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Read Online Twilight of Kerberos - [Shadowmage 01-03] - The Shadowmage Trilogy (Shadowmage; Night's Haunting; Legacy's Price) by Matthew Sprange (v5.0) (mobi) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Matthew Sprange (v5.0) (mobi)
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start, and he stepped past Lucius, fists raised. Lucius laid a hand on the back of Markel’s neck, and then held it firm when he tried to struggle free.
“Not here,” Lucius whispered. “Ambrose’s orders.”
That was sufficient to restrain Markel, but Lucius could feel his anger.
The lead boy took another step up to Ambrose and, completely unafraid, spat at his feet. “Your time’s over, old man. The markets belong to us now.”
“Oh, is that so?” said Ambrose and, like a snake, his arm shot forward to grab the boy. The boy struggled until Ambrose cuffed him round the back of the head, and he was not gentle about it. The blow stunned the boy briefly, and he fell to the ground on his backside. When he heard Treal giggling at his misfortune, his eyes blazed with a fury that Lucius had thought only possible in frenzied warriors.
“You’ll regret that, old man,” he said, as he picked himself up. Despite his conviction, he started to back away, his friends following him. “Loredo will hear of this.”
“I’m sure,” Ambrose said. “He must take a personal interest in all the kids working for him. Well, you just tell him that the markets are our ground, and we won’t stand for any pushing from him. Won’t stand for it, you hear?”
The boys left, the last throwing an obscene gesture at the four of them before turning to follow his friends. Markel was still angry, while Treal jabbed Lucius in the ribs, laughing at the memory of the boy being knocked to the floor.
Sighing, Ambrose turned to Lucius.
“There’ll be trouble there, mark my words. The Guild has been getting more aggressive over the past few months. Looks like we’ll have plenty of work for you yet, and it won’t be picking pockets.”
Lucius stared past him, watching the boys disappear into a side street leading away from the market, wondering why every time he found an easy living, something always contrived to take it away from him.
CHAPTER FOUR
M ARKEL HAD BEEN right, as it turned out. Lucius had not been kept on the team for long. A week later, Ambrose announced he was to be taken to the guildhouse of the Night Hands. Thus would start his true induction into the organisation.
He had not been sure quite what to expect of a thieves’ headquarters. Something in the sewers, perhaps, accessible only by secret passageways and coded knocks, backed up by the password of the day. Maybe a rundown and dilapidated structure in the poorest quarter of the city, dismissed by passing guard patrols, and yet readily turned into a defensible fort when assaulted, with assassins and marksmen sniping from windows. Or it could be palatial, hiding behind the guise of some noble’s holdings and filled with the proceeds of years of thieving, decked in gold and silver, with rare objects d’art scattered in every room in the most vulgar fashion.
It was none of those things. From the outside, the townhouse looked like every other in the aptly named Rogue’s Way. The street had earned its title decades ago from a scandalous merchant who managed to rob several nobles blind before he was discovered and deported back to Pontaine. The house itself was a three storey structure with large bay windows protected from prying eyes by thick curtains and thicker shutters.
The front door appeared solid enough, but it was not until Lucius was permitted entry that he realised its heavy oak exterior was supported inside by metal bands and finely-crafted locks, and he guessed it would take at least a squad of guardsmen armed with a battering ram to break it down.
A short hallway led into a common room, which looked for all the world like that of a tavern. A bar was situated on the far side of the room, while tables were scattered about randomly, their occupants engaged in games of dice and cards, drinking or huddled together while whispering in conspiratorial tones. The furniture had certainly seen better days than that usually found in taverns, as it seemed
“Not here,” Lucius whispered. “Ambrose’s orders.”
That was sufficient to restrain Markel, but Lucius could feel his anger.
The lead boy took another step up to Ambrose and, completely unafraid, spat at his feet. “Your time’s over, old man. The markets belong to us now.”
“Oh, is that so?” said Ambrose and, like a snake, his arm shot forward to grab the boy. The boy struggled until Ambrose cuffed him round the back of the head, and he was not gentle about it. The blow stunned the boy briefly, and he fell to the ground on his backside. When he heard Treal giggling at his misfortune, his eyes blazed with a fury that Lucius had thought only possible in frenzied warriors.
“You’ll regret that, old man,” he said, as he picked himself up. Despite his conviction, he started to back away, his friends following him. “Loredo will hear of this.”
“I’m sure,” Ambrose said. “He must take a personal interest in all the kids working for him. Well, you just tell him that the markets are our ground, and we won’t stand for any pushing from him. Won’t stand for it, you hear?”
The boys left, the last throwing an obscene gesture at the four of them before turning to follow his friends. Markel was still angry, while Treal jabbed Lucius in the ribs, laughing at the memory of the boy being knocked to the floor.
Sighing, Ambrose turned to Lucius.
“There’ll be trouble there, mark my words. The Guild has been getting more aggressive over the past few months. Looks like we’ll have plenty of work for you yet, and it won’t be picking pockets.”
Lucius stared past him, watching the boys disappear into a side street leading away from the market, wondering why every time he found an easy living, something always contrived to take it away from him.
CHAPTER FOUR
M ARKEL HAD BEEN right, as it turned out. Lucius had not been kept on the team for long. A week later, Ambrose announced he was to be taken to the guildhouse of the Night Hands. Thus would start his true induction into the organisation.
He had not been sure quite what to expect of a thieves’ headquarters. Something in the sewers, perhaps, accessible only by secret passageways and coded knocks, backed up by the password of the day. Maybe a rundown and dilapidated structure in the poorest quarter of the city, dismissed by passing guard patrols, and yet readily turned into a defensible fort when assaulted, with assassins and marksmen sniping from windows. Or it could be palatial, hiding behind the guise of some noble’s holdings and filled with the proceeds of years of thieving, decked in gold and silver, with rare objects d’art scattered in every room in the most vulgar fashion.
It was none of those things. From the outside, the townhouse looked like every other in the aptly named Rogue’s Way. The street had earned its title decades ago from a scandalous merchant who managed to rob several nobles blind before he was discovered and deported back to Pontaine. The house itself was a three storey structure with large bay windows protected from prying eyes by thick curtains and thicker shutters.
The front door appeared solid enough, but it was not until Lucius was permitted entry that he realised its heavy oak exterior was supported inside by metal bands and finely-crafted locks, and he guessed it would take at least a squad of guardsmen armed with a battering ram to break it down.
A short hallway led into a common room, which looked for all the world like that of a tavern. A bar was situated on the far side of the room, while tables were scattered about randomly, their occupants engaged in games of dice and cards, drinking or huddled together while whispering in conspiratorial tones. The furniture had certainly seen better days than that usually found in taverns, as it seemed
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