“There are a hundred shops,” the spymaster agreed, “but he mentioned clockwork. I’ve located only a dozen such businesses licensed to operate within the city.”
“And you are unable to determine anything more?”
“Not at this moment, Your Majesty. Advisor Seren held no further mysteries or secrets, and I have absolute confidence that I have extracted all pertinent memories from his mind. Your father never revealed the name of the clockwork mechanic.”
“Then we must move forward and discern the identity on our own.”
“What will you do, my king? If it’s in the possession of a shop in this city, the proprietors have no motivation to reveal this to you. If we abduct a dozen honest mechanics and submit them to my talents, the citizens will notice.”
King Gregarus shifted on his throne. His gray eyes narrowed into thin slits, nostrils flared. “We can’t have that. There must be other ways to ascertain whether our treasure lies within the city walls or has been smuggled beyond Enimura.”
“Might I offer you a suggestion? With it, we may eliminate two birds with one stone, Your Kingship.”
The king inclined his head. “I am listening.”
Flutters of anticipation blossomed in the spymaster’s belly. At last, he had the ear of the king and the man’s interest. His grudging respect. Make this good, he thought. “We must commission the Thieves Guild. There is a practice among those of the Ruby Sands where the desert meets the boundary of the Emerald Plains. When summer brings spontaneous wild fires, their firemages battle these blazes with pyromancy.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the phrase. Fight fire with fire.”
“As this item was stolen and smuggled away by your father and his loyal men, we may have no choice but to involve a thief to steal it back.”
4
UNUSUAL CONDITIONS
ROSALIA AND MIRA shared a flat in northern Enimura’s Rosewater District, the quarters inhabited by the city’s gentry and wealthy folk.
The parlor where they often entertained guests, what few guests they received anyway, was large enough to sit a half dozen people. Among the floor pillows and chaises, they had collected a dozen portraits over the years, most of them landscapes of gardens, the ocean surf, and the plains beyond the desert.
Mira had the better eye for decorating with color. She’d chosen neutral tones for the walls to offset furnishings with upholstery in jewel colors of scarlet, emerald, cobalt, and teal. In each bedroom, separating the bath from the rest of the chamber, they had several standing dividers crafted with soft ashwood frames. The pressed rice paper had been hand-painted with scenes of desert oases and blossoms.
And then there was Rosalia’s literature collection. Mira had little interest in reading, so the three shelves beside the window had been dedicated to a growing collection of works that came into Rosalia’s hands. To her credit, most had been purchased, only a few tomes taken while performing jobs for her special clientele.
It was there that Rosalia unwound from a long day of dance rehearsals, evening performances, and nights of theft. She sprawled on a chaise in their sitting parlor with a book in hand, a cup of tea nearby, and the windows open to let in the mild breeze. Living near a bakery was both a blessing and a punishment—amazing for the atmosphere when cinnamon and spices wafted through the air with the rich scent of chocolate, but a curse to her midsection when her self-control faltered.
Mira popped out of her bedroom. “That smells positively sinful.” She ran her fingers through her red hair and tousled it while standing in front of a decorative mirror. Among Enimurans, scarlet was an uncommon color and indication of mixed blood with the people of Utopia across the sea.
“Where are you going?”
“Date.”
“It’s...” Rosalia raised her head and glanced at the grandfather clock. “We haven’t even reached the noon chime.”
Mira wrinkled her nose. “It’s a brunch date. Bonare invited me out for tea and scones.”
“Beside us?”
“Of course.”
Rosalia rolled her eyes and sprawled into the chaise again. “I bet he tips the server with a clipped copper bit.”
“Rosalia.”
“He sounds like an obnoxious cheapskate. Who takes their lady to a bakery beside the place where she lives?”
“A man who realizes I love Madame Maxmila’s summer rolls and that there isn’t a better pastry shop in all of the city, that’s who. Make fun of him if you wish, but he knows what I like.”
“Fine. I’ll give you that.”
Mira laced her sandals then drew a scarf around her neck, tugging the edge over her hair. “If you’re jealous, I have the perfect solution for you.”
“Not jealous.”
The corners of her friend’s mouth raised in a wry smirk. “Bed a man for once in your life, Rosalia. Or a woman, if you must, but do something to unwind.”
Rosalia waved the book at her friend. “I’ve bedded a man before—many times, mind you—and it was nothing to write home about. Besides, this is my idea of relaxation.”
“Try something physical and fun and altogether pleasurable. Something exhilarating that’ll have your heart pounding.”
“I’ll do that later.”
Mira sighed. “I’m not speaking of second-story work, bitch. Whatever. Do what you want, just try to sound less like a bitter shrew when we’re discussing Bonare.”
“I wasn’t referring to second-story work. I have a dress fitting with Madame Isabella this afternoon, and I was trying to imply spending money is exciting.”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, rose is the color of the season. Don’t forget that.”
Long after Mira left, Rosalia remained unsettled by the accusation. Was she jealous? It would be nice to have a male companion, but she’d yet to find any on her level with similar interests. After all, most of the men of their theatrical group were either taken by equally breathtaking women or interested in their own sex. Hardly eligible.
