The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) Page 4

  The original tower still stood, but it had been reinforced and rebuilt to match its four companions, each of which loomed over one of the Five Markets. At the pinnacle of each tower, a flagpole rose bearing the fluttering standard of Vos, a black eagle on a red field.

  Lucius felt the presence of Vos in the streets too as he wandered this part of the city. Patrols of the guard, now cloaked in the livery of the Empire, were frequent and terribly efficient. Wherever he found himself on Ring Street or within one of the Five Markets, a patrol of five or six red-tabarded guards were always in sight. What he found curious was that the people of Turnitia seemed to readily accept the presence of the guard, even act friendly towards them. Some chatted amiably with one patrol, while others stood dutifully to one side as another hurried past on some errand.

  It seemed as if he were the only one to remember the dreadful days after the army of Vos had routed Turnitia’s pitifully small guard and entered the city. The persecutions, the dismantling of the existing law and order, and the carefree violence; women violated in the streets and in their homes, men killed casually while trying to defend them, shops looted then burned. The religion of the Brotherhood wiped out and the Shadowmages decimated.

  Looking around as he passed through the Five Markets, Lucius began to understand why the people of his city had been so quick to forget those times. Despite the many guards patrolling the streets, despite the constant, foreboding presence of the Citadel in the heart of Turnitia, business was clearly going well.

  The Five Markets were packed with crowds, and there were not enough stalls for all the traders, many being forced to set up shop in alleyways and on street corners. Fine Pontaine wines brought in from the captured Anclas Territories were sold alongside clothes of the highest fashion worn in the Vos cities of Malmkrug, Scholten and Vosburg. The people of the city moved easily, dressed in clothing finer than he remembered them wearing eight years before, and the traders themselves seemed to be doing a great deal of business.

  He had to admit, it was not the city he had grown up in. The population had forgiven Vos for its crimes in return for an economy that had flourished, the city’s coffers swelled by the presence of the invaders. So what if a little freedom had been curtailed and new taxes imposed? Everyone was better off.

  Except himself, Lucius thought. Perhaps the old saying was true, and you really could never go back home. Turnitia was no longer the place he had thought it was, and it was unlikely to welcome one of his sort. Adrianna had been right in one thing; he had grown into an adventurer and mercenary.

  He was not entirely sure when it had happened, but he thought of his time in Pontaine and the Anclas Territories, working as a sword for hire, trading his skills for gold and silver as the opportunity struck. It had not been a bad life, he decided, and he certainly appreciated the freedom he had experienced more than the people of Turnitia mourned its loss.

  As he wandered through a crowd gathering around a stall whose rotund trader cajoled them into buying trinkets all the way from Allantia, or so he claimed, Lucius made the decision to make what money he could in the city, then leave. He needed gold for a horse and supplies. Then he could perhaps lose himself in the Anclas Territories once more, or perhaps journey deep into Pontaine to discover what lay within the Sardenne. Maybe head north to Allantia, he thought as he eyed the trader. Why not? He was free to do as he wished. Money permitting.

  Lucius flicked his eyes to each side as he paced the Five Markets, looking for an opportunity, some sign of the old city he would find familiar and could turn to his advantage. An old acquaintance, perhaps, who could push work his way. A rich trader in need of a capable guard. A ship’s captain recruiting marines to work the dangerous trade routes. Anything that provided quick and ready gold.

  Much of his morning was spent in this way, but Lucius found little that presented itself. He feared he might be reduced to gambling as a means to an end, but even his special skills might not guarantee win after win. There was a reason they called it gambling, of course, and there was always the risk he might meet someone whose luck or skill at cheating might exceed his own abilities; and then he would be back to square one.

  Trying to think a little more laterally, he began to eye up the various stores he passed, and his gaze fixed upon a trader whose accent gave him away as Vos born and bred. His stall was bedecked with chains of gold and silver, bracelets and brooches sparkling in the strengthening sunlight as their gems glinted with every colour Lucius could imagine. He stopped in the street and stared, thinking fast. A quick distraction would be easy enough to create, and a faster hand could sweep a cluster of jewels under his cloak before the trader’s attention was brought back to his wares. Glancing about, he looked for the tell-tale red of guard patrols and, sure enough, he saw two at opposite ends of this market. However, they were both at least a hundred paces away, and would have to fight their way through the crowd.

  The trader was engaged in an animated discussion over a thin gold chain with a young lady wreathed in silks. He was anxiously assuring her that the chain would bring focus to her neck which, he declared, could not remain unadorned another minute. Lucius cast a look at the two patrols, and then began to search for escape routes. He knew he would have to move fast once the goods were in his possession. The alleyways in the area were too crowded for his comfort, with peddlers and customers spilling over the boundaries of the markets. He knew he could make a crowd work for him, but it would be better overall if no cry of alarm went up until he was well on his way. He took a step forward, preparing to draw upon otherworldly energies to create the distraction he would need.

  “I wouldn’t if I was you,” a gravely voice behind him said.

