The girl’s reverie, half from exhaustion, half from emotions spent in killing her sister’s murderer, had dulled her wits. She was barely aware someone else was nearby when she turned and tried to flee.
A man’s hand seized her wrist and held her in a grip like iron as she drew her dagger to defend herself. Another hand froze her movement as she looked up into the man’s blue eyes. He was the strongest man she had ever encountered, for no matter how she squirmed she was unable to free herself. And he was quick; when she tried to kick him in the groin, he turned enough that her kicks fell harmlessly on thighs that were as hard as oaks.
Other men approached, and in the early morning gloom the girl could make out a ring of dangerous-looking men closing around her. A short, unattractive man with a balding head looked her up and down and said, “What do we have here?” He pried the dagger from her immobile hand.
Another man, whose features she couldn’t make out, said, “This is the one who was following us.”
Robert de Loungville said, “Who are you, girl?”
The large man who held her said, “I think there’s blood on her hands.”
A shuttered lantern was uncovered and suddenly the girl could make out the faces of the men who surrounded her. The one who held her was little more than a boy himself, roughly the same age as she. He might have arms on him as big as her thighs, but his face was still soft and boyish, though there was something in his eyes that made her wary.
The short man, who seemed to be in charge, looked down and said, “Sharp eyes, Erik. She tried to wipe them off, but didn’t have water to bathe.” Turning to a man in the outer rank of those who surrounded her, he said, “Return to Sabella’s and check the rooftops and alleys around there; I think you’ll find the weapon and whatever she was wearing when she killed Tannerson. She couldn’t have dumped them into the harbor and had time to catch up with us.”
Another man, even shorter than the leader, young like the powerful youth but thin, even scrawny, pushed forward and thrust his face an inch from the girl’s.
“What have you done with my gold!” demanded Roo.
The girl spit in his face for an answer, and de Loungville had to hold him back from striking her in reply. “It’s getting light and this is too public a place,” said the sergeant, his voice held to a harsh whisper. “Bring her along to the palace, Erik. We’ll question her there.”
The girl decided it was time to cease being passive and screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping to startle the powerful youth into releasing his grip enough so she could yank free. All that happened was a meaty hand clamped down over her mouth and the short leader said, “Open your yap again, girl, and I’ll have him club you to silence. I have no need to be tender with you.”
She knew he was not making an idle threat. But as a shutter opened in a room above and as two street boys peeked out of a nearby alley, the girl knew she had achieved her goal. Before she reached the palace, word would reach the Daymaster that the thief called Kitty had been picked up by agents of the Prince, and at least she would have an acceptable excuse for not reporting to muster at Mother’s this morning. She’d have a most reasonable excuse for the Daymaster when she got back to Mother’s.
As the young man called Erik half carried, half led her through the predawn streets, the girl amended her last thought: if she ever got back to Mother’s to explain.
When they reached the palace, the mood among the men who escorted the prisoner lightened, except for Roo, who had demanded to know about his gold. He fumed and kept a suspicious eye upon the girl.
They entered the palace through a small gate, moving past two alert guards who said nothing. Down a long hallway, illuminated by torches in sconces, they continued in silence until they reached a large stairway leading down into the lower portion of the palace. Several of the men moved away, leaving the girl in the custody of de Loungville, Erik, Roo, Duncan, and Jadow.
Half pushing, half throwing her, Erik released the girl’s arm as they entered an interrogation cell. Shackles hung from the wall, and if the girl had taken the time to inspect them she would have seen them rusty from disuse. But she turned like a trapped animal and crouched, as if awaiting an attack.
“Tough one, isn’t she?” asked de Loungville.
“What about my gold?” demanded Roo.
“What gold?” said the girl.
De Loungville stepped forward. “Enough!” Looking at the girl thief, he asked, “What do we call you?”