Some opportunities ought to come labelled 'too good to be true'. Of course, ten years of living by my wits should have taught me how to spot them. You would have thought so anyway; so would I.
The night this particular opportunity came to wreak havoc in my life, I was sitting comfortably full of good dinner in front of a roaring fire, and listening to the wind tearing at the snug inn. I was wearing my usual nondescript travelling clothes and, with any luck, the other patrons in the tap-room would have been hard put to decide my age, sex or business. Being unremarkable is a talent I cultivate: middling height, middling build, nothing special — unless I choose differently. Feet up on a stool and hat over my eyes, I may have looked half-asleep, but mentally I was pacing the room and kicking the furniture. Where was Halice? We had been due to meet here four days ago and this unplanned stay was eating into my funds. It was unlike her to be late for a meet. On the few occasions it had happened before, she had always got a message through. What should I do?
I counted my money again; not that anyone else in the room noticed as I slipped my fingers into the pouch under my shirt and sorted the coin. I carry noble coin on me night and day; I've had to abandon my belongings a few times and being caught out with no money leads to bad experiences. I had thirty Caladhrian Stars, ten Tormalin Crowns and, reassuringly bulky, three Empire Crowns. They were more than enough to give me a stake for the Autumn Fair at Col and I had a heavy pouch of common coin upstairs which would cover my travelling expenses as long as I left in the morning. If I waited any longer, I'd have to pay carriers' coach fare and that would seriously eat into my reserves.
The problem was that I did not want to work the Autumn Fair on my own. Lucrative as it is, it can be a dangerous place and while I can take care of myself nowadays, Halice is still a lot handier than me with her sword and her knives. Working as a pair has other advantages too; when someone feels their luck with the runes is going bad, it's much harder to see why when there are two people adjusting the odds. As an added bonus, people never expect two women to be working the gambling together, even in a big city. I could hook up with other people but Halice is better than most as well as more honest than some.
Of course, the most likely explanation was that Halice was stuck in some lord's lock-up awaiting the local version of justice. I cursed out loud, forgetting myself for a moment, but luckily no one seemed to have noticed. There were only three other people in the tap-room, and they were deep in conversation with the innkeeper. They were merchants by their dress; this was a well-travelled business route and the chances were they were heading for Col. The filthy weather seemed to be keeping the locals by their own firesides, which was fine by me.
If Halice was in trouble, there was no way I could help her. Identifying myself as her friend would simply land me in shackles too. I frowned. It was hard to believe that Halice would get herself into trouble she could not get clear of. That was one of the main reasons we worked Ensaimin for the most part. Competition for trade guarantees a reassuring lack of inconveniences such as circulating reward notices or co-operative Watch commanders, which make prosy places like Caladhria so inhospitable. Here trouble is seldom so bad it cannot be left behind once you cross a local boundary, and we take care never to outstay our welcome.
So there I was, sitting and fretting and sipping rather good wine, when a very wet horseman strode into the bar and beckoned to mine host. I could not hear what they were saying, and that immediately piqued my curiosity, but I could not move closer without drawing attention to myself. The horseman passed over a small parchment and I heard the chink of coins. As he left, the innkeeper unfolded the letter or whatever it was and the merchants crowded round.
'So what does it say?' a thin man in a stained yellow tunic asked.
'Dunno. Can't read.' The innkeeper shrugged his fat shoulders. 'I'll need to know more before I tack it up though, money or no.'
I bit my lip with frustration. I can read, thanks to a mother determined I should have every possible advantage to offset my birth, but there was no way I was going to make myself conspicuous by offering help.
'Here.' The thin man's companion reached for the parchment and frowned at it. 'Where's the Running Hound?'
'It's the big coaching inn on the market in Ambafost,' the third merchant piped up, peering over the reader's leather-clad shoulder.
'Well, there's a trader staying there who's interested in buying Tormalin antiquities.' The bearded man smoothed out the notice and read it through, lips moving as he did so. 'This says he'll pay good prices and that he'll be buying on market day.'
