The Runaway King (The Ascendance Series, Book 2)

What’s the matter with you?”

With a jump I turned, knife out, and saw Fink staring at me, his finger casually hooked around the rope that acted as his belt. The rat still sat on his shoulder, watching me cautiously. Rats weren’t my favorite companions. I’d experienced enough rodents in the orphanage to develop a healthy hatred of them.

Embarrassed, I wiped my eyes and stood, then replaced my knife in its sheath and continued walking down the alley away from him. He followed.

“So you’re telling me the name of that pirate is Devlin?” I said loudly. “You, Fink, are telling me the pirate’s name?”

“Stop it!” Fink said, running up to me. “Everyone can hear you.”

“Really, Fink? So everyone can hear that you told me the name of that pirate? Stay away from me or I’ll keep talking like this.”

He stopped walking. “Oh, I see. You don’t want me around.”

“Nope.”

“But —”

I glanced back. “But what?”

He licked his lips, which were already cracked and dry. “I know you’ve got other coins, and I’m really hungry. I know you’re new here, and so if you need anything, I’ll help you find it.”

I walked back to him. Although I wasn’t particularly tall, I still seemed to tower over him. “What do you think I need?”

Glancing down at the ground, he mumbled, “Why’d you want the name of that pirate?”

“I’m making a collection of pirate poetry. Thought he’d be charming to write about.”

Fink made a face and started to turn away from me. I jangled the satchel of coins at my hip, getting his attention again.

“I asked you a question,” I said. “What do I need?”

“Well,” Fink said. “I think you need a place to stay tonight.”

“I can pay for anyplace I want.”

“No, I mean a place where someone like you belongs.” Fink’s eyes remained locked on the satchel.

“I belong with the pirates,” I said. “Where can I find them?”

Fink held out his hand. “They’ll kill me if I tell you. So information like that is pretty expensive.”

I untied the satchel and held it out for him, waiting for an answer.

While eyeing the coins, Fink lifted the fat rat off his shoulder and began stroking his back. A part of me felt bad for tempting him to talk to me, because I appreciated how dangerous it might be. But without the priest’s help, I didn’t have any other way to find Devlin.

Then I heard a faint thud behind me, movement. Fink’s expression didn’t betray a thing, which meant he wasn’t surprised at whoever was coming our way. The kid had set me up. Of course he would. Nobody survived alone in Avenia.

I turned around to see the half-dozen boys who had joined us. Fink was the youngest and smallest. Several of the boys were older and bigger than me, all of them unfriendly. Each was carrying a homemade weapon of some type: a club, or a whip, or a knife carved of bone. A few bounced large rocks in their hands. Even the ignorant could use a rock.

One hand went to the handle of my sword, but I didn’t take it out. In that instant, a memory tugged at me, something vital to the mystery about my family’s murders, but I couldn’t think about it here. A fight was brewing, which was the last thing I wanted. I’d get some of them and some of them would get me, and to be honest, it was that second part which concerned me more.

I tossed the satchel to the ground, at Fink’s feet. “Take it, then. There’s plenty more coins where they came from.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been on the streets long.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re never supposed to say that you’ve got more coins. That only attracts worse trouble later.”

I grinned. “Trouble from who? A kid like you could never steal everything I’ve got access to.”

Fink’s eyes widened while he contemplated that, then he nodded toward the belt at my waist. “If that’s true, then you can afford another sword and knife.”

“You said there’s somewhere I belong. Wherever that is, I’ll need my weapons.”

“If you stole the coins, then you stole these weapons too, so they’re no more yours than ours. Give ’em up and you’ll walk out of here. Try to fight us and you won’t.”

“Fighting would mess up my new haircut,” I said. “Tell me where you think I belong.”

“Give me your weapons.”

He replaced the rat on his shoulder and cocked his head at a mountain of a boy behind me. To keep him away, I tossed my knife and sword on the ground by Fink’s feet.

“There’s a tavern on the far edge of town from here,” Fink said. “Maybe you belong there. Ask for room eleven.”

Fink crouched to get the weapons and as soon as he looked down I kicked him in the head. He cried out and fell backward. He already had my sword but I retrieved my knife and ran. The other boys started to chase me but it was only a halfhearted effort. They knew as well as I did that there were plenty of hiding places in Dichell, carved out either by the street gangs waiting to ambush a traveler, or by a traveler hoping to save his life in the shadows. The problem was that I couldn’t hide. I had pirates to find.

