One Midwinter Theft
This is a short prose entry to introduce Galen and Lisveth in The Poet's Eye. This prose short is still a work in progress and it is not a finished story. Don't get started yet -- you can come back later to read it!
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“So the way I figure it, you get into the house and then you use your wizardry to get the letter out of the lockbox.” Lisveth tore the brown roll into pieces of bread and looked at the man across the table from her. “And how does that go, exactly?” He shrugged. “Use your powers to open the box and float the letter over to the window or something. Wizardry.” She shook her head. “That’s not how wizardry works.” “Don’t play dumb with me just to get more pay. I’ve made you the best offer I can, and pretending it’s harder won’t get you any more than I’ve already said.” Lisveth sighed and put down the bread. That got Galen’s attention; Lisveth rarely set aside food, especially when someone else was paying for it, as she had insisted this potential client do. It meant that she intended to make a disparaging point in her negotiations. It could also mean she had detected something potentially dangerous and wanted her hands free for casting, just in case. But he did not imagine there were too many threats coming at them in this moderately busy public room. “Look,” Lisveth said with mock patience, “how many sorcerers have you talked with?” “I’m talking with you right now.” “Not including me. How many people with real proficiency in magic have you spoken to? Ever?” Galen guessed where she was going with this; this town couldn’t draw too many sorcerers. It wasn’t a tiny village, but it was no city to boast regular work for those with skills for magic. The man frowned. “I’ve known a couple of wizards through here.” “Sorcerers,” Lisveth corrected mildly. “And did you try to hire them for work?” He waved a hand. “Look, I don’t care how you get the thing. That’s not my problem; I’m paying you so it will be your problem. I just want you to fetch it and bring it safely to me.” Galen cleared his throat. “Is the letter yours?” “What?” The man looked at him and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “What does that matter?” “It doesn’t,” Lisveth answered with only a slight glance toward Galen. “It does matter,” Galen protested. “We’re not thieves.” Lisveth checked an eyeroll in frustration. “We’re only thieves if we know it doesn’t belong to him. As it stands, he’s asked us to pick something up and deliver it to him, and that does not make us thieves by any meaning.” Galen looked at the man across the table. “Will you excuse us a moment?” The man’s mouth turned down at the corners, but he pushed back from the table. “Got to take a leak anyway.” Galen turned to Lisveth, who was already starting to argue, and he raised a hand. “We agreed to try it my way for a while,” he said above her protest. “Your way is complicated and cuts out two-thirds of our potential customers,” Lisveth answered. “And it risks annoying the rest by suggesting they’re dishonest.” “They may well be dishonest.” “They’re not going to be persuaded into honesty by you asking them if they’re honest,” Lisveth said irritably. “They’re just going to be irritated if they are honest and wary if they’re not. And wary and irritated don’t pay so well. Your way is bad for business.” “It’s also less wrong. Which I know you don’t care about, but it’s also safer. Less legal entanglement.” Galen gestured to the empty space across the table. “If this man really owns this thing, why doesn’t he go to the local magistrate and ask for help in getting it back?” “Oh, just as you'd go right up to the local sheriff and ask for help?” Lisveth’s skepticism dripped from her consonants. “Surely he'd do the right thing by you? Because you’re not a thief, right?” “That’s different.” “Different enough that you’d approach a magistrate without hesitation?” Galen clenched his jaw, unable to readily answer and hating that she had him so neatly. “Fine. But let’s at least ask him if he owns it.” “To what point? Do you think he’s going to say no if he doesn’t? And what are you going to do if he says no?” “If you’re right, he won’t say no, and we’ll at least have heard him say yes.” It was a feeble compromise, but Galen couldn’t think of anything else to negotiate in the moment. When the man returned, Lisveth set her elbows on the table and put a piece of brown bread into her mouth. “My colleague would like to hear you say that you own the object in question,” she said around the bread with flat amusement. The man looked back and forth between the two of them. “I own it,” he said. “It was stolen. I want you to get it back for me.” “There, you see?” Lisveth turned from Galen back to the client. “All right, then.” Galen