Did you think you were safe?
CANDLESTICK Jack watched. He was uncommonly good at watching, better than some might expect. From the dance floor, he could see nearly everything.
He saw an irritated Lord Edgecombe in muttering conference with his butler. He saw Synder sulking in the corner. He saw in glimpses, from the next room over, Tuln enticing Ashes with a history lesson.
And he saw, to his dismay, the moment when Ashes left Tuln.
I’ll owe Tuln a new handkerchief, Jack thought.
Jack watched as Ashes came close to a group of minor Denizen politickers. He watched as the boy stepped close, terribly close, to one man on the edge of the circle, and carefully slipped something inside his pocket. The man did not seem to notice. No one, in fact, could have seen it if they were not watching closely.
Jack watched closely, and his heart sank.
“The boy’s found his employer,” Jack muttered to Juliana.
There was a flicker of worry in his wife’s eyes. “It may not be that—”
“We can’t risk otherwise,” Jack said. “We have to shift our footing. We’ll rearrange. You’ll go with Synder. I’ll keep watch over our little informant.”
Jack’s signal flashed in Ashes’s eyes mere moments after he’d slipped the Stitched handkerchief into Ragged’s pocket. Not a moment too soon. Ashes grinned wildly. Ragged would fear tonight. But he had to get moving.
Jack had expressed several times how deeply he hated planning his heists. Things had a spice to them when there was a genuine chance you’d be captured, imprisoned, and tortured to death. Even so, when the Weaver did plan things, he did not skimp.
In the last two months, Jack and Ashes had visited Edgecombe House in a variety of inventive disguises, all of which had been put together with ink and glue and false hair—risking the whole operation on a disguise that might fail at the touch of an iron doorknob would have been profoundly stupid. They had walked the space a dozen times, mapped it out in exhaustive detail, and memorized every corner they’d been able to reach. There were several blank spots on the map, but Ashes still could have gotten to the rendezvous point blind.
He undid his tie and unbuttoned his vest the moment he’d escaped the Ivories and their extravagant party. Furies, but it felt good to be able to breathe properly again. At the first opportunity, he stopped in a dark side corridor and stripped the rest of the fancy clothing off. Underneath he wore the clothes of a low serving boy, with Lord Edgecombe’s sigil Stitched on the breast. He shoved the clothes into a corner, Stitched them to blend into the darkness, and was on his way again in mere moments.
It was difficult to keep from shaking with excitement as he hurried down the corridors, occasionally rubbing his face to set a layer of Stitching over his features. He stopped one corridor away from the kitchen, forcing himself to keep his breath steady. This was where the rest of the company would meet him, so that they could break into Lord Edgecombe’s personal suite together by way of a hidden passage connecting the kitchens to the wing of bedrooms. If Jack’s nameless informant was correct, it would only take a few picked locks before the Rehl Company went on their merry way.
He waited in the dark for several minutes before he heard hurried footsteps. He sequestered himself deeper into the shadow, making himself small and unnoticeable, until he saw the person rounding the corner. It took him a moment to recognize her; Synder was always harder to spot through her constructs than Jack.
“Here,” he muttered. The girl turned, peering into the blackness, and stepped closer.
“You do a good job hiding,” she said under her breath. Like him, she wore the uniform of Edgecombe’s servants. Her disguise was far more intricate than Ashes’s, though. She’d changed her hair to blonde on the way, and given herself a rather doughy, unimpressive look. It was a profoundly bland face, one that nobody would look at twice. Even at a time like this, her Weaving was as good as anything he’d seen.
“Are the others coming?”
“They’ll meet us on the way, I think,” Synder said. “Jack made some adjustments.”
“I thought he wanted to plan this one!”
Synder shrugged helplessly. “A comforting lie, I’d guess. He does those sometimes. He and Juliana are staying for a few more dances and then they’ll meet us at the doors to the wing.”
“Fine,” Ashes said. “Let’s move.”
