Dozens of carts and wagons plodded to the city, some filled with produce for the next day’s markets, some empty, some occupied by farmers, some by more prosperous merchants. She did not look so out-of-place with her cart, though some cast the mares a speculative glace. Hopefully, no one recognized the horses and confronted her about her theft.

She was not stealing them. She only borrowed them in the name of justice. The guard could figure out what to do with them once she reached a guardhouse, because she had no way of caring for them. She had enough difficulty dealing with her street rats and her own personal expenses.

Originally, she had planned to enter the city and dump her prize at the Meggan Markets Guardhouse, which sat a few blocks in-city from the Kells Gates. The excruciating slow nature of the road traffic, however, meant she would not reach the gates in time to enter the city proper before they closed, and she would have to produce an entrance fee. She pondered which guardhouse to visit outside the walls. She knew a couple of out-wall guardsmen in passing, but not in the numbers to guarantee someone she had previously worked with manned the night shift. She hated dealing with unfamiliar guards; they smirked, made rude remarks about her appearance and assumed lovers, and then cheated her on her stake payout. She refused to be short-changed on the alchemist’s stake.

She darkly realized she had chosen the wrong way when she heard shouts above the general traffic noise. Four sweaty men on horses, in bulky outfits that semi-resembled noble house sentry uniforms, had taken exception to one poor farmer who had not pulled his team over far enough for them to pass unhindered. Apparently the grass to the side of the road was so inferior, they could not force their mounts to walk on it.

Country folk had issues, but city folk proved just as stupidly annoying.

Traffic stopped. She had the urge to take the cart off-road, but she hardly wished to get mired down in the soft dirt. Farmers called to one another, merchants loudly complained, but no one inserted themselves into the confrontation. The poor victim hunched down, his arms over his head, while one horseman used a riding crop on him.

She slid from the back of her horse and wormed her way through the wagons and animals. If no one else planned to help, she would. The bullies did not look all that imposing, and the unease two possessed in handling their horses hinted at a lack of riding practice. One had extreme difficulty keeping his mount stationary, and the tighter his grip became on the reins, the more the horse shook its head about and backed around.

The bully smacked the farmer, leaving red welts across his fingers, and laughed, sounding like a gleeful bullfrog. He paid her no mind, and once his compatriots realized she was a woman, they ignored her as well.

Good.

He lowered his arm. She grabbed the crop and yanked it out of his hands.

The countryfolk and the merchants gasped and called out warnings. The bully turned his horse and tried to grab her, but she stepped away and between two stationary wagons. She flipped the crop between her fingers and watched as he screamed insults, his face turning a brilliant shade of ruby. If he did not want to leave the safety of his mount, he had effectively tethered himself in the small space between vehicles, and yelling would not make them miraculously disappear.

The horse became as aggravated as its rider, and he finally dismounted before he was thrown. He stalked to her, his dark eyes sparking with the fire of consuming rage. “Do you know who I am?” he screamed, foamy spit flying before him.

“No.” She continued to flip the crop about, unimpressed with his temper and his stature. He looked scrawny, and she bet she had more muscle than he did. If he tried to strike her, she would punch back and make it hurt.

“You heard of Hoyt, you country bit?” he asked.

Hoyt? Were these the guards the alchemist had listed in his little book? She bet the one confronting her had a stake, if so.

“Hoyt?” Someone yelped. She could feel the horrified fear shoot through the crowd. Hoyt had a name in the countryside? Why? No street gossip indicated he shook down farmers and poor merchants in small towns for money. It would surprise her if he did. Not only was Hoyt a city boy, the barons who collected the taxes from the countryfolk would not appreciate his interference in their own wealth stealing. Barons had access to greater law enforcement options than the typical city-dweller and they could make life very, very difficult for a man who preferred to remain least-in-sight and let others break the law for him.

The bully’s buddies still blocked the way, so those who wished to escape from the confrontation tried to take their cargo off-road. One wagon, with the terrified farmer flailing about and trying to get his oxen to move faster, tipped over, spilling large red fruits everywhere. It struck another wagon that rocked back and forth, causing the draft horse to stumble and go down.