still wasn’t sure he liked it. But he supposed he had lost considerable higher moral ground when he had joined Lisveth on the road and when she’d learned his circumstances. At least they were taking odd jobs instead of robbing caravans, and if some of those jobs were shady, it was still a step above highway robbery. Mostly. He wondered what was in this letter they were being hired to retrieve. *** The house looked typical enough. There were shutters on the windows, but many houses had those without being dens of vice. The house was set back from the road, with trees and bushes obscuring the yard and windows, but that could have been a result of neglected pruning as much as of a desire to conceal. Galen tried to repeat Lisveth’s easy assurance that they did not know that the letter did not belong to their client Rolf, as he’d said, and that since he said it had been stolen from him, it was not thievery to steal it back for him again. It did not make him feel better. But they worked their way up the concealing line of bushes and around the side of the house, watching for a possible entry point. At least there was no snow to reflect light, or to highlight them in the dark, or to crunch underfoot, or to creep down their collars since they’d left their cloaks in their rented room. Cloaks got in the way of wriggling into places and were dangerous liabilities in a fight. “Why do you need us to break in?” Galen had asked practically. “Since you already know where it is?” “I saw him put it into the lockbox when he took it,” Rolf answered. “But I’m a chandler. I work with hot wax, not cold steel. If he comes in while I’m breaking into his lockbox…but you could fight your way out. And bring my letter,” he added. “We’ll hope it’s in the same place where you saw him stash it,” Lisveth said. Rolf nodded. “He’d have no reason to move it. He knows I’m not able to come for him. And he’s cocky. Very cocky.” “Not without reason,” Lisveth observed. “Since no one is going up against him.” Rolf had ducked his head. “But that’s why I’m hiring you. And he won’t have moved it because he’s not expecting trouble.” Galen reached out and touched Lisveth’s arm, and he nodded toward the far corner of the house. A dark figure stood there, mostly concealed by shadow, looking out toward the road. The house was not unguarded. Lisveth nodded once and then looked at the window nearest them. Rolf had said the study was in the northwest of the house, and this was the most efficient entry if it would not be too difficult. But the shutters were not latched, and the glazing was not barred, and Lisveth wriggled a slim metal shim into a joint to unhook the typical latch. “Cocky,” she breathed. Galen put his hands on the window. It was a wide window, boasting of wealth with glass an arm’s-length wide. The part which was hinged to swing out was smaller and would be a tight fit, but they should both be able to get through. There was no way to guess if the hinges were well-oiled or noisy, so Galen got his fingers into the gap, flexed the swinging door just enough to test his grip, and then nodded to Lisveth. She tapped his shoulder, once, twice, thrice. A crash sounded from the trees beyond where the guard stood, covering the sound of Galen pulling the casement open, and as the guard turned to stare into the darkness, Galen boosted Lisveth through the open window. She writhed through like an eel. Galen was not nearly so petite or lithe, and after pulling himself up to the chest level opening, he leaned in and twisted to fit his shoulders. His entry was not so graceful, but he caught the floor with his hands as he kicked his way through and managed to collapse quietly to the carpeted floor. The carpet was nice, over hardwood that showed little wear. The study was spacious, really spacious, and grander than expected for a merchant in a town like this. Galen’s suspicions eased a little. Whether their client Rolf was honest or not, this was more than he probably wanted to tangle with. They turned away from each other and began scanning for the lockbox Rolf had described. Namedone, who had taken it and locked it away as Rolf watched, had not been kind enough to leave the box conveniently atop his desk, and they began crouching in the dark to peer at shelves and squint into cabinets. Lisveth found it on a lower shelf behind a carved door—too fine for a country merchant, this Namedone was definitely earning more than his legitimate business could support—and she whispered a stream of invective. “Too big to carry out that little casement,” she grumbled. “Have to open it and take only what we came for.” “Can you pick the lock?” “Of course not,” she answered with annoyance. “But I can wedge in the right pieces to let a farm boy with pig-throwing muscles leverage it