natural – had a sixth sense for this kind of thing, Fender said. Saw trouble coming before it hit and knew when a mark was ripe for the picking. Anyone could see that Markus was keen and young, and stealthy. Whether a natural thief, only time would tell.
Glancing over her shoulder she gave Markus a reassuring nod and he smiled back. In that smile she saw his innocence, his inexperience. Again she had second thoughts, but then they came out on the Promenade of Kings and she became totally focused on the seething array of targets milling around before her.
The Prom was a major street that ran all the way from the Stone Gate to the Sepulchre of Crowns. It split Northgate from neighbouring Eastgate, an impressive street lined with timeworn statues depicting historic kings from the most ancient of the Sword Kings – whose names Rag had no idea of – right up to King Cael himself, standing looking towards the palace, his armour shining even in the night, his face proud and handsome. Rag had never seen the king close enough to make out his features, but if the statue was even half realistic, he must be a man to be reckoned with. These were his streets, governed by his laws, and in any other life Rag could well have been happy to abide by them. But times was difficult, and King Cael’s laws put no food in her mouth, so she guessed she’d just have to ignore them.
With Markus at her shoulder, Rag made her way amongst the press of bodies. A band somewhere was playing music – strings and pipes working together to rise above the din of the crowd. The perfect opportunity for a couple of quick pinches. By the time they’d crossed the Prom and reached the cobbled pavement opposite she had two purses inside her shirt. Once in the relative safety of the shadows she looked back at Markus, still following like a faithful puppy.
‘See that?’ she asked.
‘See what?’ he replied, then noticed the purses bulging in her shirt. ‘Oh, no, I missed it.’
She shook her head. ‘I thought I told you to keep your eyes open. We’re not here for a good time; we’re here to work. If you’re not up to it, just go back to the Bull.’
‘Sorry. I’ll do better next time.’
Rag looked at him sternly, but couldn’t hold it for long – his expression was too pitiful. Shaking her head wryly she cuffed him playfully around the head.
Safe in a side street she secured the purses in her trews, tying their drawstrings tight to the loops inside her waistband.
‘Right, let’s go. And this time,
concentrate
.’
Markus nodded, composing his features sharply … perhaps a little too sharply.
‘And try to look relaxed. You don’t want to look like you’re desperate for a shit. That’s only going to draw attention to us.’
Another nod, and his features slackened into a vacant stare.
It would have to do.
Rag led the way once more onto the Prom and this time went with the flow of traffic, taking them south towards the Crown District, where the richer punters were. Normally Rag never got anywhere near the Crown before being spotted by one of the Greencoats and chased away. Pinching there could be more trouble than it was worth. Tonight though would be different. With so large a crowd they were unlikely to be noticed.
The stream of folks moved at a merry pace, and they were soon at the big old gates that led into the Crown District. As Rag hovered outside, trying to spy a perfect mark, her attention was drawn to a pair of Greencoats standing watch over the gate. She cursed silently – did they never have a bloody night off? It was the Feast of Arlor after all!
‘We’ll never get inside,’ she said to Markus, ‘those two look keen as mustard.’ She was turning back when she spied something that brought a smile.
The young woman was beautiful, her gown billowing out from a tight waist in a pastel harlequin pattern. Her hair was tied up in a gravity-defying bouffant and a gold mask covered her eyes. The fat man on her arm was
Glancing over her shoulder she gave Markus a reassuring nod and he smiled back. In that smile she saw his innocence, his inexperience. Again she had second thoughts, but then they came out on the Promenade of Kings and she became totally focused on the seething array of targets milling around before her.
The Prom was a major street that ran all the way from the Stone Gate to the Sepulchre of Crowns. It split Northgate from neighbouring Eastgate, an impressive street lined with timeworn statues depicting historic kings from the most ancient of the Sword Kings – whose names Rag had no idea of – right up to King Cael himself, standing looking towards the palace, his armour shining even in the night, his face proud and handsome. Rag had never seen the king close enough to make out his features, but if the statue was even half realistic, he must be a man to be reckoned with. These were his streets, governed by his laws, and in any other life Rag could well have been happy to abide by them. But times was difficult, and King Cael’s laws put no food in her mouth, so she guessed she’d just have to ignore them.
With Markus at her shoulder, Rag made her way amongst the press of bodies. A band somewhere was playing music – strings and pipes working together to rise above the din of the crowd. The perfect opportunity for a couple of quick pinches. By the time they’d crossed the Prom and reached the cobbled pavement opposite she had two purses inside her shirt. Once in the relative safety of the shadows she looked back at Markus, still following like a faithful puppy.
‘See that?’ she asked.
‘See what?’ he replied, then noticed the purses bulging in her shirt. ‘Oh, no, I missed it.’
She shook her head. ‘I thought I told you to keep your eyes open. We’re not here for a good time; we’re here to work. If you’re not up to it, just go back to the Bull.’
‘Sorry. I’ll do better next time.’
Rag looked at him sternly, but couldn’t hold it for long – his expression was too pitiful. Shaking her head wryly she cuffed him playfully around the head.
Safe in a side street she secured the purses in her trews, tying their drawstrings tight to the loops inside her waistband.
‘Right, let’s go. And this time,
concentrate
.’
Markus nodded, composing his features sharply … perhaps a little too sharply.
‘And try to look relaxed. You don’t want to look like you’re desperate for a shit. That’s only going to draw attention to us.’
Another nod, and his features slackened into a vacant stare.
It would have to do.
Rag led the way once more onto the Prom and this time went with the flow of traffic, taking them south towards the Crown District, where the richer punters were. Normally Rag never got anywhere near the Crown before being spotted by one of the Greencoats and chased away. Pinching there could be more trouble than it was worth. Tonight though would be different. With so large a crowd they were unlikely to be noticed.
The stream of folks moved at a merry pace, and they were soon at the big old gates that led into the Crown District. As Rag hovered outside, trying to spy a perfect mark, her attention was drawn to a pair of Greencoats standing watch over the gate. She cursed silently – did they never have a bloody night off? It was the Feast of Arlor after all!
‘We’ll never get inside,’ she said to Markus, ‘those two look keen as mustard.’ She was turning back when she spied something that brought a smile.
The young woman was beautiful, her gown billowing out from a tight waist in a pastel harlequin pattern. Her hair was tied up in a gravity-defying bouffant and a gold mask covered her eyes. The fat man on her arm was
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