The kid's voice broke Garrett's train of thought. "You know, Mr. Garrett, I know how to read. There was a man who taught me, a Mr. Tingley, and even though he couldn't afford decent lodgings, he managed to accumulate a great quantity of books. I lived with him for the better part of a year, before he succumbed to illness. I suppose this was 3 years ago. The very first thing he taught me to read was the contract with his landlord! Horrible fellow, he was. The landlord, that is. He made poor Mr. Tingley pay entirely too much for his apartment. Mr. Tingley called him beastly behind his back, but when I said it, he said I shouldn't be cursing, young one that I am. I think Mr. Tingley was one of the kindest people I have ever had the honor of knowing, oh, except for you, Mr. Garrett. I say, you seem like a quiet type. Do you not have anything to say?"
Garrett had been listening with mild astonishment throughout the kid's monologue. He just would not shut up! The kid had finished his light meal and was now flipping through a book. He must have gotten it off the bookcase while Garrett was deep in thought. "What are you reading now?"
"Well, Mr. Garrett, that is the very reason why I started this topic of conversation. Since I can read, and I did not want to disturb you while you were thinking, I got this book off your shelf. I opened it up, and I could not understand a single thing. I say, it almost resembles a picture book, but not like any I have ever seen. Perhaps you could tell me what it is?"
"Let me see it."
The kid struggled to lift the heavy tome off his lap. When he did, Garrett saw the red leather cover and the gilded edges of the pages. His blood turned cold.
"You see, Mr. Garrett? I cannot make any sense of it at all."
"You're not supposed to."
"Kindly explain your meaning."
Garrett crossed the room and took the book from the kid. "They're Keeper hieroglyphs," he said as he put the book back.
The kid laughed. "Sir, I'll ask you not to pull my leg. Everyone knows the Keepers are mere myth."
"Oh, they're real all right."
The kid craned his neck to look at Garrett. His eyes were wide. "Is that true, sir?"
"I told you, stop calling me sir."
"Please, tell me, are the Keepers real?"
"I already told you."
The kid's body was quivering with excitement. "Could you teach me how to read the hieroglyphs?"
"No."
"Do you know how to read them?"
Garrett sat back down. "I used to."
"Then you-you were a Keeper!"
"No."
He stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. "You need some sleep." He tossed the kid a blanket and went into his bedroom. Once inside, he locked the door, opened the secret compartment in his closet (yes, this apartment had a secret compartment, apparently Garrett required it), and pulled out enough thiefy supplies for a little hit. He didn't really want to leave the kid here alone, but what were the chances of him wandering into his closet . . . after breaking down the bedroom door? Besides, the rent was due tomorrow and he needed the money. Anyway, the kid wouldn't go anywhere. This was probably the most comfortable place he'd been in for months.
Garrett dropped out his window to the cobbled alley below. He had decided earlier to hit the Broken Duck Pub. It was popular enough to have plenty of money, but it was out of the way, so he could avoid having to deal with the City Watch on night patrol.
* * *
A few hours later, Garrett was back in his bedroom. The hit had gone off without a hitch. He had peeked into the living room and found the kid asleep in the chair, buried underneath the blanket.
The only thing that bothered him was the peculiar sensation of being watched. Several times during his outing, he had felt like someone was following him. He had been more careful than usual and had watched his back, but had seen no one else the whole time. But still . . . that feeling. The Keepers? Maybe. For reasons unknown to him, the Keepers liked to keep tabs on him. They couldn't leave him alone . . . and he couldn't get away.
Sometimes that really angered him, the fact that the Keepers were always watching. No matter how skillful or artistic a thief he was, they always managed to find him. Of course, then he always managed to find other things to think about. Like the kid sleeping in the next room, for example.
* * *
It was morning. Garrett opened his eyes and found the kid's face six inches away from his own. He jumped, going from asleep to wide awake in 1 second flat. He grabbed the kid's collar. "What're you doing in here? How'd you even get in?"
"You left your door unlocked, and to answer your first question, your landlord is here and he wants your rent."
"Oh." Garrett sat up and rubbed his eyes. He took the bag of gold off his nightstand and shuffled to the apartment door. He gave the money to the landlord and closed the door. As he went back into his bedroom, he paused a moment. He could have sworn he had locked the door again after checking in on the kid. He must be losing his mind . . .
* * *
It was after dinner, and Garrett was getting ready to go. The kid saw him putting food into a bag. "What are you doing, sir?"
