Pinch, master of thieves, living his derring-do life in the slums and back alleys. By the time he rode through the gates, the ragtag scoundrel was nearly gone. In his place rode a man identical in dress, one who had invisibly traded places during the two-hour ride.
It was Janol, royal ward of the late King Manferic I, or at least some part of him that Pinch had not forgotten, who sat straight in his saddle, giving a supercilious nod to the liveried watchmen who stood at their parade best as the Lord Chamberlain and company rode underneath the whitewashed stone arch of the Thornwash gate.
There was one thing that was no different for Pinch or Janol, no matter his position. As either, the rogue felt power. These guards feared and respected men higher than them: the chamberlain, Janol, even the palace's elite bodyguard. It was the same awe and terror Pinch commanded from the thieves and constables of Elturel. There was in the common folk, he was certain, an innate sense of their betters. Even his gang understood it, though none of them might ever admit it.
To the hoarse cries of the sergeant, bellowing their procession over the squalls of the fruit sellers and the enticements of the fest queens, the company rode as directly toward the palace as the interwoven streets of Ankhapur allowed.
This morning, Ankhapur was alive early with the hurly-burly of market day. Pushcarts rocked like overloaded ferries in the sea of heads, their decks loaded with the glinting round flesh of fall squashes. Tides of serving-cooks and housemaids rippled from one stand to the next all down the shores of the streets. Chains of fishmongers heaved dripping baskets from the boats along the river, their still-twitching contents disappearing into the eager crowd. Children stole fruits and leapt over the smoky fires of the kaff-brewers, who sat cross-legged on their mats, pounding bark to steep in brass pots. The scent of that strongly bitter beverage made Pinch yearn for its rich sourness mixed with honey, a drink he'd not had in his fifteen years of self-exile.
Sated with musing, since too much reflection made a man weak and hesitant to act, Pinch leaned in his saddle toward Therin so that he did not need to shout. 'Welcome to home.'
The Gur shifted nervously in his own saddle while trying to negotiate his skittish horse through the throng. 'Your home, maybe. It's just another ken to me. Although,' he added with a smile and wave to the crowd, 'one filled with opportunity. Look at all the coneys and marks out there.'
'Mind your hands with caution, boy. Take some time to walk the field before you bowl the pins. Besides our game's up there, not in these stews.'
Therin's eyes followed where Pinch pointed, to the clean, scrubbed walls that cut the commoners from their masters, the king's palace at the top of the hill.
'Piss and Ilmater's blood!' the enforcer breathed. 'Sprite, Maeve-he's serious. He means to have us all in!'
'Gods' wounds, I ain't ever forced a ken like that in all my time,' the halfling swore, half-hidden on Therin's other side. 'Think of all the plate and treasures sure to be inside.'
Because Pinch couldn't, Therin took the pleasure of fiercely berating the little scoundrel with a mindful thump to his shoulder. 'Think of the headsman's axe too, you lusker, and let that sink on your wicked heart. Remember our warning of last night.'
Sprite did his best to look wounded, but it was to naught on his companions. Further debate on the topic was broken by the need to negotiate an island of wagons that split the flow.
Pinch looked about the rest of the way, marveling at the similarity of the differences he saw. On that corner he remembered a saddler's shop; the building was the same but now it housed an ordinary from which wafted the smell of richly roasted meat. The great square where he used to practice riding was now adorned with an equestrian statue of his late guardian.
The sculptor had been good at capturing old Manferic's likeness, the flaring beard and the leonine mane of the king's regal head. He had molded into the face a sinister and scowling visage that well conveyed the king's savage love of intrigue, though Pinch felt the sculptor had been too kind by a half. In his saddle, the bronze king held the Knife and Cup, Ankhapur's symbols of royal power, as if he still owned them even in death. The Cup was raised in one hand for a bitter toast, while with his other the statue-sovereign thrust the Knife at those who stared up from his feet.
