Thief's Desire Read online

  While the thug howled threats at the “boy,” Jacob had time to study the gambler a bit closer. Her curly brown hair was cut roughly and hung just below her shoulders at its longest parts. Big dark eyes were surrounded by long lashes and set in a round, high cheek-boned face.

  Remembering that face now, Jacob smiled ruefully. He, of all people, should have guessed. After all, Jacob knew women. It was unheard of that he could stand that close to a woman and not notice. But the features were just as easily those of an adolescent boy as a young woman, and the bulky, poorly cut tunic had hidden any signs of a female figure. Still, it was a bit humbling to realize he could be fooled so easily. She was good, that young woman. Very, very good.

  Yawning, Jacob turned back to the street in front of the Red Dawn. With only three hours ‘til sunrise, it was time for the King’s Own general to head back to the royal castle. A pair of large brown eyes twinkled mischievously in the back of Jacob’s memory as he walked through the quiet streets of Dareelia.

  “You have a good night, Vic?” Ren rolled over on his mat to look up at her.

  “Yeah, go back to sleep.” Vic sat on her rough straw mat and pulled off her boots.

  Instead of rolling away, Ren leaned on one elbow to look at Vic as she crawled under her wool blanket. “Gambling?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.” She matched his quiet tone so as not to wake any of the others sleeping in the small room and turned her head to look at him. Ren was one of the youngest scoundrels in Thieves’ Hole, the largest ring of gamblers, beggars, thieves, spies and con artists in Dareelia. Early on, she'd taken it upon herself to watch out for the boy. He was a good beggar and an even better spy, but he was still young. He sometimes reminded Vic of herself a very long time ago, when she was just getting started. It made her smile. She rolled her head so she stared up at the ceiling and whispered, “I’ll have to stay out of the Red Dawn for the next few weeks.”

  “What’d you do?”

  She chuckled at the room’s dark ceiling. Easy to chuckle now that she was safe. “Three Devil’s Highs.”

  “Vic, you didn’t!”

  He sounded so astonished, she chuckled again.

  “I hope you won a lot.”

  “Yeah, Ren. I won a lot. My cut’s better than three of the usual hauls.” It really had been worth the risk, she decided, watching the patterns of shadows above her head. She'd never been able to refuse a challenge. Just to see, just to know if she could do something that others considered impossible. When she could, she gained a kind of security that was rare in her life, a reassuring rush that she could still take care of herself. That, no matter what, Vic Flash would survive. And survive well if she had any say in the matter.

  Fooling Joe Missek was a challenge not even she took lightly, though. He wasn’t someone a smart con messed with. But she’d done it. Three times! Okay, she'd gotten into trouble with Charlie in the process. That wasn’t how she’d wanted the night to end. But she’d still managed to cheat Joe’s eye. Not everyday a girl could claim that sort of triumph.

  The coin she’d won, enough to last a few months, would go a long way toward easing the winter, too. Vic loved her work, and she worked hard to be good at what she did, but winters were hard on a thief without money stashed away. Now she’d enjoy the season. “I think I’ll buy myself a new pair of boots,” she murmured wistfully, stifling a yawn. “Maybe even a gold chain for my cape.”

  Ren’s toothy smile could barely be seen by the light of a single street lamp just outside the window. “You know what, Vic?” he said rolling back onto his stomach. “Sometimes you sound an awful lot like a girl.”

  “Shut up and go to sleep, Ren.”

  Chapter Two

  “Three Devil’s Highs?” Deraun stared at the grinning thief. “With Joe Missek in the game?” Deraun Gip was the current leader of Thieves’ Hole. He kept the group together, made sure they always had a place to hide, and paid all the right people to keep business from getting sticky. And sometimes, he had to deal with the excesses of his people.

  “It was a huge pot,” Vic said, her eyes wide, her eyebrows quirked high.

  Deraun leaned back in his chair and sighed. Vic never had been able to pull off innocent when she wasn’t feeling particularly repentant. Even in the gloom of his office, he could see the tick of her mouth as she tried to control a grin.

