Juliet E. McKenna - Einarinn 1 - The Thief's Gamble

THE THIEF'S GAMBLE

The First Tale of Einarinn

JULIET E. McKENNA

ORBIT (v1.1)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many people helped shape this tale. My heartfelt thanks go to Steve, for

his constant support and inspiration; to Helen, for bringing so much to the

original concept; to Mike and Sue, Liz and Andy, for invariably honest

criticism. Also, an honourable mention goes to all at Castle Penar.

The writing is only the start. I am indebted to Emma, Val and Adrian for

championing the cause, to Tim for invaluable editorial advice and to ail at

Orbit for their enthusiasm.

On a personal note, I would like to thank the various branches of the

Rose family for their help during the Great Chicken-Pox Crisis. I would

also like to thank my mother for the unforgettable phone-call: 'You know, it

was just like reading a real book!'

CHAPTER ONE

Taken from:

Wealth and Wisdom

A Gentleman's Guide to their Acquisition and Keeping

BY Tori Samed

Gambling

Most gambling revolves around the runes of the ancient races, their use

for divination and other such superstitions having long been discarded in

civilised countries. Some games are based purely on randomly drawing a

predetermined number of runes; others rely on casting combinations that

earn greater or lesser scores. In either instance, cultivating a memory for

what has gone before is recommended.

The best place to gamble is with friends, in convivial surroundings

accompanied by a good vintage, provided that the stakes and means of

redeeming debts have been agreed beforehand. When travelling, many of

the better inns in the cities and on the major coach routes will have a

permanent gaming table with a resident host. Such games are generally

played fair and can run to very high stakes. If you have sufficient skill,

you may rise from the table, your purse heavy with coin. However, any

debts incurred in such company must be honoured instantly if you wish to

avoid having your goods and luggage seized in payment.

Do not be beguiled into a casual contest in a city thronged at festival

time. Beware the amiable stranger who offers you a friendly game to

while away a dull evening in a back-roads tavern. Such men prey on the

unwary, turning the game mercilessly to their advantage with weighted

runes and sleight of hand. Turned away from hearth and home, disgraced

or fugitive, they are little better than mercenaries and thieves.

The Packhorse Tavern, on the Col Road

South of Ambafost, Ensaimin, 12th of For-Autumn

Some opportunities ought to come labelled'too good to be true'. Of

course, ten years of living by my wits should have taught me how to spot

them. You would have thought so anyway; so would I.

The night this particular opportunity came to wreak havoc in my life, I

was sitting comfortably full of good dinner in front of a roaring fire, and

listening to the wind tearing at the snug inn. I was wearing my usual

nondescript travelling clothes and, with any luck, the other patrons in the

tap-room would have been hard put to decide my age, sex or business. Being

unremarkable is a talent I cultivate: middling height, middling build, nothing

special - unless I choose differently. Feet up on a stool and hat over my eyes,

I may have looked half-asleep, but mentally I was pacing the room and

kicking the furniture. Where was Halice? We had been due to meet here

four days ago and this unplanned stay was eating into my funds. It was

unlike her to be late for a meet. On the few occasions it had happened

before, she had always got a message through. What should I do?

I counted my money again; not that anyone else in the room noticed as I

slipped my fingers into the pouch under my shirt and sorted the coin. I carry

noble coin on me night and day; I've had to abandon my belongings a few

times and being caught out with no money leads to bad experiences. I had

thirty Caladhrian Stars, ten Tormalin Crowns and, reassuringly bulky, three

Empire Crowns. They were more than enough to give me a stake for the

Autumn Fair at Col and I had a heavy pouch of common coin upstairs which

would cover my travelling expenses as long as I left in the morning. If I

waited any longer, I'd have to pay carriers' coach fare and that would

seriously eat into my reserves.

The problem was that I did not want to work the Autumn Fair on my

own. Lucrative as it is, it can be a dangerous place and while I can take care

of myself nowadays, Halice is still a lot handier than me with her sword and

her knives. Working as a pair has other advantages too; when someone feels

their luck with the runes is going bad, it's much harder to see why when

there are two people adjusting the odds. As an added bonus, people never

expect two women to be working the gambling together, even in a big city. I

could hook up with other people but Halice is better than most as well as

more honest than some.

Of course, the most likely explanation was that Halice was stuck in some

lord's lock-up awaiting the local version of justice. I cursed out loud,

forgetting myself for a moment, but luckily no one seemed to have noticed.

