Price turned to leave and his mocking tone returned. “It’s actually a shame you can’t stay around; the theatre is showing a play about a couple of thieves lured into being accused of murdering the King of Medford. It’s loosely based on the real murder of Amrath several years ago.” Price shook his head. “Completely unrealistic. Can you imagine a seasoned thief being lured into a castle to steal a sword to save a man from a duel? Authors!”

Price continued to shake his head as he and the other thieves left Hadrian and Royce on the bridge and headed down the streets on the far bank.

“Well, that was pleasant, don’t you think?” Hadrian said as they retraced their steps, heading back up the hill toward Capital Boulevard. “Nice bunch of guys. I feel a little disappointed they only sent four.”

“Trust me, they were plenty dangerous. Price is the Diamond’s First Officer, and the other two quiet ones were bucketmen. There were also six more, three on each side of the bridge hiding under the ambush lip, just in case. They weren’t taking any chances with us. Does that make you feel better?”

“Much, thanks,” Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Duster, huh?”

“Don’t call me that,” Royce said, his tone serious. “Don’t ever call me that.”

“Call you what?” Hadrian asked innocently.

Royce sighed then smiled at him. “Walk faster; apparently, we have a client waiting.”

She awoke to a rough hand on her thigh.

“Whatcha got in the purse, honey?”

Disoriented and confused, the girl wiped her eyes. She was in the gutter beneath the Tradesmen’s Arch. Her hair a filthy tangle of leaves and twigs, her dress a tattered rag. She clutched a tiny purse to her chest, the drawstring tied around her neck. To most passing by, she might appear as a bundle of trash discarded on the side of the road, or a pile of cloth and twigs absently left behind by the street sweepers. Still, there were those who were interested even in piles of trash.