  “And Missek had at least a Queen’s Run,” she said, “maybe even a Low Devil. I couldn’t have won with less than a Devil’s High.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Vic held up a hand and ticked off her evidence one finger at a time. “Missek wasn’t looking at his cards, Charlie’s scar was jumping, Riyack was tapping his foot and scratching his neck, and Nathan was grinning.”

  “Missek never looks at his cards,” Deraun grumbled, reluctantly accepting Vic’s assessment of the other player’s tells. She’d never been wrong about a hand before.

  “It was the way he wasn’t looking at his cards, Gip.”

  Deraun shook his head, something close to awe joining his frustration. He settled his elbows on his desk and propped his chin on his folded hands. “Missek can see a cockroach twitch a mile away. How’d you manage to cheat that eye?”

  “Talent, Gip.” She smiled and winked. ”Talent.”

  “Cheeky imp.” His expression relaxed into a reluctant half smile. “Well, you definitely earned your name, Vic Flash. You’re just lucky Big Charlie was alone.”

  “You don’t actually think I’d have pulled a third Devil’s High if Big Charlie or any of the others had their men in the room, do you? I’m not some kid new to the streets, Gip. And I’m definitely not suicidal.”

  “Yeah, but because of that little stunt last night, my best gambler has to keep out of one of the biggest games in town next week.” Deraun leveled her with a hard stare, hoping to instill some sense of guilt into the woman.

  Vic frowned and dropped her gaze to the floor. “Damn. I forgot about that. Big Charlie’s gonna be there?”

  “Damn straight. Every gambler in town’s in on that match. And quite a few from outta town.” Running a hand absently through his hair, Deraun leaned back in his seat again, studying Vic over the top of his desk. She stood with her hands looped through a thick black belt, face turned down and curtained by thick curls of dark hair. She almost managed to look contrite.

  Deraun Gip had been working the streets of Dareelia in the kingdom of Karasnia for most of his life. He knew a good con artist when he met one, and Vic Flash was one of the best, but the woman never knew when to call enough. She was always pushing to be better. Always taking impossible challenges most cons would never try. And too often got herself into trouble along the way. What she needed was more caution. But how to convince her of that? He sighed. “All right. We’ll send Brad Ruf into the game.” Her head shot up, snarling at the name. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s the best we’ve got after you. And since you’re out of it…”

  Her shoulders dropped, and she nodded reluctantly. “You’re the boss, Gip.”

  He was pleased to hear she remembered it.

  “What’s today’s work?”

  A pile of coins lay on the desk at his fingers, the Hole’s cut of Vic’s winnings. He had to admit, it was quite a sizable pile. He shuffled through the coins and pushed five coppers and one silver kern across the desk. “Take that. You'll work the Upper Market today. Get Trium to wash and trim that hair of yours. Buy a new outfit. Something bright.”

  “How am I gonna stay inconspicuous in bright colors?”

  “In Upper Market, if a young lady isn’t dressed bright, she stands out.”

  “You can’t mean a dress?” Her face scrunched into a grimace.

  Deraun scowled, looking her over with a critical eye. “No. You need to stay mobile. But something garishly bright, gaudy even. And,” he said sternly, “something that shows you’re a woman. If Big Charlie’s got men looking for you, he’ll have them looking for a boy. For the next few we
eks, you’re gonna be a girl, Vic.”

  Vic had taken to hiding her gender early in her career. A male could more easily play unmolested at the rougher gaming tables. As she could only pass for an adolescent boy, the dangers weren’t lessened by much, but enough to make the masquerade worthwhile. To compensate for the danger, she’d simply become quick, and very good with knives. Those who knew Vic Flash the gambler knew not to take his age as a sign of weakness.

  She shrugged at her boss. “As long as the Hole’s paying for the transformation, I’ll play along. What do you want this brightly clad girl to do in Upper Market? Begging’s out.”

  “Today, I need eyes. Keep a watch. Something strange has been happening around the city the last few days.” At her questioning look, Deraun shook his head. “I don’t know what…yet. That’s why I need you to keep your eyes open. I’ve got people spread around town, but you’re the only one I’ve got for Upper Market.”

  Vic nodded.

