Thief of the Night Guild

by Andy Peloquin

  She leapt across an open space and tucked into a roll as she landed on a balcony. Slipping over the railing, she closed her fingers around the rope and slid the last few paces to the alley. Night had fallen over Praamis hours earlier. She hurried through the deserted streets toward the riverside warehouse.

  “Jarl? Darreth?” Ilanna’s voice echoed off the rafters. “You in here?”

  Silence met her ears. The light of an alchemical lamp at the far end of the warehouse revealed a deserted table and chairs. Ilanna’s hand went to her belt dagger as she slithered through the shadows.

  Her gaze darted around. Where is everyone? After the clangor that had filled the warehouse just days earlier, the utter absence of sound seemed ominous. The excitement that had sent her hurtling across the city gave way to an uneasy tension.

  A gentle rumbling echoed from the small room beyond the work table. Ilanna’s heart paused mid-beat before she realized the source of the sound. Darreth’s snoring.

  She slid the dagger into its sheath and cursed herself for a timid fool. The Bloody Hand’s message had left her jumping at shadows.

  Darreth lay on a ratty couch. His long nose and feet protruded from both ends of a blanket that had passed threadbare a decade earlier. The graphite stains on his hands and forehead spoke of the hours he’d spent toiling over the blueprints. She turned away. I’ll let him sleep for a few hours. She’d hoped to find Jarl here rather than in the stinking sewage tunnels. Guess I don’t have much choice now.

  She crossed the warehouse floor, pausing to study Master Lorilain’s handiwork. The smith had completed the door, installing the outer face and wheel. Only a hole remained where the locking mechanism went. That was in the hands of Master Quorin. She would pay the locksmith a late-night visit to check up on his progress.

  The warehouse door opened and she whirled, every muscle tense, dagger half-drawn. She relaxed as she recognized Jarl.

  The Pathfinder gave a tired grunt. “’Lanna.”

  “I have something for you.” She reached into her breast pocket and drew out a piece of parchment. “The plans for Lord Auslan’s mansion.”

  Interest warred with the fatigue in Jarl’s expression. He took the parchment and studied it. “Rough.”

  Ilanna shrugged. “The person who drew it isn’t much of an artist. Will it suffice?”

  The huge Hawk inclined his head. “Should do.”

  “How close are you?”

  “Week. Maybe two. Escape route’s proving tricky.”

  Ilanna nodded. “We have a date. We go in on the day of the Labethian Tournament.”

  Jarl grunted agreement. “Good choice. City’ll be busy.”

  “And Lord Auslan will be out of the way, with most of his guards, hopefully. You have four weeks to get everything ready.”

  Jarl’s head bobbed.

  “Excellent.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “The Scorpion’s sleeping. If he wakes up, let him know to come find me. I’ve one more errand to run then I’m off to my bed. Same place you should be, by the look of you.”

  Sweat, dirt, and other stains Ilanna didn’t want to contemplate covered the Pathfinder from head to toe. His usually neat beard had grown wild, and his blond hair lay plastered against his forehead.

  “I’ll do that.” He nodded at the room where Darreth lay sleeping. “Came to talk with the mathematician, but it can wait.”

  Ilanna placed a hand on his huge bicep. “Rest well.”

  “Same.” With a grunt, Jarl strode toward the small chamber next to Darreth’s room. He, like the Scorpion, had slept here most nights since the construction of the door commenced. The warehouse stood a few blocks from the hidden sewer entrance he and Allon used.

  Outside, Ilanna pulled up her hood and slipped into a narrow alleyway. At her request, Jarl had constructed a series of ladders and ropes for easier access to the Hawk’s Highway. A few minutes of climbing and Ilanna reached the rooftops.

  Her eyes turned south, toward Old Town Market. An image flashed through her mind: Ria lay in a warm bed, her arms wrapped around Kodyn’s small form. Ilanna hadn’t had the chance to slip away for a visit in close to two weeks now. Sorrow panged in her heart. She would make the time in the next few days. She needed to see her son.

  With a sigh, she headed east, toward Smith’s Street in the heart of the Artisan District. A chill evening wind tugged back her hood, whipped at her hair. She drank in the fresh, clean air of the rooftops, only too glad to get away from the reek of Fishmongers’ Row.