  Lucius turned then looked downwards to find the source of the comment. He saw a filthy man sitting on the cobbles, leaning against a rusting horse trough. The man’s clothes were a patchwork of cast-offs, each thread entangled with dirt, crusted food and other, less describable stains. A terrible stench of sweat and foulness reached Lucius’ nostrils, and he gagged as he tried to form a retort.

  “You’d never make it out of the market in time,” the man continued as he quite openly scratched at his nether regions. “See, people here don’t like thieves too much. Don’t like beggars either, as it happens, but we just get moved on from time to time. You’d go straight to the Citadel, make no mistake. And then you really would be in trouble.”

  Lucius stared at the man for the moment, peering through the dirt and wild greying hair to detect any deceit. He had the feeling he was being played, but could not quite put his finger on how.

  “What business is it of yours?” he asked, quickly glancing about to see if the beggar had any accomplices that were about to assault or rob him.

  The man shrugged. “Call it some advice from someone who knows. That much I’ll give you for free. If you want more, it’ll cost.” With this, the man produced a tin cup from the folds of his rags and proffered it upwards to Lucius. “Spare a coin for the sick?” he said with a grin that revealed ruined and blackened teeth.

  Trying hard not to wrinkle his face in disgust, Lucius shook his head. “You’ve caught me at a bad time, my friend. I am as desperate for coin as you.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” the man said, winking at Lucius. “A man like you is never far from gold.”

  That checked Lucius and he gave the man a hard look. “And just what do you mean by that?”

  The man shook his head noncommittally. “I’ve seen you about.”

  “I haven’t been in the city long.”

  “Last evening, for example. Six men was it? Or seven?”

  Lucius narrowed his eyes. “How do you know this? I saw no one else.”

  The ruined teeth grinned at him again. “That’s the point. No one sees us beggars. Just part of the scenery. There I was, just minding me own business, trying to get some kip in the door of the local bookseller. But I have a clear view down a certain alley, and what I saw there was... int
riguing.”

  Lucius glanced about nervously, seeing if anyone else was taking an interest in the conversation, but the crowd seemed to be far more intent on securing deals on food, clothing, or luxuries.

  “And what, exactly, would a beggar find intriguing about it?” Lucius said dangerously, though he was a little unsure of what he could do to this man while so many people were close by.

  “Just going to dismiss me because I am a beggar, is it? Of no use to anyone, a stain on the backside of Turnitia? Well, I’ll tell you, my foolish friend. We beggars are the eyes and ears of the city. What we don’t see ain’t worth knowing. The wise man knows this, and rewards a beggar for the information he has.” Again, the tin cup was shaken in front of Lucius.

  Pursing his lips, Lucius considered the man and his words. Opportunity had so far eluded him this morning, and the beggar clearly understood the city and its workings. If the man’s intention was to call the guard and get a reward for finding a Shadowmage, if indeed he truly understood what had taken place in the alley the evening before, then surely he would already have done so. The greatest danger was, surely, that the beggar was simply fleecing him for a coin. Despite Lucius’ own financial circumstances, the beggar certainly looked as if he needed the money more than him. His face full of distrust, he reached into his pouch and flipped a coin into the cup.

  The beggar grinned openly as he scooped the coin out. “Ah, blessings of the Faith be on you.”

  Lucius watched as the coin disappeared in the folds of the man’s rags. He coughed to bring attention back to himself. “And you have information for me?”

  “Well, it seems to me you’re looking for good money.”

  “How perceptive.”

  “There’s a peddler across the way, near the fountain in the centre of this market. You’ll recognise him, has a green awning above his stall. Sells pans and ornaments, foreign junk.”

  “And?”

  “Ask for Ambrose. You’ll be thanking me later.”

  The beggar shifted his position, then stood, brushing himself down as if removing the dirt of the street would have any effect on his hygiene.

  “That’s it?” Lucius asked, frowning.

  “That’s it. Can’t do everything for you. My thanks for the coin,” the beggar said as he waddled away. Then, he stopped and turned back to Lucius. “Oh, and a word of advice while you are in the city. Always pay a beggar. You never know how fortune may smile upon you.”

  Lucius was left standing as the man disappeared into the crowd. He shook his head in disbelief, for if this had been a scam, it was a lengthy process simply to gain a single coin. Quickly, he reached down for his pouch to make sure that it was still there and was reassured by its bulk, filled with the proceeds of the previous evening’s gambling. Giving one more glance at the jewellery on the stall in front of him, he walked past it, heading towards the centre of the market.

  Finding a single stall with a green awning was not a simple task, he soon discovered. The market was a riot of colours, with many traders shadowing their goods and potential customers from the sun with gaudy parasols, awnings and wind-breakers. These clashed with the silks, wools and furs, which in turn competed with brightly coloured signs proclaiming that only they had the best deals in the city.

  The fountain was likely a new construction, for Lucius remembered no such decoration in this market years before. As he neared its carved grey stone, his thoughts were confirmed as he saw the tall and familiar figure of the Anointed Lord Katherine Makennon. Her statue stood as depicted in the many paintings that were spreading throughout the Empire as signs of piety and faith; plate-armoured, sword held high in readiness to strike down unbelievers and infidels. Long hair flew from beneath an elegant helm, its front plates open to reveal a stern-faced woman. One hand was held low, as if offered for a kiss of fealty, and from this water flowed into a marble basin. People sat around the rim, but all were at an awkward angle, for one did not turn their back on God’s own true representative. A squad of guardsmen were never far away to ensure this observance was followed in public.

