Thief of the Night Guild

by Andy Peloquin

  * * *

  ILANNA LOWERED HER body over the lip of the roof and dropped onto the veranda without a sound. Lord Ralston’s security hadn’t improved much since her last visit. The nobleman trusted the Crown to keep its word.

  If only Lord Auslan was as foolish and trusting. Between the guarded exterior wall, the blackthorn hedges, and the scores of Arbitors patrolling his grounds, Lord Auslan had made her job close to impossible. Yet, as she’d proven with the Black Spire, impossible didn’t exist.

  Case in point, she thought as she crouched beside the servant’s entrance and used her picks to tease open the lock. Every building, no matter how secure, has vulnerabilities of some sort.

  Noblemen and women needed clothing laundered, food prepared, and their every pampered whim met. Servants had to come and go without being seen by their betters. That meant every mansion had entrances and exits often left unguarded, and lower levels and exterior buildings where the servants lived.

  But these were not the only ways to get in and out. Every wealthy merchant and nobleman built grand houses with picture windows and balconies that offered spectacular views of the city. Household guards maintained tight security on the lower levels, but were forbidden from entering the bedchambers and private upper floors. Only the Duke’s Arbitors seemed to understand the vulnerability of a badly-placed window, the shadows of an overhanging roof, or an unguarded servant’s passage. Ilanna left no trace of her entrance, and none of the pompous lords and ladies she visited seemed to understand that the threat came from above instead of below.

  Praamis was a Hawk’s paradise. Except for the sprawling estates of Old Praamis, the buildings were packed close together. Instead of being forced to traverse narrow alleys, Ilanna could simply leap from roof to roof. Like everyone in the Night Guild, she learned her way around Praamis, but she saw it from the view of a bird instead of being forced to walk the streets.

  Her vantage point had made it clear she’d never leave Lord Auslan’s mansion with the enormous sarcophagus in tow. Even if she somehow got it out of the vault and onto a wagon without alerting suspicion, the guards at Lord Auslan’s front gate wouldn’t allow her to pass without a search. Old Praamis lacked the broad avenues of The Gardens. A laden wagon could never navigate the twisting road. The Arbitors would catch them before they could escape.

  So she had only one option: to go under. Jarl, with the help of Allon’s map and Darreth’s skill at charting distances, would dig an escape route for her and her loot. But first she had to find a way into the mansion.

  Her mind worked on the problem of Lord Auslan as her body went through the motions of locating Lord Ralston’s poorly hidden stash of gold. She’d visited the Ralston manor enough times to find and open the cache behind the hideous painting of Lady Ralston in the office.

  Lord Auslan’s mansion would prove a challenge on par with the Black Spire. She would have to find a weakness in his outer layers of security. That meant getting over the wall, through the thorny hedges, and around the guards. No easy task.

  Over the wall, she mused. Or under it?

  Excitement set her heart racing and brought a smile. What if there’s to be a way to get in through the sewer system? The underground network of tunnels and drains had service entrances all around the city. Surely Allon knows of one that opens onto Lord Auslan’s grounds.

  In her eagerness to return to the Night Guild, Ilanna almost missed the sound of footsteps in the hall. She barely had time to slip into the shadow of a bookshelf before the door opened. The light of an alchemical lamp slithered toward her as the tall, lean figure of Lord Ralston entered the office. Fighting the urge to hold her breath, Ilanna forced herself to take slow, silent breaths.

  The yawning nobleman set the lamp down on his desk and lowered himself into a plush chair. With a furtive glance at the door, he slid open a drawer. “And the battle-axe has the gall to tell me what I can and can’t do! In my own house?” He drew out a silver pipe, and his slim fingers packed the bowl with brown tabacc leaf. “Those idiot physickers have no idea what they’re talking about. Tabacc, harmful?”

  Producing a firestriker, he lit the bowl, sat back in his chair, and puffed at the pipe. Ilanna grimaced as the noxious odor of burning tabacc filled the office. Pipe in one hand, Lord Ralston shuffled a stack of papers, muttering about “hatchet-faced harpies” and “addle-pated, pitiful excuses for physicians”.

