Read The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two Online
Authors: Craig R. Saunders,Craig Saunders
The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two (21 page)
Roskel
sat in the third bath of the day. His head gleamed, as did the rest of his
body. The woman had seen him like no one but his mother had, and he had been
more embarrassed than he had been in his life. Now he stared down at his
entirely hairless body and stroked his bald head. It seemed a bit drastic, but
the woman had brooked no nonsense from him and his protestations had fallen on
deaf ears.
Darwell
and the Drayman laughed heartily at him, coming in to peer at him being shaved,
until he threw a bar of soap at them and some choice words.
Now
he rested in the bath full of some sickly smelling unction that the wise woman
had poured in this time, now that he was clean. His aches were easing, and as
he watched, the sores on his wrists began to close up.
His
behind was feeling much better. At first, sitting in the tub had been agony,
the clean water driving needles into his weeping sores, but now they were numb
and he felt some of the strength was returning to his limbs.
So
he had yet more to do, he thought as he put his head under the water, taking
care not to swallow the water.
He
held his breath and for a moment revelled in the soft swishing of the water in
the wooden bath tub. It was a comforting sound. So many of the sounds he had
heard since gaining his fragile freedom were comforting.
Even
when his friends were laughing at him in his embarrassment, he had enjoyed the
sound. It was a beautiful sound that he had forgotten. The wise woman’s knowing
smile should have been irritating, but any smile was to be cherished.
The
feel of the warm water on his skin, the sensation of strength returning and his
sores closing, becoming cleaner…she said he would be left with scars, but he
was glad. Even if he could have, he would never want to forget the cruelty men
could mete out. He would rule again, with Rohir and Wexel at his side, but he
would never forget why he did so. He did not do it because it was Tarn’s wish.
No longer. He would do it because he was the right man for the job. He
recognised the pain the people went through, and the dangers a man like the
Thane of Kar represented. It would be an awful world if such men and their allies
took more power than they already had.
There
would be a reckoning, and if his journey was ever to end with a pure heart and
a clean conscience at the end of it, he needed to end their power once and for
all. He needed to destroy them, and the hierarchy both. They were an
abomination, the enemy of the people.
Sturma
deserved justice. It could not get it for itself. But he had the chance to do
right.
He
would do so, and be thankful for his position in the future, no longer moan
about the inconvenience and discomfort. It was an honour to serve his people in
the manner they deserved.
Perhaps,
he mused with a smile on his bare face, that was the lesson the lady wanted him
to learn.
Was
it worth it?
He
wasn’t sure. He imagined when he saw her again he would take the chance to turn
her over his knee.
Then
she would probably slit his throat, but just the look on her breathtakingly
beautiful, heart-stopping, dangerous face would be worth it.
*
Darwell
sat beside Roskel in the bath and they chatted like a couple of old women for
hours that morning. The wise woman had told the thief to remain immersed in
water until midday, then rub a salve over his sores and his wounds.
The
Drayman bustled about, getting things ready for the evening. Occasionally he
came into the bathroom and refilled the tub with hot water. The water splashed
over the side to drain in the tiled floor, down into the city sewers. Roskel
imagined the pain and the humiliation of the last three months being washed
away with each refilling of the bath. He felt his strength returning with each
hour that passed in the tub, his muscles easing and his sores closing. The wise
woman - witch, he supposed - told him he would be scarred afterwards, but he
wasn’t worried. His days of worrying about the smoothness of his behind had
gone when he had become a man and realised women didn’t mind if it was a bit
bobbly…so long as the most important part wasn’t wobbly.
He
giggled at the thought. Nice to remember what it was like to be childish. It
had been too long since he had remembered a joke or anything at all to keep his
spirits up.
'What’s
so funny?'
'Nothing,
Darwell. I’m just merry with life. I’m alive. Isn’t that funny enough?'
'I
suppose so. I have an apology to make, Roskel.'
'Don’t
mention it.'
'I
must!'
'I
know what you’re going to say. The same thing the Drayman will. You’re both
sorry you didn’t get me out sooner. Well, I think my lady of the shadows, my
greatest ally, is wiser than I give her credit for. I was meant to spend some
time in prison. It has given me new perspective. You could not have broken me
free until last night because it was not ordained. Sometimes I think I am a
creature of fate, but I have a choice now. I have learned my lesson, and it is
a valuable one. So no apologies. Just enjoy the sight of my bald head and laugh
like you did before. We should be celebrating. There is nothing to be sorry
for.'
'Then
another mug of ale?' said the innkeeper with a grateful smile.
'No,
I think not. I have a job to do tonight, and I cannot be in my cups. We will
celebrate with ale when I return. For now, let us celebrate with just
friendship and a nice hot bath.'
The
Drayman came in and indicated that it was time by holding out a towel for the
thief.
Roskel
climbed out of the bath with a sigh and wrapped the towel around himself. He
was wrinkled from his neck to his feet. He thought he looked like a shooner, a
heavily skinned dog that was popular among the ladies of the north.
He
dried himself then with an apologetic look at the innkeeper he held up the pot
of foul smelling paste.
'Oh,
no,' said the innkeeper with a shake of his head.
'Well
I can’t see to do it right myself.'
'No,
it wouldn’t be right. A thing like that can sully a friendship.'
'I’m
not asking you to do the front!'
The
Drayman took the pot with an expressive sigh. It spoke volumes. Even without
the touch and the song, Roskel imagine what he was saying.
Duty.
Always a creature of duty. Will my trials ever be over?
'You
are a true friend, Drayman.' Roskel looked pointedly at Darwell, who just
shrugged.