She’d apologize later. For now, there were books, and the men in the novels she read were always available and ideal.
ROSALIA CROSSED her arms and stared across the table at her mentor. Her afternoon of respite from the criminal underworld had been interrupted by a runner sent from Hadrian, his excited missive gloating about having acquired the contract of a lifetime.
She should have been at her scheduled fitting with one of the district’s finest dressmakers.
“What a peculiar contract. They want me to break into every clockwork shop in the city?”
“They do. Weird and strange request, but it pays well. You’re to search the coffers and check the shops from top to bottom for a mirror.”
She clutched a hand to her heart. “They’re paying us thirty thousand ducats for a damn mirror?”
“They’ve paid half already, love. Whoever they are, they’re not screwing around.” The elf sat at his table in the vault beneath the Salted Pearl, piles of gold on the scales and more contained in sacks nearby. “Weighed every silver bit and copper pence together with the grandmaster, mind you, because even he couldn’t believe this kind of contract had fallen into our laps.”
“So what are you doing now?”
“Reweighing it. After One-Hand and I hauled it down here, I wanted to confirm it wasn’t some sort of witchcraft or sorcery.”
Rosalia moved up to the table and trailed her fingers over the golden coins, each disc cool beneath her touch, their front decorated with the image of the late king, a relief of the palace on its opposite side. Some of the coins, the older ones, still bore the face of Founder Varro. “While I think these are real, the golden shine wouldn’t fade for days if they were magical facsimiles. Remember that time Mira brought back a sack of gold from Black Sand Manor?”
Hadrian grimaced at the reminder. “Bloody decoy bags. But no, these would revert by morning. A sorcerer would have to use more energy to bend their will over a mass this large. The more a wizard metamorphs, the thi
nner the fool’s gold spell is stretched.”
“Gods. What’s it look like, this thirty thousand ducat mirror?”
“The client described it as an oval, semi-transparent mirror set within a gold frame detailed with five large precious jewels. It’ll have a handle.”
A semi-transparent mirror? What good was a mirror with an imperfect reflection? “So not even a good mirror since it can’t serve its purpose,” she muttered.
Hadrian shrugged. “I’m not paid to make sense of eccentric demands. Anyway, I’m dividing the task between you and Mira. You’ll hit the Gardens, and she’ll search the shops in Gold Valley. Brief her once you have a chance.”
“Why didn’t you have her called in, too?”
“Tried to. She’s occupied.” Rosalia raised both brows, but Hadrian shrugged. “Anyway, the enormity of the job requires more than one thief, and you both work well together.”
Enimura had the largest merchant quarter in all the kingdom. It was, in fact, so large it had been divided into two districts, wealthier artisans selling their wares from the upper level of the Twilight Gardens, while less prosperous shopkeepers ran their businesses down below in Gold Valley. Locals affectionately called them Uptown and Lowtown, noting the higher a customer ascended, the more money their visit required. It was the difference between seeking fine elven couture and bargain shopping.
Rosalia didn’t want to imagine how long it would have taken if she had been tasked to search all the shops alone. “Praise the gods. I thought I’d be hopping in and out of windows all night.”
“Smart-ass. Anyway, here’s a map of the merchant quarters. I’ve marked every merchant who deals in clockwork mechanisms and devices, from the lowliest gearsmith to the wealthiest artisan.”
“I doubt it’ll be in the possession of the small ones, but I imagine their security will be the most lacking and easier to rule them out.”
“Precisely. Be gone with you then. As Mira is assisting, she’ll receive one quarter portion of the profit if you retrieve it, and vice versa, unless you both locate it and work together toward its recovery.”
Those were the usual terms when involving the aid of other thieves. Rosalia nodded and glanced over her shoulder, itching to go and begin the footwork necessary to case her marks during what remained of daylight. Mira would be pleased to know they were working together. “In which case, we’ll split it.”
“Naturally.”
“Then I’ll see you soon.” She paused a breath, then added, “I’m not working with her on shit, though.”
He chuckled. “Try to return with the mirror. That’s all I ask.”
Rosalia scoffed. “I’m good, but not that good. You know it won’t happen in a day.”
By the time Rosalia returned to her flat, Mira’s shoes were by the door alongside another pair of larger boots. She frowned. They had a strict rule from their landmistress—no men inside, a stipulation they’d agreed to three years ago after deciding to share a space.
Rosalia was no prude, but she didn’t fancy having to seek a new home, relocate their possessions, or forfeit the sizable deposit they had already paid to Madame LaVerci if the uptight woman voided their rental agreement.
Mira knew better. If there was one rule their landlady required them to follow, it was the laws of morality she required all her inhabitants to uphold; no unrelated visitors of the opposite sex were allowed without the proper chaperone.
Up until the day Rosalia ended her scorching hot but ill-fated relationship with her ex, she’d always visited his residence down in Silver Hollow, spending the night in his single bedroom house near the docks. Jeopardizing the home she’d built with Mira had always been out of the question, no matter how many times her sweetheart pleaded to come inside.
Before she could flee and leave the lovebirds to their privacy, the half-dressed pair stumbled into the room still wrapped in each other’s arms. Both noticed Rosalia at once, and an awkward stare-off began with her standing in the flat’s threshold.