She turned back to her foe, cursing her distraction, but he also watched the mishap, his face wrinkled with dark anger. “I’ve heard of Hoyt,” she said over the shouting and confusion around her. His head snapped back to her, and he stepped menacingly forward.

“Give me that back, and I won’t mention your interference to him.”

She held up the crop and studied it, waving it back and forth slowly. “This? Why? So you can beat another poor farmer some more and make us all late?”

“Late?”

“You’re holding us up. We need to reach the gates before they close,” she told him crossly.

“I don’t care about the gates,” he said with a wide, white smile. He seemed better spoken and better kempt than Hoyt’s typical hire, and she wondered at his background. Patch had heard the man had begun to employ seedier merchant types and down-and-out guild guards for his organization, though where the headman acquired the money to do so puzzled him. While Hoyt ran a successful underground criminal enterprise, it was still a fledgling endeavor compared to some of the older drug runners and the Minq Syndicate, which pre-dated the Dentherion occupation. He did not have the reputation or clout to demand huge payouts from business partners.

Her foe leapt at her and reached for the crop.

She smacked his face with it, slashing a deep gash over his right eye. He stumbled back and shrieked. He really had not expected her to attack, had he? Stupid man, thinking being brutish intimidated all women. She kicked his right knee, which gave out, and he crashed to the ground, rolling and screaming. His buddies gaped at her, shocked that the mere mention of Hoyt’s name did not instill mind-obliterating fear in her, as it did with others.

She tugged her soft black hood down a little further, grateful she had worn it that day, grateful she had pinned her long, black hair tightly to her head, grateful she chose old, nondescript, mottled clothing for this chase. The precautions made it harder for the enemy to find a characteristic that they could use to hunt her down later.

Her act of defiance lit a fire under several of the younger lot. One joined her, kicking the lout in the head hard enough he stopped screaming. Three others faced the guards and their horses; one lunged and the two jumpy mounts whirled and fled. One guard kept his seat, though he struggled to remain in the saddle. The other's horse threw him, and screaming and flailing, he landed in the short grass at the edge of the road. He did not get back up. The remaining guard fled, refusing to face a growing crowd of angry farmers with the muscle to show him an immediate and intimate look at pain.

“Are you alright?” the man next to her gruffly asked. He had sun-touched, dry sandy brown hair, a deep tan, and dusty brown linen clothing, in decent shape but hardly new. He had the look and speech of a profitable farmer.

“Yeah,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Whadder we t’ do wid dem?” someone asked.

“I’ll take them,” she said.

“You?” the man asked, amused.

“Yeah. If they work for Hoyt, I’m betting there’s a stake on their heads. I could use the cash.”

“I’ll help,” he offered.

She shrugged. As long as he did not try to claim the alchemist’s stake, she would welcome the aid. “I’m Lanth.”

“Yedin.”

“Well met. Let’s get them into my cart.”

Yedin possessed the muscle to pick the bully up by the arm and drag him to the cart. She envied him the ease in which he handled him. She needed to start lifting heavy smithy objects and build some strength. After he cleared the road, the farmers and merchants once again began to make their way to the city, with a bit more speed than earlier.

He looked at the floorboards, noted the lumpy blanket, and frowned. “What are you haulin’?”

“Two other stakes.”

He blinked in surprise. She bent over and shoved the oil cloth in the guard’s face, and his half-awareness died under true unconsciousness.

“Throw him on top.”

He did not treat the man with much respect as he dumped him in place. She grinned as he retrieved the second, who laid in the taller grass to the side of the road, unconscious. Maybe she did need to avail herself of ‘keepers. It made certain tasks far easier.

