Page 2 of A Skirl of Sorcery
‘You’re mine now,’ I whispered in his ear with enough of a menacing chill that he went rigid with fear. Good: this would be easier if he was scared of me.
I hauled him up, making sure to keep one hand tight on the scruff of his neck, spun him around until we were face to face and bared my teeth again. ‘You’ve been a very naughty boy.’
The trow was visibly shaking. ‘I’ve done nothing!’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, really?’ I wrested the drawstring bag from him with my free hand and jiggled it. Something clanked. ‘So what’s in here?’
‘It’s my stuff! You cannae take it! It’s mine!’
My gaze hardened; I’d always been able to conjure up an effective death stare and this occasion was no different. The trow squeaked and his dark eyes widened. Before I could say anything more, he started to babble. ‘Alright! I nicked it all! I’m sorry! I was desperate. I’m not a bad person. I don’t have a choice! I have to do this!’
I hadn’t expected such a quick confession. Whatever was going on with him, he certainly wasn’t a hardened criminal. I didn’t soften my expression, though; I was a cat lady and I couldn’t demean my own kind by acting like a pushover.
‘There is always a choice,’ I growled. ‘You have been terrorising my neighbours, stealing from my friends. There must be a reckoning.’
The trow yanked himself hard enough to escape my grip, but instead of turning to flee he fell to his knees. ‘I had to do it,’ he mumbled, more to himself than to me. ‘Ihadto.’
His guilty routine felt genuine. I nibbled on my bottom lip then crouched down to join him. ‘What’s your name?’
He was scared enough to tell me. ‘Bin,’ he said. ‘I’m called Bin.’
‘Well, Bin,’ I drawled, ‘why don’t you tell me exactly what’s going on here? Why don’t you have any choice?’
The trow’s thin mouth turned down at the corners and something dark flickered in his eyes. I waited another beat; when no answer was forthcoming, I reached down and shook him. ‘Hey!’ I said sharply. ‘I asked you a question.’
‘My name is Bin. I live in Green Humbleton.’ He wrapped his arms around himself. ‘I don’t mean anyone any harm.’
I eyed him. Either he wasn’t willing to speak openly – or he wasn’t able to. ‘Name, rank and serial number, huh?’ He blinked up at me, obviously confused. ‘Why are you targeting Danksville?’
‘My name is Bin.’
‘Why are you stealing from the good citizens here?’
‘I live in Green Humbleton.’
‘Why did you have to do this?’
‘I don’t mean anyone any harm.’
I sighed: this was getting me nowhere. I stepped back and folded my arms. ‘I can make things very unpleasant for you, Bin.’ I spoke clearly so that he fully understood.
The trow flinched. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. He dropped his head and his shoulders sagged; the small man was simply waiting for his punishment, regardless of what it might be.
I gazed at him for a long moment then said in a gentler tone, ‘Has somebody made you do this?’ I asked. ‘Have you been coerced into thieving?’ He flinched again. ‘Bin,’ I began.
‘My name is Bin. I live in Green Humbleton. I don’t mean anyone any harm.’
Hmm. ‘I can help you.’ I meant it. Something was going on with this poor trow and it certainly wasn’t greed or pure evil.
He lifted his head and met my eyes. ‘I don’t want your help.’ He snatched the drawstring bag from me.
I made a decision: it might damn me – and damn Bin – but it was what it was. Bearing in mind my past career it didn’t seem fair to judge the poor trow.
‘The people around here don’t own much,’ I said. ‘And you shouldn’t keep returning to the same area night after night. Try Broughton over to the west side of the city, and Fallie beyond Crackendon Square. Those people are richer, though not so well-off that they have a lot of home security.’
The trow stared at me.
‘But,’ I added, ‘no matter where you go, your luck will only last for so long. Keep this up and you’ll end up dead.’ The answering flicker in his eyes was one of resignation. ‘My offer of help remains open. No matter what mess you’ve got yourself into, I have the skills to make your life better.’
