by Catherine Thompson

Ramsall pulled himself onto the roof of the Ragged Tiger with practised ease. "Thought I might find you here, Kit," he said to the young apprentice sitting with his back against the chimney.

Kit looked up, and a grin emerged from beneath the brim of his cap. "Hiya, Ram," he said.

Ramsall soft-footed across the slates and settled down next to him. "Here," he said, offering Kit a handful of warm chestnuts. "Lars's roasting them by the panful." Kit took the nuts with a word of thanks, peeling off the shells and popping them into his mouth one after another. Ramsall watched, drawing a few out of his other pocket and following suit. "So what brings you up here?"

Kit nodded. "The view," he said. "From here, I can see the whole town. Well," he glanced at Ram again and smiled, "almost."

"So you're, what, planning your next big heist?" Ram joked. Kit giggled. "Plotting escape routes," he responded. He sighed. "I just like it up here. I've always liked high places," he said. Popping another chestnut into his mouth, he chuckled. "When I was a kid, I was always climbing out onto the roof of Saint Br--" He stopped suddenly; Ramsall gave him a sharp look. "Saint Brendan's," Kit continued.

"Orphanage?" Ram queried gently. Even though Kit had been an apprentice for three years now, he knew little about the lad's life before Dirkhan had brought him into the Guild. Kit shook his head, then shrugged. "'Home for Wayward Boys' was how they put it, but yeah, orphanage 'bout sums it up. Run by the Brothers at the monastery hard by the place."

Ramsall nodded, but didn't comment. He'd never heard of this St. Brendan's--he knew of a St. Bridget's Abbey in Ashby--but he'd no doubt of the sorts of things that went on in such a place. He could easily imagine that a small, delicate-featured lad like Kit would have been a popular target.

Kit turned to him now, grey-blue eyes lost in shadow. "But what brings you up here?" he said. "I'd've thought you'd be out on a job."

Ram shrugged. "A man's entitled to a break every now and again. The Guild's made a pretty penny off me in the last few weeks."

Kit crept a bit closer. "Did you have anything to do with the heist at Margrave's?"

Ram smiled. "Maybe ..."

Kit punched his shoulder, crowing, "I knew it was you! No one else would've dared take the Jewel of the Sun right off old Margrave!"

"Well, he was asleep," Ramsall said, pretending to examine his fingernails.

"Yeah, with his mistress," Kit responded. He laughed. "You've got more balls than a three-handed juggler." Ram couldn't help but laugh, too.

A noise from the street caught his attention. He put a cautionary finger to his lips; Kit quietened, going from relaxed to tense in an instant. Ram eased over to the edge of the roof and peered down. A pair of guards stood on the steps to the inn, talking in quiet voices and puffing on pipes. Ramsall reasoned they were off-duty; they wore leather armour but no chain-mail, and he saw no evidence of the other three soldiers that would have made up the patrol unit. After a moment, the soldiers left, heading in the general direction of the barracks.

Ram gave Kit the "all-clear," then explained what he'd seen. "We'd best go down below," he concluded. Kit nodded agreement and followed Ramsall across the slates to the far side of the roof.

Ram climbed down from the roof, then turned to help Kit. The apprentice thief had already landed, though, by the time he stretched out a hand. Kit grinned at him, a bit cockily, he thought. "Told you, I've had lots of practice," the lad said, darting into the shadows that concealed the Ragged Tiger's back entrance. Ram smiled to himself as he followed.

He found Kit with Dirkhan in the Great Room. The brazier had been lit against the chill. They stood next to it, Dirk grinning at his apprentice as the lad spoke to him. Ramsall hung back, watching. The Guildmaster seemed especially fond of this 'prentice. Ram hadn't noticed before, but now he saw a certain expression in Dirk's black eyes, an almost paternal joy.

Dirk looked up; his grin faded into a jovial smile. "Hello, Ram," he said. "Kit was just telling me how you kept him from the clutches of--what was it, Kit? Two or three patrols?" Kit giggled. "I didn't exaggerate that much," he said. He straightened his spine into a military posture. "Two soldiers, sir, outside the inn, sir." His snappy salute was spoiled by the broad grin the lad wore. Dirk pulled the brim of the cap down over Kit's eyes. "You've an assignment, lad," he reminded.

Kit set his cap back. "Yes, sir."

"Then off with you." The lad nodded and hurried into the corridor. As his footsteps dwindled, Dirkhan turned to Ramsall. "The delivery's tonight?" he asked. Ram nodded. "Good," said Dirk; Ram caught an almost imperceptible sense of relief. A grin tugged half his mouth upwards. "You don't believe those tales about it, do you?"

