The Thief's Gamble Page 3

  Otrick rummaged in his breeches pocket for a little wash-leather pouch. 'So when will you be telling the Council the truth?' He popped a couple of leaves into his mouth and chewed with relish.

  'When I have a full story to tell or when someone senior enough brings me a rumour I can't ignore.' Planir fixed Usara with a keen eye. 'I'd prefer it to be the former. How close are you to finding out what I need to know?'

  Usara swallowed his drink with a hint of his former nervousness. 'We've managed to refine the methods of identifying the pieces we need.'

  'About cursed time. Sending so-called merchants out with a sack of coin to buy up every piece of Old Empire tat they could find is what attracted attention in the first place,' Otrick snorted.

  'That was unfortunate.' Usara faced the old mage with dignity. 'However, I don't recall you coming up with any better ideas.'

  Planir forestalled any argument with a commanding hand. 'Given we've had people working on this for close on two seasons, I'd have been amazed if we'd got away with it any longer. Now, what results are you getting?'

  'The information we're getting is very detailed, almost too much so. We need to place it in a context; it's the gaps in the written records that are holding us back at the moment.' Usara's frustration was evident.

  'I think it might be time to get one of the Vanam Histories brought here,' Planir said thoughtfully. 'I'd like to see progress on this sooner rather than later.'

  'We have asked but we haven't been able to persuade the

  Mentors to release one to us.' Usara shuffled his feet unhappily at this admission.

  'I imagine I'll have more success. An Archmage has all kind of powers, 'Sar, and actual wizardry is often the least important.' Planir's eyes shone in the lamplight. 'Have you heard from Casuel Devoir lately? When's he due back?'

  'Equinox, I think,' Usara shrugged.

  'I said he was a bad choice for this kind of work,' Otrick sniffed.

  'Do we have a lot of choice? Casuel's had no pupillage for three seasons, so no one's missing him. He's bright enough and quite knowledgeable about the Old Empire, isn't he? It's not as if we've told any of them the full story.'

  Planir slid a sideways smile towards Otrick. 'You remember that business at Summer Solstice a few years back? His determination to outdo Shivvalan should give him the sort of edge he'll need.'

  'Ha!' Otrick's amusement came and went in an instant. 'If we need answers before the Council starts asking awkward questions, we must move faster. We need more people.'

  Planir reached round behind his chair to take a sheaf of papers from a desk. 'I think I should be able to find three or four suitable agents without attracting too much notice.'

  Usara frowned. 'They'll need to work with a mage. We'll have to find a handful or so who could be trusted with this but who aren't anyone's pupil at present.'

  'Not necessarily. I got Shivvalan Ralsere hooked when he came to ask me about a pupillage. I could take on at least one more and I think it's about time we got Troanna involved. No one's going to comment if she takes on a couple, especially if they're recent arrivals,' Otrick suggested.

  'True, I'll give it some thought,' Planir said thoughtfully. 'You'll need to find some scholars who can identify these trinkets as closely as possible, 'Sar.'

  Otrick yawned and rubbed his eyes. 'You'll owe me if I have a headache tomorrow, Planir, I'm getting too old to match someone like Kalion cork for cork.'

  'I'll turn the wine-merchant into a lizard if you feel bad in the morning, Cloud-Master,' the Archmage promised solemnly. 'Given the coin he took off me for that vintage, it'll be a pleasure.'

  Otrick heaved a sigh and the animation left his face, his years plain to see for the first time.

  'So what do we do when we've got the full story then? If half what we suspect turns out to be true, the mainlanders will be able to hear the uproar from Council clear across the gulf. Anyone wanting to find this particular, mystical, hidden island will just have to follow the noise.'

  'A shock's greatest when it's unexpected.' Planir looked untroubled. 'I think I'll give Naldeth's projects some personal attention. That'll stop everyone sniggering behind his back and if his theories gain a little currency, you can offer him some co-operation, 'Sar. Then we can control how and when any new information becomes common knowledge.'

  'If you say so.' The youthful mage's uncertainty was apparent.

  'You're juggling firebrands,' Otrick warned dourly.

