The Death Dealer - The Complete Series Read online

  “Grace, I know what you’re doing and –”

  He wasn’t going to leave, not until he’d harassed her about the Death Dealer business. She didn’t have to listen, though. If Jack didn’t want to leave, she would. Grace turned on her heel and went back into the common room of the tavern. This time she was intensely aware of the talk buzzing about her. She marched into the kitchen.

  Jim and Jeremiah looked at her, waiting for the storm to hit.

  “Any trays need taking out?” She needed something to do. Anything, really.

  “No, but the empty rooms could use a good deal of cleaning,” Jim responded quickly. “There’s dust everywhere and it’d do to chase the mice away. If there ain’t a guest inside, give it a good going over.”

  Jim walked Grace out of the kitchen and saw Jack hovering by the stable door, looking ashamed. His head was down, his shoulders slumped, his usual pride evaporated. It was a new look for him and he was clearly uncomfortable. “Go on upstairs, Gracie. I’ll see to the ruffian.”

  Grace could hear Jim yelling profanities at Jack from her place in one of the bedrooms upstairs. The tavern keeper had often been insufferable since Jack left, but he always meant well. Grace was grateful for him now.

  ~*~*~

  It was the hottest part of the day before Grace stopped her cleaning for a meal. She’d opened all the shutters to air out the empty rooms, but with no breeze it didn’t do much. The back of her dress was drenched in sweat. She used her apron to wipe away the moisture on her forehead and saw the fabric smeared a dingy brown when she pulled it away from her face. The dust clung to her brow and wiping it away only left dirty streaks on her skin.

  Sighing, she headed back to the common room where only about five patrons were hanging around. For once, no one paid much mind to Grace. She wandered into the kitchen to find Jeremiah alone, cutting up apples and cheese. She took a slice of freshly cut apple and popped it into her mouth.

  “May as well take the rest of this one, then.” Jeremiah finished cutting up the apple and handed the plate to Grace. There were a few pieces of golden white cheese as well.

  “Where’s Jim and Rosemary?”

  “Rosemary’s down at the market and Jim is in the stables being questioned by the ever-vigilant Sergeant Moore.” The cook put down his knife to turn and stare at Grace. “I understand your evening with him ended shorter than expected.”

  Grace rolled her eyes and blew out a frustrated sigh. “And how many people know about that?”

  Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. “Enough, I suppose. But Thom and Ridley wouldn’t let a bad word be said of you in the Angel for it. By my reckoning, no one should care who courts you. You aren’t a Lane girl and aren’t bred to fear and hate the city Guard.” He shrugged again, grabbed another apple from the basket next to him, and set to slicing it.

  Grace continued her meal without another word and then filled a mug of ale to wash it down. She’d have to wait to get water from the well since Jim and Moore blocked her path through the stable at the moment. “Thanks for the apple, Jeremiah.”

  He waved his knife hand without looking up. Grace returned to the next room needing attention and her nose was assaulted with a stale smell as soon as she entered. The room was closed up tight and nearly as dark as night. If memory served her correctly, this room hadn’t been touched since winter. She crossed the room to the shutters and opened them. Light poured in, but unfortunately so did the smell from the privies. Small wonder this room was barely touched. Grace did her best to work through the stench by tying a cloth around her mouth.

  While sweeping, she heard raised voices outside, so she stopped her cleaning to listen.

  “I know you’re hiding Marcus.” She dropped into a crouch to get closer to the window, recognizing the first voice as belonging to Sergeant Moore.

  “I’ve told you, Marcus is visiting his ailing mother,” Thom responded.

  “Ridley Hunewn has been heard saying otherwise. I believe Marcus’s dear, sweet ma is dead.” Thom said something in response, but Grace couldn’t make it out because Jim chose the same moment to laugh his boisterous laugh down in the common room.

  “May I remind you of what your precious little Thieves’ Guild has done?”

  “The Atkins boys don’t represent the Guild any more than you represent the Goddess Kamaria.”

  “Don’t insult me, Thom. I know Marcus is in hiding while he looks for Harris Atkins. He’s also responsible for Adam’s ‘disappearance’, and the Guard doesn’t look favorably on that sort of behavior.”