She applied the cloth, and he dumped the body on top of the first. She checked to make certain all the men breathed and remained unconscious, then mounted her horse, ready to be away. Yedin waved his companion on without him, another stout farmer with so similar a cast she guessed they were brothers. The brother, while exasperated, did not protest, as if he expected the man to help. Yedin grabbed the lead rope; not a perfect solution to guide a horse, but she had not expected a driver, so had not bothered with reins. He squeezed himself into the small cart seat, though the wooden box bulged slightly at the sides. He clucked the horse into motion, and they fell in line with the steady movement of traffic to the city.

“Do you have a preference for guardhouse?” she asked.

“I know a guard at Kells Gates,” he said. “He’s farm-bred and takes kindly to visits. He gets bored at night. Name’s Linden.”

Linden. She did not know him, but she did not exactly have a better option. “Kells Gates it is.”

The Kells Gates were two large, stone-based barred gates to the southeast, each side with a guard tower that had oddly not fallen to the Dentherion army over two centuries ago. Now they mainly provided Jiy access to out-country merchant wagons and the like, though the bustle tended to die down at night. Rather than pay an entrance fee, merchants with the money stayed in the scattering of nearby, small, homey inns if they reached the Gates after they closed. Some of the entertainments at those inns had reputations that reached to Dentheria, and if given the opportunity, travelers leapt at the opportunity to experience them.

Brone wanted to play his drums at one of those inns. His eyes lit whenever he mentioned it, and his excitement ricocheted around him. While his drumming brought in some bits, street entertainers rarely possessed the skill or contacts to compete with merchant kids who had the backing of a music school education. She never mentioned it because she did not want to quell that inner light.

Kells Gates Guardhouse was a far nicer one than she normally did business with. It had two blue-stained wooden buildings, both thin and long, brightly lit by nicely scented oil lamps, and no random trash scattered about the yard. The city guard banner of a plain white shield on a blue background hung near every door. While a smattering of guards looked through a caravan’s cargo as they chatted at one another, not one of them rushed over, suspicious, demanding an immediate explanation as to why she brought a cart to them. Yedin glanced about, then set the reins down.

“I’ll get ‘m,” he said and bounded into the house.

How often did he visit? Often enough he did not provoke the interest of the guard, she supposed. If his friend smoothly worked the transition, this would become one of her more pleasant guard interactions.

Two men exited the house with Yedin; one, a reedy, excited lad, walked nearly on the heels of the second, Sir Armarandos. Lapis relaxed instantly. While their interactions were few, he always treated her with respect and never once cheated her on a stake. Patch spoke highly of him as well, a rarity, since polite words referencing the guard rarely left his mouth. They cheated him on far too many important stakes, and a few targeted him for questioning because they saw him as dangerous. Sir Armarandos never questioned him or why he chose a particular stake, and always made certain to thank him for the service he provided to Jiy after every transaction. The poorer residents had few others willing to exact justice on those who wronged them, and he appreciated having a skilled chaser take an interest in the lesser stakes.

The man smiled and twirled his greying mustache about. As usual, he wore a pristine knight uniform of blue and white, with his ranking official patch of a white guard shield on a dark red background prominently displayed on his right breast. While most officers wore a soft cloth hat that sagged to the left, he neglected it in favor of his slicked hair. Other officials found the lack of decorum embarrassing, but Sir Armarandos came from a prominent and very wealthy court family, and no one had the guts to disparage him to his face.

“Ah, Lady Lanth,” he said.

Yedin must have mentioned who he arrived with. “Sir Armarandos. I hardly expected you at an out-city guardhouse.”

“Inspection time of year,” he admitted.

“Well, I’m about to liven up your night.”

“How so?”

She dismounted and waved him to the back of the cart. Curious at her hesitancy to name her stake, he followed her.

“Yedin here says you have four? That’s quite the busy night.”

“Yeah. Two of them are guards who caused mischief on the road here. The one with a cut over his eye beat a farmer with this riding crop,” and she raised it up. “I stopped him, two fled on horseback, and the other was thrown. They’re wearing odd uniforms, and the one I cut said he worked for Hoyt.”

“Bit guards?” he asked as he studied the two. “I’m not familiar with this uniform. It seems strange for Hoyt to have his men wear them. He normally refuses to use any identifying mark that would lead the law back to him.”

