The Woman Who Rides Like a Man

9 AT THE SIGN OF THE DANCING DOVE

IT WAS ALMOST DARK WHEN GEORGE, MAREK, and Ercole arrived at the gates of the city of Corus. They just made it in time; the greater gate was closed and locked behind them for the night. Now travelers would either have to enter the city on foot, or turn back to a nearby wayhouse until the gates were opened at dawn. All three men were tired. The ride from Port Caynn, which normally took only half a day, had been filled with battling winter wind and sleet.

“We’ve had easier travels afore now, Majesty,” Ercole remarked as they turned their horses into the long alley that led to the stables at the rear of the Inn of the Dancing Dove. “Warmer, too.”

It was far darker in the alley than on the torchlit main streets, and George felt uneasy. Bringing up his chestnut mare, he scanned the shadows. Noticing their chief’s wariness, Marek and Ercole began to search the dark, too, readying their long staffs. Only George dared carry a sword openly, as Tortallan commoners were not permitted them.

George let his mare inch forward until he spotted an overhang. Smiling grimly, he kicked the mare into a jump. The man on the overhang leaped a second too late, falling behind George. Other masked attackers surged out of connecting alleys and doorways; George ran one through and wheeled to catch a second as he grabbed for George’s saddle. A quick glance told him Marek and Ercole remained horsed, in spite of attempts to unseat them.

George’s mare reared and knocked the man trying to cut her saddle girths flying. The thief grinned—not even his most trusted people knew he had trained his favorite mount to fight like a noble’s war-horse, as her Moonlight fought for Alanna. The mare he had named Beauty curvetted, her rolling eyes searching for someone else stupid enough to get in range of her hooves.

Marek yelled and clutched his shoulder, where a dark flower blossomed against his light-colored jacket. Distracted by his henchman, George didn’t see the man on the roof overhead until he leaped onto George’s back.

They grappled for the knife the other man held, George using every trick he knew to dislodge his enemy. The attacker was strong, stronger than George, but he had forgotten the thief-king’s almost supernatural speed. Twisting into a position that made his back scream, George got one hand free. Flicking the knife he carried hidden in his sleeve into his hand, he stabbed his attacker in a rapid-fire movement. The man gasped and fell off, rolling into the snow.

As if his death was a signal, the others broke off and ran. George would have pursued them, but Ercole reminded him that Marek was hurt. The younger man was slumped in his saddle; blood dripped freely down his arm into the slush on the ground.

Ercole wiped his knives on his sleeve and slid them back into sheaths at his wrist. “They didn’t offer a sound, Majesty. Not a word.”

“So we can’t guess who they are, doubtless.” George hoisted Marek up, wishing just once for Alanna’s way with fire. “Will you make it to a safe place, lad?”

Marek grinned weakly. In the bits of light that came from the houses and shops on the alley, his handsome face was pale. “All these years I’ve tried to take your throne from you, George; now we both have to fight some—usurper!”

“Can you hold up a bit more?”

“Aye.” Marek boosted himself erect in his saddle. “Lead on, Majesty.”

George took the rein of Marek’s horse and headed down a second alley, thinking hard. Until he knew the nature of the enemy, the Dancing Dove was not safe for him or the people closest to him. He led Marek and Ercole to the back of his mother’s walled house, trusting that his enemies had not set a trap there as well. He was reassured by snow piled around the small barred gate; no one had walked here recently. Dismounting, he used his keys to undo the double locks before taking Marek and Ercole inside. The young man was slumped over, and Ercole held him in place with one hand.

“The stables are over there,” George told him quietly as he slid Marek off his horse. “Unless we’ve other guests hid within, this place’s safe.”

“Get the lad inside,” Ercole advised. “He’s bleedin’ heavy still.”

A second pair of keys let George into his mother’s kitchen. A kettle was on the hearth, but otherwise the room was dark. Carefully placing Marek on a bench by the big table, the King of the Thieves slid out into the rest of the house, his every sense on the alert. The ground floor was dark—odd, for it’s not even suppertime, he thought. Then he stiffened against the wall, hiding himself in the shadows below the stairs leading to the second floor. A woman not his mother was descending.

In a swift movement he had the lady in his grip, one large hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream,” he advised. “Tell me what you’re doin’ in Mistress Cooper’s house.”

He took his hand away, and the woman drew a slow, shuddering breath. “She’s ill. I’m a healing-woman, come to stay with her till she’s better.” She faced George, and indignation lit her brown eyes. “George Cooper, such a fright you gave me! What d’you mean, sneaking into your mother’s house like a thief!”

