by Beth Alvarez
“Thugs are a half-dozen for a half-mite in Orrad,” Tahl replied, unamused.
Sharp, rasping laughter welled up in the mugger's throat. “I'm no mere thug, boy. Last chance. Hand over your coin, and you can tell everyone you saw the Ghost of Orrad and lived.”
Tahl's eyebrows shot up. “You've got to be kidding.” His eyes searched the brute's face. The man was serious, his stern, angry face made all the more serious by the jagged, ugly scar that marred his right cheek. The fellow jabbed his dagger forward in threat.
“Well,” Tahl mused, “you've got the scar, I'll give you that much.”
The stranger's facade faltered. “What?”
“Didn't you know?” Tahl quirked a brow. “The Ghost has a scar on his face, given to him by the Emperor's Elite. I thought everybody would know that.”
The false Ghost gaped.
With the speed of a viper, Tahl lashed out with his free hand to snare his opponent's wrist. He twisted hard and a howl of pain tore free of the man's throat as his dagger clattered to the ground. Tahl spun, wrenching the man's arm behind his back. His foot landed on the false Ghost's knife and he kicked it backwards into the alley behind him.
“Now,” Tahl whispered as he brought his dagger's point to the corner of his attacker's jaw, “you've got two options. One, you tuck tail and run, leave the common folk alone, and give up this ridiculous charade of being the Ghost. Or two, you try to fight me, and I sink this dagger into the artery below your ear. Which sounds better?” His blade rasped against the man's skin, eliciting a soft yelp of fear.
“One of Eseri's men, were you?” the false Ghost whispered.
A muscle in Tahl's jaw twitched. “Eseri missed his chance to recruit me. Or maybe I missed my chance to join his guild. I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?”
“N-no,” the man stammered. “I suppose it don't.” He raised his free hand, trembling, in a signal of defeat.
Tahl shoved hard and let go, propelling the stranger out of the alley. In two heartbeats, Tahl stowed his dagger and scaled the wall beside him to hide in a recess behind a chimney. When the false Ghost turned, the alley was empty, and the man's mouth fell open.
Amateur. Tahl sighed at the thought. He clung to the wall until the man retreated into the crowds. Then, slowly, he eased his way back to the ground.
His inaction had become a greater problem than he realized. Tahl's lips puckered with his sour frown as he retrieved the man's dagger from the alleyway and turned it over in hand. It was poor quality iron, not even steel, and the blade was so notched and dull it couldn't have cut fruit.
“And this is what Orrad is afraid of now,” Tahl muttered to himself. He tucked the ugly knife into his belt beside his own blade. It wasn't very good, but Niada always knew someone willing to buy a blade, regardless of the condition it was in. Maybe she'd be a good fence. He hadn't taken much time to consider what sort of duties he'd assign to go with her position as second-in-command. Perhaps it was time he did.
Time I did more than that, he admitted to himself. To see the city full of false Ghosts was one thing. Being accosted by one himself had never crossed his mind as a possibility. And if I weren't going slack in my skills, it wouldn't have happened. He was still fast enough, when he needed to be. Nimble on roofs and walls, though he dared not climb to the rooftops within the city limits. But he'd grown nervous in his time hiding and that, he decided, was the problem. Nervousness led to distraction, and distraction led to mistakes.
And really, what do I have to be nervous about? Everything has worked according to plan so far. The guards hadn't found him. He'd gained proficiency in disguising his scar, even if he would have to prowl the market later for that powder. The city had destabilized and become desperate, and all the false Ghosts only emphasized the existence of a real one. Who has done nothing for months, Tahl thought with a hint of disappointment.
He worked his way through the city streets, more attentive than ever after his moments-long scuffle with the man in the hat. Tahl frowned to himself. He'd only just thought up his plan. Now he had to revise it in the same day. The heist was supposed to be his grand return to the public eye. Something shocking, sudden, to shake Orrad to its core. Yet being shaken was the last thing his city needed. Orrad craved strength, unity. It craved the gentle, guiding hand of a steady guild that could simultaneously rule its underbelly with an iron fist.