  He knew she understood his meaning. She was the only woman with enough experience and, as a woman, enough anonymity to wander Upper Market without calling attention to herself. The city guard tended to be heavy in that area, and too many of the Hole’s people had crossed at least one city guard. A chance sighting by a vindictive guard would bring a quick end to staking Upper Market and cause Gip to lose valuable information. And for the Hole, information was everything. Since Vic spent most of her time as a boy, the chances of being recognized as a woman were slim.

  “I suppose I’ll know what I’m looking for when I see it?” she said.

  “You got it, kid. Watch your back. Hide your daggers. And no random pocket picking, Vic Flash. Not today.” Deraun leveled another scowl at her. He found himself giving her that look a lot.

  “Whatever you say. No picking today.” She grinned and left the small office.

  Deraun stared at the closed door and shook his head.

  Trium washed and trimmed her hair to within an inch of its life. The older woman spent a great deal of time trying to persuade Vic to take care of her appearance. Normally, Vic would grin and disappear, keeping the raggedy look that served her so well on the streets. Today, Trium hummed triumphantly as she succumbed to her ministrations.

  The treatment wasn’t so bad really, though. Vic kinda liked the feel of being pampered. And Trium had a way of massaging the scalp when she washed her hair that made all Vic’s muscles go limp. Before she'd realized it, the woman had finished washing and trimming her errant curls into a semblance of shape.

  She watched with mild fascination as Trium styled her hair, loosely pulling back the sides and securing them with small black combs. Vic almost didn’t recognize her own face. It hadn’t emerged from the scruffy curtain of her hair for a long time.

  “There now.” Trium smiled at Vic’s mirrored reflection. “You look like the young lady you are.”

  “Thanks, Trium,” Vic said through a lopsided smile. This walking around town looking like a girl thing might not be so bad. She tossed the older woman three copper kerns and hurried back into the Lower Market streets before Trium insisted on face paints. There was only so much girl stuff she could handle in one day.

  Out in the street, crowds of people pushed past, hurrying to unknown destinations. The Lower Market opened into a huge square, ringed with shops of everything from tanned leather to plaster trinkets to fresh breads and pastries. The center boasted a huge, if unadorned, fountain and the cobbles surrounding the fountain were filled with temporary stalls and stands holding a huge range of merchandise. To one side of the market, a stable was set aside for small animal trading. But if she tried real hard, Vic could mostly block out the wafting smell of manure. The braying of an irate mule carried just above the chatter of hawkers and customers.

  A bright blue sky hung over the city, but autumn’s biting breeze cut through Vic’s tunic. Pulling her black cloak tighter around her shoulders, she pushed through the market to a clothing shop where she knew she wouldn’t be cheated. A rainbow of colors assaulted her as she walked through the door.

  After a moment of staring at all that color she realized her teeth hurt. With a conscious effort, she relaxed her jaw and rolled her head on her neck to release the tension in her shoulders. She didn’t like dressing so bright. It seemed unnatural. Vic spent most of her time moving at night. Blacks, deep blues and browns were the comfortable, necessary and preferred colors in her line of work. This much color would make her stand out like a bonfire on a moonless night.

  As she was frowning at a bolt of brilliant cobalt material, a small, dark man shuffled through the stacks of cloth and bowed deeply. His near black skin and hair contrasted handsomely with the bright orange of his long tunic and yellow of his baggy trousers. “Welcome, Pfreal, welcome,” he said in heavily accented Karasnian. “How might I serve?”

  “Hi, Azri. I need something bright and womanly. Gip said garish, but…” She fingered the brocade pattern on a nearby vest. ”Maybe you’ve got something I won’t feel like a jester in?”

  The small man smiled and moved to the rear of his shop.

  “No dresses,” she called after him. “Something that won’t restrict movement. I’m in the Upper Market today.”

  “I have just the thing, Pfreal,” Azri shouted back, using the word in his native language for Flash. The merchant reappeared with a bright red tunic of soft, thick silk, and a pair of long white breeches. “Bright but not gaudy for Pfreal’s tastes, yes.”

  She smiled and nodded, taking the tunic and trousers from Azri. Not a single outrageous pattern adorned either garment. “These look great.”

  “With a sash of gold, you will be bright as the sun.” Azri looked down at her scuffed brown boots. “And shiny black boots I think. Perhaps a new cloak.” The clothes merchant drummed his fingers against his chin as he thought.