Recognizing her, he grinned. “Mistress Kuri, I am a thief.” As she gasped with shock, he added, “What’s wrong with my mother?”

“I don’t know. Since All Hallow she’s been as weak as a new kitten. Only now does she get her strength back.”

George looked upstairs. “I’ll go to her as soon as may be. Meanwhile, I’ve a patient of my own who needs lookin’ after.”

Kuri shook her head mournfully when he brought her to Marek. She got the wounded man braced on her shoulder easily, handling him as if he weighed nothing at all. “Open the door to the work chamber.” George obeyed and lit the lamps as Kuri gently placed Marek on the long table. “I’ll need boiling water. Make yourself useful,” she commanded, cutting the jacket away from Marek’s shoulder.

Back in the kitchen, George put the kettle on to boil as Ercole warmed his hands. Telling the older man the situation in the house, George placed him at Mistress Kuri’s orders before running upstairs to his mother’s bedchamber.

Eleni Cooper looked at her son, her hazel eyes alert. “I thought I felt you in the house. Did you frighten poor Kuri to death?”

“She seemed unshaken to me. What’s happened? I saw you not long before All Hallow, and you were fit enough then.”

“I tried probing someone’s magic too deeply. The guards set on it were very strong.”

“Thom!” George hissed. “By the Dark God, Mother, If he’s hurt you with his precious ‘experiments’—”

“Lady Alanna’s brother? I should have guessed. Only he has such power, these days.” The woman shook her head. “If only I knew what he was up to!” She sighed and returned her attention to George. “And what are you doing here, at this hour? I thought you’d be stuck fast to Lady Alanna’s side.”

He shook his head, looking away. “We’ve parted, Mother—she to go adventurin’, and me—”

“This house has been watched for five weeks now.” She read his thoughts, as she always had. “A man who wouldn’t give his name tried to question the girl I have in to clean. She has her orders, though, and she won’t talk against my wishes.”

George could hear Mistress Kuri’s uncompromising tread on the stairs. “I’ll be goin’ out again, as soon as I’ve made sure Marek is well.”

“Young Marek is hurt?” She had never met him, but George had often entertained her with stories of Marek’s attempts to get the throne of the Rogue for himself.

“He’ll survive,” Kuri announced, having heard the question from outside. “He lost a deal of blood, though, and I put him in one of the small rest-chambers.”

“But he’ll live?” Only now did George betray his anxiety for his long-time rival and sometime friend.

“He’ll live, and cause more trouble, I don’t doubt.”

George nodded, relieved. “Mother, I need house-room for myself and another of my men, only for tonight. We’ll go to earth elsewhere tomorrow.”

“Of course.” His mother’s voice was serene, but her eyes were worried. “George—”

“I can’t help bein’ crooked, Mother,” he said. “And this is the price I must pay.” He kissed her cheek and looked at Mistress Kuri. “I’ll be takin’ Ercole with me. We’ll let ourselves back in.”

“I’m sure you will,” the healer replied severely. George laughed and patted her cheek before seeking Ercole out downstairs.

They were outside the walls of the house with the doors locked behind them before Ercole asked, “Where might we be goin’?”

“The Dancin’ Dove,” George said grimly before pulling a wool muffler over his chin. Ercole swore fluently and followed him.

As a noble studying to become a knight, Alanna had spent a good amount of time at the inn called the Dancing Dove. This was George’s headquarters, the royal palace for the thieves who swore allegiance to the Rogue. It was the place they gathered when they were not about their business as thieves. There were a number of entrances and exits, some known only to George and Old Solom, the innkeeper. George and Ercole entered through one of these, emerging in the darkened hallway that stretched behind the stairs to the upper stories. Sheltered by the dark, they could watch the entire common room, filled to its rafters with thieves, prostitutes, flower sellers, fences, forgers, peddlers, fortune-tellers, healers and sorcerers with small Gifts, merchants doing secret business, rogue priests, even a nobleman or two. Old Solom and his maids bustled about, serving food and drink while keeping a watchful eye on the table beside the great hearth—the place where George was wont to sit.

George smiled grimly. Nearly all of the people in the common room were quiet and fearful. When he sat by the fire, the din was so loud a man couldn’t hear himself think. Now the loudest noises were made by Solom or the maids.

