The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (7 page)

“I tell you what,” said Ambrose. “You give me a week on a team. If you don’t like it, if you decide it is not for you, if it is not bringing in the sort of money you are after, then we’ll call it quits. You can just walk away, no harm done.”

Ambrose sat back down and picked up his carving again. “But I have a feeling that once you see what a noble and skilled profession you have joined, you’ll be less than ready to give it up.”

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE
F
IVE
M
ARKETS
had changed, at least for Lucius. No longer were they thronged with crowds wandering aimlessly between traders while trying to save a few coins on their latest purchase, nor was a chance opportunity floating elusively away from him. Instead, this place of commerce had become his hunting ground.

Ambrose had assigned him to a pickpocket team that same afternoon, and his new comrades were Markel and Treal, twin brother and sister no more than twelve or thirteen years old. The previous member of their team, a lad named Harker, Lucius learned, had been promoted to work within the guildhouse of the Night Hands, the title given to this band of thieves. Lucius was taking his place, but neither Markel nor Treal made any comment about his advanced years, even though pick-pocketing was a child’s game.

Their acceptance of an adult as an equal, if anything, made Lucius even more self-conscious of what he was doing, and more than once he wondered how much further he could possibly fall. Still, Ambrose had promised that he would not regret the money that would soon be flowing through his hands.

The veteran thief kept a close eye on Lucius’ team, and several others, directing them to different areas within the Five Markets, rotating each so suspicious guards would inevitably lose track of the children they had started to watch. The proceeds of their work were transferred to Ambrose regularly, and he quickly sorted the guild’s percentage and scribbled down what was owed to each team in his own code, to be returned to each member by the end of the day. It was a well-practised system, with more valuable goods, such as jewels and cut stones, quickly fenced through the Night Hands’ own network of dealers and traders, to be returned as hard currency at the day’s final accounting.

Lucius’ first day was humiliating for him, taking instructions from two children barely old enough to piss in a pot, while his own efforts at grabbing purses and pouches without notice were more often than not dismal failures, forcing him to beat a hasty retreat before his mark realised just what he had intended. By the end of the second day, Lucius was about ready to walk away from the deal and take his chances running cards in taverns. What stopped him was partially the realisation that he was getting better in his role, but mostly because Ambrose made good on his promise of real money. Lucius had not been bothering to keep track of the pockets he, Markel and Treal had picked during the day as he descended ever further into depression, and he actually took a step back in surprise when Ambrose read them their total day’s takings as the sun fell beneath the rooftops of the city and the Five Markets began to clear of custom.

His share amounted to twelve full silvers, plus a little change, which he gratefully took from Ambrose and swept into his own pouch.

“You see, lad?” Ambrose had said. “I told you there was good money in this.”

Treal had told him that skilled teams that had worked together for many months could easily triple or quadruple this on a good day, and he slowly came to believe this was more than just an idle boast. While it was true that he could earn more than this in a single evening’s gambling, particularly when he brought his magic to bear, this work carried far less risk of discovery. It was easy, and despite their tender years, Markel and Treal were solid partners with honed tactics that had been passed down to them from thieves with years of experience.

A pick-pocketing team always consisted of three. During his work in the Five Markets, Treal pointed out the ‘independents,’ as she called them, desperate men who worked alone. Watching them ply the crowd, Lucius saw the flaws in their plan. With no backup or support, they risked their lives and liberty with every mark they robbed. One bad move, one moment of inattention inevitably led to a cry of “thief” being raised, and then it was only a matter of time. The guard would be on the scene in seconds, and there were many in the crowd willing to play hero and delay the thief’s escape long enough for him to be collared by a mailed hand. True, the independents shared their ill-gotten gains with no one else, but they would always,
always
, be caught in the end.

In a Night Hands team, every member had their own specific role to play, though they would often switch throughout the day in order to spread experience and practice, as well as throw off any suspicions a mark, or the guard, might have.

Once a mark had been picked out of the crowd, the first member of the team created a distraction. This could be as straightforward as actually approaching the mark and asking for, say, directions to a nearby tavern (something which, being an adult, Lucius found easy, as marks were more likely to pay him attention). The second team member then moved in to grab the belt pouch, purse, sack of valuables, or whatever had been deemed worth the effort. Small and high-value items were the most desirable, and pouches were at the top of the list. It was the role of the third member of the team that impressed Lucius the most. Once the snatch had been made, the second member would disappear into the crowd, where the third would be waiting for them. The goods would then be passed between them and the third would leave the market for a pre-arranged rendezvous. This was done so that if they were made by the mark – that is, the second team member was caught in the act – no incriminating stolen goods would be found upon him when searched. The Vos guard would find it difficult to arrest someone if an accusation appeared blatantly false.

Distract, grab, switch. The secret to making a small fortune from picking pockets.

Of course, even the dullest guard would soon become suspicious if the same group of children were being collared every hour, and this was where Ambrose came in. He monitored the activities of all the pick-pocketing teams working the Five Markets, and he would regularly rotate their patches so the same team would not be stealing from under the noses of the same guardsmen all the time. The guard rotated their patrols as well, but Ambrose kept a close eye on their activities, all noted down in his own code, and was good at keeping his kids one step ahead.