"I have to go somewhere. For my job. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but there's, uh, enough food in the cupboard for a couple of days." If a couple of days was how long it would take to clean out the castle, that's how long he was going to stay.
"Where are you going?"
"That's none of your business." He realized how suspicious that sounded. "It's just a small business trip. Don't mess with anything."
"Oh, sir, I mean, Mr. Garrett, you are permitting me to stay on your premises while you are away? How kind! I promise, I shall be the most perfect guest you have ever had."
Had he ever had a guest at his old apartment? He didn't think so. Unless you counted the late Sheriff Truart's goons laying in wait for him. He didn't.
The kid was still talking. "When you return, Mr. Garrett, do you think you could tell me about the Keepers?"
Garrett paused in his preparations. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"I . . . don't know anything about them." That was almost the truth. He knew the Keepers were on their quest for Balance, but since he had been only an acolyte, he didn't really know much about the Keepers' inner workings.
"But even I, a poor homeless boy, know of the Keeper myths. Surely a learned man such as yourself must be an expert on them."
"Drop it, kid."
"Have I angered or upset you in any way, sir? If so, I am dreadfully sorry."
"Shut up, would you?"
The kid clapped his mouth shut.
"That's better!" Garrett was losing his temper. "You just can't shut up! You've been talking ever since you got here!"
The kid shrank into the chair.
Garrett noticed. He didn't say anything else. He hadn't meant to yell at the kid, but bringing up the Keepers had that effect on him. He continued to get ready. The kid would be fine here by himself. And if he got into his closet, well, he'd have to kill him.
* * *
Garrett had made it to the castle. On the way, he had had that same strange sensation of someone following him. Still, he had seen no one.
Beyton and several members of his guild were waiting for him. "Well, Garrett, for a while there I thought you weren't going to show up!"
"Enough small talk. Is she ready?"
"I am." The owner of the cool response stepped out from behind Beyton.
She was not what Garrett had expected. Okay, so he didn't know what exactly he had been expecting, but this wasn't it. Her jet black hair was fastened into two buns on top of her head. She wore a skintight black leather outfit with black soft leather boots. All of her exposed skin was covered with intricate navy blue tattoos. Underneath her black cloak Garrett could see at least 2 daggers, plus a sword, and quiver.
Garrett had never met her before. He had heard stories, though. Mara (for that was her name) left a trail of blood in her wake. She was very stealthy, but whenever a guard did detect her, they would invariably pay for that mistake with their life. She was supposedly skilled in various disciplines of martial arts, and if all the rumors were true, Garrett could believe it.
She wouldn't beat him, though. Garrett was sure of it. He was confident in his skills. And why shouldn't he be? He had never met his match yet. And this woman . . . well, she might be good, but she killed. And that was the telltale mark of an amateur.
"You both know the rules," Beyton said gruffly. "Whoever comes out of the castle with the most loot wins." He turned to Mara and kissed her.
Garrett looked away. "Can we get started already?"
"Fine. The contest starts now."
Mara darted towards the castle. Garrett was startled. She moved quickly. Of course, the faster you are, the less careful you are. Garrett headed towards the castle at a more reasonable pace.
* * *
Hours later, Garrett was deep inside the castle, lost, frustrated, and bewildered at how everything had gone wrong.
Getting through the wall had been a breeze. Avoiding the guards while traversing the space between the wall and castle, child's play. And then he was inside.
Garrett hadn't known anything about the layout of the castle when he accepted Beyton's challenge. So the first thing he had done was hightail it over to a local tavern. He didn't know the name of the place. The hanging wooden sign with that information had been worn away by the elements, and only a few traces of white paint remained.
Garrett didn't go to taverns much, not after that ambushing incident, another example of Truart's handiwork. But he needed information, and this was the best way to get it.
The place was full of its usual clientele: the ruffians and the hooligans, the depressed and the homeless, the drunks and the criminals. Drunken laughter filled the place, along with smoke from cheap cigars and a not-so-faint smell of urine.
One of Garrett's acquaintances (he couldn't really call him a friend, a friendship wasn't built on mistrust and greed) was able to tell him where to get a map of the castle in between quaffs of ale and gales of hysterical laughter. Garrett was barely able to conceal his disgust. Long ago, he had made it a habit to stay sober, for alcohol dulled the senses, and in Garrett's line of work, dull senses led to death.
