Empress of Rogues

by Carrie Summers

  “When it happens…” Ivy says. “I assume it will be obvious then?”

  A plan is coming together in Myrrh’s head. “Don’t worry,” she says with a smirk. “I think you’ll know when it’s time.”

  She slips her feet through the gap in the floorboards, and then manages to worm through the hole, ending in a half-reclined position beneath the carriage. Rainwater soaks through the fabric of her dress, chilling her hip. She grimaces as she scoots toward the rear of the carriage and emerges beneath Resh and Warrell’s platform. Resh startles, letting out a quick grunt, but he clamps his lips shut when he recognizes her face. Moving into a crouch, she tries vainly to wipe the grit from the deep-green satin of her skirt. So much for looking respectable.

  Now that she’s trying to move in the gown, Myrrh wishes she’d chosen the dress with the thigh-high slit after all. Her stupid skirt only lets her take tiny little steps because the sixing thing pulls tight whenever her feet are more than half a pace apart. Tip-toeing like a clown on stilts, she reaches the shelter of an alley with almost no time to spare—the moment she feels the shadows wrap her, the door to the guard post opens and the remainder of the escort emerges. Marching with purpose, five more Shields step to the carriage to join those already standing sentry.

  Myrrh shakes her head. Her earlier worry that the cantrip would wear off before the carriage reached the far end of the bridge seems ridiculous now. The charmed guard would probably escort the carriage all the way to the Port Cities before snapping out of it.

  Okay then. Time to get the diversion ready. But first, Myrrh needs to deal with this stupid dress. Pulling her dagger from a sheath strapped to her calf, she grabs the skirt’s hem and opens a long slit up to her thigh, baring what looks like yards and yards of white skin. She shivers as the cool air hits her skin, but at least the rain has stopped actively falling. Glancing down, she notices that the wet from the street has caused her dress to cling to her body, accentuating her curves.

  Myrrh sighs. It’s not how she’d intended to present herself in Maire’s Quarter, but thieves must improvise.

  ***

  “Some ambush,” Myrrh mutters to herself as she takes up station in a recessed doorway along what should be the carriage’s route to Glint’s residence. In the eaves of the building above, pigeons coo. She looks up as a shutter bangs against the stone facing of the building, and a broom emerges from the window. Wielded by an arm sleeved in servants’ livery, the broom swipes at the roof’s overhang.

  “Shoo!” the servant calls. “The mistress will murder me if you’re making that racket when she’s back from dinner.”

  With offended squawks, a pair of pigeons takes flight, fat bellies dragging against their rapid wing beats.

  Myrrh presses deeper into the recess as she hears the faint sound of hooves. Moments later, an adolescent boy jogs past, casting glances down the alleyways. The insignia on his woolen coat marks him as a Shield, but his lack of weapons suggests he’s in training. He must be the runner sent to make sure the path is clear for the carriage. She holds her breath as the boy’s eyes pass over her without picking her shape from the shadows.

  The carriage turns onto the street, and Myrrh sidles toward the edge of the alcove. A lantern has been added to the cart—it swings from a pole inserted through a housing near Nyx’s seat. In the swaying light, the lead guard’s face is set in a look of absolute conviction about his task, while the other guards look decidedly annoyed. It would be funny if it weren’t for the difficulty the situation presents.

  Myrrh waits until the carriage is around twenty paces away, takes a deep breath, and lets out a shriek. She bursts from the alcove, hands flapping, eyes wide.

  “Help!” she shouts.

  Nyx tugs on the reins, bringing the carriage to a swift stop. The cab lurches, springs squealing, and Resh and Warrell jump from their platform. Meeting her eyes, Resh shakes his head as if to suggest she’s lost it.

  “Miss Occela?” the lead guard asks, looking utterly dumbfounded.

  “The brutes!” Myrrh wails. “Pulling me from the carriage. I thought this city was supposed to be safe.”

  The doors on the cab open, and Hawk climbs out. He offers a hand and Ivy jumps down in a cloud of lace. “Darling?” she says. “Oh thank the skies. I thought we’d lost you. I was so afraid!”

