Ronan spent some time watching the comings and goings of the merchant Cypmann Galnes. He had heard of Galnes even before Arodilac Bridd had told him his story. The man was well-known among the merchants and traders of the city. He was wealthy, powerful, and equally comfortable among the nobility of Highneck Rise and the roughnecks of the docks. It wouldn’t do to anger a man who had the ear of the regent. Even if the regent was paying for the job.
Obviously, the man was aware of his daughter’s circumstance. And angry. The best thing would be to find out his habits and then rob his house when he wasn’t home. There was no need to anger him any further. Strange, though, that his daughter wanted the Bridd family ring for something. What was it Arodilac had said?
She wants something in exchange. But she won’t tell me what.
Strange.
It was raining—a chilly downpour, unseasonal but welcome enough to the gardens and greenery parched brown by summer—and this dreariness plunged him into a brooding study. The rain reduced the city to a blur of stone, punctuated by the glow of lights in windows—taverns, shops, homes—all promising warmth and respite from the damp and dark.
Water ran on the cobbled streets; it streamed from cornices and peaks and spouts. It flowed along through the gutters and gurgled down storm drains. In Mioja Square, in the heart of the city, the fountain began to overflow, sheeting water across the square. The vendors had already packed up their handbarrows and stalls and scurried away. Nobody shopped in weather like this.
Cypmann Galnes stalked across the square, oblivious to the rain and oblivious to the shadowy form of Ronan trailing behind him. As far as the thief could tell, they were the only two souls out in the city that morning. He flipped his collar up and shivered. Rain ran down his neck. A curse escaped his lips as he splashed through a puddle.
Normally, such a job would be given to one of the runners, one of the children fresh from the Juggler’s pack. Someone with enough brains to follow and keep their mouth shut, stay invisible, and hang about in doorways, waiting for someone else to move, someone else to think, someone else to act. But the instructions Smede passed on from the Silentman had been explicit. The regent wanted no one else from the Guild working on the job, no one else from the Guild even knowing about the job. The potential of embarrassment for the regency was too great.
Ronan smiled sourly to himself. He appreciated the trust that the Silentman obviously thought him worthy of. Still, he’d much rather be sitting in an inn somewhere, a mug of ale in hand.
We all have our jobs to do.
Almost, he stopped to turn around, to see who had whispered the words, but it was only his memory stirring. Darkness filled his eyes and he saw the chimney yawning open underneath him, filled with shadow. He felt dizzy, as if he were teetering on a height. As if he was the one falling. He strode on in the rain, shoulders hunched against the wet and the cold, and against the past.
Nothing personal, boy.
We all have our jobs to do.
Cypmann Galnes owned a warehouse near the harbor. Here, the city continued its hustle and bustle in spite of the rain. Water was a customary part of life, whether in the sea or raining from the sky. Even now, the docks swarmed with fishermen unloading the morning catch. Rain hissed on the swells rising and falling against the pilings. A schooner nosed up against the dock, its mainsail dropping with a clatter. Ronan could hear the calls of the sailors as ropes were flung and made fast. He huddled in an archway and watched as the merchant disappeared through a door down the street. A moment later, lamplight flickered from behind a window. The merchant would be there until late in the day. His routine was predictable. Ronan trudged away.