  After circling the fountain, Lucius finally found the stall he was looking for. The awning was indeed green but, unlike many others nearby, it looked as if it had seen better days. A quick inspection of the goods on display revealed that they were indeed best described as foreign junk. A few largely disinterested passers-by were collared by the animated man behind the stall, perhaps looking for a rare, yet cheap, relic or artefact among the detritus spread across the cloth-covered surface of the stall. Another man sat to one side, whittling away at a wood-carved feline creature, either having fashioned it from scratch, or more likely, repairing some sign of damage.

  Lucius sidled up to the stall, suddenly unsure of himself. He picked up a model of a ship, one of its masts twisting under the movement to hang by a thin strip of wood across the deck. The trader immediately turned his attention to the newcomer and started a practised spiel that described the model as a rare work of art from Allantia, honed by a fine craftsman whose name would soon spread throughout the peninsula, raising the value of investment in any of his works purchased now.

  Lucius quickly looked at the other patrons of the stall then, seeing them take not the slightest notice of him, said quietly, “I am looking for Ambrose.”

  The trader immediately lost interest in him, quickly jerking his head toward the man whittling wood before turning back to more likely prospects. Lucius took the sign and placed the ship back on the stall.

  “You Ambrose?” he asked, standing over the man as he worked. The man did not bother to look up from the carving he drew a knife over, and Lucius saw it was actually some fantastic creature that stood on two legs, with fierce gouging fangs. The man himself was middle-aged, thin, and dressed in a cheap black tunic.

  “Depends,” the man answered lazily. “You after a commission? Come back next week, I’ve got enough for now.”

  “I’m after work.”

  “Any good with wood?”

  Lucius frowned, not certain he had approached this conversation properly. “I don’t think that is the kind of work intended.”

  The man looked up at him curiously. “Who sent you?”

  “Some beggar,” Lucius said lamely with a shrug.

  “You pay him for my name?”

  “I did.”

  “Good. You looking to work inside the law?” Ambrose asked.

  Lucius smiled at that. “I have a feeling that if that was what I was after, I wouldn’t be talking to you. No, I have no great desire to work purely within the law of Vos.”

  “Willing to take risks?”

  “Of course. So long as the reward matches them.”

  Ambrose put his wood carving on the ground and stood, looking Lucius up and down as if weighing his worth.

  “You look fit. Can you run?”

  “Faster than you would think.”

  “And fight?”

  “If I have to. Haven’t been beaten yet.”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Everyone gets a beating once in a while. The sooner you learn that, the better.” He paused for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. “You’ll start at the bottom – means you’ll be working with the kids, but do well and we’ll see what else you are capable of.”

  “What’s the work? And where?”

  “Right here,” Ambrose said, sweeping a hand across the market. “I’ll put you on a team, you’ll work the crowd. Earnings get pooled and split, with the guild taking its forty per cent. Listen to the kids in your team, they know more than you do. And stay away from the stalls, we don’t rob them – we have too many friends among the traders, and we don’t want you pissing them off.”

  Lucius frowned. “You want me to work as... a pickpocket. That it?”

  Ambrose cocked an eyebrow. “Too good for that line of work, are you? Let me tell you, I – and every thief I know, for that matter – started off on one of these teams. And I never regretted a minute of it. Learn the trade
, and then we’ll see what else you are capable of. If you are as good as you seem to think you are we’ll find the right place for you.”

  “I was hoping for some real money,” Lucius said, a little disenchanted as he saw his future boiling away to nothing more than petty crime and humiliating spells in the stocks. If, indeed, the Vos guard bothered with anything as trivial as stocks for captured thieves. He was surprised to see Ambrose smiling at him.

  “I tell you what,” said Ambrose. “You give me a week on a team. If you don’t like it, if you decide it is not for you, if it is not bringing in the sort of money you are after, then we’ll call it quits. You can just walk away, no harm done.”

  Ambrose sat back down and picked up his carving again. “But I have a feeling that once you see what a noble and skilled profession you have joined, you’ll be less than ready to give it up.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE FIVE MARKETS had changed, at least for Lucius. No longer were they thronged with crowds wandering aimlessly between traders while trying to save a few coins on their latest purchase, nor was a chance opportunity floating elusively away from him. Instead, this place of commerce had become his hunting ground.

  Ambrose had assigned him to a pickpocket team that same afternoon, and his new comrades were Markel and Treal, twin brother and sister no more than twelve or thirteen years old. The previous member of their team, a lad named Harker, Lucius learned, had been promoted to work within the guildhouse of the Night Hands, the title given to this band of thieves. Lucius was taking his place, but neither Markel nor Treal made any comment about his advanced years, even though pick-pocketing was a child’s game.

  Their acceptance of an adult as an equal, if anything, made Lucius even more self-conscious of what he was doing, and more than once he wondered how much further he could possibly fall. Still, Ambrose had promised that he would not regret the money that would soon be flowing through his hands.