Synder followed him wordlessly. Probably stewing on their argument, although she didn’t seem the type to stew. Even so, it would be a distraction.
“Oi,” he said, looking at her. “There anything you need to say to me? Before we get started?”
She looked at him, and her mouth went tight. “No. Anything you’d like to say to me?”
“Just that I’d rather we not get hanged because we got stupid,” he said honestly.
“I’m fine, Ashes.” She sounded annoyed. He could hardly see her face in the gloom. “And I’ll thank you to remember that this isn’t my first time out of the shop.”
“Fine,” he said. “But I’m sorry for snapping at you, back there. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“If you say so.”
Ashes swallowed an angry retort and stepped around the corner, entering Edgecombe’s kitchens. The great room was busier and far more frantic than the ballroom upstairs; he had trouble getting a sense of just how many chefs and waiters were running to and fro, carrying plates piled high with food and drink. All of them had the harried look of someone working very hard at not mucking things up.
Synder made an uncomfortable noise. “This is a lot of people,” she whispered.
“The better for us,” Ashes said. “Watch.”
Ashes eyed the tables, seeking a likely prop, and snatched up a large plate full of food. Eyes forward, he moved directly for the passageway to the bedrooms. He heard Synder come up behind him, carrying another plate. He could sense her nervousness.
“Look right ahead,” he muttered to her out of the corner of his mouth. “Look like you belong.”
“Not my strongest suit,” she whispered back, but he sensed her straighten. He felt a few eyes land on them, but so long as they kept their confidence, no one would challenge—
A cook stepped in front of them. Rather, a cook’s belly obstructed them, and was shortly thereafter followed by its owner.
“Who might you be, then?” he said. It was not overtly hostile, but certainly suspicious.
“We’re new,” Synder said, voice shaking only a little.
“We’re with Lady Edgecombe,” Ashes said confidently. “She’s got us bringing food to her rooms for after the party.”
The cook surveyed the items they carried with deep distrust. “What on earth would the Lady Edgecombe want with a plate of pickled herring? And a chicken soup?”
“You ever met a pregnant lady, sir?” Ashes said flatly. “Lady Edgecombe wants pickled herring and chicken soup, she’s ruddy well going to get pickled herring and chicken soup.”
“Why was I not informed of this?” the cook demanded.
“She only just now realized she wanted them, sir,” Synder said. Her voice was far steadier; it had been fifteen seconds and the cook hadn’t figured out they were thieves, so she must have felt more assured. “You know how these things go. May we get on, sir?”
“Very well,” the cook said. “See that you hurry.”
“Certainly, sir!” Synder said, cheerful. She pressed Ashes forward, leading him swiftly to the servants’ passage in the back of the room. “That was exhilarating!” she said under her breath.
“I thought you’d done this before.”
“Only once or twice,” she admitted. “But that’s more than you!”
The passage curled to meet a staircase, which led them to a dimly lit hallway. They stepped quickly, abandoning the pickled herring and chicken soup at the first opportunity.
“Did he say which door to use?” Ashes asked.
“The southeast wing,” Synder said. “I’m no
t sure—”
“I know where it is,” Ashes snapped, then bit his tongue. “Sorry, Syn. This is getting ridiculous.”
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “Jack’s the crazed mastermind here.”
Ashes checked around the corner before he turned. “I just don’t understand why he’s being so stupid about it. We all could’ve gone together—”
“What?”
“Back! Someone’s coming!”
“Ivories?” she whispered.
“Not important, get to the stairs—”
“Wait, I can—”
She took his hand and yanked him toward the wall. Ashes found himself compelled to follow—the girl was surprisingly strong. She pressed herself against the wall and motioned for Ashes to do the same. He looked at her, trying to communicate his skepticism without speaking, but the girl’s stare was firm and confident. He huddled next to her.
Two sets of footsteps came down the hall, moving slowly. Ashes could hear a man speaking, but his voice was muffled and quiet. His words were indistinct. His tone wasn’t. The man was displeased, not quite angry but close to it.
