The Thief King

33 | Grasping for Reasons

Hannah refused Travis in the end. Her loyalty belonged with her friend—Joey needed her. The Thief King could wait another night. At least she had proven herself to Travis and earned an invite to meet the magnanimous thief that ruled the streets. The temptation had been strong—'pull' was not strong enough word. The notion had yanked her interest with a force so strong she was surprised she had remained upright until words tumbled out of her mouth, surprising her and Travis.

It took some convincing for Joey to agree to join her, and even then his agreement had been nothing short of dismal. Still, Hannah felt proud of the wonder in his eyes as he gazed at the cakes and sweet pastries laid out before him. He even licked his lips when the smell of cinnamon and honey reached his nose. Luck tailed them, for no sooner had Joey licked his lips than a drunkard started an argument with the stall owner, creating the perfect distraction. Hannah swiped two cinnamon buns before anyone could notice and led Joey away. They smiled over their spoils, cinnamon syrup dribbling down their chins.

It was too late for there to be any other children running in the streets. The market swarmed with drunk adults dancing far too close or gazing into each others' eyes. Hannah had to be careful where her eyes fell lest she glimpse saliva exchanges or wayward handshakes.

"I think I've seen about enough," Hannah shuddered at a most unpleasant sight she mistakenly witnessed. "Or too much. You ready to go?"

Joey shook his head so slowly it reminded Hannah of the old grandfather clock back at the cathedral. Slow back and forth swings. Joey's chin even moved as the pendulum did, starting high on one end, and dipping low before swinging high on the other side.

"Joey?" Hannah touched her friend's elbow and jumped when he did. "What is it?"

"I was...I was...thinking."

"About Bayden?"

No answer. Whatever it was that was gnawing at Joey consumed him. Besides for being an orphan, Hannah could not understand grief. She saw it in others but never experienced it. There were days she pondered what could have been—what her life would have been like if her parents had not died. If her father had not accepted that last journey. If he had kept his feet ashore with his son, wife, and newborn daughter. What would Hannah's life be like if her mother had not died soon after?

"Do you remember last year's market?" Joey asked, his voice pulling Hannah away from her thoughts.

"We watched the fire dancers on the amphitheater roof."

Joey nodded. "Bay showed us how to use the walls as rungs. You remember what he gave us?"

Hannah's brow knitted. "We had steaming cocoa tea and fudge pops." A small stab of pain spread in her chest; she breathed in a sharp breath. "It was a good night."

Joey nodded. "It was." He turned suddenly, facing her. His bright eyes fiery, surprisingly full of light and life. "Why would anyone kill him, Han? It doesn't make sense–"

"He could have just been unlucky and–"

"No, no, that makes no sense. Now that I think about it, it all makes sense. The late nights, the strange work schedule, the random stuff he used to bring home—the coin. He used to bring a bag of coins sometimes."

"His wages? Kole comes home with bags of coins every now and then, and his hours are strange."

"Yeah, but...who works in the mines so late at night?"

Hannah shrugged. "Suppose it's dark in there whether it's day or night outside, but Jo, what are you going on about?"

"Bayden was a thief. It makes perfect sense. Why else would he be killed and left in the canals?" Joey struggled with the words, saying them between short breaths with shut eyes. His words rang between them, hanging, waiting.

"I don't know, Jo. You can't just assume things like that. Maybe he was caught in the crossfire–"

"His throat was slit. It wasn't by accident."

"So maybe he was mugged?"

Joey opened his mouth to argue but closed it again.

"I don't mean to say you're totally wrong, but I'm just saying there could be other explanations, and we don't need to worry your mum with the wrong ones. Or ourselves for that matter."

"How did he know how to climb that wall?" Joey asked, hands folded on his chest. "It makes the most sense, Han. Don't you see? The coin, the wall...all of it. He had no coin that night. I remember asking how he got the coin for the sweets and he didn't answer."

Hannah pursed her lips. "So what if he were a thief, hmm? Then what? What difference would it make?"

"It would explain his death? It would–"

"Give you a target?" We're kids, Jo. We can't go around taking on revenge missions and stuff. We'll be killed in the blink of an eye."

"I don't want revenge," Joey snapped. "Not yet, and not like that."

"Then like how?" Hannah's brows shot up. "You gonna ask for an apology letter like Porter makes us write?"

"No," Joey scowled. "I'm gonna do it right. Justice."

"Travis says there's no justice on the streets."

"Well, Travis is wrong! There's just not enough people to give it."

Hannah recoiled.

"I'm sorry, Han. I didn't mean to shout."

Blinking back tears, Hannah shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's late and we both been through a lot."

A wan smile tugged at Joey's lips. "Suppose so, but it still..." His lips pursed and his chin dropped to his chest. "It's not fair of me." His eyes squeezed shut so tight lines spread from their corners towards his hairline. Hannah thought Joey was dealing with his grief, but she was wrong. Like a tide returning to shore, grief barreled into Joey, doubling him over and wrecking him with heaving sobs. Hannah rushed to his side. They fell to their knees together, Hannah's hand rubbing his back and gripping his forearm so hard she was creating white marks on his skin. Joey's fist pushed into the ground, she could see the veins in his arms popping through the skin and panicked.

"Joey, breathe. Breathe through it."

Onlookers, too intoxicated to think of a better reaction, gazed down at the two children and sneered. Hannah would have sneered back had she not been panicking. A few feet away, a woman with a tankard of gold liquid flirted with a balding pig with hair poking out of his chin in what was supposedly a beard and a moustache that looked like a rodent skittered across his upper lip during its molting season. Hannah dashed towards them, grabbed the unnoticed tankard, and returned to Joey.

"Here" —she forced his hands to take the tankard and brought it to his lips— "drink."

He did, parting his lips and sipping slowly. Upon his first swallow, he pushed the tankard away and pulled a face, hiccoughs bounced his thin frame up and down. "That's vile."

"Koltin always says it's good for moments like these."

"Don't think" —hiccough— "he meant for" —hiccough— "for us."

Hannah pushed the tankard back against his lips. He sipped slowly, forcing the drink down. "Why do they do it? Drink this stuff."

"Who, adults?" Hannah tilted her head and peeked over her shoulder. "Suppose so that when girls like her wake up in the morning they got something to blame their decisions on, and guys like him can drink enough courage in to approach girls like her."

She turned in time to see Joey frowning at her.

"What?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm sorry for...this. I was trying–" He broke off when Hannah wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

"We're friends, Jo. Always."