Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series Read Online Free PDF

stone and sculpted bronze which stepped down the steep cobbled streets. But these were harder times and much of the city fell into disrepair. It didn’t mean much to Roen. He’d never known wealth. He did know every abandoned and derelict house, each broken and dry drainage tunnel. Hiding places. Secret routes.
    Squeezing through a small gap between two men, Roen muttered polite apologies. Decent weight, maybe some gold. I can easily do better. He slipped the coin purse into a concealed pocket in his long coat and adjusted his cravat to cover the movement. His clothes were well suited to his career. He saw to that when they were tailored. Dark colored, neat but unremarkable, the suit had no frills or fancies such as some men wore. His sleeves and cuffs were designed to keep his hands free. The seam of his trousers hid a thin blade, the perfect tool for defeating locks, slicing straps of bags, or defending his life. Not that he’d ever let it come to that.
    He wandered through the humming market, thick with the sounds and smells of people trading. A passing carriage disturbed a family of stray cats and one came closer to him, mewing for food. With a swift and casual movement, Roen lifted a strip of dried fish from a nearby stand and flicked it across to the kitten before continuing on.

    He followed a man, clearly upper class, ridiculously dressed in startling turquoise-blue tails and top hat that oozed gaudy trims. He showed off his bad taste and bulging coin pouch to a lady whose bosom overflowed from her bodice. Roen idly browsed nearby stalls’ wares, waiting for the best moment to move in and take his earnings. But despite the peacock man’s flippant demeanor the opportunity never arose. His hands were always too tight around his money. Roen chuckled to himself at how the busty lady fawned over the miser, doubting she would get what she was after either. He could still have the man’s money. He’d just have to work a little harder.
    He rolled his shoulder in its socket, still stiff and sore, and turned away. It was too risky, even without an injury slowing him down. And risks he would not, could not, take. Last week’s mess, the closest he’d ever been to capture, left him wary. He needed a new mark.
    Roen headed back along the crowded aisle. Nonchalantly, he scrutinized the people around him. There. Too easy. Almost a gift. Spotting his next target, he couldn’t help but give a tiny, wry grin.
    The pair showed signs of poverty, with mud and scuffs of dirt covering their hooded cloaks, but were clumsily making a deal for some food with an obscene amount of gold. Maybe thieves themselves, Roen thought, wondering who they’d rolled to get that sort of money. From their size he guessed they were younger boys, street rats, drifting through town, spending out a big take. After stumbling through the purchase of food the two moved along to a used clothing stall. They kept themselves well hidden under their travelling cloaks, but one struggled with his, his body obviously far too small for the garment. The clothing glimpsed underneath was bizarre even compared with the last man in his feathers and ruffs.
    The boy in the out of place outfit fiddled with a small item of metal which flicked open into a sharp blade. He quickly fumbled it back into a pocket. Certainly fair marks, Roen decided. If anyone deserved to be victim of his crime, it was a criminal himself.
    The other scamp placed his leather pack – if it even belonged to him - down on the table then turned away to trade with the merchant, picking up a plain heavy dress. Roen questioned the dress, but his mind was too fixed on the bag sitting unwatched on the table. Surely not, could it be so easy? Without a blink of hesitation he started into action. Strolling by he barely brushed the back of their cloaks as he passed, leaving no trace of the bag behind.
    Roen kept his steady pace until he reached the end of the stalls and tucked himself into the shadow of a