Skate the Thief

by Jeff Ayers

  Skate thought they were impressive, so she nodded. She did see a glaring flaw in his plan, but was loath to point it out.

  “Ah,” he said, apparently sensing her skepticism, “I know what you’re thinking: someone could just break the glass. Not likely. Here!” he said, taking a glass globe from a perch on the nearest bookshelf and putting it in her grasp. “Chuck that as hard as you can at the window. Don’t hold back; give it all you’ve got!”

  The globe sat like a stone in her palm. It could easily break the window, she knew, but Belamy’s encouraging smile made her shrug and try it anyway. She threw it with more than enough force to shatter the pane, and braced for the crash of broken glass. She heard instead only a thump, and then Belamy extended his hand and prevented the ball from hitting the floor with his magic. He gently floated it toward its place on the shelf. “No one is breaking in that way again; that glass is hard as stone now. So is this ball, for that matter. But never mind all that,” he said, turning to face the girl with a hand outstretched, palm open. “You have something for me?”

  “Yeah,” Skate said, handing the book over, “but I don’t know if it’s one you already got.” Her mind raced: If he was protecting against thieves, then he didn’t know about the Ink’s rules about stealing from clients; and if he didn’t know about the Ink’s rules, then he didn’t know about the Ink at all.

  Belamy glanced at the cover, and his face fell slightly. “I’m afraid it is,” he said, flipping through the pages, confirming its contents. “You’ll have to return this to wherever you found it; it’s of no use to me.” He passed it back without further ado.

  Skate accepted it, doing her best to look crestfallen. “I guess I’ll just sell it for a room tonight, then,” she said gloomily.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” he said, looking stern and animated once more. “That is someone else’s property, and you’ll return it as soon as possible.”

  Judging by his face and tone, Skate surmised that he was being entirely serious. “You’re the one that asked me to get it for you!” she pointed out. “You knew it was someone else’s, and you were more than happy to keep it before you found out you already had one.” The wizard’s hypocrisy made her abandon caution.

  “Calm yourself. I was never going to keep anything you brought me. I want to read and return them, that’s all.”

  Skate shook her head in disbelief. “You’re having me st—find these things just so you can give ’em back later?”

  “Well, yes. I’m no thief.”

  “No, you’re treating other people’s libraries like they’re your own.”

  Belamy smiled and nodded. “That’s right, and I treat my own library as equally open to anyone who asks. A book belongs to everybody in the end, doesn’t it? The stories, the lessons, the discoveries—they belong to everyone, when it’s all said and done. Think about it,” he said, drawing passionate intensity out of her skeptical expression. “When I read a story, I keep it with me, in here.” He pointed to his temple. “It’s always there, always at my disposal. Stories and histories are as real in memories as they are on the page. What need do I have to hold the book in hand—or even worse, stored on a shelf—if I keep its secrets with me wherever I go? What right do I have to pretend that I own what’s among the pages, just because I lay claim to the pages themselves?”

  Skate put her hands up in grudging acceptance. “Fine, I’ll put it back where I found it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Should I keep ‘finding’ books until I get one you don’t have?”

  “That seems horribly inefficient. Let me give you a list of books, so you can—”

  “I can’t remember a whole list of books.”

  Belamy was nonplussed. “Well, you can bring the list with you, of course; that’s no issue.”

  “I can’t read.”

  Uncomfortable silence greeted this proclamation.

  “Oh. Yes.” Belamy seemed lost in thought. “Oh,” he said, his eyes flashing wide and a smile cracking his lined face. “Oh! I have an idea! Wait here.” With that, he bounded up the stairs.

  Skate, now alone, moved toward one of the new locks. She brought a hand near it and, after working up her courage, pressed a finger on the textured back of it. She could feel movement within. When it gave one of its periodic jerks, she pulled her hand away but continued watching it, wondering how she could possibly beat it. Hearing Belamy coming back down, she backed away from the strange device.

  He appeared at the foot of the stairs, carrying a backpack in his hands, and offered it to Skate with a grin.

  She eyed it dubiously. “How is a backpack supposed to help me find books? Is it magic or something?”

  “The backpack? No, it’s just rough cloth and metal clasps. However,” he said, unlatching the clasp that was keeping it shut, “what’s inside will help you tremendously.” When he opened the pack all the way, a familiar pair of bat wings popped up and began flapping lightly.

  Rattle poked its eyeball body out, leaving the spindly legs within the bag. It hovered in place for a few moments, looked about the room, then slowly descended back into the bag. Its eye appeared and disappeared at small holes in the sides of the bag.

  Belamy clasped the bag shut. “Rattle will be joining you to help point out books that aren’t in our collection. He knows all of mine, so I trust him not to make any mistakes.”

  Skate took the backpack. It was surprisingly light, given its strange cargo, but she hesitated over putting it on. “This is a bad idea.”

  “What? Why?”

  “‘Finding’ things takes quiet and quickness. Rattle is not quiet.” As if to accentuate her point, Rattle clicked its legs together within the bag. “See? What if it does that while we’re finding a book for you, and the people living there come to see what the noise was?”