There were only three other people in the tap-room, and they were deep in

conversation with the innkeeper. They were merchants by their dress; this

was a well-travelled business route and the chances were they were heading

for Col. The filthy weather seemed to be keeping the locals by their own

firesides, which was fine by me.

If Halice was in trouble, there was no way I could help her. Identifying

myself as her friend would simply land me in shackles too. I frowned. It was

hard to believe that Halice would get herself into trouble she could not get

clear of. That was one of the main reasons we worked Ensaimin for the

most part. Competition for trade guarantees a reassuring lack of

inconveniences such as circulating reward notices or co-operative Watch

commanders, which make prosy places like Caladhria so inhospitable. Here

trouble is seldom so bad it cannot be left behind once you cross a local

boundary, and we take care never to outstay our welcome.

So there I was, sitting and fretting and sipping rather good wine, when a

very wet horseman strode into the bar and beckoned to mine host. I could

not hear what they were saying, and that immediately piqued my curiosity,

but I could not move closer without drawing attention to myself. The

horseman passed over a small parchment and I heard the chink of coins. As

he left, the innkeeper unfolded the letter or whatever it was and the

merchants crowded round.

'So what does it say?' a thin man in a stained yellow tunic asked.

'Dunno. Can't read.' The innkeeper shrugged his fat shoulders. 'I'll need to

know more before I tack it up though, money or no.'

I bit my lip with frustration. I can read, thanks to a mother determined I

should have every possible advantage to offset my birth, but there was no

way I was going to make myself conspicuous by offering help.

'Here.' The thin man's companion reached for the parchment and frowned

at it. 'Where's the Running Hound?'

'It's the big coaching inn on the market in Ambafost,' the third merchant

piped up, peering over the reader's leather-clad shoulder.

'Well, there's a trader staying there who's interested in buying Tormalin

antiquities.' The bearded man smoothed out the notice and read it through,

lips moving as he did so. 'This says he'll pay good prices and that he'll be

buying on market day.'

'He must be doing well, to be paying to advertise like this.' The third

merchant gnawed at a nail thoughtfully. 'Is there much doing in antiquities

at the moment?'

The bearded man shrugged. 'Maybe he's got plans for the Autumn Fair.

There are collectors in Col and there'll be traders from Relshaz and the

Archipelago as well.'

The thin man stared at the parchment with greedy eyes. 'Perhaps we

should try and get hold of a few good pieces if the prices are going to be

favourable.'

They huddled together and the bearded man got out a map as they

discussed the possibilities.

I drank the rest of my wine and pondered my next moves. I happened to

know where you could find some very fine pieces of Tormalin Empire

work, and if I could get anywhere near a realistic price for one, even

allowing for a merchant's cut, I could wait for Halice until the very last

hour, then hire a private coach to get me to Col and still have money over to

stake me for a very high playing game. The trick would be getting the piece

to the merchant without the original owner being aware of it and there it

seemed that the gods were smiling on me for a change. I should have known

better, but at the time all I could think of was the profit I could make. There

was also the little matter of a very sweet revenge which would be a

substantial bonus. Was it worth the gamble?

The merchants were absorbed in their discussion, and I went upstairs

without anyone remarking on it. I unshuttered the window and peered out.

Rain was still falling but the wind was slackening off and the waxing lesser

moon was fleetingly visible through gaps in the cloud.

Should I do this? It would be risky but, then again, it could be very

profitable. Well, I'm a gambler and no one ever struck it rich keeping their

runes in their pocket, did they? The temptation was just too strong. I

changed clothes rapidly, swapping homespun and leather for good

broadcloth breeches and tunic, boots, gloves and hooded jerkin, all in

charcoal grey. Black gives hard edges which can catch the eye even in the

darkest night. The rough wooden beams of the inn made leaving through the

window simplicity itself, as long as I took care not to mark the intervening

plaster. I was soon jogging through the woods fringing the road to Hawtree.

It was cold and wet but the prospect of a little adventure warmed me. I

did not do much thieving in those days. The difficulties of fencing goods in

a strange place are formidable and while weighting the runes in a game of

chance can get you flogged, getting caught stealing from a noble's house

gets you the pillory at best and loses you a hand at worst. Unfortunately,

only nobles have anything worth stealing. You may wonder why I was

chancing it this time, but I happened to know this particular noble was not

going to be at home, which did rather weight the odds in my favour.

Raeponin's devotees can talk all they want about balance and justice and

levelling the scales, but you won't ever find me making offerings at his

shrine. After all, I gamble for a living, not for fun.