And so the beginnings of a new guild comes first, he silently concluded.
When Tahl reached Ebitha's modest stable, the evening sun warmed the city in shades of gold. He cleaned the stalls and tended the horses, his mind elsewhere. By the time he climbed to his modest room above the stable to wash and eat his evening meal, he'd made up his mind.
His heist clothing lay neatly folded in the box he pulled from under his bed. Tahl removed the deep blue shirt first. A small block of fragrant, reddish wood clattered to the floor when he unfolded it, and he scooped it back into the box with his belongings. Keeping the wood nestled in the folds of his clothes was a trick he'd learned from the locals, useful for deterring moths and tiny carpet beetles from the precious, finely-knit fabric. He'd grown fond of the smell, though it came with the disadvantage of the faint scent of cedar clinging to him like a second skin. A good thief shouldn't smell like anything, though he supposed if he had to choose, cedar was an acceptable option. Better than smelling like the horses, at least.
Tahl stripped out of his normal clothes and slipped into the soft comfort of his close-fitting thief's garb. He stretched his arms overhead and savored the pull of the muscles in his sides and back before he sank forward, folded in half at the waist, to press his palms flat to the floor. The backs of his knees ached. Slow breath filled his lungs until his ribs creaked and strained to contain it all. A long breath out eased the strain in his back and knees. Longer stretches brought warmth and mobility into his limbs. Finally, he sank to the floor beside his box of meager belongings and sat cross-legged as he drew a small object wrapped in cloth from the corner of the box.
His fingers traced the edges of the mirror shard as he folded back the cloth. He'd found it in an alleyway and kept it to make shaving easier. It had proven useful for when he smoothed wax over his scar, too. Now, he used it to peel the wax from his cheek and the bridge of his nose.
Once he'd had healing and the color diminished, it wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. The edges had buckled inward instead of jutting out, and the depression in his skin was silvery-pink and easy to fill. Tahl couldn't help but wonder if it would have been more imposing if it protruded, but he didn't devote it much thought. Instead, he wiped his face clean and put his things away.
As he pushed the box back under his bed, something pale protruding from the pocket of his everyday trousers caught his eye. He caught it with two fingers, and the paper rasped as he pulled it free. Niada's sketches. Simple but striking, now that he looked at them in the weak lamplight of his home.
He folded the paper and tucked it into his bag of supplies.
The horses hardly whickered as Tahl slipped out through the stables. His footsteps across the yard were soft, almost soundless, and his pulse accelerated in anticipation of the first move.
Silent, he sprang from the ground and caught a familiar handhold in the side of Ebitha's tall house. The split toe of his soft deerskin shoes made it easy to find purchase with his feet and he scaled the wall in seconds. Atop the roof, the deep ridges between the tiles made perfect handholds for him to leverage himself up past the overhang.
The moon hung low in the sky as he crept to the ridge of the roof and stood tall, looking over the sprawling city below.
All right, he thought as he drew a deep breath and prepared for the rooftop voyage. Let's give them something to be afraid of.
The Ghost turned east.
Chapter 4
Dawn's first muddy light brought the city to life. Tahl was up with the sun despite his late night. Ebitha met him at the back door, where he stood with a bucket of
fresh-drawn well water in hand.
“You're in good spirits this morning,” the old woman remarked as she accepted the wooden pail and squinted up at his face.
Tahl grinned back at her. “Good things sprang from yesterday.”
Her eyes brightened. “Found work, have you?”
“Yes, ma'am.” He stepped back and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “I'm to start right away.”
“About time! They say all the trade growth is good for the city, but I don't know what good it does when every manner of ruffian is in from the country. I'm sure there are some good ones among them, but it's hard for the young ones when there's so much more competition for work.” She extended an arm to pat his cheek and he tilted his head to land her touch closer to his jaw, lest she leave marks in the wax over his scar. He disguised the movement with a smile.
