Greed won out, and some of the men lowered their weapons slightly.
Tristan looked at the two men still holding their sabers to Scars' back. "Let him go, or Rolf dies. Do it now!"
After looking skeptically at each other, they cut Scars' bonds. But what happened next surprised even Tristan.
Scars whirled on the first of them, pulled the saber from his hands, and then lifted him over his head to send him crashing down on top of the other one.
Tyranny wasted no time either. Grabbing up one of the discarded sabers, she was at the prince's side in a flash.
"Now what, rich man?" the pirate in front shouted at him. It was clear they were nearing the end of their patience.
"You let the three of us go, and as a precaution against your doing anything stupid, Rolf comes with us," Tristan ordered. "I will give you the map tomorrow at dawn, after you deliver my spars and sails to me. Don't worry-our ships are in no condition to sail very far without what we need. If they had been, we would never have come here."
Finding the swindling sailmaker in the crowd, Tristan nodded at him. "Ichabod the sailmaker knows where we are moored," he shouted. "After what we need has been delivered and we have been given time to make our repairs, we are also to be given at least a half-day's start. If we are followed, Rolf dies, and your dreams of wealth die with him. If we are not followed, I will set Rolf adrift in a small skiff along with the map, and then you shall have both parts of the location and can do whatever you want with him-even kill him, for all I care. All the more for you. But mark my words-if you try to double-cross us or take us prisoner, not only will I kill Rolf myself, but I will also destroy the map. At that point, I would have nothing more to lose, and you will have lost the chance of a lifetime."
Pausing, Tristan looked hard into the crowd before speaking again. "Take it or leave it," he said with finality.
Greedy and confused, the pirates started shouting angrily among themselves. Tristan waited and watched, desperately hoping his gamble would pay off.
"I says we take him up on his offer!" a woman shouted, her voice rising above the din. She had climbed up on one of the tables and was gesturing wildly with her arms. Looking closer, Tristan saw that she was the whore who had propositioned him at the bar.
"What have we got to lose except for these three?" she went on. "And we might just make a bloomin' fortune! That sounds like a good bargain where I come from! I say we let them go, and see what happens!"
Tristan smiled and shook his head slightly. It seemed the whore had done him some good, after all.
But at the same time he realized that they needed to take quick advantage of the crowd's hesitancy if they were ever going to get out in one piece; there were flaws in his story, and allowing the pirates time to think things through was certainly not to his advantage.
Looking over at Scars, Tristan nodded toward the door, and Scars nodded back. Reaching down as best he could, Tristan stuffed the brain hook and vellum back into his boot and began dragging Rolf out by his heels. The dangerous, unsure crowd inched forward a bit more, but no one made a move to stop him.
Once through the door, Scars came quickly to Tristan's side and relieved him of Rolf. As though Rolf weighed nothing, the giant tossed him over the front of the saddle of one of the horses tied outside the inn, then freed the reins and mounted. Tyranny and Tristan untied two other horses, jumped into the saddles, and wheeled them around. As they charged away, Tristan looked over at Tyranny, and she smiled at him. Warily turning to look behind him, Tristan finally smiled, as well.
For the moment, no one was following.
CHAPTER
Forty-six
M arcus shifted his weight against the corner of the building as he watched the sun begin to set over the Plaza of Fallen Heroes. It was that special, indescribable hour of metamorphosis when the sky was just starting to change from the turquoise of day to the indigo of twilight. Then the blackness of a full-fledged night would cover everything, the stars peeking out from their distant hiding places in the heavens.
Marcus let out an exasperated breath. He had been waiting here for the last two hours, and he had more than one problem on his mind. As he looked around the hundredth time for a suitable victim, his stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he had last eaten.
Rebecca waited for him at home in the dilapidated shack. She was by now no doubt as hungry as he was, for they'd consumed the last of their food early this morning. Pursing his lips, he thought of her alone with the scroll that lay buried beneath the single, shabby cot. 'Becca must be terrified, he realized. She always was whenever she was left on her own with the strange, wondrous artifact. He only hoped that it had not started glowing again while he was gone.
Marcus had come back to the plaza for two reasons. One was to find a suitable mark whose pocket he could pick. The second was to tell Mr. Worth that they had a deal for the scroll at thirteen thousand kisa, the amount they had agreed upon two days earlier. He assumed Worth would still want the scroll, but a delivery date had yet to be established, and he needed money to feed himself and Rebecca until then.
He looked across the street to Worth's storefront. It was a fairly nondescript place with a glass front and a sign over the door that read artifacts of the craft-all items guaranteed authentic. Several patrons had left the shop this afternoon, cradling their new possessions as though they had just purchased the greatest wonders of the known world. Marcus had smiled at them with rueful skepticism as they rushed home with their supposed treasures.
Over the course of the last two days he had found and approached two other parties regarding the scroll, but he had not trusted them the way he had Worth. He couldn't put his finger on it, but for some reason he felt that the fat, ruddy-faced artifacts dealer was for the most part honest, while his encounters with the other two had sent a chill up his spine-a warning he always heeded. Deciding his game was fast becoming too dangerous, he had returned to confirm the deal with Worth.
As he looked up the street again, he thought he saw a suitable candidate for pickpocketing. As his target exited a clothing shop several doors down the street, Marcus casually shifted his weight away from the wall and began walking directly toward him.
The man was well dressed and was still counting his coins as he walked out of the shop, his purchases in one hand, his money in the other. Unbelievably foolish, Marcus thought. He had been taught never to exit a place with money still in his hands. Not only could everyone see how much he had, but they could also see which pocket he deposited it in.
Slowing down, Marcus watched as the fellow stuffed his coins into the right inside pocket of his waistcoat. Perfect, he thought.
Squaring his shoulders a bit in order to maximize the impact, Marcus hurried his pace again and walked directly into his mark. As the man twisted in an effort to maintain his balance, his coat flew open. One of Marcus' hands slipped in and out in a flash, then straight down toward the top of his right boot to let the coins fall into it.
"Watch where you're going, you fool!" the man shouted angrily as he juggled his packages. After giving the man a quick, seemingly embarrassed nod of regret, Marcus gracefully stepped around him and kept on going.
But he only took a few carefully measured steps before darting across the street and into Worth's shop. Looking out one of the windows, he smiled. The man he had just robbed was turning the far corner, completely ignorant of how much poorer he had just become. Judging by the weight in his boot, Marcus had done very well. He turned back to look over the shop.