Mrs. Vultch had travelled widely and told him stories about the fey lands. She had been to all three capital cities. Her old home was in the winter kingdom of Alfheim, near the golden city of Saguenay, a shining beacon in the snowy wastes of the far north, a city of wood and gold, fire and fur. She told Kuro of the great mead halls filled with boisterous song, and the kind of warmth within them that can only be felt when it’s fighting against arctic cold.
She’d been to Ville d’Ys, the jewel of Acadia in the east. She told Kuro about the streets paved with smooth marble and lined with statues. She talked about the ever-changing fashions and Acadians’ love of wigs, dance, costumes, and art. She recounted touring the gardens around the palace of the Spring Court, filled with fountains, grand topiaries, and flowers perpetually in bloom.
She also talked about New Camelot, the greatest city in the southern kingdom of Tirnanog. It was imposing and orderly. Despite being home to the so-called Summer Court, it felt like the coldest of the capitals, a city of stone and brick, of high walls, of towers and castles. The people there were reserved and stiff but great lovers of theatre and literature.
Mrs. Vultch had even explored the untamed Western Wildlands. They were supposed to be filled with monsters, teeming with wyverns, werewolves, and wendigo. She said that was rubbish and the only real danger out there was getting lost in the woods. If you wandered away from the fairy roads, you could wander for weeks without finding another soul.
Her stories made Kuro imagine leaving Detritus Lane one day. He started to think of walking the other fairy roads and visiting those cities of wonder. He didn’t let it grow beyond fanciful imaginings, though. He doubted that the people of those incredible places would let an urchin like Kuro wander freely.
Kuro also became friendlier with Mr. Schumacher, owner of the enchanted shoe shop. Whenever he was in the Bytown Market, Kuro would wander by, and Mr. Schumacher would always smile gently at Kuro and ask how he was keeping. “Staying out of trouble then?” he would ask. “There’s a good lad,” he would add when Kuro informed the paving stone slightly to the left of Mr. Schumacher that he was, indeed, keeping out of trouble.
It was true, too. He had been keeping out of trouble. It had been months since anyone had noticed him stealing. He’d gotten so good at picking pockets that the Times had started running stories about the “Winking Weasel.”
“Pickpocket Leaves Calling Cards”
“Winking Weasel Strikes in the Heart of Camelot”
“Winking Weasel Spotted in Albion Meadows”
“Winking Weasel Strikes in the Hall of Glitnir and Chateau Charlemagne on the Same Day”
It was all ridiculous, of course. Kuro had never been to any of those places. People just didn’t check their pockets properly before leaving Bytown and found the notes days later.
He was also offended by the name, at first. His drawings of Graeae seemed a very good likeness, if a little rough, but he had to concede that Graeae was a fairly weaselish cat. She was long and thin, and her frostbitten ears were stubby and round. If he was very honest with himself, the picture might as well be a weasel, and the one blind eye did look like it was meant to be winking.
Kuro wasn’t very fussy about the people he borrowed from, but he never borrowed from the pockets of Mr. Schumacher’s patrons. It was the closest Kuro could come to properly thanking the man.
He never went back to Mr. Schumacher for more charity, and he never begged outside his store, either. He treasured the shoes he’d been given. They were his only honest possession, he thought, the only gift he’d ever received. He feared them ever getting damaged or worn out, yet he nearly never took them off.
Phineas would have told him that this was foolish sentimentality. He would have said feelings like that interfere with rational thought and make you let your guard down. They make you weak and stupid and get you caught.
Phineas would have been correct.
One night, as Kuro was enjoying the summer night air on the roofs of the Bytown Market, he saw something he shouldn’t have. And having seen it, he should have just closed his eyes and moved on, but he did not.
Kuro was not the only thief in the fey realm. He wasn’t even the only one living in Detritus Lane. He avoided other thieves and stayed away from their territory, and he never got in their way. It wasn’t a good idea to make enemies.
