Read Online Thief: A Fantasy Hardboiled (Ratcatchers Book 2) by Matthew Colville - Free Book Online
Authors: Matthew Colville
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said. He removed a pick from the barrow and shouldered it. With one huge swing, he stabbed it into the ground next to the boulder and levered a chunk of soil out. “Got this stone to dig out. Big as a house. Might as well be useful, you gonna stand around.”
“Got a pick in my bags,” the son said as he watched his father dig.
“Good lad. Always prepared. Fetch it then.”
His son went back to his horse. He returned with the pick, having stripped off his breastplate, discarded the cloak, the hard leather vest and linen undershirt and stood next to his father, pale skin and wisps of black hair on his hard muscled frame.
His father regarded him out of the corner of his eye.
“Sun’s barely hitched up yet. Time we’re done, you’ll be baked red and your back’ll be sore.”
The son nodded and dug the pick into the ground next to the top of the stone where his father had broken the sod. The father smiled to watch his son work.
"Sign of good living,” the old man said.
Chapter Twelve
Two figures picked their way across the sea of bones, blood, and mud that was the courtyard surrounding the castle’s gallows. There was no pattern to their movement.
They prodded bits of corpses with their boots, turned over errant body parts, occasionally stooped to lift a piece of clothing to see what might be left inside, and wordlessly glanced at each other across the courtyard.
The tall thin one in her early forties was Rayk. The shorter, older, shapeless one in the heavy cloak, was Fandrick. When they were originally partnered together, Rayk was still youthful and energetic. Twenty years under five castellans ground that out of her. Now there was little difference between her and the world-weary, born-cynical Fandrick.
They and their fellow watchmen were known to the city as the specials. The special watchmen. The special police force. Unlike the regulars, they had no district. They had every district. The watch captains petitioned the castellan for aid when things got bad, or weird, and the castellan dispatched some of his special men.
They were meant to be smarter, better trained, and with more authority than the coppers who patrolled the streets. But surrounded by three dozen-odd corpses, or bits of corpses, or whatever these things that used to be people were, neither Fandrick nor Rayk felt very special.
They would note things, grunt. Sometimes the regular watchman keeping the throng of people out of the courtyard would look in, see the two specials, wonder at what they were thinking.
Mostly they were thinking this was a mess.
A metal squeal indicated the gates were briefly opened. The two special watchmen looked as a small figure was admitted by the local constables into the courtyard.
Unlike both Fandrick and Rayk, this person didn’t wear leather. He wore woolen pants, grey, and linen shirt, light blue. He had dark brown skin and thick, short black hair. Keen black eyes that took in everything.
As he approached, they realized he was very young.
Eventually he stopped, and stood before them. He smiled.
“I’m, uh,” he began. “I’m Aiden,” he said.
Fandrick and Rayk looked at each other.
"What you want?" Fandrick growled.
"The castellan sent me," the young man said.
"All right then, give over," Fandrick said.
"What?" Aiden asked.
"What's the message?" Rayk asked.
"I get it," the boy said, rubbing his chin in thought. "The message is; I'm running this investigation."
Fandrick stared at the boy for a few seconds, then barked a laugh and turned his back. Went about his business.
"How old are you?!" Rayk asked.
"Ahh...seventeen? I think?” He watched Fandrick root around in the muck with the tip of his boot. “Around there, anyway. They say I was born the last time it snowed in the city, but then you ask people when that was and everything gets stupid and they argue and no one writes this stuff down apparently. Doesn't matter. Seventeen, basically."
Rayk looked at Fandrick who threw her a
“Got a pick in my bags,” the son said as he watched his father dig.
“Good lad. Always prepared. Fetch it then.”
His son went back to his horse. He returned with the pick, having stripped off his breastplate, discarded the cloak, the hard leather vest and linen undershirt and stood next to his father, pale skin and wisps of black hair on his hard muscled frame.
His father regarded him out of the corner of his eye.
“Sun’s barely hitched up yet. Time we’re done, you’ll be baked red and your back’ll be sore.”
The son nodded and dug the pick into the ground next to the top of the stone where his father had broken the sod. The father smiled to watch his son work.
"Sign of good living,” the old man said.
Chapter Twelve
Two figures picked their way across the sea of bones, blood, and mud that was the courtyard surrounding the castle’s gallows. There was no pattern to their movement.
They prodded bits of corpses with their boots, turned over errant body parts, occasionally stooped to lift a piece of clothing to see what might be left inside, and wordlessly glanced at each other across the courtyard.
The tall thin one in her early forties was Rayk. The shorter, older, shapeless one in the heavy cloak, was Fandrick. When they were originally partnered together, Rayk was still youthful and energetic. Twenty years under five castellans ground that out of her. Now there was little difference between her and the world-weary, born-cynical Fandrick.
They and their fellow watchmen were known to the city as the specials. The special watchmen. The special police force. Unlike the regulars, they had no district. They had every district. The watch captains petitioned the castellan for aid when things got bad, or weird, and the castellan dispatched some of his special men.
They were meant to be smarter, better trained, and with more authority than the coppers who patrolled the streets. But surrounded by three dozen-odd corpses, or bits of corpses, or whatever these things that used to be people were, neither Fandrick nor Rayk felt very special.
They would note things, grunt. Sometimes the regular watchman keeping the throng of people out of the courtyard would look in, see the two specials, wonder at what they were thinking.
Mostly they were thinking this was a mess.
A metal squeal indicated the gates were briefly opened. The two special watchmen looked as a small figure was admitted by the local constables into the courtyard.
Unlike both Fandrick and Rayk, this person didn’t wear leather. He wore woolen pants, grey, and linen shirt, light blue. He had dark brown skin and thick, short black hair. Keen black eyes that took in everything.
As he approached, they realized he was very young.
Eventually he stopped, and stood before them. He smiled.
“I’m, uh,” he began. “I’m Aiden,” he said.
Fandrick and Rayk looked at each other.
"What you want?" Fandrick growled.
"The castellan sent me," the young man said.
"All right then, give over," Fandrick said.
"What?" Aiden asked.
"What's the message?" Rayk asked.
"I get it," the boy said, rubbing his chin in thought. "The message is; I'm running this investigation."
Fandrick stared at the boy for a few seconds, then barked a laugh and turned his back. Went about his business.
"How old are you?!" Rayk asked.
"Ahh...seventeen? I think?” He watched Fandrick root around in the muck with the tip of his boot. “Around there, anyway. They say I was born the last time it snowed in the city, but then you ask people when that was and everything gets stupid and they argue and no one writes this stuff down apparently. Doesn't matter. Seventeen, basically."
Rayk looked at Fandrick who threw her a
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