Thief of the Night Guild (Queen of Thieves Book 2)

by Andy Peloquin

  Bloody hell! Her hands trembled and her heart tried to hammer its way free of her chest. Beside her, Errik let out a slow, quiet breath.

  They crept through the rows of shelves at a much slower pace. Ilanna hardly dared to breathe until they reached the stairs that led to the second floor. She pressed her lips to Errik’s ear. “Let’s get out now. We have to figure another way into that office.”

  Errik nodded and slipped up the stairs ahead of her. After a glance at the empty corridor, he darted toward the storeroom. Ilanna followed, boots silent on the carpeted floor.

  Three steps from safety, Ilanna’s heart lurched as a door clicked open behind her. The light of a lantern streamed into the hallway. She leapt the remaining distance and threw herself into the room. Errik pressed the door closed without a sound.

  “Did he see you?”

  Anxiety burned in her gut, but she shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She placed her ear against the door and listened. No cry of alarm came. “I think we’re good.”

  Errik strode toward the window. “Get out of here. I’ll poke around a bit more, see if I can find another way in.”

  “No. You don’t—”

  The latch clicked. Ilanna had a heartbeat to slip behind the door before it opened. A grey-robed Reckoner stepped into the room and lamplight shone full on Errik’s face.

  “Wha—”

  Ilanna slammed the pommel of her dagger into the back of the man’s head and he collapsed. Errik dove to catch the alchemical lamp before it shattered on the stone floor.

  Keeper take it! Closing the door, Ilanna stared down at the unconscious Reckoner. What the hell am I going to do with him?

  Errik drew a dagger but Ilanna stopped him with a gesture. “We can’t leave a body.”

  The Serpent shrugged. “No one comes here. It’s why I chose the place.”

  “Can’t take the risk.”

  “Then what? The minute he wakes up, he’ll raise—”

  “We take him with us.”

  Errik’s eyebrows shot up. “Take him…with us?”

  Ilanna nodded. An inkling of a plan formed in her mind. “Look.” She pointed at the man’s golden chain. “He’s a Chief Reckoner. He may have the information we need.”

  Errik’s forehead wrinkled but he nodded. “Fair point. But how in the frozen hell are you going to get him out of here?”

  The Reckoner personified the word “rotund”. His belly strained against the leather belt cinching his ample waist. Ilanna grunted as she tried to roll him onto his back; he matched her height, but one of his legs weighed as much as she did.

  Ilanna scowled. “You’re right. There’s no way I’m getting him out of here without help.”

  “That rope won’t hold him either.”

  “Tie and gag him.” Ilanna produced a glass vial. “But first, give him a drop of this.” She eyed the corpulent Reckoner. “Make that three drops. Should be enough to keep him from waking for a few hours.” She cinched the rope to her harness and slid the window open. “When I yank, pull this in.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Go for help.”

  “Better make it quick.” He glanced at the night sky. “Sunrise ain’t far off.”

  Ilanna leapt out the window and slid down the rope. Second later, she unclipped her harness and dashed toward the alley where she’d posted Joost.

  “Joost,” she hissed. The Fox ducked out of his shadowy hiding place, eyes wide. “Get to House Hawk now, and tell Jarl to meet me on top of Coin Counters’ Temple an hour ago. And tell him to bring Gorin and a heavier rope. Got it?”

  Joost’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Jarl. Coin Counters’ Temple. Gorin and a heavier rope.”

  “Go!”

  * * *

  Gorin groaned as he and Jarl dropped their burden. “Next time you need someone to lug your dreck halfway across Praamis, find someone else, eh?”

  Ilanna gave the sweat-soaked Hawk a dismissive wave. “It’s what you Pathfinders do, right? Haul heavy things?”

  Jarl gave an amused grunt, but Gorin scowled. “I’ll be charging you double for hauling this.”

  Ilanna gave Gorin a syrupy smile. “Load this size, I’d have paid triple.”

  The Pathfinder strode away muttering, hands pressed to his lower back.