apart.” “Who throws pigs? You have the oddest ideas of farm work.” She worked in the metal shim, and Galen was just about to give it a sharp strike when the candle flared. Galen started to spin but there was already a blade over his shoulder, too near his neck. He stopped and slowly raised his hands above the elbows. Someone grabbed Lisveth by the shoulder and pulled her away from him, putting a short knife under her chin. Galen did not know where the first two had come from, but there was a man emerging from behind the cloaks hanging in a corner, and more were coming through the door, now open. Galen had focused too much on the shelves around the desk and had not even considered searching the room for concealed people—which seemed a ridiculous thing to be wary of, but clearly necessary. They had been set up. “They said you were magic mercenaries,” a man said with a sneer. He passed a candle to another, who set about lighting the lamps all around the room. Too many lamps, too much oil, too much wealth. “But you’re just a couple of ordinary rats trying to pop a lock. You’re not mercenaries, you’re conmen.” Each of Galen’s arms was held by someone who did not look as if he’d been hired for ledger work. Just one man held Lisveth, but he had the blade too close to risk struggle. His other hand, holding her across the shoulder and chest, began to drift, and Lisveth grabbed for it. “Watch it!” “Bruno!” snapped the sneering man, and Bruno stopped trying. Someone else stepped up and they each took one of Lisveth’s arms, holding her more securely. Galen was both relieved and frustrated; she could have done more with a single arm about her than while held by two men. He was immobile for now, held by two and with the short sword still resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for that,” Namedone said. “I didn’t tell Bruno and the others that this might also be a business meeting. But you see, I waited for you here so I could meet you. I wanted to talk with you.” “You could have come to the public room like everyone else,” Galen said. Then he closed his mouth. Let Lisveth do the talking; she was always better at it, and he could watch for an opening. The best guards could not stay vigilant in every passing second. “Then I could not have seen you work,” Namedone said with an expansive smile and upturned hands to encompass the spacious study. “I wanted to see what you were capable of. Of course, I thought I would see more magic and less window-prying.” He looked at Galen, who did not answer. Let Lisveth handle him. After a moment, Namedone turned to Lisveth, who was managing to look bored with a knife beside her face. He waited, but she did not speak, either. He gestured. “Aren’t you curious as to what I mean by a business meeting?” Lisveth gave the tiniest of sighs. “If you must.” He scowled. “You’re very cold for a woman whose life hangs by my word.” “The truth is, I’m not feeling very imperiled,” Lisveth replied patiently. “If you wanted to kill us, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But since we are, and since you clearly want someone to ask about your proposition, it seems the only way forward is through. So what is it you want, Namedone?” Galen shifted his eyes to the man on his right. As fun as it was to watch Lisveth at work, his priority was to get free. The guard on the right was watching Lisveth, but his grip was still tight on Galen’s arm. The guard on the left knew his business and he had a fingertip in the nerves of Galen’s arm. It hurt. Namedone’s scowl deepened. “I thought I would offer you a job.” He gestured. “I have better terms than Rolf, and I could use your skills.” “Our skills?” Lisveth gave a half-grin. “The ones you were disparaging as common cons just a moment ago? Does this usually work for you, playing down the worth of what you want to buy?” Namedone’s lips thinned. “You are not in a position to negotiate, nor to be cheeky.” “You are not in a position to assume.” That broke his scowl. He looked back and forth between his captives and laughed aloud. “Whatever could you mean, girl?” Lisveth lifted her chin. “What’s in the letter?” That surprised him. “What does that have to do with anything here? We’re talking about—” “What’s in the letter? Or was that just a ruse to get us in here because you aren’t welcome in the pub?” Namedone crossed his arms. “I suppose Rolf told you it’s a letter of the heart, didn’t he? A tender missive from his lover, precious for its sentimental value? That’s true to a point, I suppose, but his sweet lover included a land grant with the poetry. That’s what can happen when one bonks above his rank.” Lisveth made a face. “You asked, I answered. So Rolf wasn’t wrong to want it back. He can’t claim the land is stolen without exposing the affair, so as long