Thief of the Night Guild

by Andy Peloquin

  Allon’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want to risk breaking the rope.”

  Allon shook his head. “That won’t be a problem.” He twanged the line. “This’ll hold my weight with ease.”

  “You think you’re coming?” Ilanna shook her head. “It’ll just be Lem and me.”

  Allon thrust out his jaw. “You need me. Unless you have another way to get onto the roof.” He produced a bolt with a grappling hook tip and another length of rope. “Besides, the chances of running into Arbitors just got a lot higher.”

  Ilanna scowled. She hadn’t wanted to take Lem into the mansion, and now Allon refused to let her go alone?

  “Fine!”

  “Good.” Allon tied the length of rope to the crossbow’s stirrup and looped the other end around his waist. “I’ll go first. That way, I can drag this thing across and get our way onto the roof set up as you’re crossing.”

  Ilanna eyed the forty paces of quicksand between them and Lord Auslan’s wall. “Think you can make it? It’s harder than it looks.”

  Allon snorted. “You’re not the only one that can do this sort of thing.”

  With a shrug, Ilanna stepped aside. She glanced at the nearby Royal Palace. “Go quickly. The more time we spend doing this, the greater the chance someone will catch us.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  ALLON’S CROSSING SEEMED to take far longer than it should. The Hound grunted and struggled for every hand’s breadth of progress. Ilanna cursed herself for allowing him to accompany her. She would need him in case she ran into Arbitors, but did he have to take so damned long?

  The rope swayed, bounced, and sagged beneath his weight. More than once, he nearly slipped. Ilanna caught her breath as he hung by his hands, his feet hovering just above a grassy patch growing on the quicksand. She couldn’t help admiring his determination. He moved with the relentlessness of the canines for which his House was named.

  As the Hound went, Ilanna sliced a length of rope and tied a metal carabiner to each end. She clipped one to her belt; the other would clip onto the rope.

  Finally, he reached the wall of Lord Auslan’s mansion. He clambered up onto the stones and heaved himself over the top. Sighing, Ilanna turned to Lem.

  He shook his head. “You’re next. I’ll follow once you’re across.” He grinned. “Someone’s got to watch your back.”

  Ilanna checked her gear one last time. The slim fencing sword sat in its hidden sheath on her hip, and her bracer held a trio of throwing daggers, a push blade, and her favorite knife. The twin jars of Derelana’s Lance rode on her hip, secured by a leather thong Allon had produced from his gear. The glass bottle of Kharna’s Breath rested in a pouch, alongside the pipettes, measuring spoon, and firestriker Darreth had given her, and a few of the tools she’d need to get into the mansion.

  She gripped his arm. “See you on the other side.” She leapt up, wrapped her ankles around the rope, and clipped her impromptu harness in place. Hand over hand, she pulled herself across the Field of Mercy. Though the rope swayed and bounced, she never slowed.

  The jars of Derelana’s Lance swung beneath her. She winced at every clatter, cursing herself for not bringing her pouch. One wrong move and the clay would crack, spilling the precious powder onto the Field of Mercy. She forced herself to a slower pace to reduce the risk of jostling the jars.

  Her hands and arms soon ached from the effort. Sweat streamed down her forehead and dripped into her eyes. She swung down, resting her weight on her harness, and wiped away the stinging perspiration. Taking a deep breath, she flexed and relaxed her hands to loosen the muscles. After a moment’s rest, she continued the crossing.

  A quiet thump sounded beneath her. Ilanna craned her neck to see. There, on the unbroken surface of the Field of Mercy, lay the twin jars containing Derelana’s Lance, the frayed end of the leather strap still attached.

  Damn it!

  Releasing her hold on the rope, she reached for the clay jars. They lay far out of her grasp. She unclipped her harness, wrapped her legs around the rope, and tried again.

  She cursed. Still too far!

  She hung from her hands, scrabbling for the jars with her feet. Her toes came so close, but she couldn’t quite reach.

  Willem’s voice drifted across the Field of Mercy. “Get across, Ilanna. I’ll pick them up on my way.”

  Ilanna hesitated.

  “Go!”