  The Reckoner weighed more than she expected. Errik had had to help Gorin and Jarl haul the priest out the window and onto the roof. The journey across Praamis had taken hours; they’d been forced to hide their unconscious captive beneath a bale of hay and cart him to an abandoned warehouse near the river. Jarl and Gorin earned every imperial of their fees dragging the canvas-wrapped bundle into a secluded storage container at the heart of the building.

  Ilanna laid a hand on Jarl’s enormous arm. “Thank you, Jarl. I’ll speak to Bryden about your fees, with a little extra thrown in. Next drink’s on me.”

  He grunted in acknowledgement and followed his fellow Hawk, sans theatrics.

  Ilanna turned to Joost. “Bloody good work, Joost. You earned double today.”

  The Fox gave a lazy salute without lowering his mug of wine.

  “Keep an eye on him, will you? I should be back before the draught I gave him wears off, and Errik’s knots should hold.”

  Veslund spoke from his seat beside Joost. “What if he gets all antsy and shouty?”

  She shrugged. “We need him alive and talking.”

  The bearded Fox cracked his knuckles. “I can be working with that.”

  Ilanna narrowed her eyes. “Only to keep him manageable and to help him understand the situation. If he’s afraid of what’s to come, he’ll be easier to break.” She clenched her fist. “And break him we shall!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ilanna strode through the Aerie, her pace unhurried but determined. She had at least another hour before she had to return to the warehouse. Plenty of time to gather a few important items.

  Locking her bedroom door, she shrugged out of her dark grey Hawk’s robes and into the ugly brown outfit she’d bought off a Grubber. She knelt and reached under her bed for a small purse hanging from the ropes supporting her mattress. Its contents—a stoppered glass vial the size of her index finger, filled with a colorless liquid—went into a pocket.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Allon.”

  She opened the door. “Can it wait? I’ve got someplace I need to be.”

  Allon shook his head. “You’re going to want to hear about this now.”

  With a sigh, Ilanna moved aside to let him enter.

  “No, not here.” He spoke with confidence, though his eyes darted toward her bed. “In the work room.”

  She followed Allon down the tunnel to the chamber where Darreth hovered over the table, squinting at the blueprints.

  “I’m here. Tell me what I need to know.”

  Darreth’s furrowed forehead smoothed as he looked up. “I-I think we’ve found something.”

  Ilanna cocked an eyebrow as he tapped a finger on the northwest corner of the Coin Counters’ Temple. Whatever he’d discovered, it had him worried—or excited—enough he’d forgotten his injunction against touching the blueprints.

  Allon stepped up to the table beside her. “So we were going over the layout of the temple one more time, and something struck Darreth as odd.” His shoulder grazed hers, but he didn’t move away.

  Hiding a shudder, Ilanna slipped around the table to study the northwestern section of the blueprints. “Darreth?”

  Darreth fiddled with the graphite stick and his notepad. “According to the original temple blueprints, the building is precisely three-hundred forty paces wide and two-hundred sixty long. This morning, Allon and I were looking at the blueprints again and he thinks that the rooms inside are actually smaller.”

  Ilanna fought her impatience. “Go on.”

  Allon spoke up. “Nothing in the records room stood out as odd when I went in, but Darreth and I�
��ve been going over it.” He drew in a deep breath. “I can’t be totally certain, but the room looked closer to two-hundred sixty paces wide.”

  Darreth studied the notations in his book. “If he’s correct, the figures don’t add up. There’s something missing.”

  Ilanna narrowed her eyes. “You’re sure?”

  The Scorpion shook his head. “It’s a theory at the moment.”

  “A tough one to confirm, too.” Allon gave her a wry grin. “Unless you can bring me into the temple with—”

  “No!” Ilanna cut him off with a chop of her hand. When Allon’s face hardened, she spoke in a gentler tone. “More people in the temple means a greater chance of getting caught. I won’t risk it, not when we’re so close.”

  She turned to the Scorpion. “What if I take the measurements?”

  Darreth’s brow wrinkled, the corners of his mouth pressing together. “Let me see…” After a few moments of furious contemplation, he looked up. “Adjusting for the length of your stride, that comes out to just over four hundred paces.”

  “Good. I’ll pace it tonight.” Though the damned night watchman’s going to make that difficult.

