Read Online Thief's War: A Knight and Rogue Novel by Hilari Bell - Free Book Online
Authors: Hilari Bell
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small and grubby, tugged on my boot, clearly inviting me in.
I knew not what awaited me in that warehouse, but it had to be better than facing six men with cudgels—and at this point, a considerable grudge.
Moving quietly, I backed through the opening. I had to twist my body to get through the narrow gap, but a number of hands were tugging on me now. The quarreling thugs never heard the soft scraping sounds of my passage.
My rescuers were children. The warehouse roof was less sound than the walls, emitting shafts of sunlight through a score of holes. It held tall stacks of crates and barrels, and three children who crouched beside me.
A boy, with one eyelid sunken over an empty socket, lowered the plank back down. The oldest, a girl, held a finger to her lips—unnecessary, since I had no intention of giving the game away. She was about fourteen, her dark hair pulled into an untidy braid.
The other boy, whose fair hair looked as if he’d cut it himself, eyed me warily. One hand rested on the hilt of a knife that was too large for him to handle—but he wore it with a more accustomed air than I wore my sword.
All of them, including the girl, had knives on their belts. And though only three had joined me, I heard rustlings in the dim corners that told me there were more of them. A lot more.
Children or not, I’d best go carefully. I sat back, my hands in plain sight, and waited for some time before the one-eyed boy, who’d pressed his ear against the wall, announced, “They’s gone.”
“Good enough.” The girl rose to her feet. “We can let you out the door. It opens onto Sailmaker Lane.”
“I thank you,” I said. “For saving my life.”
They stepped back as I stood, opening distance, and the blond lad wasn’t the only one with his hand on his knife. I resolved to make no sudden moves.
“We didn’t do it for you,” the girl said. “Door’s this way.” She gestured for me to precede them, instead of turning their backs on me. I’ve seen trained guards less skilled at handling a prisoner.
The warehouse was long, with a clear central corridor lined with towering piles of crated merchandise, dusty and stained by leaks from the rotting roof. But ’twas the sounds of stealthy movement behind those stacks, and the odd glimpse of movement in the shadowy gaps between them, that held my attention. How many children lived here? It might be unwise, but I had to ask.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Where are…?”
A sudden suspicion of the answer stopped my tongue, but they knew what I’d been about to say.
“Yah,” said One-eye. “We’re orfinks, mostly. Those as ain’t, they’s better off here than home.”
I’d heard bits of the Tallowsport accent this week, but never so thick and pure.
“Surely you have kin in this town who’d take you in.”
There was a long silence, then the girl shrugged. “They were chasing him,” she told the others. “And it’s not like he can tell them anything about us they don’t already know. No harm in talking I can see.”
The blond boy growled under his breath, and a murmured echo came from the shadows—a feral sound that lifted the hair on the back of my neck.
“That’s how come we’s here,” One-eye said. “It’s the Rose. He says anyone takes us in, they get the same as our famblies got. We’re supposed to be dead, see?”
He said it with a casual acceptance that chilled my blood, even as it broke my heart.
“Who is this Rose?” I demanded.
All of them stopped, staring as if I’d asked why the night was dark.
“The Rose,” said the girl. “Tony Rose. Atherton Roseman. The man who runs this town. The man who owns the six thugs who were about t’ beat the crap out of you!”
“Ah,” I said. “I’ve spent the last week trying to find out who ‘he’ was. So now, I’m doubly indebted to you.”
“How can you not know about the Rose?” The blond boy’s voice was rough with suspicion.
“I’m a stranger to
I knew not what awaited me in that warehouse, but it had to be better than facing six men with cudgels—and at this point, a considerable grudge.
Moving quietly, I backed through the opening. I had to twist my body to get through the narrow gap, but a number of hands were tugging on me now. The quarreling thugs never heard the soft scraping sounds of my passage.
My rescuers were children. The warehouse roof was less sound than the walls, emitting shafts of sunlight through a score of holes. It held tall stacks of crates and barrels, and three children who crouched beside me.
A boy, with one eyelid sunken over an empty socket, lowered the plank back down. The oldest, a girl, held a finger to her lips—unnecessary, since I had no intention of giving the game away. She was about fourteen, her dark hair pulled into an untidy braid.
The other boy, whose fair hair looked as if he’d cut it himself, eyed me warily. One hand rested on the hilt of a knife that was too large for him to handle—but he wore it with a more accustomed air than I wore my sword.
All of them, including the girl, had knives on their belts. And though only three had joined me, I heard rustlings in the dim corners that told me there were more of them. A lot more.
Children or not, I’d best go carefully. I sat back, my hands in plain sight, and waited for some time before the one-eyed boy, who’d pressed his ear against the wall, announced, “They’s gone.”
“Good enough.” The girl rose to her feet. “We can let you out the door. It opens onto Sailmaker Lane.”
“I thank you,” I said. “For saving my life.”
They stepped back as I stood, opening distance, and the blond lad wasn’t the only one with his hand on his knife. I resolved to make no sudden moves.
“We didn’t do it for you,” the girl said. “Door’s this way.” She gestured for me to precede them, instead of turning their backs on me. I’ve seen trained guards less skilled at handling a prisoner.
The warehouse was long, with a clear central corridor lined with towering piles of crated merchandise, dusty and stained by leaks from the rotting roof. But ’twas the sounds of stealthy movement behind those stacks, and the odd glimpse of movement in the shadowy gaps between them, that held my attention. How many children lived here? It might be unwise, but I had to ask.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Where are…?”
A sudden suspicion of the answer stopped my tongue, but they knew what I’d been about to say.
“Yah,” said One-eye. “We’re orfinks, mostly. Those as ain’t, they’s better off here than home.”
I’d heard bits of the Tallowsport accent this week, but never so thick and pure.
“Surely you have kin in this town who’d take you in.”
There was a long silence, then the girl shrugged. “They were chasing him,” she told the others. “And it’s not like he can tell them anything about us they don’t already know. No harm in talking I can see.”
The blond boy growled under his breath, and a murmured echo came from the shadows—a feral sound that lifted the hair on the back of my neck.
“That’s how come we’s here,” One-eye said. “It’s the Rose. He says anyone takes us in, they get the same as our famblies got. We’re supposed to be dead, see?”
He said it with a casual acceptance that chilled my blood, even as it broke my heart.
“Who is this Rose?” I demanded.
All of them stopped, staring as if I’d asked why the night was dark.
“The Rose,” said the girl. “Tony Rose. Atherton Roseman. The man who runs this town. The man who owns the six thugs who were about t’ beat the crap out of you!”
“Ah,” I said. “I’ve spent the last week trying to find out who ‘he’ was. So now, I’m doubly indebted to you.”
“How can you not know about the Rose?” The blond boy’s voice was rough with suspicion.
“I’m a stranger to
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