There were three sets of walls, in fact — four, if you counted the ones surrounding the Palace and the three Collegia. Each time that the city of Haven had outgrown its walls, a new set had been built. When that happened, land within the previous walls became highly desirable. Now, between the first set and the Palace walls, only the highborn, those with old titles, had their mansions (and indeed, manors), which had enormous gardens and landscaped grounds. Between the second and first, those who had newer titles, most less than a generation old, and the wealthy but not ennobled kept their state. Lesser dwellings had been bought up and razed to make way for these newer mansions. There were gardens, but they were a fraction of the size of those of the Great Lords of State. But there were parks here, places where one could ride or stroll and be observed. Between the third walls and the second lived most of the rest of the city, although the populace had already begun to spill outside the walls, and many of those whose wealth was very recent had taken to building mansions that aped those of the Great Lords of State, but outside the walls altogether, where land was cheaper.
Eventually, Skif supposed, another set of walls would be built, and then it would be his neighborhood that would be razed to make way for the mansions of the wealthy.
Skif passed one of the parks, and decided to take a rest near a lily-covered pond. It was deserted, the air shimmering with heat above the scorched lawns between the trees. His target was on the other side of this park, and it occurred to him that it wouldn't be a bad idea to observe it from the comfort of the park while he cooled off a little.
Even though he had sauntered along in slothful fashion, he was still sweating. He pulled his linen shirt away from his body and threw himself down in the shade of a huge oak tree beside the pond. The ground was marginally cooler than the air or his body, but there were no signs that anyone was actually sleeping here at night, despite the suggestions of the authorities.
Skif wasn't surprised. The Watch probably was discouraging the poor from moving into the parks in this section of the city, even though there were more of them here than between the second and third walls. The Watch was answerable directly to the wealthy folk living here — as opposed to the Guard, which was answerable to the Crown. Even though they were not here to witness the poor camping out of a night in “their” park, not one of the moneyed lot who lived around here even wanted to consider the prospect. The local Watch probably had orders to clear out campers as fast as they arrived.
Skif turned his head to peer between bushes nearby, thinking he heard something. Some zealous Watchman, perhaps? If so, he'd better be prepared with a story about why he was here.
He had heard something, but it wasn't a member of the Watch.
There was a horse wandering loose around the park, taking nibbles out of the grass, sampling the flowers. It was a handsome creature, white as snow, and still wore a saddle and bridle. Reins dangled from the bridle — no, it was a bitless hackamore, he saw. No one would leave reins dangling like that — your horse could all too easily catch a leg in them, stumble, fall and perhaps break a leg.
But if you didn't tie the reins off properly when you left a horse waiting, the horse could jerk them loose and wander off, leaving them dangling just like these were.
For one wild moment, Skif thought — Is that a Companion?
But no — if it had been a Companion, there would certainly be a Herald somewhere about. And besides, the saddle and hackamore were old, very plain, well-worn. Everyone knew that Companions went about in elaborate blue-and-silver tack, with silver bridle bells and embroidered barding. There were plenty of white horses around that weren't Companions. It was something of an affectation in some fashionable sets to ride white horses, or have a carriage drawn by matched teams of them.
No, some idiot hadn't tied his horse properly. Or, far more likely given the worn state of the tack, some groom had taken his master's mare out for some exercise and had combined the chore with some errand of his own. He hadn't tied the horse up, and she'd pulled her reins loose and wandered away. That groom would be in a lot of trouble — but since there wasn't anyone combing the park looking for this beast, evidently he hadn't missed her yet.
Well, his loss was Skif's gain.
Working at the Priory had given him a lot more familiarity with horses than he'd had before. He'd even learned to ride. And faced with this opportunity for profit on four legs, he grinned broadly.
You're mine! he told the grazing mare. Lessee; horse fair's runnin' over on the east side. Or I kin take her out of the walls altogether an' sell her. Or I kin take her t'Priory an' collect th' reward when she shows up missin'….
The last option wasn't a bad notion, though the first was the real money maker.
The horse moved around the bushes and out of his sight; knowing that she was probably some high-strung well-bred beast, he got up slowly and began to stalk her. If he, a stranger, was going to catch her rather than spooking her, he'd have to catch her by surprise.
When she actually moved between two thick, untrimmed hedges, he could hardly believe his good luck. She couldn't have gotten into a better situation for him to corner her!
Knowing that a horse is averse to backing up, he ran around to the front of the hedges, and struck.
