Benjamin Ashwood Series: Books 1-3 (Benjamin Box) Page 8

Cranston quickly spouted out directions that somehow made perfect sense. Three bridges, left at the little fountain in the plaza, down the spice sellers alley, and over the yellow bridge. There were no street names in Fabrizo so simple directions worked best.

  The Stranger’s Market was nothing like the rest of the city. It was situated on its own island and looked to be the largest one in the group. Unlike the other islands, this one had no permanent structures. Instead, it was packed from bridge to bridge with a confusing mix of temporary structures. There were narrow walkways weaving in between tightly packed canvass stalls, a hodge podge of tents grouped together in uneven clumps, open spaces covered in carpets and goods, massive tents nearly as large as the commons in Farview, and shops set up in the backs of handcarts.

  A wave of odd sounds washed up from the market. Exotic animals, strange music, and vendors cries in a variety of accents and languages all blended together into the cacophony of commerce.

  The goods for sale were just as disorganized and even more varied than the temporary structures. There were fabrics made of materials he had never seen before, oils and potions promising cures to any ailment, beads, glassware, jars stuffed full of bizarre items that were frequently difficult to identify, strange fruits and other food items, clothing, spices, odd mechanical devices, boxes, bags, jewelry, and unfamiliar animals.

  He stumbled across a tent stuffed full of wire cages with small furry creatures in them. He was staring, trying to identify what the creatures were when the one-eyed proprietor slid up next to him. “Monkeys. You like? They do your bidding for you. You never have to work again. Five silver for untrained. Two gold for fully trained.”

  “Uh, no thank you,” mumbled Ben in reply.

  Ben quickly moved on as the man shouted after him, “Impress your friends. Impress your lady. You have a lady, right?”

  Ben was in such a hurry he stumbled into a table stacked with murky glass jars and nearly sent the entire stack crashing down. He managed to get out a hand to steady them before they fell. He recoiled in horror though when he saw what appeared to be human eyes staring back at him from within the cloudy brown liquid. This merchant made no sales pitch, just stared at him from deep within his cowled, undyed robes. Ben prayed it was his imagination that the eyes followed him as he scampered deeper into the market.

  A small rack of wire and glass contraptions caught his eye and the plump, colorfully clothed merchant beamed at him as he approached. The devices were a mirrored piece of glass intricately supported above a small metal box. The merchant eyed his sword and purred, “An adventurer, yes? You have come to the right place. My farseeing devices are a must for any hunter, sailor, or soldier. Focus your will and you can see leagues in any direction.”

  “Really?” asked Ben. He drew closer and leaned down to look into one of the mirrors.

  “Now, now,” the woman shooed him back, “I only allow testing by serious buyers. Are you serious?”

  “I… It sounds interesting, but I’m not sure I have the money for something like this. How does it work?”

  “Focus and Will, how do you think it would work?” Her tone had quickly changed. “Move along now. I only have time for serious customers.”

  Ben moved on and soon found himself in a relatively open space lined with stalls of food sellers and wine merchants. He paused to soak in the strange scents of the cooking food and made a slow circle. He wasn’t familiar with many of the items for sale but he at least understood food. He shuddered at the thought of the jars of eyes and decided to take a short break.

  A fat, jolly-looking man called out to him from behind a grill covered in long skewers of meats and vegetables, “Ho there, boy. You look like you could use something to eat!”

  Ben smiled in return and stepped up to see what the man was selling. The skewers appeared to be similar to the ones sold by other street vendors at nearly every major intersection throughout the rest of Fabrizo. Ben commented on it.

  The man replied, “Ha! Smart boy. Everyone comes to the Stranger’s Market for something exotic, but what is exotic to a man from Ooswam? Not ostrich pies, my friend. Fabrizo’s finest skewers are! Nice for you, too. The foreign stuff is no good around here. Don’t see a lot of live ostriches in Fabrizo, do you?”

  Ben was curious about some of the things he’d seen, but the man was right. Where did they get the ostrich meat around here?