Beside Ashes, Synder uncorked a phial of aether and made several swift motions. Something dark and nebulous formed in the air, floating above their heads. After a series of sharp, economic gestures, the cloud stiffened and straightened, becoming almost a wall. Ashes looked at her, questioning, but the girl didn’t even notice his attention.
“You can’t ask me to do this,” said one of the people down the hall. This one was a woman, young and distraught. “It’s not right. It’s not decent.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t of the highest importance,” the man said with forced dispassion. “And you’re overreacting anyway.”
Ashes looked at Synder again, eyes wide. They would be coming to the corner soon. If she was going to do something, she would have to do it now—
“How can you say that to me!” the woman demanded, voice quavering on the edge of fury. “After—after . . . gods!”
“It’s just that it’s not as important as you think it is.”
“Cleary you think it’s important.”
“No, you— I’m sorry, you just don’t understand.”
“You’re an ass, is what I understand.”
The sound of the slap echoed all down the hall. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way, woman. Remember who I am.”
Ashes felt Synder’s fingers lock around his wrist, and heard the girl draw a sharp breath. The dark thing in front of them rushed forward, and vanished.
“It’s not me, anyway,” the man said after several quiet moments. “My father would never allow it. He’s forbidden it, to tell the truth.”
“Gods know we wouldn’t want to disappoint your father,” the woman said softly. Her fury was concentrated now, crushed to form a poison that laced her words.
“Very few can afford to.” The footsteps halted. “Look. I’m sorry to ask it of you. Really, I am. But you knew how this would go. I never lied to you about that. These were always the rules.”
“It’s awful that you can be so . . . calculating about it,” said the woman. “Didn’t it ever mean anything?”
“It meant a great deal,” the man said, with so little conviction that Ashes was not sure who he was trying to convince, the woman or himself. “I think, perhaps, that when this is over—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it. Whatever this is, whatever has passed between us, I’m done with it tonight. This very moment. I’ve no interest in sharing a bed with someone so cold.”
They stopped walking, mere inches from the corner. “Very well. I suppose I could not expect much better of you.”
“Pity. I expected better of you.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, but the slap Ashes had expected didn’t fall. “Those words were ill-chosen, Bessie,” the man said, very softly. “Very ill-chosen. You will not speak to me that way again. You will not speak to me ever again. Your employment here is over.”
“You can’t—”
“I can do whatever I damn well please, you foolish girl! Be silent!” The man paused, drawing a heavy breath. “I cannot abide your disrespect, but I do not hate you. You may return to your rooms. Take those things of yours that you can carry. I will instruct the chamberlain to furnish you with severance. And Bessie—I can persuade him to be generous. If you do the right thing.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I am truly sorry to say that I can be of no further help to you.” He sounded about as genuine as a wooden leg. “Good night to you, Bess.”
The man came around the corner, sparing not a glance for Synder and Ashes behind their shadowy curtain. He had the severe features of the Ivorish, but his clothes were a butler’s. Ashes eyed him as he walked, looking for details as Jack had taught him to. Well-groomed hair, trimmed fingernails, clean-shaven . . .
Something wasn’t right, though. Ashes couldn’t put his finger on it. There were no obviously incorrect details, but somehow the man’s face looked fake—and, at the same time, hauntingly familiar. Ashes hadn’t met him before, had he? Perhaps on one of the reconnaissance trips he’d taken with Jack? No, it wasn’t that. Wherever he recognized this fellow from, it wasn’t here in Lord Edgecombe’s mansion.
There was no time to dwell on it. A moment later, a pretty, somewhat plump girl came into sight. She stared after the butler for several long moments, looking like she was reining in the impulse to shout something after him. Ashes couldn’t tell if she was crying. Finally, she turned on her heel and walked briskly down another branch of the tunnel.
“Come on,” Ashes said when they were long gone. “I don’t hear anyone else.”
