~by Catherine Thompson~

Conor's voice rang with exasperation. "Dragonsbreath, Kedran, you'll be caught in an instant!"

Cat detoured from her path and put her head round the door. She found the Guild's weaponsmaster and his apprentice, a sandy-haired lad of ten or eleven, as well as Herran and his apprentice, Eadulf. Herran, a short blond fellow, wore the clothing of a merchant: a plain tunic over woollen trousers topped by a rather elaborate cloak. Cat smiled a bit to herself, remembering when she had done these same lessons.

Conor spotted her. "Kit! Come here and give us a hand." Cat obliged. "What's the problem?" she asked.

Conor gestured to Kedran, who was wiping his nose on his sleeve. "He's having a wee bit of trouble picking pockets."

Herran snorted. "That's kindly put, Conor," he said. "Kedran's clumsier than two drunken carters."

Cat grinned. "That is bad." She looked to Conor again. "Show Kedran how it's done proper, lad," the lithe red-haired thief said. Cat gave an elaborate shrug, still smiling. "All right," she agreed. "What's the set-up?"

"Easy mark," Conor said. "Dog-fight bettor."

"Winning or losing?"

"Does it matter?"

"Loser spends more time shouting at the dog."

"I'm winning," Herran interjected. "Just to make it tough for you, Kit."

"Yeah, right," Cat scoffed. "Okay, let's do it."

Herran faced the centre of the room and began exhorting his imaginary champion. Cat watched him a moment, then walked up beside him. "Watch Kit close," she heard Conor say to his apprentice. Cat had already spied the telltale bulge in Herran's pocket. She slipped in two fingers and delicately removed the purse. With a casual motion, she slid it into her own pocket, then thumped Herran on the arm. "You've a winner there, squire!" she said before moving away from him.

"There!" said Conor.

"I didn't see anything," Kedran said. He glared at Cat. "I don't think you've got it." With a smile, Cat drew her hand out of her pocket and held up the purse. Kedran gaped. "How'd you do that?"

Cat demonstrated the technique several more times, finally guiding Kedran's hand through the process. "It's easy once you get the knack of it," she said as Conor's apprentice tried one last time on his own. Herran reached around and caught Kedran by the wrist just as the lad began to withdraw the purse. "Gotcha," he said, then smiled. "But that was much better."

"Kit, one more," said Conor. "Show us your double dip."

Cat sighed. "Okay," she agreed with mock reluctance. She looked at Kedran. "Not everyone can do this; it takes lots of practice." She walked up to Herran. "It's always best to do it when the mark's distracted," she explained, pausing behind Herran, who pretended to shout at his prize dog again. As she spoke, she removed his purse, palmed a few coins, and replaced it. She continued past Herran. "Here." She flipped a copper to Kedran.

"Dragonsblood, Kit, I didn't feel a thing." Herran shook his head, peering into his lightened purse. He snatched the copper from Kedran just as someone began applauding. Cat looked up to see Ramsall in the doorway. "Good show, Kit," he said, his tone dry.

"Conor was having some trouble," Cat started to explain. "I stopped in to help."

"That trick of yours is hardly helpful," Ram said. He looked at Conor. "And what sort of master turns to a 'prentice for help?" Conor flushed. "Everyone knows Lightfingers is the best pickpocket in the Guild." Ramsall just looked at him. "Kit," he said, "I believe you were on your way somewhere?"

"Er, yeah," Cat replied. "Gotta go, lads." She slipped out the door, but Ramsall's hand on her shoulder stayed her. "I'll walk with you." The master thief kept his eyes on Conor. "A word to the wise," he said. "Dirkhan won't thank you if Kit's cockiness gets him caught."

"I'm not cocky," Cat protested once they were in the corridor.

"You should know better," Ramsall said. "You were just showing off in there."

"Conor asked me to do the double dip."

"You should've said no. What if young Kedran decides to try it and gets caught?"

Cat felt the blood rush to her cheeks, half in shame, half in anger, but she held her tongue. They left the Guildhall by one of the hidden doors. Outside, the spring breeze blew warm about them. Cat turned for the alley that would lead her to her destination, which this night was the Liberty Inn, the frequent haunt of Lord Rhodan's messengers.

"Kit," Ram said; she paused. "You're near fifteen, yeah?" Bewildered by the sudden question, Cat nodded. "So's Eadulf," Ramsall continued, sounding thoughtful. He smiled, his eyes lost in shadow as he took a step back. "It's time, then." He turned and melted into the dark.