  The Artisan District stood one street away from Labeth’s Highway, the broad avenue that ran east to west through Praamis. Even at this time of night, the main street bustled with laden wagons and pedestrians. Only the most desperate merchants hawked their wares this late.

  Labeth’s Highway was the only street in Praamis too broad for the Hawk’s Highway to span. Descending to the street, Ilanna slipped into the flow of late-night traffic. After a short walk, she turned onto Artisan’s Row and sought the sign that proclaimed “Huridar Quorin, Master Locksmith”.

  Instead of knocking on the front door, she turned down a side street and into the narrow alley that cut behind the buildings. After dark, Master Quorin retreated to the workshop at the rear of his establishment.

  Ilanna tapped thrice, waited two seconds, and tapped thrice again. A moment later, the door swung open and the locksmith squinted up at her. “Help you?”

  “I’ve come for the lock.”

  Master Quorin adjusted his jeweler’s glasses with a slim-fingered hand. “Course you have. No one comes to me to break a stallion.” He waved for her to follow. “This way.”

  Ilanna entered and shut the door behind her. Two alchemical lanterns filled the workshop with brilliant light, and warmth emanated from a wood stove in the corner. Scraps of metal littered the long tables and benches. Definitely a locksmith’s workshop.

  “So you’re the one who sent me this, eh?” Master Quorin flapped the parchment at her.

  “Have you managed to finish it?”

  “Finish it?” Master Quorin gave her an incredulous look. “Haven’t even started the thing. D’you have any idea how complex it is?”

  “I do.” She thrust a finger at him. “That’s why I brought it to you.”

  “Well you’ve wasted your time.” He slid the parchment across the table. “I won’t charge you for—”

  “Wait a moment! You’re telling me you’re not going to build it?”

  “Can’t.” The locksmith shook his head. “And if you knew anything about me, you’d know I don’t say that lightly.” His chest puffed out. “I’ve built locks for half the nobles in Praamis. King Ohilmos himself commissioned a few of my finest. But that”—he jerked his chin at the parchment—“is the closest thing to impossible I’ve ever found.”

  Ilanna’s eyes widened. Master Quorin, one of the finest locksmiths in the city, unable to recreate the lock?

  “What’s so impossible about it?”

  “Oh, where to start?” Master Quorin gave her a withering glare. “The twenty-four interlocking rings, each of which has to be made just the right size so they fit into a tiny groove. The seventy-seven springs that connect the pieces together, and the perfectly fashioned housing to fit it all. Oh, don’t forget the forty-odd wires intertwined in some impossible Illusionist’s knot.” He tapped his forehead. “Set my head spinning just to think about it. Almost like it was designed by one of those mad bastards at the Temple of Prosperity.”

  Ilanna gave him a wry grin. If only you knew the truth.

  “So there’s no way you can build it?”

  “You’d have better luck hiring a watchmaker to put it together. Of course, it’d cost a bleedin’ fortune and take a year or so to build. At least.”

  Ilanna ground her teeth. “If you can’t do it, is there anything you can tell me how to get into it?”

  The locksmith snorted. “Get the combination from the owner. Short of that, you’re straight out of luck. That
lock has close to a million possible combinations. I’d say take a sledgehammer to open it, but I doubt it’ll be that easy. Fail-safes and back-ups and all that.” He shook his head. “You’d have a better chance getting King Ohilmos himself to kiss your feet.”

  Frustration added to Ilanna’s fatigue, setting her head pounding. The light of Master Quorin’s shop pierced her eyes and added to the ache. She pinched her nose to lessen the throbbing in her skull. “Not a damned thing you can tell me, is there?”

  Master Quorin gave a dismissive wave. “You want me to blow smoke up your arse, I’m happy to take your gold and tell you I can do the job. But the truth’s that I’d build a piss-poor copy of whatever infernal mechanism you’re up against. Figure I owe the Guild an honest answer.” A wry grin twisted his lips. “It’s the only thing keeping those damned Bloodbears from breaking my fingers and toes.”