The
Drayman sighed and began to apply the salve.
It
burned like cinders on his bare skin, but he gritted his teeth and bore the
pain, hoping that come tomorrow he would be well enough to ride Minstrel and
with any luck, beat Orvane Wense and the Thane of Ulbridge back to Naeth.
*
The
day had been one of small pleasures, which Roskel held in his memory. It was
one of the finest days of his life. A simple affirmation of freedom and
friendship, things one could not put a value on and something that a thief or a
man subject to the law should always remember.
Now,
dressed from head to foot in his own clothes at last, grey shirt, darker grey
trousers and soft new boots, he crouched on the roof of the mansion he had only
just escaped from. People milled about below, taking a breath of fresh air
after dinner. No doubt his old conquest was holding a celebratory dinner now
that her husband had left for the north, her own affirmation of freedom.
He
swung down into a top floor window and landed on quiet feet in a carpeted room
fitted out for luxury.
He
would not have to search for long. He knew that the Thane kept an office on the
top floor of his home. His Thieves' Covenant contact had told him so in the
afternoon, a woman of stern beauty who came by Darwell’s tavern before opening
time.
He
padded toward the door and cracked it open.
He
heard a young woman giggling and walking drunkenly down the corridor. He ducked
back inside the room. The giggling girl came closer. He didn’t want to have to
knock out an innocent girl, that wasn’t what he was about.
He
searched around the chamber, looking for somewhere to hide, but his only option
was under the bed or in the closet.
The
chances were she would pass this room by, but he couldn’t rely on chance. It
was fickle at best. He ducked into the closet and closed the door too, leaving
it open a crack. He didn’t want to be in total darkness again. Perhaps one day,
but not on this fine night.
His
luck did not hold. The girl opened the door and stumbled into the room. She
fell in a heap onto the bed at the centre of the room.
Just
his luck.
'Ooh,
Lord Raynor, don’t play games. Come out!'
She
wore a mask. Some kind of fancy dress party, Roskel imagined. She was a fine
looking woman. Young with a heaving bosom, her words breathless with drink and
desire, perhaps.
He
waited for her to fall asleep or for her lover to arrive. He waited and waited,
but she just sat on the bed and pouted.
There
was nothing for it. He couldn’t waste anymore time. He also couldn’t very well
sneak out.
He
had a plan. He didn’t know if it was a good one or not, but it was the best he
could come up with on short notice. He rustled around in the closet as quietly
as he could.
Finding
what he was looking for, he stripped in the narrow confines of the closet and
then pulled on the owner’s clothes.
He
wanted to check himself in the mirror, but there was no time. His ruse had to
work.
He
stepped from the closet and the woman gasped, then she giggled once again.
'Oh,'
he said breathlessly. 'I was supposed to meet the duchess here. How
embarrassing!'
She
laughed at him, and he looked on with a mock wounded look on his face.
I
don’t look dashing in a dress? I thought I could carry it off…you know, with
the fancy dress party,' he said, taking a chance.
'Oh,
yes, you look dashing with your ladies dress and your bald head. The others
will all be wanting to dress like you. Are you stood up, too? I was supposed to
meet a man, but he hasn’t turned up.'
He
looked at her rising chest and the merry, drunken smile on her face.
'No,
in truth I am a thief, my beauty. I am here to steal your heart.'
She
giggled again. 'My, you are a charmer. I wish someone would. How brave of you
to shave your head. You look very handsome,' she said, her words slurring
slightly.
'Well,
my lady, I must dash,' he said regretfully. 'Though it is a shame to leave such
a beautiful woman when her assignation has failed, but alas…'
'Oh,
don’t be too hasty,' she said, and raised her dress a fraction, showing her
slippered feet.
Roskel’s
limbs were still weak, but the rest of him wasn’t immune to a lady’s charms.
Perhaps his luck was turning for the better.
'Well,
I suppose I could stay to keep you company…' he said, with his most charming
smile on his face.
'I
had hoped for more,' she said. Her expression was brazen, and Roskel forgot he
was supposed to be doing something else. He did remember he was supposed to be
living life to the full, though, and resolved to take every ounce of pleasure
he could from every minute while he was able.
After
a time, two dresses fell to the floor.
'My,'
she said, admiring his extremely naked frame. 'How very…bold.'
*
Roskel
tied up his grey trousers while the lady snored drunkenly on the bed. He pulled
his boots up to his calves and stepped out of the room, shutting the door
quietly behind him. He had a spring in his step, which is not a good trait in a
thief.
He
made it to the office without further incident.
There
was a lock on the door, but with a new pick he made short work of the door.
He
looked around the room for a moment, registering each feature. On the desk
rested an ornate chest. It too had a lock. It was the most likely place, so he
started there. He was rewarded with a click when his pick searched out the
tumblers, then he was rifling through the contents. There were letters from
three Thanes, and many missives from Wense. He read these swiftly, the smiled
in satisfaction and slid them inside his shirt.
It
was short work to climb back to the roof, then clamber down his waiting rope
and cross to the wall. He beat the patrol over the top just as they rounded the
corner, then he pulled on his cloak from where he had left it and walked
nonchalantly back the way he had come, looking forward to a mug of ale and a
night’s unbroken sleep in a comfortable bed.
He
rounded a corner and bumped straight into a guard.
'Oi,
watch where you’re going.'
'Sorry,'
said Roskel and turned to go on his way.
The
guard pursed his lips as the man went on his way. He pulled a scroll from his
cloak and studied the picture for a moment.
'Stop!'
he cried out suddenly.
Roskel
thought that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. He had no intention of
stopping. He ran as fast as he could.
*