by C. Vandyke
Smiling, Jess kept walking, tucking her prize into her pocket. She’d try them on when she got home. She might keep them, if they looked good enough, but more likely she’d fence them and squirrel the funds away beneath her mattress for her eventual escape from the island.
“Someone’s light-fingered.” A hand curled around her shoulder, and Jess went cold as she was turned around. A tall man with inky black curls and a half-smile stared down at her. He wore a long brown coat that swished as he moved, and Jess caught sight of the butt of a pistol at his hip.
“S-sir?” she managed.
“That was a smooth lift,” he continued. “He didn’t even see you.”
“What are you talking about?”
His grin widened. “Why, these?” He held up the earrings in his free hand, the rubies sparkling in the market’s torchlight.
Jess’s stomach plummeted as she reached in her pocket and found nothing but lint. How had he gotten those? Better yet, how had he seen her? No one ever looked her way in the market. Jess was plain, with her drab hair and green eyes, so unremarkable as to be almost a shadow. But this man, whoever he was, had been watching.
She thrust out her chin. “Those are for my mistress,” she said defiantly. “If I tell her you took them, she’ll be cross.”
“A good liar, too.” He arched an eyebrow. “All right, my light-fingered lass. Here’s the deal. Have a drink with me, and I’ll give you back your jewels.”
Jess frowned. “Just a drink?” she asked suspiciously.
“Just a drink.” He released her arm and crossed his heart. “On the honor I lost long ago, that’s all I ask.”
Swallowing, Jess glanced around the market. It was early enough that the market still swarmed with people. The pubs would be, too—on an island with no day. The good times never ended. She could kick up a loud enough fuss to get away from him if need be.
“All right,” she said cautiously. “A drink.”
They ended up at the Lighthouse Pub, one of many by that name on the island. The dingy, noisy bar was just filling up. The man led Jess to a side table and hailed a barmaid for a pair of gins. Jess watched him sip his own, leaving her own untouched.
“It’s not poisoned,” he said wryly.
“No?”
“You’d make a poor listener if you were unconscious.”
Jess narrowed her eyes. “I thought you said just a drink.”
“Ah, but I made no embargo against talking while drinking. And I’ve been told I’m quite a talkative fellow.”
Reaching into his pocket, the man removed the earrings, setting them in the middle of the table with his hand resting on them lightly. “It seems to me,” he began, “that a housemaid who steals jewelry might be at a risk of losing her job if she ever got caught. So, she must have quite a good reason for doing it, wouldn’t you say?”
Jess crossed her arms. “Who are you?”
The man took a long drink. “Name’s Braddock. I’ve just come into port on business. Business I suspect you can help me with.”
Braddock. The name passed through Jess’s mind, snagging on a memory only a few weeks old. “That wouldn’t be Bottomless Braddock, would it?”
The man grinned broadly. “You’ve heard of me.”
“You’re a thief,” she said flatly.
“So are you.”
“Stealing earrings in the market and robbing the King’s summer palace are two completely different things,” Jess protested.
“Ah, but they do have something in common,” he said, holding up a finger.
“And what is that?”
“Knowing that you may be caught and doing it, anyway.”
Jess frowned at him. “I’m not stealing for the thrill of it.”
“I figured as much. So, then, why are you stealing?”
Jess’s gaze slid to the window of the tavern. Through the smoke and grime encrusted glass lay the unlit sky outside, the shadowy blanket that shrouded every day of her life.
“I want to leave Isla de Luz,” she said quietly. “I’m saving up.”
Braddock tapped the table. “These earrings would pay for passage by themselves. Not nice passage, but you could certainly leave.”
“I know that,” Jess snapped. “But I’m not casting myself onto the waters without a plan. Without… without funds.”
“Ah.” Braddock smiled again, a softer smile than the one he’d given her before. “Then we have more in common than you think. I’m not a man to jump into something without looking, either. Which is why I sought you out. I think we could help each other, Green-Eyes.”
“Green-Eyes?”
His mouth twitched upwards. “You want to give me your proper name, I’ll use that.”
Jess considered. “Green-Eyes is fine.”
“Fair enough.” He leaned back. “By your uniform, you work for the Delacroix family, yes?”
Jess grimaced at her blue and white uniform. “Yes.”
“Good. Then, you also know the Delacroixs have a rather extensive library of rare and expensive books and documents they occasionally like showing off to their rich friends.”
“And you want to steal some of those books, is that it?”
“Not books,” Braddock said sharply. “A map. Or part of one. The Delacroix’s have a piece of the Map of Ages. I aim to appropriate it for myself.”
Jess almost laughed. “The Map of Ages? It’s a—a fairy tale. A story for children to make them dream of other worlds.”
“Are you so opposed to dreaming?”
She winced. “No good comes from dreams.”
“How do you know it isn’t real?” Braddock persisted.
“Because it isn’t,” she snapped. “It’s just a rumor.”
Braddock paused, studying her. Jess shifted uncomfortably, aware of what he must be seeing—a spiritless young woman with a sour expression. Nothing to inspire much confidence.