  He passed the man a few tin bits and got a paper wrapped skewer in exchange. He sat down on a bench in front of the stall and took a bite of the vegetables and greasy meat on the skewer. The crowd in the market was just as interesting and diverse as the wares for sale.

  Even from across the bridge, he had been able to hear a deluge of strange sounds. Unknown languages, music, the water, sea birds, and the clatter of commerce. It all contributed to an aural equivalent of the dinner he had the night before. Once on the island, the people seemed to be from a hundred different races and cultures, each with their own unique style of dress. There were shaven-headed, olive-skinned people in long flowing robes that reminded him of Saala, dark heavily scarred men wearing only baggy trousers, pale raven-haired men and women who wore exclusively black leather, a lot of men who must be sailors, women in dresses finer than anything he had seen in Farview, and some women wearing hardly any clothes at all.

  He admonished himself for staring but couldn’t help wondering what Amelie or Meredith might look like in some of those outfits. One woman walked by in a flimsy dress that covered from her neck to her ankles. When she got close he almost choked on his skewer—he could clearly see through the light material that she had nothing on underneath. He’d seen girl’s bodies before in the summer when they’d swim in the rivers around Farview, but that had been much more innocent than this.

  The craziest part was that when he was caught staring, some of the women gave him an appraising look right back. The woman in the see-through dress even leaned toward him, winked and in a honeyed voice whispered, “Come find me later at the Barker’s tent. Half price for you.”

  These were the women Cranston warned him to stay away from.

  Ben finished his skewer and, feeling a bit more settled, headed back into the market. It was early afternoon and he wanted to find Amelie’s ribbons then head back to the inn before it got dark. After spending the day navigating Fabrizo’s winding streets and bridges, he knew he’d have much better luck finding the place in daylight.

  It took him awhile, but near the edge of the Market, he finally found what he was searching for. A kind-looking shriveled old woman was selling ribbons, buttons, and sewing supplies. The woman was only asking a copper for a ribbon so Ben bought a handful of different ones and still had two of the heavy silver coins and several copper coins left over. He had more ribbons that he could ever imagine the girls needing, but the old woman looked like she could use the business.

  His errand accomplished and having seen a good portion of the city, Ben started back to the inn, feeling content. He had daydreamed his entire life about seeing big cities and having adventures, but in the back of his head, he was always nervous about the thought of leaving Farview.

  Farview was familiar and it was comfortable. As it turned out, Fabrizo was different, but it wasn’t intimidating or scary. Well, aside from the table full of eyes, it wasn’t scary. So far, the people seemed to be friendly and helpful.

  Ben lifted his head and took a deep breath of the salty air. As he moved, he heard a few small clinks. He glanced down. Around his feet, he saw the contents of his coin purse and a grubby hand scooping it up.

  A boy, near Ben’s age but shorter and skinnier, jumped up and slashed a knife in Ben’s direction before shouting, “Don’t try to follow me!”

  The boy scrambled backward several steps then turned and bolted down the street.

  Ben felt by his hip and realized the boy must have cut the bottom of his coin purse. “Stop, thief!”

  A rough looking sailor wearing a loose knit hat and no shirt chuckled as the
thief ran past him and called to Ben, “Well, aren’t you going to chase him?”

  With that, Ben sprang into a run. As his scabbard slapped painfully against his leg, he thought his next lesson with Saala needed to be how to run with a sword on your belt. He grabbed the hilt and tried to steady the weapon as he barreled across a connecting bridge.

  Like any boy from Farview, Ben worked for his bread and he was in good shape, but the thief was quick and familiar with the winding streets. Ben found himself hurtling over low carts and dodging passersby all the while yelling for assistance. No one made a move to slow the thief down.

  The thief seemed to have no problem navigating the congestion in the streets and was quickly gaining distance. The only thing keeping Ben in the race was that they were moving over more commercial islands that had broad open streets. In some of the narrow alleyways he’d passed earlier in the day, the little thief would be lost in the twists and turns in no time.

