They faced each other in the narrow, cluttered alley only a few yards from where Wyatt rented a loft. It was dark. A lantern hung a few feet behind him, mounted on the side of the feed store. He could see its flickering glow, the light glistening in puddles the rain had left on the cobblestone. Behind him, he could still hear the music of the Gray Mouse Tavern, muffled and tinny. Voices echoed in the distance, laughter, shouts, arguments; the clatter of a dropped pot followed the cry of an unseen cat. Somewhere a carriage rolled along, its wooden wheels clacking on wet stone. It was late. The only people on the streets were drunken men, whores, and those with business best done in the dark.
The man took another step closer. Wyatt did not like the look in his eyes. They held a hard edge, a serious sense of resolve, but it was the hint of regret he detected that jarred Wyatt the most.
“You’re the one who hired me and my friend to steal a sword from Essendon Castle.”
“I’m sorry. I really have no idea what you are talking about. I don’t even know where this Essendon place is. You must have me confused with some other fellow. It’s probably the hat.” Wyatt took off his wide-brimmed cavalier and showed it to the man. “See, it’s a common hat in that anyone can buy one, but uncommon at the same time, as few people wear them these days. You most likely saw someone in a similar hat and just assumed it was me. An understandable mistake. No hard feelings, I can assure you.”
Wyatt placed his hat back on, tilting it slightly down in front and cocking it a bit to one side. In addition to the hat, he wore an expensive black and red silk doublet and a short flashy cape; however, the lack of any velvet trimming, combined with his worn boots, betrayed his station. The single gold ring piercing his left ear revealed even more; it was his one concession, a memento to the life he had left behind.
“When we got to the chapel, the king was on the floor. Dead.”
“I can see this is not a happy story,” Wyatt said, tugging on the fingers of his fine red gloves—a habit he had when nervous.
“Guards were waiting. They dragged us to the dungeons. We were nearly executed.”
“I’m sorry you were ill used, but as I said, I’m not DeWitt. I’ve never heard of him. I’ll be certain to mention you should our paths ever cross. Who shall I say is looking?”
“Riyria.”
Behind Wyatt, the feed store light winked out and a voice whispered in his ear, “It’s elvish for two.”
His heartbeat doubled, and before he could turn, he felt the sharp edge of a blade at his throat. He froze, barely allowing himself to breathe.
“You set us up to die.” The voice behind him took over. “You brokered the deal. You put us in that chapel so we would take the blame. I’m here to repay your kindness. If you have any last words, say them now, and say them quietly.”
Wyatt was a good cardplayer. He knew bluffs and the man behind him was not bluffing. He was not there to scare, pressure, or manipulate him. He was not looking for information; he knew everything he wanted to know. It was in his voice, his tone, his words, the pace of his breath in Wyatt’s ear—he was there to kill him.
“What’s going on, Wyatt?” a small voice called.
Down the alley, a door opened and light spilled forth, outlining a young girl, whose shadow ran across the cobblestones and up the far wall. She was thin with shoulder-length hair and wore a nightgown that reached to her ankles, exposing bare feet.
“Nothing, Allie—get back inside!” Wyatt shouted, his accent fully exposed.
“Who are those men you’re talking to?” Allie took a step toward them. Her foot disturbed a puddle, which rippled. “They look angry.”
“I won’t allow witnesses,” the voice behind Wyatt hissed.
“Leave her alone,” Wyatt begged. “She wasn’t involved. I swear. It was just me.”
“Involved in what?” Allie asked. “What’s going on?” She took another step.
“Stay where you are, Allie! Don’t come any closer. Please, Allie, do as I say.” The girl stopped. “I did a bad thing once, Allie. You have to understand. I did it for us, for you, Elden, and me. Remember when I took that job a few winters back? When I went up north for a couple of days? I—I did the bad thing then. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t and I almost got some people killed. That’s how I got the money for the winter. Don’t hate me, Allie. I love you, honey. Please just get back inside.”
“No!” she protested. “I can see the knife. They’re going to hurt you.”
“If you don’t, they’ll kill us both!” Wyatt shouted harshly, too harshly. He had not wanted to do it, but he had to make her understand.
Allie was crying now. She stood in the alley, in the shaft of lamplight, shaking.
“Go inside, honey,” Wyatt told her, gathering himself and trying to calm his voice. “It will be all right. Don’t cry. Elden will watch over you. Let him know what happened. It will be all right.”
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.