Dragon-Bound Thief: Chronicles of the Dragon-Bound, #6

By William L Culbertson

In the World of the Dragon-Bound:

The Silverdale Brewer's Guild had killed Chaif Taibor's father. Chaif had vowed to make the Guild pay, but his revenge became complicated. During a daring theft, Chaif accidentally bonded with a dragon's egg. Now he is a thief who cannot lie. Captured, Chaif discovers the Guild is just the first layer of corruption in Silverdale. Sent to Arkady, Chaif is sentenced to die as a mindless slave. However, the dragon-bound are extremely hard to kill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William L Culbertson
• Release date: Jan 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393772903

William L Culbertson

William L. Culbertson has written a number of science fiction and fantasy titles. Although his characters explore the galaxy as well as hobnob with the likes of dragons and unicorns, the author lives a much more mundane life.

Book preview

1

The nighttime rain drummed against the balcony windows of Asgath Eldin’s master bedroom—a lonely sound since Asgath Eldin was not there. But Chaif Taibor was. Chaif stood in the middle of the room and tried to orient himself by the faint light from the window. Eldin’s safe was in the wall behind the short bookcase off to the right. For the moment, the glowing end of the punk he held in his teeth distracted more than it illuminated. A lantern might have given more light, but he needed both hands free. The ember on the end of the soft wooden stick would give him light for close work in dark spaces.

He edged forward, hand outstretched, feeling for any wayward piece of furniture that might have been moved since his last visit. A flash of lightning dazzled his eyes with an abrupt picture of the room. Chaif captured the momentary image in his memory. Confident now, he took three steps forward and gripped the frame of the bookcase. It rolled easily out from the wall. He crouched down behind it. The faint glow from the punk showed the dim outline of the safe mounted in the wood-paneled wall. On his knees, he used the feeble luminescence as well as his sense of touch to explore the safe. Yes, it was just as he remembered from when he had worked on it six months ago.

He could have opened the safe’s lock easily, since he had installed it. However, when the theft was discovered—and he wanted it to be discovered—an unlocked safe would throw immediate suspicion onto Chaif. No, this robbery dare not appear to have been done by someone who knew about locks nor someone who knew where Eldin kept his money—his ill-gotten money.

Chaif took the short metal bar off the loop on his belt and put the blade end into the gap between the safe’s door and the frame. He pried down, bending the safe’s casing. He moved the bar a few inches along the frame and pried again. And again, scratching and marring the surface. He wanted it to look as if the burglar knew nothing about the safe except that it was closed.

After he had mauled the outside of the safe sufficiently, Chaif inserted the bar at the proper spot and angle. He hesitated. A sharp tug would break the locking rods, but that would make noise. Eldin’s housemaster would be the only one home this evening. He slept in the basement, and his poor old ears would probably never hear the noise. But Chaif could not be sure. He took the heavy, damp cape from around his shoulders, draped it over the bar and waited. The storm was not part of his plan, but he welcomed its help. It not only kept people off the streets, but also gave him cover for unusual noises. He waited with his pry bar in place. Lightning flashed again. A few seconds later, thunder rumbled across the city of Silverdale. The snap as Chaif broke the locking bar was lost in the echoes of the storm.

Inside the safe, stacks and stacks of coins reflected the faint light of the punk with the tawny glow of gold—an unexpected bounty. He gaped in disbelief at the neat towers of golden disks packed inside the safe. Not one silver in the lot. Why would Eldin have so much money in his safe? He blinked several times, but his surprise quickly faded. There was more gold than he had expected, but after what Eldin and the guild had done to his father, Chaif knew where the money had come from. Retribution was why Chaif had come.

Hastily, Chaif scooped coins into the leather pouch he had brought for the purpose. Once the pouch was full, he scattered a few about on the floor. Let them think the thief was in a clumsy hurry. Surveying the multiple stacks of coins still left in the safe, he had a thought—an idea to make his retaliation more complete. He went to the tall double windows that opened onto the balcony. With the next clap of thunder, he pulled inward sharply and snapped the lock. A gust of wind and rain pushed the windows open.

Chaif had come in through Eldin’s side door by picking the lock. He smiled, pleased with his own cleverness. He should have thought of this earlier. The forced window would lead the peace wardens to think the thief had entered that way. The balcony was well above the ground, and they would look for someone with the climbing skills of a monkey. Chaif was fit, small, and agile, but on a night like this, even he would not want to use that route.