The man named Claw was at George’s table, although not, the thief-king noted, on George’s “throne.” His back was to the two men in the hallway, and only his immediate friends—three vicious brutes George would not want at his back—sat with him. George searched the room for his own court and found Scholar in a drunken huddle on the other side of the fire. Lightfingers was nowhere to be seen. Rispah was still in Port Caynn, but Orem and Shem were at the back of the room, playing dice.

Making sure each of the six knives he carried was ready, George nodded to Ercole. Stepping into the light, the older man at his back, he tapped Claw on the shoulder. “Thanks for keepin’ it warm for me, friend,” he drawled in his sweetest voice.

Claw jumped, knocking over his tankard. Brown ale spilled unheeded over his breeches as he stared at George. “But—you—”

“I know, I said I’d be stayin’ in Port Caynn a bit longer,” George said agreeably. “But there! I got that lonesome for all these friendly faces, and that bored without you lot keepin’ me on my toes.” Orem and Shem had moved to the front door and were guarding it with drawn knives. Two other men George knew he could trust came to cover the rear exit and Ercole’s back. “You’re drippin’,” he added, sliding onto his “throne.” Not for a second did his eyes leave Claw. The man had a reputation for doing the totally unexpected, and he might be crazy enough to attack George now.

Claw stared at George for a long moment, his single pale eye unreadable. Finally he turned and snapped to his henchmen, “Why are you goggling at me? Get a cloth or something, and mop up this mess.” His eye swiveled back to George’s face. “Welcome back, Majesty.” He ignored one man’s clumsy efforts to wipe the ale from his breeches. “I trust your journey home was uneventful.”

“A bit chilly.” Claw had lost his initiative, but it still paid to take no chances. George accepted a tankard of mulled wine from Solom without looking at the old man. “Has all been quiet here?”

“Quiet as the Black God’s temple.” At last Claw moved away from the table, his men at his back.

“Don’t go,” George said, waving an expansive hand. “Sit with me and tell me what’s passed, these weeks I’ve been away. ’Twould be a pity if I’d patched up my trouble in Port Caynn to find it fostered here.”

The one-eyed thief hesitated, and George hoped that the man would be mad enough to refuse. It would be all the excuse he needed, and Claw could never hope to equal him with knives. Then Claw snapped at one of his men, “Get me a clean chair!”

The man hurried to obey as George realized, Claw talks like a noble.

“Let me buy you a drink.” George smiled, beckoning Solom over. “I’ve a bone to pick with you, my friend.”

Claw shook his head when Solom offered him wine, and with a shrug the innkeeper refilled George’s tankard. “What could I have done to give offense, Majesty?” Claw asked, his face blank and innocent.

“You cleared a maidservant to wait on me and mine in Port Caynn, and she tried to poison me. Surely you looked into her background, Master Claw?”

“A maidservant? I sent no maidservant to wait on you,” the other thief replied.

George slid the grimy slip of paper across the table for Claw’s scrutiny. The one-eyed man looked it over carefully, turning it this way and that in the light as he pursed his lips. At last he shook his head and returned the paper. “It’s a truly excellent forgery,” he announced calmly. “But it is a forgery, nonetheless. I never wrote this letter.”

“You’re certain?” George asked quietly. “Best think hard, for I’d not appreciate hearin’ otherwise at some future date.”

“Ask anyone in this room,” Claw offered, gesturing widely to their staring audience. “Did I ever send a serving woman to wait on his Majesty at the Port?”

Heads were shaken slowly as George realized (with some admiration) that Claw had found the perfect excuse. With no witnesses and the woman dead without having named her sponsor, he was in the clear.

“You’re lucky, Friend Claw,” he told the younger man. “Mayhap you’ll always be so lucky: to be innocent of the plots of others, of course.”

“I hope to be, Majesty,” Claw replied with a tiny smile. “I do not wish to become involved in any losing propositions.”

When morning dawned, the common room had emptied of all but the people George knew to be loyal. He had learned nothing from Claw, although he had kept his rival at his side all night. That was to be expected. The learning would come now from sources he trusted.

One by one he sent his people out on errands, to talk to other thieves, to find those who had not been present and to learn why, to learn who was Claw’s and who was not. He sent them in pairs, warning them to watch their backs. Shem returned to Port Caynn with a note asking Rispah to return as soon as Alanna and Coram were on their way. George needed her when it came to dealing with the women who followed the Rogue. They obeyed him, for his looks and his charm, but Rispah knew their secrets.

