Westkings Heist: The Complete Series

by Beth Alvarez

  Bahar paused in the doorway. “Remain informed. And put that in the guild’s strongroom. Remind the novices I won’t be won over so easily.”

  “Yes, Guildmaster.” The small man bowed in acknowledgement, then bowed again when Bahar dismissed him with a flick of his fingers.

  Perhaps the worst part of this, Bahar decided, would be the number of novice thieves who would take a wrong notion from the night’s events. Some would want to complete the job, prove their superiority to the whelp who tried and failed to gain the guildmaster’s respect. He’d have to issue a reminder that the temple was to be left alone.

  Then there would be the newcomers who would surface and claim they had been the ones to attempt the remarkable feat—which had gained the attention of the entire city. Useless and misguided, but something he’d have to deal with, nonetheless. He took his favored exit from the guild headquarters, through a hidden passage in the back of a warehouse through which he conducted legitimate business. His peers applauded his devotion to ensuring his warehouses ran smoothly; he made a point of visiting all of them regularly, so those that contained illicit activity never attracted suspicion. That was the way he liked things: unnoticed.

  When he walked the city, Bahar walked it as a noble, nothing more. The nods and greetings he received were filled with the respect he deserved. Members of the guild—the few who knew his identity—never acknowledged him when he was without his mask and cowl. Truthfully, he resented any acknowledgement of his life outside the guild when he wore his disguise, but he was willing to let his journeyman’s blunder slide. There were few places where life and business overlapped. The bank was one of them. Better not to take chances.

  A clerk waited at the foot of the bank’s front steps, surrounded by guards. Too many guards.

  Bahar forced a smile. “Gentlemen. Is all well?”

  The clerk worried his hands. “Good morning, Lord Eseri. Please, come inside.” He nodded toward the main room of the bank, which was, Bahar noticed belatedly, filled only with clerks and guards, including a handful of Elite. A sense of uneasiness welled in his stomach.

  Once inside, the clerk lowered his voice. “I don’t know how to say this, my lord, but there has been a... how should I say it... breach.”

  “A breach?” A new sensation crept down Bahar’s spine—cold claws of dread.

  “Yes. We don’t know how or why.” The clerk led the way past the showy grid door and into the hall of vaults. “The door was closed when I arrived, but the guards heard it slam. We investigated the contents of each vault, we’ve been working at it since the middle of the night. But only one vault was targeted.”

  They stopped outside the vault Bahar had held since he’d claimed his family’s business. It stood open by scant inches.

  Bahar gritted his teeth and stepped inside.

  The clerk followed, his head down in what Bahar hoped was shame. They should be ashamed; the bank was supposed to have guards. Wards. How could anyone get past the wards without the bank’s employed mage present?

  “The most curious thing is,” the clerk continued, “all the artifacts, art, and weapons are accounted for, and whoever it was, he or she left... that.” His hand lifted, one stubby finger directed at something on the floor.

  A small, folded note with a rusted key atop it.

  Bahar crouched beside it. He’d seen that key before. He’d jammed it into the garden district’s fountain himself. With effort, he made himself pick it up. “Where were the guards?”

  “Present,” the clerk said. “The building filled with smoke that had no apparent source, but they saw and heard nothing else. Not even footsteps. It was as if it were a... well, a ghost.”

  Slowly, Bahar stood and unfolded the paper. It was coarse, cheap, offensive to his fingers, but the simple note inside made his blood run cold.

  You had your chance.

  Long moments snaked past in silence. He lifted his head and his eyes fell on an empty space beside his barrels of loose coin.

  His gold-and-silver scale was gone.

  “Lord Eseri?” someone asked.

  Bahar turned to face the red-cloaked Elite. Three more appeared at his flank, their spears ready.

  The leader motioned for him to follow. “If you’ll come with me?”

  Flush with anger, Bahar jammed the key into his pocket and squared his shoulders. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “That was not a suggestion, Lord Eseri,” the Elite said. “Or, should I say Guildmaster?”