  The Shields look at one another, completely lost. Face purpling with shame or rage or both, the leader whirls on them. “Were you not supposed to protect this young woman?”

  “Protect?” Myrrh asks in a shrill voice. “One of them pulled me from the carriage. He said I would fetch a handsome ransom. That or I’d make a lovely soldier’s bride.”

  “Oh, Miser’s flesh,” Ivy says, staggering as if swooning. “My innocent daughter!”

  She places her forearm against her brow and sags against Hawk. Myrrh’s mentor simply stares and blinks as if unable to believe this melodrama is actually working.

  “You incompetent louts!” the guard captain says, stomping toward the nearest of the Shields. While his back is turned, Myrrh gestures to Nyx to climb down from the carriage.

  “Miss Occela,” Warrell says, going down on a knee before her. “I saw him take you, but these heathens”—he casts a furious glare at a guard—“had me in a crossbow sight. I thought it better that I stay alive in hopes to organize a rescue. Please forgive me for failing you.”

  Myrrh raises her chin, eyes narrowed at the Shields. “Then they’re all in on it. I can’t believe this…” Her lower lip trembles as she holds her eyes open in hopes of creating tears by not blinking. “This outrage! If I hadn’t had training in how to deliver a knee to a man’s sensitive areas, I never would have escaped.”

  The guard captain is now frozen, quivering in what appears to be abject shame.

  “Captain,” a Shield says, “this is not right. The carriage doors never opened. None of our number are missing.”

  “Then how do you explain this young woman’s appearance in the street before us, disheveled and distressed? You are all liars and traitors!”

  Resh steps forward and bows deeply. “Mistress, Master. I failed to shield your daughter from evil. Please allow me to carry her to the accommodations.” Quickly, before the guards have more time to state their case, he sweeps Myrrh up and tosses her over a shoulder before setting off at a run. The rest of the party follows a heartbeat later, their feet slapping the pavement.

  “Closest thieves’ path. Anyone know the entrance?” Hawk says as they turn down an alley. Apparently, he’s finally snapped out of his shock at Myrrh’s reappearance. “And might I add, interesting tactic, Myrrh.”

  “Insane tactic is more like it,” Nyx mutters.

  “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Myrrh says. “And you can put me down now, Resh.”

  She feels the big man’s ear rub against her ribs as he shakes his head. “And let you pull another stunt like that? I think I’d rather carry you until we’re clear.”

  An outraged shout finally rises from the street behind them, causing Resh’s shoulder to jam harder into her belly as he quickens his pace. She mutters a curse at the rough treatment, but is thankful the mist is still numbing her ribs.

  “Head toward the center of the district,” Myrrh says. “It won’t take long for the alarm to go up, and we need to reach the council chamber before word of our little stunt does.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  NEAR THE CENTER of the district, the group spies the first merchants out for evening strolls, and Myrrh finally convinces Resh to put her down. They haven’t heard sounds of pursuit after that first yell, which makes Myrrh think they got away clean due to the confusion.

  “Carrying me really wasn’t necessary,” she says, straightening her ruined gown, for all the good that does.

  Nyx snorts and rolls his eyes. Everyone else withholds comment.

  “Anyway, so far so good, right?” she says.

  “Well…I suppose that depends
on your definition of success,” Ivy hedges.

  “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  “And where exactly is here?” Hawk says with a skeptical lift of his eyebrow.

  “A block from our destination.” Myrrh points toward the square that opens at the end of the alley they’ve been following. Across the empty area stands an imposing marble-walled building. A long row of pillars guards the front where a pair of stout doors is closed against the night. “The council hall.”

  Ivy’s face twists in confusion. “I thought you weren’t very familiar with the district. Didn’t you just mention that you gave the escort Glint’s address because you didn’t know anywhere else to name? So how do you know that’s the council hall?”

