Page 19 of The Ragpicker King
Kel hesitated. “He knows me. At least, he knows I was at the party.”
“We’ll be very subtle,” Jerrod said. “I’m a Crawler. I’m an expert at moving without a trace of noise. He won’t even know we’re here until we’re on him.”
“All right,” Kel said. “Let’s go, then.”
Jerrod peered down at the sill below them and drew back one of his feet with care. He closed one eye as if sighting the distance, then swung his foot at the windowpane, which shattered with a sound loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.
“Without a trace of noise?” muttered Kel. Raimon had turned with alarm toward the sound.
“Direct approach is sometimes best,” Jerrod grunted, and threw his entire body through the window into the bedroom beyond. Kel followed Jerrod, taking as much care as he could not to tear his clothes or his hands on the broken glass remaining in the frame. He rolled across the floor and came up quickly on his feet, only to discover that Raimon had turned and fled.
Kel exchanged a startled look with Jerrod. Raimon had been a vicious fighter in the Arena, vicious enough to be gifted with a nickname synonymous with death. So why had he run? Wouldn’t he stand and fight to defend his own home?
But there was no point hesitating. Kel raced after Raimon, Jerrod close on his heels.
The house was tall but narrow, and it was quickly obvious that Raimon had nowhere to run but up or down; thankfully, Kel could hear him clattering about below. It sounded as if he was descendingthe sharply curving stairs two at a time. Kel and Jerrod raced after him. They were younger and lighter on their feet, but the former gladiator was shockingly quick for his size, and they were unable to get a hand on him as they corkscrewed their way down the spiral steps.
They burst into the ground-floor receiving room—a wide space with a fireplace taking up much of one wall. Uncomfortable-looking gilded chairs were set about as if ready to receive guests, though they were dusty, as if they had not been used in a long time, if ever. Over the fireplace hung a battered assortment of weapons, the kind often used in Arena fighting: a hand-axe, a longsword, a wicked-looking flail.
Raimon stood in the middle of the room, a bronze spear gripped in his hand. From the way he carried himself and the way he held his weapon, Kel could tell he knew how to use it.
“Stop.” Kel flung up his hands. Jerrod, at his side, was breathing hard. “We just want to talk to you.”
Raimon sneered. “Do you think I don’t know—”
He broke off, staring, and Kel realized he was getting his first real look at who had broken into his house. His gaze slid from Jerrod to Kel and back again, and a look flashed across his face. One that surprised Kel.
Relief.
Who did he think we were?Clearly, Raimon had expected an attack. He hadn’t been surprised, but hehadbeen terrified. Now, though—
He gave a hoarse laugh and raised the spear. “Idiots,” he said. “You’re idiots. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I’d say we’re pretty clear on it.” Jerrod’s voice was calm, but he had rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, ready to rush at Raimon.
Raimon drew his arm back. A shadow rose up behind him. Kel felt his eyes widen as something silver flashed at Raimon’s throat.
A metal chain. It looped his throat, jerking him backward off hisfeet. He fell hard, the spear clattering out of his hand. Over him stood Ji-An, holding the looped chain in her hand.
She placed a booted foot on Raimon’s chest and glared at Kel and Jerrod. “What are you waiting for?” she said. Raimon made a noise; Ji-An kicked him lightly. “Get over here and help me tie him up. I really don’t know how you two ever get anything done.”
“We’re really very sorry about this,” Merren said.
Raimon glared at him. The big man was tied to one of his own gilded chairs with Ji-An’s metal chain. To no one’s surprise, she had turned out to be a master of knots, looping the chain in such a manner that Raimon’s struggling only tightened the bonds. Upon realizing this, Raimon had gone still. He wasn’t gagged—Kel saw no point, when they wanted him to talk—but he’d been silent since they’d subdued him.
The subduing itself had not been easy. Raimon now had a black eye and a lower lip that was rapidly swelling. Kel himself had bruised knuckles, and Jerrod was limping slightly.
“No, we’re not,” Jerrod said to Merren. “We’re not sorry.”
“We broke into the man’s house,” Merren protested. “He could have fallen down the stairs and died.”
“I could have,” agreed Raimon.
“Well,” said Ji-An. “That would have been your own fault.”
“We’re very sorry,” Merren reassured Raimon.
Raimon slewed his gaze around to the others. “Whoareyou?” he demanded. “You two—” He indicated Kel and Merren. “I saw you at the Caravel. Thought you were nobles. But nobles don’t do their own dirty work, do they?”
