are, though — learning to handle the reins could be problematic. I'm not sure you could control a team.”

  “I be stronger nor I look, sor,” Skif said, stung.

  Halcom laughed, but it didn't have that sly, mean sound to it that Skif had half expected. “Oh, you'd make a fine smart little footman, sitting up beside your master on a fashionable chariot, but I'll tell you the truth, lad, there is not a single highborn or man of means and fashion that I'd feel comfortable sending you to in that capacity. The good men have all the loyal footmen they need — and the others — ,” he shook his head. “I won't send you to a bad master.”

  “Ye might tell me who they be, sor?” Skif offered tentatively. “If I didna know it, I might take a place I was offered — ”

  “So you can avoid them?” Halcom nodded thoughtfully. “That's no bad idea. Clever of you to think of it.” And he proceeded, with forthright candor, to outline the character of every man he thought Skif ought not to take service with. He was so candid that Skif was, frankly, shocked. Not at the litany of faults and even vices — his upbringing in the worst part of Haven had exposed him to far worse than Halcom revealed. No, it was that Halcom was not at all reticent about unrolling the listing of faults of his “own kind.”

  As Halcom spoke, Skif found himself at war within himself. He wanted to trust Halcom, and he had sworn never to trust anyone. More than that, he wanted to like Halcom. It seemed to him that Halcom could easily become a friend.

  And he did not want any more friends.

  “That leaves plenty of good masters to take service with, mind,” Halcom pointed out when he was finished, and smiled. “And for all my differences with my own family, I can quite cheerfully recommend you to take service with them. They're quite good to those who serve them well.”

  Huh. It's only their own flesh'n'blood that they muck about with, eh? Skif thought. Guess you'n'me have more in common than I thought.

  “It was your own uncle that turned you out, wasn't it?” Halcom said suddenly, startling Skif again with his knowledge of Skif's “background.” Halcom laughed at his expression, wryly. “I suppose we have more in common than either of us would have suspected.”

  “ ’Twas your nuncle sent ye off?” Skif ventured.

  Halcom nodded, and his face shadowed. “My existence was an embarrassment,” he admitted sourly. “My uncle feared that my presence in his household would cast a shadow over some pending betrothal arrangements he was negotiating. My father — his younger brother — has no backbone to speak of, and agreed that I ought to be persuaded to a vocation.”

  “What?” Skif asked indignantly. “They figger you'd scare the bride?”

  “My uncle suggested that the prospective bride's father might rethink his offer if he thought that deformity ran in my family,” Halcom said bluntly, his mouth twisting in a frown. “Since my parents are dependent on his generosity for a place, I suppose I can't blame them…” He sighed deeply, and his expression lightened. “In the end, really, I'm rather glad it happened. I had very little to do with myself, I'm really not much of a scholar, and — well, needless to say, I'm not cut out for Court life either. I've always loved animals, and neither they, nor my fellow Brothers, care about this wretched leg of mine. And I did manage to shame my uncle into making a generous donation when he dumped me here.”

  Skif nodded his head, concealing as best he could that he was racked by an internal struggle. He really, truly wanted to be Halcom's friend. And he really, truly, did not want to make another friend that he knew he would only lose.

  I ain't stayin' here forever, he told himself sternly. He wouldn' be so nice if he knew what I was. Hellfires, he'd turn me straight over to th' Watch if he knew what I was!

  But he could almost hear the place whispering to him. It wanted him to stay. He could have a friend again. No one here would care what he had been, only what he was now, and what he might become. Oh, he'd never be rich — but he'd never starve either.

  He steeled himself against the seductive whispers of peace. Him? Bide in a place like this? Not when he had a debt to repay! Not when there was someone out there that was so ruthless he would do anything to anyone who stood in his way!

  Besides, this place would put him to sleep in a season. He'd turn into a sheep inside of a year. And if there was one thing that Skif had no desire to become, it was a sheep.

  “Well, I imagine you've heard more than enough to send you to sleep about me,” Halcom said, hauling himself to his feet again. “And I still have my charges to attend to. I won't keep you from your own duties any more, lad — but do remember what I've told you, and that if you want a second letter of commendation to go with the Prior's when you leave, I will be happy to write one for you.”

  That last, said as Halcom turned to go, had the sound of a formal dismissal, superior to inferior.

  There, you see? he taunted that seductive whisper. I ain't a friend to the likes of a highborn, even if his people did cast 'im off. A mouse might's well ask a hawk t'be his friend. Hawk even say yes — till he got hungry.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Another week passed, and the city was struck with a heat wave that was so oppressive people and animals actually began dying.

