Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [1]
“Nope.” She worked alone, and Ragnall knew it. The fewer people she trusted, the fewer she had to share the spoils with-and the fewer could betray her. Besides, the greenest apprentice could handle this job solo. The graybeard was an easy target. He’d been careless as he purchased a gold brooch, chuckling to the young female vendor about the weight of his money pouch when he’d accidentally dropped it. Kestrel was more than willing to relieve him of that burden. The brooch too, with any luck. “I’ll meet you later at the Bell.”
Ragnall’s gaze had already shifted to a middle-aged woman overburdened with parcels. “If you’re successful, the ale’s on you.”
“If?”
They parted. Kestrel dismissed Ragnall from her mind, concentrating on the task at hand. To Ragnall, several years her junior and born to a respectable family, thieving was a game. To her it was serious work.
She followed her target through the noisy bazaar, weaving past haggling merchants and ducking behind vegetable carts as she maintained her distance. When the man stopped to purchase a sweetmeat she paused several stalls away to admire an emerald-green silk scarf.
“It matches your eyes,” said the seller, a young woman about Kestrel’s age. She draped the scarf around Kestrel’s neck and held up a glass. “See?”
Kestrel made a show of studying her reflection, actually using the mirror to keep an eye on her mark. “It does indeed,” she said, combing her fingers through her wayward chestnut locks. She sighed. Someday when she’d made her pile and no longer had to work for a living, she’d grow her hair out of the boyish but practical cut she’d always worn. Though she doubted she’d ever wrap a fancy scarf around her neck-it felt too much like a noose.
In the mirror, the gentleman finished paying for his treat and moved on. Kestrel handed the looking glass and scarf back to their owner. “Perhaps another day.”
She considered “accidentally” bumping into her target as he savored the confection but elected for a less conspicuous method this afternoon. She’d been in Phlan several months, and already some of the Podol Plaza vendors recognized her. Too many obvious accidents like that and everyone would know her for a thief. She couldn’t afford that kind of attention. Though the local thieves’ guild operated openly, she had not joined it. The guild required its members to lop off their left ears as a sign of loyalty-a practice she considered barbaric. She planned to leave town before the guild pressured her into joining.
The nobleman stopped thrice more, admiring a jeweled eating knife, studying a plumed helm, testing the fit of a leather belt around his considerable girth. The latter he purchased. By all the gods, was he going to spend the entire pouch before she could get to it?
At last, an opportunity presented itself. The gentleman paused to watch a brightly garbed performer juggle seven flaming torches while singing a drinking ballad and balancing on a wagon wheel. Good old Sedric. She really ought to give the entertainer a commission for all the distractions he’d unknowingly provided.
She approached her target’s left side, eyeing the bulge just under his velvet cape. Casually, she bent down as if to secure her left boot and withdrew a dagger from inside. Sedric finished the ballad, caught the last torch in his teeth, and hopped off the wheel. The gentleman raised his hands, applauding heartily.
With a quick slice through straining purse strings, the moneybag was hers. By the time her victim noticed the missing weight from his hip, she was long gone.
* * * * *
Kestrel had learned-the hard way-that after lightening a gull’s pockets, it was best to get as far away as possible from the scene of the crime. She slipped down an alley, her leather boots padding noiselessly in the soft dirt, until she could no longer hear the din of the marketplace. A few strides more brought her to the grounds of Valjevo Castle. No one would bother her here as she counted and stashed her newly acquired coins.
The once-proud