  Ilanna pressed against the bookshelf, mind racing. She couldn’t get past Lord Ralston unseen, and his office had only one door. She had no desire to leave a corpse behind. Better to wait him out.

  Lord Ralston seemed disinclined to leave. He drew out a snifter and popped the cork on a dust-covered bottle. The scent of brandy drifted up from the glass as he leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

  “Dynnis?” A shrill voice echoed from the hallway.

  Lord Ralston went from relaxed to panicking in a heartbeat. He gulped down the brandy, dropped the still-smoking pipe into a drawer, rushed to extinguish the alchemical lamp, and ducked under the desk. His heavy breathing filled the office.

  Candlelight flickered in the doorway, shining on a face that somehow seemed sharper and more angular than the hatchet-faced woman in the painting. “Dynnis, don’t think for a moment I don’t know you’re in here!”

  The huddled Lord Ralston gave no response.

  “I can smell that damned tabacc smoke, you fool.” The carpet bunched under Lady Ralston’s angry strides. “You know what the physickers said about your humors.” She stood behind the desk, hands on hips, staring down at her husband with an expression somewhere between a pucker and a sneer. “Hiding, are we? And here’s me thinking you couldn’t look any more like the idiot you are.”

  “Er…not hiding dear. Just…er…retrieving a fallen coin.” He held up a copper bit. “See?”

  “No doubt you’ll tell me you came in here to do some late night work, I suppose?”

  Lord Ralston’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Come, Dynnis.” The woman motioned and a chagrined Lord Ralston fell into step behind her. “No more of this sneaking around. You know what’ll happen if you keep smoking that infernal…” The shrill voice trailed off as Lady Ralston closed the door.

  The laugh Ilanna had held for the last few minutes burst free. For a moment, she almost pitied Lord Ralston. I’d have murdered Lady Ralston long ago.

  On a whim, she reached into the desk drawer for the silver pipe. In his hurry, Lord Ralston had upended the smoldering tabacc leaf onto a sheaf of papers. Ilanna extinguished the embers with a breath and pocketed the pipe. Lord Ralston would suspect his wife had gotten rid of it, and Lady Ralston wouldn’t question its disappearance. The silver would bring her a few imperials if she decided to sell it for scrap metal. If not, she knew a few Journeymen who would happily trade a favor for such a beautiful pipe. No one would question its provenance.

  With a grin, she slipped out of the office. The halls were deserted as she slinked down the hall and through the servants’ entrance onto the veranda. A few moments later, she reached the roof and raced into the darkness of the Praamian night.

  * * *

  ILANNA WAS SURPRISED to find Entar’s desk vacant and the door to Master Gold’s office open. She strode in without knocking.

  The Guild Master lay on a couch, fingers pressing the bridge of his nose. He opened one eye as she entered. “Ilanna? What brings you at this ungodly hour?”

  Ilanna dropped the purse onto the table. “Another hundred imperials. That ought to be enough for now.”

  Master Gold bolted upright, his gaze darting toward the door.

  Ilanna shook her head. “There’s no one there.”

  Master Gold pushed the door closed, shot the bolt home, and turned to her with a grim expression. “You never know who’s listening.”

  “Like you said, it’s an ungodly hour. Anyone without the sense to be in bed is either out on the streets or too tired or drunk to care.”

  “Still, now i
s the time for circumspection. With things the way they are…” His expression darkened.

  “That bad?”

  Master Gold grimaced. “The Bloody Hand has sent a message.” He waved at the box on the table with one hand while making the purse disappear with the other.

  Ilanna peered into the box and recoiled with horror. “They sent that?” Blood stained the fingers and palm of the severed hand within. Five claw-tipped fingers had been burned into the flesh.

  “Who else?” Master Gold’s face hardened. “They didn’t exactly send a note, but they couldn’t be more explicit. The Bloody Hand, indeed.”

  Ilanna studied the unadorned box and its grisly trophy. “We’re running out of time, aren’t we?”