“I appreciate everything you've done for me, Ebitha. I couldn't have made ends meet without your help. I'm happy to look after the horses until you can sort out finding a new stableboy.”
The old woman's cheer faltered. “Ah, perhaps. I've been thinking about the horses, these past few days. It's been years since I could ride, and they're so expensive to maintain. I've started to wonder if I'd be better off letting them go.”
Tahl blinked. Few things meant as much to the woman as her horses. She had purchased them as yearlings and they'd been with her a good decade. As well cared-for as they were, he expected all three had at least another fifteen years left in them. “They still make you happy, don't they?”
“They do,” Ebitha replied haltingly. She drew breath as if to say more, then the sparkle in her eyes faded and she sighed instead. “Well, no matter. I'll think on that a minute yet. Best wishes for your first day of work, lad. I'm sure your manager will be impressed.”
“Thank you, ma'am. I'm not sure when I'll be in tonight, but I'll see the horses are cared for before I sleep.” He retreated a step before he flicked his fingers in a quick goodbye.
People filtered into the streets from the buildings around him and Tahl slipped into the growing throng with a practiced ease. In his brown trousers and unbleached cotton shirt, he looked like every other warehouse hand or porter on the street as they trudged off to start the day's work. Unlike them, he walked with a cheery bounce in his step.
Part of him felt bad for misleading Ebitha. He'd never been out of work, save the restrictions he'd put on his own activity. But he'd needed a reason to justify the tightening of his purse strings and the extra hours he spent in his room above the stable. Likewise, he felt a need to explain the sudden lack of his presence in the coming days. Especially when it meant someone else would need to tend the horses. He liked the animals, even if they were both impractical and unnecessary within the city limits. Everyone was given to their follies.
Tahl wondered at why she might consider selling the horses—he assumed that was what she meant, rather than turning them loose outside the city—after so many years together, but he could puzzle over that when he ran out of things to do.
The streets that ran eastward cut a jagged path, zigzagging across the city. He stuck to the widest avenue and cocked an ear toward the people clustered at the street's edge, where vendors hawked wares and citizens shared news in conspiratorial tones. Several whispers caught his attention and Tahl suppressed the urge to smirk. He'd wondered what the response would be, but a part of him already knew.
On the eastern side of the city, crowds gathered to gawk at the tall stone face of the mage academy, where a half dozen novice mages with scrub brushes worked to eliminate the black mark emblazoned across the building.
The crest was tall, a sweeping hook that resembled a cowl. A lone mark representing an eye glowered out from the shelter of its curve.
Armored guards stood in a loose half ring around the front of the mage academy, preventing anyone from coming near. Behind them, a senior mage—a Master, he thought—barked orders to the students who scrubbed.
Again, Tahl resisted the overwhelming desire to smirk. Under normal circumstances, he suspected the mages would have used their power to blast the emblem off the front of the academy. But he'd used his own magic to create it, etching soot into the stone. Residual magic couldn't be unwound, the flows of power already long since gone. And there was the etching, besides. Even after the novices finished scrubbing, a shadow of the mark—his mark—would remain on the academy's face.
“You used it,” a small voice said beside him, full of wonder and a hint of admiration. He'd been glad to spot Niada among the crowd and had positioned himself where she'd easily catch sight of him.
“Well,” Tahl said, almost dismissively, “people need something to look up to.”
“What changed your mind?”
He shrugged. “The Ghost.”
Nia's brows drew together in confusion.
“I'll explain later,” he murmured. “Are you free today?”
“I have a morning shift at The Last Drop.” Her hand fluttered in the air overhead and she produced her apron as if from thin air. “But I'm free after that.”
Tahl chuckled. “I saw the bulge in your sleeve.”
“You did not, you liar. I wound it around my arm this time. It was perfectly flat.”
“Not at your elbow.” He tweaked her arm between his forefinger and thumb. “We need a new headquarters. Meet me at the west gate when you're finished. We're going exploring.”