  Thom laughed. “You’d threaten the King of Thieves? Everyone knows you’re very keen on your duties, but come now, do you really think you’ll be able to throw Marcus in the lockup? Your Guard captain would have him released and you stripped of your rank within an hour.”

  There was a long silence, and Grace wished she could see what was happening. Sergeant Moore’s face must have been a contorted mass of anger. The poor man was only doing what he felt he needed to, and Thom shouldn’t have been mocking him.

  “I’m looking to see that Harris faces the King’s justice for his crime.”

  “He’d never survive that long. I’ve seen a guard or two slain in my day, and the murderers go into the lockup fit men, only to come out mangled, broken corpses. No one deserves that much punishment.”

  The response was so soft it reached Grace’s ears as a series of mumbles. Another few moments of silence passed before she heard Thom say, “Good day, Sergeant Moore.” Grace heard their footsteps lead away from the privies.

  ~*~*~

  Grace left the Angel before the sun completely disappeared in the sky. She had cleaned all day and helped Jim get dinner served up for everyone. Her body ached. She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was flop face down on her bed, but outside the Angel she caught sight of Sergeant Moore hanging around. The hope of going straight to bed washed away in a wave of disappointment.

  “Miss Hilren.” He came up alongside her.

  “You said you would leave me be if I had dinner with you. And yet here you are.”

  “Only to apologize. It was wrong to bring you into the King’s Beard as a novelty for everyone to gawk at.”

  Grace stopped walking and stared up at the sergeant. He looked contrite and miserable. Maybe he really was sorry.

  “I think I can see fit to forgive you.” He brightened and Grace thought about how handsome he looked in his uniform, smiling down at her.

  “It would ease my mind greatly, and as promised, you won’t be bothered by me again.” He turned to leave.

  Grace thought about Moore’s talk with Thom. Even if Nathaniel left her alone, he would still be around the Angel fairly often. If she sweet talked him enough, he might even slip and give away information about Harris. “Perhaps you can take me to breakfast tomorrow to make up for the folly of last night.”

  He stopped and turned to gawk at her. Quickly he smiled, beaming ear to ear. “I’ll be by Mistress Fisher’s lodgings at...” He waited for her to pick the time.

  “I go into the Angel an hour after the sun rises, so you best come by around daybreak.”

  Moore took her hand and kissed it. “Tomorrow morning then, as the sun rises over our fair city.”

  Grace continued on home alone, in a haze until she got into her room. Her mind had wandered to Nathaniel Moore the entirety of her walk. She shook the feelings from her head, but in trying to clear him out, she remembered Jack. That fiend was still in Glenbard. Grace lay down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling very tired and heartsick again. Tears streamed down her face until she fell asleep.

  ~*~*~

  The captain of the Merchant Way guardhouse came across young Nathaniel Moore hard at work in the mess hall. Captain Ericson was a lean man in his early forties with wispy hair on top, but a full beard he sometimes braided. Tonight his beard was combed out, hanging down to his collarbone.

  “How goes your hunt?” Nathaniel got off his bench to salute the c
aptain. “Stay seated, young man,” Captain Ericson commented and sat down across from him.

  There was one candle burning between them, but other than that, the mess hall in the Rogue’s Lane guardhouse was dark. Stretched out before Nathaniel was a map of the Lane, and Ericson took a hold of it, asking, “May I?”

  “Please go ahead, sir.”

  The captain pulled the map over to his side and noticed X’s over some houses. “What are these?”

  “Homes that I know are housing fugitives. I’m trying to find Harris’s hiding place.”

  “When I was a lad, the Guild used to handle men like Harris Atkins.”

  “A guard is dead, sir, and Marcus shouldn’t be allowed to continue as he has. Why should the thieves decide who lives and dies? Men like Marcus shouldn’t get to dole out retribution on their whims.”

  Ericson shook his head. “My father was a guard…a captain, actually. A fool like Harris knifed him. The current king hunted him halfheartedly, and then decided the man was too valuable to the Guild. We received coin from the Guard and coin from the Guild, and that was the end of it. No vengeance for my father.”