Ramsall's words nagged at Cat while she sat in a dark corner of the public bar nursing an ale that was mostly water and listening to the conversations around her. She learnt nothing except that Rhodan had imported some new bloodstock for his stables and returned to the quarters she shared with her master behind the barber shop.

Dirkhan was in the kitchen, cleaning up after a late supper, when Cat locked the back door. She declined his offer of a meal. "I had something at the Liberty," she said. She walked towards her room, pulling off her cap as she went and removing the bone pins that held her hair underneath it. "Blood and bones, Dirk, I wish you'd cut my hair!" she exclaimed. "It's a nuisance."

"You'll thank me yet," said her master. "One day, you'll have to grow up and stop being a boy."

Cat growled under her breath, piling the pins on the washstand and taking up her hairbrush. "Dirk," she called after a few moments' thought, "is there anything special about my birthday?"

"Other that it being yours?" Dirk's voice brimmed with affection. Cat smiled at his shadowy reflection in her looking-glass. "I meant about my age," she said. She watched Dirk shake his head slowly, then pause. "How d'you mean?" he asked.

Cat decided to be circumspect. "Well, I'll be fifteen, as far as the Guild's concerned," she said. "And I overheard some of the masters talking. Eadulf's fifteen, too; one of the masters--probably Herran--said it was time for something."

Dirk stood very still. "Has anyone spoken to you about that?"

"No," Cat lied.

"Good," Dirk murmured, then louder, "Fifteen marks the age at which a boy becomes a man. In theory, at any rate. Nothing to concern you."

"Guess not," Cat said, putting aside her brush. Her hair hung almost to her shoulders now, and when it framed her face, she looked less like a boy. "I suppose they'll take him out and get him drunk."

"Something like that." Dirk seemed on the verge of adding to that, but instead said, "Sleep well, Kit."

"You, too, Dirk."

Cat lay awake for a long while. The memory of Ramsall's unreadable expression flashed into her mind, and just before she dropped off to sleep, she wondered why his smile had unnerved her.

Some days later, Ramsall approached her at the Guildhall. She had just finished a close-fighting lesson with Conor. "Happy birthday, Kit," Ram said, his voice low. Cat glanced at him, hanging up the padded leather jacket all apprentices wore when practising with the weaponsmaster. "My birthday isn't for another week."

Ram shrugged. "Near as damn it," he responded. "We'll meet you and Eadulf upstairs tomorrow night." He started to slip back into the corridor. Cat caught at his sleeve. "What's this all about?" she asked.

Ramsall smiled. "A celebration," he said, then left before Cat could question him further.

"What'd Ram want?" Conor's voice coming from behind made her jump. "Er, nothing," Cat said. "Well, it's about Eadulf's birthday. Ram . . ." She trailed off, seeing the weaponsmaster's expression harden. Conor shook his head. "I don't approve of that," he said. "There are some things a lad has to do in his own time, not when he comes to a certain age. You'd do well to stay out of it." He left the room the same way Ramsall had.

Cat picked up the blunted practice daggers and put them on a shelf. "What in the seven hells is this 'it' I'm supposed to stay clear of?" she muttered to herself.

The next night found her in a corner of the Ragged Tiger with Eadulf. He was a thin, dark lad with a dusting of downy whiskers along his jaw line. Cat had just opened her mouth to tell him to stop bouncing his leg under the table or she'd stop him when Ramsall entered the public bar. A few minutes later, Herran followed. They made their separate ways to where the apprentices sat. "Let's go," said Ram with a jerk of his head, leading them out the back way.

"So where are we going, Ram?" Cat asked, trying to sound casual. Ram smiled; to Cat, it looked as though he was laughing at a private joke. "You'll find out when we get there," he said, then ducked into a narrow alley.

The four of them travelled the back ways for what felt like hours. As they neared the northern quarter, Cat began to worry. The only places of interest to the Guild in that part of town were also the most dangerous: Lord Rhodan's stronghold and the guard barracks. A soft sigh of relief escaped her when Ram took them northwest, to the door of a large house.

The house backed onto the West Wall, which protected Arcadians from any sea-borne attack, although to Cat's mind, the sheer black cliffs were defense enough. Rising two storeys, the house seemed to sprawl along the narrow side street that ran in front of it. A widow's walk encircled the upper storey with a wrought-iron railing; Cat guessed the access door faced the sea, since all she could see at the front was a row of windows. A recessed door opened onto the street. Cat and Eadulf followed Ramsall up the steps, with Herran at their backs.

Ram knocked. A young blond woman in a demure grey dress that reminded Cat of the novices' habits at St. Bridget's answered the door. "Good evening, good sirs," she murmured with a brief curtsey and held the door for them.