  Belamy waved a hand in front of his nose as if swatting an irritating insect. “He’ll be fine, and so will you. And if someone does discover you while you’re finding me a book, you just run. Don’t try to hurt anybody to get away.”

  Skate didn’t bother reminding him that she had not tried to hurt him when the knife plunged into his side; he would not hear her. “I still want to know why you didn’t get hurt.”

  “Magic.”

  She pursed her lips and frowned, holding the backpack out as if to return it.

  Getting the point, the old wizard made the swatting motion again. “Fine, fine. A better, more accurate detailed answer. The blade cannot harm me, nor will any others unless wielded by an extremely powerful arm or else enchanted heavily—and in the latter case, it would still take a reasonably strong arm to cause a blade to hurt. This is because of certain modifications I have made to my body, preventing harm from certain sources. These changes were made using powerful magic. If I got any more specific than that, then nothing I would start to say would make any sense, as the magic involved is very complex and dangerous besides. Does this answer satisfy you?”

  Skate sized the old man up. In addition to being good at lying, she was also quite skilled in determining when others were trading in falsehoods; this was a necessary skill when living among ruffians. Belamy had not seemed to be lying, except when he’d claimed he was not being clearer for technical reasons. There was a subtle shift at that point, a lifting of his voice that told her he had begun warping the truth. He was holding something back, and he wanted the conversation dropped.

  The only sounds in the room were the clicking of Rattle’s legs from within the bag and the crackling of the fire. Finally, Skate spoke. “Sure. Magic. I can deal with that. And I won’t hurt anyone. If I get caught, I’ll throw Rattle at them and run away. It’d probably scare anybody worse than a crummy knife would.”

  At the mention of its name, Rattle pushed its body out of the top of the bag and looked at her. When it heard the last few words, it clicked its legs together rhythmically and bobbed its body up and down. Skate thought this must have been its version of laughing, since Belamy looked at it and s
miled.

  “Yes, I suppose he probably would.” The smile left the wizard’s face. “Though he must not be seen. If you are caught while finding and Rattle is seen, any witness would tie him right back to me. Not many know of Rattle’s existence, but some do. It would be putting me at risk. You can’t do that.”

  Skate soured at that even as she realized it made sense. How many people, wizards included, had a pet or partner that was an eyeball with bat wings and spider legs? Belamy himself claimed not to know what to properly call Rattle; it was probably utterly unique. Its presence would be a lightning rod for trouble if it were seen.

  This complication only made Skate more uncomfortable with Rattle’s proposed presence as she worked—in addition to her unspoken but no less pressing major concern: with Rattle around, she was unlikely to be able to continue communicating with the Ink. However, she also didn’t know of another way to distinguish which books the old man had and which ones he didn’t.

  “I’ll have to make sure I’m not seen, then, and keep Rattle hidden,” she said. The old man appeared satisfied with the answer. “Where should I start looking for these books? Anyone you know who definitely has books you don’t have?”

  “Oh yes. Oh yes!” Belamy said, brightening as if struck with a sudden idea. “There are several people who have let slip to me that they have rare tomes I haven’t been able to find yet. Laribel Ossertine, nearby in the Old Town, is one. Bakurin Gemhide is another. He lives near the docks, though I’m not as confident in him as I am with her. He may have been lying to make himself seem more impressive than he really is; I know he does that from time to time. I’ve seen Laribel’s collection, though, and she isn’t lying. Another of interest would be Jack Gherun, who lives near the Baron’s Palace.”

  Skate ran these options through her internal filter, catching the relevant information. Jack Gherun, whoever he was, would be a poor choice, given his living situation near the seat of official governance of the city. Guards would be everywhere.

  Then there was Gemhide, who both wasn’t a sure thing and lived near the docks. The Boss’s map had a lot of red pins around there. Could she be sure that Gemhide’s house was not on the list of “protected” properties? The last thing she needed was to have to navigate with Haman the delicacies of a possible breach of the Ink against their own contract with a client, especially with a bizarre creature stuck behind her back hearing every word. The Old Town mark was probably safest.

  “I’ll try Laribel. She’s closest, right?”

  “That’s right. Rattle can guide you there from within the backpack. And be sure she doesn’t know I’m connected to this—that she doesn’t even spot you. As my nearest acquaintance, she may have seen you sneak around the neighborhood. Whatever the situation, she is not to be harmed, and you are not to be seen. Understood?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Skate said, hoisting the backpack on her shoulders. “I’m gonna go case the place. I’ve got a few hours until night, and I want to know what I’ll be getting into before I do the job.”

  “Oh, why wait? I have it on very good authority that Laribel will be away from her home, where she lives alone, well into the evening. You should make your way there as quickly as possible. Besides, you don’t want to be caught out in the cold tonight, do you?” He had taken on a cheerful disposition, one with a forced nonchalance that was not endearing at all; he came across as more worried than gregarious.

  “What authority?” Skate asked, as she heard Rattle do its rhythmic clicking and felt its bouncing in the backpack.

  Before Belamy could answer, there was a heavy knock at the door. He looked from the door back to her. All pretension of good humor had vanished. He looked positively stricken.

