Free The Thief by Stephanie Landsem

into his belt and grabbed her shoulder. “Mouse. I mean it. Stay away from that prophet.” His grip was fierce. “There’s something about him. He’ll bring trouble to us both. I can feel it.”
    Why was he so worried about her? Nissa wrenched away.Greeks could be so superstitious. “I’ll make the mark at Siloam next week. Look for it.”
    Nissa pushed through the crowded portico, heedless of the shouts and complaints that followed her. Dismas’s warning sent a chill across her neck. Maybe he was right. Maybe the man could read her soul. She’d have to be careful.
    She hastened down the stairs, through the dimly lit subterranean passage, and out into the late-afternoon sun. As she reached the foot of the marble steps and the line of beggars, she paused, digging into her belt for a coin. There, a silver drachma. She ran to the woman with the baby and dropped it into her outstretched hand.
    The woman gasped, but Nissa didn’t wait to hear her thanks. The Lord may not have mercy, but I do. Her feet pounded down the Stepped Street, past the spice merchants and the Pool of Siloam.
    “Watch out, boy!” a man juggling a basket of pomegranates snapped.
    Boy? She looked down at her tunic and cloak. How could I have forgotten? That Galilean had addled her wits.
    Veering back toward Siloam, she ducked into her hiding place. She flung off the robe and tunic, pulled off her head covering, and loosened her hair. Dressed in her own clothes, she slipped the rest of the bangles in the folds of her belt and emptied the purse in her hand. She caught her breath in wonder. It was even more than she thought—enough to last them for weeks. She tucked it securely away and flew out of the alley. Sweat trickled down her back by the time she arrived at the Dung Gate.
    Cedron wasn’t sitting in his usual place at the entrance to the city.
    Where did he go? He’d said he’d wait for her. She spun in a circle, searching for his familiar tunic. There, in the shadow of the wall. “Cedron!”
    He stopped and turned, his sightless eyes looking past her.
    “Wait.” She caught up with him, her breath coming in gasps. “Where are you going?”
    “I heard about him. The one from Nazareth.”
    “I know. I was there.” Thank the Lord she’d found him in time. Before he was hurt or killed trying to get to the temple. She took his arm. “Hurry, he’s leaving soon.”
    They zigzagged through the streets, faster than she’d ever seen her brother move. Gasping for breath, they emerged into the Court of the Gentiles.
    She dragged Cedron to the Beautiful Gate. The crowd was gone. The man from Nazareth was nowhere to be seen, and a hundred feet had erased the words in the dirt.
    They couldn’t be too late. She must find him. She planted Cedron on the wide stone steps. “Stay here.” Running to the crowded Stoa, she caught the sleeve of a passing woman. “Where is he, the one who was here?”
    “The teacher? The one called Jesus?”
    Nissa nodded; her hand tightened on the soft cloth.
    The woman pulled away, her mouth twisting. “Last I saw of him, they were getting ready to stone him. If he has any sense, he’s hiding.”
    They were too late; he had gone to where they could not follow. She plodded through the shaded Stoa, her head bent low. Abba was right. I’m a failure at everything. She’d have to tell Cedron that he’d missed the healer . . . possibly forever.
    Nissa reached the steps to the Beautiful Gate and sucked in a breath. Cedron sat where she’d left him, but he was no longer alone. The teacher—Jesus—crouched in front of him. She glanced around. No one took any notice of the blind man and the roughly dressed pilgrim. A group of men stood behind them—some young, some old, all Galileans.
    One of them, with a shaggy beard and weathered face, motioned to Cedron. “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
    Who sinned? Nissa froze. Did he know? Would he answer, “His sister is the