'He must be doing well, to be paying to advertise like this.' The third merchant gnawed at a nail thoughtfully. 'Is there much doing in antiquities at the moment?'
The bearded man shrugged. 'Maybe he's got plans for the Autumn Fair. There are collectors in Col and there'll be traders from Relshaz and the Archipelago as well.'
The thin man stared at the parchment with greedy eyes. 'Perhaps we should try and get hold of a few good pieces if the prices are going to be favourable.'
They huddled together and the bearded man got out a map as they discussed the possibilities.
I drank the rest of my wine and pondered my next moves. I happened to know where you could find some very fine pieces of Tormalin Empire work, and if I could get anywhere near a realistic price for one, even allowing for a merchant's cut, I could wait for Halice until the very last hour, then hire a private coach to get me to Col and still have money over to stake me for a very high playing game. The trick would be getting the piece to the merchant without the original owner being aware of it and there it seemed that the gods were smiling on me for a change. I should have known better, but at the time all I could think of was the profit I could make. There was also the little matter of a very sweet revenge which would be a substantial bonus. Was it worth the gamble?
The merchants were absorbed in their discussion, and I went upstairs without anyone remarking on it. I unshuttered the window and peered out. Rain was still falling but the wind was slackening off and the waxing lesser moon was fleetingly visible through gaps in the cloud.
Should I do this? It would be risky but, then again, it could be very profitable. Well, I'm a gambler and no one ever struck it rich keeping their runes in their pocket, did they? The temptation was just too strong. I changed clothes rapidly, swapping homespun and leather for good broadcloth breeches and tunic, boots, gloves and hooded jerkin, all in charcoal grey. Black gives hard edges which can catch the eye even in the darkest night. The rough wooden beams of the inn made leaving through the window simplicity itself, as long as I took care not to mark the intervening plaster. I was soon jogging through the woods fringing the road to Hawtree.
It was cold and wet but the prospect of a little adventure warmed me. I did not do much thieving in those days. The difficulties of fencing goods in a strange place are formidable and while weighting the runes in a game of chance can get you flogged, getting caught stealing from a noble's house gets you the pillory at best and loses you a hand at worst. Unfortunately, only nobles have anything worth stealing. You may wonder why I was chancing it this time, but I happened to know this particular noble was not going to be at home, which did rather weight the odds in my favour. Raeponin's devotees can talk all they want about balance and justice and levelling the scales, but you won't ever find me making offerings at his shrine. After all, I gamble for a living, not for fun.
I had sat on my horse under a dripping oak tree earlier that week watching the gentleman and his entourage heading north with enough luggage to indicate a lengthy stay in another place. I would have recognised him anywhere, even after ten years. You do not easily forget the face of a man who has tried to beat and rape you.
Hawtree was not far and I covered the distance easily; staying fit is essential in my kind of life. I breathed in the damp green scent of the night happily. I love being out in the country at night, for all that the sun rules my birth-runes. It must be my father's blood coming through, despite my city upbringing. The village was mostly dark and a few of the wooden houses showed dim lights, but this was farming country and most folk here slept and rose with the sun. The larger brick and flint buildings round the market square showed more signs of life despite the fact it was now past midnight, so I ducked into an alley and waited to catch my breath. I walked noiselessly through the dark lanes, keeping an eye out for dogs who might advertise my presence.
The house was just off a garden square, a favourable position for a wealthy landowner's residence. The tall front showed heavy oak shutters barred with iron and a stout door with an expensive lock; this did not bother me as I worked my way round to the alley at the back. I found a dark corner and studied the kitchen and outbuildings round the yard. My mother said I was the most useless maid she had ever known but my years as a housekeeper's daughter had given me invaluable knowledge about the domestic arrangements of large houses. A scullery maid would be trying to sleep in the meagre warmth of the dying kitchen range while her more fortunate seniors would have chilled and cramped quarters in the garrets. The cook and chamberlain would have the better rooms overlooking the yard. I couldn't tell how many servants the bastard had taken with him so I had better avoid any of those areas. The room I wanted was towards the front of the house on the ground floor so ideally I needed to get in through a first-floor window. I studied them in the fitful moonlight and blessed the keen night-sight that my father had granted me. It did not look promising but I was reluctant to give up; I wanted the money this would provide and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of finally getting my own back on the misbegotten swine who had first brought me to this house. I suppose, to be precise, quite a chain of events had brought me to this house; the bastard with the nice collection of silver simply happened to be the last link.