“Just a rumor, hmm?” His hand slid into his pocket. Slowly, he withdrew a slender leather case, unscrewed it and pulled out a scrap of paper, laying it before her. “Powerful rumor, then.”
Jess leaned forward, her mouth going dry as she tried to make sense of what she saw. The page was not large, but it had depth, like staring into a pool of water. And the images... moved. They depicted the ocean and a set of islands; the Atoll of Giants, perhaps. But the currents around the land wavered, while other murkier images swam beneath the surface of the paper.
Her breath caught. Without thinking, she reached out to touch it, wondering if it would shift beneath her fingers. But Braddock snatched it away.
“Don’t be offended,” he said with a grin. “This was rather hard to acquire, and given your light fingers, I’d rather you didn’t touch it.”
“What is it?” she breathed.
“It can be the key to both our problems.” Braddock finished screwing on the cap and stowed the case again. “You help me get the Delacroix’s piece, and I promise you this; you’ll have a place on my ship wherever you want to go. If you help me, you can keep your little nest egg for your new life.”
Jess swallowed, clasping her hands around her untouched glass. She glanced towards the window again, into the darkness. She doubted she’d ever come across a better offer. And if indeed that was the Map of Ages, then more than just this world would open to her.
At last, Jess took a sip of her gin, grimacing at the taste. She met Braddock’s eyes.
“What’s your plan?”
It was late in the evening—or what passed for it on Isla de Luz—and the Delacroix party was in full swing. Festive lanterns hung all along the curving paths of the manor’s gardens, and throughout the party strolled performers of all kinds: musicians, acrobats, and one or two fortune tellers making young ladies squeal in frightened delight. Women in long pastel gowns swanned through the greenery, fans fluttering like butterfly wings, while gentlemen in elaborate justaucorps gathered in tight knots discussing trade.
Jess skirted the festivities a
s she hurried inside. The hour was late, and her part in Braddock’s plan drew near. The plan—or Jess’s role, anyway—was simple. She was to open the back gate for the pirates at the midnight tolling of the bell. That was, shockingly, most of it.
She hastened into the manor through one of the side doors. Servants rushed past bearing trays of partridge and cured meats, fruits, and greens that made her mouth water, her gaze tracking the food with envy. She’d missed supper while speaking with Braddock.
“Oof!” The breath left her as—distracted by an elaborate turkey dish—she ran straight into someone. Jess immediately ducked her head and curtseyed.
“My apologies,” she stammered, darting a glance up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
The man she’d run into wore a wide-brimmed hat that concealed most of his face. One of his eyes gleamed a dull, reddish hue in the shadows. He regarded her for a moment before walking away. Jess sighed, letting her shoulders sag. He must have been one of the performers coming in for a brief break.
Picking up her pace again, she hurried towards the buzzing hive of the kitchens. Chefs and servants shouted orders. The kitchen fires spat and hissed, and heat from the ovens hit her like a wave. Amidst it all stood the formidable form of Mrs. Donnelly, the housekeeper.
Clearing her throat, Jess slunk up to the older woman. “Mrs. Donnelly,” she said plaintively, “I’m sorry to bother you, but Madame asked me to fetch the key to the back gate. Some of the performers are coming that way.”
Maggie barely glanced at her before her hand dipped into her apron pocket. “They might’ve told me earlier,” she muttered, pulling free a large iron key and handing it to Jess. “Be quick, girl.”
The back gate was set in the unfashionable part of the garden, beside the vegetables. Jess stole through the house and out into the back, going first towards the laundry lines. The stone walls surrounding the Delacroix family’s estate were high, but not impassable, and she’d initially suggested to Braddock that he merely scale the walls, “If you’re such a damned good pirate.”
That was when the second part of her job had been revealed. She needed to get them servants’ uniforms.
Jess yanked three sets of uniforms off the lines, bundling them beneath her arm and heading towards the back gate.
And then she froze.
Two guards stood beside the gate. Not Delacroix family guards, either—these looked like militiamen. Muskets rested at attention on either shoulder.
Jess swore, clutching the bundle of clothes tightly. She glanced back the way she’d come, biting her lip. Now would be a perfectly reasonable time to abandon this whole endeavor. She didn’t need to leave with Braddock. A few more years, even just a few more months if her luck with pickpocketing held, and she could leave on her own.
But the image of the Map flickered in her memory. Those half-seen places taunting her from just beneath the paper. She wanted to know—she had to know what they were.
Steeling herself, she marched up to the guards with more confidence than she felt. They spotted her almost immediately, and she tried to give them a confident smile.
“Monsieur has requested you in the house,” she said.
The pair glanced at each other, then back to her. “We don’t take orders from servants.”
Jess tried not to flinch. “Forgive me, but there was no one else. Monsieur requested guards at the western gate. They sent—”
“Enough,” one of the soldiers said sharply. In the distance, the midnight bell from the Iberia Cathedral began tolling, the other church bells following suit. “If Monsieur is so eager for our presence, he can send another soldier. Not a girl.”