A sparkle lit Niada's green eyes. “Deal.”
With a wink, he retreated through the crowd.
“A morning shift implies you'll be done before afternoon,” Tahl complained as Niada approached the gate. He'd lingered long enough that the guards had come to heckle him more than once. The last thing he wanted was their attention.
“It normally does,” Nia called back, but a mischievous smirk twisted her mouth. “I don't think you'll be disappointed once we've had a chance to talk.”
Tahl's eyes flicked toward the guards beside the gate. She rolled her eyes in complaint at the reminder.
“Where are we going today?” she asked, smoothly abandoning the subject.
“Back into the city.” He caught her arm and turned her toward the south.
Her jaw took a stubborn set and she pulled back. “Why'd you make me come all the way over here, then?”
“Because I was working outside the west gate today.” Tahl pulled her arm again and gave her a coaxing look. “I still have to eat, you know.”
Sullen, she gave up and followed him. “You're the one making things difficult for yourself, you know.”
“I know, I know. I'm working on it, okay?” He stuck out his tongue in the ultimate of juvenile responses, but it had its desired effect. Nia giggled and trotted up alongside him.
He led her through a handful of twisting, turning alleyways and did not speak again until he deemed them safely outside where they could be heard.
“Eseri's guild met in one of his warehouses,” Tahl said, mindful to keep his voice low even though he saw no signs of anyone in the alley ahead or behind. “I don't have a warehouse, so we need another option. There's a place I thought we should investigate. It might work. There are entrances all over the city. It would be hard to defend, but defense isn't the point. It would be easy to escape if it were raided.”
Nia's nose crinkled. “Where is it? I've never heard of anywhere like that.”
Tahl came to a stop above a ring of stone topped with a wooden cover. He gestured grandly with both hands.
She stared. “What is it?”
“A sewer.” He pushed the cover with his foot and it slid a few inches, providing enough space to get his fingers under it and move it aside.
Her mouth twisted with uncertainty. “A what?”
“An underground channel that was supposed to keep the city cleaner. Extra water was supposed to go down drains in the streets to reduce flooding. People were supposed to connect latrines to it. I guess it works in other places, but the water table in Orrad is too hig
h because of how close we are to the Ranton.” Tahl dropped to his knees and turned to scout for the rough ladder he knew was there. His toe caught on it and he worked his way down. “The Ranton ended up being the biggest problem. Some of the channels they dug ended up flooding because the river makes the ground water too high. You hit water six feet down, and this is ten.”
Nia leaned forward, silhouetted against the sky as she watched him descend. “So they abandoned it?”
“Yep.” His boots hit the ground and Tahl stepped back to make room for Nia to join him. “Some of the tunnels collapsed and they filled them in from above. And some got hooked to latrines, but since the sewers connect to the river, the water ended up being contaminated and folk got sick. The mages insisted it was because of the waste being flushed into the river water, so Atoras called off the whole project.”
“Seems like a waste.” Short as her legs were, she struggled down the wide-spaced rungs of the ladder, but she breathed in relief and accomplishment when she reached the ground. Despite the high water table, the bottom of the tunnel was dry, if dirty and cluttered with leaves. “Are there any water drains in the streets? I don't think I've seen them.”
Tahl nudged her aside and took a few steps up the ladder to replace the lid. “Nope. But you can see where they were. They were afraid the tunnels would collapse if they kept getting water into them, or that people would dump things they shouldn't into the sewer. There are big stone blocks where they pulled the grates back out.”
“So there's just tunnels down here with no purpose.” She paused as the lid scraped halfway over the entrance. “What are you doing?”
“Closing it so no one knows we're down here.” He grunted as he heaved the heavy lid back into place and sealed them in darkness. “I think there are some beggars who come down here for shelter, but they'll all be out on the streets looking for money, this time of day. Most of the entrances are sealed off right now, so we shouldn't run into anyone else.”