  “You keep thinking, Azri. I’ll go try this stuff on.” She disappeared behind a privacy screen near the rear of the shop. The white breeches fit snugly, displaying the curve of her hips instead of hiding them. The red tunic’s collar cut high around the back of her neck and hung open just enough at the front to make her gender obvious. The sleeves of the tunic billowed from the shoulder then collected at her wrists with a single ribbon.

  Before tightening the ribbons, she refastened a scabbard to her right forearm and secured one of her daggers. A second sheath hung just below the back of her neck, leather straps around her shoulders securing the scabbard in place. A long dagger with a serpentine blade and two scalloped edges was hidden inside her left boot, and a dart-like dagger was hidden beneath the golden sash in a small sheath that hooked to the waist of her trousers.

  Azri tossed a pair of knee-high, flip top, black leather boots around the edge of the screen. When Vic had finished dressing and securing her daggers, she grinned at her reflection in the mirror on the wall. Not too bad. She almost chuckled. No one would call her a world-class beauty, but at least she looked like a woman. She turned slightly, admiring the fit of the clothing. She almost felt rich. And not a single dagger showed.

  “Good job, Azri,” she said, coming out of the room. “Bright and womanly without being gaudy or comical.”

  “I am glad you like, Pfreal. And your daggers are completely camouflaged. Yes, very good.” Azri ducked behind a pile of cloth and produced a white half cape with gold embroidery around the neck and a short gold chain fastening.

  Vic sucked in a sharp breath and widened her eyes. All that detailing must be worth a fortune.

  Azri chuckled. “The gold is paint, Pfreal. Don’t worry. But it looks good and rich, yes? You’ll look like rich Bthak Lord’s daughter.”

  “I look more like a prosperous caravan mercenary, but thanks. This should let me slide around Upper Market without calling too much attention to myself.” Vic handed Azri the silver coin. “Though,” she said grinning impishly, “I’d better get there quick before someone tries to relieve me of my purse.”

  She left the shop with a wave to the merc
hant and trotted up the street toward Upper Market. Dareelia, the capital city of the kingdom of Karasnia, sprawled over a large, tiered hill. Most streets circled and looped back on themselves, winding through the lower, poorer sections of town all the way to the rich homes of dignitaries, ambassadors and Karasnian nobles. At the very summit, the royal castle commanded a view of the entire city, as well as the lands for leagues around. A defensive wall circled the city’s base a quarter mile from the bottom of the hill, but Dareelia had long since outgrown the limits of the wall.

  Lower Market was positioned between the top of the poor sector and the bottom of the mid-sector, accommodating most Dareelians. The closer to the castle one traveled, the more expensive and luxurious became the surrounding buildings and shops. Upper Market sat comfortably in the middle of the upper third of the hill. Only the most prosperous merchants and farmers from mid-sector mixed with the richer patrons of Upper Market. City guards patrolled the area, gently divesting it of beggars and layabouts sent down to Lower Market. Some guards weren't gentle, but then some beggars were more than just beggars.

  Thieves’ Hole kept away from Upper Market most of the time. Only the very best and quickest thieves were allowed to infiltrate the heavily guarded market, and then only occasionally. There were enough heavy purses outside of the market to keep the Hole careful.

  Vic had traveled through Upper Market more than once. She knew her way around the square, but the beauty and cleanliness never ceased to amaze her. Like Lower Market, the huge square was dominated by a central fountain. But this fountain was elaborately carved of rich marble and spewed sweet-smelling water. Late-blooming flowers decorated the stalls lining the center of the market. The shops circling the perimeter were tastefully adorned and boasted an even wider range of goods than the shops of Lower Market.

  Even the noise was different. Not quieter, not by far, but the hawkers were more dignified, the animals less brassy. Strolling minstrels roamed the square, entertaining the hoards of wealthy customers who sauntered through the market at a leisurely pace. The air was heavy with the delicious scents of fresh food, flowers and the heady smell of exotic perfumes. To Vic, even the gray cobbles looked cleaner—washed to near whiteness in the glare of the autumn sun. Though how they managed to keep the streets that clean was a mystery.