  “Hide! In the kitchen!” he hissed, waving her away. “When I get everybody upstairs, slip out the front. Remember: you must not be seen!”

  Confused, Skate hid, sliding into the kitchen and leaving the door cracked, both to hear what was going on and to avoid making extra noise by opening the door when she left. She couldn’t see far into the main room, but she could hear Belamy make his way to the door. She heard the heavy door swing open on its hinges, and Belamy broke out in a hearty laugh. “Come in, friends, come in!”

  These unknown guests shuffled in from the cold and knocked the snow and ice from their shoes in the entryway. Skate looked down at her own ratty footwear; she had not done the same. A bolt of panic shot through her. Clods of snow and ice almost certainly served as tracks on her way into the kitchen. These guests might get curious if they noticed the incriminating puddles.

  “Afternoon, Barrison. Glad you’ve got a fire going, for once,” a gruff male voice said. Judging from where she heard the voice coming from, the man speaking had moved closer to the fire. She heard him clap and rub his hands together.

  As he warmed himself, a second voice, this one obviously feminine, added, “Yes, it’s much better in here than the last time I paid you a visit.” From the sound of it, she was still near the door. “Your downstairs looks like it’s actually been lived in, rather than covered up in sheets and dust by servants while the master’s away.” She had a condescending lilt to her words, and Skate could hear the sneer in them.

  “Laribel and Bakurin, you’ve always been such great wits,” Belamy said with much more ease than he had managed before, sounding genuinely sardonic rather than slightly manic. Skate’s mouth dropped open at the names. It seemed that the old man’s “good authority” had been very trustworthy after all! The list he had given her had not been randomly chosen; they were to be his guests for the evening.

  A third voice, this one male, soft, and thin, said something that sent another shock of panic coursing through her: “What are those puddles, Barrison?” Gherun (she assumed) sounded closer than Ossertine had; he must have moved to the fire with Gemhide.

  “Oh, I went out earlier. I must have forgotten to clean up on my way to the kitchen.” Belamy laughed, then muttered words. Skate could hear him getting closer with each bout of repeated muttering.

  “What was this new discovery you wanted to show us?” Ossertine asked, coming from the general direction of the fireplace; all three were apparently warming themselves now. Skate let go of a breath that she had been holding since Gherun had noticed the puddles. They seemed to have accepted Belamy’s explanation.

  “Oh, it’s quite interesting, I think you’ll agree,” Belamy said. He sounded like he was just on the other side of the door now. “Did you all bring the copies of the book?” After getting three general affirmations, he went on, “Excellent! I believe I’ve found an odd variation in my copy, and I wanted to compare notes. If Kewpier was as clever as I believe she was, this is no calligrapher’s error, but an indication that there is particular attention to be paid to the text. It may even be some sort of clue toward some code she wove into the account, only to be deciphered once enough copies had been found. In fact…”

  His voice had been moving away and becoming more indistinct as he talked. Skate heard footsteps on stone and knew that he had successfully moved the party upstairs to ponder his esoteric discovery. She risked a peek into the main room and found it empty.

  Before she stepped back out, Skate quietly knocked the remaining slush on her feet onto the kitchen floor. She slipped through the door and saw that her floor puddles from before were gone; Belamy must have been “cleaning up after himself” with all that muttering.

  Conscious of Rattle’s muted and bizarre laughter in the backpack, Skate crept noiselessly across the room, out through the barely open front door, and into the cold afternoon light.

  Chapter 4

  In which a destination is reached, a trap is bypassed, and a man is kicked in the groin.

  Skate hurried away from Belamy’s door and across the street, trying her best to stay out of sight of any interested parties. Her breath formed temporary clouds in front of her eyes as she jogged, and the ground was intermittently patched with piles of snow that had not yet melted or been shovel
ed away. The residual warmth of the old man’s house was keeping some of the chill away, but she could feel it dissipating as she darted around pedestrians to cross the busy road.

  When she was safely out of sight of the general population, Skate began to slap her hands together and breathe into them. “Where do I go, eyeball?” she said, knowing Rattle could hear her. She felt a light tap on the right side of her back. “Does that mean I need to go right?”

  In response, Rattle clicked and tapped twice more, a little harder, on the right side of her back.

  “Okay, then, right it is.”

  Rattle clicked again but did no more tapping, so Skate set off in the direction the odd thing had indicated.

  In this way, she was able to find Laribel Ossertine’s home easily. Rattle tapped and jabbed to move her left, right, or straight, sometimes forcing Skate to hiss “Too hard!” over her shoulder, earning confused looks from passersby. Caribolians, though, were used to a certain level of eccentricity in people walking their streets, and no one paid her any mind beyond initial irritation or confusion. Skate, in return, ignored their stares and went on her way, secretly guided by the strangest thing she’d ever met.

  After several more avenues and alleyways, Skate stood across the street from a row of tall and narrow homes. The one directly in front of her was the one Rattle was prodding her toward. “You sure that’s it?” she muttered into the alleyway behind her, not caring if anyone else saw her talking to no one.

  Rattle clicked once and nudged her forward in the center of her back.

  “All right, hold on,” Skate said, taking stock of what was ahead of her.