Jess opened her mouth, trying to think of a reply, when movement behind the guards caught her attention. A pair of hooks, like grasping fingers, latched onto the high wall of the gardens.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Jess blinked, refocusing on the soldiers. “I’m sorry?”
The soldier grunted, stepping towards her. “Leave.” Behind him, three people dropped silently down from the wall.
“Oh, of course, sirs,” Jess babbled, one eye on the three figures. She recognized Braddock, who gave her a wink.
“I just… perhaps I could fetch you some refreshment? Something to keep you entertained. The parties often go long into the night.” Jess kept talking, kept their focus on her, as Braddock’s two companions crept up silently behind the guards. She tried not to flinch as the pair raised the butt ends of their pistols, thwacking both soldiers across the back of the head. The guards stiffened before crumpling to the ground.
Braddock strolled forward, toeing the unconscious men. “Why, Green-Eyes, I had no idea you were such a talker,” he said, grinning.
Jess swallowed against the dryness of her throat. “You didn’t tell me there would be soldiers.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know.”
“I thought you said you scoped out the place beforehand,” one pirate—a petite woman with close-cropped red hair—hissed.
“I did, but I’m not omniscient, Andrea. You’d need a Fountain Keeper for that.” He glanced back at Jess. “Uniforms?”
Jess unrolled the clothes and handed them over, eyeing the two men on the ground. Why would Monsieur Delacroix have militiamen here tonight? They hosted parties at the manor frequently, but nearly always used the family’s guard. The only time Monsieur Delacroix requested assistance from the militia was when there was a known threat to the family.
Or a suspected one.
Jess swallowed, turning back to the pirates. “I think they know you’re coming.”
Braddock paused while buttoning up the blue butler’s jacket. He glanced at Jess, then down at the two guards. The third pirate, his long hair bound behind him, knelt to examine the unconscious men.
“She might be right,” he said after a moment. “These are militiamen.”
Braddock swore. “Someone tipped them off.”
“Should we call this off?” Andrea asked. “There’s only one door into the study, Captain. If there were guards here, there’ll sure as shit be guards inside.”
Jess pressed sweating palms against the dress. “There’s - there’s another way in. The study only has one door, but Monsieur Delacroix installed a skylight a few months ago.” She clamped her mouth shut as the three pirates turned to look at her.
“Just a few months ago, you say?”
Jess nodded. “But… it’s hard to see.”
“How so?”
“The glass. Monsieur commissioned it from a specialized glassblower in Port Coralie du Coeur. I heard him bragging about it to some of his friends. The glass is specially tempered to absorb light, not reflect it. A good deal of light comes through it from the Lighthouse and stars, but it’s not supposed to reflect anything at all. It would just look like a regular roof tile.”
Braddock examined the roof of the manor house. “Green-Eyes, do you think you could find it?”
“I—yes. Probably,” Jess said, her heart beating fast. The rational part of her mind kept screaming at her to stop talking, but another, louder part wanted to see that Map again. To feel the parchment under her fingers and understand those other images—those other places—swimming beneath the paper.
“Draper, do you think you can get us up there?”
The third pirate clicked his tongue. “Probably. But you’ll need to be on the lookout, sir. They might have soldiers on the roof.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take.” Braddock finished buttoning up the servant’s coat and nodded towards the house. “Let’s move.”
In the end, there were no soldiers. Draper led them up the side of the house with the skill of an acrobat. Jess crouched unsteadily on the slate tiles, scanning the roof while she pictured the internal structure of the house. As she neared where the study should have been, she got down on her hands and felt along the tiles, stopping when her fingers encountered a smooth, flat plane.
“Here,” she said
softly, calling the others over.
“It’s leaded,” Draper murmured. “What do you think? Blow it open?”
Braddock shook his head. “Too loud. We need to try and lift the pane out entirely. Andrea?”
Andrea nodded. She pulled out a tightly corked flask, putting on a pair of gloves before unstoppering it and quickly distributing a powdery substance over the lead. Jess gasped as the lead grew hot and dripped down from the glass.
Braddock chuckled at her expression. “Andrea Lee’s a munitions expert,” he whispered. “We call her ‘The Chemist’.”
Jess barely heard him. “What is that?” she whispered to the other woman.
“Iron powder, salt, a few other things. It heats up fast when exposed to air,” Andrea explained as the last of the lead melted away. Carefully, they lifted out the glass. A breeze smelling of paper and ink blew out of the now empty skylight. Draper produced a rope, securing it around a nearby chimney, and they began their descent.
The faint glow of the distant lighthouse from the skylight was the only illumination as they reached the floor of the empty room. Jess took a steadying breath, her arms shaking with exertion. Andrea watched her, amused.
“What?” Jess demanded.
“You’ll have to get used to sore arms if you’re going to be clambering around a ship’s rigging,” Andrea whispered.
“I’m not a pirate.”
The other woman just smiled wider. “You are tonight.”
“Hush,” Braddock said. He pulled out his scrap of the Map of Ages and frowned in concentration. The Map seemed to tug him forward, then to the left, the paper moving like a sail billowing in the wind. “This way.”