Archer’s crew wasn’t quite what Briar had expected when he’d first appeared at her door and threatened to report her to the sheriff if she didn’t take the job. She watched them closely throughout the three-day journey. They seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company, chatting amiably as they traveled through the forest.
Briar tried not to be drawn in by their camaraderie. She didn’t yet have a single jar of paint to her name, leaving her vulnerable among the strangers. They appeared friendly enough, but she believed they really would cut her throat if she crossed them. She slept at the edge of camp every night and stayed alert for any sign she needed to flee. She figured she had a better chance of avoiding the authorities’ notice if she stayed with the group until she acquired new paints.
Briar had been to Mud Market three times since moving to Barden County, always to purchase the same rare pigment. The town was located at a crossroads where two highways met—or what passed for highways in that remote part of the kingdom—and it was within a day’s ride of the river separating the Larke and Barden territories. The highways usually had fewer people than the quieter side streets of the city where Briar grew up, but enough traffic passed through there to support a midsize trading outpost—and for highwaymen to ply their trade, apparently.
“Remember when we hit that noblewoman’s coach near here last spring?” Nat asked Lew the morning they expected to reach Mud Market. They had camped in a secluded glade near a large, hollowed-out oak tree they’d used as a supply drop. Briar was eating breakfast with the two thick-shouldered fellows, who shared tales of their exploits as the sun rose over the oak.
Lew sighed. “I’d never seen so many fine silks.” He adjusted his scratchy brown vest, patting the pocket where he kept his notebook. “That lady screamed like a bobcat when we stole the jewels off her neck, though.”
Nat grinned, displaying his crooked teeth. “I reckon she screamed louder than Esteban that time I put a snake in his bedroll.”
“Don’t remind me.” Lew groaned. “My ears are still smarting from that one.”
“What did you do with the lady’s jewels?” Briar asked.
“Sold ’em and split the profits, except what Archer kept,” Nat said.
Lew tipped his hat and strode off to tend to the horses while Nat lingered beside Briar as she finished her tea. The round-shouldered young lad had often ridden beside her over the past few days, and she recognized the signs of a youthful crush. He probably didn’t meet many younger ladies in his line of work. Nat was too young for Briar, but she was sensible enough to use his interest to learn more about the crew—and their perplexing leader.
“Nat, what did you mean by ‘what Archer kept’? He gets a bigger share than everyone else?”
“We all get a fair share of the take, but Archer saves an extra portion for the team. He’s bleedin’ organized too, always talking about investments and the like.” Nat puffed out his chest proudly. “That’s what happens when you get yourselves an educated crime boss.”
“Where was he educated?”
“Dunno,” Nat said. “I reckon Jemma was his teacher or something. They’ve known each other longer than the rest of us.”
Briar had noticed Archer’s erudite vocabulary, but he could have picked that up from listening in on his marks. His accent was difficult to pin down. Sometimes he sounded as if he could be a prosperous merchant’s son, and other times he sounded as if he’d grown up working a fishing vessel out of Chalk Port.
She leaned toward Nat. “How did you meet them?”
“Mud Market. I was looking to get into the criminal business, you see. It sure beats raising pigs out by the border.”
“And you just asked around for gangs of thieves who might be hiring?”
“Not quite. Archer caught me trying to pick his pocket.” Nat grinned at the memory. “I thought my blood was going to spill right there in the street, but then Archer says, ‘You seem like an enterprising fellow. How would you like a job?’ So I say, ‘I don’t know what enterprising means, but if you’ll teach me a trick or two and promise not to slit my throat, I’m in.’ Then Archer says, ‘That’s enterprising enough for me. You’re hired.’”
“How old were you?”
“That was two years ago, so fourteen.” Nat picked at a loose string on his patchwork coat. “Archer himself ain’t much older than twenty, I reckon, but he tells folks he’s twenty-four. I seen him when he was barely shaving, so I know the truth.”
Briar poured herself another cup of tea, pondering the information. “Why is he in charge instead of Jemma or Lew?”
“I wondered the same thing in the beginning,” Nat said. “You’ll come to understand it soon enough. Jemma’s got the smarts, but Archer’s got ’em, too, and he’s got a certain kind of vision, we like to say.”
Briar was about to ask what Nat meant, but she realized she didn’t have to. Wherever Archer had come from, he gave the impression he knew exactly where he was going. Whether the adventure or the money or the challenge was driving him, she didn’t doubt he saw the way ahead clearly.
“And Lew?”
Nat shrugged. “I reckon Lew would rather work the land back in Twickenridge than take what others’ve earnt, but he’d never leave Jemma, and he’s a good man in a fight.”
“Do you fight often?”
“More than we ought to and