I ducked into a bakery on the street where a rather pretty girl was just closing up her shop. I chatted politely with her and took a couple of sweet rolls to tuck beneath my shirt. She might have noticed, but she let me walk out anyway.

Much as I dreaded the idea of going to the tavern Fink had suggested, I knew that’s where I needed to be. And seeing it later that evening was worse than I’d anticipated. No degree of darkness could mask the fact that there were barns more hospitable to humans than this place. It was partially hidden by overgrown weeds and grasses and littered with whatever wreckage a customer didn’t feel like carrying with him. It had a few windows on the main and upper floors, but they were too covered in grime to let in much light. Most likely, there was nothing inside worth seeing anyway, so perhaps that was for the best.

I debated with myself for a long time before walking in. It wasn’t a good idea, but I seemed to be experiencing a shortage of better alternatives. When I set eyes on the owner, I decided he looked enough like a pig that it made sense why his tavern reminded me of a barn. Like most other taverns, this place was too dark and seemed unnaturally crowded with tables and chairs. A couple of scabby men sat behind cobwebs near the edge of one wall, but their interest seemed to be in nursing their drinks rather than caring who I might be. The corners of the room were filthy and I knew by the chewed chair legs that the tavern owner had rats.

“What do you want?” the owner asked.

My heart raced. Once I spoke, there’d be no turning back, not until my fight was finished, or I was dead. He cocked his head, impatient with my silence, and I said, “I want a room. Number eleven.”

If there were eleven rooms in this muck trap, they’d have to be the size of coffins. Obviously, I was giving him a code word.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw and surveyed me. “Show me your money.”

I smirked at him. “Can I pay you later?” If I was here in the morning, I could probably steal enough from his till to cover my debt.

He frowned. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t need it.”

The bartender took offense at that. “I’m doin’ you a favor, boy. You could be more friendly about things.” He passed a drink across the counter to me. “Here.”

The drink was dark brown and frothy and smelled like a stable floor. I pushed it back to him. “Not for me.”

“Just a sip. I’m sure you’re thirsty. Besides, it’s a new batch and I want to know if it’s any good.”

“I can tell you from here that it’s not.” And if this place was what I suspected, the drink also contained the same powder I’d used to put Mott to sleep, or worse. I turned around. “Where’s the room?”

He nodded to a flight of stairs. “First door on the right. Sleep as long as you want and maybe you’ll work for me later on.”

No, I wouldn’t.

Room eleven was unmarked as such, and the furnishings inside were simple, with nothing but a mattress stuffed with pine needles and moss. It was flat on the floor and had a thin blanket for a covering. I didn’t care. I sank onto the mattress, ignored the ends of the needles that pricked through the fabric, and fell asleep immediately.

Some time later, something creaked in the hallway and my eyes flipped open. The room was very dark, but I remembered seeing a candle in the corner. I started to roll toward it, then froze, certain I heard footsteps on the stairs.

My initial thought was that the tavern owner was finally going to bed, which signaled the time for me to have a good look around before deciding whether to stay, as Fink had suggested. But as I listened, it clearly wasn’t the owner, who was a large man and would have heavier, less cautious footsteps.

And more than one was out there. I lay still on the floor. My hand was inches away from my knife, but I didn’t reach for it.

In the hallway, I heard the hiss of the tavern owner, saying, “Yeah, that room. But be quiet. He didn’t take the drink.”

Everything fell silent. Waiting there, knowing what was coming, was torturous. But it had to happen.

The door creaked open, letting in only a sliver of light from the hallway. I could feel them around me, like snakes slithering into a room. One was near my head, and I wasn’t sure how many were behind me, maybe four or five.

I’m not sure what the signal was, but they moved on me in unison. I grunted as one stuffed a gag in my mouth. As soon as it was tied, a canvas bag went over my head, then a drawstring pulled tight at the end of it. Another bound my wrists behind me, and it took two of them to clamp down my legs to tie them. Someone took the knife at my waist and placed it at my neck.

“Give me a reason to use this and I will,” a man growled, his face near mine.

I nodded, very slowly, then a large man picked me up and threw me over his shoulder to haul me out of the tavern.

Wherever Fink thought I belonged, that was where we were going.