Normally, if he saw a robbery taking place, he would head in the other direction as fast as possible. But this time it wasn’t just any burglary. A pair of scoundrels were forcing the lock on the back door of Mr. Schumacher’s shop. They were clumsy and loud about it, though. They didn’t even have their familiars standing guard. Amateurs. Kuro stayed hidden on his roof and watched, hoping that they would draw the attention of someone in the street. The street was empty this late in the evening, however, and the raucous noise leaking from the nearby pub muffled their incompetence.
Kuro watched as the pair of wizards put something on the lock to break the enchantments on the door and crept inside. They emerged a few minutes later, each carrying a new pair of shoes.
Kuro jumped off the roof, into the narrow passageway between the buildings. He used a little puff of magic to slow his descent. His feet touched gently down behind the thieves without making a sound. He crept closer through the shadows of the alley to get a better look at the pair.
They were a boy and a girl, only a few years older than Kuro. He didn’t recognize them, but their clothes told him all he needed to know. They were neat, clean, and impractically stylish, with extra belts that served no purpose and decorative black lace fringes that would catch easily and provide no warmth. Their shoes were shined and showed little sign of wear, and yet they were stealing more. Not just any shoes, either. They were brand new athletic shoes, enchanted to make their wearer run faster. They were probably the most expensive shoes in the shop, new enough to be worthy of the front window display. These two weren’t real thieves, Kuro thought. They were hooligans, well-to-do wizards playing at theft because they couldn’t be bothered to pay for what they wanted. Students.
Kuro hated students. They were stupid and loud and didn’t know where they weren’t supposed to go. They interrupted the rhythm of the market, making it hard for Kuro to get into people’s pockets. They always had money and never put any in his cup; instead they spent it all on useless garbage from the candy store and bought too much ice cream and then ate it all anyway, making themselves sick rather than leaving some for Kuro. They boasted and bragged and fought and shouted and made the Bytown Market insufferable at this time of year. All that, and now they were stealing shoes. They didn’t know how good they had it. They didn’t know how lucky they were.
The girl clapped her accomplice on the shoulder in congratulations for a job well done. “Told you it’d be a snap, didn’t I, Seph?” The girl’s voice was quivering from the excitement of the burglary.
“We’re not out yet. Come on, Bella, let’s go.” Her partner in crime shuffled nervously.
Kuro was disgusted with them. These students didn’t need to steal. They didn’t need shoes. They definitely didn’t need those shoes. Kuro couldn’t stand the idea of letting the spoiled, greedy students take from a nice man like Mr. Schumacher.
The pair were halfway out of the alley when a stone cracked Bella in the back of the head. She cried out and dropped her new shoes, sending them bouncing down the alley. She whipped around to face the dark passageway, her hands readied to unleash magical retribution. “Who did that?” she demanded with equal parts fury and fear.
Kuro didn’t remember throwing the rock. He didn’t even remember moving. He imagined for a moment that he had done some magic by accident, but his arm was extended, and he could feel the damp residue of the stone on his hand. He punched himself for being so foolish.
Seph whispered a short incantation, bringing a faint glow to his palm that illuminated the passageway in a dull white light, exposing Kuro and the clear gap in the cobble
stone pavement at his feet, where he had pulled up the rock.
After a moment’s pause as all three took stock, the narrow alley erupted.
“Why you little,” Bella said before singing out a string of Elvis words. A blazing bolt of flame formed in her palm and shot towards him.
He dodged under the blast, just barely. He heard a sizzling sound as it shot past, and he smelled the foul stench of burned hair.
Looking to escape, he leapt from wall to wall, heading for the roofs. Just as he cleared the eaves, he saw Seph reach his hand above him and clench his fist. Kuro felt an invisible hand grab his collar in unison with Seph’s gesture. It pulled him earthward as Seph threw his hand down.
Kuro landed like a cat on all fours and launched himself forward, aiming to dart past Bella into the street, but she waved her hand and spoke a short clipped phrase. Kuro skidded to a halt as a web of lightning arced across the alley in front of him, boxing him in.
Kuro was running out of options. He grabbed a stone and was considering whether a well-placed shot would break Bella’s focus on her lightning when a fourth and fifth figure appeared, making everything much, much worse.
