The Spirit Thief

CHAPTER 4

When King Henrith opened his eyes, he knew he was dead. A few blinks later, the certainty hadn’t changed, but he was starting to feel a little upset about it. However, what happened next put all of that out of his head, for the great nothingness he had been staring into, the endless void that lies beyond human experience, stood up and began stirring the fire. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, he saw it was a girl. Or, at least, that was his best guess. All he could see at this angle was a tangle of short, black hair and a bit of pale forehead. The rest of her was lost inside an enormous coal-black coat that, he now realized, had been the void covering his head.

The sudden knowledge that he was, indeed, not dead was further underscored by the extreme discomfort of his position. He was lying on his side on a dirt floor, his hands and feet tied behind him so that he was bent belly out. The fire the girl tended was far too large for the small stone hovel they were in, and the heat pressed down on him as tightly as the ropes.

Finished poking at the fire, the girl walked over to the woodpile, pushed up her sleeves, and, despite the suffocating heat, began tossing more logs on. The fire accepted them reluctantly, shrinking away from her thin, pale hands. In the flickering light, Henrith caught the dull gleam of silver at her wrists, and he leaned his head slowly to the side for a better look. They weren’t bracelets. The dull, thick metal was badly scuffed, and it was wrapped tightly around her bony wrist, like a manacle. His hopes began to rise. If she was a prisoner as well, maybe she could help him escape.

But before he could get her attention, the rickety wooden door burst open, flooding the small hut with blinding sunlight as two men stomped in. The first, medium height and gangly, was carrying a huge stack of wood. “Nico!” he shouted, craning his neck over the logs. “Are you trying to burn us to crisps?”

The girl shrugged and then turned and glared at the fire. The flames shuddered, and the fire shrank to half the size it had been only seconds before. A cold terror ran up the king’s spine, but the man carrying the wood only sighed and started adding his armload to the woodpile. The second man, a towering figure with cropped sandy hair, carried two rabbits over one broad shoulder and what looked to be a sharpened six-foot-long iron bar over the other. The rest of him, from shoulders to calves, was covered in blades. He wore two swords at his waist, another sideways across his lower back, and knives of every size poking out of his belt, boots, and sleeves. Two long braces of throwing knives were strapped across his chest, with two more around his thighs. Anywhere he could strap a sheath, he had one, until it was difficult to tell what color his clothing actually was beneath the maze of leather sheaths.

The king cringed, terrified, as the swordsman walked past, but the man didn’t even glance the king’s way. He stepped nonchalantly over the scorched dirt the bonfire had vacated moments before and sauntered over to the small table set against the far wall, where he began to skin the rabbits. He kept all of his blades belted on as he did this, paying them as little mind as another man would pay to his jacket. The sword-shaped iron bar he leaned against the table beside him, keeping it close, like a trusted friend.

Not wanting to draw the attention of anyone so fond of sharp objects, the king focused his efforts on lying as still as possible. However, the girl looked at him, watching him with her head tilted to the side as the men worked. A few moments later, she announced, “The king’s awake.”

“Is he?” the man at the woodpile said and whirled around. “Wonderful!” The next moment, he was crouching beside King Henrith, a huge grin on his face. “Hello, Your Majesty! How have you enjoyed your kidnapping so far?”

The king looked up at him, noting the shaggy dark hair, thin build, and boyish grin that, in any other circumstance, would have been infectious. He looked just like his wanted poster. “Eli Monpress.”

The grin grew wider. “You’ve heard of me! I’m flattered!”

At that, the king’s fear was overwhelmed by indignation. “Of course I’ve heard of you!” the king blustered, blowing the dirt out of his beard. “We caught you trying to steal my horses this morning!”

“Yesterday morning, actually.” Eli looked sideways across the fire at the knife-covered man. “I’m afraid Josef may have hit you a little too hard.”

“I hit him perfectly,” Josef said, not looking up from his rabbits. “He’s not in pain, is he?”

Eli looked down at the king. “Are you?”

Henrith paused, considering. His head didn’t hurt. He remembered being hit and the shooting pain on the balcony, but now he felt nothing, just uncomfortable from the ropes and the strange position. He looked up at Eli, who was still waiting for his answer, and shook his head.

“See?” Josef said. “Perfect.”

Eli sighed dramatically. “Well, after that display, I suppose I’d better introduce my associates.” He reached down and took the king’s head in his hands, turning him toward the tall man with the blades. “That man of perfection you see mutilating the bunnies for our supper is our swordsman, Josef Liechten, and this little bundle”—he turned the king’s head to the left, toward the girl, who was back to poking the fire—“is Nico.”