  Nathaniel watched the captain’s face. He wasn’t angry, just sad. “Would you have chased the man down?”

  “I was only eight. I couldn’t hunt anyone down. But what’s to stop Marcus from deciding young Atkins is too valuable to lose? Constable Taylor was a rotten knave. He cheated enough men out of dice, he flirted with enough wives, and was easy to buy off. But he was one of ours. We owe him justice.”

  Nathaniel took back his map. “I’m finding it hard to garner support here.”

  “The Lane has always been in the pockets of the Guild. I’d suggest finding the Death Dealer. Take out Marcus’s pawn first.” Ericson got up and waved his hand when Nathaniel started to rise. “Get some sleep.”

  Ericson left the mess hall and Nathaniel went back to his map. He would continue knocking on doors and investigating, but maybe the captain had a point. The Death Dealer was a known ally to the Guild.

  The masked marauder once rode through the north fighting brigands and putting murderers like Harris Atkins into the grave. If the Death Dealer who resided in Glenbard was the same as the hero of the north, then perhaps Nathaniel could convince him where his loyalties should lie. It was only a matter of tracking the Death Dealer down.

  Eight

  Grace woke with a start when a hand pressed over her mouth. “Don’t scream,” was the instruction that came out of the dark. Screaming was the second thing Grace wanted to do. The first was to stab the intruder, but this one had wisely moved her dagger outside of her reach. She could see the blade on the floor.

  “Jack?” was her muffled response, though it sounded more like a confused grunt.

  Jack removed his hand from her mouth and Grace worked to adjust her eyes to the darkness. She sat up in bed and a darkened figure crossed the room to sit at her desk. She rubbed her eyes and glared into the darkness. Jack appeared as a darkened lump in the corner of her room.

  “What are you doing here?” If she screamed she’d wake up Mistress Fisher, and Mistress Fisher would call for the guard. The scandal of Jack Anders in her room would be all over Glenbard in an hour. Jack had picked his time to harass her well. She had no way to fight and scream with him now. “How did you get in?”

  “Have you forgotten that I helped you and Marcus test the secret doors?” She had forgotten. More appropriately, she had forced herself to forget. It wasn’t a comforting thought to know he could come in at any time to see her. “I know what you were doing lurking in the shadows at the Emerald last night.”

  “How do you know what I was doing?”

  “Only the blind, deaf, and dumb don’t know what’s happening with the Guild and the Guard.” Even though it was dark, Grace could tell Jack was making himself far too comfortable in her lodgings. She heard him rustling and shifting as he sat, and the thud of boots on wood meant he’d put his feet up. She narrowed her eyes but the effect was lost in the darkness.

  “What business is it of yours, anyway?”

  “I’m not interested in you getting hurt because of Marcus.”

  “I imagine you think it’s only all right for you to hurt me.”

  Grace couldn’t see his face, but she heard him shift uncomfortably on the other side of the room. He was often like a rock, so to hear him uncomfortable was enough to bring a grim smile to her face.

  “I’m trying to tell you to stay clear of the situation,” he said after a considerable pause.

  “You’ve no place to tell me what I can and cannot do! You don’t know what’s best for me, you scoundrel and—”

  “Shut up, Grace.” He kept his voice down to avoid drawing anyone to the door, but he was mad. And he wasn’t the kind of man who talked around subjects when the blunt truth worked. “I know you’re smarter than this, and you’ve always placed yourself above these sorts of things. You gave up the hood. What are you thinking?”

  Being the Death Dealer was the one thing Grace had after Jack left. Being the Death Dealer was a way to combat her grief after her father’s death. It was a way to keep her grounded and away from despair. Without it, she almost became a living ghost. Occupying her mind and body with chasing petty criminals and being Marcus’s watchdog was how she managed each day after Jack’s departure. She wouldn’t admit that to Jack, though she couldn’t say if she held her tongue because the truth would hurt him, or because it wouldn’t hurt him enough.

  “Harris deserves a better fate than the two before him,” Grace replied softly.

