Fallen Grace (The Death Dealer Book 1) (13 page)

Grace glared at Jack when Marcus was out of sight. “What do you want?”

“
I’m here to make sure nothing happens to my horse,” he said as he grabbed a saddle and bridle. He clearly wanted to take the horse out for a ride. “What does a girl like you know about mucking out stalls?”

“
You think you’re so smart, Jack Anders. You think I am just some stupid girl who was disgraced; that I cannot take care of myself. But I will have you know I am capable of watching over myself. There are plenty who did care about me and they’re still my friends, despite the fact I have been reduced to mucking out stables.”

“
Friends that care about you?” Jack laughed and it left Grace feeling cold and yet, at the same time, white hot with anger. “Friends, you say. Tell me then, a pretty thing like yourself – what boy, what friend in court loved you and then left you when you were exiled? What ‘man’ of the court allowed you to be reduced to this?” Grace’s thoughts ran to Tristan and how he acted as she left in shame. Jack picked up on Grace’s thoughts and feelings. “What did he say when you left? What cruel thing did he utter in your ear as you walked by, completely disgraced? What brave knight was he?”

Grace choked back tears as thoughts of Tristan’s cruelty came back to mind. She hoped to be strong and forget him, but Jack’s words coaxed it out of her.

“Sir Benjamin? No, he never showed affection, only received it. Sir Thomas? Nah, he never shows interest in young ladies. Perhaps Sir Tristan of Escion?” Grace clenched her jaw and balled her fists. “Yes, there it is. I knew him. He was like his father; arrogant and selfish. Though he charmed the women by putting on a sweet face. His reputation was not so innocent when it came to pretty faces.” Jack walked into the stall and circled Grace; putting the saddle aside. “It doesn’t surprise me you were in his sights, and it doesn’t surprise me you returned the attraction. You’re just like the rest. Tristan might have married you, but he would have cast you aside like his father threw his mother aside.” Jack stepped closer. “After a few children, you would be no more to Tristan than one of his hunting dogs or his horses. But looking at you now, I suppose he already sees you as such.”

Grace was speechless. She was absolutely stunned and unsure what to say in response to Jack.

“Jack!” The angry voice of Mayhew cut through and brought Grace from her trance. Her eyes turned into slits as she stared up at Jack. “That girl has stables to clean and saddles to polish! Leave her alone!”

Jack looked at Grace and waited for her to answer. She took a deep breath and steadied her voice. “You are a dog, Master Anders. I despise you and your cruelty. Refrain from speaking to me ever again!”

Jack shrugged his shoulders to indicate his lack of caring. However, his upper lip curled; suggesting to Grace he did care and was somewhat angered by this exchange. He led Pilgrim out; planning to saddle the horse outside the stable to avoid any more conversation with Grace.

~*~*~

“Enough lollygaggin’, girl. Them horses ain’t goin’ to muck their own stalls!” Mayhew barked at her. Taking up the shovel again, Grace went back to work. Though now, not only was Mayhew breathing down her neck, Jack’s words burned in her mind as well. She gritted her teeth and began to work harder.

What right did he have to make such assumptions? He had only been a lowly stable boy at the palace. But his words hit a chord, and that made Grace even angrier. Not just at Jack, but at Tristan too. As the thoughts slowly burned a hole through Grace’s soul, she worked harder and faster, much to Mayhew’s surprise. After a while, a young boy returned and led Pilgrim into his stall. Mayhew looked after the horse while continuing to watch Grace.

The old stable hand watched with interest. Something had lit a fire under her, and now the girl worked with one solid purpose. She ground her teeth, gripped the handle of her shovel with a new found fury, and she kept this pace when anyone else would have tired. Finally Mayhew decided to award her with a break. “Girl, enough for now. You’ll be no good if ya exhaust yourself before lunch. Get something to eat.”

Grace pushed the shovel into Mayhew’s hands and stormed into the common room. Jack was in his usual corner, smoking a pipe and glowering at the world, but no one else was about. Instead of wasting her meal in the same vicinity as Jack, Grace headed into the kitchen.

