“Go inside honey,” Wyatt told her, gathering himself and trying to calm his voice. “It will be alright. Don’t cry. Elden will watch over you. Let him know what happened. It will be alright.”
She continued to sob.
“Please honey, you have to go inside now,” Wyatt pleaded. “It’s all you can do. It’s what I need you to do. Please.”
“I—love—you, Da—ddy!”
“I know honey. I know. I love you too, and I’m so sorry.”
Allie slowly stepped back into the doorway, the sliver of light diminishing until the door snapped shut, leaving the alley once more in darkness. Only the faint blue light from the cloud-shrouded moon filtered into the narrow corridor where the three men stood.
“How old is she?” the voice behind him asked.
“Leave her out of this. Just make it quick—can you give me that much?” Wyatt braced himself for what was to come. Seeing the child broke him. He shook violently, his gloved hands in fists, his chest so tight it was difficult to swallow and hard to breathe. He felt the metal edge against his throat and waited for it to move, waited for it to drag.
“Did you know it was a trap when you came to hire us?” The man with three swords asked.
What?—No!”
“Would you still have done it if you knew?”
“I don’t know—I guess—yes. We needed the money.”
“So, you’re not a baron?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I was a ship’s captain.”
“Was? What happened?”
“Are you going to kill me any time soon? Why all the questions?”
“Each question you answer is another breath you take,” the voice from behind him spoke. It was the voice of death, emotionless, and empty. Hearing it made Wyatt’s stomach lurch as if he were looking over the edge of a high cliff. Not seeing his face, knowing that he held the blade that would kill him, made it feel like an execution. He thought of Allie, hoped she would be all right then realized—she would see him. The thought struck with surprising clarity. She would rush out after it was over and find him on the street. She would wade through his blood.
“What happened?” the executioner asked again, his voice instantly erasing all other thoughts.
“I sold my ship.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Gambling debts?”
“No.”
“Why then?”
“What difference does it make? You’re going to kill me anyway. Just do it!”
He had steadied himself. He was ready. He clenched his teeth, shut his eyes. Still, the killer delayed.
“It makes a difference,” the executioner whispered in his ear, “because Allie is not your daughter.”
The blade came away from Wyatt’s neck.
Slowly, hesitantly, Wyatt turned to face the man holding the dagger. He had never seen him before. He was smaller than his partner, dressed in a black cloak with a hood that shaded his features, revealing only hints of a face—the tip of a sharp nose, highlight of a cheek, end of a chin.
“How do you know that?”
“She saw us in the dark. She saw my knife at your throat as we stood deep in shadow across the length of twenty yards.”
Wyatt said nothing. He did not dare move or speak. He did not know what to think. Somehow, something had changed. The certainty of death rolled back a step, but its shadow lingered. He had no idea what was happening and was terrified of making a misstep.
“You sold your ship to buy her, didn’t you?” the hooded man guessed. “But from whom, and why?”
Wyatt stared at the face beneath the hood—a bleak landscape, a desert dry of compassion. Death was there, a mere breath away; an utterance remained all that separated eternity from salvation.
The bigger man, the one with three swords, reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “A lot is riding on your answer. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Right now you’re trying to decide what to say, and of course, you’re trying to guess what we want to hear. Don’t. Go with the truth. At least that way, if you’re wrong, your death won’t have been because of a lie.”
Wyatt nodded. He closed his eyes again, took a deep breath and said, “I bought her from a man named Ambrose.”
“Ambrose Moor?” the executioner asked.
“Yes.”
Wyatt waited but nothing happened. He opened his eyes. The dagger was gone and the three-sword man was smiling at him. “I don’t know how much that little girl cost, but it was the best money you ever spent.”
“You aren’t going to kill me?”
“Not today. You still owe us one hundred tenents, for the balance on that job,” the man in the hood told him coldly.
“I—I don’t have it.”
“Get it.”
Light burst into the alley as the door to Wyatt’s loft flew open with a bang and Elden charged out. He held his mammoth two-headed axe high above his head as he strode toward them with a determined look.
The man with three swords rapidly drew two of them.
“Elden, NO!” Wyatt shouted. “They’re not going to kill me! Just stop.”
Elden paused, his axe held aloft, his eyes looking back and forth between them.
“They’re letting me go,” Wyatt assured him, then turned to the two men. “You are, aren’t you?”
The hooded man nodded. “Pay off that debt.”
As the men walked away, Elden moved to Wyatt’s side and Allie ran out to hug him. The three returned to the loft and slipped inside the doorway. Elden took one last look around then closed the door behind them.
———
“Did you see the size of that guy?” Hadrian asked Royce, still glancing over his shoulder as if the giant might try to sneak up on them. “I’ve never seen anyone that big. He had to be a good seven feet tall, and that neck, those shoulders, and that axe! It would take two of me just to lift it. Maybe he isn’t human, maybe he’s a giant, or a troll. Some people swear they exist. I’ve met a few who say they have seen them personally.”
Royce looked at his friend and scowled.
“Okay, so it’s mostly drunks in bars who say that, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Ask Myron, he’ll back me up.”
The two headed north toward the Langdon Bridge. It was quiet here. In the respectable hill district of Colnora, people were more inclined to sleep at night than to carouse in taverns. This was the home of merchant titans, affluent businessmen who owned houses grander than many of the palatial mansions of upper nobility.