  Allon looked ready to protest but Ilanna didn’t give him a chance. “I’m not going to risk you, Allon.” She poured feigned sincerity into her words. “If anything happened to you…”

  The Hound’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he looked taken aback. “I…uh…”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “I can do it.”

  Allon swallowed, nodded. “I know you can.” He reached for her hand. “I just—”

  “Wanted to help.” She gave him a disarming smile and slipped her hand away before he touched it. “You’ve already done more than you know.” She inclined her head to Darreth. “The both of you. When I return, I’ll have what we need to finish this job once and for all.” She strode toward the door, paused on the threshold with a wink for Allon. “Until tonight.”

  Outside the room, she wiped her hand on her pants. She didn’t have to enjoy the things she did to keep Allon pliable to her desires. She would keep doing them until they no longer worked, or until she couldn’t use him any longer.

  Pushing aside her revulsion, she strode toward the Perch. Time to see a man about a temple.

  * * *

  Errik waited for her just inside the warehouse door, slouched against the wall, arms folded, his face a mask of stony passivity. “He’s awake.”

  “Good. In one piece?”

  Errik nodded. “Won’t be pretty for a few days, but I made sure Veslund didn’t break anything.”

  “Thank you.” The rigidity of his posture and the tension in his face spoke volumes. “Whatever you want to say, spit it out already.”

  Errik met her gaze with eyes of ice. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “We need answers; he has them.”

  “Not like that.” He thrust his chin at the bundle in her hands.

  She quirked an eyebrow. “This, from a Serpent? Of anyone, I thought you’d understand.”

  “I’m not saying we don’t need to get the information from him. But do you need to do it?”

  Ilanna tensed, jaw muscles tightening. She pressed her lips together to hold back her snarl.

  “Torturing a man doesn’t just inflict pain on the victim.” He met her gaze, the fire in his eyes unyielding against her icy fury. “It takes something out of you, too.”

  She spoke in a flat, cold voice. “Thank you, Errik.” The words came out clipped. She held his gaze for long seconds. He was trying to help, to spare her from suffering, and Ilanna despised him for it. It meant he saw her as weak, unable to do what needed to be done. She could take care of herself. “Anything else?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good, then let’s get this over with.”

  She strode past him and into the inner room. Depositing her armload on the table, she came to stand before the Reckoner. “Good morning, Priest.”

  The bald head darted up. “You insolent little bitch! Do you have any idea what you’ve—”

  She punched him hard, snapping his head to the side. He reeled in the chair and would’ve fallen if not for the ropes holding him fast.

  Ilanna kept her expression calm. “Want to try that again?”

  The Reckoner glared up at her. “You stupid cu—”

  Her second punch left a bruise on the other side of his jaw. Judging by the cuts over his right eyebrow and the blood trickling from his nose, Veslund hadn’t appreciated the priest’s poor manners.

  “I can keep doing this all day. You’re going nowhere, and I’ve got plenty of food and wine for when I get tired of beating you.”

  The priest’s eyes flicked over to the table where she’d deposited the two cloth-bound bundles and the clay jar of wine she’d brought.

  “Oh, foolish me. You must be thirsty. Tell me your name and maybe I can spare a drop or two.”

  The priest set his jaw and leaned back, defiance written in his eyes.

  Ilanna gave a theatrical sigh. “So be it. Don’t say I didn’t try to be friendly.”

  She strode to the table, removed the stopper from the wine jug, and took a long pull. She gave an apologetic shrug. “Not the finest Nyslian red I’ve had, but you won’t find better for the price.” She held it out to him. “Sure you don’t want any?”

  Eyes fixed straight ahead, the priest said nothing.

  Shrugging, Ilanna placed the jug on the table. “See this?” She untied the knots holding one cloth-bound bundle closed and rolled it open. “Conversation starters, my friends call them.”

  The priest refused to look at her.

  She picked up the bundle and placed it on the floor before the corpulent Reckoner. The priest’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at the knives, chisels, hammers, pincers, pliers, and other crude implements. Crouching, Ilanna reached for a hammer and gave a few experimental swings that came far too close to his kneecaps.

