Part 37 (2/2)

The man tossed chicken bones out the small window behind him, wiped greasy hands on his trousers, and headed for the door. ”Let's see aem.”

Lock walked to his wagon and pointed to the skins.

The tanner examined the goods. ”Not bad. Give you a hundred.”

”You said two.”

”Looks like you weren't too careful when you were skinning. Have to take off for that.”

Lock narrowed his eyes. ”There's nothing wrong with those skins.”

”I ain't paying two for the likes of those.”

”Well I ain't handing them over to you for one.”

The tanner folded his arms across his chest and held Lock's eyes. ”One ten.”

”One ninety,” Lock said, and the tanner laughed. Lock tried again, ”One seventy.”

”One thirty.”

”One sixty or I take them to the next town.”

”Next town's a day's ride.”

”I'm not pressed for time.”

The man picked through the skins and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. ”One sixty, then. Half now, half at the end of the week.”

Lock laughed, reached across the tanner, and covered the skins. ”Do I look like the village idiot? Waste of my time...”

”All right. All right. Come in and I'll pay you,” the man grumbled. Lock followed and watched him count out the coins on the table covered with old grime and flakes of stale bread.

Lock placed the money in the pouch at his waist and helped the tanner unload the skins. With the skins gone, his next stop was the market. Two villages back, he'd traded for bolts of silk and wanted to sell them. He drove the wagon to the village square and rented s.p.a.ce for the day.

He was about to display the silks when he was distracted by the sound of shouting from the tavern across the road. Lock glanced over his shoulder and noticed a mob dragging a boy to the scaffold in the center of the marketplace.

The youth struggled, screaming, ”I didn't do nothing!”

”Rotten thief!”

”Keep your hands in your own pockets!”

”He ain't gonna have to worry about that where he's going!”

Lock narrowed his eyes as a man in a green tunic, apparently the local sheriff, walked up the scaffold steps and strung a noose.

”No!” The boy squirmed, but several arms held him hard. ”I don't want to die! I didn't take nothing!”

Lock's lip curled. He knew that boy! It was the same crewman who stole from his cargo on the Lady Fire! The one whose finger he'd chopped off.

”The little fool,” Lock muttered. ”Still stealing even after I lopped off his finger. Some people never learn.”

The men dragged the boy up the scaffold. He stumbled, but the villagers made sure he stood straight as the noose dangled over his head. The boy's face drained of color, and even from such a distance, Lock saw him trembling.

Lock turned to his wagon then glanced back at the scaffold. He tossed his hands in the air and strode across the village, thinking to himself, You're going to regret this, Lock. Maybe you are the village idiot after all.

”Wait!” Lock bellowed at the crowd awaiting the execution. ”Hold the hanging a minute!”

The men holding the boy, the sheriff, and the boy himself stared at Lock.

”What the h.e.l.l do you want?” the sheriff demanded. ”This thief picked the pocket of nearly every man in the tavern-all within five minutes.”

”I didn't take nothing,” the boy whimpered.

”So you actually saw him take the belongings?” Lock asked.

The men on the scaffold exchanged glances.

”So which of you saw him steal?”

”His pockets are full of coins! All of ours are gone! That's proof enough!” bellowed a ruddy-skinned man who held the boy's arms behind his back.

”So you're saying possession of coins makes a man a thief? In that case, most of us here should be hanged.”

”Where would a boy like this get so much coin?” the sheriff snapped. ”He's dressed in rags.”

”I once knew a king who traveled the countryside dressed as a peasant all in the name of fun,” Lock said.

”He's already been charged. The sentence for theft in this kingdom is death, unless someone wants to pay his way out. You want to give up a chunk of your money for a no-good thief?”

”How much?” Lock spoke the words before he could stop himself.

”One fifty in silver.”

”One fifty?” Lock snorted. ”How much did he steal?”

”Doesn't matter. That's the price.”

”All right,” Lock sighed. ”I'll pay the b.l.o.o.d.y one fifty.”

Disappointed that their entertainment wouldn't come to pa.s.s, the crowd dispersed. The sheriff grasped the boy's arm and dragged him down the steps. He said to Lock, ”Come to the prison house and I'll make a record of your payment, then you and the boy are free to go.”

The boy stared at Lock, shock in his hazel eyes, as the three walked to the prison house.

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