“Well, well, what’s going on here?” The voice was a low menacing growl. All three children turned to see a man leaning casually against the wall at the end of the passageway, silhouetted by the night lights of the market behind him. At his feet was a large dog, resting on its haunches with the same casual confidence. “Children shouldn’t be skulking in alleys at night. Someone might get suspicious.”
Bella panicked. Her lightning cage faltered, she sputtered out some more Elvish, and three blazing orange streams shot in rapid succession from the tips of her fingers directly at the stranger.
He raised his hand as absently as one checks the time and with a gesture reduced the fiery bolts to harmless puffs of smoke. Each shot flared brilliantly for a moment before winking out, illuminating the stranger.
Flash.
Long shaggy hair, a scarred ear, and predatory eyes that shone gold in the firelight.
Flash.
A long coat of dark hunter green with the golden emblem of the realm emblazoned on the shoulder.
Flash.
The dog at his feet, grey and white with the same golden eyes and scarred ear of its master. Not a dog. A wolf.
Seph squeaked out a desperate surrender and fell to his knees.
“Good decision,” the man said approvingly.
Bella shot off into the night, running as fast as her feet would carry her.
“Bad decision.” The man sighed and pointed an open hand at the fleeing girl. He muttered something musical and clenched his raised hand into a fist.
A glistening spider web congealed out of thin air, and Bella ran straight into it. Cocooned in the thick, sticky strands of the net, she tumbled to the ground and rolled to a stop.
“Stay!” the man instructed, though it was unlikely she would be able to do anything different.
“As for you.” He turned back to the alley, but Kuro had already gone. He had not waited to see the fate of the thieving pair.
Kuro could not believe his bad luck. That was a Hound. Not just any Hound, either. It was Talen Dubois, knight commander of the Hounds. Pet wolf of the royal courts and the most dangerous Hound out there. He was probably going to catch, and quite possibly kill, Kuro.
Phineas had told Kuro all about Talen Dubois. He had earned many names from those who feared the Royal Guard, none of them flattering. He was called Loup-Garrot across the eastern lands of Acadia, Fenrisúlfr in Alfheim, and the Dread Wolf throughout Tirnanog. Those names were given in hatred, but they were used in fear. The residents of Detritus shared a feeling that using his actual name would somehow draw his attention. He was the man that Phineas had feared the most.
Dubois had become head of the Hounds by being unrelenting, unforgiving, and undiscriminating. Any crime, no matter how small, was worth hunting to the ends of the earth. Once Dubois had your scent, it was said, there was no place to hide. He would tolerate no threat to the royal courts, and he would kill anyone necessary to protect their rule. He had been the one to capture the leaders of the Coup d’Été when they tried to bring down the Summer Court. He had been the one to sniff out the changeling impersonating the heir to the Summer Court. He had fought on the front lines against the frost giants’ attack on Saguenay. It was also he who had led the raid on Phineas’s hidden estate and had hunted them into poverty. Phineas said that Dubois wanted them dead for the insult of escaping him. Having now seen the feral cruelty in the man’s eyes, Kuro believed it.
Kuro sprinted through the Bytown Market, desperately hoping to make it back to Detritus Lane. He had escaped without the notice of Dubois, but the Hound’s familiar was more observant. The big wolf, called Garmr, was almost as famous as Dubois for its ferocity and tenacity, and it was chasing Kuro.
The wolf was fast, unnaturally fast. Even with Kuro’s new shoes and a powerful wind pushing him forward, the wolf was still nipping at his heels. His only hope was to make it to Detritus, where he could disappear down any number of holes or drainpipes into the Blandlands, where the magical creature could not follow. It was a blind hope, he knew. The gasping breaths he was taking as he sprinted through the market square would likely be his last.
Kuro reached the entrance to Detritus from Bytown in record time. He ran as fast as he could for the nearest exit to the Blandlands, but Garmr was too close behind to give him time to open the mailbox. Instead he used it as a step to launch himself onto a fire escape, from which he could make it to the relative safety of the rooftops.