as I have the deed, it’s a tidy deal for me, right?” Galen shifted his aching left arm, but the guard was still alert. Apparently he did not find Lisveth’s drama engrossing. Galen looked to the right again. “If you say so,” Lisveth said. Namedone stepped forward. “You’re supposed to be the sorceress, right? Why aren’t you using any magic?” “I thought you were trying to hold me here,” Lisveth said with a little nod toward one of the men holding her. “Did you want me to walk out?” “I want to know what I’m buying. Can you or can’t you use magic?” “First off, you can’t buy what isn’t for sale,” Lisveth corrected firmly. “And you haven’t exactly been a welcoming business partner, what with calling me a rat and all. And finally, you’ve got men on my arms, and don’t you know a sorceress needs her hands to work her magic?” “Is that so?” Namedone smirked. “Well, we’re not letting you go to show us, if that’s what you were after.” “Do you think I would have told you so plainly if that’s what mattered to me?” Lisveth’s voice dripped with disdain. “There are other things than me you should be more worried about.” “We’ve got your red boy right here.” He pointed a thumb at Galen, who felt himself grow warm. It galled him, first that the man had called him red and then that it could gall him even in such a serious situation. His hair color was hardly their chief concern while there was still a sword resting on his shoulder. Lisveth gave a dismissive shake of her head. “How many guards are right now outside this house?” “What? None.” She made an expression that suggested rolling her eyes was more effort than this conversation deserved. “Again, do you think being insulting actually helps your business offers?” He gave a little shrug. “Two.” “Two.” “Again, wrong answer.” “I said—” There was a muffled scream from outside, distant but audible. “I’m sorry, I spoke too soon,” Lisveth drawled as Namedone jerked around to look toward the open window. “Now that’s a wrong answer.” “What’s—who did you bring with you? You came alone, you didn’t hire anyone in town.” Lisveth shook her head as horrific snarls reached them. Someone outside gave a protesting cry. “No. But your first lying answer about no guards is about to become truth.” Namedone closed on her and took the knife from Bruno’s hand, pressing it close to her jaw himself. “Stop it. Stop whatever you’re doing, or I’ll kill you now.” “Oh, kill its master, that will probably make nice with it right away,” Lisveth said evenly, holding his eyes. “It definitely won’t come in looking for me. Good plan.” “What is it?” Namedone demanded. “What is it?” But the scream at the window interrupted him, and he turned to stare as a man’s arm came through the open window, grasping for aid. But before he could climb inside, a dark shape leapt through the glass, bearing him to the carpet and savaging him. Galen had only a quick impression of dark, coarse fur, and then he struck away the sword and stomped his foot through the knee of the transfixed guard. Namedone and the others recoiled from the grisly scene, and the beast raised its head to glare about the room, ragged cloth dangling from its teeth. Galen took the sword, kicked a guard, swung the blade to clear back the others. But they were less concerned with him. Some were bolting for the study door, making for the only escape. At the other side of the room, Lisveth put out a foot and tripped Namedone as he rushed away from the beast. He rolled, and she kicked him twice before bending for the keys at his waist. Galen ran to her, jabbing the sword toward Bruno, but Bruno hesitated, looking at his boss groaning and scrabbling on the floor. Namedone made a grab for Lisveth, but she twisted out of his grip and stomped him once more, catching her target in the groin. Bruno made a little lunge for Lisveth, and Galen ran to intercept. The great beast roared and leapt, faster than Galen, and Bruno flinched back as the monster soared at him. Galen struck him hard, bearing him to the ground, and punched with the sword pommel as Bruno gibbered and coiled into a ball. At the third blow, he went quiet. Galen got up and turned to see Lisveth working at the lockbox. “It’s got to be this one,” she muttered. “It’s just stuck—oh, fair night, just take the thing. Rolf can sort it.” “It won’t fit out the window—” “Break it again.” Galen heaved the lockbox toward the shattered window, and it sailed through the gap with a crash of breaking glass. Lisveth snatched a cloak from a hanging peg and bunched it over the sill, blunting the shards as they climbed out. “Careful,” Galen cautioned. The ground outside was littered with broken glass. “I suppose they’re going to see the window was broken out.” “They’ll figure it out when they’re missing a few dead guards, too,” Lisveth said. “So let’s not wait for it.” Galen hefted the lockbox on his shoulder, and they hurried on through the dark. ***