It worked. It worked very well. By the end of the first week, Lucius had earned more than a hundred full silver, less the Night Hands’ forty per cent, of course.

He had grown to like Markel and Treal too, though for all the world he could not see why, as he had little in common with them. They had made no judgements as to why an adult had been placed on their team, and they soon spotted that Lucius was a quick learner. By the end of the third day, they had begun to defer to him when selecting marks, and he was able to execute distractions, both subtle and calamitous, with far greater ease.

They had only one brush with the guard during the week and, for that, Lucius was grateful. As had become the norm, he had picked the mark, a lady of good money if not good breeding, escorting her young daughter through the dressmakers of the Five Markets. The girl was perhaps in her late teens, perhaps looking for something suitable to wear in a coming society function in which she hoped to impress. Lucius, however, had first noted her mother’s bulging purse, looped around a belt behind her back.

After pointing her out to Markel and Treal, then agreeing a plan, Lucius approached them while they turned from one stall to search for another carrying the fabrics they sought.

“Ladies, I am so sorry to trouble you,” Lucius began as he stepped in front of them. He wore a now well-practised smile, feigning a little embarrassment, keyed to set a mark at ease. “I arrived in Turnitia yesterday, and am hopelessly lost.”

As Lucius started to ask for directions to the Street of Dogs, where he ostensibly hoped to find an old friend, he kept his attention on his peripheral vision. Markel had sidled up to the woman and, with a short blade, cut the strings of the purse, allowing it to easily drop into his hand. Making no eye contact with Lucius, he turned and walked quickly away.

“Mother! That boy!” The girl’s voice was high and shrill, and it caused her mother to immediately reach behind her back to find the purse gone. She looked back at Lucius accusingly, and he felt a rise of panic.

“You’ve been robbed!” he cried with as much conviction as he could muster. “There, that boy, there! Thief!”

Knowing that the daughter had already made Markel, he could only pray the boy would slip the purse to his sister with all speed. The cry of “Thief!” was picked up quickly by the crowd, who themselves were split between wanting any criminal brought to justice and seeing an exciting pursuit through the market.

Lucius saw some of them make a grab for Markel and he winced as he thought of what Ambrose might say about him giving up one of his own team. His heart fell further when he heard the next cry.

“Make way! Guard! Make way!” Six red-clad and very well armoured men were making their way through the crowd, which readily parted before them.

“I have him!” another voice cried, and a struggling Markel was held aloft as the guard closed in. “Here’s the thief!”

“I am no thief!” Markel shouted and Lucius thought he saw tears in the boy’s eyes, though whether they were genuine or part of his act, he could not say.

The lady, trailed by her daughter, forgot all about Lucius as she stalked imperiously toward the guard, who had formed a circle around Markel. Her demands for her purse were met by flat denials from Markel, and two guardsmen soon had him hoisted into the air by his arms as another searched his tunic thoroughly. Lucius began to think that they might actually turn him upside down and shake him, but no purse was found.

With no apologies, Markel was released, and he disappeared. Lucius looked about, thinking he might see Treal poking her head from amongst the crowd, a sly wink on her face letting him know the switch had been made and that she now had the purse. She was nowhere to be seen and Lucius reminded himself that, despite her age, she was utterly professional when it came to work. The thought gave him some chagrin, as he was still standing there on the scene when he should have disappeared himself when the daughter had first cried.

With no more excitement seeming to be had, the crowd soon went back to its business and Lucius joined them in filtering away. He took a circuitous route around the market, as much out of habit now as wanting to throw off anyone who might have grown overly suspicious at his presence near the theft, and then headed back to his team’s rendezvous. They had picked a sub-alley, which was probably an overly grand term. It was a dark and filthy place, full of discarded food, rags and, Lucius suspected, vermin. The key, however, was that it was quiet, with no peddlers spilling over from the main trading areas, and no pedestrians taking a short cut from one market to another. Lucius’ only worry was that they themselves might get robbed here by some desperate footpad, though he trusted in his own abilities to protect the kids.

Markel was already waiting for him when he arrived, perched on top of a stack of wooden boxes. He smiled as Lucius approached.

“Seen Treal yet?” Lucius asked.

“Nah. She’ll be here soon. Good mark that one, I’ll bet,” Markel said by way of compliment.

Lucius shrugged. “Didn’t go so well. Sorry about fingering you like that – I thought the woman had made me, couldn’t think what else to do.”

The fact he was making a heartfelt apology to a twelve year old boy did not strike Lucius as being odd in the least. After having worked alongside the two kids for the past few days, he had begun to treat them as equally as they had treated him from the start.

Markel shrugged the apology away. “Not the first time I’ve been collared – hazard of the job. Anyway, you did the right thing, throwing suspicion away from yourself. You have to trust in the other guy getting away – that’s
his
job.”

“And you made the switch?”

“Easy. Treal snuck in and took it just before they grabbed me.”

Lucius looked at the boy with a quizzical expression, prompting Markel to ask him what he was thinking.

“I’ve been wondering,” Lucius said. “You earn good money doing this, and have been doing it for a while. What do you spend it on?”