"That's your plan?" Sprite asked incredulously. "I think old Corrick here was right-we should have been buggering this out in another town."
"Well, we're 'ere and there's no point 'uggering now, Sprite," Corrick croaked. "I say we give Pinch 'is due. Don't is plans always work?"
"There's no time to waste," Pinch barked. "In the cart, all of you." With easy grace, he swung into the back, then helped the less-agile Maeve alongside. Sprite tumbled in beside them and pulled up a span of canvas to roughly cover them. From the shadowed interior, the three had a narrow view of the still-vacant scaffold.
A roar went up from the crowd as a crier mounted the gallows platform, the writ of execution rolled under his arm. The official swung his bell in a futile attempt to get silence.
"Go, Corrick."
The ancient gave a flick of the reins, and the horses got the cart moving with a rough lurch. The passengers bounced in the back as the wheels rolled down the cobbled street.
A wild cheer, part savage, part joyous, rose from the crowd as the cart entered the square. The roar died down as quick when the mob realized the covered wagon was not the executioner's cart. With a vigorous application of the whip on the horses and the crowd, Corrick was able to force their passage through the pressed throng.
While the bald Corrick was absorbed in driving the team, Pinch leaned forward for a whispered word in the halfling's slightly fuzzy ear. "Sprite, listen close. I need five hundred in nobles. Can you fig it for me quick?"
The small cutpurse's eyes widened at the mere mention of the amount. "Five hundred-now?"
"Or Therm swings. It's the only way."
"Send Therin to the denizens!" Sprite swore under his breath; but Pinch was counting on the halfling's love of the challenge, not his love of Therin. "Five hundred?" Sprite asked again as he scanned the crowd, taking the measure of the gulls. The congregation was teeming with them-fat masters enjoying their mistresses, overworked vendors unmindful of their wallets, drunken craftsmen, even a gentleman with his entourage. "Me and Purse-Nipper can do it," the halfling noted boastfully, palming a small knife from the sheath strapped to his wrist.
"Then go and strike, boy!" Pinch hissed with urgency. At that Sprite sprang lightly from the cart and vanished into the crowd.
A fresh roar went up from the multitude, this time as they correctly sighted the executioner's cart. It was already close to the gallows, having entered the square by a side street so as to avoid the riotous celebrators that awaited it on the main routes. Pinch could see Therin standing tall in the back, cheerfully waving his bound hands to the crowd. The hooded hangman rode next to him, impassive in his duty. His hood was stitched with a crude death's head to remind the condemned man of who shared this ride.
The crowd surged toward the executioner's cart. So eager were they for their entertainment that they almost overturned the vehicle, forcing the hangman to get Therin out of the wagon and onto the platform with unseemly haste.
The rush of the crowd served the thieves too, for it thinned the press ahead of them. Corrick drove the wagon through the gap as fast as the old nags would pull it. As they closed, Maeve passed Pinch an old workshirt she had brought, along with a battered cap and a bloodstained cloak. The clothes quickly covered the thief's fine velvets. After a few adjustments, Pinch, looking like a bloody surgeon's aide, climbed into the seat by Corrick. There was barely time as the wagon lurched to a stop at the base of the gallows.
A squad of Hellriders, their red and silver armor glittering in the sun, formed a wall around the gallows. The twenty or so soldiers held the crowd at bay with a bristling ring of spears. On the inside was a bearded sergeant, exhorting his men to stand ready.
"We be sent to buy the body for our master, Wizard Shildris, so 'e can cut it up," the cloaked Pinch shouted to the sergeant. For that extra touch, he held up a purse, jingling it meaningfully. It was filled with nothing more than coppers, but the sergeant didn't know that. Once again the lies flowed smoothly off Pinch's lips with less hesitation than the truth.
On the platform above, the crier was reading out the death warrant while the hangman fitted the noose. Maeve shifted uneasily, watching Therin's progress, while Corrick kept a grip on the reins.
The sergeant of the command smiled with avarice and nodded to his men to let the wagon pass through their bristling ring. As the cart creaked forward, the small streak of Sprite darted through the throng and hopped onto the wagon's bed. A wink and a nod were all Pinch needed to tell him the halfling had met with success.
At Therm's side, a priest of Тут was intoning the benedic-tus for the dead. All that remained was the hood and then the drop when the hangman pulled the trap.
Pinch touched Maeve and cautioned her to be ready. Cor-rick, Sprite, and Maeve clambered from the cart. Pinch readied to follow them.
"I told you I'd get you sooner or later, upright man," shrilled a nasal voice as the master thief swung off the seat. Pinch dropped from the cart and whirled around to come face to face with Commander Wilmarq, sliding out of the crowd. As the soldiers parted to let their commander in, Cor-rick scurried to the officer's side. "Now, with some small thanks to your friend here, I've got the lot of you," the pudgy Hellrider gloated.
Sprite-Heels and Maeve stood helplessly by, encircled by swords.
"And thus Tyr's justice is done," the priest concluded from the platform.
The crowd drew a collective breath.
"Oh, Pinch, save me!" wailed Therm through the silence.
A tear trickled down Maeve's cheek.
Pinch's hand slid slowly toward his dagger.
There was a rattling bang as the trap fell open, followed in the next instant by a shriek of delight from the crowd. The cheer almost drowned out the twanging snap as the rope reached the end of its drop. Therin's feet, still kicking, almost touched the cart's bed before they recoiled up again. The crowd roared with each sway and bounce.
"Yer a failure, Pinch!" Cor rick gloated from where he stood, safe by Wilmarq's side. "Yer'll be gone and I won't, so guess who'll rule this town now! The commander and I 'ave an understanding."
"Do you?" Pinch let his hand fall away from his dagger. Even with Therm still kicking overhead, the mob roaring for blood and swords all around him, the master thief remained remarkably calm. Maeve was already sobbing, perhaps more for herself than her departed Therm. Sprite looked ready to take up religion-any religion.
"Perhaps the commander and I can reach an understanding, too. Sprite, do you have it?" Pinch asked without ever taking his eyes off Wilmarq or Corrick. The old cutpurse's brow furrowed at the turn things were taking.
"Yes-and then some. Struck a gentleman, I did," the halfling replied nervously. He passed the leather purse to Pinch's outstretched hand.
"It might be best, Commander, if we talk in private." Pinch nodded toward the covered wagon. 'Therin's not going to distract this crowd forever."
Wilmarq hesitated, looking from Pinch to Corrick and back again, like a dog choosing between two bones. "Bring these two," he ordered the guards nearest him, then pointed at Pinch and Corrick. "And watch those two for tricks." Wilmarq climbed into the shadows of the wagon. The guards shoved Corrick in afterward.
Pinch slowly climbed in. He noted Therm still swinging on the scaffold, his legs slowly jerking. In the darkness of the wagon, the upright man could see Wilmarq, sword poised but uncertain, perplexed by Pinch's game. Taking care not to startle him, Pinch tossed the leather bag to the commander's feet. It hit the wooden boards with a loud, clinking plop. Wilmarq scooted back in surprise.