  Full panic gripped him and squeezed the air from his lungs. Bahar struggled to find words.

  The Elite didn’t give him a chance to speak. “For crimes against the crown of Emperor Atoras, Bahar Eseri, leader of the thieves’ guild, you are under arrest.”

  Chapter 9

  The hatch into Tahl’s room clunked open with no preamble. He jolted awake, his favorite knife in hand before he saw Niada’s head pop through the hole. Groaning, he jammed the knife back under his pillow and collapsed back into bed.

  “You’re still sleeping?” Niada clicked her tongue in disapproval. “It’s practically noon.”

  “I don’t care what time it is,” Tahl groaned into his pillow. “I’m exhausted.”

  She closed the hatch and padded over to his bedside. “I would imagine you are. You know you have to tell me about it now, though.” As a peace offering, she extended a small packet made of grease-stained paper.

  Tahl eyed it for only a moment before he turned back over and accepted.

  “Oof.” She cringed at sight of the dark-scabbed gash across his face. “That should have been seen right away.”

  “It should have, but I shouldn’t. Not with the city on high alert.” The academy and temple both had healers, but he couldn’t risk being caught on the streets after everything was over. Even if it meant a scar was guaranteed.

  Niada made a small, sad sound in her throat. “How did it happen?”

  “One of the emperor’s Elite,” he replied as he pulled his treat from its paper wrapping. A thin slice of sweet pastry, slathered in whipped butter and sprinkled with coarse sugar. Nothing had ever looked so good.

  “In that case, you’re lucky you’re alive at all.” She sat on the edge of the bed, regarding him with curiosity. “So how does it feel to be the Ghost of Orrad?”

  He raised a brow. “Is that what they’re calling me?”

  “It caught on pretty quickly. Started before the sun came up, I think.”

  “How do you know it was me?” The butter melted against his warm fingers. He cupped a hand under the treat to catch crumbs as he took a bite.

  She shrugged. “You’re the only person I know of who does those kind of smoke tricks. I guess you were smart to keep that a secret from most people. Every guard in the city is after your head.”

  No surprise there. “Which is why I’ll need your help figuring out how to deal with this.” He gestured to the wound on his face with his little finger. “I was fast with the smokescreen, I don’t think he saw where he got me, but I know he knows he did.”

  “There’s a kind of soft wax that can be used to cover scars. Once it’s healed, I’ll teach you how.” She watched him eat with a neutral expression, but sadness dulled her eyes. Despite how good she was at playing roles, she never could hide her feelings. Perhaps she’d grow better at it with age.

  “What?” Tahl asked.

  “Everyone in the city is talking about what you’ve done. I think every single crime in the city last night has been attributed to you. But I don’t think it’s going to help you get into the guild. I’m not sure there’s even going to be a guild, after today.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She hesitated, rubbing her fingers as if to coax warmth into them. “Lord Bahar Eseri was arrested this morning. They say he’s the guildmaster. The moment word got out, the thieves’ network started to fall apart.”

  “Oh.” Tahl stuffed the last of his pastry into his mouth.

  Her
hesitance grew. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “I already knew.” He licked his fingers clean. “At least, I knew it was coming.”

  Niada cocked her head. “How could you know?”

  “Because,” he shrugged, “that was the heist.”

  Her eyes searched his face for answers she couldn’t piece together.

  “I told you I found him,” Tahl said. “I visited him in his home office, told him I wanted in the guild. He pretended he didn’t know what I was talking about. I don’t fault him for playing dumb, but considering no one had ever discovered his identity, he shouldn’t have been so dismissive.”

  The color left her face. “You didn’t.”

  “I asked him for a challenge. What I’d have to steal to be let in. He said I’d have to steal the world.” His eyes darkened. “So I stole his.”

  “I don’t understand,” Niada almost whined. “If you just meant to have him arrested, why the heists? Why the bank? The museum?”