  Ben knew he had to try something or Amelie’s money and his life savings would soon disappear into the back alleys of Fabrizo. He shouted, “Stop, or I’ll put this crossbow bolt in your back!”

  It was ridiculous—he didn’t have a crossbow and the thief had surely seen that before robbing him—but it was the only gambit he had.

  And it worked. The thief glanced back in disbelief, just long enough for an apple cart to roll into his path. He crashed into the cart at a full sprint. Legs kicking in the air, he flipped over the cart, causing an explosion of apples before he crashed down on the ground. The owner of the cart started yelling and kicking at him.

  Ben redoubled his speed. He wanted to get there before anyone else claimed his coins.

  Suddenly, right before Ben got there, the apple cart owner fell back, gripping his leg and shouting curses. The thief was up again, dashing into a nearby alley with his small blade in hand. Ben paused long enough at the mouth of the alley to make sure the boy wasn’t waiting in the dark to stab him, then drew his sword and strode in.

  The alley opened up to a small, empty courtyard with several closed doors, probably stairways to people’s upstairs apartments. The thief was franticly trying to find one unlocked.

  “Stop right there, thief,” Ben demanded.

  The thief spun around with his blade out. His eyes popped when he saw Ben’s sword. Ben dropped into one of the more aggressive fighting stances Saala had taught him. The boy was quick with that knife, but the little training Saala had given him and the unbeatable reach advantage he had with his sword made Ben confident this fight would be a sure thing.

  The thief must have felt the same way. He tossed his little knife down at Ben’s feet. “Look, I’ll give you your coins back. No harm, and all is forgotten.”

  The thief started digging into his clothing. Ben tensed, thinking he had another hidden knife, but he came out with his own coin purse tied around his neck and emptied it into his palm. “See, all here. Take it. We don’t need to have a problem.”

  Ben had the thief pinned in the alley and thought about calling for the authorities, but considering how little help he’d gotten pursuing the thief out of the market and across several islands, he guessed that Fabrizo was a town where people handled their own business. He felt like he should do something about the thief, but he didn’t know what. All of his money looked like it was held in that dirty hand.

  “Drop it. Next time, I won’t be so nice!”

  The coins clinked onto the cobblestones. The thief edged around one side of the courtyard and Ben the other. He spared a glance to confirm all of his coins were lying there, and maybe a little extra. He quickly glanced back to the thief and watched him snatch up his knife before slowly backing out of the courtyard.

  Still nervous about the thief returning, Ben laid his sword down on the cobblestones and collected his coins. He was counting them to see if they were all there when the thief appeared back at the mouth of the courtyard, this time, slowly backing into it with his hands raised. Ben quickly slipped his money into his pocket and stood with his sword raised defensively.

  The thief was not paying any attention to Ben, though. He was focusing on someone coming down the alleyway after him.

  “Nowhere to go this time, Renfro.” The shirtless sailor with the knit cap that Ben saw earlier was advancing into the courtyard holding a long, curved knife. It was nearly the size of a short sword and was wickedly serrated along the interior curve. That knife was meant for gutting. Two bulky, menacing looking men with cudgels followed behind the sailor.

  “Look, Casper, I didn’t know it was protected. I swear. I’ll pay it back. Whatever I need to do.” Renfro, the thief, kept moving into the center of the courtyard.

  Ben held his sword steady. Other than a glance from one of the hulking thugs behind Casper, he was being ignored.

  “Doesn’t matter, Renfro, and we both know you can’t pay back an entire cargo of Ishlanese carpets. The guild’s going to pay the coin, but you’re gonna pay the blood price.”

  Renfro glanced back at Ben and pleaded, “You wanna get involved in this? They’re going to kill us both! You’ve got a sword!”

  Casper grinned and kept his eyes on Renfro, slowly waving his knife in front of him.

  Ben eyed the three thugs and shuddered. All three of the men stepped confidently. From the variety of scars and crooked noses, this wasn’t the first time any of them had been a scrap. He knew it’d be long odds, trying to face down seasoned brawlers, but the courtyard was big enough to provide all the room he’d need with his sword. He had the advantage of holding the more deadly weapon.