  With a frustrated sigh, Ilanna clipped her harness onto the rope and hauled herself the last fifteen paces to the wall.

  Allon peered up at her and held a finger to his lips. Ilanna nodded. Even in the unguarded section of Lord Auslan’s property, they couldn’t risk alerting the Arbitors to their presence.

  She motioned for Lem to come. The Hawk clipped his makeshift harness to the rope and began the crossing. His hands and feet fairly flew—years of training in the Aerie and on the rooftops of Praamis served him well. The knot in Ilanna’s stomach loosened as he approached the clay jars. With his longer arms, he’d have no trouble reaching them.

  Four men in olive-colored uniforms appeared at the far end of Watcher’s Square. Ilanna’s heart stopped, her mouth suddenly dry. Praamian Guards.

  She couldn’t cry out for fear of alerting the Arbitors within the estate, but she had to warn Willem. “Hurry, Lem!” she hissed.

  Willem gave her a confident grin and winked. Unclipping his harness from the rope, he hung from his hands and scooped up the jars between his feet.

  Ilanna’s gaze went to the Praamian Guards in the same moment they saw Willem hanging over the Field of Mercy. Everything slowed to a crawl as the guards rushed toward them. Ilanna wanted to shout for Willem to hurry, but her mouth refused to form words. Unaware of the danger, Lem shoved the jars into a pouch and, clipping his harness onto the rope, resumed the crossing.

  Every heartbeat brought the Praamian Guards one step closer. They rushed toward the post to which Willem had secured the rope, swords drawn. Ilanna’s mind whirled. What could she do? She couldn’t hurl a dagger across the Field of Mercy. Allon’s crossbow would work, but he had just one bolt. She glanced down, desperate for anything.

  Her eyes fell on the leather strap curled around her right wrist. The sling! She hadn’t used it in years—not since Ethen’s death—but it was the only thing she could do for Willem.

  She tugged the sling free and fumbled in her pouch for ammunition. She cursed. She’d stopped carrying the lead balls years ago. She had only her quickfire globes.

  Without hesitation, she fitted a glass globe into the sling cradle and set the sling whirling above her head. Her position straddling the wall made it nearly impossible to work up momentum. It didn’t matter. She had to try to help Willem.

  The quickfire globe hurtled toward the Praamian Guards, crashing to the ground a dozen paces ahead of them. Glass shattered and the alchemical liquid within sprayed the stones in a colorful arc. The guards paused, their eyes darting around. One caught sight of her and shouted at his companions. Even as they continued their stampede toward the rope, Ilanna dropped the other globe into the cradle and hurled it.

  The moment it left her sling, she knew her aim was true. Her projectile slammed into one guard’s chest. He staggered and dropped, clutching at his gut.

  Ilanna’s elation died a moment later. She had no more ammunition, nothing to slow down the other three guards. Lem still hung a dozen paces from the wall.

  Desperate, she seized a chunk of crumbled masonry, fit it into her sling, and hurled it at the guards. It covered less than half the distance to the scaffold before clattering to the ground. Again and again she tried, but the shards of sandstone lacked the weight of her lead bullets or the quickfire globes. None of her projectiles came close to her target. She could only watch, helpless, as the Praamian Guards rushed onto the scaffolding and raised their swords.

  The rope twanged and fell slack. Willem’s confident grin turned to a look of horror as he fell. His feet b
roke the surface of the Field of Mercy. Mud surged up to his waist, clinging at him, tugging at his legs and torso. He clung to the rope, his face twisted in a mask of fear.

  Ilanna reached for her end of the rope in a desperate attempt to pull him free. She heaved and strained, but she fought a force far beyond her strength. Every breath dragged him deeper into the clutching embrace of quicksand.

  He fumbled for the jars on his belt, tried to pull them free. His arm came up and forward, sending the clay jars hurtling toward her. The jars fell far short of the wall, landing on the unbroken surface of the Field of Mercy with a clatter of clay.

  She never took her eyes from her friend. He held her gaze as the quagmire enveloped first his chest, his neck, his head. With a wink and that Willem grin she knew so well, he was gone. The Field of Mercy gave a horrendous belch and fell still.