  “Because no one in Orrad would respect a thief who just walked up to the Elite and told them the guildmaster’s identity. The Elite probably wouldn’t even believe them. I’d come across the identities of some of Eseri’s partners while looking for him. One was old, getting feeble-minded. He kept records in his house to aid his memory. I took one. Planted it in the museum, made it look like a mistake. It pointed fingers at Eseri without my involvement. The bank was to ensure the Elite would be able to find him. Where better than a vault full of stolen wealth?”

  She frowned. “If that’s the case, why not the guild headquarters?”

  “My fight was with Lord Eseri,” he said. “Not the guild.”

  “Why the museum? Stealing those artifacts—”

  “—Could curse me, I know.” He flashed her a grin. “But with the temple angry and everything pointing back to Eseri, no amount of government corruption could keep him safe.”

  Niada’s shoulders slumped and she shook her head. “Out of everything you’ve ever done, Tahl, this is unbelievable.”

  “But I did it.” He grinned, then winced when the expression pulled at his injured face.

  “For all the good it did you,” she harrumphed. “The guild won’t have you now. If a thief steals from a thief, what does that make him?”

  “Untrustworthy,” Tahl said. “Or, a force to be reckoned with, depending on how you see it.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Orrad’s afraid of the Ghost now.” He pushed himself from his bed and trudged to the table, where a plain stoneware pitcher of water waited beside a cracked cup. For a fleeting moment, he envisioned them as silver instead. Soon. “The guild will probably crumble. There will be infighting, disagreements over who should lead. It’ll splinter into smaller groups. They’ll struggle. And then they’ll have their chance to unite.”

  She leaned back. “Under the Ghost?”

  “Under the Ghost.” He poured himself a drink. The water was warm and stale, but in the wake of his victory, it was as satisfying as wine.

  Once again, she shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  “I’m sure that’s what the fragments of the guild will think when they see us.” He paused, just long enough for her to lift her head with a question in her eyes. “You know. The Ghost of Orrad and his second-in-command.”

  Niada’s face lit with delight and she leaped from the bed. “Really?”

  He touched his fingers to his chest in a display of honesty. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

  She squealed with delight and spun to pull the wooden box from underneath the bed. “Come on, then. We’d better get started.”

  Tahl blinked. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you a quick disguise so we can get that cut on your face healed. The sooner you’re back at full strength, the sooner we can do this.” She pulled a small bundle of bandages from the back of the box and dashed over to join him at the table. “Sit down, let me wrap your face.”

  He did as he was told. “Don’t you think this’ll look a bit conspicuous?”

  “No. We’ll tell anyone who stops us that you’ve got fly larvae in your eye and need to see a healer at the temple immediately. They’ll be too disgusted to ask any more questions.”

  Tahl grunted in disgust, himself.

  “Exactly.” She laughed, winding the bandage around his head, covering both his eye and injury. Her little fingers were nimble and it wasn’t long before she tucked in the ends of the bandage and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”

  He didn’t want to; he wanted to sleep. There was no staving off Niada after she set her mind on something, though, and he reluctantly let her pull him along.

  Beyond his quiet stable-loft room, the city looked no different than ever—save that he looked at it with only one eye—but the guard presence was undeniable. It would linger for some time, he expected, then fade away with the memory of everything that had happened. The Ghost of Orrad would vanish for a time. When he resurfaced, perhaps a few months down the road, it would be to reunify in the shadows that would consume the rest of his life.

  Already, he felt out of place in the daylight. Orrad’s rooftops were his home. Night was where he belonged.

  “You’re making that face,” Niada said.

  Tahl blinked his uncovered eye. “What face?”

  “The one you had in the inn the other night. The one you get when your plans get bigger than you are.”

  He hadn’t realized that expression existed. “I’ll try to keep my delusions of grandeur less visible from now on.”

