CHAPTER 6

By all rights, I shouldn’t have been able to escape a pitched battle by running stark naked into the woods. However, it seemed Weasel’s crew was more interested in fighting the guys in leather armor than they were in keeping me. At least I hope that was why the one leather-armored guy between me and the woods got a quarrel in the face. The other option was that it had been just too hard to hit a running target at that distance.

I was lucky.

Not really.

The last time I got displaced from my body, into the princess, I had found myself in a similar situation. Back then I had also found myself running off into the woods away from hostile people who wanted me—or who they thought I was—for less than pleasant reasons. But there were three very significant differences.

Last time had been midsummer. Last time had been daylight. And last time I’d been clothed. My feet were already growing numb from the cold, and blundering through the dark I had already lost my sense of direction.

It was a measure of how bad things were that I found myself wishing Sir Forsythe was around. Say what you want about him, he had given me a ride the last time I was stuck alone in the forest. Of course, that time I was a princess in distress. This time I was a naked thief covered in blood that was mostly not my own—blood already freezing to my skin.

I stopped running because I was out of earshot from the battle.

“Another bad idea,” I whispered to myself in a puff of fog. My muscles shuddered in the frigid air. Every small breeze felt like a knife flaying my skin. I probably only had a few more minutes before the cold finished me off.

I slowly turned around, trying to get my bearings. I needed some sign of civilization, a cave where I could take shelter, a sleeping bear that I could cut the skin off . . .

I wasn’t thinking clearly anymore.

I turned around slowly, squinting into the woods. Everything looked the same. So much so that I wasn’t quite sure when I had made a complete turn. I hugged myself and shivered. I knew it was the cold, but I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me.

I had to get moving again, if only to buy myself a few extra minutes.

But what direction?

I turned around again, not even opening my eyes, when I smelled something.

Smoke.

My eyes shot open, and I ran in the direction of the smell, against the wind. Smoke meant fire, and fire meant a place that might be warm enough to keep me from dying.

 • • • 

The smoke came from a large campfire. I emerged from the woods and ran right up to it, feeling the cold melt away from my skin in waves of agonizing pins and needles. I held my arms up, and had to pull back because the stench told me I was close enough to scorch the hair on them.

I turned around slowly so that each part of my body could face the fire as I squinted, looking for who it belonged to. At first I didn’t see anyone. I saw logs drawn up to the fire, footprints, and a trio of tents that appeared empty.

I peered into the dark interior of one, wondering how likely it was that I could steal some winter clothing before everyone came back.

It wasn’t more than a thought before I heard the crunch of a footstep. I spun around, afraid that either Weasel or one of his leather-clad opponents had chased me down.

Neither was the case, unless one side or the other had gotten into the habit of employing teenage girls.

“D-Don’t you move,” she said while pointing a shaking dagger in my direction. I exhaled a little, relieved that I wasn’t about to experience a reprise of Weasel and company. The girl was maybe fourteen, it was hard to tell because she wore oversize clothes that had been made for a guy about twice her size.

But they looked warm.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m not moving.” I wasn’t really that inclined to move. I had spent long enough out in the cold. Until I had something to wear, I was happy to stay right where I was, next to the fire.

“You’re n-naked,” she stammered.

“You’re observant.”

“W-why are you naked?”

“Long story. Can you put down the dagger?”

“P-put down yours.”

I glanced down and saw I was still armed. I sighed. I decided that, even with the dagger, the way she was shaking, she wasn’t really a threat.

“Fair enough,” I said and tossed my dagger down to thunk upright in a log next to the campfire.

The girl straightened and said, “That’s better.” The stammer and shaking were suddenly gone, and she asked again, “So why are you naked?”

After the sudden change in demeanor I thought, Oh, you’re good. Your dad’s watching us from the trees with a crossbow, isn’t he?

“Because the guys who kidnapped me didn’t let me get dressed first,” I answered her. She reminded me a bit of a younger Lucille—the human version. I wondered if it was because she was a pale blonde with her hair tied back, or because she was beginning to annoy me.

As I spoke, I saw that I was only half right. There had been someone covering for my little con artist, but it wasn’t her dad. Five girls emerged from the woods around the campfire, most no older than the girl facing me. The youngest may have been twelve or thirteen, the oldest could have been sixteen, or a tall fifteen. They all wore similarly ill-designed clothes that, despite alterations, were obviously meant for men of a much bigger stature. Though their clothes seemed to have been modified to the point where their movement wasn’t affected.

The girl with the dagger gestured at the tall one, a lanky redhead who was apparently in the midst of a growth spurt, giving her the best-fitting clothes. Red ran up and pulled my dagger from the log next to me. Red gave me a sidelong glance as she did so. She blushed, unnecessarily reminding me I was naked.

Apparently the girl with the dagger was in charge.

