Read Online Thick as Thieves by Tali Spencer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tali Spencer
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licking the shoes of noblemen who thought themselves above getting dirty. I got in with a rough crowd my first time here. Learned a few tricks, mostly how to strike quick, fight dirty, and run. I usually only pinch from people who proposition me.” The look Madd gave him told Vorgell he was sincere.
Vorgell shrugged. “I attacked defenseless villagers and carried off their goods—or them. Can’t say I ever stole a purse, but I’ve made off with a strongbox or two.” Right now he wished he had some of that gold. Not that he’d ever kept loot for long. He’d spent buckets of gold on drink, horses, and gifts for his lovers, and even, once, a high-priced slave he’d later released and sent home. His cock perked again at the memory. “Does that purse have gold enough to buy me a sword?”
“Yes.” Madd had been peering inside, counting the coins. “And I know just the place. Follow me. We need to get there before dark.”
Beneath lowering gray clouds, they trotted toward the city wall and the Rottingpike Gate, so named because of the large number of corpses from executed criminals adorning stakes upon the battlements. It was a foul-smelling passage that faced a stone bridge across the smaller of two rivers between which Gurgh sprouted like a bloated, rotting corpse itself. The bridge was called the Cutthroat Bridge—again because of it being rather too well-known for people being slain upon it and tossed over into the river. Vorgell knew this much but little more. He had only been in Gurgh for a short while before leaving by this same bridge, headed for the wilderness of Stormfell.
Just as Vorgell was sure they were leaving the city by the bridge, Madd turned abruptly just past the Rottingpike Gate and followed a narrow road that hugged the foundations of the outer wall. Unpaved and rutted, the track clearly led to nowhere good. Shacks lined the way, most fronted by crumbling facades and inhabited by beggars. The road ran down to the river bank and made a sharp bend so that it passed beneath the stone arch of the bridge.
“This is where you stay close to me and look like you would enjoy eating human flesh,” Madd suggested. He tugged his cloak higher and tightened his hold on the package he bore.
Vorgell soon saw why. The river beneath the bridge was shallow and the rushes lining it were tall. Toward the bridge’s pilings, the ground was drier and the shadows deeper. A hovel made of salvaged timber hulked behind a group of men standing around a fire. Vorgell found his hand creeping toward the sword he did not yet have. The knife would have to do.
“Where the hellcrap you going?” someone challenged. Three of the men walked toward them.
Madd stopped walking. He looked more annoyed than afraid. “I’m here to see Tagard Stormraven. I’m one of his thieves.”
The apparent leader of the men flicked his gaze to Vorgell. “Are you now? Well, he’s not.”
“No, he’s just mean.”
“I’m with him,” said Vorgell.
“There’s a toll, you know,” the man said. “Ten coppers.”
Madd snorted and pointed a thumb at Vorgell. “How about he stabs you ten times?”
All three men stepped back with expressions ranging from surprise to disbelief at Madd’s audacity. However, none of them appeared willing to chance Vorgell having a knife. “Go on, then. But if you’re smart, you’ll cross the river instead of trying to come back this way.”
“I plan to!” Madd informed them as he and Vorgell strolled past.
Vorgell kept a tight grip on his knife and a close watch behind them until he was satisfied there’d be no attack from the rear. The road soon entered a narrow town built between the wall of Gurgh and the river. The town itself resembled Gurgh, unfolding as a maze of poorly paved streets fronted by businesses and houses, many of which were of stone or sound timber and in good repair. Behind and above the town’s buildings loomed Gurgh’s somber, oppressive gray walls, and above those
Vorgell shrugged. “I attacked defenseless villagers and carried off their goods—or them. Can’t say I ever stole a purse, but I’ve made off with a strongbox or two.” Right now he wished he had some of that gold. Not that he’d ever kept loot for long. He’d spent buckets of gold on drink, horses, and gifts for his lovers, and even, once, a high-priced slave he’d later released and sent home. His cock perked again at the memory. “Does that purse have gold enough to buy me a sword?”
“Yes.” Madd had been peering inside, counting the coins. “And I know just the place. Follow me. We need to get there before dark.”
Beneath lowering gray clouds, they trotted toward the city wall and the Rottingpike Gate, so named because of the large number of corpses from executed criminals adorning stakes upon the battlements. It was a foul-smelling passage that faced a stone bridge across the smaller of two rivers between which Gurgh sprouted like a bloated, rotting corpse itself. The bridge was called the Cutthroat Bridge—again because of it being rather too well-known for people being slain upon it and tossed over into the river. Vorgell knew this much but little more. He had only been in Gurgh for a short while before leaving by this same bridge, headed for the wilderness of Stormfell.
Just as Vorgell was sure they were leaving the city by the bridge, Madd turned abruptly just past the Rottingpike Gate and followed a narrow road that hugged the foundations of the outer wall. Unpaved and rutted, the track clearly led to nowhere good. Shacks lined the way, most fronted by crumbling facades and inhabited by beggars. The road ran down to the river bank and made a sharp bend so that it passed beneath the stone arch of the bridge.
“This is where you stay close to me and look like you would enjoy eating human flesh,” Madd suggested. He tugged his cloak higher and tightened his hold on the package he bore.
Vorgell soon saw why. The river beneath the bridge was shallow and the rushes lining it were tall. Toward the bridge’s pilings, the ground was drier and the shadows deeper. A hovel made of salvaged timber hulked behind a group of men standing around a fire. Vorgell found his hand creeping toward the sword he did not yet have. The knife would have to do.
“Where the hellcrap you going?” someone challenged. Three of the men walked toward them.
Madd stopped walking. He looked more annoyed than afraid. “I’m here to see Tagard Stormraven. I’m one of his thieves.”
The apparent leader of the men flicked his gaze to Vorgell. “Are you now? Well, he’s not.”
“No, he’s just mean.”
“I’m with him,” said Vorgell.
“There’s a toll, you know,” the man said. “Ten coppers.”
Madd snorted and pointed a thumb at Vorgell. “How about he stabs you ten times?”
All three men stepped back with expressions ranging from surprise to disbelief at Madd’s audacity. However, none of them appeared willing to chance Vorgell having a knife. “Go on, then. But if you’re smart, you’ll cross the river instead of trying to come back this way.”
“I plan to!” Madd informed them as he and Vorgell strolled past.
Vorgell kept a tight grip on his knife and a close watch behind them until he was satisfied there’d be no attack from the rear. The road soon entered a narrow town built between the wall of Gurgh and the river. The town itself resembled Gurgh, unfolding as a maze of poorly paved streets fronted by businesses and houses, many of which were of stone or sound timber and in good repair. Behind and above the town’s buildings loomed Gurgh’s somber, oppressive gray walls, and above those
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