So Garrett had gone where his "friend" recommended, and for a modest fee got three crumpled, stained, but perfectly readable pieces of parchment.
And at home he had studied the plans by firelight. There was a wall, twenty feet high, encircling the entire castle. There were three ways in. The first was the main gate, almost as tall as the wall itself and used for horses and wagons. Next to it was a normal-sized door that people used to enter. Both, obviously, would be heavily guarded. The sorceress was well off and it wasn't likely she would skimp on home security costs.
Then there was the back door. According to the map, this door was hidden from view by heavy forests behind the castle. This was the logical choice. Garrett thought it was amazing how many of the nobles had such an easy mode of entrance. In almost all the places he had hit in his long and distinguished career, most of them had another, easier way in than through the front door. And these "secret" doors, more often than not, had no more than one guard standing watch.
Garrett was more than a match for one guard.
So after knocking the guard out and hiding him in the deep shadows of the forest, Garrett entered the expansive garden growing between the wall and castle. The looming trees provided ample cover. Then the cold, gray stone walls came into view. Garrett could see a light on in one of the arched windows of the third floor. The sorceress's bedchamber.
A well-placed rope arrow into a wooden balcony provided access to the second floor. This way he would bypass the first floor. According to the map, the first floor was filled with nothing but storage space, servant quarters, and other rooms not worthy of searching. Although he might go back later and rummage through the storage rooms, the more valuable goods were likely to be found on the second and third floors.
So Garrett was in. He found himself in the ballroom. Tiled floor, wooden wall, big fountain in the middle. It reminded him very much of the ballroom at Angelwatch. Except here there were no metal children, no mages shooting balls of magic at him, no annoying guests to give away his presence.
He liked this one better. Especially when he found a small gold statuette on an end table. He hefted the statuette in his hand. It'd probably be worth 50 coins. He slipped it in his pocket.
He paused at the only door leading out. According to the map, a hallway was on the other side of this door, and two guards patrolled it. Garrett put his ear to the door. Footsteps were getting closer. He waited, and after a few seconds, he heard the footsteps leading away. He cracked the door open. The guard was about fifteen feet away. All the way at the other end of the hall, the second guard had turned and was coming back this way. Garrett slipped into the hall and pulled the door to. He crouched and pressed himself against the right wall. The next door was the library, and he quickly went in and shut the door before the other guard could see him.
The library was filled with bookcases from the floor to the ceiling. Long tables covered with papers and books took up most of the space in the center of the room. He sifted through some of them and found a letter addressed to one Camilla Berkham (the sorceress) from a Mr. Dilley of the Eastern Dayport (the next word was smudged so badly he couldn't identify it) Society.
He put the letter back without reading it. He was here for something other than snooping, he reminded himself.
But on another table he did find a tarnished silver key that could come in handy.
He continued according to the plan he had established. After the library came the dining hall, and four gold candlesticks were added to the statuette he had found earlier.
Two guards were standing outside of the hall, and in a rather drunken voice Garrett heard one of them remark, "Ha you seen Jonaten's girlfren yet? She wuz supposed ta meet us here by now. An you KNOW how I hate waitin."
The other guard slapped him on the shoulder. "She'll be here, alright. Hyuh! If it sa last thing I do. I need a drink." He raised a bottle to his lips and drank gustily. Half of the cheap liquor poured down his chin as he staggered on his feet.
Garrett slipped behind the one not drinking (not at the moment, anyway) and knocked him over the head with his blackjack. He lowered the body to the floor and darted back into the shadows to wait and see if a flash bomb would be necessary. The other guard lowered the bottle. He licked his lips and squinted at his fallen comrade. "Heyah," he mumbled. "Git up." He nudged the body with his foot. Garrett darted back over and sent the second guard into dreamland. He took both the bodies and dragged them into the dining hall. If Jonathan's girlfriend showed up, whoever she was, she would find her meeting with the drunken guards unexpectedly cancelled.
The last thing he did before leaving the two sleeping beauties was take their coin purses.
* * *
Mara had started speedily, to be sure, but she wasn't stupid. She knew hastiness meant death for a thief. She just wanted to make sure she got a head start. Earlier, she had made sure to set up a bribe with the guard at the back door (the same one Garrett was to knock out a few minutes later). She had gotten in without any trouble and was soon inside the first floor of the castle.
