A young boy with a lamp he'd probably stolen from a ship or a lax harbor resident called out an offer to guide the sailor and the serving wench through the shadows to their destination. The sailor turned the boy's offer down with a snarling bit of vituperation as the serving wench led him away.
'Good sirs,' the boy with the lantern said again, approaching Cerril and his group, 'mayhap you'd like a lantern to light your way home this night. For only-'
Then the lantern's cheery glow washed over Cerril and the others, drawing their pale, wan features from the alley's shadows. Cerril grinned and took a threatening step forward, his knife glinting in the lantern light.
'By the pits!' the boy exclaimed, backpedaling a short distance before turning around and running away. The lantern swung wildly at the end of his arm, threading shadows across the two- and three-story buildings fronting the harbor.
'Well,' Two-Fingers drawled, 'at least you can still scare the local peasants.'
Cerril turned to face the other boy. Even large as he was, Two-Fingers still towered over him. Cerril had always disliked that about the other boy, but Two-Fingers's size had allowed him to step into some of the seamier dives around Alagh?n and purchase the occasional bucket of ale the group sometimes shared.
'I can scare more than that,' Cerril warned, still holding the knife.
A hint of worry crossed Two-Fingers's face.
'You'd better say it, Two-Fingers,' Cerril ordered, the back of his neck burning at the anger that swirled inside him. 'You'd better say I can scare more than that. Otherwise I'm going to make sure you only got two fingers on the other hand as well.'
That threat of further crippling made Two-Fingers step back into the shadows. After he'd lost the half of his hand while working with his fisherman father, Two-Fingers had been thrown out of the house. There were eight other kids in the household to feed, and having a cripple around wasn't going to improve the family's lot any.
Cerril took a step, going after the other boy. 'Say it, Two-Fingers,' he ordered again. 'Say it or I'll make you sorry.'
Two-Fingers backed up against the wall, trapped between a pile of refuse and a nearly full slop bucket from the bathhouse on one side of the alley. He swallowed hard.
'You can,' Two-Fingers whispered hoarsely. 'You can scare more than that.'
His eyes flicked nervously from Cerril's face to the knife in his hand.
Cerril knew the other boys gazed on in naked excitement. Nothing held their interest more than violence, especially when it was directed at someone else.
'Cerril,' Kerrin called out in an anxious whisper. 'There's your sister.'
The other boy's words drew Cerril's attention. He gave Two-Fingers a quick, cold smile.
'Just you mark my words, Two-Fingers. I'm not going to put up with being questioned.'
'I won't question you again, Cerril. I swear.'
Two-Fingers touched his maimed hand to his chest. Most of his pride and spirit had gone with those missing fingers, and his father kicking him out of the house had robbed the tall boy of whatever hadn't been taken by the accident.
'If you do,' Cerril said, unable to leave it alone, 'you'll be back to hiring yourself out to them old sailors.'
Two-Fingers's face flushed with rage and shame. All that had been a year ago, before Cerril had accepted him into their group. No one ever spoke of that time again. At least, not to Two-Fingers's face. Cerril didn't allow it.
In the beginning, Two-Fingers had been deathly loyal to Cerril for letting him join the gang. It meant he got to eat without selling himself. The other boys stole food from their own homes and brought it to him in the streets. Cerril had established that routine as well. As hard as he was on them, Cerril also took care of them.
'Cerril,' Kerrin called again. He waved frantically. 'It's your sister.'
Blowing out an irritated breath, Cerril turned from Two-Fingers and quickly joined Kerrin at the front of the alley again. He pressed himself against the wall and hid in the shadows.
'So do you think this man has gold?' Hekkel asked again.
Cerril resisted the impulse to cuff the younger boy again. Hekkel's thoughts invariably turned to gold. Before he'd been slain by a thief, Hekkel's father had been a jeweler in Alagh?n's Merchant District. When Hekkel's father was alive, the family lived in a fine house, and members of the Assembly of Stars-the freely elected ruling body of Turmish-had shopped there. That was six years ago, and Hekkel's family had discovered that the city wasn't generous to widows and half-grown children. Hekkel remained convinced that gold could change someone's life. He was living proof that not having it could change lives, too.
As for himself, Cerril knew that having gold only changed a person's life as long as that person had gold and spent it freely. Gold seldom came his way, but he took the coppers and the occasional silver without complaint. Unfortunately, coppers and the occasional silver spent quickly.
'Do you see your sister?' Hekkel asked from behind Cerril.
'Yes,' Cerril growled. 'Now shut up before I have Two-Fingers bust your nose for you.' He said the last because he knew it would give Two-Fingers back some of his self-respect and standing among the group.
'Just let me know when you need it done, Cerril,' Two-Fingers offered. 'I'll smash the little bastard's nose good and proper.'
Cerril ignored them, seeking out Imareen at the back of Elkor's Brazen Trumpet just across the broad cobblestone street leading down to the docks and shipyards. His sister, fathered by another sailor than the one who had fathered Cerril, stood limned in the shadow of the alley behind the tavern.
Imareen's thin, straight figure rarely drew even the drunkest sailor's eye, but she was one of the fastest serving wenches in the city. She'd inherited her lashing tongue from their mother, and her skill with verbal abuse was legendary. Cooks and merchants feared her, and the small bit of power given her by Elkor himself sometimes went to her head.
But Elkor didn't increase her tenday draw at the tavern, and all the other serving wenches at the Brazen Trumpet got large tips. When Cerril had suggested that he and his band would reward her for pointing out potential robbery victims, Imareen had hesitated only momentarily. They'd been working together the last four months.
Imareen had let them know that a man-alone, deeply in his cups, and possessing at least a little in the way of gold or silver-was at one of the tables nearly an hour ago.
An hour, Cerril thought in quick anticipation, is more than enough time for a single drinker to get drunk.
Covering his excitement, Cerril whispered, 'Stay here,' to the others, then stepped out of the alley and crossed the street.
A dwarven wagon driver rattled across the street from around the nearest corner before Cerril got halfway across. Cerril had to scramble to avoid being hit. The stench of the sweating horses filled his nose.
The dwarf didn't mark his wagon with a lantern or a torch. That, plus the fact that the dwarf whipped the horses and cursed at them, led the young thief to believe the dwarf was about a bit of foul business as well.
The black markets throughout Alagh?n had increased since the Inner Sea War had taken place, and Cerril had occasionally managed to hire his group to hard-knuckled merchants as lookouts. The pay for the work they did was meager, but it also marked targets they considered and sometimes went back to rob.
Cerril's heart beat rapidly with anticipation as he joined Imareen at the back of the tavern. There was nothing better than being a thief in Alagh?n. At least, not to his way of thinking.
'Hurry, you damned child,' Imareen chided.
That was their mother's voice, Cerril knew. The tone and the words rankled him, but he managed to ignore them for the moment. He jogged to the back of the tavern and joined his sister.
The fragrant aroma of pipeweed clung to Imareen's hair and clothing. Cerril enjoyed the smell, and when he had coins enough, he often indulged in the habit himself. Of course, if his mother found his small store of pipeweed she kept it for herself, chiding him for experimenting with such a vice-and she said all that with a plume of smoke wreathing her head.
Imareen emptied a slop bucket onto the alley. The splashing noise of the liquid striking the hardpan startled a cat rummaging through a pile of refuse behind the tavern. The feline leaped into the air and dashed up the sagging fence marking the alley's end. Despite her authority with the cooks and the merchants, Elkor still expected her to empty out the privies.
The stench of the slop filled the alley, turning the still air thick and tickling Cerril's nose into a sneeze.
