Darts: The Paladin's Thief, #1

By Benjamin K Hewett and Benjamin Hewett

Teacup is an acquisitioner, not a thief. Admittedly, the nuance doesn't play well with the town authorities, but as long as the kids get fed and nobody notices the boarded-up cobbler's shop on Redemption Alley, Teacup can ignore his nagging conscience.

 

But it's been a bad night for Teacup. He's hungry, wet, and tired. He's run afoul of the assassins' guild, lost a bag of stolen goods, and bet his last penny on the local darts champion when he should have been buying bread for his kids.

 

Worst of all, Teacup knows it's his own fault he's swinging from the tavern chandelier, up to his armpits in hot candle wax.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Hewett
• Release date: Aug 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201467791

Book preview

DARTSTitle Page

Copyright © 2015 by Benjamin K. Hewett

All Rights Reserved.

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ISBN-13: 978-1508669593

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Cover Art/Design by Marta Maszkiewicz

To Dennis, who took time to teach a scrappy young program analyst how to play cricket.

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AWAKENING

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In retrospect, it wasn’t one of my better wagers. A game of darts can be a big deal, if you bet your last penny on it. And your kids are hungry. And all you’ve got to sell is a cursed ring that no one wants except the guy you stole it from.

So things get a little messy, right?

Right.

My first mistake was not casing the players. I always check a dealer’s deck for nubbed edges. I always watch the prize-fighter take his chair. Does he scrape it across the floor, or slip into it with a cat-cloak’s whisper? Is he carrying dirty cash from throwing a match? Details are important. Even the best cons give themselves away—if you know what to look for.

Take Lucinda. All beauty and no brains? Wrong. She always stands purse-side.

Lucinda’s on staff here at The Black Cat. She serves tables when there’s nobody rich to loot. That means she serves tables in the evening, since the well-to-do rarely frequent lower Ector after dark. She’s quick-fingered, that’s for sure.

But it’s not just Lucinda you have to watch out for. There isn’t a person in here who doesn’t have a vice or three. Petri’s a fence and bookie. Markel’s a drunk and occasional nudist. Barkus runs a ring of shifty beggars. And I prefer not to say what Pale Tom does in his spare time.

But since I don’t have any valuables tonight, Lucinda’s more a friend than a liability. My bag’s down on Lantern Street, scattered across the third floor of the tall, black house. Let’s just say that the silver and the leatherbounds weren’t worth slowing down for—not once I’d realized Pale Tom had laid claim to the place. One hint of that bone-saw breath and I went out the third story window and up the stucco. My bag sure wasn’t going to do that, not in the nick of time, which is why it chose to stay.

And I may have left a window open, which isn’t very professional.

Anyways, I’m not here to eat, sleep, or talk about windows left open in the rain. I’m here to see Petri and to buy some bread for my kids, depending on what he says this ring is worth.

He raps his knuckles on the polished bar as I walk up. When he’s not underground, Petri minds the tap and records the accounts. He’s good with numbers. His eyes slide right away from the black ring as soon as I put it on the counter, like soap on a stone floor. Fence code for not interested.

I put it back in my pocket. It’s going to be another hungry night.

Hey, Tee, he says, Griphurk is coming in for darts. How much are you in for?

I smile before I remember how thin my pockets are. Only a fool would bet against Griphurk, but it sounds like someone has.

Griphurk won’t admit it—he gets a really nasty look in his crooked eyes if he’s asked—but he’s half cave goblin. I can see him camped out by the dart board, waiting, buried in a drink, long claw-like hands flexing. He smiles at some comment from the next table over and shows incisors longer and pointier than a regular person’s. Then the smile recedes and his lips cover the teeth, puffing up ever so slightly where they hide. Goblin, and that means good at darts.

He can put a dart