If the outside had been impressive, then the inside was positively opulent. Cat just managed to keep from gaping at the rich tapestries on the walls; her boots sank into the rugs on the floor. The servant led the group along a corridor to a room that glowed with the light of many candles. Good candles, Cat noted, for she smelled only the clean, sweet aroma of beeswax instead of tallow.

A woman stood behind a large writing-table in the centre of the room. She wore a simple black silk gown, her honey-coloured hair drawn back into an elegant chignon. She smiled when she saw Ramsall. "Good evening," she said. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Would you or your companions care for a drink? I've just received an excellent red wine from one of the finest South-country vineyards."

Ram declined the offer with a shake of his head. "Thank you, no," he said. "Is everything ready?"

"Everything is as you requested," said the woman. She crossed to a small side-table. She limped badly; Cat saw that her left foot twisted under itself. The black-gowned woman rang the silver hand-bell that stood upon the table, and the servant-girl appeared in the doorway. "Ilse, take these gentlemen to the rooms prepared for them."

Ilse curtseyed. "This way, gentlemen." As they followed her up a flight of carpeted stairs, Cat began to feel uneasy. Something about this house, beautiful though it was, seemed wrong. She wanted to ask where they were going, why there were rooms for them, what would happen in these rooms. Her tongue wouldn't form the words, though, and she stayed quiet.

"Here we are, sirs," Ilse said as they reached a door along the upper corridor. Ramsall gestured. "Here you go, Eadulf." The apprentice rushed into the room with an eagerness Cat had only seen him display at mealtimes. He shut the door before she could even glimpse what was inside.

A few paces brought them to another door. "Kit?" said Ram with an inviting lilt, but Cat detected an undertone of threat. She took a step back, shaking her head very slightly. Herran was behind her. "C'mon, lad, it's nothing to fear," he said. With these words, Ramsall opened the door, and Herran thrust Cat into the room.

A four-poster bed dominated the room, which was dimly lit with beeswax candles. Cat couldn't make out the colour of the walls, just that they were dark. The bed-curtains had been drawn back. A woman not much older than Cat herself lounged on the crimson bed amidst a number of pillows. She wore a dress or a nightdress of some gauzy material. Holding out her bare arms, she beckoned Cat closer. "Come on, lad. I won't hurt you," she said, her voice soft and throaty.

Cat felt her cheeks burn. She knew now what this place was, what Ramsall had intended for her and Eadulf. She stood frozen against the door.

"What's the matter?" asked the woman on the bed. With a practised gesture, she tossed her long dark hair over one shoulder, displaying her generous breasts. Cat could say nothing. The whore must have read something in her expression. Her face went blank. "I'm sorry I'm not what you're looking for," she said.

Cat found her tongue at last. "No," she said. "You don't understand. I--" She stopped, realizing that to say more would risk too much. The woman was shaking her head. She rose and crossed to a table, upon which stood a decanter and glasses. She poured herself a generous measure of wine and downed it in a single fluid motion, then poured another and offered it to Cat with a smile. "This'll make it easier." She walked over to the young thief. "I'll blow out the candles. In the dark, I can be anyone you wish."

Cat shook her head, staring into the woman's blue eyes. "No," she said. "You don't--I am not what I seem."

"Of course not; neither am I." The woman took Cat by the arm and drew her towards the bed, snuffing candles along the way. "You don't have to worry. I'll handle everything."

Cat watched the woman, and a mixture of terror and shame welled up in her. In an instant, she saw something that could have been. She yanked her arm out of the woman's grasp. "No!"

She fell against the door, scrabbling for the knob. Finding it, she bolted into the corridor. Ramsall stood there, an oddly triumphant light in his black eyes. One of the brothel's other women hung on his arm, nibbling his earlobe. "What's the matter, Kit?"

Cat stared at him. "I should have expected this," Ram sighed. From the next room came moans and cries of encouragement. Cat felt the blood rush to her cheeks anew. She started towards the stairs.

"What a shame you couldn't enjoy yourself."

Cat turned back to Ramsall. "The shame," she said, gritting her teeth, "is yours." Behind the door at her back, Eadulf let out a whoop. Ram tilted his head and smiled. Cat spun on her heel. "That's it," he murmured; at first, she wasn't sure to whom he spoke. "Run home to your master."

The thought of Dirk almost made her queasy. She'd go home, all right, and straight into a bath with water as hot as she could stand. She started to run. "Knew you didn't have the stones for it," Ram called after her. Cat barely heard him as she flew down the stairs and into the night.

© Catherine Thompson, 2002. All rights reserved.

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