  “We are. I’ve already spent most of what you brought me, but it’s not going to be enough. Not even with this additional hundred imperials. If I’m right, Master Hound is spreading around a small fortune in gold—gold that no doubt comes straight from Voramis. There’s no way I can hope to keep up with him. I’ve heard whispers that he’s going to call for a vote at the next Guild Council. If you don’t pull off the Duke’s job soon, we’re going to lose.”

  “How much time do I have?”

  Master Gold sighed and collapsed into his chair. “With the Labethian Tournament just four weeks away, all the Houses will be busy. The Guild Council won’t be able to meet until then.”

  “So be it.” She had four weeks to pull off the Lord Auslan job. A tight deadline, but she had no other choice. “But if I’m to succeed, I need to know everything you can tell me about Lord Auslan.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  “Then use your contacts to find out more!” Ilanna growled. “If anyone can get me what I need to know, it will be the Master of the Night Guild.”

  Master Gold narrowed his eyes. “Anything in particular?”

  “The man’s a recluse. I need to find something that will get him out of the way so I can do the job without leaving corpses.”

  “Then I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Master Gold.”

  The Guild Master nodded and returned to his couch. As she left, Ilanna couldn’t help casting a final glance at the Bloody Hand’s message.

  Chapter Thirty

  THE CACOPHONY OF hammers on steel set Ilanna’s head ringing. The reek of scorched flesh and metal filled the warehouse she’d claimed for her project, and her lungs burned from the shavings in the air. A wave of heat from the improvised forges washed over her.

  A sweating Master Lorilain paced before an enormous steel door, gesticulating wildly and yelling orders at her apprentices. In the far corner of the warehouse, Jarl and Darreth hovered over a table.

  Ilanna had to shout. “How goes it?”

  Master Lorilain shook her head and tapped her ears. The clangor drowned out her response. Face darkening, the smith put her fingers to her lips and gave a piercing whistle. The pounding hammers fell silent.

  “Much better!” Master Lorilain waved at the door. “Break time, lads. The lady here and I need to talk.”

  Ilanna raised an eyebrow. “So it’s ‘lady’ now?”

  Master Lorilain’s shoulders bunched as she shrugged. “You said to drop the ‘girlie’. Now, d’you come here to see your door or gripe about names?”

  Ilanna grinned. No fancy words or small talk with the smith. She could get used to that. “How much progress have you made?”

  The smith tapped her lips with a filthy finger. “We’re most of the way done, truth be told. With the help of your fellow over there,” she motioned to Darreth, “we’ve come as close to the original as you could ask for.”

  Ilanna studied the vault door. “Not quite completed yet, is it?”

  “I figured I’d give you a chance to see the inner workings for yourself. Seeing as you plan to break into it, and all.” The smith gestured at the unfinished construction. “As you can see, the locking mechanism isn’t all that complicated. The wheel on the door’s outer face turns a helical threaded shaft. Turn it to the right, and the shaft extends the locking bolts into the jamb.”

  She tapped a bolt extended from the left edge of the door. “The plans call for eight of these—two per side. Steel bars as thick as two fingers sliding deep into the door jamb. If these are engaged, not a bloody chance you’re getting the door open. But spin the wheel to the left, and the shaft retracts the locking bolts. Once the bolts are retracted, it’s a simple matter of pulling on the door to open it.”

  Ilanna pointed to a thin steel bar hanging above the wheel shaft. “What’s that for?”

  “Keen eye you’ve got. See that notch at the end there? When the lock is engaged, this bar slides down like so.” Master Lorilain pulled the bar down, and the notched end slid onto the shaft.

  “Sort of like a wrench biting down on the head of a bolt.”

  The smith nodded. “Right you are. Exceptin’ this stops the shaft from turning.”

  “And if the shaft doesn’t turn, we can’t retract the locking bolts.”

  “Precisely. But truth is, this thing is heavier than clever. If you can find a way to get through the outer face of the door, you’ll be able to cut your way through this locking bar and turn the shaft. Problem is, you’re talking about going through solid steel. And not just any steel—we’re talking Odarian steel, which is tougher’n regular. You’ll need two or three days to drill your way in.”

