Disclaimer: Same as before. If you recognize it, it's property of Tamora Pierce. Anything new, is all mine.

Summary: How George Cooper became the King of the Thieves. A very long series.

A/N: I had to reload this, because I changed a few things around. You might want to re-read it. Also, thanks for all your reviews! I really appreciate them. :-)

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Dagger raised, the thief advanced on George. Adjusting his grip, he threatened, "I really didn't want t' kill anyone tonight."

Scrambling to stand up, George replied, "Well, don't do it if it t'will make ye unhappy."

The thief let out a surprised bark of laughter. "Come into the light," he commanded, his voice softer than before. A normal person would have tried to flee, but George didn't. Strangely, he got a good feeling from this thief, and his ma had always told him to follow his instincts. Listening to what his Sight told him, George stepped into the torchlight.

The thief pushed back his hood revealing the face of a young man in his early twenties. His gray eyes were full of mirth and laugh lines creased around them. The same lines were present on the corners of his mouth. His dark skin, lighter than a Bazhir tribesman, was crossed with scars. Dark black hair was tied back in a horsetail.

As George looked the man over, he knew the thief inspected him in return with even more care. Finally the man smiled. "Why, ye aren't nothin' but a boy!"

George's skin flushed with anger. "I'm not a boy! I'm eleven! And nearly twelve," he exclaimed with indignation.

The man held up hands. "I'm not insulting ye lad. But t'isn't it late to be out? Shouldn't ye be at the castle, sleepin' for page training tomorrow?"

George dropped his gaze from the thief's, dragging his boot toe on the ground, tracing the patterns his wet footprints had left. He was eleven; most boys started page training at ten. But the only boys who were even allowed in the castle were rich, with titles and property. George had none of that and didn't want it. All of the boys in the Lower City were as poor as he was, but they still dreamed of being knights. Until this moment, George had never wanted a shield, a fact that got him ill looks from the rest of the children of the Lower City and left him alone more than naught. "I don't go t' training," he mumbled, still looking at his feet. He didn't know why, but he wanted to make a good impression on this thief.

The thief let out another laugh. "Lad, I haven't even been in th' castle. It's nothin' to be ashamed of. My father was a Bazhir, an' the good folk in Corus don't seem to forget it. Here, go keep watch." George was delighted with this turn of events and ran to the edge of the alley. Satisfied that he was in a good position, the thief got back to work on breaking into the jewelers.

"So, what's yer name?" the thief called to him softly as he concentrated on the picks in his hand.

Craning his head outside of the alley, he quickly scanned the street both ways before turning to watch the man. "George Cooper," he shouted back, struggling to keep his voice down. "And yers?"

"Kaelem. It's Bazhir," he clarified as the jeweler's door clicked open. He quickly gave George a wolfish grin, baring his teeth, before he added, "Besides, mostly folks call me 'One Eye'."

George was about to ask him how he had earned such a name, since both of his eyes were intact, when a prickling sensation filled his mind. Someone was near them, and approaching fast. Closing his eyes, George strained to focus his Sight; it was even harder than it had been earlier. He wasn't strong enough to handle more than two run-ins so close together. The advancing person was large and blobby, and George could almost make out three individual human heads before they blended together. As the shapes came closer, they separated. Definitely three humans, tall and broad shouldered. Their bodies were colored a dark blue in George's Sight, the color of King Roald's new enforcers.

George's eyes flew opened and he ran down the alley, boots slapping on the stone and all thoughts of moving silently forgotten. One Eye looked up from where he was collecting his picks, preparing to begin looting the jewelers. "What's th' matter with ye boy?" he asked, an uneasy look on his face.

George skidded to a stop in front of him. "Royal guards. Three of them. Coming this way!" he gasped. Already tired from using his Sight, running had made his head pound and lungs burn. Leaning over, George rested his hands on his thighs and tried to stave off dizziness. After a few seconds of terse silence, he felt a hand on his back.

"Are ye sure lad?" George looked up and nodded. One Eye studied him carefully before reaching out to help him stand straight.

"Ye can breathe easier if ye stand up." George nodded his thanks. One Eye took a deep breath. "Where are they, and how close are they?"

George pointed down the alley, towards the street he had been on earlier. "They'll be at th' fence within moments."

One Eye cursed. Even in his state of panic, George filed it away as one to remember. The thief turned and stared down the alley, before glancing back at George. He doesn't believe me! George thought, panicked. He opened his mouth to speak again when One Eye held up a hand. "Hush, lad," he whispered. George quieted. A few moments later he heard what One Eye already had- the rhythmic pounding of marching. The guards were coming fast.

George's stomach twisted. He enjoyed playing with the guards, but getting caught with a thief and a swindled jeweler's shop was not his idea of fun. His ma would never let him out of her sight again. The sick feeling in his stomach doubled. Forget his ma; the Lord Provost would make sure he would never walk the streets again!

One Eye noticed the panic on his face. "Don't ye worry, lad. I'll get ye out of this safely." He rested his hand briefly on George's shoulder before he bent to pick up his fallen lock picks.

"Why?" George was thankful that the thief wanted to help him, but he didn't understand it. Why he was being so kind, especially since most would have killed George when he had first stumbled upon them?

Pushing his hair back from his face as he stood, One Eye thought it over before he answered. "I like ye, ye've got potential. But that potential is gonna be wasted if we don't get out of here now."

Potential for what, George wanted to ask, but he didn't get the chance. One Eye took off down the alley, and George ran to keep up.

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A/N: Review review! I'll get chapter three up as soon as I can, thieves honor.