“So the way I figure it, you get into the house and then you use your wizardry to get the letter out of the lockbox.” Lisveth tore the brown roll into pieces of bread and looked at the man across the table from her. “And how does that go, exactly?” He shrugged. “Use your powers to open the box and float the letter over to the window or something. Wizardry.” She shook her head. “That’s not how wizardry works.” “Don’t play dumb with me just to get more pay. I’ve made you the best offer I can, and pretending it’s harder won’t get you any more than I’ve already said.” Lisveth sighed and put down the bread. That got Galen’s attention; Lisveth rarely set aside food, especially when someone else was paying for it, as she had insisted this potential client do. It meant that she intended to make a disparaging point in her negotiations. It could also mean she had detected something potentially dangerous and wanted her hands free for casting, just in case. But he did not imagine there were too many threats coming at them in this moderately busy public room. “Look,” Lisveth said with mock patience, “how many sorcerers have you talked with?” “I’m talking with you right now.” “Not including me. How many people with real proficiency in magic have you spoken to? Ever?” Galen guessed where she was going with this; this town couldn’t draw too many sorcerers. It wasn’t a tiny village, but it was no city to boast regular work for those with skills for magic. The man frowned. “I’ve known a couple of wizards through here.” “Sorcerers,” Lisveth corrected mildly. “And did you try to hire them for work?” He waved a hand. “Look, I don’t care how you get the thing. That’s not my problem; I’m paying you so it will be your problem. I just want you to fetch it and bring it safely to me.” Galen cleared his throat. “Is the letter yours?” “What?” The man looked at him and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “What does that matter?” “It doesn’t,” Lisveth answered with only a slight glance toward Galen. “It does matter,” Galen protested. “We’re not thieves.” Lisveth checked an eyeroll in frustration. “We’re only thieves if we know it doesn’t belong to him. As it stands, he’s asked us to pick something up and deliver it to him, and that does not make us thieves by any meaning.” Galen looked at the man across the table. “Will you excuse us a moment?” The man’s mouth turned down at the corners, but he pushed back from the table. “Got to take a leak anyway.” Galen turned to Lisveth, who was already starting to argue, and he raised a hand. “We agreed to try it my way for a while,” he said above her protest. “Your way is complicated and cuts out two-thirds of our potential customers,” Lisveth answered. “And it risks annoying the rest by suggesting they’re dishonest.” “They may well be dishonest.” “They’re not going to be persuaded into honesty by you asking them if they’re honest,” Lisveth said irritably. “They’re just going to be irritated if they are honest and wary if they’re not. And wary and irritated don’t pay so well. Your way is bad for business.” “It’s also less wrong. Which I know you don’t care about, but it’s also safer. Less legal entanglement.” Galen gestured to the empty space across the table. “If this man really owns this thing, why doesn’t he go to the local magistrate and ask for help in getting it back?” “Oh, just as you'd go right up to the local sheriff and ask for help?” Lisveth’s skepticism dripped from her consonants. “Surely he'd do the right thing by you? Because you’re not a thief, right?” “That’s different.” “Different enough that you’d approach a magistrate without hesitation?” Galen clenched his jaw, unable to readily answer and hating that she had him so neatly. “Fine. But let’s at least ask him if he owns it.” “To what point? Do you think he’s going to say no if he doesn’t? And what are you going to do if he says no?” “If you’re right, he won’t say no, and we’ll at least have heard him say yes.” It was a feeble compromise, but Galen couldn’t think of anything else to negotiate in the moment. When the man returned, Lisveth set her elbows on the table and put a piece of brown bread into her mouth. “My colleague would like to hear you say that you own the object in question,” she said around the bread with flat amusement. The man looked back and forth between the two of them. “I own it,” he said. “It was stolen. I want you to get it back for me.” “There, you see?” Lisveth turned from Galen back to the client. “All right, then.” Galen still wasn’t sure he liked it. But he supposed he had lost considerable higher moral ground when he had joined Lisveth on the road and when she’d learned his