The Thief (21 page)

Nissa swallowed hard. She needed to tell Dismas about Longinus. If he knew the risk, maybe he’d change his mind about their new partner.

“Dismas.” She turned her back on the new man. “The Roman, he’s looking for us. I think we should—”

Gestas grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground. “Shut up and do as you’re told, boy.”

Dismas, quick as a mountain cat, wrapped his hand around Gestas’s throat and pushed him up against the wall. “Keep your hands off Mouse or the deal is off.”

Gestas stared at the taller man. “So. That’s how it is. I forgot you’re a Greek.”

Dismas’s face twisted at his meaning, and he tightened his grip. “Leave him alone.”

Gestas coughed and jerked away from Dismas. “My apologies. Just keep your little friend quiet. I—we—make the decisions.” He gave Mouse a hard look. “He does what he’s told.”

Nissa’s throat closed as though she were the one choking. A tremor of fear ran up her spine.
I could stop right now. I could find another way.

The hopeless voice countered,
You don’t have another way.

Dismas pulled her up. He brushed a hand over her cloak. “You all right?”

Nissa nodded and folded her arms over her chest.

He leaned close and whispered, “I owe him money, Mouse. He’s going to stick to me until he gets paid. He’s got the manners of an ass, but he’s good. There will be plenty of silver for us all.”

Nissa didn’t answer. Dismas wasn’t going to change his mind. She chewed on her lip, considering her options. This man reminded her of the men who staggered around the taverns and brothels. But she needed enough silver to pay Gilad and she needed it today.

Gestas eyed her more closely. “Your little friend is safe with me. I don’t like boys anyhow.” He jerked a hand to Dismas. “Follow me. Today we go to the temple. Their god can do without their gold.”

Dismas nodded. “Fine. The temple. But careful, or those soldiers will be after all of us.” He winked at Nissa. “Stay close to me.”

Nissa brushed herself off. If Dismas was right—if they could get more without being caught—then she would do it. One last time.

They passed over the bridge and around the temple mount, entering from the south through the Huldah Gates. They walked through the underground corridors and climbed the stairs that brought them to the Court of the Gentiles.

A line of Roman soldiers guarded the north side, their spears at the ready and their eyes scanning the crowd. She sidled behind a heavyset Jew with a bleating lamb in his arms. No red-haired centurion. At least not yet. A horn sounded the call to afternoon prayer.

Dismas moved closer to her. “Don’t get greedy. Remember, pigs get fat; hogs get slaughtered.”

She wasn’t greedy. Gilad was, and she needed to keep him quiet.

Dismas grunted and whispered to her, “I’m going to the other side.”

He melted into the crowd, but she didn’t follow. Gestas was her best chance at stealing enough today to satisfy Gilad. Gestas moved through the crowds toward the column-lined portico on the southern side of the temple.

She edged toward the portico where money changers and
merchants were at work. Gestas slid close to her and nodded at a plump priest exchanging money at a nearby table. His purse full of silver glinted in the dim light.

Nissa’s heart sped up. It was Thaddeus, the priest who had ordered Cedron beaten for his testimony. A ripple of righteousness surged through her. He deserved to be deprived of his silver. Dismas had stopped her last time she’d seen Thaddeus, but today the little priest would pay for what he’d done to Cedron.

Instead of moving toward the money changer, causing a distraction so Nissa could dip a hand into the purse, Gestas disappeared behind one of the stone pillars.

What was he doing? Nissa crept in the direction he’d gone. A hand closed around her arm, and a squeak escaped her lips.

Gestas pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “Steal just one coin from his purse, and let him see you. Then run.”

Her eyes flew to his face.
Let him see me?
She shook her head. “That’s not how Dismas and I—”

His strong fingers dug into her arm. “We’re doing it my way this time. Do you want a fat purse or not, little Mouse? Because I can get you enough to live like a king.”

She swallowed and nodded. Yes. Enough for months.