I had sat on my horse under a dripping oak tree earlier that week watching

the gentleman and his entourage heading north with enough luggage to

indicate a lengthy stay in another place. I would have recognised him

anywhere, even after ten years. You do not easily forget the face of a man

who has tried to beat and rape you.

Hawtree was not far and I covered the distance easily; staying fit is

essential in my kind of life. I breathed in the damp green scent of the night

happily. I love being out in the country at night, for all that the sun rules my

birth-runes. It must be my father's blood coming through, despite my city

upbringing. The village was mostly dark and a few of the wooden houses

showed dim lights, but this was farming country and most folk here slept

and rose with the sun. The larger brick and flint buildings round the market

square showed more signs of life despite the fact it was now past midnight,

so I ducked into an alley and waited to catch my breath. I walked noiselessly

through the dark lanes, keeping an eye out for dogs who might advertise my

presence.

The house was just off a garden square, a favourable position for a

wealthy landowner's residence. The tall front showed heavy oak shutters

barred with iron and a stout door with an expensive lock; this did not bother

me as I worked my way round to the alley at the back. I found a dark corner

and studied the kitchen and outbuildings round the yard. My mother said I

was the most useless maid she had ever known but my years as a

housekeeper's daughter had given me invaluable knowledge about the

domestic arrangements of large houses. A scullery maid would be trying to

sleep in the meagre warmth of the dying kitchen range while her more

fortunate seniors would have chilled and cramped quarters in the garrets.

The cook and chamberlain would have the better rooms overlooking the

yard. I couldn't tell how many servants the bastard had taken with him so I

had better avoid any of those areas. The room I wanted was towards the

front of the house on the ground floor so ideally I needed to get in through a

first-floor window. I studied them in the fitful moonlight and blessed the

keen night-sight that my father had granted me. It did not look promising but

I was reluctant to give up; I wanted the money this would provide and the

more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of finally getting my own

back on the misbegotten swine who had first brought me to this house. I

suppose, to be precise, quite a chain of events had brought me to this house;

the bastard with the nice collection of silver simply happened to be the last

link.

I had finally stormed out of what had once passed for my home after my

mother had lamented once too often about the ruin of her life, saddled with

the by-blow of a minstrel, one of the Forest Folk at that. I had already taken

to gambling which I had always been good at and was working small

deceptions to earn my meals. I had formed no real plans beyond some vague

idea of trying to find my wandering father and, looking back, I am surprised

it took so long for me to land in trouble. A panicking attempt to bluff my

way out of an inn without paying had left me thrown on the road with a

smarting arse and my few belongings taken in lieu of payment.

I had arrived in Hawtree two days later, tired and ravenous, dirty and

desperate. Neither of the decent coaching inns had let me past their doors

and I had ended up in a grimy hostelry next to the slaughterhouse. It had not

taken me long to realise why there were so many women sitting around the

tap-room and it was a measure of my ignorance and despondency that I

decided to try for a customer myself. Lack of food must have softened my

brain. It was not as if I was a virgin, I had thought, and my mother, ever

determined I should not get caught like her, had taken me off to a reliable

herbalist as soon as she had first caught the under-gardener fondling my

bottom. It had not occurred to me to worry about disease and, looking at the

competition, I had felt confident that I would be able to earn a meal at very

least.

I combed my hair with my fingers as best I could - I wore it long in those

days - and pinched my cheeks to heighten my colour. I was still using herbal

washes to bring out the red in my hair and cosmetics to make my eyes reflect

green rather than grey, and, despite its stains, my russet dress looked

sufficiently exotic in the dingy bar. Chances were none of these yokels had

ever seen a real Forest maiden so, their reputation being what it is, I decided

to increase my asking price. The next customer to survey the waiting women

was tall, dark and handsome in a sharp sort of way and he rapidly passed

over the others to catch my eye. The other whores looked away and muttered

among themselves. Naive as I was, I felt sure they were jealous.

'Well, well, you're not from around here, are you?' He came over and

gestured for wine, which I drank thirstily.

'No, I'm just passing through.' I did my best to look mysterious and

alluring.

'All alone?' His hand brushed mine as he poured more wine.

'I like to travel light.' I smiled at him and my spirits rose. He was clean

and young and looked wealthy; I could have done a lot worse. As I said, I

was very naive in those days.

'What's your name, sweetheart?'

'Merith.' Actually that's my oldest spinster aunt but who cared.

'This isn't a very comfortable inn. Could I offer you some hospitality?'

That was a new way of putting it but I wasn't going to argue. I smiled at

him from beneath my dyed lashes.