Jim Little and the cook, Georges – a fat, old, bearded man – were talking over mugs of ale. Jim cocked an eyebrow. It was impressive to see that the girl made it so far, but no doubt she was finished now.

“
Is there any chance for a meal? Mayhew expects me back.” The full force of the morning was catching up with Grace. Her anger was running itself out, and that made her tired. Still, she had more work to do. She’d prove to everyone how strong and capable she was.

The cook and Jim exchanged looks. From where Grace stood, she couldn’t tell if they were impressed or concerned. “Of course, lassie.” Jim pulled a chair out and beckoned her to sit at the table with himself and the cook. “Master Georges will ladle ya out some soup. I’m sure you’re in need of it after a morning with Mayhew.” Georges ambled around the table to a giant pot that hung over the fire.

“He has said little of my performance since his return from lunch.”

“
He’ll be unbearable when you return. Meals always put him in a more pleasant mood.” Georges placed a bowl of unidentifiable broth and chunks before Grace and she ate it gratefully.

~*~*~

Grace’s survival in the stables was the talk of the tavern later that night when she ate dinner with Ridley. She ignored it all and simply concentrated on the night ahead; keeping a close eye on Marcus’s table while she ate. Memorizing faces and voices, she turned in for the night around ten and at midnight, took to the streets as The Death Dealer. She was much too tired to actually do much, but she went out to learn the city better.

Waiting in the shadows outside of the Angel, she trailed the first thief to exit. If what Ridley said was true, then this thief would take from a merchant or two and then bring the gold or silver back to Marcus. What happened after that was a mystery, because Ridley wouldn’t offer any more hints as to what Marcus did with his spoils. Or what other activities his men were up to.

Grace wasn’t sure what she hoped to see when she trailed the thief into the night. Part of her wanted to witness more than petty theft from a merchant’s house. If the Thieves’ Guild committed murder or anything else, she could go after them without worrying she would offend her new friend.

She felt wrong allying herself with Ridley, given the girl’s profession, but Grace wanted Marcus to be as charitable as his adopted daughter claimed. Partly because she liked Ridley and found a friend in her, but also because she knew death would be waiting for her if she tried to take on the Guild.

Thus far, the thief had taken her to the richest part of Glenbard. The merchants mostly lived in the Northeastern section of the city, nearest the exit to Glenbard. Grace watched the thief sneak into private offices under the cover of darkness. Grace attempted to peek into the homes and though it was dark, it looked as if most were well-furnished. Many of them had small houses built nearby for servants’ quarters.

The thief climbed through a window to the largest house in the merchant district. So far Grace saw nothing she hadn’t been warned of. Ridley said the Thieves’ Guild stopped stealing from their own class when Marcus took over, and even the drifter Kit stated the Guild kept murders within Glenbard down. Still, Jack spoke his piece on the morality (or lack thereof) of the Guild, making Grace doubt them. Her current thief turned up nothing, so for now The Death Dealer called it a night.

~*~*~

“
That stall is filthy! Do it again!” Mayhew pushed the shovel and pail into Grace’s hands.

To her, the stall looked clean. She wasn’t sure what Mayhew wanted her to do to make it better, but she went right back in. Pilgrim looked up from his hay and blinked at her while Mayhew went to his corner to polish some saddles and bridles.

Grace patted Pilgrim’s neck. “You think I do a fine job, don’t you?” Pilgrim nipped at her pockets, looking for food.

Grace survived three days under Mayhew’s command. It was a shock for everyone, causing no one to win the original bet set forth. However, now Grace’s patience with Mayhew was waning and she was prepared to throw down her shovel and walk out. It was a tempting prospect, but self-preservation won out since Jim provided her with a free room above the stables to live in. He said all the stable hands had lived there, and since Grace seemed to be holding her own, he expected she’d want to move out of the tavern’s inn. The biggest perk to living in the small room above the stables was that it was easier to sneak out at night for her nocturnal duties.