Confusion would be a bonus, but for the moment Chaif had another use for the open window. He flipped his cape back over his shoulders and returned to the safe. He scooped up a handful of coins and carried them out onto the balcony, where he cast them to the street below. He would give the coins in his pouch back to the people of Silverdale through charity. There were too many coins in the safe to carry away, so he would use another method to distribute the remainder. Ruben’s Way was a busy street. The flock of morning beggars that traveled this route to Sharpmont Square in the middle of the Schloss district would have a fine and profitable start to their day, digging through the muddy ruts and squabbling over the coins. He flung six more handfuls off the balcony, throwing them as far up and down the street as he could.

Once the safe was satisfactorily empty, Chaif set about making the scene look like the confused mess an ordinary burglar would make. At the bookcase, he removed stacks of books and silently scattered them about the floor. When the case was mostly empty, he lowered it noiselessly on top of the books. He quietly tipped over the reading chair by the window. At the bed, he carelessly stripped the elaborate linens and pulled the frame away from the wall. The bed itself was a monstrous thing with a canopy and did not move easily. As soon as the bed was far enough from the wall to allow someone to see behind it, he stopped. He tipped and tilted the paintings in their gilt frames on the walls. A flash from the storm revealed that one of the pictures was a nude portrait of a very voluptuous young lady. Perhaps Eldin’s wife in her younger days? He shook his head. The rich indulge themselves in many ways, he thought.

He waited until the next flash of lightning for a last look around. The jumbled mess in the room made it seem as if the thief had searched to find the safe.

This was Chaif’s second break-in. He had a list. His targets were the four men who led the Brewers’ Guild: Gammal, Eldin, Mellingham, and Onnoh. He would take revenge on each of the unholy quartet in turn. The four controlled the highly profitable spirits business for Silverdale and the surrounding area, all the way up the coast to Bington. Only the great merchant houses of Tazzelton had kept them out of that city. Silverdale had been built with riches from mining operations up the Silver River. The miners were always willing to spend their wages on the guild’s spirits after a hard day’s work. Silverdale’s silver had made the guild’s gold, but the guild was jealous of Chaif’s father’s success. Their goons had killed him and put his brewery out of business.

Chaif focused his mind back on the night’s last task: escape. He checked one more time to make sure he had everything he had brought with him. Eldin and the other guild members had riches he could not steal, but the coins were a start. Maybe they would have to sell something to replace the money. Maybe it would interfere with one of their villainous plans. The important thing was to make them pay for what they had done to his family.

A burst of laughter from outside the house froze him in place. The heavy front door two stories below slammed open, and he heard raucous laughter again. This time it was from inside the house.

Eldin was home. But he should be at the Bayshore! Chaif’s fright threatened to bubble over into panic. Eldin’s wife, Offa, was visiting her sister in Bington. She would not be back for two weeks. When his wife was home, Eldin went out many nights to his private club. When his wife was not at home, he went every night to eat. He always stayed late. The Bayshore Association welcomed the city’s privileged elite for dining, entertainment, gambling, and whatever other pleasures their money would buy. The building itself overlooked the harbor, but the Bayshore’s landscaped grounds sat on a bluff, far enough above the noise, confusion, and smells of the docks to make the view picturesque rather than squalid.

The door downstairs thumped as it closed, jarring Chaif out of his fetters of fear and into action. Eldin should not be home—but he was! Footfalls, uncoordinated and uneven, thumped and bumbled on the stairs. Another burst of laughter came up from below. He heard a female voice. Old Eldin had come home early because he had found a companion for the night with. Chaif was in serious danger. They had to be heading for Eldin’s bedroom—the room where he stood. Worse, they were stumbling up the stairs, his path to safety. He looked at the open window. That path looked much more desirable than it had a moment before.

He was about to step out onto the balcony into the rain when he had a thought. He felt the curtains. The inner edges were damp from the blowing rain, but away from the opening, they were still dry. He took the punk from his mouth. The glowing coal on the end was hot, useful for starting fires in his shop. Now he held it against the richly embroidered fabric and blew gently. The punk gleamed hotly, and the material started to smoke. He blew again, and a flame flickered into life. The fine gold wires woven into the fabric separated and curled back from the dancing glow of burning fabric. Gently, he blew twice more. The small flame stretched out and started licking up the outside of the curtain. Eldin and his friend would arrive in moments, but even a small fire would require immediate attention—the distraction he needed.

Chaif stepped out onto the balcony. He could not go down. The straight brick walls below were smooth, with no protrusions. It prevented thieves from climbing up, but it was just as effective at preventing him from climbing down. The drop to the street below was too great. No, he had to climb higher yet. The roof line outside the bedroom lay just above the window. It was part of a dormer extension, but it would take him to the main roof.