I might have tried to stop Red, but one of the other girls, a dark-skinned fourteen-year-old with hair braided tightly to her scalp, had a crossbow pointed in my direction. I questioned whether someone that size could successfully wield a crossbow, but it didn’t seem prudent to put that question to a practical test.

Once Red had retreated with my dagger, Fearless Leader asked me, “You were kidnapped? You worth a ransom?”

“More like a price on my head.”

The youngest one, whose tight-curled hair was a shade between Red and Fearless Leader, frowned at me. “You hurt, mister?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.”

Everyone withdrew from me and huddled around Fearless Leader, though the crossbow stayed pointed in my direction. I got more sidelong glances at my nakedness that probably should have embarrassed me, if it wasn’t for the fact I still felt disconnected from this body.

As they whispered things to each other, I got a good look at all of them. Six in all, outfitted with outsize garments and weapons. It made sense since there wasn’t a booming market in chain mail and swords fitted for fourteen-year-old girls.

But, however large the garments had been, they had all been carefully altered. The alterations were rough, but skillful enough to suggest they’d been wearing this kind of thing for some time. All of them had some sort of weapon, and either had their hair tied or cut back. One of the girls had her hair cut so short that, if it wasn’t for the context, I probably would have taken her for a slightly effeminate boy.

All of them had a lean and weathered look suggesting they’d been out here a while.

Their leader wasn’t the obvious one. Any group of youngsters will invariably hand leadership to the biggest and most physically powerful. That’s the way kids’ minds worked. It took some maturity, and some experience, to hand the reins over to the most qualified to hold them. This group had been through something, multiple somethings, and the blonde with the vanishing stutter had been the one to get them through.

Fearless Leader pointed toward one of the tents, and a pair of girls ran off toward it, going around the side of the campfire opposite me.

“I seen it before, Grace.” I turned my attention back to the main group because someone, Red, had raised her voice. All was not paradise in girltopia.

Fearless Leader, who was apparently named Grace, had sheathed her own dagger and was examining mine, turning it over in her hands. “I know, but they don’t move this far north,” she said.

“Not less someone pays them,” Red responded.

“You think he . . .” Grace pointed the dagger in my direction and everyone turned their heads toward me. I had the sudden intuition that this might not be a good thing.

The two girls returned carrying boots, a cloak, a linen shirt, and a pair of breeches. No undergarments, but I wasn’t choosy at this point, and I didn’t know where these came from anyway. I tried a gracious, “Thank you,” and a small bow toward them, and they both scurried away, giggling.

The conversation between Grace and Red continued in less audible tones, and I dressed myself. I tried to ignore the two bloodstained holes in the shirt.

After a bit longer, Grace broke ranks and walked up to me, holding my dagger. She stood just out of reach and held it up between us so that the elaborately engraved hilt reflected the campfire.

“So,” she asked, “can you explain why a naked man is armed with a dagger belonging to the Assassins’ Guild of Sanhom City?”

I shrugged. “The prior owner didn’t need it anymore.”

“You were kidnapped by the Assassins’ Guild?”

“Not quite.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was kidnapped by a group of thugs working for the White Rock Thieves’ Guild out of Delmark. They were ambushed.”

“By the Assassins’ Guild?”

“By the dagger guy and his friends. We weren’t properly introduced. I was busy removing myself from—”

“What you have to do with White Rock?” The redhead’s shout interrupted my dialogue with Grace. The girl with the crossbow pointed it right at me. As she sighted down it, I got to view a long scar along the left side of her face.

Grace spun around and said, “Mary! No!”

“Have him say what he has to do with White Rock!” Mary spoke through clenched teeth. She was so tense I could almost see her muscles vibrating under her altered leather. “Now!”

“Mary! Remember the rules!”

“But—”

“We all agreed.”

Mary took a deep breath.

Grace turned to the girl with the crossbow. “Laya?”

The crossbow lowered a fraction. As I watched her I noticed an accessory that I hadn’t before. Laya wore a necklace whose primary component consisted of polished human teeth.

Grace turned back toward me and I saw that she wore similar jewelry. Only hers seemed to consist of finger bones and was a little less obvious.

“What rules?” I asked in a whisper.

Grace whipped the dagger up toward my throat. “Answer her question. Who are you and what do you have to do with White Rock?”

Teenage girls shouldn’t be intimidating.

The question also put me in a tough spot. Should I tell her the whole truth? What was the truth at this point? I finally hedged and said, “Of late, they’ve been calling me ‘Snake,’ and I think both guilds in Delmark are upset with me at the moment.”

She lowered the dagger and slowly shook her head. She stared at my face, as if she was looking for something.

“Apparently the Assassins of Sanhom as well,” I added.

Everyone stared at me as if I’d announced that I was the Dark Lord Nâtlac. The entire group had fallen silent. Enough that I clearly heard Red whisper, “You’re the Snake?”

Snake’s reputation had preceded me again.