The Thief King

8. Unlikely Friends

Hannah ran until her sides ached. She ran until her blood sang in her ears and her calves screamed for respite. She ran until the smell of fish was behind her and the mist thinned. To be sure of no tails, she ducked behind a tower of abandoned crates and waited, listening as her breath caught up to her.

The bag she clutched to her breast was awfully empty. Travis would not be impressed. She would say she did not care, but she did. Its smelly contents were not enough, he'd be interested in the coin in her pouch, and it barely held the worth of a good pair of boots. It had taken her months to earn his trust and prove her worth. This raid was likely to earn her the backseat for a few mornings. She could not afford such punishment. There were people who needed the fish and there was no one else to get it for them.

Her breathing had calmed when a hand came out of nowhere and yanked her out of her hiding spot.

"There she is, the little runt. Alder! I got 'er, mate!" A man of formidable size lifted her slightly off the ground by her collar. She swung a leg at him but he jumped out of its way. "They start young, don't they?" He sniggered.

"Let me go!" she squealed, her heart had restarted its race. Fear shook her just as much as her captor.

"I'll do so once I get them fish and coin back, little lady. After that I 'ave a mind to dish you a meal o' respect with the palm of me 'and. And even then, I think the peekays will 'ave a lot to say to ye. Alder! Where is that buffoon?" He looked over his shoulder, searching the empty ally. Hannah took advantage of his distraction and swung out with her legs, catching him in the groin. The man wheezed and toppled forward. His hand loosened and she shook free. Freedom was short lived, he grabbed her again but this time by the neck. His other hand clutched at his crotch as his purple face stopped a hair's breath from her own.

"Ye filthly, little sewer rat!" His spit hit her face. She tried to pull away but the pressure on her neck was painful.

"Stop it!" she cried, "You're hurting me."Her fingers held on to her satchel with a vice like grip. With the other she scratched at his hand, her nails drawing blood. The man yipped, hissing at her through clenched teeth.

"Yer more likely to remember not to go kicking men in their gizzards then."

"I didn't kick you in your gizzards. I kicked ye in your pebbles."

His sneer dropped for a moment, replaced by a look of stupor. Hannah would have laughed but she was struggling to pull in enough air. "You're choking me."

"I should beat ye." His fingers tightened despite his words. Just as quickly, they released her and she dropped to her knees, coughing.

She looked up and found her assailant being manhandled by a large, muscular man. Dark hair paved down the center of his head like a flat paintbrush. His clothing was dark and tight and likely hid an armory of weapons. He was glaring at the man, his square teeth glinting at his prey.

"Ye make it a habit o' picking on youngins, mate?"

"None o' this be yer business!"

The larger man smiled. "Mayhaps, but ye passed a block back there that made it so. Ye know where ye be standing? Whose territory ye be making trouble in?"

The two men held each other's gazes before Hannah's assailant darted his eyes around. "Aye. I had not realized."

"I figured. Ye'd be best to be on yer way then. I'll deal with the girl."

"But—"

"I aint listening to more of yer squabblin', mate. Leave before I make a stone of ye."