Mira blinked then gathered her dressing gown around her. “Rosalia? I... I thought you had an appointment.”
“A runner intercepted me along the way, and I had to see our other boss instead.”
Bonare fell back a step and corrected his trousers before donning his mage robes. As far as specimens of masculinity went, Mira’s man wasn’t bad on the eyes—a handsome enough fellow of native Saudonian blood with the telltale liquid silver eyes of a mageborn human.
He cleared his throat. “You must be the elusive flatmate. Mira says flattering things about you.”
Rosalia bit her tongue, choosing to be civil. “And she speaks highly of you.”
He twisted to the left and kissed Mira. “I’ve got a class to teach. I’ll see you later, all right?”
“Of course.”
Bonare bowed then flipped up his hood before vanishing out the door in the way that only a skilled magician could do.
Rosalia turned to face her friend once he was gone. “Seriously? What if someone saw him?”
“He came in under the cloak of an invisibility spell.” Mira’s grin widened like she hadn’t been caught risking their home for a five-minute shag. “Let me tell you, girl, his fingers are magical indeed.”
“I’ve heard that invisibility spells aren’t that reliable. What if Madame LaVerci had spy eyes or anything else to see through minor illusions?”
“Are you going to make a big deal out of this?”
“You’re damned right I am, because half of our deposit belongs to me, and I’m not looking forward to moving with one day’s notice. You could have spent two silver bits to rent a room. Is he too cheap for that too?”
Mira’s features darkened, and a livid flush spread to the top of her ears, bringing warmth to her entire face. “All because you’re jealous. We could have lived anywhere else with our pick of six other rent-houses, but you chose this one! This one with the silly rules and requirements about guests.”
“I’m not jealous. They all have stipulations of some kind.”
“But none as strict as Madame LaVerci, and you know it. We weren’t hurting for the funds when we set out to live away from the rest of the troop.”
“You’re not being fair.”
“Neither are you. He’s my boyfriend. I want to be intimate with him in my place.”
“Mira—”
“So maybe it’s time for us to move into different digs. Bonare brought it up at brunch today. When he completed his studies, the academy granted him a private flat in the instructors’ suites. I can move in with him, because the mages don’t have any rules about gender segregation, marriage, or this other nonsense.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” Mira turned toward her bedroom door. She lingered a few seconds before calling over her shoulder, “What did Hadrian want?”
Deciding she wasn’t bitter or angry enough to keep her friend in suspense, Rosalia sighed and set Mira’s map on the table. “He wants me to debrief you about our next job, and he wants us started on it as soon as possible. Thirty thousand ducats soon as possible.”
Mira’s eyes flew open wide. “Thirty thousand?”
“Yeah. Item retrieval with some strange conditions.”
After Rosalia relayed the terms of the contract, Mira bathed and dressed to hit the streets with her. They separated in the markets.
Being a thief required as much homework and study as it did fast fingers work and stealth. During the day, a wise burglar cased their would-be victims and learned the lay of the shops down to each doorway, blind spot, and window. They memorized the alleys, routes of escape, and the patrol schedule of the city guards.
Hadrian said he wanted results as soon as possible, but the truth of the matter was that it would be a few days at the very least until they could visit dealers with heavy security. The artisans in Uptown were the ones likely to use mechanical traps, pitfalls, and security alarms. They could afford the cost to maintain the most elaborate systems, often de
signing the bloody things themselves.
A good thief-deterrent system ran about a hundred ducats or more, far beyond what a Lowtown shopkeep could afford. They were lucky to have hounds guarding their shops, though some of the common merchants kept dune kites—enormous predatory birds with talons longer than human fingers. They roosted inside shops and hurled their thirty-pound bodies at anything out of place.
Machines were worse. Birds and dogs could be tricked with magic or handled with tainted treats, but the traps were another matter. Those were things of mechanical beauty, unable to be reasoned with or bribed like a guard. They spewed fire or sprayed acid in precise lines. They clamped down on thief hands and held them secure while blasting alarms until the authorities arrived.
Rosalia shuddered. Ol’ Tomli One-Hand had run afoul of a wicked clockwork trap and become a cautionary tale for all other thieves in their gang. Because of him, everyone knew to never rush when dealing with clockwork mechanics who were especially inclined to create their own devices.
Mira met Rosalia at midnight in the lower gardens to compare notes, joining her on a stone bench beside a fountain filled with desert lilies. At that hour, only a few late cordial houses and entertainment venues remained open in the Twilight Gardens.
A cool, floral mist kissed Rosalia’s cheeks each time she turned her head toward the gentle spray. “That was enlightening.”
“What did you learn?”
“That Master Benicio owns a pair of dune kites and that his apprentice sleeps above the shop. He was too busy wanking to notice me in the store. You?”
Rosalia snickered. “I learned there are many novice gearcrafters claiming to be masters. I also discovered Master Grigio has a mistress who lives in Opal Park. He closes shop early whenever she visits, and they shag in the stock room.”
“And when does she visit?”
All That Glitters: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 1) Page 3