Thief (Brotherhood of the Throne Book 1) (10 page)

“She’s gone?” Mistress Mundy leaned over her.

Brenna nodded and she felt the older woman’s hand on her shoulder.

“Poor thing,” Mistress Mundy said. “She was a sweet lass, that one. I’m sorry, Brenna. I know you did what you could.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Brenna said. She should have made sure Sabine left the inn right away. Then she wouldn’t have had to watch the girl die.

“Come on, love.” Mistress Mundy helped her up. “I think we both could use a good solid drink to warm us up.”

Brenna let Mistress Mundy guide her away from Sabine’s body. As they moved past the prisoner he looked straight at Brenna.

“A witch, another witch!” he yelled. “Death to all witches,” the priest said. “They work evil against the One-God!” The Guards jerked him back and his voice lowered to a mutter as Brenna and Mistress Mundy left the room.

Again, something nagged at her, something about the way he looked or the smell of his breath, but she let Mistress Mundy steer her into the kitchen to a seat by the fire. She needed the warmth to ward off the sudden chill she felt.

Brenna sipped her second brandy, welcoming the fuzziness it brought. She knew she shouldn’t drink any more - between the ale she’d shared with Eryl and the two brandies Mistress Mundy had poured her she was feeling the effects. The last thing she needed right now was to let her guard down, but she kept seeing Sabine’s face, her life fading from her, just like in her vision. Her hands trembled when she picked up her glass for another sip.

seven

Kane gently let the woman’s head settle back on the floor and stood up. It wasn’t her. He dragged a shaky hand across his eyes and exhaled. As the tension drained from his shoulders he looked back down at the young woman’s body. She had brown hair, brown eyes, and was apparently a healer. And Dasid’s report said Brenna had been seen inside this very tavern tonight. This poor woman’s death was more than a coincidence.

“Do we know who she is?” he asked the Kingsguard. The man had been first on the scene and was the only other person in the room.

“Not yet, Captain,” the guard said. “From what we know so far, she’d been in the city for only a few days.”

“Do we know much of the one who knifed her?”

“We haven’t been able to get any sense out of him. It’s peculiar. He had time to get away but didn’t. According to witnesses, once he knifed the girl he just stood over her and yelled – something about witches and the church - until the inn guards grabbed him. Apparently he quieted down until he saw the other healer, then he started up again. He’s been sent to a cell back in the keep.”

“And the other healer, she’s safe?”

The guard nodded. Kane closed his eyes, just for a moment, in relief. Thank the gods! He should have made Brenna come with him when he’d had the chance, should have forced her ... He shook his head - that would never work - he didn’t see how the prophecy could be fulfilled by force. But she could have been lost and it would have been his failure.

“Is she still here?” Kane asked.

“She’s in the kitchen with the owner of the inn.” The guard kept his voice low. “She tried to help the young lass but t’were too late by then.”

“Thank you. We’ll need to do something about what the killer said.” Kane grimaced as he rubbed his tired eyes with his hand. “The last thing the city needs is a religious fanatic stirring things up. Officially we’ll say that the healer couldn’t cure his pox and he, half mad with disease, took it out on her,” Kane said. “Which way to the kitchen?”

“Through the door on the other side of the bar and then to the back. The owner is a Mistress Mundy.”

“All right. Let them in to clean up.” He turned and headed for the kitchen.

Kane entered the kitchen of the Wheat Sheaf and looked around. He caught the eye of the inn guard, a retired Kingsguard, and nodded. The man had served under Uncle Feiren and was also a member of the Brotherhood. He could be trusted.

Kane’s gaze swept past the guard to the large round table by the fire. Brenna was slumped over it, her hand curled around a half full glass. When she tilted her face, he could see his own fatigue mirrored there, etched in the lines around her eyes.

“Kane?” Brenna said.

She blinked up at him and he pulled up a chair beside her and sat down.

“Right here, Brenna,” Kane said. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head and he felt his shoulders relax. He glanced away and met the gaze of a large woman in a white apron. She stood by a window on the other side of the kitchen, the wooden shutters closed and barred from the inside.

“Mistress Mundy?”

“That’s right.” Her eyes flicked from Kane to Brenna. “And this is my inn.” She crossed the room to stand by Brenna.

“I am Captain Kane Rowse. We still need to ask some questions about what happened tonight.”

