The Blood Within the Stone

Chapter 3

3

The next few weeks were a blur to Wilt. He was now a member of the Grey Guild, and as far as Higgs was concerned that meant they both were. In exchange for the guild’s protection and associated comforts, they were expected to pull their weight. They moved out of the small abandoned shop they’d been living in and into a much cleaner building off Traders Way, one of a multitude of haunts the Fingers claimed as their own. These days there were more than enough disused buildings for them to pick from.

There was also plenty of work to keep them busy. Wilt started at the bottom as a simple pickpocket, and began to make his name immediately. He’d been lifting purses from the careless along Traders Way since he could walk. Higgs was even better at it, helping him reach his quota in record time each week. Eventually he had to rein Higgs in; they were making the other pickpockets look bad in comparison.

Though trade had faded, there were still more than enough merchants and customers wandering the markets to support the thieves. Under the command of Lodan, they moved in and out of the crowds, lightening purses and pockets as they went, careful to never take too much or attract the attention of the guards. They would put up with only so much.

Wilt found it all incredibly easy. Wander the market and pick a target. Then watch them. Let them meander through the curving lanes and stalls, let them feel comfortable in their environment. Let them drop their guard. Then watch some more. Then read them.

He spotted one quickly: a fat man, wealthy. Wary too, by the way he held his coat tight around his belt. That was where the goods were. Wilt could simply walk past and cut his purse, but he was one of the Fingers now, above such clumsiness. No, he would work this properly, like a professional.

Wilt relaxed his mind completely, draining it to an empty pool. Suddenly he was inside the man’s mind, every thought as clear as his own.

Not this one. Looks too cheap for Mary. She’d know the price to the copper. Maybe a shawl instead. The ones piled under the table. Purse always getting in the way. Damn this back of mine.

Wilt stepped forward then and stood close behind the soon to be less wealthy man. A few gentle tugs on the purse and it was loose. His fingers sorted quickly through the coins to identify the silver and take a few. Leave the copper for the cut-purses, leave the gold for the guard if he raised the alarm.

Wilt melted away into the crowd and allowed himself a small smile. It was becoming easier every time, calling upon his strange ability. He no longer questioned it, or doubted it would respond. At times it was almost impatient to be used, pushing out at him, urging him to call on it, to let it out into the world.

It didn’t take the Fingers long to recognise Wilt’s particular aptitude for the tasks he was set. After only a couple of weeks, Lodan recommended Wilt be allowed to work outside the market, anywhere he thought the best targets would be. Lodan was trusted by the Grey Guild and, his advice heeded, he passed the good news onto Wilt with only a small warning. He should stay away from the south of the market. Red Charley still controlled those streets, and he had a long memory.

‘Tell me again about the prize, Wilt.’

They sat huddled by the small fireplace in the room that was now their own. No one was going to roust them from this place, but old habits died hard and they kept their fires small and their belongings packed. Wilt didn’t think they’d ever grow out of that. They’d never known anything else.

Wilt looked at his small companion sitting by the flames. They were well fed these days but Higgs was still skin and bones, his cheekbones prominent and his face falling away into a small pointed chin. If Wilt was honest with himself, he looked almost like a ferret, though he’d never tell Higgs that.

‘It was a dagger.’

‘A blue dagger.’

‘That’s right, a blue dagger. Though it was only blue when the one who had rightfully stolen it held it in his hands.’

‘And that was you.’

‘That’s right, that was me.’

‘And so when Red Charley took it from you it wasn’t blue anymore, so everyone knew he hadn’t stolen it properly at all.’

‘Who’s telling this story, Higgs?’

‘You are.’

They both stared at the flames some more, Wilt enjoying the feeling of them clearing his mind.

‘Wilt?’

‘Yes, Higgs.’

‘How did the crafter make the dagger turn blue?’

‘I don’t know. I expect you’d have to be a crafter to know that.’

‘How do you get to be a crafter?’

‘It’s one of the skills they teach in Redmondis. You know that story.’

‘The mountain fortress, where they teach all the skilled ones. If you get chosen to be a student, you get sent to Redmondis, and you get tested by the Prefects there, and if you pass their test you get given one of the skills.’

‘You know more about it than I do.’

Higgs began counting them off on his fingers. ‘There’s crafting, there’s healing, there’s soldiering, there’s apotha … apothec … apotaca …’

‘Apothecary.’

