My life drains from my body. The wounds are deep. No one will be looking for me. No one will find me. I’ll bleed out, stuck here on the dirty stone, all of my power and arrogance nothing but a memory. The bitter thought does nothing to aid me. I’m even strangely happy about it. No, that’s wrong. I shake my head, the edges of my vision already wavering. The man’s joyous thoughts continue to bleed into mine.
Groaning, I assume control of the man’s body. Turning the knife upwards, we pitch forward. Just before we land, I jump out of his brain. The distantly thud of the man hitting the ground accompanies the sickening squelch of the knife driving through his eye, but I don’t care.
The full force of the pain roars through me. My skin burns. My stomach freezes. My heart pounds. Blood spills between my clutching fingers, so dark, so much. Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision. Soon all I can see is red.
A voice begins to buzz at the edge of my awareness, a sound of panic and concern. A touch, feather-light, on my shoulder. Another pushes my hands tighter to my stomach. The pain snaps my vision back into focus.
A pair of familiar eyes.
Tilted ever-so-slightly up at the edges, dark and deep and filled with concern.
I smile.
No one has touched me that way since I was a child. No one has cared about me. No one knows who I really am.
I don’t let them.
“It’s okay,” I try to say, but my tongue feels thick and heavy.
The darkness begins to creep back into my vision. Her eyes are constantly moving, her head turning, her mouth opening. Soon, though, they are all that I can see. Those beautiful, kind eyes.
“It’s okay.”
Chapter 5
Kettle
The Thirty-Ninth Day of Winter
In the Year 5219, Council Reckoning
The search for Jace turns up nothing. The others are jumpy after the mysterious old man so thoroughly trounced them, and Jeld’s screaming death isn’t helping, either. I get the feeling Jace hasn’t left the city, but something in me doesn’t want to go looking myself. I might find him, and, despite the aggravation and sorrow he’s caused, a small part of me always roots for the little bastard to live and succeed. He’s just so proud and fearless, even covered in filth and without a penny to his name.
So, as the others grouse and nervously twitch and search, I read poems. The only aggravating thing about reading poems in Donirian is when I encounter the occasional word I don’t know. Trying to figure out the word 'boisterous' without anyone around who actually knows the word is harder than you’d think. I occasionally glance up from my book when the Khalintari triplets giggle in the corner. Inia, Koli, and Ezil aren’t really triplets, but they spend most of their time keeping to themselves and speaking in Khalin. They are challenging each other to new levels of flexibility. Ezil has her feet dangling over her own shoulders as she walks on her hands, the others already stretching to attempt the feat. The sight makes me shudder, and I look hurriedly back to my book.
The front door crashes open. I jump, then roll my eyes at the flash of a wide skirt just over the threshold.
“I've got it!” Corna shouts, jumping through the doorway and throwing her arms in the air in victory. I cock an eyebrow, lowering my book and lazily regarding her. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks flushed and vibrant. I smile almost against my will.
“What have you got?”
“Some real excitement!” she exclaims, strutting over and flopping into the chair next to me. She seems to deflate into the soft cushion, the petticoats of her skirt fluttering to rest. “We haven't done anything really interesting since the Graevo job. I'm about ready to burst.”
The Graevo job had been interesting. We conned the Duke's servants into believing the Sealord himself sent us to inspect the lands of Graevo’s summer home. We wore chainmail, and Corna spent dozens of hours painstakingly sewing the Wave crest into some cheap tabards we purchased in the Pennies. The guards stopped us at the gates to his estate, and Timo loomed as only huge men could while Corna sweetly explained what our purpose was. Between her adorable face and his gigantic arms, the men hardly dared to try to stop us. We didn't even have to tell them what we were inspecting.
As the two of them 'inspected,' I slipped away, headed to the stables, and saddled one of the Duke's most prized possessions: a Khalintari pureblood, breeding stock direct from the Khalintar of the Steed. The damned animal was worth roughly what the rest of the mansion combined could sell for. It was a stallion, virile, and the fastest and fiercest animal who ever lived. One of Graevo’s entire business ventures was dependent on that particular animal's penis.
