"Cadish,"
Argetham, a fellow soldier at Carthak's
prison, barked. "Your watch tonight."
Cadish,
a young lieutenant, nodded. He was
taller than Argetham, and more muscular. "When are they going to have
negotiations?" he asked, referring to the prisoner Lindhall
Reed, now a political prisoner.
One of the professors at their own
university. However, being a Tortallan by birth, he was a potential threat. Particularly
since he was in close contact with the king and recently fled Arram Draper.
However, Cadish saw
nothing dangerous in the man. He was kindly, and the two would oftenmmake small-talk. Cadish was
not very fond of the Gift (unlimited power worried and disturbed him), but he
was beginning to enjoy his talks with Lindhall.
"Negotiations?"
Argetham laughed. "As far as I've heard, there
won't be any negotiations... unless it's with the executioner."
"What's the news?" Lindhall
asked, seeing Cadish walk down the hall and take a
seat on a wooden stool slightly outside the mage's cell.
"I haven't heard much. Not many people on
guard, today," Cadish answered in a round-about
manner, not wishing to tell Lindhall that his
execution date had been set.
"Why's that?"
Cadish
knew very well that all the soldiers that could be spared were preparing and
training for imminent war with Tortall, but Cadish also knew very well that such information was
confidential.
"Not sure. Probably just to give a rest. We
go on rotation."
"Oh." It was clear that Lindhall wasn't pleased with this answer. "Forgive me
for saying this, but-" Cadish heard a foreign
word - a word of power. He didn't even have time to react before he was slammed
unconscious against the wall.
When Cadish awoke, he
was bleeding at the lip and the back of the head where he had hit the
enforcement wall. Argetham was looking at him with
amusement. "Perhaps you will get your negotiations for the
day after all," he said, arms crossed and
leaning against the wall. "The Guard Master wants to talk to you."
The man was seemingly tickled pink by something. He leaned into the young man,
helping him up. "My advice," he whispered in his ear. "Is to
pack your things before you talk to
him... that way you can escape as quickly as possible... Before
we're sent to kill you."
Cadish
narrowed his eyes and walked away, leaving Argetham
alone in the corridor.
The young, lanky thief lay on the floor of his cell, his hat tipped over his face. Shemlon had once been the Arch Rogue of this city, the top dog. He had been caught and now, one year later, Shem was quite sure that he had been entirely replaced, if not forgotten.
Shemlon
had noticed the guards in his hall run off. "Jailbreak?" he muttered
to himself, amused and interested. "I would hate to be that
prisoner..." he remembered the other times he had managed to get as far as
escaping the confines of his cell with his picks... only to be thrown brutally
back in. He had vowed each time never to try it again... and be released in
natural time.
And yet now, the opportunity seemed too good.
The guards were distracted, and certainly no one would notice a skinny thief disappear
in the commotion. Pulling out his picks, which had never been confiscated, he
set to work. Three minutes later, he was strolling the
halls idly, with his hands in his pockets.
"Eerie," he said to himself, noting
the silence. Apparently the guards were all in the courtyard. He pried a barred
window open and slipped out relatively easily.
As soon as he pulled out of the opening, he
stopped dead. Cadish, the head guard of the watch was
slumped against the wall there, with packed bags, looking quite glum. He gave a
morose sigh, and Shemlon was certain that he hadn't
been noticed.
Closing the barred window quietly, Shemlon strolled up to him with an air that would convince
anyone that he owned the very wall Cadish was leaning
against.
"So," he said, casually. "What
brings you here?" He was interested to know why Cadish,
one so high in rank, would be leaving the fortress.
"Nothing anymore.
I'm leaving in a bit," Cadish said with a sigh.
"Leaving? Say... aren't
you a head dog there?" he said, pointing to the prison as though he didn't
already know.
"Yes... I was. But, no matter. I ought to be lucky I
am not *in*
there as a prisoner."