  “Ilanna!” Allon’s voice seemed to come from a thousand leagues away.

  Ilanna couldn’t look away from the spot where Willem had disappeared. She had to stay. If she didn’t, he would be gone forever. She didn’t want him to be gone.

  “Ilanna!” Allon leaned on the wall beside her. Horror stained his face. “We have to go.”

  She turned now, her body and mind numb. “Lem…” she croaked.

  “There’ll be time for grief after we’re done.” Allon lifted her from the wall and set her down on the rocky ground. “The Praamian Guards saw you. We’ve got less than half an hour before they get a message to the Arbitors at the front gate. We need to move now.”

  She turned back to the wall. Her mind refused to believe Lem was gone. If she looked over, she’d see him clinging to the rope with that confident grin of his.

  Allon shook her. “Ilanna!” He gripped her face. “Now’s not the time. We have to—”

  She pushed his hands away, met his eyes. “I know.” The ice in her voice matched the numbness creeping through her. “Have you finished yet?”

  Allon stepped back, shocked at the change that had come over her. He nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  Ilanna wanted to scream, shout, to rail against the gods’ cruelty. They’d taken another friend from her out of spite. Yet she would have time to mourn him later. She had a job to do.

  A rope dangled from the roof. “Is it secure?”

  Allon nodded. “It’ll hold my weight easily.”

  “Good.”

  The four-story climb took her less than a minute. She welcomed the fire in her muscles. The pain pushed back the numbing chill that had come over her. She didn’t bother waiting for Allon but slipped across the flat rooftop, hugging whatever contours hid her from the guards patrolling the walls. She called to mind the image of Lord Auslan’s mansion interior. If her memory served, the skylight in Lord Auslan’s private bedroom lay on the far side of the roof.

  An enormous glass dome rose in the center of the mansion. Ilanna peered inside, careful not to cast a shadow. She snarled at the sight of blue-clad Arbitors waiting in the ballroom four stories below. They were waiting for her. But how had they known?

  Cloth rustled beside her and she whirled, snapping out an arm to stop Allon in his tracks. “Wait. Don’t let them see your shadow.”

  Nodding, he peered into the ballroom. His face paled. “Bloody hell, that’s a lot of ’em!”

  “Damned straight. And they’re there because someone tipped them off.” She clenched her fists. When she got her hands on whoever alerted Lord Auslan, the fate of Reckoner Tyren would seem a mercy by comparison.

  “Think we can get past?”

  “According to Lem—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “They’re waiting for us in the ballroom and right outside Lord Auslan’s bedroom. But we’ve got the skylight in the bedroom itself.”

  Confusion screwed up Allon’s face. “Won’t they hear us breaking the glass?”

  “Which is why we’re not going to break it. Just trust me.”

  With a muttered curse for the Arbitors below, Ilanna set off across the roof. She found the skylight thirty paces away, on the far side of the house, overlooking the river. She peered in. The doors to Lord Auslan’s bedroom remained closed. No one stood within the room, not that she could see at least.

  She crouched beside the skylight and, drawing a knife, set to work on the caulk holding the pane of glass to the iron frame.

  She froze as Allon’s hand gripped her shoulder. “What?”

  “Where’s Derelana’s Lance?”

  Instinctively, Ilanna reached for the clay jars on her belt. Horror twisted in her gut as she remembered. “It’s…gone.”

  “What?” Allon flinched as if struck. “What happened?”

  She held up the frayed leather cord still hanging on her belt. “It broke, and the jars fell onto the Field of Mercy. Lem tried to get them…”

  Allon’s face went pale. “Bloody, twisted hell, Ilanna. We can’t go in now.”

  Confused, Ilanna snorted. “Of course we can.”

  “We’ve got Kharna’s Breath for the door, but how in the Keeper’s name are we getting through the vault floor?”

  “The acid will—”

  “Melt the steel,” Allon interrupted, “but it won’t so much as scratch the stone.”

  Ilanna cursed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure something out.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She had no idea what to do now that she’d lost Derelana’s Lance. She only knew she’d come too far to give up now.