I unleashed the beast into the estate grounds, clinging desperately to its back. Timo doubled back and compromised the guard that wasn't following Corna through the house. Two hellish hours later, halfway through the Kinlen forest and two mountain passes later, the animal had finally run out of steam. Creator knows I don't know anything about riding horses; I just Shaped shadow around the animal's middle and endured the horrible jostling with my eyes closed.
“Come now, we work jobs all the time. The money is good, the margins are safe, and we want for nothing,” I say, raising my book back to my eyes.
“Creator's hairy balls, Kettle, I'm bored,” Corna says. She slaps the book out of my hands. “I can tell you are, too. Your pores are practically oozing boredom. I can smell it. In fact, if you were any more bored, I would swear you decided to settle down and marry a tree! Either that, or you're boring, which is far worse, and I don't even think we can be friends.” She sniffs delicately. “Please, Kettle! I need some excitement. Let's roll the dice, live on the edge, make a name for ourselves!”
“Don't you remember the last time you made a name for yourself? Every man in the city wanted to either bed you or kill you, and some of them didn't care which order those were in.”
“Oh, Kettle, ew,” she says, scrunching up her face. “That was an image I didn't need. But please, hear me out? If we continue as we are, we’ll be forty and doting on our two hundred orphan children as we send them off to school, rocking in Eternal damned rocking chairs in the foyer!”
“Well, we call it the Family for a reason...” I trail off, seeing the look in her eye. She’s close to tears, her lower lip trembling, such a picture of utter anguish that I roll my eyes at the performance. “Fine, tell me.”
Her grin is miraculously restored.
“Okay, I heard a secret.”
“And?” She frowns. “Oh, fine. What is it, Corna?” I ask sarcastically.
“You are so aggravating sometimes, you know that?”
I blink slowly. She sighs.
“I heard,” she says, drawing out the moment. “About a secret vault. In a very secret place.”
“A vault? What is that?” I ask, confused.
“Oh, sometimes I forget that Donirian isn't your first language. You speak it so well. A vault is a place where you put things that are stupid expensive or valuable, locked away behind a giant door which is practically impenetrable.” I make a face at the unfamiliar word. “Unbreakable. Un-unlockable. Only the richest and carefullest people have them, so I'm not surprised you haven't heard the word. Doesn't actually come up in conversation often, does it?” she muses, tapping her chin.
“Whose vault is it?”
I narrow my eyes. I have a sinking suspicion that the answer to my question is not one I want to hear. Corna has a way of finding the most insane and dangerous people to piss off.
“Um, well, I want you to know it’s going to be one of the coolest jobs ever if we pull it off, and it’s such a secret that no one even knows what’s in it...” she looks away, playing with the frill of her skirts.
“Whose. Vault. Is. It?” I grind out, pinning her with my stare.
“Well, it’s... Gordyn's,” she says, wincing.
“Gordyn, as in Jon Gordyn, the head of the Imperial Bank and single richest man in the entire world?”
“Yeah, that's th
e one,” she says, smiling weakly.
“The same Jon Gordyn who owns an army of mercenary guards and investigators, who patrol every piece of property he owns with constant vigilance, killing anyone who trespasses without even bothering to detain them? The same Jon Gordyn who, on the rumor that Count Lapiris was cheating at one of his gambling houses, showed up at his house in Elderen, five hundred miles away, and tortured him until he confessed? The same Jon Gordyn who escaped torturing and murdering a Count of the kingdom with a congratulations from the King for exacting justice?”
“Okay, okay,” Corna says, waving her hands. “You’re focusing on the wrong details. The wealthiest man in the world has a secret vault behind his office at the Bank, the contents of which no one has ever seen! Can you imagine what’s in there? Starsilver ingots the length of your arm, diamonds the size of your fist, Timo's weight in precious stones? We could live forever on that kind of haul.”
