Mark of the Thief by Jennifer A. Nielsen Page A

hand.
    “Get up, you fool!” a nearby slave hissed at me. “Do you think they won’t kill you?”
    On the contrary, I was certain they would try. Remembering Caela, I stood and took my place on the capstan. Three slaves worked alongside me with another four men turning the same capstan below us. Despite their warnings, the lifting seemed easier than it should have been, and gradually the other men fell away. Without them, it became hard, and I was moving slower than before, but I was doing it.
    One of them said to me, “How is a boy your age strong enough to do the work of eight men?”
    I didn’t have an answer for him. No doubt my years in the mines had made me strong, perhaps stronger than many men. But not eight of them. I felt the warmth of the bulla again, flowing into my back and arms. If it was giving me strength, then it meant I was doing more than just feeling the magic. I was using it. I pushed the bars again, amazed at the surge of energy. Maybe it was only borrowed strength — or stolen strength, since I knew full well the bulla didn’t belong to me — but I liked the feel of it.
    There were dozens of other lifts, all of them working at the same speed, constantly delivering new animals into the arena to fight. I tried not to listen to the noises above, and hated every second of what I was being forced to do.
    I worked solidly until the announcement went out that the venatio was over. The animals still alive were being allowed to remain in the arena for the next event. That was the one in which Caela would participate. We were almost out of time.
    I turned to the man next to me. “What happens now?”
    “It’s lunchtime for the spectators,” he answered with a smile. “Execution of the criminals. It’s too bad you can’t be up top to see the show to follow — we have an elephant trained to walk a tightrope. It —”
    I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I asked anyway. “How are the criminals executed?”
    He shrugged. “Various ways, depending on the games. Sometimes they make it quick, like a beheading, but the people always enjoy it more when the criminal’s death is part of the entertainment. Today they’ll use the jungle setting for more fun. They’ll set the criminals loose and unarmed. Some animals up there might find them first, or I saw a bestiarius wandering around here too. I imagine he’ll go in and hunt for the survivors.”
    “What about the griffin?” I asked. “What’s her role?”
    The man smiled. “She’ll go in at the very end, as the finest of all animals versus the strongest of all animal hunters. Your griffin will have to lose of course — they’ll make sure of it — but it’s certain to be a great fight.”
    No, there wouldn’t be any fight at all. I intended to do everything in my power to get her out of here.
    Power. On my own, I could do nothing for Caela. But I had the bulla, and it had magic. All I had to do was figure out how to use it. I really was running out of time, though, and didn’t know where to begin.
    “How many criminals are being executed today?” I asked.
    “Not many. In fact, they’re bringing ’em in now.” The man pointed to the ramp where Roman soldiers were leading a small group forward. I counted two men, then a woman, and then — my jaw fell slack and might’ve landed on my chest.
    The very last man was Sal.

E ven from the distance between us, Sal’s eyes immediately locked on mine. He started shouting, so loud that from here I could hear every word. He pointed at me with one shackled hand. “I told you I never killed that slave boy!” he yelled. “I sold him to the venatio — he’s right over there!”
    The soldier closest to him struck his cheek. “You’re here because General Radulf wants you punished.”
    Blood ran down the corner of Sal’s mouth. “Radulf can have his boy — go get him, over there!”
    By then, I had slipped out of sight. Sal took another hit for lying.
    I couldn’t let Sal see me again