He shrugged the cloak back from his shoulders and felt for a handhold in the carved stone trim around the window. Although wet from the rain, there were edges deep enough to provide a grip. He put his right foot on the slim edge of the balcony’s railing and found a second grip around the corner of the dormer.

Climbing in the wet was treacherous, but his foot did not slip as he put his weight on it. The bricks around the window alternated between three bricks laid vertically and three laid horizontally. The horizontal courses were inset slightly from the verticals to emphasize the decorative pattern, but the real benefit was Chaif’s. He had a series of edges to support his boots. He scraped his foot along the wall until he found the next one and pushed himself up.

Above the balcony rail, rough nibs of brick scraped and pulled at his leather outer jacket each time he moved. After another step, he finally caught the edge of the roof gutter with his hand. He eased the weight off his feet for a moment and took a deep breath. His next step took his feet as high as the top of the window. He bent forward and put his chest on the roof for a moment’s rest. The tiles were wet and cold.

A commotion started in the bedroom below. A woman screamed, and a man cursed. Chaif ignored the sounds. He had to move. Although he had reached the roof, he was still visible from the balcony.

A pulse of lightning showed a dragon gargoyle just to his right in the junction between the two roof lines. A decorative element, the stone figure also functioned to split and control the flow of rainwater down the valley between the roof lines. It was tall enough to give him a grip that would allow him to swing his foot up onto the gutter. But was the dragon mounted only to the surface of the roof deck, or was it fastened more solidly into the bones of the house itself?

A crash echoed through the window below. Chaif paid no attention to the noise. He reached for the gargoyle with his right hand. The stone was slippery and wet, but the wings projecting from its shoulders were stout and had an edge to grip. Before he released his hold with his other hand, Chaif gave the figure a hard jerk. It felt solid, but he had to trust it with his life. Flexing his fingers, he took a careful grip. There was no way back.

He stretched for a foothold in the angle where the main wall intersected the dormer. The brick ledges were a fraction less deep here. The grip of his boot’s sole on the little ledge felt tentative. He did not trust it. He flexed his fingers before he took more weight onto his hands. He slid his right foot forward a little futher until more of the lip of brick was under his foot. Now his boot’s purchase felt more certain. He took a deep breath and let go of the gutter with his left hand. He had both hands around the stone carving, and now his face was only inches from the gargoyle’s fanged snout. A flicker of distant lightning illuminated the snarling face of a dragon. He took a deep breath. It was only a stone carving. He had no desire to ever be this close to a real dragon.

The dragon gargoyle held his weight. Chaif took some time to let his heart rate slow while he planned his next move. The edge of the roof was below his waist. He swung his right foot up, aiming for the gutter. He missed. His foot skittered back down the wall. His hands pulled harder on the gargoyle, but it held. Once he had steadied himself, he tried for the gutter again. This time his heel caught it firmly. In another moment he sat breathing deeply, safe behind the stone figure in the valley between the two rooflines.

Chaif caught his breath and listened to the noises in the room below. A man cursed from outside on the balcony. Resting on the dark roof, Chaif relaxed and tried to warm his cold, wet fingers. For the moment he was secure and, more importantly, out of sight. The balcony windows slammed shut. He heard shouting from inside the room, but the words were muffled. After another crash, a woman screamed.

There was no sound for several minutes. Chaif lay quiet and listened intently, but the pattering of the rain covered whatever small sounds there might have been. A heavy outside door slammed far below. A woman screamed an epithet and ran up the street, sobbing. Was she a lady of the evening? If so, it was a shame she could not see the gold coins under her feet. She would have no doubt put them to better use than Eldin. Chaif smiled with additional gratification. He had not only robbed Eldin, but also he had spoiled his evening dalliance.

The rain continued to fall. The lightning was more distant now, but the dark night still flared with intermittent flashes. And he had not yet escaped. He had scouted the roofs of Silverdale as part of the preparation for this theft. They were treacherous at the best of times, and tonight it was raining.

Chaif edged up the slope to the very peak of the house. Sitting astride the ridge, his balance was secure, but the height made his heart pound. His legs trembled. He did not have the nerve to stand upright. Slowly, he scooched his way along the peak. The upper levels at the back of Eldin’s grand home butted out over the narrow alleyway. The neighbors had impressive houses in their own right. Everyone in the Schloss district of Silverdale had money. Eldin’s home was more imposing than most. And it was taller.

Flickers of lightning in the sky illuminated a sea of rain-slicked roofs below him. The houses were sumptuous, and in this neighborhood, most were built nearly side by side. Flat waves of slate, tile, and wooden shakes slanted this way and that, stretching away toward safety.

