Chapter 4: The Thief

Wes logged out long enough to eat a sandwich, sleep four hours and read Locke's message a fourth time.

He did not answer it.

At dawn he logged back in, and the keep was exactly where he had left it.

Brigid had the soldiers on the wall already.

"The nearest food is in the marsh villages," she told him in the yard.

"They don't trust the keep. We've taxed them for years."

"Then I'll ask nicely."

"They'll steal your coat first," she said.

She was wrong by about an hour.

He had walked a mile down the causeway when he noticed the coat was lighter.

He patted his pockets.

The seal was still on its chain, and the dagger was on his hip.

But his leather coat was gone from his shoulders.

Gravel barked once and shot off the planks like a thrown stone.

"That way," Sera said in his ear, sounding delighted.

Wes ran.

He found the thief sitting on a fence post at the edge of a reed village with his coat on her lap.

She was small and freckled, with black hair cropped short and a dagger at each hip.

A green scarf trailed down her back.

Gravel sat in front of her post and growled at her toes.

"That's a nice hound," she said.

"That's my coat."

"It was a nice coat."

She tossed it down to him, grinning.

"I only wanted to see who walked out of the keep alone. Nobody does that."

"The captain doesn't let the lads out without six spears."

"I'm not one of the lads."

"No," she agreed, looking him up and down. "You aren't."

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