  “I don’t,” Myrrh says with a grin. “At least not for sure. But I know how to recognize the Maire’s Palace, and that’s not it. So by process of elimination…”

  Nyx lets out an exasperated sigh. “Great.”

  “Anyway, that building looks official. If it’s not the council hall, someone inside ought to be able to give us directions.” Myrrh wiggles her fingers to remind them of her cantrip power.

  “And we all saw how well that went last time,” Nyx mutters. “Anyway, you mentioned that you wanted to speak with the council, and I still don’t understand why that’s a good idea.”

  Myrrh chews her lip while she stares at the building. “Because they’re the only people in the city who can overrule Emmerst. Honestly, I have some ideas on how I’m going to convince them, but it will depend on the mood. I don’t want to lay out a plan that’s likely to change the moment we get inside. Ideally, we walk out of there with the keys to Glint’s cage—so to speak anyway—and an official letter of apology from the council. But you should be prepared to follow my lead if it seems that taking hostages is a better idea.”

  Nyx snorts. “Wonderful.”

  Hawk elbows him. “Shall we?”

  Crossing the square, Myrrh ignores the somewhat aghast looks by society matrons as they take in her rain-and-mud-soaked dress and the long slit exposing her thigh. She keeps her chin up as if this is her normal attire and continues forward. The women quickly look away.

  As the group passes by small knots of merchant-class strollers, Myrrh catches snatches of conversation. The main subject seems to be Glint’s upcoming punishment, but there’s a glum tone to the discussion. She gathers that the sour notes aren’t due to any pity for Glint, but rather the dismay over Emmerst’s status as Maire-elect. Regardless of his success in apprehending the supposed murderer, he’s foreign, which means that most of the Ostgard merchants—particularly those who don’t hold council seats—will fare poorly in any realignment of wealth and power.

  Among a few groups out for the evening stroll, however, there’s talk of other less scrupulous things. An end to the curfew will mean a return to the gambling halls and brothels in lower-class districts—many of the men mutter about their favorite places to pick a fight without Shield intervention. A new Maire is a chance for a fresh system of tariffs and new ways to exploit honest workers.

  Myrrh shakes her head and hurries on. The sooner she’s out of Maire’s Quarter, the better.

  Near the front of the council hall, Myrrh slows to get a good look at the double doors. The lack of guards almost certainly means they’re locked. Better to choose a more discreet entrance anyway. Looking casually over her shoulder, she scans the square to make sure no one is paying the group much attention, then leads them quickly down a narrow aisle that separates the council hall from the adjacent building, a restaurant with an apartment on the second story.

  When they reach the intersection of the aisle and the alley that runs behind the marble hall, Myrrh raises a hand to call a halt. She peeks around the corner and spies a short flight of stairs leading to a simple door. An oil lamp is affixed to the wall beside the stairs, burning dirty oil and casting a wan light on the platform. A servants’ entrance no doubt. It’s a possible entry point, but not quite what Myrrh’s looking for. She scans farther along the building and spies an iron fire escape leading to the second floor. Better.

  “This way,” she says.

  One by one, they file into the alley. Shivering in her wet dress, Myrrh winces when she feels a pang from her ribs. Sixes. Not a great time for the mist to wear off. Hissing through her teeth, she draws a quick halt, just long enough to administer fresh drops under her tongue.

  As coolness spreads through her body, Myrrh sighs. The sound dies in her throat, and ice travels her spine when she hears voices behind them.

  “Yeah, but Andel said something wasn’t right with the captain.”

  “Andel said that because he’s one of the men the captain’s blaming for this mess. Look at it this way. If the captain’s not crazy, and we find the woman, we’ve got one hefty bounty to collect.”

  Double sixes. Okay, servants’ entrance it is. Gesturing frantically, she hurries up the steps and tries the latch. Locked. Warrell joins her on the platform and shoves a meaty hand against the door, which doesn’t budge.

  “Wait,” she says while fishing for a lockpick.

  Warrell slams a shoulder into the door. The wood around the bolt splinters, and the door explodes inward.

  “There they are!” the shout comes from the end of the alley.