The gap between buildings was not wide, but he was too high. He took a deep breath and looked down into the alley behind Eldin’s house. A roofline stuck out below and sloped toward the gap between the homes. His escape route lay on the other side of that alley. Chaif pretended he did not see the height. Before he lost his nerve, he crawled down from his airy perch and dropped to the new level below. He did not hit hard, but he had no traction on the rain-slicked tiles. He flattened himself against the roof, but he skidded slowly down the slope. His fingers slipped and scrabbled across the tiles. At the very edge, his left foot caught in the gutter and stopped his slide.

His chest heaved as he gasped for breath. He lay on the cold, wet tiles, waiting for his heart to stop hammering. Three stories above the alley, he slowly rolled onto his back, keeping his foot wedged in the gutter. Slowly he sat up—front leg straight out to the gutter. He pulled his back leg underneath himself with his foot on the roof.

Lightning flashed in the distance. The dance of light let him study his target on other side of the dark gap. The ridgeline of the other house was a little below him and not that far away. He had an easy jump to reach it. Once across with a grip on the peak, he would not slide off. If he did not make it—

Don’t think. Do it! He pulled his foot out of the gutter. No longer sliding, he had enough traction to crab walk back up the slope. He took a deep breath and cautiously rose to his feet. Once erect, he did not hesitate. He took two steps down the roof and leaped out over the black space below. As he pushed off, his right foot slipped. His body turned the wrong direction as he soared out across the alley. Desperate, he twisted, reaching for a handhold. Any handhold.

His right hand caught the peak of the opposite roof. He had a grip, but his left knee smashed heavily onto the wooden shakes, breaking through the decking. His left leg fell into emptiness, but he kept a death grip with his hand. His right leg, sprawled out across the unbroken shakes, kept him from falling through into the attic below.

Stunned, Chaif lay against the roof until he had gathered his thoughts back together. His right hand was hooked over the ridge, but all he could do was hang on. He pushed himself upright with his free hand. Once steady, he tried to pull his leg out of the broken section. A bolt of raw pain shot up his leg and made him gasp.

After a couple of deep breaths, he could think again. His leg was caught. With his left hand, he explored. No, he was not caught. A splinter of the wooden decking lath had impaled his leg. A picture of the bloody injury flashed into his mind. His memory conjured a gory image of how he had sliced his thumb to the bone the first time he had used a grinding disk. His stomach knotted and threatened to spew its contents onto the roof.

He sat still and forced every thought out of his head. Acid bile was in the back of his mouth. He swallowed carefully. Slow, deep breaths, he coaxed himself. Calm. He tried to ignore the pain. Heroes did it all the time in the wonderful sagas the minstrels told. One story about old King Dax said he had ignored the pain of dragon fire when he had killed the drakon. Chaif had to be like King Dax. A tear leaked out the corner of his eye, but a raindrop washed it away.

Once he was rational, he cautiously investigated his injury. His first touch on the wood splinter brought the pain rushing back. Bright little stars of agony floated in his vision. Once again he waited for it to subside. After he was steady, he cautiously felt back down his leg until he came to the splinter. More pain flared, but he was ready this time.

Chaif took more deep breaths. He was calm. The fingers of his right hand were still locked to the roof’s ridge like a vise. His right hand was strong. He would not fall. He relaxed. The pain in his leg pulsed with his heart. Pain. It was only pain. He could not let it control him.

He probed the wound gingerly. The splinter was not as large as he had first thought, but it was lodged firmly in his flesh. It stuck out scarcely an inch. The hole he had punched into the roof was larger than his leg. Carefully, he eased himself out of the opening. He did not think about the pain. He thought about his breathing. He thought about his anger at what Eldin had done to his father. He thought about the pain the guild had caused his mother. He kept his focus until his leg was out of the hole.

Once free, Chaif pushed and worked himself sideways along the wooden roofing until he was in a valley with another gable end. Safe for a moment, he relaxed and caught his breath. He listened to the waves of pain in his leg—listened, but did not need to answer. He flexed the cramped stiffness out of his fingers that had been clamped over the edge of the roof.

Abruptly, he remembered his pouch. He had not thought about the gold he carried at his waist while he had struggled to extract himself from the hole in the roof. He slapped at his side, but found nothing there. The cord was still tied but—Ah. The bag had been pushed around behind his back. He still had it. He sighed deeply and calmed his racing heart.