‘There’s potions, there’s foreseeing.’ Higgs ran out of fingers and stopped. ‘There’s lots of them.’

‘There are lots of them. Too many to count. I doubt anyone knows them all.’

Higgs lay back down on his bed and closed his eyes. ‘Wilt?’

‘Yes, Higgs.’

‘If you were chosen, what skill would you choose?’

‘I don’t know.’ Wilt’s eyes became heavy as he looked into the flames. ‘I don’t think it works like that. I don’t think you get to choose. I think the skill chooses you.’

‘I’d choose to be a crafter.’

‘Okay, Higgs. Go to sleep.’

‘Then I could make a blue dagger as well. Or maybe a green one. Or a red one!’

‘Higgs.’

‘Yes, Wilt?’

‘Go to sleep.’

Wilt was beginning to get comfortable in his new life. He was excelling in the Grey Guild, and even Higgs had managed to make himself more useful lately, helping to organise the younger street urchins under Lodan’s control. Most merchants ignored the urchins completely, never thinking of minding their tongues around the ever-present street rats. As a result, the Grey Guild was better informed now than it had ever been, with eyes and ears in every alley.

Things were finally beginning to look up for Wilt, so much so he actually began to relax and enjoy life. He really should have known better.

It had started off as a simple job. He’d been handed the message by one of the tavern wenches at the Thirsty Captain, the largest and busiest of the taverns lining the docks on the eastern side of the city. It was a favourite haunt of the merchant sailors who shipped in and out of Greystone on a daily basis. A tavern that offered hot meals and cold ale, and knew better than to charge full price for the workers who kept the trade of Greystone flowing. And for those looking for other entertainment, well, that could be found easily enough as well.

Wilt didn’t look closely at the girl who handed him the message.

That was his first mistake.

He had heard that some of the girls working here offered other services for those willing to pay, and he hadn’t wanted to send any wrong signals. Not that he wasn’t curious. He had been lost in the roaring fire burning in the main room, letting his ears work for him, scanning the random conversations that slipped in and out of hearing. Suddenly someone grabbed his hand and wrapped his fingers around a small slip of paper. Her hand had been warm, and she’d squeezed his fingers lightly before disappearing into the crowd. Knowing better than to react, he hadn’t even glanced up at the girl before she moved away.

The note was from Lodan. Wilt recognised the thin, slanted scrawl immediately. The blacksmith requests your company. He downed the rest of his drink in a gulp and stood up immediately. The Hand had asked for him specifically. That meant something important. A rush of excitement washed over him and he no longer paid any attention to the crowd.

That was his second mistake.

More than one pair of eyes watched him stride quickly across the tavern floor and push out into the darkness of the streets, and more than one pair of feet moved to follow him.

Wilt had never been summoned specifically by the Hand before, had never even heard of it happening to someone else. Messages were usually passed through Lodan or one of the other more experienced thieves, but Wilt decided not to question it. He hurried down the east road toward the markets in the centre of town. Perhaps the Hand had heard about his progress with the Grey Guild; perhaps he’d been impressed. Perhaps he wanted to reward him.

The blacksmith requests your company. The wording suggested the meeting place was at the forge itself, rather than the warehouse where they’d met earlier. That made sense. One-to-one meetings were probably less formal. Maybe they’d sit in the back room and the Hand would get him to tell the story of how Wilt took the prize from under his nose. He’d been impressed by that.

Wilt smiled as he trotted down the road, oblivious to the shadows that flitted from rooftop to rooftop beside him.

Maybe they’d share a drink. Higgs would be so jealous.

The forge was shuttered when he got there, but there was a glow from the back room so Wilt strode in confidently. Heat still emanated from behind the heavy iron gate of the fire as he passed it, and the blacksmith’s tools were set out on the anvil in front of it. Wilt paused in his step as he noticed the thin knife laying amongst the tools, its surface straight and sharp. It was free of blemishes, except for a heavy dent halfway up the blade, almost a chip, as if the blacksmith had lost control mid swing and struck one blow too many on the shining blade. He slowed to a stop as he stared at the imperfect work, his mind finally beginning to catch up. There was something wrong.

Wilt reached out slowly to let his fingers brush the flaw in the blade, and a vision whipped across his eyes.

Red Charley, standing beside the forge, a cruel smirk on his face. Staring at the flawless knife on the anvil, weighing the heavy hammer in his hand, unable to resist this small mischief.

It was a trap.