  “Better than a swift, merciful death or the certainty of torture? I’d say he’s in better hands with Marcus and the like.”

  “I mean he deserves the King’s justice. A trial. A fair hearing. No one cared much for the constable he killed, so why beat up on a fool like Harris?”

  Jack laughed softly from his seat and Grace frowned into the darkness at the sound. “Gods, Grace…a King’s justice? If he even survives to court, he’ll be sentenced to hang! Have you ever seen a hanged man? King’s justice isn’t any more merciful than torture, and you should know. You’d have been burned as a witch if King’s justice prevailed.” He was right.

  If Grace hadn’t escaped after her fiasco at the King’s tournament, she would have been tried as a witch. Witches didn’t fare well when it came to King’s justice.

  “The only benefit to Harris is that it might be over quicker if Marcus slits his throat.” A sigh followed. “You can’t straddle the line between the Guild and the Guard anymore. Did Thom send you to the Emerald? Or did you do it for that uppity guard you’ve taken a fancy to?” This time Grace knew Jack’s expression without having to see it. He was hurt. His brow would be creased, his eyes would be sad, and his mouth would be turned downward in the same scowl he wore when they first met.

  “Thom asked me, and for your information I told him it was the last time he could ask for my help.”

  “At least you have some wisdom left. Why are you wasting your energies on this if you’re not planning to help the Guild or the Guard, and if you didn’t care for this Taylor fellow anyway?”

  This gave her pause. “Atonement, I suppose,” she said at length. “I turned his brother over to Marcus without a thought, and Adam wasn’t even the one who dealt the fatal blow.”

  “My little chick, the goddess blessed you with a good, but foolish heart.” Her heart fluttered at his pet name for her and she choked back an unexpected sob. “Please don’t cry.” She heard him rise from the seat at her desk and walk toward the bed. “I’ll help you find Harris, and then you can decide what you’re going to do with him when you do.”

  “Why help me? You have no great love of my activities.”

  “I did you wrong and I want to make it right.”

  She could see him moving in the dark, a shadow amongst other shadows. His hand reached out and she didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed her cheek, finding a few tears that had escaped.
/>   “Is it even possible?” he breathed. “Can you ever let me make it right?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said without thinking.

  A pregnant pause invaded the darkness. Jack’s warm hand remained on her cheek, and she didn’t try to knock it away. “No matter, I will try anyway. Get some sleep. I’ll keep my ears and eyes open for Harris. You keep out of trouble.” He chucked her under the chin affectionately.

  She suddenly wanted to get up and kiss him, to unload her troubles on him. He listened and understood her in a way no one else in Glenbard did. But it would be a mistake with one, very hurtful ending.

  “Good night, Jack.”

  Grace thought she saw the gleam of his teeth in the dark, but couldn’t be sure. It made no matter. He left the room without making a sound.

  ~*~*~

  Grace woke in no mood for nonsense the following day. She wanted to stay in bed, locked away. She thought about paying some urchin to run to the Angel and declare her ill, but she remembered her breakfast with Nathaniel. If she wanted to attempt to get information from the sergeant, she couldn’t break their plans.

  Grace dressed in her most worn, green linen dress. It had ripped and been patched a dozen times since she moved to Glenbard, but it was comfortable and light; perfect for a hot summer day. She slipped her feet into a pair of dingy slippers leftover from her days as a lady. She left her hair loose to hang down her back for the time being. She could put it up at the Angel when the sweat on the back of her neck became too much to bear. The good sergeant was waiting patiently when she emerged from her lodging.

  He beamed at seeing her. “Miss Hilren,” he greeted, and held his arm out to her. She hesitated only a moment before taking it. He took them toward the market. “I had to ask a nobby merchant if it was good and proper for me to offer my arm and kiss your hand.”

  “Don’t pretend a boy outside the merchant’s district doesn’t know how to court properly. They don’t club women and drag them back to their lodgings in Glenbard,” she said.

  Nathaniel laughed. It was a sound Grace could get used to, like large bells proclaiming good news. It was genuine. “I thought I could impress you, but I suppose I’ll have to work harder. Perhaps if I ate fire or juggled?”