~by Catherine Thompson~

Cat moved through the crowd, keeping her eyes averted from the action in the ring. She couldn't plug her ears, however; the snarls and yelps assaulted her, turning her stomach. The cheering of the audience made it worse, brought bile into her mouth. She could almost hate Dirk for assigning her to the dog-fights.

She found a place at the back where she could observe without being seen, still silently cursing her master. Dirk knew she loathed the fights, but he persisted in sending her. "You can't be squeamish," he'd told her when she had complained. "You'll see a lot worse--hells below, you'll do a lot worse before you're made a master. The world is ugly, Kit, and the sooner you realize that, the better."

Cat knew Dirk was right; no thief could afford to be sensitive. She had thought that any finer feeling had been beaten out of her by Varas' horsewhip, but her visceral reaction to the cruelty here proved otherwise.

She sighed. She was here to do a job, and do it she would. The pit was among the best places to pick pockets and gather information. Dirk had heard faint rumblings of something afoot, but so far, no solid information had come the Guild's way. Dirk had dispatched Cat to find some.

A roar went up from the crowd, equal parts triumph and dismay. Despite herself, Cat glanced into the ring. A large, muscular dog, its brindled coat marred by old scars and fresh blood, had its teeth deep in the throat of its opponent, a small grey mongrel. The grey dog stared at the audience with bewildered eyes. Those eyes found Cat's; the young thief turned away quickly, clenching her jaw to stop herself from crying out in sympathy.

By the time she had managed to compose herself and face the ring again, Cat found two new combatants, a pair of doughty-looking bull terriers. The brindled victor of the last match stood with its master on the far side of the ring, having its wounds tended; the loser's limp corpse had already been removed. She felt queasy again at the thought.

" . . . shouldn't have been in the ring!"

Mastering her stomach, Cat focussed on the man speaking these words. He wore the rich silks and brocades of a courtier, but he looked decidedly dishevelled. From the way he ranted at the impassive figure in rough homespun before him, Cat guessed he had wagered a goodly amount on the shaggy cur in the last fight. "You cheated me!" he finished his tirade in the time-honoured manner of the sore loser.

Cat ground her teeth, fighting the urge to shout at him. She hoped he'd lost enough on the bet to put a hole in his clothing budget. The thought of this dandy reduced to rags almost made her smile. The bookmaker put a friendly arm around the courtier's shoulders, but Cat could see how the thick fingers pinched the man's neck. "Orrin, I think there's been a misunderstanding," he said in a voice of velvet-coated steel. "I never said the dog would win."

"You said he had a chance." Orrin tried to squirm out of the bookie's grip. The bigger man pinched harder. "That's right," he said. "There's always a chance the other dog will drop dead before it enters the ring." He let go, and Orrin stepped back, hunching his shoulders in anticipation of another assault. "I have Lord Rhodan's ear," the courtier snarled. "He can have this operation shut down!"

Cat knew that Orrin's threat was as empty as last night's ale-keg. So did the bookmaker. "He could," he said, "but I don't think he will. Certainly not on your word." He fixed the courtier with a baleful eye. "Now get out, Orrin, before Rhodan has your ear. In a box." His hand had settled on the long knife belted to his side; Cat had seen him use it to put mortally-wounded dogs out of their misery. Orrin no doubt had seen that himself, for he shrank away and disappeared into the crowd.

Cat moved on, storing the scene for her report to Dirk. She would remember every detail, down to the colour of the stone in Orrin's ring. It was all part of her training, and yet another reason why her master sent her to places like this.

She drifted through the crowd, relieving the odd pocket of its burden. One of her favourite tricks was to remove a few coins from a purse, then replace the purse without the victim being aware of it. Dirkhan had warned her about the trick's flamboyance, that one day she'd be caught, but Cat had seen him watching her and smiling.

The information she gleaned along with the coins didn't impress her. Arcadia barracks had begun another "recruitment drive," meaning every family with a lad over the age of ten were trying to find out-of-town relatives to keep their sons. A raft of emissaries had arrived in town over the last few weeks, though no-one seemed to know why or from where. Rumours abounded: Rhodan was breeding dragons in the castle keep; the castle's moat was home to strange beasts, the results of experiments gone awry; the lord of Arcadia had found a way to raise an army of the dead. Cat scoffed at the gossip. Rhodan was a warlock; everyone knew that. Hell, every fourth person on the street these days seemed to have some sort of magical ability.