  “Okay, don’t wait,” Myrrh says, shoving through the door.

  A narrow hallway stretches to either side of the entrance, paralleling the back wall of the building. Myrrh looks back and forth, shrugs, and darts to the right as the others burst through the door. Whirling, she gropes for the dagger sheathed at her calf, cursing her gown’s design for having no good spot to keep her blade closer at hand. Weapon at the ready, she flexes the fingers of her free hand, limbering cold knuckles in preparation to use the cantrip. The others form up in the hall around her, blades drawn as they wait for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  The first heavy step shakes the staircase, and then…silence falls. Myrrh hears a strange gurgle, like a throat being cleared, but nothing further. After a few breaths, she tiptoes forward and peers out the door. The alley is deserted.

  Unease settles over her shoulders, but there’s nothing she can do about it now. She turns to the others.

  “Uh. What happened?” Nyx asks.

  She shrugs. “I assume someone helped us. I just hope it wasn’t Silver.”

  “And you don’t think we should find out?”

  “You mean go back out and hunt down our rescuers when we’re already inside the building?”

  “I just don’t like it.”

  “Me neither,” Myrrh says. “But I don’t think we have the luxury of searching for answers right now. Let’s get to the council chambers.”

  ***

  A wide-eyed serving girl drops a silver platter topped with appetizers when Myrrh rounds a corner and startles her. Trying to calm her own thudding heart, Myrrh swallows and after a breath regains her wits enough to bring up a hand and move her fingers through the cantrip. The girl’s eyes appear to defocus, and again, the sensation of a connection tugs at Myrrh, this time like hundreds of sharp but painless needles bursting from her nerve endings and hooking into the girl. She shudders slightly at the disconcerting feeling, especially the sensation that it’s left her vulnerable in some way.

  “So sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I could certainly use your help,” she says as the rest of the group catches up and crowds behind her in the hallway. “I came to find my father, you see. He’s a city councilman, and Mother says he’s going to be in meetings all night.”

  “The hearings,” the girl says, nodding blankly.

  Myrrh exhales in relief at the confirmation that they’re in the right buildings. “Hearings, you say? Is there anything about them I should know before going in? My father will be angry that I interrupted him. Better if I don’t make a fool of myself.”

  The girl blinks. “I don’t know much. Only that the council is lau
ghing a lot, especially when they poke at that awful man and ask for a vote.”

  Myrrh catches the eyes of her companions, hoping that one of them understands what the girl means, but everyone shrugs. “Well, my aunt and uncle here have come a long way to visit the city. Mother says that my father needs to take a break to greet his own brother because she’s not a hotelier or tour guide.” With this, Myrrh covers her mouth with her hand as if she’s said too much. “You’ll help me and my guards find him, won’t you?”

  “I…” The girl glances down at the spilled food. “I shouldn’t leave this mess here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Myrrh says. “If anyone gives you trouble over it, I’ll explain to Papa how helpful you were. After all, no councilman would want you to leave his family to wander the service corridors, right?”

  The servant nods slowly, seeming undecided. Myrrh reaches forward and tucks a stray strand of hair behind the girl’s ear and, while withdrawing her hand, works the cantrip again.

  “You needn’t enter the council chambers,” she says. “Just leading us there will be enough, and then you can hurry back here to clean up.”

  The girl straightens and motions the group forward. “You’re right. This way.”

  The service corridors are a maze, a warren of passages and junctures that would have taken the group far too much precious time. By the time they reach a dark walnut door set with an oiled brass handle, Myrrh feels thoroughly turned around.

  “Hopefully we won’t have to leave by that route,” Ivy mutters.

  Myrrh lays a hand on the latch. “I assume the council is within.”

  The girl nods.

  “Thank you. You’ve been more than helpful. Now I suggest you see to the mess.”

  Stiffening as if only now remembering the platter of spilled food, the girl ducks a quick curtsy and darts around the group, heading back the way they came.

  “Well then,” Myrrh says, taking a breath. “Everyone ready?”