Nevery,
I’m going to find out who’s been stealing the locus stones. Tell Rowan and Embre not to send guards or minions or anybody to look for me, because I need to sneak and spy and people looking for me will just get me into trouble.
Don’t send Benet after me either.
If I find out anything important, I’ll come to Heartsease and tell you.
—Conn
Then, after thinking for a minute, I added another line at the end.
Nevery, I think you’re right that something’s going on. It’s not just the locus stones, it’s something else.
From the Duchess Rowan to Underlord Embre
I suppose you’ve heard from Magister Nevery that Conn has run away from a meeting at Magisters Hall. I am furious with him, of course, because it makes the magisters more certain that he’s the thief responsible for the locus stone thefts. I think we ought to be searching the city for Conn. It isn’t safe for him out there. The palace guards, led by Captain Kerrn, could search the Sunrise and your men can search the Twilight.
Duchess Rowan Forestal
Dawn Palace
The Sunrise
Dear Rowan,
Yes, I heard about Conn’s disappearance. My people are staying alert, though not searching. I should warn you that we might not have any luck. Conn hid from Crowe for years. He knows all the back alleyways and dark corners of the Twilight and will not be easy to track—assuming he’s here, of course, and not hiding somewhere in the Sunrise. Anyway, I think we made a mistake, before. I had people watching him, you had guards following him. We crowded him too much, and that’s why he’s run away. You must remember, Ro, that you can name him the ducal magister, but my cousin is still part gutterboy.
Rowan, you’re right that there is something else going on. Lately I’ve felt that something was wrong in my part of the city. During the past few days, it’s grown to be more than a feeling. There is a kind of secret gang at work here. Men who set fires, and sabotage the machines at the factories, and break into shops, not to steal anything, just to destroy. They strike at random and then disappear. My people have tried to track them, but have had no luck. Has anything like this been happening in the Sunrise?
Yours,
Embre
Dusk House
—From Duchess to Underlord—
Curse it, Embre, we have to find him.
And yes, this invisible gang, as you’re calling it, has been at work in the Sunrise, as well. The palace guards and Captain Kerrn are on high alert.
In haste,
Rowan, Duchess, etc.
Predictably, magisters see boy running away as admission of guilt. Led by Nimble, they are howling for Duchess and Captain Kerrn to have guards comb city for him, lock him up.
This morning, Benet brought up note, neatly folded black sweater, said they’d been left on Heartsease doorstep overnight. Boy wants me to tell Duchess and Underlord not to search for him. Tempted not to; rather, would do anstriker spell, then send Benet to drag him back home. Back to Dawn Palace, should say. Conn is good at hiding, though, especially if in Twilight. Searchers might cause more trouble for him, as he says. Curse it.
Also, problem of missing locus stones very serious, possibly more serious than we have yet given thought to. Sandera’s stone was recovered—that is something. But Brumbee and Nimble—their stones are missing and they hear no call from them. Means the stones have immediately been taken out of the city, or their call has been silenced, somehow. Why are stones being stolen? Are they being destroyed, or used for some other purpose? Is this some kind of attack on the wizards of the city? Have decided, reluctantly, that we must leave Conn to discover this, if he can. Meanwhile, the remaining magisters—myself, Trammel, Sandera, and Periwinkle—are taking special precautions to protect our locus stones.
Meanwhile, magics becoming more problematic. Trammel reports that he has stopped using magical spells to help his patients at the medicos. Brumbee reports that the apprentices at the academicos have been instructed to stop using them as well—practice spells keep effecting in unpredictable ways.
Am beginning to think all of these threads are connected—the thievery of locus stones, the attack on Conn, the unsettled magics, and the sabotage that both the Underlord and Duchess Rowan are reporting in their parts of the city. Have dire feeling things about to get worse. Very worried.
CHAPTER
11
After three days in the back alleys of the Twilight, I was grimy enough and hungry enough, and thinking street thoughts. I’d also noticed something. The people in the Twilight were nervous. There was a lot of lurking in doorways, watchful eyes, over-the-shoulder glancing. Something was going on—or it was about to happen—and the Twilight people were wary. Me, I kept an eye out for the kidnappers, but figured they were looking for the ducal magister, not for some grubby gutterboy.