circumstances. At least they were taking odd jobs instead of robbing caravans, and if some of those jobs were shady, it was still a step above highway robbery. Mostly. He wondered what was in this letter they were being hired to retrieve. *** The house looked typical enough. There were shutters on the windows, but many houses had those without being dens of vice. The house was set back from the road, with trees and bushes obscuring the yard and windows, but that could have been a result of neglected pruning as much as of a desire to conceal. Galen tried to repeat Lisveth’s easy assurance that they did not know that the letter did not belong to their client Rolf, as he’d said, and that since he said it had been stolen from him, it was not thievery to steal it back for him again. It did not make him feel better. But they worked their way up the concealing line of bushes and around the side of the house, watching for a possible entry point. At least there was no snow to reflect light, or to highlight them in the dark, or to crunch underfoot, or to creep down their collars since they’d left their cloaks in their rented room. Cloaks got in the way of wriggling into places and were dangerous liabilities in a fight. “Why do you need us to break in?” Galen had asked practically. “Since you already know where it is?” “I saw him put it into the lockbox when he took it,” Rolf answered. “But I’m a chandler. I work with hot wax, not cold steel. If he comes in while I’m breaking into his lockbox…but you could fight your way out. And bring my letter,” he added. “We’ll hope it’s in the same place where you saw him stash it,” Lisveth said. Rolf nodded. “He’d have no reason to move it. He knows I’m not able to come for him. And he’s cocky. Very cocky.” “Not without reason,” Lisveth observed. “Since no one is going up against him.” Rolf had ducked his head. “But that’s why I’m hiring you. And he won’t have moved it because he’s not expecting trouble.” Galen reached out and touched Lisveth’s arm, and he nodded toward the far corner of the house. A dark figure stood there, mostly concealed by shadow, looking out toward the road. The house was not unguarded. Lisveth nodded once and then looked at the window nearest them. Rolf had said the study was in the northwest of the house, and this was the most efficient entry if it would not be too difficult. But the shutters were not latched, and the glazing was not barred, and Lisveth wriggled a slim metal shim into a joint to unhook the typical latch. “Cocky,” she breathed. Galen put his hands on the window. It was a wide window, boasting of wealth with glass an arm’s-length wide. The part which was hinged to swing out was smaller and would be a tight fit, but they should both be able to get through. There was no way to guess if the hinges were well-oiled or noisy, so Galen got his fingers into the gap, flexed the swinging door just enough to test his grip, and then nodded to Lisveth. She tapped his shoulder, once, twice, thrice. A crash sounded from the trees beyond where the guard stood, covering the sound of Galen pulling the casement open, and as the guard turned to stare into the darkness, Galen boosted Lisveth through the open window. She writhed through like an eel. Galen was not nearly so petite or lithe, and after pulling himself up to the chest level opening, he leaned in and twisted to fit his shoulders. His entry was not so graceful, but he caught the floor with his hands as he kicked his way through and managed to collapse quietly to the carpeted floor. The carpet was nice, over hardwood that showed little wear. The study was spacious, really spacious, and grander than expected for a merchant in a town like this. Galen’s suspicions eased a little. Whether their client Rolf was honest or not, this was more than he probably wanted to tangle with. They turned away from each other and began scanning for the lockbox Rolf had described. Namedone, who had taken it and locked it away as Rolf watched, had not been kind enough to leave the box conveniently atop his desk, and they began crouching in the dark to peer at shelves and squint into cabinets. Lisveth found it on a lower shelf behind a carved door—too fine for a country merchant, this Namedone was definitely earning more than his legitimate business could support—and she whispered a stream of invective. “Too big to carry out that little casement,” she grumbled. “Have to open it and take only what we came for.” “Can you pick the lock?” “Of course not,” she answered with annoyance. “But I can wedge in the right pieces to let a farm boy with pig-throwing muscles leverage it apart.” “Who throws pigs? You have the oddest ideas of farm work.” She worked in the metal shim, and Galen was just about to give it a sharp strike when the candle flared. Galen