His tension eased, but the pain in his leg remained. By now the throbbing was familiar. Expected. He took a deep breath and looked around. This roof was not nearly as steep. He knew the route. His thoughts wandered away to his first theft. That night, after he had left Gammal’s house with a smaller pouch of looted coins, he had climbed up from the street to the roof of Gammal’s neighbor. Exhilarated with success, he had fled across the roofs—

Stop, he corrected himself aloud. He dare not think about anything but getting away. He could not continue his revenge if he did not get himself to safety. Luri’s. He had to get back to Luri’s room at the Black Cat Tavern. She was waiting there because he had paid the tavern’s room keeper for the whole night.

Carefully, he raised himself up and tested his left leg.

Burning agony growled and snapped at him. His leg almost buckled, but he stood upright. He tested it to be sure it would support his weight. Chaif took a cautious step up the slope of the roof with his good leg. He pulled his wounded leg up to join it. He tottered, trying to adjust to the torment. When he was steady, he took another step. Then another. It was a long, aching road to Luri’s, but he would do it. He had to.

2

Luri fussed over him like a mother hen. Chaif pretended to be annoyed by all her bother, but in the wake of his trip across the slippery heights of Silverdale, her attentions were profoundly comforting. Even her lecture.

Chaif Taibor, I swear, she clucked, of all the crack-brained things you’ve done in your life, this has got to be one of the worst. She spoke softly because, although the room was private, the walls were thin. Now this is going to sting a little, she warned.

Chaif gritted his teeth. Luri had treated his wound as carefully as any physician. After she had forced him to drink a large glass of spirits, she had dug the main piece of the wooden splinter out of his leg. The splinter was not as big as he had thought—nowhere nearly as big as it had felt on the dark rooftops of Silverdale. To get it all out, she had been forced to slit more of his skin around the wound. She had done it with a little knife that was as sharp as any doctor’s, a knife she had cleaned as meticulously as any doctor.

Next, she had gone back into the wound to clean out all the little black slivers she could find. Chaif thought he had already leaked more than enough blood across the tops of the houses he had traversed, but she bled the wound more to get the poisons out. Every step of her treatment had hurt. Now she had a bottle of spirits poised over him to finish cleaning the wound. When he was a child, his mother had used similar stuff on his scrapes and cuts. The word sting would not begin to describe what Luri was about to inflict upon him. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and nodded for her to go ahead. He was determined not to cry out. There was too much at stake. The peace wardens were probably already searching for Eldin’s burglar, and he wanted no questions about what Luri was doing to him at this time of night.

Fire exploded in his wound. His leg twitched, and he gasped. Fortunately, the flash of agony subsided before he took a second gasp. Soon the wound felt dead. He watched her stitch up the gash in his leg with a needle and thread, but he noticed only pinpricks and tugs as she sewed.

Once Luri had tied up his injury with a clean wrap, she stood back. Her eyes were sad. As my oldest and dearest friend, can you tell me it was worth it?

He started to give a flip answer. After all, he had paid for this night so he would seem to be just another gentleman caller—a false trail for any questions from the peace wardens. However, he reconsidered his response when he saw the concern in her eyes. Besides, his head was spinning from the spirits. At this point he did not think he could be clever. Yes. He nodded to show the certainty he felt. I managed to poke a really big stick into that bastard Eldin’s eye tonight.

But he’ll never know who or why, she chided. He’ll think this was some random burglary. She frowned. And if they ever do catch you, then he would know. She shook her head sadly. But you would be an old man before you saw the light of day again. She snorted and sat down in the room’s only chair. So if you do succeed in paying back the guild for what they did, and they never know who or why—she held up her hands helplessly—what’s the point? She glared at him and repeated, What is the point?

It’s for my father, he replied, and the memory came rushing back. Chaif’s father, Tel Taibor, had been ambitious. After he had retired from the guard, he had taken up brewing, first as a hobby while he ran a tavern, then more seriously when he started to make money from the ale he brewed for his customers. Chaif and his mother, Iette, helped in the tavern. Life was good.

At least it was good until his father began to sell enough of his own brew to bring him to the notice of the Brewers’ Guild. Unlike the Bootmakers’ Union, the Tinkers’ Federation, and all the other respectable associations of Silverdale who welcomed newcomers to the trade, the Brewers’ Guild was a tight coterie of four brew houses that brooked no competition. Tel Taibor had ignored their first mild threats and had kept producing his well-liked beer, even through a series of increasingly obvious acts of sabotage. The one act Tel could not ignore was the savage beating he had received the night of Chaif’s thirteenth birthday—a day that had changed Chaif’s life forever.

