by Beth Alvarez
“So after all that, you didn’t even steal anything?” she asked in a whisper as they slipped back into the city’s crowds.
“I didn’t say that,” Tahl replied, somewhat defensively. “I just didn’t steal what you think I stole.”
Niada pursed her lips, but said nothing more.
As they walked, he couldn’t help letting his fingers snake up underneath the bandages on his face. Despite the healing, traces of scarring remained. His own fault, since magic only mended wounds seamlessly when they received immediate attention. The mark ran across the bridge of his nose and down his right cheek at an angle, curving up again toward the corner of his eye. Something of a checkmark, he supposed, and entirely too recognizable. That wax Niada mentioned would be invaluable.
“It’s funny,” he said as he concluded his inspection and withdrew his fingers. “The guildmaster arrested, the guild collapsing, and all I stole was a book.”
Never Lost
A Westkings Heist Short Story
Chapter 1
“You come here often.” The sound of the priestess’s voice was no surprise after the soft melody of wooden chimes had announced her presence, yet somehow, Tahl hadn’t expected her to speak. He glanced up, regarding her translucent head covering with a pensive frown. He never would understand how the priestesses walked with such confidence. Even with his reflexes and skills, he wouldn’t be so confident walking blindfolded.
“It’s a nice place to be,” he said after a time, making no effort to rise from the cool floor. He’d been rolling a pim between his fingers when she’d decided to creep up on him, and he returned to flipping the silver coin across his knuckles after he’d concluded his cursory pondering over whatever sixth sense the priestesses had. After all the months he’d spent sitting in the same place, he’d still never seen a priestess without a pale green silk sheet over her head. For that matter, the flowers in the woven crowns they wore atop the veils never seemed to wilt, either.
A soft giggle escaped her throat. “It is.” She crouched beside him, resting her elbows on her knees as her skirts pooled around her bare feet.
Tahl’s eyes drifted to the wooden chimes that hung from her wrists. The weights that dangled from the clappers touched the floor, the soothing clink of the wooden tubes muted. “You’re here every night.”
“And you are not, so how would you know?” Her tone was playful, teasing, and he tried to picture the smile that might go with it. She straightened her chimes. “But you are here a lot. Always at the same time, always before sunrise, when the rest of the world sleeps. Yet you do not seek the clergy, nor do you offer prayers.”
“I don’t speak with the priestesses tending the temple, either,” Tahl said. “This is a first.”
This time, the sound the priestess made was thoughtful. “A failing on my part. I have never thought to speak to you before.”
His coin grew still between his fingers once more. “I don’t really want the attention.”
“Yet you come,” she said. “Many, many nights.”
Tahl rubbed the edge of the coin with his thumb. He could just feel it between the fleshy pads of his fingers, warm and smooth, save for a single nick in the edge that had grown familiar. There was no reason to tell the priestess anything, yet he couldn’t help feeling he owed her some sort of explanation. “It’s quiet here. I like to sit here and think, while all the rest of Orrad dreams.”
“And when do you dream?”
His lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “All the time.”
A quiet moment passed. “What do you dream in these waking moments?”
That little smile evaporated.
“Forgive me,” the priestess said hastily, rising to her feet. “It is not my place to ask. I shall leave you in peace.”
She’d gone no more than a handful of steps before a clawing sense of guilt churned Tahl’s words loose.
“Being… appreciated,” he said. “Being someone who deserves to sit here.”
The priestess paused. Her head swiveled back toward him, though her face remained hidden. The movement made the chimes at her wrists sway. Tahl could have sworn the sounds they made seemed curious.
Sheepish, he looked away.
Slowly, the priestess turned to face him fully. “Everyone deserves to sit here. Brant’s temple is welcoming to all.”
“Is it?” He couldn’t help the doubtful, sarcastic twist to his voice. “I doubt the Lifetree would want me here if he knew where I spent the rest of the night.”
The tilt of the priestess’s head told him that had been intriguing, not frightening. But she did not question him, and for a long time, she did not speak. Even the wooden chimes that hung from her wrists grew silent.
Belatedly, Tahl realized her stillness had made him hold his breath. He filled his lungs and released the air as a sigh. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t sulky, and he didn’t care what the priestesses–or Brant–thought of his profession. He liked what he did. He liked the challenge, liked the thrill, liked the occasional luxuries his thievery brought. The silver pim tumbled between his fingers at an agitated pace.
At last, the priestess spoke. “The temple is not a refuge solely for the holy, but for those who hurt, as well. We are never so lost as we think.”
He did not reply. Instead, he tucked in his chin, his eyes trained on the altar before him. He always sat at the foot of the steps, gazing up at the altar on the dais, where candles flickered through the still of night.
“The sun is rising.” Her tone was gentle, soothing, free of accusation. “May it rise on your soul as well.” The priestess bowed her head and hooked two fingers in the double crescent that represented Brant’s canopy. Then she turned, her skirts and veil rippling like waves on the Ranton river as she disappeared between the pews.