  Allon shook his head. “I want this as much as you do, Ilanna, but I can’t think of any way we make this work. Not without Derelana’s Lance.” He cast around. “Look, we can make a run for the river and get away before the Arbitors catch us. Wet and cold is better than dead.”

  “You’re willing to throw all our work of the last months away?” Her fists clenched. She wanted to unleash her sorrow and rage on someone—the Hound’s fainthearted caution set anger churning in her stomach.

  “If it means I survive another day, you’re damned right I am.”

  “So be it.” Ilanna gave him a dismissive wave. She couldn’t lash out for fear of alerting the guards, but she couldn’t wait. “Go if you want, but I’m not leaving until the job’s done. I don’t need you with me if you don’t want to be.”

  Whirling, she crouched and set to work on the windows again. For long seconds, only the scratch, scratch of her blade on the glass broke the stillness of the rooftop. Then, without a word, Allon knelt and set to work on the other side of the skylight.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  TOGETHER, ILANNA AND Allon lifted the pane of glass and set it to one side. Ilanna stuck her head through the hole in the skylight and peered around the room. Finding it empty, she squirmed feet-first through the opening, hung from her hands, and dropped to the marble floor without a sound. She winced as Allon landed with an ungraceful thump.

  Lord Auslan’s bedroom lacked the ostentation common among the nobles of Old Praamis. The gauzy curtains hanging from his four-poster bed were made of simple cotton instead of silks, linen, or lace. A utilitarian writing desk and chair occupied one wall, with a plain oaken armoire and shelf on the other. Soft slippers sat atop the luxuriously deep-shag mohair carpet that surrounded the bed.

  The single ornamental flourish in the room hung above the nobleman’s headboard: a painting of a smiling woman sitting amidst hundreds of red, pink, and white roses. Lady Auslan had been beautiful before the ravages of time and illness.

  Ilanna glided across the carpet and slid the three deadbolts home without a sound. The double doors were built from Ghandian blackwood rather than the bloodwood prized by those with more coin than good sense. Blackwood didn’t quite match the hardness of its crimson cousin, but proved easier—and cheaper—for craftsmen to shape. Though the door wouldn’t quite hold out a battering ram, the guards outside would be hard-pressed to break in.

  She studied the room with a practiced eye. If I was Lord Auslan, where would I hide the secret entrance to my vault?
There was only one place it could be.

  She moved the painting of Lady Auslan aside and grinned at the lever beneath. The nobles of Praamis really need to start coming up with more creative ways to keep their valuables hidden. The fact that they believed themselves safe from theft played to her favor. It was why she always chose to obscure her visit to wealthier denizens’ homes. If they never knew she’d stolen from them, they’d never improve on their flawed security systems.

  Allon reached for the lever. She slapped his hand. “Not yet,” she hissed.

  “Why?” He jerked a thumb at the door. “All the guards are out there.”

  “You don’t know that.” Ilanna thought back to the Coin Counters’ Temple. The Reckoners used locks to secure the entrances and exits, but relied chiefly on Praamian Guards to protect their most valued treasures. “Only a fool would go in without preparing for the worst.”

  Allon scowled. “So what do we do?”

  For reply, Ilanna drew the fencing blade from its hidden sheath. “Just in case.” She had no desire to face Duke Phonnis’ hand-picked guards, but she wouldn’t be caught unprepared.

  Allon hesitated before pulling free his own sword. “You want to fight the Arbitors?”

  Ilanna shrugged. “I’d rather not, but if I have to, I’ll be the one to walk away from this.”

  With a sigh, Allon nodded. “So be it.”

  Ilanna tugged on the lever. A muffled thunk sounded within the wall, which slid to one side a moment later. Mounted alchemical lamps flickered to life, illuminating descending stairs. Ilanna cast a nervous glance at Allon, who nodded, then proceeded downward.

  According to Master Lorilain, the steel vault would need to be built on a solid foundation of granite. It would be on the ground floor or even underground. That meant they had to go down four floors.

  With every step, the tension in Ilanna’s muscles increased. She half-expected to trigger some hidden trap or set off an alarm. The lack of security measures didn’t ease her nervousness; if anything, her anxiety grew as they stepped onto the third set of stairs.