The guild doesn’t have to know, because I’ll know, Chaif answered Luri grimly. Their thugs beat my father to death. They owe me for that. She knew the story, and as he said the words, his righteous anger flared. Yes, he was justified in what he had done tonight. He leaned forward, but a twinge in his leg reminded him of his injury. His immediate anger drained away, and he shrugged. Besides, it’s not like I’m enough of a fighter to take them on man-to-man. Although he was wiry strong, Chaif was smaller than average and not at all physically imposing.

So you are going to go right back out and do it again. She was not asking a question. Shaking her head sadly, she added, Chaif, I don’t think I can do this for you again. It hurts me too much to see you like this.

Well, I certainly can’t do anything soon. He kept his tone light. Luri was still upset, and he wanted to calm her. He nodded toward his leg. I won’t think of trying anything until I can get around a little better.

The room where he sat was one of several above the tavern where Luri worked. Sparsely furnished, it was available to weary travelers, those who had overimbibed, or couples who had fallen in love and needed privacy. For Chaif it was a planned alibi that had become a surgeon’s quarters as well. He eased his leg off the small bedside table where she had worked on his wound. It throbbed as he lowered it to the floor. Standing up from the bed, he hobbled over to pick up what was left of his pants. She had cut them off him earlier. The pants were well and truly ruined. He looked again at the room’s single picture, a portrait of old King Dax, on the wall. He had stared at it while she worked, trying to bear the pain. What would it be like to be tall and heroic—a king?

Tossing the pants into the waste can, he tried a more usual step with his injured leg. It hurt, and it would hurt more as it started to heal. Still, he could walk almost normally. If he kept it wrapped for the next few days to make sure it didn’t bleed out into his clothes, he could explain his limp as a bump. Maybe a fall. Explain, explain, explain. He had to be ready to account for everything if he was to retain his life as a legitimate businessman.

He turned to the bed and sat down with a sigh. No, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to do anything for some time. I have to heal, and I have to do more scouting. I don’t know anything about Mellingham’s home yet. He shrugged. It will take time to learn the pattern of his life.

Just like you knew all about Eldin’s—except the part where he brings home a little cookie on a night his wife’s away.

Random things happen. Chaif tried to shrug away his flush of embarrassment. And because I had scouted him so well, I was able to get away without getting caught.

Except for that piece you left back on the rooftops. She looked exasperated. And don’t bat those pretty blue eyes at me. You know you had a near thing tonight. She stood with her hands on her hips. You need a haircut too. A respectable businessman has to look well kept.

Luri would not be satisfied until she had told him exactly what she thought—twice. Therefore, Chaif let her. He really had known Luri forever. Her family had lived close by his family, and they had grown up together. Even though she was two years older than Chaif, they had played together constantly as children. Now twenty-six, Luri was almost a size with Chaif, but anytime he injured himself, she worried about him like a second mother. Luri had gone her own way in life and found work in one of Silverdale’s taverns some years ago. Her round face and pugged nose kept her from being a beautiful woman, but she made extra money by taking in overnight roommates from time to time. She and Chaif had been intimate a few times over the years, and now she gave Chaif shelter or an alibi when needed. Therefore, she also felt free to give him advice when she thought he needed it—like it or not.

Hoping to distract her from any further scolding, he asked, So, did you ever hear from that shepherd from Leyden? The last time they had talked, she had been full of excitement about the young man she had met.

She looked down, and her cheeks blushed pink. I got a letter last week.

Oh? Chaif tried to look and sound as interested as he could. What did he have to say? Although the letter had been short, Luri’s analysis was long and enthusiastic. Her chastising of Chaif was forgotten for the moment.

THE MORNING AFTER HIS adventure over the rooftops of Silverdale, Chaif roused himself while Luri was still abed. He cleaned up and checked his appearance in the mirror above the small washstand. His thin face with its high cheekbones was unmarred. Probing at a tender spot on the left side of his narrow chin, he found what might be the start of a bruise. His weekly shave was several days away. Maybe the mark would not be noticeable by then.

Luri had been right about his hair. This morning it was a tangled, lanky mess, making it look even worse. Unfortunately he had gone to sleep last night while his hair was still damp from the rain. Now he could not run his fingers through the dark-brown snarls.

Most businessmen in Silverdale wore their hair relatively short, but lately he had given some thought to letting his hair grow longer. Many of the young men in the Schloss district wore their hair long and gathered at the back with a hair clip. Since many of his wealthiest clients lived in the district, it would make him look like he belonged. Besides, if he made his own clips, he might get orders for similar items from some of his clients.

Looking in the mirror, he pulled tentatively at a few of the worst snarls. The muddled mats would need a good bit of work to untangle. He decided to postpone the stylish hair clip and have his hair barbered again.

