The King's Thief

Chapter 3

Kaliss tumbled off his chair, ducking the blow. Turning the dodge into a controlled dive, he narrowly missed colliding with a waitress carrying a tray. Sawdust from the floor flew up into the air. Taking the opportunity to feign drunkenness, he grabbed hold of her expansive rear and gave her a cheeky grin. Used to such ribald behaviour from the patrons, the waitress gave him a little wink back, but was then shoved aside by the furious drunkard. Now that Kaliss looked at him, he wished that he had chosen a different seat, or even a different inn; the man was enormous, a slab of muscle with bricks for hands, one glass eye and a drunken energy about him. Dodging Glass-eye’s swinging fists was easy, for he had obviously had a few drinks, but it was a near thing. Suddenly Kaliss sprawled on the wooden floor; the short man whose leg he had tripped over stood up with anger in his eyes, before he was knocked flying by Glass-eye. The short man’s friends leapt up and immediately tackled the thug to the floor, and before Kaliss could blink a fully-fledged bar brawl was in progress. Finding himself in a quiet spot, he crept towards the door and let himself out, turning before he went to see the waitress applying her heavy wooden tray liberally to all around her. Kaliss escaped into the street.

*    *    *

Sergeant Kinnon knocked on the next door. Tucking his steel helmet under his arm, he stepped back as a short, fat man answered the door, dressed only in undershorts. He seemed prepared to give whoever it was a mouthful of invective, but stopped short when he saw the hardened dark blue leather armour that marked this caller out as a member of the City Guard. Kinnon cleared his throat and stood to attention.
“Brewer Tyrson, is it?” Not waiting for an answer, the Sergeant continued. “A man escaped from the scene of a crime. We have reason to believe that he is still in the area. This man has been sought for quite some time by the Guard and the Army, and as a result we are warning every citizen about his presence.” Kinnon clicked his fingers and one of the guardsmen behind him put a piece of paper in his hand. Giving it to the fat homeowner, Kinnon continued “If you see this man, you are instructed to contact your local Guard post immediately by C-mag.”
Taking the paper from the Sergeant, the brewer took a long look at it before turning his gaze to the rest of the street. From his door alone he could see no less than three other teams of men made up of both Army privates and guardsmen, knocking on his neighbours’ doors.
“What has he done? He doesn’t look like much.”
“He’s a thief and a murderer. He was caught trying to break into a warehouse down by the docks, and following a chase he murdered two innocent bystanders before making good his escape.” The brewer’s eyes widened slightly as the Sergeant continued. “He’s also wanted for thirteen other confirmed counts of theft, one other suspected murder and one count of high treason to the Crown.”
As the brewer’s face paled, he spluttered out a few words before slamming the door in the Sergeant’s face. The sound of locks snicking shut was quick to follow.
Bidding the brewer’s door a sarcastic good night, Sergeant Kinnon directed his team to the next unquestioned house. In this district, he wasn’t surprised at the man’s reaction; those people with money were constantly paranoid, even with magical protection on their homes.

*    *    *

From his vantage point on the roof of the brewer’s house, Kaliss considered how badly the night was going so far; the sun was going to be coming up in an hour and he was desperately tired and, from the feel of it, he was lying in cat shit. He needed to sort his thoughts out and recover his energy, but within a minute of leaving the Blind Stoat he had run almost straight in to the guardsmen he had been escaping from in the first place. Swearing to himself he had leapt almost ten feet over the adjoining wall, adrenaline giving him wings. From there it had seemed like every corner he turned there was a group of Army privates or guardsmen waiting to catch him. Normally a competent and quiet thief, he had found himself relying on instinct and his running ability to stay out of reach. While he tried to tune out the rushing of blood pounding in his ears, he strained to hear the conversation below him.
“…a warehouse down by the docks, and following a chase he murdered two innocent bystanders before making good his escape…” Struck dumb with astonishment, Kaliss’s mind reeled. The bastards were making out that he had killed Irban and Sayela! Then his ears caught the last thing the Sergeant said.
“…and one count of high treason to the Crown.” At least that explained the manhunt currently underway. There was something else going on here; Kaliss could think of nothing he had done to warrant being accused of high treason. The dull aching sadness that had been sitting in his gut for the past few hours suddenly took flame and spread. Anger boiled in his veins at the idea that he could be forced to hang for the murder of his friends. He shifted his foot on the roof tiles and suddenly found that there was nothing underneath it; he was sliding off the roof! Unable to stop his descent, he clattered off the side of the building and fell, legs-first, to the floor. The sharp crack he heard told him, before he felt any pain, that his leg was broken. Almost as if it were happening to someone else, he saw the guards come towards the noise, although bizarrely he heard nothing, not even when the fat Sergeant blew his whistle for reinforcements. He looked to his right in time to see a fist descending, and his consciousness fled.