I missed Nevery and Benet and the warm kitchen at Heartsease, and I missed having shelves of books to read and biscuits to eat. But I liked going where I wanted without being worried about, too. Anyway, I couldn’t go back until I found the locus stone thieves. They were around somewhere, sure as sure.
When I’d been a gutterboy, I hadn’t ever talked to the other gutterboys and guttergirls who lived on the streets of the Twilight. Half of them had been working for Crowe, the Underlord, and he’d had a word out on me, and they would’ve turned me in to him for a copper lock and a sausage in a biscuit.
But nobody knew better than gutterboys and guttergirls what was going on in the city. We saw everything and heard everything, and nobody noticed us coming and going. I just had to find some gutterkids who would tell me what they’d seen and heard about the locus stone thefts.
And I had to do it soon. The day before, as I’d crept through an alley, one of the black-and-white birds from the tree in front of Heartsease had spiraled down to land on a broken cobblestone at my feet. Tied to its leg was a quill, and in the quill was a note from Nevery, just a short one.
C. Another locus stone has been stolen. Trammel’s. Get on with whatever you’re up to.—N.
Every gutterkid knew that a good way to make a copper lock or two was to go mudlarking down by the river. In the mudflats you could find things washed up, like old clothes or shoes with some wear left in them, or a drowned man with a string of copper locks in his pocket.
Pip was still annoyed with me for turning it into a green-furred, red-eyed cat. It followed me, staying hidden, but I knew it was nearby. I really needed to settle the magics properly, but without Pip I couldn’t do it. The magics would be all right for another few days, anyway.
With Pip following, I headed past the docks and warehouses, out to the edge of the city where the magics felt thin. The river curved here, and in the curve were the mudflats, a flat brown stretch dotted with clumps of river grass. Flocks of gulls circled overhead, and the air stank of mud and dead fish and open drains. A chilly wind blew off the river and the gray clouds overhead spat out an icy drizzle.
Hunching my shoulders against the wind, I followed a rutted path around the curve of the river at the edge of the mud to a windowless shack built of rotting boards with tar paper nailed up on its roof to keep the rain out. A smudge of smoke drifted from a stovepipe that stuck out of the roof. Somebody was inside, then. As I came up the path to the shack, its door creaked open and a girl stepped out.
She wore a ragged woolen dress too long for her and a holey striped shawl, and her bare feet were crusted with mud. Her long brown hair was tied back in a tail.
“What d’you want?” she asked, scowling.
I nodded at the shack. “Can I come in?”
She shook her head and pointed at the path I’d come up. “Take yourself off.” Then she whirled, stepped inside, and slammed the door behind her.
Drats. I didn’t have time for this. But I couldn’t force my way in. Sure as sure more kids were inside, and they’d fight me if I tried it. I sat down on the path to wait.
The r
ain kept up. Pip stayed crouched behind its clump of grass. I shivered as a drop of cold rain wormed down my neck and inside my shirt. The kids in the shack knew I was there. They’d have to open the door sometime. I kept waiting, looking out across the mudflats and at the Night Bridge.
That was the thing about being a gutterboy. It wasn’t all freedom. A lot of the time it was a hard life, and a lonely one, and it was also boring. When I’d been a gutterboy, I hadn’t thought about much except food and finding a warm place to sleep, and staying out of Crowe’s hands. I hadn’t even known how to read.
After a long time, just as the sky was growing dark and the werelights of the Sunrise were flickering on across the river, the door creaked open again.
The girl stepped out, and this time a bigger boy came with her. He looked like a minion-in-training, with a low forehead and just one eyebrow, and narrow, suspicious eyes. He wore rags, but over the top of them he wore a man’s frock coat, too big for him, but warm. He was the boss, then.
I got stiffly to my feet.
Boy-minion’s narrow eyes narrowed even more, peering at me through the dim light. “Got anything to eat?”
I nodded. I’d come prepared.
He muttered something to the girl. She said something back. They both turned and went into the shack, leaving the door open behind them.