A kitchen servant had spotted her while she was on her way to the second floor stairs. It was his greatest and last mistake. She had clapped her hand over the servant's mouth to keep him from calling for help. Her other tattooed hand whipped a dagger from her cloak. With practiced efficiency, she sliced the jugular of the poor servant (he couldn't have been very old, perhaps twenty). The blood gushed out in copious amounts. Mara dragged the body, steadily weakening, back into the kitchen. The dying man opened his mouth, perhaps to speak, but all that came out was more of the warm, coppery fluid. It spattered all over his coarse cotton shirt. The young man's hands reached up, perhaps to try to stop his assailant, perhaps in an attempt to staunch his own bleeding. Either way, the result was a strong backhand in the face from his executioner.
Mara dragged the body in front of the large brick fireplace. She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead, partially from the effort of dragging the body, partially from the heat of the roaring fire.
She looked down at the young man.
He looked up at her. His chest heaved and he coughed up blood. His hand—stained red—pawed the air. A large red welt was rising on his face where she had slapped him, but he hadn't the presence of mind to notice.
As the room was covered with a red haze and began to spin, the young man thought of his wife, equally young. He had met her a year ago in the marketplace. He was still looking for a job then, and was haggling over bread with one of the vendors when out of the corner of his eye he saw something.
Someone, rather.
It was the most beautiful sight his young eyes had ever seen. He had stopped talking in mid-sentence and the vendor had turned his attention to another customer. The young man took a few halting steps towards this beauty, as if fearing his presence might scare her away or shatter the illusion.
But the beauty didn't run away or disappear. In fact, at that moment, she turned and saw him looking at her. He didn't want to be caught staring but couldn't tear his eyes away. When she saw him, her lips made a startled 'O' that turned into a smile. Her head tilted, making her lovely hair fall over one shoulder, and the young man thought his heart would melt.
Then he realized he wanted to say something. He was surprised to discover he had his tongue but was unable to use it.
She realized his dilemma and used her own. "Hullo, sir. I couldn't help but notice you there." Blushing slightly, she offered him her hand. Bowing, he took and kissed it.
And felt his heart fall. There was no way a beauty like this could love him. His looks weren't a problem, he felt sure. He had a strong jaw and warm brown eyes.
But he was poor, and that was his problem. He hadn't enough muscles to do manual labor, nor the training to be a guard. The only thing he excelled at was cooking, and he hadn't found anyone willing to hire him yet.
He raised his eyes slowly, wanting to savor the moment, knowing deep in his heart that it wouldn't last. When his eyes reached her face, they studied it intently. The luscious full lips. The lively green eyes. The coppery hair cascading to her shoulders like a waterfall made of silk.
Then he noticed the little crinkle lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her skin was tan, not the pale color of a woman used to being indoors. His eyes dropped back to her hand and for the first time noticed the calluses.
She was a worker like him, and this filled him with joy.
His joy was compounded when a month later she accepted his marriage proposal, and more still when she announced her pregnancy.
Their daughter, named Elizabeth, was almost two months old now. She had the same sharp green eyes and coppery hair as her mother.
Her hair was the same color, in fact, as the blood spilling from his neck.
This fact shocked the young man and broke him out of his reverie. His arms flailed.
One of Mara's black leather boots shot out and kicked him in the head.
The young man gasped, trying to pull oxygen into his drowning lungs. He couldn't die. Couldn't leave his beautiful wife. He just couldn't . . . tears started streaming down his face.
He looked up at the woman standing over him. She was beautiful too, in a cold sort of way. It made him shiver to think about it.
He realized he was shivering, in spite of the fireplace just a few feet away, thanks to his body shutting down.
The woman standing over him noticed this and bent down. She whispered in his ear, "I know how to warm you up." Her voice sounded like how a venomous snake would sound if it could talk.
The man struggled to see her through the blood and tears. He was fading away quickly now. The steady flow of blood from his neck had decreased to a slow ebb, only because most of his eight pints were splattered on his clothes and the floor.
She gripped him under his arms and lifted his upper torso off the floor. With a grunt, she heaved him, headfirst, into the flames. The man, facedown in the burning wood and choking on his own blood, could not even scream. His body twitched, but that was all.
Mara watched this thoughtfully. Presently she took the bloody dagger she had used on the young man and held it up to her face, as if to study it closely. She licked it clean, then refreshed and exhilarated from the kill, she continued on her way.
