CHAPTER 8
The Year of the Third Circle (1472 DR) Delthuntle
"Where’d he go?” the teenager yelled asked, skidding to a stop,and Catti-Brie nodded. Iruladoones the forest no less. He had come around the corner of the building in close pursuit, expecting to snare the child thief in a couple of strides. But the sneaky halfling had simply vanished.
“Get him!” cried the teenager’s friend as he hustled past.
Across the street, a group sitting at a table in front of a fishmonger’s mercantile laughed at the two, and at the others who came bobbing up behind them … and laughed all the louder at the other group of teens that came around the other side of the building, apparently to head off the little halfling.
The first teenager, the leader of the gang, scowled at the group of diners, which only made them laugh all the louder, of course. One of them pointed upward. The leader of the teens leaped away from the building and looked up, and sure enough, there went his prey, moving easily and swiftly from ledge to ledge, already nearing the roof.
“You rat!” the teenager yelled. He leaped to grab the ledge atop a window and began to hoist himself up.
But this was no easy climb, and indeed, within a few heartbeats, he had reached an apparent dead end, as had his companion who was similarly trying to scale the wall.
“How?” asked a third of the group, for the fleeing halfling was easily going over the roof’s edge, while the two older, taller, and stronger human boys-and even an elf girl at the other end-couldn’t begin to scale the tall building.
The leader of the gang dropped back down to the ground and shouted up “You rat!” at the disappearing form.
“More like a spider,” one of the men across the street called, and that group laughed all the harder at the foiled teenagers’ expense.
“Spider,” agreed the lithe and pretty elf lass, who had also surrendered the seemingly impossible climb and moved back toward her friends. “That little one can climb anything.”
“He’ll be climbing through the mud trying to get out from under my boot when I catch him,” the gang leader promised.
“Ah, but let it be gone from your mind,” said the elf girl. She looked up toward the roof line, admiration clear on her face. “He’s just a child. Cannot be more than eight or nine years alive, and he’s a clever one.” She ended with a giggle.
The boy stared at her, his lips moving this way and that, but no words coming forth.
“I like him,” the elf stated flatly. “He makes it fun. And all he took was your whistle.”
“The whistle my Da gave me!” the gang leader protested.
On cue, that whistle sounded from up above, and all eyes turned that way just in time to see the stolen item fly over the edge of the roof, back down to the teenager’s waiting hands.
“He only did it to prove he could, and only because you were mean to him,” said the elf girl, and she giggled again and walked off with her friends, pausing only to say again, “Let it be gone from your mind. You’ll not lessen your embarrassment by beating up a halfling child.”
“Spider,” said the man at the table across the street. “An apt name for that one, I think.”
“Aye, don a long while to realize become inadvertentlyon’t think I’ve seen anyone climb the face of a building as capably,” another replied.
“Or near as fast,” said another. “Course, he was running for his little life!”
That brought some laughter and the conversation continued about this mysterious little Spider character. Delthuntle was a fair-sized city, though, and none knew the identity of the halfling, or where he might have come from or where he might be going. Throughout their talk, the four discussing the matter kept glancing toward the fifth of the group, one who had not spoken at all since the shouts had begun from the distant lane and the little halfling, Spider, had bounded into view.
This fifth, unlike the other four at the table, was also a halfling. Dressed in the finest silks, with a fashionable golden sash belt and a fancy blue beret, its front edge tacked down with a large golden pin, Pericolo Topolino rested back in his seat with the easy confidence of competence and experience, and the wisdom of age.
That confidence, of course, was boosted more than a little by a well-earned reputation, for few in Delthuntle would deign to cross Pericolo Topolino.
He feigned indifference, but in truth keenly registered every word spoken by his companions. He never returned their looks, however, focusing instead across the street to the teenage ruffians.
“Who is that one?” he asked at length, and the other four fell to abrupt silence, eagerly following his gesture to indicate the leader of the teenage gang.
“Bregnan Prus,” two answered in unison, the other two quickly agreeing.
“Aye, and his Ma serves at a lord’s palace as a handmaid and he lives on the grounds,” one added.
Pericolo tapped his stubby fingertips together before his chin, unblinking as he considered this arrogant young ruffian who was still shouting curses up at the empty roof line.
A young ruffian, he figured, who might be in need of a proper … education.
“We’re not to catch him that way,” complained Pater, one of the other boys.
Bregnan Prus turned a hateful glare his way, backing him down.
“Are we to stand here all day and yell at a wall?” another asked, coming to Pater’s defense, for without that show of solidarity, the infuriated Bregnan might have begun throwing his fists, as was often the case.
“I want that one,” Bregnan Prus said in a low, threatening tone.
“He’s just a child!” protested the elf lass, standing with her friends not far away.
“Let’s get out of here,” offered another of the boys.
Bregnan Prus took a moment to glower at the elf, but nodded his agreement and brought his returned whistle to his lips, blowing a sharp note to collect the members of his gang.
He cut that note short, however, and a curious expression came over his face, first a sour look, then one of confusion, and finally with his eyes widening in horror. His face contorted weirdly, and it took the others, both his immediate companions and the group of girls, a few moments to realize that no matter how hard Bregnan twisted his features, his lips would not come free of the whistle!
“Oyster glue!” Pater shouted in shock a long while to realize become inadvertentlyon, and all around gasped, and gasped again, then began to titter, then began to laugh.
For it was true enough. Spider, or whatever the little thief’s name might be, had sneakily coated the whistle with the substance found in a particular breed of Sea of Fallen Stars shellfish, a sticky and stubborn sealant known as oyster glue, an innocuous enough substance until it met with water, or in this case, with the moisture of Bregnan’s lips.
Bregnan Prus grunted repeatedly, issuing little toots from the stuck whistle in the process-and to the great amusement of all onlookers.
“So let’s get him,” Pater offered, though he couldn’t stop himself from giggling between words. “We’re not to do that standing here.”
Bregnan Prus punched him in the mouth, and tooted at him as he did, though whether for good measure or inadvertently, none around could tell.
A few days later, Regis put his back against the wall and took a deep breath. He had brought the conflict to this point on purpose, he reminded himself. This was a test he would not fail. In the days and nights that had passed since the theft and sabotage of the whistle, he had led Bregnan Prus’s band on a merry chase indeed, all around the shadows of Delthuntle’s streets.
But now that the moment of truth closed, dark wings of doubt fluttered up all around him. He was too young and too frail for this, perhaps. For all his training, his incessant exercise and practice, his body remained that of a child, and a halfling one at that!