Finally only Scholar was left. Even Solom had retired to his upstairs room, exhausted with the night and its anxieties.

“Be discreet, but find me Sir Myles of Olau,” George told the old forger. “I’ll need him here, disguised, by nightfall.”

Scholar nodded and polished off the last of his mulled wine. “I know where he’s to be found. And, Majesty—” George looked up, surprised to see tears in the old man’s eyes. “It’s glad I am you’re back. That Claw’s a bad ’un.”

As the door closed behind Scholar, George permitted himself a heartfelt sigh. Ercole moved out of the shadows, looked as tired as his chief. “Do we sleep here?”

George shook his head. “I don’t propose givin’ Claw my head on a platter. We return—discreetly—to my mother’s house.”

“And tonight?”

“I’ve a better hideaway in mind for tonight.” Standing, he clapped Ercole on the shoulder. “Let’s go. I want to see how Marek’s doin’.”

Myles peered at Claw through the peephole in the false wall of the common room. Behind him George waited. Old Solom would draw Claw into talk as they sat in front of that very spot, and Myles would be able to hear every word.

After a second the knight drew back and nodded. Silently George led him away from the hidden spot, taking him upstairs to the chambers where he lived in more peaceable times. There he poured Myles a brandy, waiting till the older man had refreshed himself before asking, “Well?”

“No doubt about it,” Alanna’s foster-father replied. “Claw was born noble and was well educated, for a time, at least.” He frowned, shaking his head. “The problem for me is that I know his voice. I’ve heard Claw speak before, and not as a thief, either.” He held his glass out for a refill. “Perhaps my daughter is right: I should stop drinking.”

George grinned. “Let me congratulate you, sir, on adoptin’ Alanna. ’Twas a kind-hearted thing to do.”

“It was kind of her to let me,” Myles demurred. “If only she could straighten things out with Jonathan; no offense to you, George, but I do miss having her at Court.”

“As I miss havin’ her here,” the thief reassured him. “Speakin’ of my lass—have you any idea what it was that precious brother of hers was up to, at All Hallow?” He told Myles what had happened to his mother.

The knight sighed and shook his head. “I know that a number of people in the palace with the Gift were angry with Thom for days afterward. I’ve been hearing some odd rumors—” He stopped for a moment, as if unsure of what to say, then went on. “I have reason to believe Thom may have been trying his hand at—raising the dead.”

George didn’t try to mask the horror in his eyes. “The dead! Is the lad insane? The dead are meant to stay so!”

“I overheard some conversations he had with Lady Delia,” Myles went on. “She seemed to be taunting him, saying that if he were truly the most powerful wizard living, he could raise the dead, as Kerel the Sage was said to have done. A number of the younger people in the palace have been trying to ascertain the full extent of Thom’s powers. I think they regard it as a game.”

“A game?” George whispered. “A game of settin’ the world by its ears, callin’ on power no man should use for casual purposes?”

“That is what I believe,” Myles agreed somberly. “Perhaps I’m wrong, George. I tried to talk with him, but I think his pride was offended when I made his sister my heir. He taunted me with half-truths and stories, nothing definite, not even an outright lie. I know you have weighty matters on your mind, but—”

“What could be weightier than such as you believe?”

A smile crossed the knight’s face; and for the first time George realized how frightened Myles must be. The smile took ten years off his age. “If you would approach Thom? Being that you are—who you are—”

“And as respectable as I am?” George suggested with a grin.

Myles grinned back. “As a matter of fact, yes; Thom may talk to you, or at least reveal more of the truth.”

“And I have my own grievance to make with the lad,” George reminded him, remembering his mother’s worn face. “As soon as I get a hold on what passes here, I’ll be up to the palace.”

Myles rose, gathering up his cloak. “I’ll start inquiries about Claw,” he promised. “Injuries such as he has, particularly the acid scars, are difficult to come by. They are even more so when you’re nobly born.”

George gripped Myles’s hand. “You’re a good friend, Sir Myles. Be assured I won’t forget.”

After showing the knight out, George returned to hold court once more at the Dancing Dove. Once again he stayed there all night, seeing who was there, being seen. Bits and snippets of information came to him over the next few days as Rispah and Shem returned and went to work. No further attempts on his life occurred, although word of a costly jewelry theft that had not been cleared with him reached his ears. After a week had passed since Rispah’s return, he gathered all those close to him in a room hidden beneath the streets that formed the marketplace.