Tahl stared after her for a long time. But he couldn’t linger, and eventually, he rose from his cross-legged position on the floor and stretched his legs. If the sun was rising, it meant he was out of time to sit and dream. Kind as her words had been, the priestess’s words meant little. His soul was swathed in the night.
He stepped onto the dais and left his last pim in the poor box.
To Steal the Crown
The Second Heist
Chapter 1
The city had changed, and not for the better. Tahl lounged against the rail of a balcony and watched the people below.
On the surface, to the unsuspecting eye, all was well and the city thrived. Business went on as usual. New imports companies had sprung up to fill the void left by Bahar Eseri's arrest and the crumbling of his business empire, and more businesses meant more commerce, more ships that came and went from the river harbor, more people who ventured in from the countryside to find work as dockhands.
Tahl had never cared about the surface. He thrived on what happened in the city's underbelly, where truth between the dishonest shared a fuller picture.
Orrad was afraid.
He heard it in the whispers between thieves, saw it in the anxious glances citizens cast toward others in the street. The city's markets were full to bursting during the day, but there had once been a thriving community of people who ventured out after dark. Taverns had hummed with life after the day's work. Nobles held parties that continued into the small hours of the morning. Now, even the guards walked with uncertainty.
The worst of it was that no one knew he was to blame.
Tahl pushed himself back from the railing and retreated from the balcony's edge.
In the past three days, he'd seen a half-dozen muggings from a single vantage point. Crime surged, thieves more brazen than ever. It was a symptom of a problem the city officials didn't understand. With Bahar Eseri's arrest, Orrad's thieves guild had fallen apart. Without the organization and protection the guild offered, each and every thief in the southernmost Westkings Empire was left to fend for themselves. No pooling of resources. No structured assignments. Desperation among the thieves made the city unsafe for both thieves
and average citizens.
And I did it, Tahl thought with a grim smile.
One more stage of his plan, he reminded himself. Destabilizing the city had been deliberate, but he admitted it was hard to watch, and the price had been higher than he expected.
Anyone could have expected the number of thieves who tried to claim the name he'd made for himself, but he never would have imagined so many false Ghosts would be captured. Even today, people flocked to the palace to see the sentencing of another pretender.
Tahl warred with the sense of responsibility that reared its head each time he heard about another arrest. Part of him knew it wasn't his fault if others tried to steal his title and ended up imprisoned beneath the palace—or worse. Yet if he hadn't spent the past several months in hiding, no one would have had to suffer.
Still, it had not been the right time. The city needed to struggle. The thieves needed to know desperation. Only then could he unite them under his banner.
Metaphorical banner, he mused as he pushed open the door and stalked into the house. The worst thing he could do was make himself noticeable. Near as he could figure, the emperor's judges had identified all the thieves they'd arrested as fakes. They lined the cells of Orrad's prison, scheduled for execution, as was the customary punishment for thieves. Had they found the true Ghost, Tahl had no doubt his gallows would be mounted in the plaza outside the Queen's Museum the same day.
He no more than stepped into the hallway than he came face to face with his employer.
“Oh,” the old woman squeaked. Her eyes flicked to the room he'd just emerged from. “Were you out on the balcony again?”
Tahl stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yes, ma'am. I had a minute after I finished. You know I can't help it.”
She chuckled and reached to pat his cheek. To his relief, she went for the left. “I know, I know. The city is beautiful, even from a balcony as small as mine. Are you off for the day, then?”
“As long as you don't need anything else, ma'am.” He mustered a smile. Ebitha was a pleasant woman, grandmotherly, but formal. She didn't appreciate it when he dallied after work was finished, but she was too polite to begrudge him his city-gazing.
“No, it's quite all right. Just see to the horses tonight before you're off to bed. Best of luck today.” The corners of her eyes crinkled with her smile.
“Of course, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.” Tahl ducked his head in respect and trotted down the stairs before she found more work for him to do.
He was grateful for Ebitha's accommodating spirit. He'd rented the room above her stable for ages, but she'd become his employer after the heist that put the Ghost on the map. Though he still practiced his acrobatics and sneaking and stayed abreast of the news, the time he spent thieving had been slim while he tried to avoid notice. As a result, it had grown harder and harder to pay his rent. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the task she found—there was no shortage of odd jobs around a wealthy widow's home for a strapping young stable boy to handle.
Tahl was disinclined to complain. The work kept his rent paid and the old widow let him eat scraps from the kitchen. It was worse than the subsistence he'd suffered through before the guild he'd desperately wanted to join collapsed, but it kept him alive. That was reason enough to be grateful. He pushed out the front door and breathed deep.
Summer's kiss had left Orrad hot, but it paled in comparison to the heat Tahl had grown up in along the southern coast. He rolled up his sleeves and walked comfortably in the sun.
Even near Ebitha's estate, the streets were crowded. Heavy carts laden with crates of imports rumbled up and down every road and forced pedestrians to the sides of the streets. Tahl picked a cart to follow at random. It was best to keep up appearances, and eventually, each load of cargo ended up at a dock, a shop, or a warehouse of some sort.