  Near the temple, he was no longer the only one sporting bandages. Not every malady could be healed, but everyone trekked to the temple for care at some point in their lives. Until now, Tahl had never needed their services. He tried not to sulk over it being something so minor. If not for his newfound need to hide, he wouldn’t have sought healing at all.

  Guards stood outside the temple for the first time he could recall. A station spurred by his actions the night before, he was sure. If the temple’s artifacts weren’t safe, nothing was. Niada dragged him up the stairs and latched onto the robes of the first cleric she saw. “Please, you have to help my brother! He’s been injured, it’ll scar so badly he’ll never find a wife.”

  Tahl struggled not to snort.

  “Patience, child,” the cleric replied with a series of soothing hand gestures. “Sit at the foot of the altar. You shall be seen.”

  The faintest hint of mischief flitted over Niada’s face as she turned to escort Tahl to the far end of the temple. A handful of injured and ill people already waited on the stairs below the altar. She sat among them. Tahl remained on his feet.

  “You should sit.” She patted the empty space on the stone stair beside her.

  He crossed his arms. “If I sit, I’ll fall asleep. Don’t forget I was awake all night.”

  “Suit yourself.” She flicked a hand in dismissal.

  Even standing, Tahl felt his head dip as the quiet peace of the temple washed over him. He braced himself where he stood and let his eyes slide closed for a moment of rest. It wasn’t long before the soft clink of wooden chimes chased away his drowsiness.

  “You’ve come for aid?” a soft, feminine voice asked.

  Niada scrambled to her feet and bowed to the veiled priestess. “He needs healing, my lady, and confession.”

  Tahl shot her a one-eyed glare at the same time the priestess turned toward him. Though her face was hidden by the green fabric draped over her head and held by a crown of fresh flowers, he had the distinct impression she saw him. Perhaps through him. The idea gave him a chill.

  “What have you done?” the priestess intoned, her voice as musical as the chimes that hung from her wrists.

  Perhaps inviting Niada to be his second-in-command had been a mistake. He could only imagine the trouble she’d get him in, thinking she spoke for them both. “I cannot make myself voice it here, as confession ought to be between me and Brant,” he said, “but the Lifetre
e knows my sins. Forgive me, Priestess. Um, that is, may Brant forgive me.”

  The priestess lifted her chin, the rest of her so still she might have been a statue, if not for the way her veil shifted with every current of air. Finally, she raised a hand and laid it on his face.

  He sensed her power as it poured through him like the shock of cold water poured over his head. He shuddered and gasped and she drew her hand back.

  “There is a spark in you,” she murmured. “Small, but there.”

  The pain in his face had already subsided. Tahl fingered the bandages in wonder. “I was put out of the academy. They said I didn’t have what it took to become a mage.”

  The priestess shook her head and hooked her fingers in the shape of the two crescent moons—a symbol to represent their creator. “The academy does not know everything. Mind your spark. Watch it closely. For a spark may easily turn to flames and consume that which it should have illuminated.”

  Another chill took him, spawned by something in her words. Superstition claimed the priestesses bore foresight. He didn’t believe it, but the statement was so eerily predictive that he understood how the rumors began.

  “Go, now,” the priestess said, as placidly as if the warning had never passed her lips. “You are whole, by the blessing of Brant.”

  “What about his sins?” Niada protested.

  “He bears nothing that is not already forgiven. Peace be with you.”

  “And with you,” Tahl replied as the priestess turned away. After she moved on, he spun to glower at his companion.

  She shrank back. “What?”

  “Are you trying to get me killed?” he whispered as he reached for the bandages on his face.

  Niada hopped forward to stop him. “I’m trying to help you!” She caught his arm and steered him back toward the entrance. “If you’d been cursed—”

  “I didn’t do anything to be cursed, Nia.”

  “But you stole—”

  He pressed a finger to his lips and she hushed, though her face was sullen. She really was like a little sister. “I didn’t take anything. I never intended to, either. All I needed was a high-profile distraction, and nothing could have worked better than that.”