As fast as the big wolf was, it couldn’t jump or climb like Kuro. It howled at his escape, though Kuro wasn’t allowed a moment to imagine that he was safe. As the wolf cried, its master appeared in the street, sprinting with inhuman speed, bright white athletic shoes flashing on his feet.
Kuro was shocked and appalled at the audacity of the Hound to steal the very shoes that he’d just rescued, though he didn’t take time to dwell on it. He let magic gather in his feet and swirl behind him, and he shot off along the Detritus roofs without slowing.
Dubois gave chase.
Kuro ran faster than he’d ever run, clay shingles bursting from the force of his feet pounding against them. A veritable gale was whipping up behind him, pushing him forward. The world started to drift by in slow motion, but Dubois was relentless.
Kuro sped from roof to roof, under arches, around chimneys, and through trees of rusting antennas, but he couldn’t shake Dubois off. No matter how fast Kuro might be, Dubois’s ill-gotten shoes made him faster. The Hound was never more than a few yards behind him, panting like a wolf on the hunt as he ran.
That panting might have been the only thing saving Kuro. Given a chance to catch his breath, Dubois could catch Kuro in a web as he had with the thief girl, Bella, or worse. So long as Dubois was breathing too hard to form words, and running too hard to make the right gestures, Kuro was relatively safe from magical assault. But that was clearly a temporary stay of execution. Kuro was already tiring, and even if he could outrun Dubois, the magical wolf below could follow him forever. His only hope of escape was in the Blandlands.
Kuro dropped down a gap between buildings towards a cellar door that led to a small town in the country, but Dubois’s wolf was waiting at street level to cut off his descent. Kuro managed to catch himself on a ledge just above its snarling maw and launch himself, light as a feather, back to the roofs.
Again and again, Dubois cut off his escape. Kuro tried to dive into a closet that led to a basement in Detroit, under a bridge to a farmer’s field, through a door that was only sometimes real, and through a phone booth to a garbage dump near Edmonton, but each time the wolf was a step ahead, blocking his path, and Dubois was barely a step behind, giving Kuro no time to rest or think.
Kuro’s muscles burned, and his lungs ached. He was running for his life, but at the same time, it was exhil
arating. He’d never felt so much magic. He could feel its shape as it flowed through him, could almost sculpt it. He wished that he would have another chance to use it, but that was seeming increasingly unlikely.
He was quickly running out of street. The end of Detritus, a dead end to nowhere if you didn’t take the time to open the exit, was coming up fast. Between here and there, though, was his church.
Questions raced through Kuro’s mind. Did Dubois know about the church? Was he forcing him there? Had the Hounds been watching him the whole time? Was this all a cruel trap?
He could still hear Dubois panting just yards behind. With the slowing of time around him, the panting sounded slow, cruel, and monstrous. If Kuro was going to die tonight, he decided, he would not go without a fight.
As Kuro reached the crumbling stone arch that made up the last remnant of his church’s roof, he spun about and kicked off as hard as he could, launching himself back towards the Hound.
They collided midair. Kuro wasn’t heavy, but the surprise of the attack succeeded in catching the Hound off guard. They crashed down together through the charred timbers in the church. Kuro landed on top of the larger man and rolled free.
Despite the fall, Dubois was quick to regain his feet. He leapt up and rounded on Kuro. The tips of his fingers sparked and sizzled with a spell ready to be released. He began to say something but was interrupted by a soul-rending scream.
Father John burst from his rectory, blazing with righteous fury. “Stay away from him!” he shrieked so loudly that Kuro wasn’t sure he would ever hear properly again.
The Hound’s face twisted into an expression of exasperated horror as the spirit flew to protect Kuro. “Garmr, hold!” Dubois shouted as the ghastly priest plunged through him, nearly freezing the Hound’s heart.
Dubois’s wolf burst through the church doors and leapt on Father John. The fur fell away from the beast like smoke on the wind, revealing the familiar’s true ghostly spirit form beneath. Father John screamed in ear-piercing anguish as the spirit wolf bit down on his shoulder and dragged him to the ground.
Volume 1: Pickpocketing Page 4