Wilt spun on his heel and started toward the door, but two shadows seemed to fall out of the darkness to block his way.

‘So. Not completely stupid then.’ Red Charley’s voice came from behind him. ‘Turn around, Meat.’

Wilt froze and let his senses flow out from him.

‘Boys, it seems young Meat here has lost the use of his limbs. Loosen him up for me, would you?’

The shadows moved toward Wilt, and he forced his body to relax as they fell on him. No use running now, there was no way out. Not yet. The larger of the two figures dropped Wilt to his knees with a punch to the stomach. He gasped theatrically, though the blow seemed unimportant as he kept searching around the room for a way out. The other one kicked him and rolled him over to face Red Charley.

‘Not so smart now, are you, Meat? Lodan’s scrawl isn’t the easiest to master, but given time and the right talents—’ Red Charley interrupted himself with a heavy kick into Wilt’s guts. ‘Anything is possible.’

Wilt looked past Red Charley to the anvil and the set of tools sitting beside the forge. A heavy hammer, some tongs, and something that looked like a large hook glowed briefly in the darkness.

‘Your little stunt cost me face in the guild. Did you think I would let that go? Boys, bring him to his feet.’

Wilt glanced from the tools to Red Charley as he was lifted up off the dirt. Red Charley paced back and forth, his eyes bright with anger. Wilt swallowed and focused his mind. Red Charley was mad and capable of anything. He had to escape.

‘Open the forge.’

Wilt heard the heavy gate open and felt the heat of the fire kiss his skin as it flared up with a rush of air. He closed his eyes. Forget the fire. Forget the fear. Focus. Focus on their minds.

‘I knew you were a coward the first time I saw you, Meat.’

Wilt’s sense scrambled over the surface of Red Charley’s mind, but it was closed, a blank wall of nothingness, with no way for him to get in. Look to the others.

With a silent effort he switched his attention to the other two men.

Charley’s really gonna to do it. Gonna burn him. Gonna cook his pretty flesh.

Wilt’s mind retreated quickly from the excited darkness of that mind. Samson. He was just as mad as Red Charley. He then focused on the other man.

Hold the boy and keep your mouth shut. They’re just gonna scare him.

He was the one. If he could just get him to loosen his grip …

‘Open your eyes, Meat.’

Wilt opened his eyes and lost contact with the other man’s mind. Harken, that was his name.

Red Charley stood in front of him, holding up a single glowing coal in the pair of tongs. The other tools were within reach behind him.

Wilt closed his eyes again and reached out for Harken’s mind.

Don’t let him loose, even if they do burn him. Don’t show any weakness.

Wilt could feel the heat from the coal tighten his skin as Red Charley held it up to his cheek.

‘Can’t even face this, can you, Meat? Closing your eyes won’t help you.’

Wilt clawed desperately for purchase on the other man’s mind. His fear lent his sense a panicked strength.

Red Charley let out a small sigh of pleasure as he pushed the glowing coal against Wilt’s cheek, pain screaming through Wilt’s mind—through his mind and into Harken’s, wiping out everything in its path.

Harken stiffened and fell backward as the shock overwhelmed him. Wilt felt him falling and jerked his arm free, throwing the limp man straight into Samson. Samson stumbled and fell onto the hot gate of the forge, shrieking with pain, holding his smouldering hands up in front of his face.

Red Charley was only beginning to react as Wilt dashed behind him, grabbing the hook from the anvil as he ran into the back room.

‘No!’ Red Charley’s scream echoed around the forge as he spun and charged after his prey.

Wilt rushed through the door into the small room without hesitating. Leaping on to the desk he jumped again, holding the hook above his head to catch the roof beam directly above. He pulled his arms tight as it bit, crunching his legs into his chest and letting his body’s momentum swing him up and over, releasing the hook at the top of the arc, flipping full circle in mid-air to come back around just as Red Charley charged into the room. Wilt thrust out his feet in a two-footed kick that landed in the centre of Red Charley’s chest. His bodyweight did the rest, crushing his attacker backward into the ground. Wilt heard a deep crack as Red Charley landed and knew he’d done some damage to the man, but he didn’t stop to check.

Wilt pushed himself to his feet and ran out into the cold darkness, only looking back when he was sure he heard no sounds of pursuit. The door of the hut glowed in the darkness, and a single shadow emerged and limped away. Wilt ran on, the cool air soothing the deep burn on his cheek.