  Planir shrugged and rose to replenish his cordial. 'That's as good a description as any of being an Archmage. Anyway, that wolf may well be a dog in the daylight; we might have nothing to worry about.'

  'I'd give you better odds on a winning spread of runes first throw,' Otrick muttered.

  'So you think you've got everything under control.' Usara looked to Planir for reassurance.

  The Archmage's smile glinted white and even. 'I do hope not, 'Sar, that's the last thing I want. I just set things in motion; what I'm watching for is the loose rune that can turn the game for us. We all have to look for that one opportunity and make sure we seize it.'

  The Packhorse Tavern, on the Col Road

  South of Ambafost, Ensaimin,

  13th of For-Autumn

  The noises of the inn woke me, the rattle of harness and stamp of hooves in the yard and the sounds of conversation and drinking below. I checked the sun as I dressed for my role as poor but comparatively honest villager; it was quite a lot later than I had intended to rise but I felt refreshed despite my night excursion. Cold water woke me up fully and I checked the pouch under my pillow to reassure myself that it had not all been a wishful dream. The tankard was there and in the daylight I could see I had chosen a fine piece. The silver had the rich sheen of old Tormalin work and the maker's mark was distinct and central on the base, another good sign. I did not recognise it but silver's not my thing; I'm better on paintings. Should I take it to Col myself if the market was rising? I thought about it but the whole idea had been to get some money so I could wait for Halice and, in any case, since it was such a good piece, I did not want to be the one left holding it if the theft was noticed and the local Watch came looking. This merchant, whoever he might be, could have it and welcome. All I wanted was the pay-off.

  I breakfasted rapidly and, taking out my hired horse, rode for Ambafost, cursing the inconvenience of unaccustomed skirts. The road was busy now it was past mid-morning and the previous days of rain had given way to sunshine. Farm carts and local carriages were rumbling along, occasionally overtaken by horsemen in twos and threes or delayed by a plodding mule train. This was both good and bad; more potential witnesses to identify me if someone came looking, but by the same token more faces for me to get lost amongst. I wondered about changing inns but there was the problem of Halice; I didn't want to miss any message she might send. It was market day and the square in Ambafost was packed; stalls offered everything from vegetables and meat to Dalasorian glassware and Aldabreshin silks; some merchants were clearly trading their way down to Col. People jostled and shoved and shouted, the melee smelling of damp wool and leather mingling with the scents of baking bread overhead and animal dung underfoot. I like this kind of market; they offer excellent cover. A few beggars were trying their luck without much success but there was no sign of any Watch coming to move them on which I was happy to see.

  I found the Running Hound easily and forced my way through the crowd. Several carriers' coaches had just arrived and there were passengers shouting at each other as they tried to find out when the next stage of their journey would begin: some needed to change routes, some wanted food, children were crying and one couple decided to start a major domestic dispute in the centre of the hall. A Rationalist was being completely ignored as she tried to find someone to bore with her theories on why advances in magic and science meant no one need bother with the gods nowadays.

  'Where's the merchant interested in buying antiquities?' I grabbed a passing potman by the elbow.

&n
bsp; 'Private parlour behind the gentles' bar.' He shook off my hand and went on his way without even looking at me.

  The clamour shrank to a murmur in the tap-room reserved for gentlefolk; there were settles here and sweet herbs among the rushes on the floor. The barkeeper gave me a sharp look but since I was evidently not a farmer or stockman, decided to give me the benefit of the doubt. I gave him my brightest smile, the one that says cute but dim.

  'I just got into town and someone told me there's a merchant looking to buy antiquities. Could I speak to him please?'

  'I'll let him know you're here. He's busy at the moment.' He polished the already spotless pewter of the goblet he was holding.

  I did not want to force the issue so repeated the smile. 'I'll have a cup of wine while I wait then. Have one yourself.' I dropped a Mark on the counter and took the wine he poured, without waiting for change.

  As I sat in a discreet corner, I saw two women come out of the parlour together; one with a smug smirk, the other trying to conceal her chagrin.