Synder dispelled the illusion, sweeping the light back into her phial with a single motion. Her hair was damp with sweat.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Brilliant,” she muttered. “Come on. Jack and Juliana will be waiting.”
The lock on the door sprang after only a few moments of dedicated effort, and Jack swept through before the thing was open.
“Less than exemplary timing,” he whispered as Juliana followed, shutting the door behind her. “The two of you weren’t ki—”
“No!” Synder snapped in a harsh whisper. “Sorry. We got held up.”
“Keep your voice down,” Juliana said coolly. “No harm done yet.”
“What’s the plan?” Synder asked.
“There’s a new plan?” Ashes demanded. “I thought we were all—”
“No time for that right now, lad,” Jack said. “Syn, you and Juliana will take the cellar. Ashes and I will take milord’s bedroom.” Synder gave Juliana a look too complicated for Ashes to understand, particularly when his head was already spinning.
“Cellar?” he asked.
“I’ve just said we have no time for questions, haven’t I?” Jack gave him a sharp look. “Love, you have your equipment? Exceptional. We’ll meet you back in the ballroom in an hour, not a minute more, and if we’re not there get back to the shop. Step lively.”
Juliana nodded. She and Synder exchanged a glance and then set off together, making for a staircase to a lower floor.
“Jack, what in all hell?”
“Quickly, lad, we’re losing time. We can talk as we go.”
“What’s happening?”
“I had to make some adjustments to the plan.”
“Why?”
“Because my contact said that Edgecombe has one ring he doesn’t use, which he keeps in a locked room deep in the heart of his mansion,” Jack said. “And my other, rather more secretive contact has said that Edgecombe keeps the ring his son will wear tucked safely in a hidden room near where he sleeps. His family have only the three rings—there’s almost no doubt on that score. What’s that say to you?”
“Seems . . .” Ashes paused, chewing his tongue. “Seems like one’s got bad information. Or both of them.”
“Agreed,” Jack said. “And I’
ve no way of figuring just which it is. Nor do I fancy the thought of passing up such an absurdly valuable take because of conflicting information. Thus, I split our little group.”
“But why send Juliana and Syn together? They’re hopping mad at each other.”
“Doesn’t worry me overmuch, for three reasons. First, Juliana and Synder are professionals. They won’t let their standing irritation interfere with their goal. In point of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if being forced together for this doesn’t quell things a little bit. Spring this door for me, will you?”
Ashes bent to get a look at the keyhole. “What did you do with locked doors before you hired me?”
“Mostly I wept at being foiled by mere strips of metal. It’s really discouraging, as a master thief, to be confounded by something so small and insignificant.” Jack grinned widely. “I’m joking. I walked through the walls. Sometimes I blew things up.”
Ashes sighed. “Whatever.”
“Secondly, I can’t in good conscience send you and Synder together into the belly of the beast. Juliana’s very passionate about propriety. I can’t let the two of you cavort around darkened spaces without a chaperone.”
“What’s the third reason?”
“Third? I said two reasons. You ought to listen better.”
The lock released with a soft click, and the door swung open. Beyond was an expansive sitting room, with a grand table to one side, and several ornate, comfortable chairs. One wall boasted an assortment of wine bottles, any one of which no doubt cost more than Jack’s home.
Jack scoffed softly. “Huh. Lad, if I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect this is where the vaunted Lord Edgecombe plays cards with his friends. Or whatever Ivories play when they’re bored, I suppose. How about that?”
Ashes tried to imagine a group of Ivories sitting at this table, their faces shining fit to light up a cavern. Though, of course, they wouldn’t wear their glass rings in private, would they? It would be so irritating, trying to speak to someone when you had to squint to look at them.
“Card games or skulduggery,” Jack amended, moving across the room to the far wall. He tapped it lightly with a fist. “Mm. See? This wall is Woven. A handy little secret entrance for someone to enter through when they didn’t want to be seen, I’d wager anything.”
The Facefaker's Game Page 27