started to spin but there was already a blade over his shoulder, too near his neck. He stopped and slowly raised his hands above the elbows. Someone grabbed Lisveth by the shoulder and pulled her away from him, putting a short knife under her chin. Galen did not know where the first two had come from, but there was a man emerging from behind the cloaks hanging in a corner, and more were coming through the door, now open. Galen had focused too much on the shelves around the desk and had not even considered searching the room for concealed people—which seemed a ridiculous thing to be wary of, but clearly necessary. They had been set up. “They said you were magic mercenaries,” a man said with a sneer. He passed a candle to another, who set about lighting the lamps all around the room. Too many lamps, too much oil, too much wealth. “But you’re just a couple of ordinary rats trying to pop a lock. You’re not mercenaries, you’re conmen.” Each of Galen’s arms was held by someone who did not look as if he’d been hired for ledger work. Just one man held Lisveth, but he had the blade too close to risk struggle. His other hand, holding her across the shoulder and chest, began to drift, and Lisveth grabbed for it. “Watch it!” “Bruno!” snapped the sneering man, and Bruno stopped trying. Someone else stepped up and they each took one of Lisveth’s arms, holding her more securely. Galen was both relieved and frustrated; she could have done more with a single arm about her than while held by two men. He was immobile for now, held by two and with the short sword still resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for that,” Namedone said. “I didn’t tell Bruno and the others that this might also be a business meeting. But you see, I waited for you here so I could meet you. I wanted to talk with you.” “You could have come to the public room like everyone else,” Galen said. Then he closed his mouth. Let Lisveth do the talking; she was always better at it, and he could watch for an opening. The best guards could not stay vigilant in every passing second. “Then I could not have seen you work,” Namedone said with an expansive smile and upturned hands to encompass the spacious study. “I wanted to see what you were capable of. Of course, I thought I would see more magic and less window-prying.” He looked at Galen, who did not answer. Let Lisveth handle him. After a moment, Namedone turned to Lisveth, who was managing to look bored with a knife beside her face. He waited, but she did not speak, either. He gestured. “Aren’t you curious as to what I mean by a business meeting?” Lisveth gave the tiniest of sighs. “If you must.” He scowled. “You’re very cold for a woman whose life hangs by my word.” “The truth is, I’m not feeling very imperiled,” Lisveth replied patiently. “If you wanted to kill us, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But since we are, and since you clearly want someone to ask about your proposition, it seems the only way forward is through. So what is it you want, Namedone?” Galen shifted his eyes to the man on his right. As fun as it was to watch Lisveth at work, his priority was to get free. The guard on the right was watching Lisveth, but his grip was still tight on Galen’s arm. The guard on the left knew his business and he had a fingertip in the nerves of Galen’s arm. It hurt. Namedone’s scowl deepened. “I thought I would offer you a job.” He gestured. “I have better terms than Rolf, and I could use your skills.” “Our skills?” Lisveth gave a half-grin. “The ones you were disparaging as common cons just a moment ago? Does this usually work for you, playing down the worth of what you want to buy?” Namedone’s lips thinned. “You are not in a position to negotiate, nor to be cheeky.” “You are not in a position to assume.” That broke his scowl. He looked back and forth between his captives and laughed aloud. “Whatever could you mean, girl?” Lisveth lifted her chin. “What’s in the letter?” That surprised him. “What does that have to do with anything here? We’re talking about—” “What’s in the letter? Or was that just a ruse to get us in here because you aren’t welcome in the pub?” Namedone crossed his arms. “I suppose Rolf told you it’s a letter of the heart, didn’t he? A tender missive from his lover, precious for its sentimental value? That’s true to a point, I suppose, but his sweet lover included a land grant with the poetry. That’s what can happen when one bonks above his rank.” Lisveth made a face. “You asked, I answered. So Rolf wasn’t wrong to want it back. He can’t claim the land is stolen without exposing the affair, so as long as I have the deed, it’s a tidy deal for me, right?” Galen shifted his aching left arm, but the guard was still alert. Apparently he did not find Lisveth’s drama