"Of course not," the Guildmaster denied. "I just don't like having swag that distinctive lying about." Ramsall nodded. Dirkhan held no truck with superstitions. Ram wasn't about to tell him of the peculiar sensations he'd felt while holding the Jewel of the Sun. Then again, perhaps Dirk had felt them, too; it was enough to make the most sensible of men believe in its powers.

"The exchange is at midnight," Ram added, pulling a face at the dramatics he'd been forced into, "so I've got a few hours to scout the place, make sure Margrave hasn't got wind of it and sent a few of his bully-boys along."

It was Dirk's turn to nod. "Be careful, Ram," the Guildmaster advised. He didn't need to say more. "Yes, sir," Ramsall said.

He followed Dirkhan to the Guildmaster's meeting-chamber. Inside, Dirk went to an alcove. After a moment, he beckoned Ramsall. "Your key," Dirk said. Ram produced a slim bronze key. Dirk held an identical one. Together, they slid the keys into matched locks on an ironbound chest. Lifting the lid, Dirk removed a cloth-wrapped item and handed it to Ramsall. "Full purses on your way," he said. Ram gave him a single nod. "Full purses," he responded. He put the object into a leather pouch, which he then slipped inside his shirt before making his way out of the Guildhall.

Margrave didn't really concern Ramsall. The old man was certain to know who wanted his little bauble, and chances were he wouldn't try too hard to get it back. Ram was more worried about being seen by one of his Guildmates.

He spent his time watching the doorway of the gaming-house from the shadows of an alley opposite. Several of his brother-thieves passed the place, but only one entered. He smiled, recognizing Kit's wiry form. No doubt several purses would leave the place considerably lighter, and not just from losses at the tables.

Midnight came. Kit had gone long ago; Ram had seen the lad slip out a side door and into the dark. At last, he spied the man he'd been awaiting. Slight of build, not much taller than Kit, he wore the fine livery of the court, though at the moment he was attempting to conceal his clothing with a drab cloak. He stood on the steps of the building, peering into the night.

Ram gave the pre-arranged signal, a light rap on the cobblestones as of a roof-tile falling. The courtier glanced up and down the street, then crossed. He would have walked past the alley where Ramsall waited if the thief hadn't caught him by the cloak. "Careless, Orrin," he whispered. "Your master wouldn't like that."

"Have you got it?" Orrin demanded, stepping into the alley with the thief. Ramsall touched the bundle beneath his shirt, then held out his hand. In response, the courtier pulled a bulging leather purse from under his cloak. Ramsall smiled, reaching for the purse as he handed over the bundle.

Orrin started to unwrap the package. Ram watched. "Do you doubt me?"

"You're a thief," Orrin said bluntly.

"And you're a courtier, but I won't hold that against you."

Orrin ignored the jibe, peeling back the final layers of linen. "The Jewel of the Sun," he breathed. He held the yellow gem, set in a sunburst of gold, up to the pale moonlight. Ramsall kept one eye on the man as he counted the contents of the purse. Orrin's thin, pale face was suffused with blood; avarice gleamed in his eyes. "Mind yourself," he warned the courtier. "Your master won't like it if he finds you've been playing with his toys.

Orrin managed a sneer. "You think this is a mere trinket?" Ram shrugged. "The Jewel of the Sun may help find the next Lady Rhodan," the courtier boasted.

Ramsall raised an eyebrow. He'd heard the rumours, that Rhodan sought the one foretold to be his wife. The prophecy called her "the lamb raised by wolves," or so it was said. No one understood the prophecy, at least not that Ram had heard. He shrugged again. "Well, more power to him, then," he said with a sardonic grin. "You know how to reach me, should his lordship need aught else." He raised the purse in salute.

A step behind them made him pause. He shot Orrin a look, but the courtier was turning towards the noise. A man emerged from the shadows beyond, leading a brown-haired girl of not more than ten years. "Here you are, guv," the man began, hailing Orrin. He stopped, seeing Ramsall. Ram watched his eyes dart from the girl to Orrin, who'd begun to blush a crimson to match his doublet, to the purse. The man grinned. "Hullo, Ram. Fancy meeting you here."

Ramsall put the purse inside his shirt and nodded to the girl, crowding against the man's leg. "Nice little sideline you've got, Sendan." He looked at Orrin. "My--my Lord Rhodan--" the courtier stammered. Ram curled his lip in disgust. "Yes, his lordship," he muttered. He turned his gaze back to Sendan. "I never saw you."

"Likewise," replied Sendan, and Ramsall left him and Orrin to their business.

~*~

Kit was in the corridor when Ramsall left Dirkhan's meeting-chamber, several days later. The lad's face lit up with a grin. "Hi, Ram," he said. "What cheer?"