* * *
Garrett went down the hallway, looking for a certain spot marked on his map. He found the unlit torch and turned it, revealing a hidden room. Inside were stacks of paintings leaning against the walls, half-naked statues, and miscellaneous odds and ends. He found a pair of gorgeous jeweled goblets on a small table inlaid with pearl. He also found a mine. An odd thing to keep there, considering, but he wasn't complaining.
He went back out in the hallway and turned the torch again. The back of his neck prickled. He ducked into a shadow. Someone was here. It was the same feeling he had at the Broken Duck Pub, only . . . stronger.
He waited almost ten minutes, crouching in the shadow. His legs started to cramp. Finally, the feeling of being watched started to subside. He got up slowly. But he didn't like it. Something was rotten here, and he wanted to know what it was.
He rolled a scouting orb around a corner and waited for his vision to switch over. After a flash of white, he could see down the hall. It was clear, so he rounded the corner and retrieved the orb.
A ghostly wind blew through the drafty castle.
Garrett had pulled out his map to check it, and the wind ruffled the edges. He looked up and down the hall. Still empty. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the map.
* * *
Mara stepped into the dining hall. It was immediately obvious that someone had been here. The candlesticks were gone. Two unconscious guards were slumped in a corner. "The bastard," she muttered contemptuously.
* * *
Garrett had entered some kind of lounge, with big velvet couches and overstuffed chairs. The walls were covered in the sorceress's royal blue banners. They were embroidered in gold with her symbol, a blazing fire. Nothing good in there, though. He approached the only door in the room to leave when he heard voices on the other side. They were coming his way.
Garrett fairly jumped away from the door. He hurried to the other side of the room and hid himself in the shadow behind one of those massive couches.
The door opened, and three guards stepped in.
"Are you sure we should be in here?" one of them asked.
"Sure I'm sure."
"Ah, she wouldn't care anyway," the third one added.
Great, Garrett thought. He was trapped in here. Unless he wanted to take on all three of them . . . no, he didn't. He wasn't a warrior, for crying out loud. He'd just have to wait until they left. But still, time was not on his side. Every minute he was trapped in here was another minute his adversary had the castle to herself.
"Didja see the stuff in the last delivery?" one of the guards asked. "Man, whatta haul! Sure wish I was a baroness."
"You look like one," one of the other guards cracked.
"Wott delivery?"
"It came in last week. All kindsa fancy stuff. You know, gold joolry, jools, and all the rest. An' new clothes and stuff ta decorate the castle. These women, I tell ya."
"As long as I get paid, I don't care if she pisses on a wall and calls it Picasso."
"Who tha hell is that?"
"What kinda stuff?"
"Oh, Oriental rugs an' fancy silk dresses. A lot better stuff than what we get to wear."
"Funny, I never thought o' you as a silk dress kinda guy."
"Shut up."
"I didn't sees any o' this stuff. Where is it?"
"Where else, ya moron? Down in the vault."
"We really should get outta here."
"Quit yo fussing, baby."
"Nah, he's right. She'll have our heads on a platter if she found out we was in here."
"Fine," the guard said with a sigh. "You guys are wimps. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I believe it was you who didn't wanna drink on the job."
The guard slapped the speaker. "I got allergies."
The other two laughed.
"Yeah, next thing ya know you'll be allergic to beautiful women."
The three went out into the hall, still laughing and arguing.
Garrett found their conversation fascinating.
* * *
The vault that the guards spoke of was presumably secret enough that his mapmaker didn't know anything about it. At least, there wasn't anything on the map about a vault.
Which meant one of two things. One, he didn't know of any vault.
Two, he neglected to put it on the map.
Garrett didn't know which one it was, but either way, that vault was key to winning the contest. And if it was secret, he had a good chance of getting to it first.
There was just one problem. He didn't know where it was.
And what was he going to do, tie up one of the guards and interrogate him?
Not likely. These guys were tough, despite their joking around with each other. Guards ate guys like him for breakfast. He defeated them with the element of surprise and a bag full of tricks, but in hand-to-hand combat? He knew he'd be the one coming out of that confrontation in traction, not the guard.
So what were his other options?
Forget about the vault. Try his luck on the third floor. He was still a master thief, and there was a good chance he would still beat Mara. Try to find the vault. The guard had said "down in the vault," so he knew it was on the first floor. Odd, though. Most nobles keep their valuables close to them and far away from their servants. Either the sorceress (apparently a baroness, as well) was confident in the vault's impenetrability, or she was stupid. Forget the contest. Just run away.So those were his options, the third of which was not an option at all.