The older woman, with a puzzled look that moved from Brenna to him, nodded. “Brenna is that fine with you?” Mistress Mundy asked. She reached down and squeezed Brenna’s shoulder.

“Yes, let’s get it over with.” Brenna took one last sip from her glass before she straightened up.

“So, Mistress Mundy,” Kane said. “You allowed the healer to use one of your rooms?” he asked.

“Yes, Captain. She came by a few days ago, and asked could she use my inn to pick up some healing trade. I let her use the same room as Brenna.” Mistress Mundy swallowed and looked down. “I didn’t see no harm, since I’d heard Brenna might not be around much, considering.”

“Considering what?” he asked.

“Well, you know, considering she’d been caught.”

“Ah, that.” He looked over at Brenna, who simply stared down at the table. “What else did she say?”

“Told me her name,” Mistress Mundy continued. “Sabine, she said, and that she was from Aruntun.” Mistress Mundy looked up at him. “She was journeying. She wanted to see some of Soule before settling down as her village healer.”

“And she’d only been here a few times?”

“Today was her third night healing,” Mistress Mundy said. “She was planning on heading to Fallad next.”

Kane turned to Brenna.  “Is there anything you can add that I should know?”

“Is it safe to speak?” Brenna said. Her look took in the inn guard and the proprietress.

Kane nodded. “A Brother and former Kingsguard.” He eyed the inn owner for a moment. “Mistress Mundy, would you excuse us for a moment?”

“No,” Mistress Mundy said. “And I don’t appreciate your assumption that my guard will be loyal to you over me.” She stood up tall and glared first at him and then at the guard.

“Fair enough,” Kane said. “But his loyalty is not to me. It’s to a much older pledge of honor. You may stay, Mistress, since I think we all have the same goal in this - Brenna’s safety.”

Mistress Mundy looked startled at this. “Brenna? What does this have to do with Brenna?”

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that a healer matching Brenna’s description was slain here, where it’s known in the Quarter that she picks up trade.” When he met Brenna’s eyes he saw that she’d come to the same conclusion. And she was afraid. Good - he was afraid too.

“I met her earlier,” Brenna said quietly. “Tonight, when we were in the small room, someone thought it would be amusing to bring her in to meet me. I guess they were hoping for a fight or something.” She glanced nervously at him and he nodded encouragingly.

“She was just a nice country girl. Not used to the city at all.” Brenna shuddered and looked away. “She said her name was Sabine Werrett, and that she was from Cottle in Aruntun. She asked me to visit if I found myself back home. She assumed I was from Aruntun, which I thought was odd. We didn’t talk the same at all. Someone thought we looked very alike, though.” Brenna slumped down in her chair. “Enough to kill her, anyway. She died because of me.”

Kane watched as she traced the rim of her glass with one finger. He was sorry the young woman had died. She hadn’t deserved it. It was her bad luck, or the work of the gods, who knew? He was just thankful that it had not been Brenna. He’d have to take better care in the future, whether she liked it or not.

“Wait. There’s something else.” Brenna jumped up to pace the room. “Of course, no wonder.” She turned to him. “I knew there was something about the man who killed her. I saw him. He was still in the room when I went to try to help her.”

“And?”

“He was drugged. I’m sure. He had all the symptoms; slurred speech, so focused on a task that he didn’t even try to escape.”

Kane nodded. “Then he’ll wake up clear-headed in the morning.”

“No, he won’t.” Brenna shook her head. “I’d say he’s had a large amount of balendium. It’s a very dangerous drug. In small doses it’s a powerful pain reliever, but a large amount makes one open to suggestions. They can still function, at least for a while, and if used to reinforce an already deeply held belief …” Her voice trailed away.

Kane nodded. “Like belief in the One-God. You could dose someone, set them a task then send them out to accomplish it.”

“Exactly. Like describing a healer with brown hair and brown eyes and telling him she can be found at the Sheaf.”

“You said he wouldn’t wake up clear-headed,” Kane said. “Does that mean that the effects last longer?”

“You could say that,” Brenna said in a flat voice. “I said it was a dangerous drug. If he’s had as much balendium as I suspect, once he goes to sleep he won’t wake up, ever. Not unless he gets the antidote, and soon.”

“Can you make it? The antidote?” Kane asked.

Brenna nodded.

“How much time do you need?” If the prisoner died they had nothing to link this murder to the church. Even with him the link was tenuous; the ravings of an apparent madman.