'I'm sure we could come to some agreement.' After all, I wanted some

coin out of this, not just a warm bed and food.

He offered me his arm and I flaunted out of the gloomy tap-room,

attributing the sudden buzz of conversation behind us to disappointed

hopes.

Ten years on, I stood in the dark and looked at the windows thoughtfully.

That was the salon where he had taken me, I was sure. He had shown me in

and told me to wait. My spirits rose at the thought of food and clean sheets

and the business to come even promised to be quite enjoyable. I wandered

round the room and noted the fine tapestries, the polished furniture and the

superb Tormalin silver on the mantel shelf. Stories from the ballads I had

heard my father sing began to echo in the back of my mind - virtuous

maiden falls on hard times and is rescued by a handsome noble, that sort of

thing.

When I heard the door, I turned with a welcoming smile but my host was

not bringing the supper he had promised. He locked the door behind him and

his lips curved in an ugly smile as he ran a dog-whip through his hands. He

was stripped to shirt and hose and flushed with anticipation. I moved to put

the table between us; from the glint in his eye, I would not have bet on my

chances of talking my way out of this. I may have been naive but I wasn't

that stupid. I realised I was in serious danger.

'Come here, whore,' he commanded.

'If you want something more lively than plain sex, I want more money,' I

countered boldly. If he thought I was going to play, he might get careless

and I would be out of there like a rat from a burning barn.

'You'll get what I decide to give you.' He was not talking coin; he lunged

at me and the lash flicked my cheek.

I screamed as loudly as I could but all he did was laugh. 'My servants are

paid well to be deaf, you slut. Scream by all means. I like it.'

I could see that he did too. He moved and so did I, we circled round the

table and he began to frown.

'Come and see what I've got for you,' he leered, lifting his shirt.

I dashed for the window but he was too fast and grabbed a handful of

hair. He threw me to the floor and raised the whip but I rolled under the

table. He cursed obscenely and snatched at my ankle. I kicked and twisted as

he dragged me out but he was too strong. He ripped at my skirts with his

other hand and my head smacked against the chair legs. He laughed as he

saw the blood and oddly, that was what finally made me lose my temper.

I went limp. As he relaxed his grip, I drew my knees up. He laughed again

as he straightened up to unlace himself, then I brought both of my feet up

into his stones. He collapsed, retching, and I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed

a fallen chair and smacked it hard into the side of his head and ran for the

window a second time. As I fumbled with the catches, I heard him groan and

curse. I have never been so frightened in my life, utterly occupied with

opening the window, not daring to lose a moment of time by glancing

behind me. After what seemed like an age, I had the casement open and the

shutter beyond. I risked a glance at the bastard on the floor; he had got to his

knees but was clutching himself with screwed-shut eyes. I swung out of the

window and dropped to the road. With the first stroke of luck I'd had in a

long time, I didn't hurt myself, and I ran as far and as fast as I could.

The first time I'd told Halice that tale, she'd been astounded I could be so

matter-of-fact about it. The memory could still wake me in a cold sweat if I

was overtired or feeling low, that in itself was part of the reason I wanted

some small measure of revenge. As for the rest, I'd learned I'd come out of it

lightly if you could believe the broadsheets' lurid tales of mutilated bodies

and the sad strangled corpse I'd once seen dragged from a river.

I stared at the window. I could still feel the terror but, more importantly

for my present ambitions, I pictured the details of window- and

shutter-catches, engraved on my memory. I had made it my business to learn

a range of skills in case I should ever again get stranded with no money and I

knew I could get in if I could find a place where I could work unobserved

for a while. I walked round the house and saw a side window facing the

blank wall of the stable-block; ideal. It took less time than I had feared and I

found myself in a library. That was a surprise; who would have thought the

ape could read. I opened the door cautiously but there was no sound or light

from any direction. The house smelled of beeswax and possessed a chill that

spoke of several days without fires. I moved along the corridor, my soft

soles noiseless on the polished floorboards. The salon door was locked but

that did not delay me for long. The darkness was troubling me by now, not

even real Forest Folk can see in complete blackness, but I could still recall

the layout of the room and put my hand unerringly on the mantel.