“Live for as long as it took him to find out who we were, with our newfound name for ourselves, and then die horrible deaths as he cut us into tiny, tiny pieces and fed us to the rest of the Family!”
“Wow, Kettle, you have a twisted mind,” Corna says, shuddering. “Who thinks to feed people to people?”
“Jon Gordyn, should he catch us or find out who we are,” I say wearily. “We can't risk the Family. The children have come to us in trust. We would be signing their death warrants.”
“Not if we’re really, really careful,” Corna says, a twinkle in her eye. “And, just a little, aren't you discounting our trump card?”
“What's that?”
“You, silly. Do you really think a band of mercenaries could kill you? No matter how ruthless or well-trained or bug-eyed they are?”
“I think you added something to that list that doesn't fit,” I mutter, smiling. “To be totally honest, I don't know. I’m afraid that, even if I could keep me safe, I couldn't keep us all safe.”
“You know, it is sounding suspiciously like you’re looking for an out rather than flat out refusing. I've got you intrigued, don't I? Secret vault, most heavily guarded bank in the world, stealing from the richest man who ever lived?”
When I came to Donir, I could have been anything. I could have been a seamstress, or a clerk, or apprenticed with a trade. It was a fresh start for me, the Broken Isles nothing but a memory. But the training I received didn’t lend itself to domestic life, nor did my mindset. I chose to steal because the night was mine, the world had pissed me off, and it was just so damned exciting.
And, of course, Corna’s right. I’m bored. I’ve slowed the training of the little ones after Grace's death. Timo extorts money from merchants in exchange for our 'protection' from thieves. Of course, we are the most likely people to steal from them. The Sealord runs a tight ship; there isn’t much organized crime in Donir, at least none that dare to show their face. There are a few other outfits, but they ignore us, and I feel fine returning the favor. Extortion isn’t exactly exciting though.
It’s not enough, and I know it. Though I occasionally pick some pockets on the street or steal silks from a lady's wardrobe, I’m a Shaper of an element that isn’t even supposed to exist. Shadow deserves its time in the sun.
“We need to know more,” I find myself saying, a part of me instantly regretting the words as Corna leaps to her feet and throws her arms around my neck.
“I knew it! Kettle, we are going to be so infamous!”
“Corna,” I start, carefully keeping my tone neutral. “You realize that, consequences aside, we are trying to sneak into perhaps the most secure room in the most secure building in the kingdom. It’s going to take patience, planning, and time to even approach a feasible plan. We could be talking years.”
“Kettle, if we plunder Jon Gordyn's secret vault, I will retire from the business, buy one of the Broken Isles, and live my life with servants tending to my every need. I’ll occasionally throw coconuts at your island across the water. I don't care if it’s our last job, and I don't care how long it takes. This is legendary.”
“Well, we need to know more. Bring Rina here. She has a head for numbers, and she looks wealthy,” I murmur, the wheels already turning in my head.
“What do those things matter?” Corna asks.
“You scamps need to start doing some work around here. I think Rina needs to get a job at the Imperial Bank.”
***
Two weeks later, Timo stares at me. I stare back. He blinks. I blink. The routine has already lasted for long seconds stretching into minutes. He still hasn’t reacted. I don’t say anything, though, because I can see cogs moving behind his eyes. The mind of an intelligent man hides behind his rough veneer. Far behind. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. Twice.
“You wan' me,” he says finally, the words slowly rolling off his tongue. “Ta act?”
“That's what I said, isn't it?”
“As in, a play.”
“Yes.”
“Act.”
“Yes.”
“In a play.”
“I think we've established that,” I say, exasperated.
“I jus' wanted you ta have tha chance ta change yer mind,” he says, shaking his head in confusion.
“We need you to be able to be more than just our muscle, my friend. We need you to be able to talk, to pretend, to act as if you are more than the thug that everyone thinks you are. You are big and strong and intimidating. But what if you could also be charming, smooth, and persuasive? Imagine if you could speak like you do, or speak like a noble? Don't you want to play more roles than just 'hulking brute' or 'ignorant tough'? You can be so much more than you are. Don't you remember how we met? Why we met?”