  Ilanna growled. “Keeper’s teeth!” She wanted to slam her fist on a table, but couldn’t find a space free of metallic bits and pieces. She settled for a white-knuckled clench.

  Master Quorin settled into his chair and reached for a disassembled lock. “Shut the door on your way out.”

  Ilanna stalked from the workshop. Her jaw ached from clenching, and annoyance twisted her stomach. She hurled a stream of curses into the night sky. Would nothing about this job be easy?

  * * *

  A RUN ACROSS the Hawk’s Highway did little to dim the blazing inferno of Ilanna’s anger. Exhaustion augmented her frustration. She knew of only one way to take out her irritation without hurting someone.

  Retrieving her sword from her room, she settled into the defensive stance Errik had drilled into her. She moved slowly at first, allowing her body to remember the motions. She’d neglected her practice since beginning the job. Her movements grew faster as the familiar patterns returned, each stroke precise and controlled.

  She was breathing hard by the time she completed the sword forms. Sheathing her blade, she strode through the tunnels and into her room. She leaned the sword against the wall and threw her clothing into a heap in the corner. Naked, covered in sweat, she lay on her blankets and stared at the ceiling.

  The pressure in her chest mounted with each breath, filling her head with a buzzing. She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to still her racing heart. Kodyn’s face floated in her vision. Something squeezed at her heart. She needed to get home, to see her son. Just being with him would make—

  A knock came at her door. “Ilanna?”

  She leapt from bed and pulled on a fresh change of clothing before opening the door. “Darreth? What are you doing here?”

  “Jarl said you came by the warehouse.” He rubbed his eyes. “I tried to wait up for you. I think I found the solution.”

  “Solution? To what?”

  “To the vault. To get through that door and the steel room.”

  Ilanna’s eyes went wide. “What? How?”

  “I’ve found someone who can give us information about the Secret Keepers’ potions. I know it’s a bit late, but we can go now if—”

  “Yes!” Ilanna fairly leapt through the doorway and dragged him down the corridor. Hope surged within her. Right now, she would seize any chance, no matter how slim.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ILANNA HURRIED TO keep up with Darreth’s long strides. “You sure she’ll be up this late?”

  The Scorpion nodded. “The Journeyman’s a nocturnal creature. Sort of like you.” He paused at the door to House Scorpion, a hand on one of the twin arachnid claws that served as the handles. “Fair warning, she’s a bit…unusual.”

  Ilanna raised an eyebrow, but Darreth only shrugged. “One of a kind, she is.” He pushed the right claw upward and the left claw downward, and the door lock clicked. As the door swung open, Ilanna’s eyes traveled upward to the black steel scorpion tail hanging over the entrance. The thing seemed poised to drop and impale anyone walking through the doors.

  “Don’t take kindly to visitors, do you?”

  Darreth shook his head. “House Scorpion’s secrets are our own. It took a lot to get permission to bring you here.”

  Ilanna’s jaw dropped as she stared around the Nest, House Scorpion’s main room. Dozens of long tables occupied the high-vaulted chamber, each cluttered with an assortment of glass vials, bottles, vases, and other containers she had no name for. Metallic tools of all shapes and sizes sat on shelves beside hundreds of jars, crates, and boxes filled with powders and liquids of every conceivable hue. A furnace blazed at the far end of the Nest. Colorful stains on the earthen floors and walls showed where experiments had gone wrong.

  She shook her head. “Science was never my thing, but this…this is impressive.”

  Darreth’s eyes filled with pride. “And this is just the main room. I wish I could show you where the real work takes place, but…” He shrugged. “House rules.”

  House Scorpion served as the Night Guild’s poison-makers. Their concoctions delivered instant death with visible, messy results or killed their target over the course of years, leaving no traces for physickers to find. They offered their services outside the Guild as well.

  However, the demand for poisons was limited, even amongst the back-stabbing nobles of Praamis. The Scorpions found other ways to earn money: producing unguents, philters, and draughts for every conceivable purpose. Some, like Journeyman Tyman, used their knowledge of human anatomy to heal as well as harm. More than a few Scorpions dabbled in the alchemical arts, ignoring the Secret Keepers’ proscription. The priests of the Mistress, goddess of whispered secrets, couldn’t stop the inquisitive minds of House Scorpion from delving into the mysteries of metals and chemicals.