Grace spent her first night in the stables and found her window’s exit was completely covered in shadows; making it easier to climb out without attracting attention. That night Grace trailed two more thieves and came up with nothing. The pattern suggested that each night Marcus sent out one thief to burglarize or vandalize a merchant’s house. The men Marcus sent couldn’t have been doing much damage, because the merchant class didn’t hire goons to assault the Angel. Donald started making rounds around the marketplace for Grace during the days.

He noticed a few pickpockets whom he recognized as Marcus’s men. Like the night thieves, they went after the most well-off people. Donald listened to the gossip and surmised that people generally didn’t even know they were robbed in the night.

Watching the thieves was getting Grace nowhere and she longed to be back out as the traditional Death Dealer. Since gaining her first knowledge of the Guild, she had been formulating a plan on how to deal with them. Tonight she would set the plan into action. With any luck, before the sun rose she would have something worked out with the thieves.

Grace propped her shovel up against the stall door and cracked her back. Her stomach rumbled a bit, but Mayhew didn’t like her asking to go to lunch. He liked to control her life while she worked during the days. She lifted the shovel again and exited Pilgrim’s stall. She’d just have to wait for Mayhew’s permission.

~*~*~

             
The thief’s name was Roddy, and he was heading quickly toward the merchant district. As he moved through the dark of the night, a figure darted in front of him. Roddy stopped; unsure if the lights of one of Glenbard’s taverns were playing tricks on him. Nothing moved in the shadows, so he continued on his way. Just as he started walking again, he saw something shift in the darkness. He stopped once more, positive he saw something.

Out of the shadows, a small figure moved. “You.” The voice was soft, strained. Roddy moved his hand toward his dagger. “I have questions.”

“Who are ya?” A hooded, black clad person moved into Roddy’s line of sight. “The Death Dealer?”

“
I need you to answer some questions, thief. How exactly does Marcus run the Fishermen’s Collective?”

“
He was poor in his youth and ’e don’t want no one to suffer like him and ’is family did. So we’s always steal from those that can afford it, or that cause trouble down in the lower city. Then we’s give a portion to a fund Marcus uses to keep the widows and their babes clothed and fed. So Death Dealer, you needn’t worry about us harming folk. I know ’ow you are about that. People who stir up things have a funny habit of disappearing from Glenbard.”

“
I want to speak to Marcus.” The Death Dealer took a step closer to Roddy and he saw the glint of a sword. “Tonight. And I want you to bring him to me.”

“
I won’t let you ’urt my king.”

“
I won’t hurt him. I want to talk to him.” The Death Dealer tossed a bag to Roddy and the thief bent down; never letting his eyes stray from the drawn sword. The bag had a fair amount of coppers in it. “Bring Marcus to the temple of Diggery by two. I have business to discuss with him.” Having said her piece, The Death Dealer deftly returned to the shadows.

~*~*~

Marcus brought his right hand man, Thom, to the temple, even though Roddy didn’t seemed particularly spooked. He showed the bag of coins to Marcus, and Marcus and Thom tested the money to make sure it was good. Once they were satisfied, they returned it to Roddy. The King of Thieves was hesitant to go, but he didn’t want The Death Dealer obstructing his work every night. Do-gooders always managed to do just that.

Inside the temple, The Death Dealer stood before the wolf statue of Diggery. Most of the flames were extinguished; either by those who maintained the temple or by this vigilante.

“Roddy said you accosted him in the dark.” Marcus kept a hand on his sword hilt, and with one call Thom would be inside to help. The Death Dealer’s sword was laid out on the altar.

“
Stepping from the shadows is hardly accosting, but getting Roddy was the only way to bring you out of the Angel.”

“
And what does the hero of the people want with me? You surely can’t expect to bring me down so the righteous will rule the day.”

The Death Dealer was silent a moment. “Don’t be daft. King Frederick has not brought you down yet, and he has an army at his disposal. I am only one person. I come to you for another reason. I have been watching your men and I questioned Roddy as to your intentions. You certainly are the honest thief they claim you to be.”