Timo doesn’t respond aside from slowly nodding his head. He remembers The Lost Lore of Isa, whether he wants to admit it or not. A gleam kindles in his eyes. The challenge. He wants to learn, to be something more than he ever thought he would be.
“It's going to be hard work,” I warn. “You will have to learn how to speak 'properly,' and how to carry yourself, and you'll have to memorize your lines. Just remember, this is practice for the big dance to come. We need you to play a role that isn't yourself for what’s coming, and I believe you can do it.”
He nods firmly. I give him the details of the playhouse, along with the name he can tell them to access his bunk backstage. He leaves in a daze, not even bothering to say goodbye. He’s effectively beyond my control for the next two months. I just hope Master Tiolacco took it to heart when I described the man he would be molding.
I put thoughts of Timo from my mind as Corna bounces down the stairs, Rina at her side.
“I've forged some pretty decent stuff in my day,” Corna says, slapping a rolled piece of parchment into her palm. “But this is my masterpiece. The Creator himself would swear Rina has been working for the Khalintar of the Coin for the last three years, on loan from her father in the Badlands.”
Rina is short, snub-nosed, and red-headed. She looks as if she could have been born amongst people of the Baldinland; her cover as a wealthy daughter out of that northern province is perfect. The 'Badlands' are so named because they mark the northernmost border between the Kingdom of the Sea and the frozen tundra in the north. The people there are hardy, surly, and mistrusting of anyone whose name they don’t already know. They have to deal with the occasional, though steady, raiding from the tribes of dark-haired barbarians to the north. The Sealord doesn’t bother sending his true army up there, because the lands themselves are a desolate, frozen wasteland. Conquering the barbarian tribes would be both expensive and pointless. Instead, the Badlanders deal with the raids.
“So, Rina wants to join the Imperial Bank. What are the denominations of coin?” I ask.
“Bronze pennies, silver pennies, bronze marks, silver marks, gold marks, and starsilver marks,” Rina rattles off, rolling her eyes. I have to give it to her, it isn’t really a question.
“If I had thirty-three bronze marks, a dozen silver pennies,
and forty-seven bronze pennies, how many gold marks do I have?”
“None,” Rina says. “All of that adds up to less than half of a gold mark. You could only change that into three silver marks, four bronze marks, six silver pennies, and seven bronze pennies. Exchange rates for that tiny amount of money would be practically negligible, but I imagine you would lose those seven bronze pennies in the trade.”
“A man walks into the bank with a bag full of starsilver marks, staggering under its weight. He pours the whole lot out onto your desk and demands you put his money in your vault. What do you do?”
“Well, after I palm one, I would beg the man's patience and go talk to my superior. Most likely, he will fetch Gordyn if the man is at the office, because the kind of money you just described would buy most castles, many towns, and some small cities.”
“Good,” I say, not really satisfied but forcing myself to be. Rina’s smart; she’s been running with us for nearly two years. She has quick hands, a faster mind, and no weaknesses other than money. “But don't palm a mark. The last we need is some shrewd fool who knows the exact count of marks that were in the bag. He’ll notice on the receipt, make an accusation, and you’ll be dead or worse. I can't impress upon you enough how very dangerous what we’re asking you to do is.”
“Yes, Mother,” Rina says, sarcasm lacing her voice. “Teach me how to pick the pocket, will you? Teach me how to make the beast with two backs, will you?”
I roll my eyes, waving her away. She takes the formal letter of introduction and strolls out of the house, her official attire somehow hugging her curves in all the right places. I ignore the tiny pang of jealousy drifting through my heart. I’ll never be described as curvy, but at least my assets - or lack thereof - are perfect for squeezing into tight places. I turn to Corna, who shrugs.
“A bit touchy, asking her that last question. Isn't pouring a bag of starsilver marks on her desk part of the plan?” Corna asks.
“Maybe. To get it all together, we might have to sell the house, chela.”
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 10