'Stand open for the Lord Chamberlain Cleedis, Regent of the Assumption!' the captain demanded as the column drew up at the gate.
There was a scurry of movement on the palace's ornamental battlement, and then a herald stepped between the merlons and replied over the clank and rattle from behind the doors. 'Welcome is the return of our sovereign lord and joyous are we at his safety. The princes four wait upon his pleasure and would fain wish to greet him.'
Cleedis, whom Pinch now rode beside, smiled his acceptance of this formality, but from the corner of his mouth he added an aside that only his guest could hear. 'Three of those princes would fain see me dead. That's what they were truly hoping.'
'Perhaps it could be arranged.'
The warhorse-turned-statesman barely raised an eyebrow at that. 'Not well advised.'
A white dog ran before the gate. Pinch noted it, though it was completely unimportant. The incongruity of it caught his eye, the mongrel's unmarred coat against the scrubby gray of faded whitewash. 'You've got me here without a hold. Do you think I care enough about those three you dragged along with me to toe your line? Kill them if you want. I can always find more.' The footpad scratched at a dried patch of dirt on his cheek.
Cleedis glanced back at the trio, squabbling among themselves. 'What do I care about them? I have you.'
'If you kill me, your outing's been a waste.'
'Still think I'm an old fool, don't you, Janol?' With a grin the chamberlain prodded Pinch with his sheathed sword. 'You're as replaceable as they are. Let's just say I had some hope of bringing you back into the fold. Besides, you're more convenient, seeing as you know the ground of the battlefield.'
While he spoke, the brass embossed gates cracked with a faint burst of sparkling motes as the magical wards placed on them were released. The doors swung into a shadowed arch lined by royal bodyguards, resplendent in wine-and-yellow livery.
Just as the horses were about to move, Cleedis's bare blade slapped across Pinch's reins. 'One more thing, Master Janol.' And then the chamberlain ordered his aide, 'Bring the priestess here.'
In short order she trotted her stallion to their side. Cleedis slid the blade away and pretended not to have a thing more to say to Pinch, even though the rogue knew every word was for his own benefit. The old man's crabbed body shriveled even more as he gave a perfunctory nod from the saddle.
'Greetings, Worthy. Here is where we must part anon, you to your superiors and I to affairs of state. I wish you to understand that I, Lord Chamberlain, know you seek a thief and extend my hand in any way I might to give you success. Should I learn any morsel that would aid your duty, it will be faithfully brought to you.'
'Your lordship is most generous,' Lissa murmured as she bowed stiffly in her rigid armor.
The old noble made slight acceptance of her obeisance and continued. 'Let our contact not be all duty, though. In these days, I have been charmed by your company. You must consider yourself a guest in my household. I will arrange an apartment for you in the palace. Accept, milady. The approval of your superiors is already assured.'
Lissa blushed, a freckled shade against her curled hair. 'I'm… I'm honored, Lord Chamberlain, but surely one of my masters here would be of better standing. I've no knowledge of courtly things.'
'Precisely my goal-a refreshing bit of air. Besides, your superiors are crushing bores. Now, forward men!' With a cavalryman's bellow, he set the whole column in motion, leaving the flustered priestess behind.
As they passed under the gate, the Lord Chamberlain spoke, as if things were of no consequence. 'Priests lead such limited, suppressed lives. All those passions and thoughts, penned up in such rigorous souls. If their passions were given free reign, can you imagine the types of punishments priests could devise for apostates and blasphemers? Fascinating possibilities. I think I'll keep the worthy Lissa close at hand.'
The chamberlain said nothing more as the entourage passed through the outer palace, exchanged escorts, passed gates, crossed courtyards, and finally entered the cream-white compound of the inner palace. By this time, Maeve and the others were agoggle. They had passed servants in better finery than most of the freemen they knew. In their world, they had seen only glimpses of this life through keyholes, by scrambling through windows, and in the tumbled mass of their booty. Pinch wondered just how well they would be able to restrain their larcenous