  The Queen closed the Court and sent everyone but her Privy Council out of the city. But there was nowhere for the poor and the working classes to go, and even if there had been, how could ordinary people just pack up and leave? How would they make a living, pay their bills, feed their children? Life in Haven went on as best it could. As many folk as could changed their hours, rising before dawn, working until the heat grew intolerable, enduring as best they could until late afternoon, then taking up their tasks again in the evening. The Prior knew a clever trick or two, though, and the Brethren began going through the poorer neighborhoods, teaching people what the Prior had taught them — for although it was the Lord of the Beasts that the Brethren served, nevertheless, Man was brother to the Beasts.

  Water-soaked pads of straw in windows somehow cooled the air that blew through them, so long as there was a breeze. And if there wasn't, the cheapest, more porous terra-cotta jars filled with water and placed about a room also helped to cool the air as the water evaporated from them. Stretching a piece of heavy paper over a frame, then fastening that frame by one side to the ceiling and attaching a cord to a corner created a huge fan that would create a breeze when the winds themselves didn't oblige; there were always children to pull the cord, and they didn't mind doing so when the breeze cooled them as well. And the same cheap terra cotta that was used for those jars could be made into tiles to be soaked with water and laid on the
floor — also cooling a room or the overheated person who lay down on them. It helped; all of it helped.

  People were encouraged to sleep on flat rooftops or in their gardens or even in parks by night, and in cellars by day.

  But there was always someone greedy enough to want to make a profit from the misfortune of others. Suddenly the dank and dark basement rooms that had been the cheapest to rent became the most expensive. Not all landlords raised the rents on their cellars, but many did, and if it hadn't been so stiflingly hot, there might have been altercations over it.

  But it was just too hot. No one could seem to get the energy even to protest.

  Skif was terribly frustrated; it was nearly impossible to move around the city by night without being seen! And yet, with all of the wealthy and highborn gone, it should have been child's play to continue his vendetta! Why, the huge manors and mansions were so deserted that the Master Thief must have been looting them with impunity, knowing that no one would discover his depredations until the heat wave broke and people returned to Haven.

  Hellfires, Skif thought grumblingly, as he returned from an errand to the market, through streets that the noon heat had left deserted. It'd be easier to make a run by day than by —

  Then it hit him. Of course! Why not make his raids by day? He was supposed to be resting, like everyone and everything, during the heat of the day. No one would miss him at the Priory, and there would be no one around to see him in the deserted mansions, not with the skeleton staffs spending their time in the cool of the wine cellars, most of them asleep if they had any sense!

  That's pro'lly what the Master Thief's doing! he thought with glee. He was delighted to have thought of it, and enjoyed a moment of mental preening over his own cleverness.

  Well, he certainly would not be wearing his black “sneak suit” for these jobs. His best bet was to look perfectly ordinary. The fact was, he probably wouldn't even need to get in via the rooftops; the doors and windows would all be unlocked. After all, who would ever expect a thief to walk in the kitchen door in broad daylight?

  He brought the bag of flour and the basket of other sundries he'd been sent for to the kitchen and left it on the table.

  The Brother who acted as cook had changed the routine because of the heat. A great many things were being served cold; boiled eggs, cheese, vegetables and so forth. Actual cooking was done at night and in ovens and on brick stoves erected in the kitchen courtyard. The biggest meal of the day was now breakfast; the noon meal was no longer a meal, but consisted of whatever anyone was able to eat (given the heat, which killed appetites), picked up as one got hungry, in the kitchen. Big bowls of cleaned, sliced vegetables submerged in water lined the counters, loaves of bread resided under cheesecloth, boiled eggs in a smaller bowl beside them. There was butter and cheese in the cold larder if anyone wanted it, which hardly anyone did.

  Skif helped himself to carrot strips and celery and a piece of bread; he ate the bread plain, because he couldn't bear the thought of butter either. The place might just as well have been deserted; the only sign that there had been anyone in the kitchen was the lumps of bread dough left to rise under cloths along their shelf.

  Skif wasn't all that hungry either, but he ate and drank deeply of the cooled water from yet another terra-cotta jar. Then he went straight back out, as if he had been sent on a second errand. Not that there was anyone about to notice.

  He sauntered along the streets, watching the heat haze hovering above the pavement, keeping to the shade, and noting that there still were a few folk out. They paid no attention to him, and he gave them no more than a cursory glance.

  There was not so much as a hint of the Watch. No surprise there; what was there for them to do? There would be no fights, and it was too hot for petty theft, even if there was anything open at noon to steal from.