  Ilanna shook her head. “That won’t work.” She doubted she could spend more than a few hours working on the vault door. Less if someone screwed up and alerted the Arbitors. “We need to find a way to get through it quickly.”

  Master Lorilain shrugged. “’Fraid I can’t help you there. If this was plain steel, might be you could melt your way through. But this is Odarian steel. That means it can handle higher temperatures without melting.” Her brow furrowed. “Unless…”

  “Unless?”

  The smith rubbed her soot-stained face. “Well, I’ve given the matter of the vault room a great deal of thought. I think the answer to the room itself could be the solution for your door.”

  Ilanna’s heart leapt. “Explain.”

  “It all comes down to the practicality of building that room. If I was building a strongbox out of steel, I’d do what’s called pattern welding. Basically, heating the edges of two steel plates and hammering them together. When the metal cools, the welded pieces are almost as strong as a single piece. Plus, there’s less chance of air and moisture seeping through—something those blueprints place a lot of emphasis on. But pattern welding takes a bloody lot of heat. It’s bad enough when you’re in the open air of a forge; imagine what it would be like in the confines of a room. Especially one lined with metal.”

  “You’d look a lot like a roasted chicken.”

  “Aye.” Master Lorilain nodded. “If it was me, I’d use brass. Doesn’t require as much heat and it’s easier to work. But the plans say steel, so I’ve been racking my brains as to how that vault room of yours was built.”

  “And?”

  The smith raised a defensive hand. “I’m not much for rumors, but when it affects my line of work…”

  Ilanna stifled her impatience. “Rumors often hold more truth than you’d expect.”

  “Rightly said.” Master Lorilain scrubbed sweat from her forehead and drew in a deep breath. “Well, I’ve heard whispers of a special alchemical concoction brewed up by the Secret Keepers. Something that gets the steel hot as a forge ever could, all in the space of a few seconds. If it’s true and such a thing exists, it would make it possible to build your underground room.” She scratched her chin. “Come to think of it, you might be able to melt a hole in that door and lock. You’d have your way in. But, like I said, it’s nothing but whispers.”

  Ilanna’s heart sank. If the rumors were true, she was no closer to finding a solution. The Secret Keepers, servants of the Mistress, goddess of trysts and whispered truths, guarded their alchemical secrets with ruthl
ess ferocity. They wouldn’t simply give her what she needed, and everyone knew what happened to those who stole from the Temple of Whispers. Only corpses, twisted and burned beyond recognition, remained of the last thieves who’d dared.

  Maybe Darreth knows someone who could brew something. House Scorpion had more than a few back-alley alchemists. They couldn’t come close to the Secret Keepers’ skill or knowledge, but Ilanna had to try.

  “When will the door be finished? I’ll need to do a few trial runs.”

  Master Lorilain’s forehead scrunched. “I’ll need another few days. A week maybe.”

  “Another week?”

  “Listen up, little Journeyman.” Master Lorilain loomed over Ilanna, her forearms bunching as she flexed her hands. “You came to me because you wanted a job done. What I’ve done in this last week would take any other Praamian smith twice as long. You’re asking for a miracle. Miracles take time.”

  Ilanna met the smith’s ferocity with a calm shrug. “So be it.” She could use the week to think of a way to get through the door that didn’t involve stealing from the Secret Keepers. “But the sooner you can do it, the bigger your bonus.”

  “Good,” Master Lorilain grumped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a handful of lazybones to round up.” With that, the smith strode from the warehouse, shouting for her apprentices.

  Ilanna gave the vault door one final examination. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere.

  Sighing, she strode over to Jarl and Darreth. “Did you hear all that?”

  Jarl nodded.

  Darreth spoke without looking up from the blueprints. “I can ask around House Scorpion, see what I find out.”

  “Good.” She drew in a deep breath, fighting back her frustration. “Now tell me you two have better news for me.”

  Jarl’s impassive face revealed nothing, but Darreth winced.

  “Seriously? Nothing?” Ilanna slammed her fist on the table. “I need that lock built so I can figure out how the fiery hell I’m going to pick it.”