*    *    *

Malketh sighed as he gathered his robes around him and studied his image in the enchanted mirror. The tall man was impressive in his long red robe, garnered with rubies and ermine. As the man turned, the image in the mirror stayed still; then, at nod from him, the image turned. Malketh allowed his eyes to run covetously over the dark wine-red robe, the aquiline face with its deep hollows under the cheek bones, the eyes like onyx, the deep frown lines on his noble brow. Staring at his slowly-revolving reflection, Malketh felt a small satisfaction in his heart; at least one thing in this wretched world was in order.
“My Lord.”
Malketh snapped his head round in irritation at being disturbed but the messenger, used to the man’s moods, did not waver. “My Lord, I deliver a message; the King requests your presence to brief him on the Void situation. Shall I return to say that you will be there posthaste?”
Waving his hands vaguely in the direction of the servant, Malketh turned back to his mirror. Not listening to the mouthed pleasantries directed at him, he instead watched his reflection for another turn, before waving his hand across the image. The image in the mirror seemed to ripple before fading as if he were running his hands through water. In no apparent rush, the man put away the things he had been working with at his desk; a large crystal ball went on to a shelf already loaded with other knick-knacks; the pen and scroll he had been writing with went away into a drawer, next to the small money-bag and what looked like a shrunken head. Finally, he lifted a small cage and took it to the opposite wall where a series of cupboards held cages of increasing sizes. The empty cage Malketh put between one containing an albino rat and a small black kitten. Turning, he viewed his little empire with satisfaction. Then, robes billowing in his wake, the King’s Principal Magician left for his audience with the King.

*    *    *

His Majesty King Yandru III struck a powerful figure as he strode around the throne room. Dressed in finery matched only by that of Malketh himself, the King wore in addition his twisted metal crown of office which had, in truth, been wrought from a fallen star. Beneath the crown, the king’s brow was furrowed in thought, his bushy brown eyebrows close together above dull brown eyes. A full beard adorned his chin and stretched down to heavy necklace of office he wore. Almost hidden under the heavy scarlet velvet robes he was wearing a sword was sheathed, with an intricate gold hilt, and for all its weight and detail Malketh knew it had been put to deadly use in this very chamber. Justice for some was swift in the city of Theria.
“So this man, this master Thief,” the King all but spat, “has finally taken a step too far. We have him, Malketh, we have him chained in the cells this very moment!”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
The King began pacing around the chamber. The throne room was sumptuously appointed; the room was octagonal with a single doorway. The east- and west-facing walls held windows that allowed the viewer to see most of the Upper City, while the throne was against the north-facing wall. The throne itself was made of solid gold, from a time when Theria had been richer and at peace. Carved lion heads marked the arms and it was topped by an eagle, wings outstretched. The remaining four walls held opulent banners, each a finely-woven piece of art, depicting scenes from the time when Theria had first been founded, and the first King crowned.
“It’s had me worried, you know, but our fine city guardsmen have dealt with it where others failed.” The King narrowed his eyes at Malketh. “I’d have thought, since it was you who brought him to my attention, that you’d be the one to bring him in. A danger to the Royal Person, you said, a threat to my household!”
“I am pleased to see that my estimations were incorrect.” Malketh said. “And how do you intend to deal with him?”
The King ceased pacing in front of the magician, his robes swishing around him. He fixed the man with a steely glare. “Well, you tell me; are you my advisor or not? You probably knew before I did that we’d caught the man!”
For all his bluster, King Yandru had struck a chord; Malketh had known about the arrest some hours before being summoned. In fact the job at the warehouse had taken quite some time for Malketh to set up, but the less the King knew about his dealings in the criminal underbelly, the better. The subject of the man downstairs, who the researchers in the Royal Academy had been calling the Void, was a thorn in his side. The pieces of the broken Stone of Ascent had been gathered and studied, but from them they had gleaned little solid information. Along with the halfway-decent description given by Captain Beck, the man they were seeking was somehow able to put out a magical void aura without being detectable in the slightest. So skilful was he that, in eighteen months of searching for him, he had never been detected until the previous night when he had literally landed in their laps. Inwardly he sighed; explaining things to the King was always such a dreary event.
Malketh brought his mind back to the present. The King was waiting. “Such a man must be dealt with carefully. We will probably not be able to use any of the normal interrogation methods, magical probes or Mindglass auras. I formally request the aid of Captain Beck in the interrogation.”
The King waved his hand dismissively. “Done. You have yet to tell me why you are so interested in this particular prisoner though, Malketh.”
“Professional curiosity, your Highness.”
Malketh winced slightly as his King clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on now, you can’t fool me; there’s something else here. What is it?”
Permitting himself a smile, the magician acquiesced. “Your Majesty is as perceptive as ever. This man is a challenge, unique, something I have never come across. And, I think, we might be able to use him in the war. I want to gauge his potential before I commit to anything, though.”
The King’s mood suddenly shifted, and he turned to storm back to his throne. “The war, damnit. Every day, reports, officials, trade stoppages, casualties… Time was when a king could get out there and cut off some heads himself!” He slammed a heavy fist down onto the arm of his throne. “Now look at what I have to deal with; a meeting later with Rufus Hayerson from the Merchants Forum, one with Duke Raversham about troop deployment and a state dinner…”
Malketh tuned the King’s complaints out slightly as he reviewed his options. This man, if he was what the researchers had predicted, was going to be key in the war. Soon Malketh wouldn’t need to put up with the King’s constant changes of mood and losses of temper. This man, Kaliss, would help write the magician’s name in eternity.
“Are you still here? Get out, man, get on with it!” The King was looking at his magician with increasing ferocity and Malketh, ever a student of body language, was quick to make his exit, leaving the king absentmindedly stroking the ermine collar of his robe. As he willed himself through the magical barriers that protected the throne room he mentally began to plan his own attack on the wounded prisoner.