"Well, there can't be any doubt now," the Girl Thief complained to the rat heard scrabbling through the darkness somewhere across the room, where it would hopefully stay. "I hate this town."
Anyone human with her in the dark cell would have readily agreed. Duke Victor Guinness was a tyrant and quite low on every local's list of favorite people. High taxes and bullyboy hired thugs notwithstanding; most hated him for keeping the jails clear.
There had been thieves who preyed on their neighbors and poachers caught hunting in the Imperial forests, but there were also the unfortunates who fell behind on their burdensome taxes and even a few who foolishly spoke aloud of open rebellion against the Duke. These were all caught and jailed in rapid order. Most prison terms often lasted less than a week. In Glankis- if you found your way to the cells beneath Guinness Manor you were tried and found guilty on Noble's Day, left to make peace with your god on Prayer Day, and were dead by sundown Reaper's Day. That is, unless Duke Victor took an interest in you during your trial.
Catching the Duke's interest was definitely considered unlucky and just as unhealthy as death. It could lead to long-term slavery in the Duke's court at best if you were skilled as a craftsman. Unskilled but hearty males often became fodder for the Black Bastard's love of inventing new tortures and inflicting pain until they died. Women were either sent to the dungeon alongside the men or cast into the bordello for the Duke's hired thugs, often both. The lucky ones died before leaving the dungeons.
She had seen one of the scant, broken few that had survived both hells wandering the streets. Scarred, shattered, and devoid of all but the faintest spark of life, these poor creatures gathered together to share the strength and will to continue living just one more day. No amount of magic could heal the terrible wounds they carried deep down in their souls. Shunned even by their own families, not one of these women was rumored to have lived more than a year without taking her own life.
I hope I have the good sense to die before it comes to that, she thought. The Girl Thief had no illusions as to her fate- she knew she was not unattractive. Men had lusted after her since she'd begun to blossom into womanhood. She had learned to make her favors an effective tool for a thief whose other skills were lacking. When getting caught usually meant having to lay with her captor willingly or not, she was often able to escape with a little something more than what she'd tried to steal in the first place. By getting caught and offering her body for her freedom, she survived to steal and run. It was hard to chase someone with your pants around your ankles, so she'd learned to be quick on her feet, taking advantage of men whose mind was more on their cocks than on her intentions. By having faster legs than clever hands she managed to get by, but just barely. Of course, that's just what had landed her in this cell in the first place- her hands were cleverer than her head.
She'd traded her meager scullery skills to a caravan master for safe passage in a wagon train out of Xelec before the guardsmen there caught her again. Eventually she'd hoped to make her way to the southern capital of Antilles, but by the time the caravan had reached Glankis, the Girl Thief had had quite enough of honest work for a while. In spite of the merchant's fatherly warning to avoid going into town, all the next Market Day she practiced her chosen trade in the crowded bazaar.
Hours of picking pockets had yielded only enough coins to fill one hand, bits and commons totaling barely one knight. Just enough for a few handfuls of straw to sleep on, with enough left over for a loaf of day old bread in the morning- hardly worth the work. That's why she'd tried for that mercenary's fat coin purse. If he'd caught her, she'd simply bed him for her freedom. Mercenaries with money were always eager to bed willing women she'd discovered. With luck he'd pay her for the privilege of using her body. Whoring was mildly more acceptable than starving, but not how she wanted to make her way through life. Sex was more for men, she believed, since she never got any pleasure from it. The threat of rape was always there, but that's why she carried a small knife under her skirt. While not much of a weapon by itself, the knife's little blade could make even big men cry like little children when stabbed into their groin at the right moment.
She hadn't counted on the strange-eyed man watching her from a stack of crates in front of an inn. Their eyes met for only an instant and she hesitated, just long enough to be caught by the City Guard. She struggled, but was eventually dragged away in irons, down a damp stairwell into the dungeons.
And now she was locked away in a tiny, windowless cell, shackled standing against the damp wall in bonds of rusty iron locked firmly around her wrists and throat, forced to spend the night with her arms stretched out in a human 'T'. Only the jailer had been alone with her, a fat eunuch whose meaty hands had manipulated the locks the way a jeweler handles tiny precious stones, stealing her tattered sandals and laughing at her when she offered herself to him in exchange for a chance to run. Within an hour her throat and wrists had been scratched sore and nearly raw.
That was yesterday afternoon. Dawn had to have come to Noble's Day by now. She hadn't been imprisoned long enough to lose all sense of time, even though no food had been brought and sleep had been impossible. Soon the guards would come for her and the others unlucky enough to be awaiting judgement this day. There seemed to be quite a few, judging by the moans and wails from other cells. Only those who had yet to be sentenced would have the strength to moan and wail. Force of pride kept her from adding to the moans and wails.
Moans, wails and the shouts of men, she realized. Shouts, screams and the ring of steel on steel, steel on stone. She'd never been locked in a dungeon before, and wasn't sure if those were regular noises or not. Soon the shouts died away, only to be followed by a more eerie and unnerving silence. A silence the seemed magnified by the all-consuming darkness around her. All night long there had been some sort of noise- a guard cursing aloud and rattling doors, other prisoners crying and begging, the scrabbling of rats on the clod stone floors. She considered calling out, but decided not to call attention to herself without cause.
She was almost relieved when she heard the turning key in the lock. Even going before the Duke would give her a few moments respite from her bonds. A chance to breath and stretch her weary limbs. Maybe even enough respite to attempt an escape.
"There you are little thief," said a voice from the center of the wash of lantern light that was enough to blind her after the creaky opening of the door.
