The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 5

The next day dawns predictably: bright and hot.

I pass the morning by first making a quick stop at Harry's cart, quarrelling good-naturedly before ultimately compromising on the exchange of my silver candlestick for a couple of fresh loaves of bread and a handful of day-old rolls. I drift aimlessly for a while, eating slowly and carefully to savour my meal. The remainder of the food, I dole out to the young mothers and handless beggars hanging around the outskirts of the square.

With my stomach filled and my pockets lighter, I decide to head into the Court and see what business I can drum up.

Several blocks of polished stonework and swept streets make up the Court. The wide pathways arc uphill, drawing travellers past increasingly grandiose buildings and ending in the wooden gates and stone wall surrounding the City's grandest testament: the glass Palace. Here, people amble through town clad in rich clothes of vibrant silk, as unhurried and elegant as those from the Commons are rushed and crude.

Fashionable women clasp the arms of distinguished suitors, their genteel voices commenting on this gorgeous hat and those delightful pastries. Their concerns are so vapid, it makes me sick. Not one of them pays me notice and I feel myself a part of the landscape, no more conspicuous than a bench or flower box.

I size up the crowd as I walk, systematically noting the details of my potential targets. I spot two women giggling over a shared joke and wander closer, veering off a moment later when I realize that the quality of their gloves is not as fine as it could be. Most likely these ninnies receive only the barest of allowances.

A gentleman passes me by, his ornately carved walking stick clacking obnoxiously against the brushed stone. I tail him briefly but pretend to become distracted by a shop window when he stops to check his pocket watch and glances in my direction. From the corner of my eye I catch him lifting his lips into a sneer as he regards me. I briefly consider teaching him a lesson in rudeness by taking his watch anyway, but decide against it.

A flash of crimson startles my vision. A young woman exits the shop, pausing momentarily to unfurl her lace parasol before she strolls away.

I pause a few seconds before following, keeping a safe distance as I watch her peering into the windows of various shops. When she stops to consider a display of cakes, I slowly sidle up, waiting until she glances away before I purposefully knock my head against the open parasol, startling her.

"Ohh..." I groan, rubbing my head and bending over.

"Oh my goodness! I am so sorry—are you all right?" She steps closer, making to touch my shoulder before she notices my ragged clothes and pulls her hand back.

"It really hurts. I'm not bleeding, am I?" I tilt the top of my head toward her, my eyes completely focused on the pretty little purse dangling from her wrist.

She leans over me, her eyes searching my rats' nest of hair while I seamlessly unsheathe my dagger and cut the string binding the purse to her arm. I catch it soundlessly when it drops into my waiting palm.

"No... I don't see anything..." She moves back and tries to look at my face.

"It's fine, probably just a scratch."

My task complete, I now aim to put as much distance between us as possible. She stands dumbly as I slip back into the crowd and dart away, making several turns for good measure before taking refuge in a darkened alley.

I grin to myself, holding up the purse and examining it. Very finely made, the leather is bleached white and there appears to be some embossing along the hem. There's a promising amount of weight to it, too. I am about to pull the purse open when I am halted by a hand snaking out of the shadows and clamping down hard on my wrist.