"What'd'y'do?"
Shem asked, hiding his smile, appearing to be the "crying shoulder".
"My charge escaped... and not just any charge, Lindhall
Reed."
'He got out! Who'd have thought it!' he thought
with a satisfied grin. "That's simply terrible." Shemlon
said, with a smile.
Cadish
didn't notice the smile, but sighed again.
"Hey, you're a tough kid. Smart, too... to
be head at a place like that. No doubt you can find a place to work."
"Not anywhere here. They'll have heard the
news. No one wants an irresponsible failure."
Shem thought for a minute. He could use a ticket
out of this place. This man seemed just the one. "What about Tortall?"
"Tortall?"
"Yeah. Nice place. I hear they've got a knack for picking up oddballs
like yourself. After all, their champion's a
woman."
Cadish
snorted. "That doesn't sound like the type of place I'd consider."
"Beggars can't be choosers. Believe
me," Shem said sincerely. "Besides, there's a ship over there with its
coat of arms. It'd probably take to sophisticated men such as ourselves back to its port."
Another sigh from Cadish.
"I don't have any money."
Shemlon
sighed as well. So much for a ticket. However, this
boy had potential, he thought to himself. Perhaps he could earn a follower in
the process of establishing his own thieves' court. "Stowaways,
then," he said, giving a toothy grin.
Cadish
didn't seem taken with the idea. He shook his head in protest. "I might
not have money, but that doesn't make me a thief."
"Pity," Shemlon
muttered. "Thieving can be a downright respectable occupation, you
know..."
"If I still had my job, I could clap you in
irons."
"If you still had your job, I wouldn't be
talking to you... or offering you an escape."
Cadish
thought for a moment. He did have a point.
"Very well," he said, begrudgingly.
"But as soon as we get to Tortall, and as soon
as I get reinstated in a rank of honour, you'll have
the justice system to account to."
Shemlon
gave a toothy grin. "IF we get to Tortall in one
piece, and IF you make it there without me slitting your throat, you won't dream
of treachery."
Cadish
narrowed his eyes, though not in a position to question the rogue. "Very well. Your secret is safe with me... but only
because I am a man of honour."
Shem snorted. "Honour
is highly overrated. We'll see how much honour you
have when begging to support yourself and keep food in your belly," he
said morosely. "It's times like that that you consider
that maybe thievery might be a bit more reasonable than abiding by the law and
paying for it with your life."
Cadish
blinked, not knowing what to say. He had never had those problems, and it had
always been easy to ignore those who had and simply label them as outlaws.
"Fine." He
said, throwing his hands up in retreat. "We'll get on the ship. Head to Tortall. Never see each other again. What do I care,"
he said, picking up his bags.
Shemlon
shrugged. "It's your choice. After all, I was only extending my hand of
good-will to you."
"Only after you saw I didn't have
money."
"True, but beggars can't be choosers."
"No... only
thieves can."
"Ex-ac-et-all-y," Shemlon
said comically, leading the way to the ship.
He noticed and open porthole. "My lord, your baggage, please," he said, motioning to Cadish's bags. Cadish looked at
him incredulously.
"I'm not going to pilfer them, Mithros'
sake... I'm going to STOW them!" Shemlon said,
sensing Cadish' hesitation. He handed them over and Shemlon stuffed them through, then
squeezed himself in.
Cadish looked around akwardly.
This was his last chance. He could try to earn an honest living... get away
from this thief... and... He noticed the party of prisoners moving towards the
ship. So this was their ship...
He helplessly realised
that he was only moments away from being spotted and reported.
Shemlon's
hand reached out of the porthole. Cadish took it and found
himself jerked through the hole and pulled into a smelly room full of barrels and
crates of goods.
Shemlon
pulled himself on top of a pile of crates and sat about it luxuriously.
"Welcome, milord, to your quarters. Enjoy the trip, compliments of Shemlon the Slick."