"Much," Ram said, slapping the apprentice on the back. He felt something odd beneath the lad's shirt; Kit flinched away. "Something wrong?" Kit shook his head, but his face had gone pale. "Are you injured?" Ram asked. The cloths he'd felt might have been bandages, he considered, though if the lad had been badly hurt, it would have been the talk of the Guild.

"No," Kit said, voice cracking a little. "I--it's an old hurt. Pains me sometimes." Ramsall nodded. "I'd better get in. Dirk's waiting on me." Kit slipped into the Guildmaster's chamber.

Ram wandered along to the Great Room, musing on this encounter. If Kit had been hurt some time ago, as the lad had claimed, he'd have no need for bandages now. Puzzling over it, Ramsall absently nodded to a couple of his brother-thieves as he entered the room. Sendan was there, entertaining several young apprentices with some sleight-of-hand. He glanced up when Ram entered and nodded, then returned to his audience.

Ramsall settled himself on the bench that ran around the perimeter of the room. Dirk had been pleased with the coin he'd brought in from the Margrave heist, but the Guildmaster's face had grown stormy when Ram had broached the idea of the Guild doing jobs for magic-users about the town. "They're all under Rhodan's thumb," Dirk had rumbled. "I won't have this Guild in the same position."

Ram sighed in frustration, running a hand through his curly black hair. He knew the Guild could fill its coffers and amass a great deal of power, if only Dirkhan would see reason.

Kit bounded into the Great Room like an eager puppy. Ramsall caught himself grinning as the lad joined Sendan's little audience. Sendan was performing what he considered the masterpiece of his repertoire. Ram watched Kit, curious to see if the apprentice's eye was as quick as his hands. He knew the precise moment Sendan substituted the cards, changing the queen for the knave; the younger lads' jaws went slack with amazement. Kit, however, remained unmoved. "Let's see it again," he demanded.

Sendan obliged, going through the whole "nothing-up-the-sleeves" routine Ramsall knew only distracted the audience from what his hands were doing. When Sendan tried to switch cards this time, though, Kit let out a triumphant cry and plucked the knave from its hiding-place in the fold of the thief's cloak. He waved it in Sendan's face with a grin and shoved the card back into the deck.

The realization hit Ramsall then like a bucketful of cold water. Sendan wasn't the only one who'd switched a queen with a knave. Now he understood the significance of the bindings beneath Kit's shirt.

Moreover, he knew the answer to Lord Rhodan's prophecy.

~*~

He edged through the press of bodies, the shouts of the crowd and the snarls of the dogs in the ring too loud even for the big room. It was the best place meet without being noticed, though. He'd already spotted Orrin ringside; the courtier had been there for several matches already, as Ramsall had instructed. Orrin looked like he'd been losing most of the night. Ram smiled at the man's dishevelled appearance.

Once the match was over, he caught the courtier's eye with a subtle movement of his head and stepped through a side entrance into an alley.

Orrin arrived a moment later. Ramsall was making water against the wall. "What is it?" the courtier demanded.

"Keep your voice down and your prick pointed at the wall," Ram warned in a mutter. Orrin sighed but did as he was told. "What would your master give for news of his bride?" Ram asked.

Orrin's stream dried immediately. "His bride?" The man's voice grew excited. "You could name your price! Have you such news?"

"I might." Ramsall glanced over at the courtier. "She's young, not yet a woman, unless I'm much mistaken. Your master likes them tender."

Orrin shook his head. "Not his bride," he said. "She must be come fully into her womanhood. Once he marries, she must bear his heir; he cannot wait for her to mature."

Ramsall cursed himself for not realizing the purpose for Rhodan marrying. He laced up his trousers. "Then tell your master this: I know the wolf who's raising his lamb."

"And your price?"

Ram smiled. "I'll let him know when the time's right," he said.

Orrin did up his trousers, fingers fumbling in his haste. "I must tell my lord straightaway," he said. Without a backward glance, he made for the mouth of the alley.

Ramsall was about to go back inside when the murmur of voices drew his attention. He crept along the wall and peered around the corner into a dank rear alley that smelt of the privies. Sendan stood facing him, gripping a young blonde girl by the hand; a second man had his back to Ramsall. While he watched, Sendan made the girl, who looked frightened, pirouette for the other man. Ramsall heard the chink of coin against coin as money changed hands.

He hastened back into the building, a knot growing in his stomach. If Sendan found out about Kit ... Ramsall shook his head briskly. He couldn't let that happen.

He crossed the room, avoiding the straggling bettors who crowded around the ring for one last fight. He reached the other side-door just as it opened and a small, brown-clad figure darted in. They collided. "Hullo, Kit," Ramsall smiled.

© Catherine Thompson, 2003. All rights reserved.

Email the author... pretty please?

<< Return to the fiction index

[Join the Game] [Characters] [Map] [Links] [The Story] [Art]