Towards the end of the night's revelry, Cat caught a glimpse of someone she recognized and slipped back into a shadowed corner. If there had been such a rank as journeyman among the Guild, Sendan would have been one such. His work for the Thieves' Guild had been competent but hardly spectacular; unlike Ramsall or Conor, he was not someone whose exploits would often be retold around the hearth. He had a pleasant nature, though, and Cat liked him--most of the apprentices did. He carried sweets in his pockets for the youngsters, and he had a great store of funny tales and riddles. Cat didn't understand why he was here, but something told her to watch him.

Sendan stood on the fringes of the crowd. A well-dressed man approached him; Cat was too far away to hear their exchange, but she saw them leave by a side door. Curious what business these two could have together, Cat waited half a minute before following, taking a different exit. By the time she spotted them again, in the alley, the well-dressed man was leaving, leading a fair-haired girl no more than thirteen by the hand. Sendan appeared to pocket something before he turned and walked in Cat's direction.

Cat fled for the relative safety of the dog-fight arena. She scooted through the door by which she had left just ahead of Sendan's footsteps. Turning, she bumped into someone standing inside.

"Hullo, Kit."

Cat looked up, startled. Ramsall smiled at her. "Didn't take you for a fight-goer," he said quietly, grasping her arm. "C'mon." He walked her around the thinning crowd to the front door.

"Dirk sent me," Cat told him once they were out in the cool night air. Ramsall nodded. "Yeah, that's an old favourite," he said. "Used to send me all the time when I was his 'prentice. Learn anything useful?"

"Never bet on a small dog." She described the scene between Orrin and the bookmaker. Ramsall chuckled when she got to the part about the ears. "What've you heard?" Cat asked when she had finished her tale. Ramsall glanced around the street; Cat did likewise, checking for patrols. "Things," he replied. Cat knew enough to leave it lie. Ram led her into a back lane; she knew it well and kept pace with him. Before long, they had reached the back door of the Ragged Tiger, the inn owned by another Guild-member. Lars was behind the bar when they entered; he barely glanced their way, a sign that all was well and they could enter the Guildhall below.

As they trod the stone steps, Cat mulled over the scene outside the dog-fights. She knew what it had looked like; a shudder ran through her at the thought. She couldn't believe that pleasant Sendan would sell children, though, and tried to come up with a plausible explanation for what she had seen.

"Why so quiet, Kit?" Ramsall's voice broke into her thoughts. Cat started. "Hm? Oh, er, no reason." she said. They had reached a fork in the tunnel system, and she turned to the branch that would lead her to Dirkhan's meeting-chamber. When Ram took the other, Cat said, "Aren't you going to report in?"

"Nothing to report just yet," he replied. "You'd better get along, though. Dirk'll want to hear that story." He grinned and melted into the darkness.

Dirkhan listened to her report, nodding from time to time. He dismissed Orrin with a grunt. "I know of that one," he said. "Talks big, that's all. So nothing solid?"

"No, sir."

Dirk drummed lithe fingers on the arm of his ornate chair. "Wish I knew what in the seven Hells is with all those emissaries. We can't seem to get a line on any of 'em. They come by night and leave the same way--if they're leaving at all." After a moment, he glanced at her. "Is there anything else?" Cat considered telling him about Sendan, but instead merely shook her head. "Then get yourself home, lad."

Cat spent sleepless hours wondering what to do about Sendan. After another unsuccessful intelligence-gathering foray, this one into a gambling-den, Cat slipped into the Guildhall by one of the hidden entrances, nodding a greeting to the guard inside. On her way to report to her master, she encountered Ramsall heading out. "Well met, young Kit," said Ram with a grin. "Dirk certainly keeps you busy."

"Yeah," Cat replied, but without an answering smile. Ramsall sobered. "What's the matter, Kit? Something's been troubling you for a while now." He fell into step with her. Cat started to deny it, then changed her mind. "Ram," she said, not looking at him, "what if . . . what if you saw someone doing something wrong?"

Ramsall paused mid-stride. "Who?"

"Sendan," she whispered.

"What'd you see, lad?" Ram asked. Cat described what she had witnessed outside the dog-fights. "I don't want to believe it--Sendan's a nice guy--but I can't explain it any other way," she finished. "I don't know what to do, Ram."

Ramsall was quiet for a time. "Kit, how long have you been with us?" he asked at last.

"Nearly four years."

"So you're . . . what, fifteen?"