That was apparently enough for introductions, for Eli let the king’s head go and plopped down in the dirt beside him, leaning on his elbow so his eyes were level with the king’s.

“Why are you doing this?” the king whispered, wavering between rage and genuine bewilderment.

“I’m a thief.” Eli shrugged. “I steal valuable things. What could be more valuable than a king to his country?”

“Why me, then?” Henrith wiggled himself semi-upright. “If money is what you’re after, why not go after a larger country, or a richer one?”

“Trade secret,” Eli said. “But since you’re being such a good sport about all this, I will tell you that we’re not working for anyone. There’s no great scheme, no big plot. Just pay our price and we can all go home happy.”

Henrith supposed that was a relief. “What’s your price, then?”

“Forty thousand gold standards,” Eli said calmly.

The king nearly choked. “Are you mad? We can’t pay that!”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to lie here forever.” Eli gave him a little pat on the shoulder, and then stood up and walked over to where Nico was poking the fire, leaving the king to wiggle futilely in the dirt.

“Of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “you wouldn’t have to pay it all at once.”

“What,” the king scoffed, “set up an installment plan? Would you leave a forwarding address, or should I just send a company of armed men every month?”

“Nothing so complicated.” Eli walked over and kneeled down again. “How about this? You write a letter to your Master of the Money, or whatever you call him, and tell him to put aside a mere five thousand gold standards. Surely even Mellinor can gather such a small sum without too much difficulty. We’ll make a switch”—he waggled his long finger at the king—“you for the money, and the rest of the debt can be pledged to my council bounty.”

Henrith’s face went blank. “Pledged to what?”

Eli gawked down at him. “The Council of Thrones’ bounty account.” He leaned down, looking incredulous. “Do you even know how bounties work?”

The king started to answer, but Eli rolled right over him. “Of course not, you’re a king. I doubt you’ve even been to a council meeting. You’ve probably never even left your kingdom.” He sat down again, muttering under his breath, “Council of Thrones, pah. More like Council of Junior-Adjuncts-No-One-in-Their-Own-Kingdom-Wanted-Around.

“All right,” Eli said when he was settled. “So you know the Council of Thrones takes care of things no single kingdom can handle—large-scale trade disputes, peace negotiations, and offering bounties on criminals wanted for crimes in more than one kingdom.” Eli reached into the pocket of his faded blue jacket and pulled out a folded square of paper, which he shook out proudly. It was his wanted poster, the same one the king had seen in the rose garden back when Eli had been his prisoner, and not the other way around.

Eli held the poster up. “Only the biggest criminals, those considered to be a danger to every member kingdom of the Council, are listed on the Council wanted board, and that means the bounties have to be in amounts that can get the attention of whole kingdoms, not just small-time bounty hunters.

“As you see,” he said, tapping the numbers under his portrait, “my head, dead or alive, is currently worth twenty thousand gold standards. This price is guaranteed by five countries, each of which pledged a little of its hard-earned money to entice men like yourself to try and catch me. Since you’ve made such a fuss over how you can’t pay the whole amount of your ransom at the moment, I’m going to cut you a deal. All you have to do to buy your freedom is top what those countries have offered by pledging your ransom to my bounty. Minus, of course, the five thousand in cash we’ll be taking with us. Still, that means the kingdom of Mellinor will be responsible for the remaining thirty-five thousand only in the unlikely event of my capture. Now,” he said, folding the poster back into a square, “I think that’s more than fair. What do you say, Mr. King?”

The king didn’t have much to say to that, actually. This was either the worst kidnapping in history or the best Council fundraiser he’d ever seen.

“So,” he said slowly, “Mellinor pledges the thirty-five thousand to your bounty, we give you five thousand in cash, and you let me go. But,” he said and paused, desperately trying to find some sense in what was happening, “that will bring your bounty to fifty-five thousand gold standards. It doesn’t make sense at all. You’re a thief! Won’t having a higher bounty make stealing things more difficult?”

“Any thief worth the name can steal,” Eli snorted. “I, however, am not just any thief.” He straightened up. “I’m Eli Monpress, the greatest thief in the world. I’m worth more gold dead than most people will see in two lifetimes, and this is only the beginning.” He leaned down, bringing his eyes level with Henrith’s. “A bounty of fifty-five thousand puts me in the top ten percent of all criminals wanted by the council, but so far as I’m concerned, that’s nothing. Child’s play. One day,” he said, smiling, “I’ll be worth one million gold standards.”

He said it with such gravity that the king couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing. He laughed until the ropes cut into his skin and his throat was thick with grit from the dirt floor. Eli just watched him convulse, a calm smile on his face.