engrossing. Galen looked to the right again. “If you say so,” Lisveth said. Namedone stepped forward. “You’re supposed to be the sorceress, right? Why aren’t you using any magic?” “I thought you were trying to hold me here,” Lisveth said with a little nod toward one of the men holding her. “Did you want me to walk out?” “I want to know what I’m buying. Can you or can’t you use magic?” “First off, you can’t buy what isn’t for sale,” Lisveth corrected firmly. “And you haven’t exactly been a welcoming business partner, what with calling me a rat and all. And finally, you’ve got men on my arms, and don’t you know a sorceress needs her hands to work her magic?” “Is that so?” Namedone smirked. “Well, we’re not letting you go to show us, if that’s what you were after.” “Do you think I would have told you so plainly if that’s what mattered to me?” Lisveth’s voice dripped with disdain. “There are other things than me you should be more worried about.” “We’ve got your red boy right here.” He pointed a thumb at Galen, who felt himself grow warm. It galled him, first that the man had called him red and then that it could gall him even in such a serious situation. His hair color was hardly their chief concern while there was still a sword resting on his shoulder. Lisveth gave a dismissive shake of her head. “How many guards are right now outside this house?” “What? None.” She made an expression that suggested rolling her eyes was more effort than this conversation deserved. “Again, do you think being insulting actually helps your business offers?” He gave a little shrug. “Two.” “Two.” “Again, wrong answer.” “I said—” There was a muffled scream from outside, distant but audible. “I’m sorry, I spoke too soon,” Lisveth drawled as Namedone jerked around to look toward the open window. “Now that’s a wrong answer.” “What’s—who did you bring with you? You came alone, you didn’t hire anyone in town.” Lisveth shook her head as horrific snarls reached them. Someone outside gave a protesting cry. “No. But your first lying answer about no guards is about to become truth.” Namedone closed on her and took the knife from Bruno’s hand, pressing it close to her jaw himself. “Stop it. Stop whatever you’re doing, or I’ll kill you now.” “Oh, kill its master, that will probably make nice with it right away,” Lisveth said evenly, holding his eyes. “It definitely won’t come in looking for me. Good plan.” “What is it?” Namedone demanded. “What is it?” But the scream at the window interrupted him, and he turned to stare as a man’s arm came through the open window, grasping for aid. But before he could climb inside, a dark shape leapt through the glass, bearing him to the carpet and savaging him. Galen had only a quick impression of dark, coarse fur, and then he struck away the sword and stomped his foot through the knee of the transfixed guard. Namedone and the others recoiled from the grisly scene, and the beast raised its head to glare about the room, ragged cloth dangling from its teeth. Galen took the sword, kicked a guard, swung the blade to clear back the others. But they were less concerned with him. Some were bolting for the study door, making for the only escape. At the other side of the room, Lisveth put out a foot and tripped Namedone as he rushed away from the beast. He rolled, and she kicked him twice before bending for the keys at his waist. Galen ran to her, jabbing the sword toward Bruno, but Bruno hesitated, looking at his boss groaning and scrabbling on the floor. Namedone made a grab for Lisveth, but she twisted out of his grip and stomped him once more, catching her target in the groin. Bruno made a little lunge for Lisveth, and Galen ran to intercept. The great beast roared and leapt, faster than Galen, and Bruno flinched back as the monster soared at him. Galen struck him hard, bearing him to the ground, and punched with the sword pommel as Bruno gibbered and coiled into a ball. At the third blow, he went quiet. Galen got up and turned to see Lisveth working at the lockbox. “It’s got to be this one,” she muttered. “It’s just stuck—oh, fair night, just take the thing. Rolf can sort it.” “It won’t fit out the window—” “Break it again.” Galen heaved the lockbox toward the shattered window, and it sailed through the gap with a crash of breaking glass. Lisveth snatched a cloak from a hanging peg and bunched it over the sill, blunting the shards as they climbed out. “Careful,” Galen cautioned. The ground outside was littered with broken glass. “I suppose they’re going to see the window was broken out.” “They’ll figure it out when they’re missing a few dead guards, too,” Lisveth said. “So let’s not wait for it.” Galen hefted the lockbox on his shoulder, and they hurried on through the dark. ***
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