I had finally stormed out of what had once passed for my home after my mother had lamented once too often about the ruin of her life, saddled with the by-blow of a minstrel, one of the Forest Folk at that. I had already taken to gambling which I had always been good at and was working small deceptions to earn my meals. I had formed no real plans beyond some vague idea of trying to find my wandering father and, looking back, I am surprised it took so long for me to land in trouble. A panicking attempt to bluff my way out of an inn without paying had left me thrown on the road with a smarting arse and my few belongings taken in lieu of payment.
I had arrived in Hawtree two days later, tired and ravenous, dirty and desperate. Neither of the decent coaching inns had let me past their doors and I had ended up in a grimy hostelry next to the slaughterhouse. It had not taken me long to realise why there were so many women sitting around the tap-room and it was a measure of my ignorance and despondency that I decided to try for a customer myself. Lack of food must have softened my brain. It was not as if I was a virgin, I had thought, and my mother, ever determined I should not get caught like her, had taken me off to a reliable herbalist as soon as she had first caught the under-gardener fondling my bottom. It had not occurred to me to worry about disease and, looking at the competition, I had felt confident that I would be able to earn a meal at very least.
I combed my hair with my fingers as best I could — I wore it long in those days — and pinched my cheeks to heighten my colour. I was still using herbal washes to bring out the red in my hair and cosmetics to make my eyes reflect green rather than grey, and, despite its stains, my russet dress looked sufficiently exotic in the dingy bar. Chances were none of these yokels had ever seen a real Forest maiden so, their reputation being what it is, I decided to increase my asking price. The next customer to survey the waiting women was tall, dark and handsome in a sharp sort of way and he rapidly passed over the others to catch my eye. The other whores looked away and muttered among themselves. Naive as I was, I felt sure they were jealous.
'Well, well, you're not from around here, are you?' He came over and gestured for wine, which I drank thirstily.
'No, I'm just passing through.' I did my best to look mysterious and alluring.
'All alone?' His hand brushed mine as he poured more wine.
'I like to travel light.' I smiled at him and my spirits rose. He was clean and young and looked wealthy; I could have done a lot worse. As I said, I was very naive in those days.
'What's your name, sweetheart?'
'Merith.' Actually that's my oldest spinster aunt but who cared.
'This isn't a very comfortable inn. Could I offer you some hospitality?'
That was a new way of putting it but I wasn't going to argue. I smiled at him from beneath my dyed lashes.
'I'm sure we could come to some agreement.' After all, I wanted some coin out of this, not just a warm bed and food.
He offered me his arm and I flaunted out of the gloomy tap-room, attributing the sudden buzz of conversation behind us to disappointed hopes.
Ten years on, I stood in the dark and looked at the windows thoughtfully. That was the salon where he had taken me, I was sure. He had shown me in and told me to wait. My spirits rose at the thought of food and clean sheets and the business to come even promised to be quite enjoyable. I wandered round the room and noted the fine tapestries, the polished furniture and the superb Tormalin silver on the mantel shelf. Stories from the ballads I had heard my father sing began to echo in the back of my mind — virtuous maiden falls on hard times and is rescued by a handsome noble, that sort of thing.
When I heard the door, I turned with a welcoming smile but my host was not bringing the supper he had promised. He locked the door behind him and his lips curved in an ugly smile as he ran a dog-whip through his hands. He was stripped to shirt and hose and flushed with anticipation. I moved to put the table between us; from the glint in his eye, I would not have bet on my chances of talking my way out of this. I may have been naive but I wasn't that stupid. I realised I was in serious danger.
'Come here, whore,' he commanded.
'If you want something more lively than plain sex, I want more money,' I countered boldly. If he thought I was going to play, he might get careless and I would be out of there like a rat from a burning barn.