“It won’t take much time,” Brenna said. “I have what I need but it means getting into my rooms right away. If someone’s out to kill me I’d rather not go home.”

Kane couldn’t argue with her on that. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“How fast can you wake a Brother?”

It was almost dawn before Kane returned to his room at the barracks.

He’d sent Brothers out to wake up Pater and bring him to the inn. After a quick conversation with Brenna, Pater had gone to her room at the seamstress’ shop. Kane had no idea how the old man had done it, but Pater had returned in less than an hour with all of Brenna’s healer supplies, as well as some books she’d asked for. All without a single light showing at the shop.

Kane had stayed with Brenna at the Wheat Sheaf while she brewed a foul smelling concoction. He wasn’t sure Mistress Mundy’s kitchen was going to smell good any time soon, but the woman hadn’t complained. Once Brenna was finished he’d sent the antidote off with a guard with instructions to make sure the prisoner drank it all – by force if they had to.

His official report would be that a disgruntled customer had murdered a healer from the Quarter. If it was assumed that the murdered girl was Brenna, then so much the better.

Even with the prisoner alive there wasn’t enough evidence to accuse the church of this murder, but High Bishop Valden would realize that Kane knew
something
so he’d need to be very careful.

The church was turning out to be far more active and deadly than Kane had ever suspected - they were searching out old steel and now they’d engineered a murder. It made him wonder what other crimes the church had committed in the past. If their target tonight had been anyone other than the Caller, he wouldn’t have had any reason to doubt the straightforward explanation.

Finally, Brenna had allowed him to take her somewhere safe and when she was settled at his uncle Feiren’s, he’d left for his own bed.

Kane nodded to the sentry and pushed open the door to the barracks. Lately he’d become all too familiar with navigating the hallways in the dark. Once in his rooms he stripped and climbed into bed, trying to relax despite the events of the past few hours. Ever since he’d met Brenna Lightfingers he’d been short on sleep. If he were lucky he’d get just enough to take the edge off before he was due in the king’s council chamber.

Thorold sat back as the High Bishop gleefully recounted the details surrounding his latest victory.

“Not even one full week since the church was so defamed by an attempted theft and murder of one of its priests,” High Bishop Valden said. “And already we’ve avenged ourselves. The thief is dead.”

“Yes, well, congratulations.” Thorold had his doubts. It seemed too easy. The thief had enough contacts in Thieves Quarter to have a significant bond paid in full one day after being caught. That meant she’d survived the Quarter long enough to either make friends or acquire enough favours to call in. And despite being caught, by all accounts she was a very skilled thief. She’d known exactly which room the priest would be in and had gained entry into that second floor room from a regularly patrolled courtyard. The actions of the healer who had been killed seemed naïve in comparison. Wouldn’t someone familiar with the Quarter realize that some would name her witch? Why set regular days to ply a trade that many looked on with suspicion? It did not make sense to him. But as long as this had no bearing on
his
plans, he had no objections.

“And you are absolutely certain that this cannot be tied to you or the church in any meaningful way?” Thorold asked.

“Yes, yes.” Valden waved a hand dismissively. “The man we recruited to do this will be seen as a fanatic, a madman, I can assure you. I understand he’s already been locked up and has yet to speak a coherent sentence. And he won’t, ever, my men have made certain of that.”

“Good.” Thorold nodded. He detested loose ends.

Brenna woke slowly. She was groggy and tired and didn’t want to wake up. She stretched and settled back into the soft bed and crisp sheets. Startled, she sat up, eyes wide open. Where was she? And then she remembered. Last night an innocent woman had been killed because she’d been mistaken for her and now she was the guest of Feiren Rowse and the Brotherhood. She sighed. She wasn’t going to get any more sleep now. She tugged the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Wide awake now, she surveyed the room with a thief’s practiced eye. The bed itself, while well-made and of good quality wood, wasn’t unusually expensive. She pushed a hand into the mattress. But the mattress was a luxuriously thick down fill with a smooth and finely made cotton covering. The bedding was even better quality. Brenna had rarely felt such fine fabric and certainly had never slept on anything like it - the mattress and bedding were probably worth far more than the bed.

It was the same with the dresser, desk and chair. All were finely made, but more sturdy and serviceable than opulent. It was the smaller things that showed the expense - the finely crafted porcelain pitcher and washbasin - the artwork that hung on two walls - the fabric of the curtains that covered the room’s two small windows.