“He frightened the farmers and merchants when he mentioned his employer.”

“Interesting.”

“We know about Hoyt,” Yedin said quietly. “There’s a lot of rumors goin’ around the towns near Jiy recently. They say he’s been killin’ guards and puttin’ his own men up to take their place. People don’t trust ‘m, anymore.”

“So the uniforms might mean they work for a town?” Lapis asked.

“We’ve heard the same rumors,” Sir Armarandos said. “Perhaps we now have proof.” He motioned at Linden. “Guard Linden, remove them from the cart.” Yedin helped his friend haul the two on top to the ground, which took so little time Lapis privately admitted to her envy.

Smiling and avoiding the temptation to wax dramatic, she whisked the blanket away from the other two. Sir Armarandos’s mouth dropped open briefly, then he laughed in disbelief. He tapped the slipper of the alchemist, who did not respond.

“What did you use on them?”

“Sleep oil from Grandin’s shop. I soaked a cloth with it. Knocked them right out.”

He chuckled. “I’ve used that a time or two. Small doses, of course, but I slept the night and day away like a babe. Who’s the other?”

“Do you know Cossie, a merchant in the Grey Streets? He knocked her over, and since she’s given me books for the street rats, I decided to do her a good one.”

“Moons luck on you this night. Relate the rest inside.”

At least he realized the need for secrecy.

He jerked his chin to the house door. “Linden, get Hatch and put these two in separate trap cells while we look through the stakes for the other two.”

Linden’s shock was short-lived, and he hustled inside to retrieve the man to help. Sir Armarandos kept his eye on the two, more important stakes, while Yedin looked ready to burst from curiosity.

“Did you recover any items?” the knight asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded absently, and stood, deep in thought, until the two guards rushed outside. He then bustled her and Yedin into the house and to a secluded, windowless room with several padded chairs, a worn table, several lit sconces, and a couple of poorly done landscapes. He motioned to the chairs before leaning out the doorway and demanding someone bring the stake book. Another officer walked in with it, and since Sir Armarandos did not throw him out, she believed him safe.

“What did you recover?” he asked as he closed the door. Both Yedin and the other officer frowned at the action, but she knew what he sought.

She withdrew the tech from her bag. His immediate seriousness made her slightly nervous, but she presented it to him. He took it with a frown and turned it about while the other two gaped in shocked trepidation. It was not every day, that guards dealt with Dentherion tech, and if a farmer saw anything like it in their lifetime, it was a momentous, singular event. She had seen more than her fair share of it, but she quelled her darker memories. She had better things to do than remember them.

“I’m not certain whether it’s broken or not. The alchemist tried it on his thief friend, there was a bunch of smoke and it made him pass out, but apparently something went wrong. He shook it about and kept trying to use it, but it did nothing else.”

Yedin and the officer yelped together. “The alchemist?”

“Yeah. The alchemist just happened to be visiting the thief, my original stake.” She held up a finger and pulled the small book listing the guard rotation details from her pouch. “And I expect more than a few bits for this.” She handed it to Sir Armarandos.

She had never seen the man’s bushy eyebrows reach so far up his brow, but they practically fled to the top of his head. “This is a remarkable find.” He smiled in wonder. “I never would have expected you to attempt such a capture. Not with the alchemist’s use of Dentherion technology.”

“I normally would have let him be, but with his weapon disabled, he was an easy stake. I waited until he slept, put the oil cloth to the nose and mouth, he passed out, and I dragged him into the cart.” She made a face at her weakness, compared to that of the farmer and guard.

“Sisen’s going to be very pleased, someone caught him. I’ll keep your name out of it.”

“That’s very appreciated, Sir Armarandos. Thank you.”

“You accidentally caught the alchemist,” the other officer said in awed disbelief.

“I could hardly pass up the opportunity. The thief was my original stake. He was holed up on a fallow farm on the way to Wisserdem. The alchemist showed up unexpectedly and told him Hoyt sent him there. The thief refused to put him up, so the alchemist used his weapon on him in response. Luckily the horses and cart were already there and easily accessed, so I could bring them both in at the same time.” She looked at Sir Armarandos. “I leave the horses and cart in your capable hands.”