He dressed quietly, trying not to wake Luri. She had given him an old pair of her work trousers to wear so he could be decently dressed to go back to his apartment. They fit close enough, even if the fabric was a lighter weight than he was used to. Before he left he leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. His temples throbbed from the alcohol she had given him last night, but that was a small discomfort compared to his injured leg. He could walk this morning, thank the Goddess, but he walked with a careful hesitation so as not to stress the stitches.

Thanks for being my friend, Luri, he whispered in her ear.

She looked up, part of her hair falling in a disheveled shock across her forehead. She yawned and stretched. Yeah, but don’t expect me to come visit when they lock you in the bottom of the wardens’ dungeons. I hate rats.

I won’t get caught, he said confidently. Besides, I know you want to help me avenge my father.

I’m not helping avenge your father, Chaif. He’s dead. She sighed and turned over. I’m helping you because I want you to get past the vendetta you have against the Brewers’ Guild. You’re a better person than this.

All the more reason to get it done then, eh? Chaif sounded lighthearted and confident, but Luri’s words and her resigned tone made a hard lump in the center of his chest.

MRS. KOSTAMUS, HIS afternoon appointment, and her handmaiden, Mitty, were waiting at the door to his shop when he arrived. Chaif was on time, but he counted it as late, for he knew the elderly woman almost always arrived early. He was freshly washed and now barbered, but his leg still bothered him. In spite of his efforts, he limped. Mrs. Kostamus noticed at once. Oh, dear, Mr. Taibor, she said, did you injure yourself?

Although Chaif knew Luri had done a good job of treating his wound, it ached like the very devil. The stitches pulled at his skin with every step he took. He had his lie ready. He forced a smile and greeted his customer. Good day, Mrs. Kostamus. Ah, it was my own fault. I was clumsy last night in the dark and stumbled into the corner of a table. I’ll be gimpy for a few days. He waved dismissively. But it’s good to see you today. Won’t you come in and have a seat? He unlocked the door, and she and Mitty followed him inside. Inviting Mrs. Kostamus to use the chair next to his writing table, Chaif went to the shop window and opened the blind to let in the light. He did his other opening chores and returned to his desk.

He sat down, trying not to wince. He bent his leg as little as possible. Now, what can I do for you today, Mrs. Kostamus?

She smiled. My husband’s seventieth birthday is coming up in two months, and I wanted to get him something special to mark the occasion.

Oh, no. You can’t tell me Makus is going to be seventy. Makus Kostamus, a master joiner, had a shop nearby, and he had been a close friend of Bran Dikk. Chaif had gotten to know the man while he was apprenticed to Dikk.

He most certainly will be. She smiled. We’ve been married over fifty years, you know.

No, I didn’t know, but you must have been a babe in arms when the old goat married you. Chaif smiled as he said it, even though her thin hair and the papery skin of her hands made it obvious that had not been the case.

She tittered and patted the back of his hand. You’re just too sweet for thinking flattery will turn my head, but I do have business for you.

Chaif glanced at Mitty. The young woman rolled her eyes as she handed the bag she carried to Mrs. Kostamus. Mitty had not worked for Mrs. Kostamus very long. The one time Chaif had talked to her alone, she had expressed disdain for the older couple. Chaif ignored Mitty’s attitude and focused his attention on Mrs. Kostamus. She passed the bag to Chaif, and he opened it. Inside, there was a finely crafted wooden chest. Ah! He took the chest out and set it on his desk. This looks like some of your husband’s work. He ran his hands along the smooth, well-finished top. What is it, cedar?

Yes. She nodded. It’s a jewelry chest that he made for me as a wedding present. For our fortieth anniversary, he made me larger one. She touched the cedar box affectionately and smiled. Now I want to give it back to him to keep his hoft leaves in.

Chaif knew his old mentor, Dikk, and Makus Kostamus shared the vice of chewing the mildly stimulating leaves of the hoft bush. The chest he held in his hands had a few minor dents and dings from years of use, but he could not imagine why she had brought it to him. I’m sure he will be pleased, but what do you want me to do?

Why, it needs a lock, of course. We have four great-grandchildren now, and if he is going to use the box, we must have a lock to keep their busy little fingers away from his nasty old weeds. She chuckled to herself. Especially little Tooey. He is such a lively one. His parents would never let him visit again if we sent him back to them vibrating like the chanterelle string on a lute. She laughed her high, breathy laugh, and Chaif laughed with her. He had met Tooey and appreciated the remark. Mitty just looked away sourly.