  Where to hit? That was the question. He had no clear target in mind, and he wasn't as familiar with who belonged to which great mansion as he would have liked. Finally he decided, for lack of any other ideas, to bestow his attentions on one Thomlan Vel Cerican, a charming fellow who had amassed a great deal of wealth by squeezing his poor tenants and giving them as little in the way of decent housing as he could get away with. He was one of the landlords who had responded to the current heat wave by evicting tenants from the newly-desirable basement rooms and charging a premium rate for them — sending the evicted to live in the attics.

  It seemed as good a reason as any to wreak as much havoc as humanly possible on him. If he hadn't burned his own buildings to avoid having to make repairs, it was only because he had balked at actually destroying anything he owned.

  So Skif's steps took him in the direction of the great homes of those who aspired to be counted among the highborn, not those who had actually gotten to that position.

  There was still no sign of Watch, Guards, or anyone else. He strolled along the street, not the alley, and nothing met his interested gaze but shuttered and curtained windows behind the gates. These houses, while imposing, did not boast the grounds and gardens of those of the true nobility. Land was at a premium within the second set of city walls.

  There were three sets of walls, in fact — four, if you counted the ones surrounding the Palace and the three Collegia. Each time that the city of Haven had outgrown its walls, a new set had been built. When that happened, land within the previous walls became highly desirable. Now, between the first set and the Palace walls, only the highborn, those with old titles, had their mansions (and indeed, manors), which had enormous gardens and landscaped grounds. Between the second and first, those who had newer titles, most less than a generation old, and the wealthy but not ennobled kept their state. Lesser dwellings had been bought up and razed to make way for these newer mansions. There were gardens, but they were a fraction of the size of those of the Great Lords of State. But there were parks here, places where one could ride or stroll and be observed. Between the third walls and the second lived most of the rest of the city, although the populace had already begun to spill outside the walls, and many of those whose wealth was very recent had taken to building mansions that aped those of the Great Lords of State, but outside the walls altogether, where land was cheaper.

  Eventually, Skif supposed, another set of walls would be built, and then it would be his neighborhood that would be razed to make way for the mansions of the wealthy.

  Skif passed one of the parks, and decided to take a rest near a lily-covered pond. It was deserted, the air shimmering with heat above the scorched lawns between the trees. His target was on the other side of this park, and it occurred to him that it wouldn't be a bad idea to observe it from the comfort of the park while he cooled off a little.

  Even though he had sauntered along in slothful fashion, he was still sweating. He pulled his linen shirt away from his body and threw himself down in the shade of a huge oak tree beside the pond. The ground was marginally cooler than the air or his body, but there were no signs that anyone was actually sleeping here at night, despite the suggestions of the authorities.

  Skif wasn't surprised. The Watch probably was discouraging the poor from moving into the parks in this section of the city, even though there were more of them here than between the second and third walls. The Watch was answerable directly to the wealthy folk living here — as opposed to the Guard, which was answerable to the Crown. Even though they were not here to witness the poor camping out of a night in “their” park, not one of the moneyed lot who lived around here even wanted to consider the prospect. The local Watch probably had orders to clear out campers as fast as they arrived.

  Skif turned his head to peer between bushes nearby, thinking he heard something. Some zealous Watchman, perhaps? If so, he'd better be prepared with a story about why he was here.

  He had heard something, but it wasn't a member of the Watch.

  There was a horse wandering loose around the park, taking nibbles out of the grass, sampling the flowers. It was a handsome creature, white as sno
w, and still wore a saddle and bridle. Reins dangled from the bridle — no, it was a bitless hackamore, he saw. No one would leave reins dangling like that — your horse could all too easily catch a leg in them, stumble, fall and perhaps break a leg.

  But if you didn't tie the reins off properly when you left a horse waiting, the horse could jerk them loose and wander off, leaving them dangling just like these were.

  For one wild moment, Skif thought — Is that a Companion?

  But no — if it had been a Companion, there would certainly be a Herald somewhere about. And besides, the saddle and hackamore were old, very plain, well-worn. Everyone knew that Companions went about in elaborate blue-and-silver tack, with silver bridle bells and embroidered barding. There were plenty of white horses around that weren't Companions. It was something of an affectation in some fashionable sets to ride white horses, or have a carriage drawn by matched teams of them.

  No, some idiot hadn't tied his horse properly. Or, far more likely given the worn state of the tack, some groom had taken his master's mare out for some exercise and had combined the chore with some errand of his own. He hadn't tied the horse up, and she'd pulled her reins loose and wandered away. That groom would be in a lot of trouble — but since there wasn't anyone combing the park looking for this beast, evidently he hadn't missed her yet.