  Renfro still had his hands in the air and wasn’t making a move toward the small knife he had tucked in his belt. Ben figured he could count on the small thief to join the fight if it came to it. The boy seemed earnestly afraid for his life.

  But Ben had no dog in this fight. The thief had victimized him moments before. If anything, he probably deserved whatever these people were going to do to him. Clearly, they knew each other well, and Renfro had violated some agreement they had.

  Ben eyed Casper and asked, “I was just recovering my stolen property. You saw me chasing him. I don’t have anything to do with this. Can I go?”

  Casper finally spared Ben a glance. “Yeah. Get out of here.” He ran his thumb along the edge of his blade to emphasize his point. “I don’t need to tell you to forget this ever happened.”

  Ben nodded and started edging around the courtyard, just the way the thief had done earlier.

  Renfro made eye contact. No words were necessary. His look told Ben that he was being left to die.

  “Wait!” shouted Ben.

  Ben couldn’t let them kill the boy. There is right and there is wrong. Ben didn’t know what should be done with the thief, but he knew leaving him to be gutted in this courtyard was wrong. And who were these men to decide? What gave them the moral authority to decide Renfro’s fate? Before he knew what he was doing, Ben had decided that Renfro should face the law. Renfro would have consequences for his actions, but it would not be determined by these men.

  “This man will be turned in to the city guards,” declared Ben. “He will face punishment for stealing from me and whatever else he’s done, but it will be by the proper authorities.”

  Casper snorted. “Proper authorities. And who might that be? Renfro is one of ours and he will face our justice. Leave now, and I may not remember your face.”

  Ben raised the point of his sword. “I am not leaving unless I take him with me.”

  Casper looked to his companions then back at Ben. “How do you think you will take him? There are three of us, boy. There’s no reason for you to die here too.”

  The two massive thugs finally gave Ben their full attention. One of them started slowly spinning his club, his thick tattooed arms flexing with corded muscle. Too late, Ben realized those cudgels must be filled with lead or some other heavy element. The thug didn’t have to strain to swing the thing, but it was clear it was far heavier than a simple w
ooden instrument. That cudgel swung by that man could easily shatter bones and leave him crippled. Suddenly, the sword didn’t seem enough of an advantage.

  “I don’t know if I can take all of you, but I know you can’t take me uninjured!” Ben dropped back into Saala’s aggressive fighting stance. He hoped the thugs would see reason. He knew he couldn’t win the fight, but he thought they would decide it wasn’t worth it.

  He was wrong.

  The thug on his left, Ben’s off hand, suddenly moved around the side of him. Ben turned to face the man, but before Ben could react, the second thug smashed his cudgel against Ben’s blade, nearly sending it spinning across the courtyard. The only thing that allowed Ben to hold on was his weeks of practice on the road with Saala.

  The man obviously expected Ben to lose the weapon and had quickly advanced after his strike. Ben swung backhanded at him and sliced flesh before the thug jumped away. A long red line spread across the big man’s torn shirt.

  Before Ben could feel smug for winning the first salvo, a fist the size of a small ham from the first thug smashed into the side of his head. It sent him crashing to the ground with the world spinning and lights dancing in front of his eyes.

  The injured thug stepped over to him and Ben saw a steady flow of blood had already painted half of the man’s chest. He placed a heavy foot on top of Ben’s sword and muttered to his companion, “Bastard’s got some fight in him, huh?”

  Ben struggled to move his sword before his eyes rolled up into his head. He slid into blackness.

  5

  The Philosophy of Thieves

  When Ben regained consciousness, he was lying face down on a damp stone floor. A scent like old wheat filled his nostrils. His head was pounding like it was stuck between a blacksmith’s hammer and anvil. His muscles felt like they had the consistency of Edward Crust’s holiday jelly.

  Briefly, he was back in Farview, and struggled to remember what kind of horrible - or wonderful - night led to such a painful hangover.