Barb Hendee: Thief of Lives

When she'd stopped by the tavern to check on the stores, nothing had been delivered. Not a tankard's worth. Leesil was better-more tactful, he would say-at dealing with such matters, but she'd waited until nearly noon for his return, and then decided to take matters into her own hands.

Chap bounded away to sniff at a stack of crates. An old man nearby, sewing up a net, looked down. The dog lifted his muzzle in reply, and the man reached in his pocket to pull out a tuft of jerky and toss it into the air. Chap caught it, barely chewing before the morsel was down his throat. He barked once, tail switching expectantly across the dock planks.

"Chap," Magiere called out. "Come on."

The old man laughed, holding up empty hands as a sign he had nothing more to offer. Chap's tail stopped, and he let out a groaning whine, hanging his head in pitiful disappointment.

Magiere had the strange notion the hound might well have learned this ploy from watching Leesil wheedle extra cream cakes at their friend Karlin's bakery. She closed her eyes briefly.

"Chap, enough begging!"

At Magiere's insistent tone, the hound loped after her, and she headed down the waterfront. Sometimes Chap displayed startling intelligence.

And sometimes he just acted like a dog.

As she approached the run-down warehouse, the number of dockworkers seemed fewer than normal. Too few. People were everywhere along the docks, more than she'd seen in the past, but it was different. So many new faces made up the surplus, and that made her strangely anxious.

Amidst common waterfront faces were now others. Merchants were present, but not all of them were making arrangements with warehouses, as was standard practice. Instead, they haggled directly with outgoing barge masters and mates of small ships that bothered to stop in this lesser port.

Peddlers actually worked the dockside, and farmers tried to engage merchants and traders directly with wagons full of bundles and bales.

Magiere watched men and a few women haul and stack crates and barrels and bundles. They seemed shabby, thin, and more tired than she'd seen before, or perhaps she'd just never paid attention until today. For some reason she couldn't pin down, she felt responsible.

Before she'd come to Miiska, her life consisted of cheating peasants out of anything valuable they possessed and then moving on. She and Leesil had earned their living by traveling from village to village in the inlands of the northeastern country of Stravina-or anyplace where peasants died of illness or other unexplained cause. She convinced the inhabitants that they were plagued by an undead and that she, the hunter, the dhampir, could save them for a price. At night, Leesil would masquerade as a ghost-white monster, "the vampire," appearing in the village pathway to dart in and out of the darkness between their homes. In a violent battle, Magiere would "stake" him, and the village was saved.

But constant travel and uncertainty became too much. She'd secretly saved enough profit to purchase a tavern sight unseen in this little coastal town. She wanted peace and quiet and to spend the rest of her days simply running a tavern with Leesil. How ironic that turned out to be. A fake and cheat, playing hunter of the dead, she'd bought a tavern in likely the only town in Belaski with a trio of undeads nestled in its midst.

And worse, her rumored reputation followed her to spread slowly through Miiska. Everyone expected her to have the skill and knowledge to fight such creatures, and the vampires themselves believed she'd come to hunt them. Unable to avoid this conflict, she destroyed two of the undeads, including their leader, Rashed.

Now, Magiere looked back down the waterfront. She'd actually walked right past the charred earth today and not even noticed the vacancy. Leesil had burned Miiska's largest warehouse, covering their retreat from the undeads' hiding place in order to save her life. But Leesil's action had other consequences.

Rashed may have been a monster masquerading among the townsfolk, but it seemed he'd also had a head for business. His warehouse had employed many dockworkers as well as being the mainstay of export for the local area.

Magiere finally recognized the source of her seemingly pointless guilt.

"Move it, you lazy grunts!" shouted a foreman in a sleeveless shirt. "There are plenty around to take your place if you can't keep up."

She and Leesil had saved the town from its undead plague, but without Rashed's establishment for competition, the two other smaller warehouse owners could now pay workers substandard wages for longer hours, as well as choke off the prices for abundant goods with less opportunity for storage and export. Anyone who protested was dismissed. There were simply more workers than jobs, and worse, more business than these small warehouses could handle. People watched their livelihood go to waste or be bought out for low return.

Magiere tried to take no further notice. She had a business of her own to manage. She grabbed a ragged worker by the shirtsleeve.

"Where's Master Poyesk?"

The man stared at her in exhaustion, and his eyes narrowed slightly as his back straightened. She realized that he recognized her and met his gaze without flinching. A long moment passed, until the silence was too much.

He pointed toward the warehouse's doors. "Inside."

Magiere nodded, and Chap followed as she entered the dimly lit building. She choked on the dust while her eyes adjusted to the decreased light. Crates of wool, casks of ale, and other packaged goods lined the walls. She spotted a short, weasel-faced man writing on a torn bit of parchment.

"Master Poyesk!" Magiere called out with an edge of anger.

Poyesk turned, slightly surprised by her presence. "Mistress Magiere," he said in an oily tone. "I was expecting your partner."

Although he was dressed like a merchant in a burgundy velvet tunic, Poyesk's teeth were yellowed, his hair greasy, and his nose pockmarked. Magiere was too irritated to be revolted.

"If you're expecting my partner, then you know why I'm here," she stated. "My tavern opens tonight, but my stocks haven't been delivered. I paid in advance, so what is the delay?"

He set the parchment on a nearby crate and rubbed his hands together, smiling apologetically.

"Yes, but as you see, business has been slow in Miiska of late. Fewer ships come to trade and there are so many workers to employ. My overhead is climbing by the day."

Confused, Magiere wondered where this was leading.

"I paid the delivery fee as well," she added.

He paused as if weighing his words, and tapped one finger lightly against his lips.

"Of course, but there are other considerations. With so few handling all of Miiska's trade these days, I have to consider who to serve first based on which customers are most… profitable." He shrugged, as if there were nothing he could do. "Otherwise, I won't have the coin to pay workers to serve the next customer."

Poyesk's meaning settled upon Magiere.

Leesil would handle this differently, but he wasn't here. She reached to her hip for the falchion's hilt, but that wasn't here either. She'd stopped wearing it around town in broad daylight.

"Are you asking for a bribe?" she said. "You want a bribe to deliver goods I've already purchased… with a delivery fee paid in advance?"

She heard Chap growl softly at Poyesk, the low sound rolling up his throat to vibrate through half-exposed teeth. Master Poyesk didn't react, picking up his parchment again to return to business as usual.

"Setting your dog on me won't get you your ale."

Magiere was about to explain what she could do with a bailing hook and his various body cavities, when a familiar voice called out from behind her.

"Ah, there you are, Magiere. Caleb said you'd come down here."