As they compared notes, the picture the thieves saw forming was a bleak one. “He’s got nearly half our people, with bribes or fear,” George summed up. “He must’ve been plannin’ this a long time, before he came to the city, even. He’s been workin’ through the likes of Zorina the Witch and Nave the Fence, gettin’ his hooks into us.” He sighed. “We’ll have to move slow, then. Buy our folk back, and destroy the secrets he’s got against them.”

“Why?” Marek wanted to know. “Why not just kill him and be done with it?”

“Because one of his people will come forward to take his place,” George replied. “I want his entire organization, not just him. Because he’s got help, and I want to know who it is. And I want to know who he is, why he’s not challenged me like any other Rogue would’ve done.”

“And if he wins?” Rispah wanted to know, her brown eyes worried.

“If he wins, then I don’t deserve to be master here.” George’s face was grim. “If he wins, I’ve no guarantees he won’t betray every one of us to my Lord Provost, or someone worse, because I don’t know what he wants. Where he is placed now, he can rule us or destroy us. Do any of you care to wager which it is?” There was no answer; he really didn’t expect one. “You all know what to do and where to ask your questions, then. As soon as the passes open eastward, I’ll send someone to find out what he was in Galla before he came to us.”

Thom, Lord of Trebond, and the youngest living Mithran Initiate, poured a glass of wine for his guest, a mocking smile on his lips. “You can’t imagine what a pleasure it is for me to have my sister’s—friend—come to visit,” he said. “Particularly when it may be as much as your head is worth to be seen here, in the palace.”

“Why not call me Alanna’s lover, and be honest about it?” George suggested. The purple and gold brocade robe Thom wore over his stark black shirt and hose hurt the eyes; its cost would have fed a poor commoner and his family for a year. “As it is, I have a number of things I care to discuss with you. I couldn’t be waitin’ for your next excursion into the city to meet you.”

“Particularly since I never go to the city,” Thom agreed. “So Alanna has returned to the desert, with the devoted Coram in tow. How selfless of her. Unless she was afraid Jonathan might convince her to take back her refusal? She needn’t have worried; he’s very much occupied with Princess Josiane these days.”

George stared at Thom. If my lass had made no friends, only enemies, he thought, and if she’d been too frightened to let others know she was a human bein’, disguise and all, she might well have turned out like this monster. He’s all brain and cynicism now, with no heart left to him. “Well, you’re a nasty bit of work, aren’t you?” he remarked amiably. “Why don’t we talk of your goin’s-on here durin’ All Hallow?”

A look of grudging respect entered Thom’s violet eyes. “I’m sure I told Alanna and you I was working on experiments.”

George made a disgusted face. “And I’m sure it was no such thing. Didn’t you feel my mother testin’ your guardin’-spells? Or were so many tryin’ to learn what you were up to that you took no notice of those left half-dead?”

“I felt someone test the ward,” Thom admitted. “But I was—busy. I’m sorry it was your mother who was harmed, but she had no business prying into that kind of magic. She’s fortunate to be alive.”

“Glad you think so. And what experiments are so important that you must put such spells to protect them?” When Thom didn’t answer, George pressed, “Who were you tryin’ to raise from the dead?”

Thom jumped to his feet, the mocking expression wiped from his face. “You dare to question me, George Cooper?” he yelled, fury radiating from him in waves. “Your relationship with my sister means nothing here, so do not think to try my patience!”

George stood, his hazel eyes grim. “Don’t think to threaten me, laddy,” he warned softly. “I won’t stand for it.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” Thom gritted. “Get out.”

“I’ll take my leave, then,” George replied. “But I don’t need my Sight to tell me you’re in trouble, great sorcerer or no.” He hesitated, then said wryly, “Doubtless I’ll live to regret this, but for your sister’s sake you may call on me in need.”

Thom drew himself up. “I am more than able to handle my own affairs.”

“Is that why you’re shakin’ so?” George inquired. “Best have a shot of brandy to steady your nerves, my lord. I’d hate to think there was anythin’ in this world of ours could be beyond the skills of one such as yourself.” Bowing mockingly, he left Thom.

And there’s not a thing I can do or say, until I know what’s ridin’ him like the Old Hag of the Graveyards, the thief told himself grimly as he slipped out of the palace. But I’ll bet every knife I own he’s gotten himself into trouble that won’t easily be fixed.

George smiled. Trouble with the Rogue, trouble with Thom. The future looked exciting. At least he wouldn’t be bored. And as long as he kept his wits about him—it was good to be back in Corus.