The grip on her arm tightened. “Then shut up and do what I say.” He leaned in close, and she smelled his fetid breath. “Take a coin. Run to the stairs. The ones that lead down to the lower levels. Make sure he follows you.” Gestas slunk away toward the courtyard.

What was he planning? Her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry.
Just do what he says, and get it over with.
She edged closer to the Pharisee whose attention was on the money changer.

Thaddeus shook his head, his heavy phylacteries swaying. “Your scales are surely wrong. That’s pure Phoenician silver.”

She slipped her hand into his purse and came out with a brass sesterce. Instead of hiding it away, she hesitated, letting the sun glint off its polished surface.

He jerked toward her. “What? Give me that, boy!”

His meaty hand shot toward her, but Nissa dodged it and darted toward the well of steps that led into the bowels of the temple. A crash behind her and a quick look showed he was following, pushing his way through the crowd, tucking his fat purse back into his belt.

She paused at the top of the stairs.

He came into sight, roaring at her.

Where is Gestas?
She scurried down the smooth stone steps.

The underground corridor was empty. A few oil lamps cast dim light along the walls.

She heard steps clatter behind her, and the shouts of the priest echoed through the empty hallway. She reached the passage that led to the Huldah Gates. More corridors split off on each side.

A voice hissed nearby. “Mouse.” A hand came out of the gloom and caught her tunic. Gestas pulled her down a side hallway. Where did it lead? And what was he doing? Heavy sandals slapped behind her.

“He’s following me.” Her voice sounded loud in the corridor. Her breath caught in her chest.

The corridor ended in a dimly lit alcove. She looked frantically for a door, a window. There was nothing but smooth walls and flickering torches. They were trapped, and she could hear the priest wheezing close behind.

Gestas backed toward the darkest corner, his dingy clothes blending into the gloom. Only his obsidian eyes glittered in the dark.

Thaddeus rounded the corner. When he saw her and the dead end, his steps slowed. His breath rasped in his heaving chest. “Little thief.” He pulled a dagger from his belt. “I’ll give you a scar to remind you never to steal from me again.”

Nissa backed into the corner. The priest came at her, his knife outstretched.

She tensed, sure she’d feel the slash of the blade, but Gestas
leaped out, a curved blade glinting in his hand. The priest didn’t have time to turn, didn’t even cry out. He crumpled to his knees before Nissa, blood pouring from a wide gash across his neck like a bull sacrificed on the stone altar.

Gestas shoved him over on his back. A gurgle sounded from the priest’s open mouth. He held out a hand to her, his eyes wild and terrified. Nissa pressed her back against the cold stone wall. His hand dropped and his body went limp, his terrified eyes staring into the distance.

Gestas pulled the purse from the dead man’s belt. A low sound of triumph broke from him as he weighed it in his hand. He pried the dagger from the still man’s hand and wrenched a heavy signet ring from his finger. An emerald as large as a grape glinted as he tucked it in his belt.

Gestas turned and flashed a pointy-toothed smile. “Nice work, Mouse. Come on.” He darted down the winding corridor without a glance behind him.

Nissa’s feet were planted like pillars, unable to move, as she stared at the man before her. He was dead. She might not have slit his throat, but she might as well have. She was not just a thief anymore. She was a murderer.

Dismas rounded the corner. His eyes widened at the sight of the dead priest’s body.

“Mouse, get out of here.” He pulled her through the corridor and dragged her out of the temple into the golden light of late afternoon. She stumbled as he pushed her into the shadow of the Hippodrome.

She crumpled to the ground. All she could see was the blood pouring out of the priest. Bile rose in her throat. She retched and coughed. She scooted into the shadows, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead on the cool wall.

Dismas stood over her, shielding her from view. “Mouse. We need to get farther from the temple. When they find the body . . .”

He was right, but she couldn’t move.

Dismas pulled her up, his arm clamping around her waist. As he straightened beside her, he stared at her like he’d never seen her before. His eyes searched her face, then traveled down to her dirty bare feet. His grip gentled, and he leaned her against his side. “Come on. We need to move fast.”