  “Now, if it was up to me, I’d really rather not use these. Messy’s not my style.” She dropped the hammer on his slippered foot. “Oh, clumsy me.”

  He winced but kept his jaw clamped tight.

  She gripped his flabby chin and forced him to look at her. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Priest. I’d rather we all go home with our fingers, toes, and kneecaps intact. You’re the only one that will make that happen. Let’s start out with your name.”

  The priest returned her gaze with a glare.

  “Not even for a sip of that wine? Surely that’s a fair trade.”

  She held the Reckoner’s expression without wavering. After a long minute, he unclenched his jaw. “Tyren.”

  “Chief Reckoner Tyren. No doubt you’re thinking we’re not going to harm you because you’re Garridos’ chosen servant.” She dropped her voice to a menacing whisper. “Your god isn’t going to save you. There’s only one way you walk out of here in one piece: tell me what I want to know.”

  Fear darkened the Reckoner’s eyes, though he tried to keep his expression neutral.

  “But, as promised, a drink of wine.” At Ilanna’s gesture, Joost brought the jug over and poured a trickle down the priest’s throat. “There. I’ve kept up my end of the deal. How about we make another?” She pointed at the tools on the floor. “Tell me what I want to know and I won’t use those on you. Fair?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply. “The good news, Chief Reckoner Tyren, is that I only need an answer to one question.”

  “Only one?” He failed to hide his eagerness.

  Ilanna nodded and held up a finger. “Shouldn’t be too hard, right? You’re not going to want to give it to me, but remember our deal.” She crouched and picked up a dagger. The silver blade glinted in the sunlight, flashing as she twisted it. “There’s no need for you to suffer. It’s a simple answer. No one will ever know it came from you.”

  His eyes followed the motion of the blade in her hands. She hid a grin.

  “My question is t
his: how do I get into the Grand Reckoner’s office unseen?”

  Surprise widened the priest’s eyes. “What?”

  “Oh, you thought I was going to ask about the gold in the vaults.” She gave a dismissive wave. “I can get in there any time I want. But those guards on the Grand Reckoner’s office are a bit more complicated than a handful of locks. So I want you to tell me how I can get in.”

  “No.” The priest’s expression grew hard, stubborn. “I will not have you desecrate the sanctity of the temple.”

  “You sure?” Ilanna stood, dagger in hand. “You’re going to break our deal so soon?”

  “A deal with faithless scum like you means n—”

  Ilanna’s arm whipped back and forward. The dagger embedded into the wooden chair between the priest’s flabby legs with a thunk.

  “Think again, Priest.” She reached for another blade from the pile.

  The priest licked his lips, eyes fixed on the dagger. “I will not,” he said, but his voice had lost much of its conviction. “I swore an oath to my god. You cannot—”

  The second knife joined the first, and the priest squealed as it clipped his fat thigh.

  “There’s no use resisting. Tell me what I want to know.”

  Sweat stood out on the Reckoner’s forehead but he pressed his fleshy lips into a thin, tight line.

  “Here’s the thing, Priest.” Ilanna shoved the bundle of tools away. “That was just my little bit of fun. I don’t need to use any of those on you. In fact, I don’t have to lift a finger. I can just wait until you tell me what I want to know. By my calculations, you have about three minutes until the poison works.”

  Tyren’s eyes widened. “P-Poison?”

  Ilanna shrugged. “A little something I learned from a friend of mine. He called it cyanide. Me, I don’t care what it’s called—I just want it to work.”

  Perspiration streamed down the priest’s face.

  “Heavy sweating’s one of the signs the cyanide’s working. That, with a touch of nausea, dizziness, and fatigue thrown in. But that’s just for the warm-up.”

  Tyren’s face tightened and his jaw clenched.

  “Headaches kicking in? Feel like you need to vomit. Good. That means we’re getting to the good stuff. Soon, you’ll start gasping for breath and your heart’s going to speed up until it feels like your chest’s ready to explode. Then it gets bad real fast. That’s when the poison’s in your blood. When you hit that stage, you’ve only got a minute before you’re off to the Long Keeper.”