  'It's a shame, dear,' the first said to her stout companion. 'Your father always swore those stones were genuine.'

  The woman smoothed the blue brocade of her gown. 'The sentimental value remains. It's not as if I needed to sell like you.'

  The first woman's lips narrowed. 'Times are changing, dear. There's no room for sentiment in business nowadays.'

  They swept out of the street door together and I caught the barkeeper's eye as he put a flagon of wine and some goblets on a tray. He gestured to me and I headed over.

  'You'd better not be wasting his time,' he warned as he opened the door for me.

  'Good morning, my name's Terilla.'

  I fixed on the bright smile again and looked at the three men sitting across the table in the small sun-filled room. In the centre a heavily built man in red broadcloth leant back against the wall and looked at me unsmiling. He was dark of hair and beard, his rings were heavy gold without gems and unless I was mistaken he had a knife up his left sleeve. I could not see his boots under the table but he struck me as the type to have more than one blade about him; unusual in a merchant. His companions were an ill-assorted pair; to his right sat a wiry type in rough leathers over green linen. It did not suit his sallow skin and long black hair but he did not look the kind to care. He was idly casting runes as he sat, one hand against the other, and my fingers itched. The other one looked as if he had wandered in here by mistake but he was drinking wine so he had to be part of the team. Perhaps he was an apprentice of some sort: he was certainly young enough. He was wearing sensible brown homespun, close-cropped fair hair and an earnest expression; I doubted he was carrying a blade, he looked the sort to stab himself in the leg with it.

  The silence was getting awkward so I dropped the smile and opened my belt pouch.

  'I just got in on the coach from Sowford. Someone said you were buying Tormalin pieces and I wondered what you might give me for this.' I put the tankard on the table.

  The man in red looked at it but did not pick it up.

  'Where are you heading?' The rune-caster swept up his bones and gave me a frank and friendly smile that I trusted about as much as my own.

  'I'm travelling to Oakmont, to join Lord Elkith's Players.' Both places were several days' travel east and west respectively and he was welcome to try finding me later in a travelling troupe of actors. I held his gaze but out of the corner of my eye could see the quiet lad pick up the tankard and start examining it.

  'Working with players must be exciting. What do you do?' He leaned forward, all interest.

  Don't overdo it, pal, I thought, I don't look that fresh off the farm surely.

  'I'm a singer,' I replied. That much at least was true, it's another of those skills I mentioned. Despite the shades of my mother's disapproval, I'd learned a good repertoire of ballads and some basic dance tunes for the lute.

  'Will you be travelling to Col for the fair?'

  The boss was looking expectantly at the lad. Was he some kind of expert? He looked rather young.

  'I'm not sure.' I thought it was about time I asked some questions of my own. 'Are you looking to trade at the fair? Perhaps I should take Grandad's tankard there myself.'

  I saw the shadow of concern cross the lad's freckles. He looked at his boss and something unspoken passed between them. It struck me as a pity I could not get him in a game, he'd lose his breeches with a face like that.

  'It was your grandfather's? How do you come to be looking to sell it?' The boss smiled at me in what he clearly thought was encouragement. I giggled: wearing skirts does that to me nowadays.

  'Oh it's mine all right,' I lied fluently. 'He gave it to me on his deathbed, for my dowry. I wouldn't sell it but you see, I need to get away from home. I want to sing but my father wants me to marry his partner's son. He's a clothier and fat and boring and only interested in wools and satins. I had to get away.'

  Freckle-face's mouth was open and his expression was full of sympathy but the other two looked less impressed. Perhaps I'd laid it on a bit thick; I blame the dress. 'So how much would you give me?' 'What do you think it's worth?' The man in red leaned forward and I took a pace back, his gaze was uncomfortably piercing.

  'Um, well, I'm not really sure.' Should I take a low price and get out or show them I knew its real value? 'I'll give you six Marks for it.'

  'Caladhrian or Tormalin?' Either way, the offer was a joke.

  'Tormalin of course,' he assured me; as if the six extra pennies would make any real difference.