Hmm, Chaif murmured to himself. He turned the chest this way and that, examining it. Room enough here for the body of the lock, he muttered to himself. Cut a little slot here where I could put a catch— He set the chest down on his desk. Yes, that should be no problem. He tilted the lid back and forth. Do you want me to replace the hinges? These look worn, and I have an elegant pair just the right size to balance the look of a lock on the front.

Yes, that would be wonderful.

Chaif snapped his fingers. And a plaque. A small, worked metal piece right here on the top. I could work it to match the other pieces—even engrave his name—Chaif leaned forward and lowered his voice—or perhaps some little endearment? He winked at her and leaned back.

Oh, you’re silly, she said, patting the back of his hand again, but I like the idea. I want to think about that just a bit. Could I let you know in a day or so?

That would be fine, Mrs. Kostamus. It should take me—he picked up the box, looked at it, and tilted his head to the side—maybe a week all told. I’ll need to take off the old hardware, take out the partitions, reline it, clean up the finish a little . . . He thought about the different steps. Then I’ll make a cut for the lock. He gestured to the rank of shelves and cubby holes along one wall. I have a small lock I made a few months ago that should fit. Get it all back together and ready to use. He looked at the ceiling in thought. Yes, a week. No more than ten days. Will that work for you?

That will be just fine, but how much will it cost?

Tell you what. He winked. You let me know what you want on the plaque, and I’ll do that as my own little gift. He looked at the box again. Will three silvers for the rest be too much?

Yes, I can do that. She shook her head. But you don’t need to do the plaque for free. Let me pay for it too.

Chaif shook his head. No, no. I want to do this. As much work as Makus has sent my way, I should be paying him for referrals, but he won’t let me.

They chatted a few more minutes. Chaif received a full update on all four of her great-grandchildren, Tooey included. After the two women had left, Chaif sat there and stared at the shop door. Mrs. Kostamus and her husband’s warm, accepting attitude toward him made him wonder what the couple would think if they knew of his acts against the Brewers’ Guild. They also knew Asgath Eldin, the man he had just robbed. Why did revenge have to be so complicated?

CHAIF’S LEG STILL HURT two days later as he walked through the morning bustle of Silverdale’s streets. His limp had come back after just four blocks. He had a long way yet to the Temple of the Goddess. He grumbled to himself because he was not yet ready for the trip to visit his hidey-hole out in the countryside. He carefully kept what he stole from the guild hidden outside the city until he could give it away. Or rather he tried to keep the treasure hidden there. This time, because of his injury, he had been forced to conceal the pouch of Eldin’s gold at his shop in a void under a cabinet in his work area. Chaif hated the idea of having anything incriminating at either his shop or his apartment. If it was ever found—

Hey! Six blocks from his shop, Pip fell in beside him, interrupting his dark ruminations. Light on your feet this morning, the boy observed.

Had an accident. Chaif tried not to sound as gruff as he felt.

Luri give you a hard time the other night? He grinned up at Chaif.

Chaif was not open with Pip, but Pip’s curiosity drove the boy to keep track of him—one of the reasons he liked having Luri’s help for cover. You’re too young to know about those things.

Horse apples. They walked on for another block in silence before Pip asked, We going to see Father Dale?

Chaif was headed toward the building north of the grand entryway to the Temple of the Goddess. In contrast to the ornamentations of the temple, the plain, solid structure was where the Brothers of Benevolence ran their charity operation. Yesterday Chaif had sent word to Pip he would have a delivery for him today. Deliveries were just one of the odd jobs that Pip and his pack of street urchins did for Chaif. The youngsters ran all kinds of errands for Chaif and his business, but they also gave him inconspicuous eyes and ears around the city. Eyes and ears to help him keep track of the Brewers’ Guild. For these special deliveries, however, Chaif trusted only Pip.

Hiding Eldin’s money was a temporary necessity. Chaif did not keep the money he stole from the leaders of the Brewers’ Guild. No, since the guild extorted money from the people of Silverdale, the money Chaif took from the guild belonged to the victims of the guild’s larcenous thuggery. Chaif gave it back to the victims through the temple’s charity as well as other benevolent organizations in Silverdale.

What bothered Chaif today was that Pip was right about his intended destination. He eyed the boy surreptitiously as they walked along. He liked Pip, but the boy was one of the Children of the Storm. The name was used by many in the city to refer to the pack of apparently rootless, homeless youth who managed to eke out a living for themselves on the streets of Silverdale.

Chaif had run across Pip more than a year ago when Chaif had been on the way to deliver a new safe to the Doodle Inn. The security door on the front overbalanced the vault behind. Chaif had been struggling to keep