They stumbled along the side streets, Dismas supporting her like a cripple. Nissa’s feet weighed as heavy as stones, the burden of her crime increasing with every step. She had killed a member of the Sanhedrin in the temple of the Lord. Cedron could never know. He would despise her. Longinus would want to find them now more than ever. It wouldn’t be long before every soldier and all the temple guards were scouring the city for them.

After what seemed like hours, they reached the meeting place. Gestas was there with an amphora of wine tucked under his arm. “Nice work, little Mouse.”

Dismas released Nissa and advanced on Gestas. He grabbed the little man by his tunic and slammed him against the wall. “This wasn’t our bargain.”

Gestas’s face twisted. He tried to pull away, but Dismas’s hands closed around his throat.

“What were you thinking? They’ll be looking for us all over the city.”

Gestas choked in a breath. “Find a place . . . hole up for a few days . . . here.” He struggled to pull the heavy purse from his belt.

Dismas released him and jerked the purse from his hands. He ran his fingers through the coins, his lips moving as he counted, then pulled out a handful and pressed them into Nissa’s damp, shaking hands.

She looked at the coins—blood money—and let them fall to the ground.

Dismas scooped them up. “You’ll need this, Mouse. Take it.”

She shook her head and slid down the wall. She wrapped her hands around her knees and tucked her head down, wishing she could disappear.

Gestas’s voice floated above her. “He’ll be fine. Stay out of
sight for a few weeks; that should be enough time for things to quiet down. Then look for the mark on the wall.”

In the silence he left behind, Nissa’s ragged breathing filled her ears. Would she ever close her eyes again without seeing the priest—the one she’d hated—dying in front of her?
Murderer. Murderer.
Her heart pounded out the words.

A warm hand squeezed her shoulder. “Mouse. Let me help you get home.”

She looked up. Dismas’s face was pale, his mouth grim. Was he angry with her? He had every reason to be. He’d warned her to stay with him, but she’d been greedy.

“No.” She shook her head. “Leave me here.”

He pushed the money at her. “Take the money, Mouse, and never come back.”

She knocked his hand away.

Dismas knelt before her, his hands on her trembling shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mouse. I shouldn’t have done this to you. All of it—it’s my fault. I taught you to do this; I brought Gestas when I knew he was trouble . . .”

Nissa shook her head. It wasn’t Dismas’s fault. It was her own.

Dismas tucked the coins in her belt. “Good-bye, Mouse. But take these. You’ll need them. When you feel better, you’ll thank me. It’s all I can do for you now.” With another look of remorse, he backed away and was gone.

Revulsion rose in her throat. Would she ever feel better? Would she ever not think with horror on what had just happened? The Lord had forsaken her, and with good reason. She wasn’t just worthless; she was a killer. A murderer. Abba had been right. It would have been better if she had never been born.

Chapter 18

T
HE POUND OF
marching feet and the dim shouts from the training ground faded as Longinus moved down the carcer stairs. Marcellus lounged outside the cell. He jumped to attention as Longinus pushed through the door. Not even locked. Golden rays of late-afternoon sun filtered through the tiny window of the cell, lighting the parchment Stephen studied.

A month in the carcer seemed to have been small hardship for his prisoner. Stephen appeared more comfortable each time Longinus visited. A chest of rolled parchments, blankets, a new cloak. He’d even caught Marcellus bringing in fresh figs one afternoon.

Longinus rubbed his forehead, massaging the ripple of pain between his eyes. “Another question for you, Samaritan.”

Stephen set the parchment aside and turned his attention to Longinus.

Longinus sat on the bench and set his helmet on the floor. Perhaps this question would rattle the peaceful Samaritan. “If I crucify you tomorrow—I know, I know—” He held up his hand as Stephen’s mouth opened. “If it is
Jesus’s will
that you are crucified tomorrow, how would your death help your messiah?”