'You'll get what I decide to give you.' He was not talking coin; he lunged at me and the lash flicked my cheek.
I screamed as loudly as I could but all he did was laugh. 'My servants are paid well to be deaf, you slut. Scream by all means. I like it.'
I could see that he did too. He moved and so did I, we circled round the table and he began to frown.
'Come and see what I've got for you,' he leered, lifting his shirt.
I dashed for the window but he was too fast and grabbed a handful of hair. He threw me to the floor and raised the whip but I rolled under the table. He cursed obscenely and snatched at my ankle. I kicked and twisted as he dragged me out but he was too strong. He ripped at my skirts with his other hand and my head smacked against the chair legs. He laughed as he saw the blood and oddly, that was what finally made me lose my temper.
I went limp. As he relaxed his grip, I drew my knees up. He laughed again as he straightened up to unlace himself, then I brought both of my feet up into his stones. He collapsed, retching, and I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed a fallen chair and smacked it hard into the side of his head and ran for the window a second time. As I fumbled with the catches, I heard him groan and curse. I have never been so frightened in my life, utterly occupied with opening the window, not daring to lose a moment of time by glancing behind me. After what seemed like an age, I had the casement open and the shutter beyond. I risked a glance at the bastard on the floor; he had got to his knees but was clutching himself with screwed-shut eyes. I swung out of the window and dropped to the road. With the first stroke of luck I'd had in a long time, I didn't hurt myself, and I ran as far and as fast as I could.
The first time I'd told Halice that tale, she'd been astounded I could be so matter-of-fact about it. The memory could still wake me in a cold sweat if I was overtired or feeling low, that in itself was part of the reason I wanted some small measure of revenge. As for the rest, I'd learned I'd come out of it lightly if you could believe the broadsheets' lurid tales of mutilated bodies and the sad strangled corpse I'd once seen dragged from a river.
I stared at the window. I could still feel the terror but, more importantly for my present ambitions, I pictured the details of window- and shutter-catches, engraved on my memory. I had made it my business to learn a range of skills in case I should ever again get stranded with no money and I knew I could get in if I could find a place where I could work unobserved for a while. I walked round the house and saw a side window facing the blank wall of the stable-block; ideal. It took less time than I had feared and I found myself in a library. That was a surprise; who would have thought the ape could read. I opened the door cautiously but there was no sound or light from any direction. The house smelled of beeswax and possessed a chill that spoke of several days without fires. I moved along the corridor, my soft soles noiseless on the polished floorboards. The salon door was locked but that did not delay me for long. The darkness was troubling me by now, not even real Forest Folk can see in complete blackness, but I could still recall the layout of the room and put my hand unerringly on the mantel.
What should I take? The temptation was to sweep the lot into my little padded sack; I owed the scum for the scars on my cheek and temple and for the old man I had been driven to knock over for his purse further down the road. I dismissed that foolishness; I would take one of the smaller pieces, that would be enough. I ran my hand along the shelf and lifted a long-necked vase. No, too unusual, I could not price it reliably. Next along was a goblet, a coat of arms deeply incised on its side. Too easily identifiable. I passed over a platter and some spoons that felt too light to be genuine and then found a small lidded tankard. It was plain, apart from scrolls on the handle and lid, but had a reassuring weight. The handle was smooth and fit neatly in my hand; it was just the sort if thing I would have liked for myself. It was towards the back of the shelf, behind two ornate wine jugs; did that mean it was less likely to be missed? Perhaps, but I intended to be long gone before then. I pocketed the tankard and lifted the remaining pieces to dust the shelf; no point in leaving clues and a dozy maid might not notice the loss for a few days.
By now my eyes were aching from straining in the dim light and I left rapidly the way I had come. Refastening the window took some time and the sky was starting to lighten by the time I returned to the inn. It occurred to me that some hapless footman or the like would get blamed for the theft but I cannot say that bothered me; serve them right for working for such a turd. I only hoped his anguish when he discovered the loss was as deep as I wanted. My gamble was paying off nicely so far. I got into my bed for what remained of the night and slept deep and dreamlessly.