Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [55]
"Thank your gods for making Wilmarq an ass," Pinch chortled as he pulled up another chair.
Corrick looked up from wiping the soot off his blade and fixed a glaring eye on his boss. "Maybe, but 'e caught Therin on the double-quick."
"And word is Wilmarq'll get promoted for it," Sprite added as he scrambled out from under table. "Maybe Therin was good for something, after all."
"It ain't right," Maeve moaned as she plopped drunkenly into her chair. She made a clumsy kick at Sprite. "He gets a promotion and Therin hangs. It ain't right!"
"Not right indeed-tracking him down to your own house, Maeve," Pinch mused as he leaned back in the chair. His fingers flexed just under his chin. Sprite, Corrick, and Maeve waited and watched, knowing their leader's scheming moods.
Suddenly Pinch's thoughtful visage brightened. "Two with one stone. That's it! Two with one stone." He sat forward and pulled the others in close. "We're going to humiliate Wilmarq by springing Therin from the very branches of the triple tree."
"Off the gallows?" gulped Sprite, sputtering his ale.
"Yer mad!" Corrick bellowed.
Only Maeve kept silent, fuzzily pondering the possibilities.
Pinch ignored the protests. "Sprite, the old catacombs-they run under Shiarra's Market, don't they?" His eyes glittered with devious fire.
"Yes," Sprite answered warily, "but not close to the gallows."
"Yer mad. I'm not risking the rope for that fool Therin-especially on one of yer mad schemes." Corrick heaved back from the huddle, shaking his bare head.
Before the old cutpurse could stand, Pinch laid a hand on his arm and squeezed right down to the bone. "You'll do it because I tell you to, Corrick, or I'll see you're the next one to stand before the hangman's crowd. Maybe it'd get me in good with Wilmarq to give you up to him. Understand?"
Corrick's gaunt face went pale. The old man nodded.
"Good," Pinch purred without loosing his grip. "Corrick, you'll borrow us a wagon with a fast team. Sprite, figure how to get us as close to Therin as you can." The halfling raised a bushy eyebrow in acknowledgement.
"That's set," Pinch concluded, releasing Corrick's arm. "To your duties, lads. I'll be meeting with Therin, just to be sure he knows where his friends stand." The upright man gave Corrick a hearty pat on the shoulder. "We can't have him break before we spring him. Go to your tasks. We'll meet where Dragoneye Lane joins Shiarra's Market an hour before the hanging."
The speed and certainty of Pinch's resolve left the pair dazed. "Get going," he had to repeat before they actually stirred. "And, Sprite, mind your wandering fingers for now. I don't want you caught before the hanging."
The halfling's expression moved from dazed to disappointed. "All those purses, and I can't touch them. It was the only good to come out of this whole hanging," he muttered as he slid from his chair and made for the door. Corrick rose, eyes filled with dark misgivings, and followed the halfling. He rubbed the filthy wool of his jerkin, getting the blood back into the arm Pinch had squeezed.
"What about me, dearie?" Maeve asked. "What you got for me?"
The master thief cast a look toward the door before speaking, making sure his accomplices were on their way. When it was closed fast, Pinch turned back to the woman beside him. "Now, Maeve-good Maeve-you said it was queer how poor Therin was bagged."
"I said it weren't right, Pinch, that's what I said."
Pinch poured her a drink from the skin Wilmarq had ordered. "And it was, Maeve. It was unnatural the way they came to your place. You spoke true; it weren't right. The whole thing's no better than a forger's will, I think." He pushed the mug