At last, the king’s laughter receded into gasps and hiccups, and he slumped to the floor with a sigh. “One million?” he said, chuckling. “Impossible. You could buy the Council itself for that much. You’d have to kidnap every king in the world!”

“If they’re all as easily gotten as you were,” Eli said with a grin, “that won’t be a problem.” He gave the king a pat on the head, like he was a royal puppy, and stood up. He stepped over the sprawled king and crouched down behind him, where the king’s hands were tied.

The king wiggled, trying to get a look at what Eli was doing. But the thief put his boot on the king’s side, keeping him still while he reached down and brushed his fingers over the rope at the king’s hands and ankles. “Thank you very much,” Eli said. “You’ve been most helpful. I think he’s got the point, though, so you can let him go now.”

Henrith was about to ask who he thought he was talking to when the rope at his hands wiggled like a snake. He jumped as the rope untied itself and fell into a neat coil at his side. Eli reached down and picked the rope up, leaving the king slack-jawed on the floor.

“Good-natured rope,” the thief cooed, holding the coils up. “It’s always such a pleasure to work with.”

He left the king gaping in the dirt and went over to a corner where a small pile of leather packs leaned against the wall, well away from the fire. He tucked the rope carefully into the pack on the top and began to dig through the others, looking for something.

Henrith sat up gingerly, squeezing his hands to get the feeling back and trying not to think too hard about what had just happened. By the time he got the blood flowing in his fingers again, Eli was back, this time shoving a pen nib, ink pot, and a sheaf of slightly dirty paper into the king’s hands.

“All right, Your Majesty,” he said, grinning. “If you would write a letter detailing what we talked about, I’ll make sure it gets sent to whoever deals with this sort of thing. Be sure to stipulate that you will not be returned until I see my new wanted poster—that part is key. With any luck, this will all be over in a few days and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

He clapped the king on the shoulder one last time and stood up. “Nico,” he said. “I’m going to find someone who wants to carry a letter. Would you mind watching our guest? I want to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas that might come to a sad conclusion.”

The girl nodded absently, never looking up from the fire. Eli gave the king a final wink before opening the cabin door and walking out into the sunlight. The swordsman, who had long finished skinning his rabbits, picked up his iron sword and followed, leaving the king alone in the small, dark hut with the girl.

Her back was to him, and King Henrith flexed his newly freed hands again. The door was only a few feet away.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

The sudden edge in her voice nearly made him jump backward. He froze as she turned to look at him. When her brown eyes locked with his, the feeling of oblivion came roaring back. Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.

“Write your letter,” she said, and turned back to the fire.

He took a shuddering breath and spread the paper out on his knee. With one last look at the girl’s back, he leaned over and began to write his ransom note.

“That was stupid,” Josef said, closing the rickety door behind him.

“Why do you say that?” Eli asked, scanning the treetops. They were standing in the small clearing outside of the forester’s hut that Eli had “repurposed” for this operation. High overhead, sunlight streamed through the treetops while hidden birds called to one another from their branches. Eli whistled back.

Josef scowled, leaning against the small trees that shielded their hut from view. “Why did you put that part in about seeing the poster? This job has dragged on long enough already. We’ll be here forever if we have to wait on Council politics.”

“You’d be surprised how sprightly they can be when there’s a lot of money involved,” Eli said, and whistled again. “The Council gets a percent fee on capture for every bounty posted, and fifty-five thousand is a lot of money, even for them.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if there was something to do,” Josef said, stabbing his iron sword into the patchy grass at their feet. The battered black blade slid easily into the dirt, as though the hard, rocky ground were loose sand. “There’s no challenge in this country. The city guards were a joke. The palace had no swordsmen, no wizards. I don’t understand why we even bothered to sneak in.”

“A job finally goes smoothly,” Eli said, “and you’re complaining? All we have to do is lounge around for a few days, collect the money, get my new bounty, and we can be on our way.”

“Smooth jobs are boring,” the swordsman grumbled, “and you’re the only one who enjoys lounging.”

“You might like if you tried it,” Eli said.

Josef shook his head and Eli turned back to the leafy canopy, whistling a third time. This time something whistled in answer, and a small falcon swooped down to land on the moss beside him.

“You needed a break anyway,” Eli said, kneeling down. “You’re too tense these days.”

“I’m not tense,” Josef said, pushing himself off the trees with a grunt. “Just bored.”

He yanked his sword out of the ground and walked off into the forest, tossing the enormous blade between his hands as though it were made of paper. Eli watched him leave with a mixed expression, and then, shrugging, he turned back to the falcon and began talking it into taking a message to the castle.