The Thief King

46 | Blood for Betrayal

The storm tore through the streets, chilling stone, suffocating the earth, and ripping apart anything soft and delicate. The rooftops were too dangerous, too treacherous because of the wind. Chase knew better than to walk the streets at night and risk provoking a wayward pickpocket or desperate addict. For despite the vicious gusts, persistent ice, and bone shattering cold, the city's thieves did not sleep, nor the Peacekeepers.

With his collar turned up at his ears, a stolen woollen scarf around his neck, and a matching set of mittens, Chase walked from the Silver Moon to Murker Street. A long walk made longer by the dangers that lurked in every shadow.. In each hand he clutched a small shiv, fists tucked into pockets, ready to protect his bounty. The coin in his inner pocket rested silently only because Chase's treads were mindful and smooth—a dance. The trick was to remain alert; look down every alley. Investigate every sound, but not immediately. No, if you heard a crunch of snow behind you, turning immediately announced you were protecting something. A slow turn of the head, a flippant glance over the shoulder, a momentary pause to sneeze or tie a lace was all the situation required.

Chase had mastered the art of disguising prudence with impervious ignorance. One never thought a cat dangerous until it struck with swift blows and sharp talons. Oh the things one could learn from the cats roaming the streets. They were wiser than most, first to flee a scene—fastest too—first to hear intruders and assess whether they posed a threat.

One could learn much from their mistakes too. Disease ridden and starving, they dangled near the bottom of the food chain despite their numbers. They sat around corners, on fences and windowsills with patches of missing fur, puss filled eyes, and lost teeth. Cowardly, some liked to call them, but Chase saw them as survivors.

Up ahead a big ginger tabby looked up from his sheltered ledge, hackles raised, teeth bared. Struggling to distinguish what the cat was focusing on, Chase watched it as he approached until he realized it was not his presence that had the cat on edge.

It was too late for impervious ignorance. Chase swivelled, throwing his elbow back and catching a man's ribcage. His other hand, curled in a fist, followed through and slammed into the man's jaw. Chase heard the cat yowl and scurry off, knocking over rubbish cans in its hurry. Very uncatlike, but understandable due to the slippery street. Chase steadied his balance and kept his gaze locked on the man as he tumbled backwards, landing with a thump on his arse.

If it'd been a clear, still night Chase would've heard and seen the second man, but the snow fell so thickly he didn't spot the darkly clad figure or hear him approach and swing his arm.

The punch caught Chase on the temple and drove him to his knees. A boot caught him in the chest, driving the air from his lungs. Chase gasped, trying to suck in air without success. He heaved, blood rising to his face and pulsing in his ears. Snow seeped through his clothing at his knees and palms, soaking the fabric and chilling the flesh. Chase dug his fingers into its cold softness.

Someone hit him with a flat palm on his back, and the air came rushing in. Ice sliced through his airways so sharp and frigid that he coughed.

"Easy now," the second man said. "Our orders aint to kill ye, just to collect ye."

A moment passed before Chase could talk. When he felt confident he wouldn't choke on his words, he pushed up off his hands and tilted his head back to gulp down fresh air in the largest gulps he could handle. "You should know...not...to sneak up on a man."

The man grinned, gold teeth glinting, the rest of him a patchwork of shadows. "Yer a watched man. Ye should expect us." Strong hands pulled Chase to his feet and dusted off the snow. "Ye been summoned pretty boy."