  'The reeve always said it was very valuable.' I looked up, wide-eyed and woebegone. 'Isn't it?'

  Freckles shifted in his chair and would have spoken but Lanky in the green silenced him with a gesture. The boss sat back and ran a hand over his beard.

  'It's worth what I'm willing to pay for it,' he said silkily, 'and that's six Marks, which I feel is more than generous, since I know it's stolen.'

  Shit. Now I was looking to get out of there as fast as possible. Should I try and bluff it through? No point, I decided swiftly.

  'Fine. Give me the coin and I'll be on my way. I've got a coach to catch.'

  Lanky drew a swift pattern in some spilled wine. There was not a soul in the room beyond us four yet the bolts on the door slid shut behind me. A chill went right through me. Double shit.

  'I'm sure you've got time for a little chat,' the boss said smoothly, making no move to get any money out. 'Why don't you tell us where you got this? You could tell us your real name too since we're here.'

  'I got lucky in a game a few nights back. Some bloke in an inn wagered the tankard; I didn't know it was lifted.'

  The skinny one poured me some wine but I ignored him. Catch me drinking with a wizard; not likely.

  'Not good enough, I'm afraid.' The boss sipped his wine and wiped his beard. 'This tankard is part of a small but valuable collection belonging to a particularly unpleasant wool merchant in Hawtree. You see, we approached him but his price was too high.'

  'Why did you choose this particular piece to steal?' Freckle-face could contain himself no longer and the boss scowled at the interruption. I looked at the windows but did not fancy my chances of getting out fast.

  'Relax, we're not going to hurt you.' Lanky pushed the wine towards me again. That was all very well for him to say. I do not trust wizards; not at all. It's not that I believe all the ballads: the immunity to pain, the immense powers, the reading minds and so on. The few I've known have been handy with some spells but as vulnerable as anyone else to a knife in the ribs. As far as I'm concerned, wizards are dangerous because their concerns are exclusively their own. They will be looking for something, travelling somewhere, after someone to hear his news or just to find out who his father was, don't ask me why. Whatever they want, they'll walk over hot coals to do it and if you look handy, they'll lay you down and use you as a footbridge. I gave Lanky a hard stare back.

  'We won't but the local Watch might have other ideas.' The boss lifte
d the tankard. 'He's an influential man. Catching the thief would do the Commander a lot of good.'

  I was not going to reply; he had the air of a man making an opening bid and I would bet I had played in more high-stakes games than he had.

  The silence lengthened. I could hear the din of the marketplace outside; traders shouting their wares, beasts neighing and carts clattering over the cobbles. Two drunks lurched past the window, giggling helplessly, their shadows falling across us all waiting, motionless. The tension grew so thick you could have stuck a spoon in it and spread it on bread. The boss was impassive, Lanky smiled and Freckles looked frankly miserable.

  'Of course, we need not tell the Watch anything.' Lanky grinned and lifted the untouched goblet to me in a toast. The boss scowled at him but went on.

  'You see, there are other pieces we would like to acquire whose owners are not keen to sell and I wonder if we could come to some arrangement. You clearly have talents we could use.'

  Good, we were down to business. 'Why can't your tame conjuror just magic them out for you?'

  'I need to know exactly where they are and to get a sight of them,' Lanky shrugged. 'Can't always be done.'

  So, no problem with ethics here. That made things easier.

  'What you're saying is work for you or you'll hand me over to the Watch and let them cut my hands off.' Freckles winced and I marked him down as the weak link in the chains they were trying to lock on me.

  'Basically, yes.' The boss's stare was getting distinctly unfriendly.

  'We'd make it worth your while,' Lanky assured me. 'You'd get a good percentage of the value.'

  'Fat lot of use that'll be if I get caught.'

  'I'll be able to get you out of any lock-up. Once I know you a little better, I'll be able to track you like a trail-hound.'

  That was a thrilling prospect, a wizard on my tail whom I would not be able to shake off.

  'What if some outraged noble sticks his sword into me to save the Watch the worry?' I challenged. 'Can you bring me back from Saedrin's lock-up too? I didn't think wizards did resurrections.'