"Fourteen." The lie was more natural to her than the truth now.

"You're almost a man now," Ram observed, "and you know our ways better than some. What do you think you should do?"

Cat pondered a moment. "How much proof d'you have?" Ram encouraged.

"None but what my eyes gave me."

"And what would Dirk say to that?"

Cat looked up at Ramsall. "He'd want solid evidence."

Ram smiled at her. "Exactly."

~*~

Cat followed Sendan at a discreet distance. It hadn't been difficult to tail him; he tended to frequent the same places to which Dirk assigned her. She could keep an eye on Sendan and discharge her duty to her master at the same time. This night, they made a return visit to the dog-fights.

Sendan strolled along the edges of the boisterous crowd. He paused after a time; to Cat, it looked as though he was waiting for someone. The someone had a familiar face: Orrin the courtier appeared from somewhere in the crowd.

Keeping to the shadows, Cat edged closer so she could hear their conversation. " . . . for me tonight?" Orrin was asking.

"A fine bay filly," Sendan replied. "Halter-trained, but not yet ridden. She'll make an excellent gentleman's mount, mark my words."

"She'd better, the price I'm paying for her," Orrin grumbled.

"Come see for yourself." Sendan led the courtier through a side door. Cat followed, pausing just long enough. She slid around the corner into the alley and ducked behind a rain-barrel. Sendan held a girl no older than eleven by the hand, turning her around before Orrin's appraising gaze. She had a bronze cast to her skin and long black hair. A fine bay filly . . . Cat almost lost her dinner right there.

Orrin examined the child exactly as he would a horse. "She'll do," he announced. Sendan handed the girl over; Orrin dropped coins into his outstretched palm, then led the girl away.

Cat was at Sendan's back in a moment, dagger drawn; she put her blade to his neck. "I should slit your throat right now," she growled between clenched teeth.

"Kit?" Sendan sounded more startled than alarmed. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough," Cat said. "Enough that I'd be justified in using your liver for a sheath. But I won't. I'll leave it up to the Guildmaster to decide your fate." She stepped away from the man, but didn't sheath her knife. Sendan turned; she saw fear in his eyes. "Look, Kit, I'll cut you in. Just don't report this." He held out his handful of coins; they shone gold in the dark.

Cat sneered at him. "You expect to buy my silence?"

Sendan shrugged. "Everything has its price."

"Not me."

"Bollocks!" Sendan snorted. "You're just like me, Kit."

"How am I like you?" Cat didn't try to hide her outrage. "I would never do what you've done. I may be a thief, but I've some honour yet." She turned and walked away from him.

Sendan let out a hollow laugh; she could hear the dread and despair in the sound. "Honour, is it? How much honour is there in grassing on one of your brothers?" Cat kept walking. Sendan raised his voice as much as he dared. "No-one will ever trust you again, Kit!"

Cat felt his words as physical blows. She turned, anger darkening her grey-blue eyes. "There are some laws even we don't break."

"I'll deny every word!" Sendan sounded desperate now. "You know what they'll do to me, Kit--please!" he begged.

Cat knew that Guild justice was swift and summary; that knowledge didn't stop her from giving her evidence at the tribunal. The trial was short; the sentence, shorter.

Cat remained in Dirk's meeting-chamber afterwards. Sendan had tried to bargain with Dirkhan, but Ramsall and Conor had dragged him from the room. She wondered what lies Sendan would have told to try to save his life.

Dirk returned. Cat watched him wash the blood from his hands and dry them on a rag. He turned to her. "I'm sorry you got caught up in this, Kit," he said. He rested his hip against the table, since she sat in his chair. "I'd suspected Sendan was up to something, but I couldn't prove it."

Realization dawned on her. "You--you used me to get evidence on Sendan," she whispered.

"Kit--"

"You and Ramsall both!"

"Kit." Dirk grabbed her by the shoulders and sat her down again when she leapt from her seat. "You're my apprentice; you do as I tell you." He softened his tone. "Ram suggested it. You're known as an honest lad; your evidence would be accepted without question. If it's any consolation, I didn't like using you."

Cat pulled away from him. "It's not." She rose from her chair. Dirk reached out to her again; she stepped back. "I need to be alone right now."

Dirk wore a grave expression. "I'm sorry, Kit."

"I can forgive Ram," Cat said. "I'm not so sure about you." She left the room and found herself running from the Guildhall.

© Catherine Thompson, 2002. All rights reserved.

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