What should I take? The temptation was to sweep the lot into my little

padded sack; I owed the scum for the scars on my cheek and temple and for

the old man I had been driven to knock over for his purse further down the

road. I dismissed that foolishness; I would take one of the smaller pieces,

that would be enough. I ran my hand along the shelf and lifted a long-necked

vase. No, too unusual, I could not price it reliably. Next along was a goblet,

a coat of arms deeply incised on its side. Too easily identifiable. I passed

over a platter and some spoons that felt too light to be genuine and then

found a small lidded tankard. It was plain, apart from scrolls on the handle

and lid, but had a reassuring weight. The handle was smooth and fit neatly in

my hand; it was just the sort if thing I would have liked for myself. It was

towards the back of the shelf, behind two ornate wine jugs; did that mean it

was less likely to be missed? Perhaps, but I intended to be long gone before

then. I pocketed the tankard and lifted the remaining pieces to dust the shelf;

no point in leaving clues and a dozy maid might not notice the loss for a few

days.

By now my eyes were aching from straining in the dim light and I left

rapidly the way I had come. Refastening the window took some time and the

sky was starting to lighten by the time I returned to the inn. It occurred to me

that some hapless footman or the like would get blamed for the theft but I

cannot say that bothered me; serve them right for working for such a turd. I

only hoped his anguish when he discovered the loss was as deep as I wanted.

My gamble was paying off nicely so far. I got into my bed for what remained

of the night and slept deep and dreamlessly.

The Chamber of Planir the Black

in the Island City of Hadrumal, 12th of For-Autumn

Share a bottle with an Archmage and you'll either be ruined or made for

life - that's what they used to say, isn't it, Otrick?' The stout man speaking

held out his glass for a refill and laughed fruitily at his own quip.

'I think those days were already long past when I first came here, Kalion.'

Otrick poured him a full measure and then topped up his own drink, his

steady hand belying the wrinkles carved in his face and the white hairs now

outnumbering the grey in his steely hair and beard.

'How long ago was that, Cloud-Master?' the youngest man present asked,

taking the bottle with a creditable attempt at ease, given the exalted company

he found himself keeping.

Otrick's close-lipped smile was as about as revealing as a masquerader's

guise. 'Longer ago than I care to remember, Usara,' he replied softly, raising

his glass. His vivid blue eyes glinted under his angular brows.

'Anyway, Archmage, what was it you wanted to discuss?' Kalion

half-turned on the deeply upholstered settle to address the neatly built man

who was shuttering the tall windows and drawing the thick green curtains

precisely together.

'Oh, it's nothing vital, Hearth-Master. You were in Relshaz for Solstice,

weren't you? I was wondering if the antiquarians there have turned up

anything interesting lately?' Planir lit a couple of oil-lamps and their yellow

glow warmed the deep oak panelling around the room, a few gleams here

and there revealing choice pieces of statuary in discreet niches. The soft

light blurred the network of fine lines around the Archmage's eyes and made

him look barely a handful of years older than Usara. He set a lamp down on

the table.

'Do we want a fire, do you think?'

'I should think so,' Otrick said emphatically.

Kalion looked a little askance at the skinny old wizard, dressed neatly if

unfashionably in grey wool broadcloth. He contented himself with

loosening the neck of his own maroon velvet gown, new from the tailor in

the latest style and shade and richly embroidered with a border of flames.

'You see, Usara thinks he may have turned up something new but,

equally, it may just be a waste of everyone's time.' The Archmage snapped

his fingers on a flash of red and dropped a flame into the fire laid ready in

the spotless grate. He drew in the silken skirts of his own black robe and

seated himself in a high-backed chair, warming his glass in his long-fingered

hands as he leant back against the rich sage brocade. 'Sweetcake? Do help

yourselves, everyone.'

'What exactly is it you're studying, Usara? Remind me,' Kalion asked the

youthful wizard indistinctly round a mouthful of fruit-and-honeycake.

Usara's thin face flushed brightly, the colour clashing with his sandy hair

and somewhat cruelly highlighting just how thin it was becoming above his

high forehead. 'I've been working on the decline and fall of the Tormalin

Empire for some seasons now, Hearth-Master. I met some scholars from the

University of Vanam last year when they came to use the library at the

Seaward Hall and they invited me to use their archives.'

Kalion shrugged with evident disinterest, the gesture creasing his chins

unappealingly as he reached for more wine. 'So?'

Usara smoothed the linen ruffles at his neck, glancing fleetingly at Planir,

who smiled reassuringly over the rim of his glass and inclined his sleek,

dark head slightly. 'Go on,' the Archmage encouraged him. 'Well, when

Sannin was there over the Winter Solstice, she went to a celebration where

the wines were flowing pretty freely and tongues started getting loose as

well.'

Juliet E. McKenna - Einarinn 1 - The Thief's Gamble

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