  In truth, no one but House Scorpion knew the extent of House Scorpion’s interests. Their Journeymen had free rein to research, create, and experiment at will. The House accepted new inventions in lieu of Guild dues.

  Darreth pointed down a tunnel. “This way.”

  Ilanna followed him through the tunnels. The alchemical lamps that illuminated the way bore little resemblance to the lamps the rest of Praamis used. They burned with a blue light that seemed somehow brighter than the warm golden light of normal alchemical lamps. “Are these Scorpion-made?”

  Darreth nodded. “Created by Master Scorpion himself more than two decades ago.” He ran a hand over the long, slim tubes mounted at intervals along the tunnel. “He’s also the one who created quickfire globes.”

  Ilanna’s eyes widened. She brought the little glass globes to House Scorpion to be refilled with the alchemical fuel after every use, but she’d never given much thought to how the Scorpions knew the secrets of the lamps.

  “Here.” Darreth knocked on a plain wooden door.

  A warbling voice called out. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Darreth, Journeyman Donneh. I’ve come to talk to you about—”

  The door opened, and lamplight shone on the smallest woman Ilanna had ever seen. The top of her grey-haired head barely reached Ilanna’s chest. Her eyes—a blue so brilliant they bordered on unnatural—seemed far too large compared to her snub nose and thin, pale lips.

  “Get in quick, before Barnabus Timmenson gets out.” Something scratched at the door, and the woman stuck her head inside the room. “Back, Barney! Or no treats for you.”

  A loud primate call responded, and something flew behind the diminutive Scorpion.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” The door slammed shut but failed to muffle the sounds of clattering glass and metal. “Come back here at once, Barnabus!”

  Ilanna exchanged glances with Darreth. The Scorpion shrugged. “I told you.”

  After a minute, the door re-opened. “Come in, please.” Journeyman Donneh beckoned for them to enter.

  Ilanna couldn’t stop her eyebrows from rising in surprise. The room seemed an endless source of oddities—from the countless apple cores littering the floor to the clutter of glass vials and metal instruments atop the table to what looked like a rope swing hanging from bolts
anchored in the roof.

  Donneh shot a glare at the little animal sitting on the back of a wooden rocking chair. “Barnabus is always a tad jumpy at this hour of the night. Nocturnal thing, he is, but can’t sit still for the life of him!” She turned a frown on the creature. “He’s learned his lesson, though, hasn’t he?”

  Barnabus Timmenson sat atop a shelf, an apple clutched between its long-nailed forepaws. It had the same too-big eyes as the woman, ears far larger, and a pointed snout that ended in a black nose. Light brown fur covered the little primate from its head to the tip of its long, flexible tail.

  “What is that thing?”

  “Thing?” Journeyman Donneh glared up at Ilanna. “He is a nagapie, girl. And he doesn’t take kindly to being called a thing, do you Barnabus?”

  The nagapie gave a loud call and buried its tiny teeth in the apple.

  Ilanna couldn’t help watching the tiny creature. After a few bites of the fruit, Barnabus shook his head, flattened his delicate ears, and studied his surroundings with his enormous eyes. Suddenly, his tail curled and he leapt from the shelf. Ilanna gasped as he flew across the room to land on a shelf against the opposite wall.

  “Don’t you dare!” The tiny Journeyman darted toward the little creature, who had seized and begun to shake an uncorked vial. The dark purple liquid within sprayed over the table. Something sizzled and spat bright sparks, followed by a loud bang. The nagapie screeched and bounded away from Donneh’s grasping hands.

  “You get down here now, Barnabus Timmenson.”

  Ilanna cast a wide-eyed glance at Darreth, who sighed.

  Barnabus landed on a nearby desk, scattering papers and leaving pawprints across a pristine sheet of parchment. Donneh’s screech sounded suspiciously like the nagapie’s as she gave chase. The little creature eluded her grasp time and again, every time leaving a mess in his wake. More than a few times, Ilanna flinched as one of the Journeyman’s experiments popped, fizzed, or—in the case of one black powder—detonated.