“I know that farm,” Yedin said. “We all think it’s odd, how they raise horses but no food for ‘m. It’s a waste, especially since that farm was once really profitable. How’s he even payin’ his baron, without growin’ anythin’?”

“We’ll check the farm out,” the officer said.

“The book says a guard patrol consisting of two men from Hoyt was going to visit tonight,” Lapis said.

“I’ll get some men,” he said, glancing at Sir Armarandos. He nodded and the other man hurried out.

Yedin got a good dose of the dreariness, flipping through page after page of stake descriptions with portraits and a few Dentherion glossy images. His enthusiasm did not dwindle as hers did, and she had no idea why he found the experience exhilarating in some way. Sir Armarandos’s amusement at his excitement did not dwindle, either, and Lapis wondered if he anticipated the farmer changing professions in the near future. She could tell him, from hard experience, most stakes did not proceed so smoothly.

Linden and Hatch joined them after they had looked through approximately a quarter of the stakes, reporting they had secured the two men and placed a guard with them. Sir Armarandos handed them each a book. They did not share Yedin’s interest in staring at face after face.

They eventually found the stakes for the two guards. The bully had a much higher one, having tried his harsh techniques on a wealthy Songbird District merchant who did not appreciate Hoyt’s interference in his legal schemes. Yedin’s eyes about popped when he realized he would receive two silvers and random bits for his efforts. Considering the pay was half the yearly income of a farmer before his crop and taxes went to his baron, she understood his shock. She liked the fact, a good deed by a decent man ended in a rich reward.

Both he and Linden choked in disbelief at the heavy bag of sixty silvers she got for bringing in the alchemist and recovering his tech and schedule book. She would have preferred a note-silver, but banks and merchants normally refused to accept paper money from someone poor enough they lived in the Grey Streets. They always assumed it was counterfeit, even if the person proffering it was a known chaser.

“Lady,” Sir Armarandos said sternly as he handed her the reward. “I would prefer if Guardsman Linden escorts you back to the Eaves. There’s no use pressing your luck on this one.”

“Sir Armarandos, thank you for the concern,” she said, placing her hand over her heart. “I have a feeling ‘no’ is not an option.”

“Correct.”

She sighed. She very well could return to the Eaves on her own, but Sir Armarandos proved very strict about safety. Patch claimed the man had even sent an escort with him once, which he did not appreciate, and which earned him the laughing sympathy of the guard, who insisted on performing his duty anyway. Of course, that stake had paid ten metgals and some change, and the guard needed to vouch for him at the bank when he put it into his account. Random chasers did not earn the equivalent of two hundred thousand bits for any job. Patch was not a random chaser, but the bank still felt as if they needed a guard signature to justify their acceptance of his pay.

She signed the forms required of her, placing Sir Armarandos’s name on the one for the alchemist. It was common enough to name the officer who paid the stake fee if another guard had questions in the future; chasers were renowned for their unhelpfulness after the fact. She helped Yedin with his; while he wrote, he did not do it easily, and the paragraph required for an explanation of the capture proved difficult for him. His subdued surprise that she did not mock him elicited a chuckle from Sir Armarandos.

“She’s known in the city for helping the street rats learn to read, if they’re willing to sit still for a few moments,” the knight told him. “She has patience in abundance.”

She half-grinned. “It’s not so bad, normally.”

“I know a couple of those urchins, Lady,” he reminded her drily. She did smile at that. “How you ever got Rinan to calm down and study is beyond comprehension.”

“He’s motivated.” Terrible happenings on the streets tended to light a fire under a particular type of individual, and Rinan had decided to stick his nose in a book and keep it there because it gave him a greater chance at living free rather than dying, face down, in a street puddle. While he still pickpocketed his way through life, she knew he would choose a different way and run with it. Eventually.

And she now possessed the impetus to make him decide a little more quickly.