Immediately following his heist, Tahl had told Ebitha he'd worked for Lord Eseri and found himself jobless in the wake of the man's arrest. She had pitied him, and he had promised he would continue to look for proper employment while he saw to her house and her precious horses.
It was half truth, too. He had looked. Not for the warehouse or shipping jobs he'd insinuated, but for exceptionally easy pickpocketing jobs—and for the opportunity he needed to build a new thieves guild. He hadn't known what that opportunity would be, and the longer he waited, the more restless he became. Finally, he was left to wonder if the opportunity would arrive at all, or if he was meant to forge it on his own. The more time that crept by, the more he suspected it was the latter.
The cart he'd chosen to follow bumped its way down a narrow avenue, toward one of the smaller docks on the Ranton river. Disinterested, Tahl peeled away to cut through an alley instead. Just north, alongside the eastern gate, waited an inn he frequented. He doubted he would be fortunate enough to find his informant there, but it was always worth a look.
By some unfathomable stroke of luck, he spotted her between the tables.
Tahl kept his head down and his hands in his pockets as he trudged over to take a seat. He used to sit in the middle of the room, eager to hear everything that was going on. Now he positioned himself well away from the noise. He slipped a copper half-mite from his pocket as he sat and pressed the coin to the tabletop with his thumb.
A moment later, the barmaid's shadow passed over him.
“You're getting stingy,” Niada muttered as she took the coin and stuffed it into her apron. “What'll it be?”
“Water,” Tahl said. “Come on, Nia. You know that.”
She shrugged. “You're the one who sets the appearances, I'm just trying to help you keep them.” Her eyes narrowed. “You're getting better with the wax.”
He winced at the mention of his scar. Despite daily practice, he still had difficulty covering the checkmark-shaped gash that traveled over the bridge of his nose and across his right cheek. “The color match is better, too,” he said with a hint of pride. He'd used most of his chalks to make it happen, but he couldn't trust anyone to help him. Aside from Niada, that was. He still didn't know where she got the wax, but he was grateful to have it, even if he hoped he someday wouldn't need it.
“I think you need a bit more powder, though. The shine is a little strong. You may want a box of powder like the noble ladies use.” Niada tipped her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Food today?”
“No fish,” he replied.
“No promises.” Her fingers fluttered in dismissal and she trudged off to fetch his food and drink.
It wasn't hard to tell she was mad at him.
Tahl rested his elbows on the table and fought back a sigh. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Nia. She was the closest thing to family he had in Orrad, even if she did grate on his nerves worse than his blood sisters did. Had, he corrected himself silently; he hadn't seen his family in years.
Regardless of what he wanted, he assumed it was too late. She was already mad. Niada had been short with him for weeks, and not only because he'd grown tight-fisted with his coins. That, he refused to feel guilt over. Food was at the top of his list of necessities and it was hard enough to keep food on his table, even with the scraps he picked from Ebitha's kitchen.
When Niada returned, she thumped a plate down in front of him.
Fish. Again.
Tahl groaned and slouched in his seat.
She shrugged as if helpless. “You pay with a half-mite, you get a half-mite worth of food. You know what they say about beggars.”
“But we aren't beggars, are we?” He stared her in the eye as he jabbed his fork into the greasy meat and twisted a chunk free.
Niada crossed her arms. “I'm not. I'm not really sure what you are, anymore.”
“Well, that's potentially the most dramatic thing you've ever said.” Tahl shoved his fork into his mouth and fought back a shudder. The fish was worse every time he ate it.
“You know what I mean,” she said, exasperated. Her voice crept up in volume and he raised his brows at her
until she tightened her arms across her thin torso and scowled. “When are you going to do something?”
He swallowed hard and scraped his tongue against his teeth as another shudder coursed through him. “Tomorrow. Today, if I feel like it.”
“Don't make fun of me, Tahl.”
“I mean it,” he said. “And I'm still waiting on my water, so maybe if you get me that, I'll tell you what I'm thinking.”
Niada's eyes narrowed, but she turned to retrieve his drink. He watched after her with a frown. She was a little taller, he thought; still bony, still a child, but that wouldn't be the case forever. As she developed her thieving skills, she'd be a useful accomplice while working, but he'd miss the way information fell easily on her young ears.
She scuffed her feet against the floor on her way back. “Here.” She shoved the rough wooden mug into his hands. “Water.”
“Thank you,” Tahl said, more politely than he felt she deserved. “Do you have a minute?”
Her fingers flicked toward the room. It was relatively empty, this early in the day.
He took several gulps to wash the taste of the fish from his mouth. “Do you remember when I was getting ready for work before? You gave me a suggestion. The opal—”
“—In the queen's crown. I remember.” Her toes tapped softly against the floor, more a sign of irritation than impatience.
“Right.” Tahl ticked a finger at her. “I was thinking about that. About how long it's been. And I don't know about you, but I'm sick of fish.”
Niada shifted. He'd piqued her interest, it seemed. “So you're looking for ideas?”
“You already gave me one. I just said.”
“The opal? I wasn't serious, Tahl. What you did was dangerous enough.”
They quieted as a patron rose and moved past them.