He wanted that vault.
* * *
Mara was furious. Angry by nature, the recent past events had stoked her fire. The martial arts, meant to teach control and self-restraint, had only served as another tool to accomplish her goals.
Beyton was one of the subjects of her fury. She didn't want to be here. Beyton had forced her to be here. And she hated being forced to do anything. Especially this. This whole thing was . . . foolishness. A waste of her time. She had better things to do than act as a distraction for Garrett so he wouldn't suspect anything was awry.
And then he had begun to sabotage the plan anyway. Knocking out the two guards before she could rendezvous with them. Ooh, it made her blood boil.
She hated Beyton. Garrett. The idiot sorceress who was the whole reason she was here. Hated them all.
She had started stealing things, almost unconsciously. A gold ring here, an expensive bag of spice there. Beyton had told her not to, but she would show them. She was not to be made a fool of.
Screw the plan. She had her own agenda now.
* * *
Jonathan Beyton stood outside the castle with several other members of his guild.
"Sir, can we leave now?" one of them asked him.
"No, we need to wait for confirmation."
"But sir-"
Beyton raised his voice. "I don't care if we're here until the sun comes up. We will wait for confirmation. It was part of the agreement. Don't forget, you're getting paid to stand here."
"Yes, sir."
* * *
Garrett was on the first floor, dusty and discouraged. He had searched thoroughly for any signs of a vault.
He had even found Mara's signature, the charred remains of a human in the kitchen fireplace.
But he had found no signs of a vault.
Perhaps even more disturbing, that feeling of being watched was back. He had always lived in the shadows, but now even they had turned on him. Every dark patch in the castle was now suddenly alive, with strange shadow-creatures whose motives he didn't know.
He was no longer sure that his watchers were Keepers, and even that bothered him. What was that saying? The known devil is better than the unknown, something like that.
He looked around him. He was in one of the larger storage rooms, filled with wooden crates and plenty of darkness. His eyes, one of metal and the other of flesh, strained to see.
There! He was sure something was lurking about over there.
He drew his sword.
He heard a scuffling sound, like feet trying to move in a hurry across a dusty floor.
"Who's there?" His voice sounded taut and strained. He had always thought he kept a cool head under pressure, but this place gave him the heebie-jeebies.
The noise again, behind him this time! He spun around in a circle, his cloak swirling around in an attempt to catch up with him.
Well, that was it. He had faced haunts, giant spiders, and man-apes, and now he was scared to death of shadows, no less. He took out a flare, lit it, and threw it where he had last heard the noise.
And got another shock.
Standing there, hair disheveled and face streaked with dirt, was the kid.
* * *
Garrett could have killed him. He had never been so angry (or relieved, he told himself reluctantly) to see anyone in his life.
"What the hell are you doing here!"
The kid's lower lip quivered. "I think I'm lost."
"Lost! You shouldn't be here in the first place! Why the hell are you here?"
"I . . . followed you."
Ah, so that explained it. Garrett had felt like he was being watched because he was being watched. And here he thought he was just paranoid.
Garrett sheathed his sword. He found he was breathing heavily. "Were you following me the other night?"
The kid looked around the room, trying to do anything but make eye contact.
"You were, weren't you."
"I am dreadfully sorry, sir, but I have this natural curiosity that made me want to know where you were going."
Garrett gestured to the crates and boxes. "Well, now you know! Now get out of here."
"I told you, I'm lost. I've been wandering around in here for hours, it seems. This compound is quite extensive."
Garrett could feel himself losing his temper. "You are leaving, right now." He took the kid by the collar and started walking at a brisk pace, half-pulling and half-dragging the kid behind him.
"You aren't mad, are you, Mr. Garrett?"
"Mad? Oh no, I'm not mad. Why should I be mad? If you've followed me, then you obviously know what I'm doing here. So you should also know that your presence here is jeopardizing the whole thing!"
"I'm terribly sorry to cause you any trouble, even if the 'thing' you are referring to is the robbing of an innocent woman."
"Yeah, well, it's what I do. You don't like it, tough. You can find someone else to feed you."
They were at the back door of the castle wall. The guard was still unconscious and the dark woods seemed clear of people. Garrett shoved the kid out. He fell to the ground. "Mr. Garrett, sir, is there any chance you would let me stay at your apartment again?"
Garrett couldn't believe this guy. "I don't care what you do. But you can't stay here." With that, he turned and went back into the castle.