Right, I was in.
Three other kids were inside the shack, besides minion-boy and the girl, a couple of them wrapped in ragged blankets, all of them sitting on the floor around a pile of stuff washed up from the river. The air inside was warm with drafts of cold slithering through it, and it smelled like dirty socks and dried river mud. Old rope was strung across the room, right below the roof, where rags and holey clothes had been hung up to dry. The orange glow of firelight came from a battered tin stove that crouched against one wall, and shadows lurked in the corners. The mudlark-kids watched me come in, their eyes bright in their dirty faces.
I sat on the dirt floor by the door, farthest away from the warmth of the stove.
The girl put the wood she’d brought in on the fire, and she and the boy sat down next to the stove and pretended to ignore me. The other kids peeked quick glances at me, then went back to what they were doing, which was sorting through the piles of trash they’d mudlarked. They’d sell the cloth to a rag-and-bone man, and other bits to junk sellers or swagshop owners. Had any of them ever been to school? Probably not. None of them knew how to write or read or think about much but mudlarking.
I pulled my knees up and rested my head on my folded arms. They’d get around to me eventually.
After a while, minion-boy got to his feet and came to glare down at me with his hands on his hips. “You got food?” he asked.
I nodded and dug into my pockets. I handed over what I’d brought, half a stale loaf of bread, a rind of cheese, and a couple of raw potatoes I’d nicked off a cart in Sark Square. Minion-boy took it all and went back to his place by the stove. The other kids gathered around him as he shared out the food while the girl stuck the potatoes into the coals of the fire to cook them. After all the kids had taken their food, minion-boy came back and handed me a chunk of bread. I ate it slowly. Then he came back with a steaming potato. He squatted next to me and split it, handing me half.
I held the half potato cupped in my hands, warming my fingers. “Thanks,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m Den.” He pointed at the girl. “She’s Jo. How come we never saw you before?”
“The old Underlord had a word out on me,” I said.
“Crowe, you mean?” Den said.
I nodded, trying not to shiver at the sound of his name.
He took a bite of his potato. “Rough lot, Crowe. We didn’t like him. But there’s a new Underlord now, a better one. Embre-wing. He after you, too?”
He probably was. I shrugged.
“Looks like somebody beat the fluff out of you not too long ago,” Den said. “You in trouble?”
I definitely was. I nodded.
The girl, Jo, came over and sat down beside big Den. “Not very chatty, are you?”
“Not usually,” I said. I took a bite of the potato. It wasn’t all the way cooked in the middle and the skin was charred black. Still, it was better than Dawn Palace food.
“Well, we can’t help you,” Jo said, frowning. “Whatever trouble you’re in.”
I swallowed down the last of the potato. My stomach grumbled, wanting more. “I just need some information,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ll just bet you do,” Den said, standing. He and Jo went back to their spot against the other wall. After a while, the other mudlark-kids quit picking through the trash, and rolled up together in their blankets, and Jo and Den wrapped up in their own ragged blankets, and the fire died down, leaving the small room dark with shadows.
I lay down on the dirt floor and went to sleep.
In the morning I woke up when somebody stepped over me and opened the door, spilling gray light into the room. Den. I got up and followed him outside.
The sky was covered with clouds that hung low and gray, but it wasn’t raining. Den stood in the path with his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?” he asked.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “Conn,” I said.
“You a gutterboy?” Jo said from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder. She stepped out of the shack’s doorway and went to stand next to Den. They both looked me up and down.
“He’s got a gutterboy name,” Den said slowly. “And he looks like a gutterboy.”
Jo shook her head. “But I don’t think he is one.”
“I am a—” I started.
And then I stopped. Because I wasn’t anything like a gutterboy anymore. I’d run away to get some things done that I couldn’t do if I was wearing fancy ducal magister clothes up in the Dawn Palace, and from the people who were trying to shut me into the ducal magister box.
But I missed those people, too, and I missed my books and the warm sweater that Benet had knitted for me, and I missed Rowan, though I knew she had to be furious with me, and I missed Nevery even though he’d sent me away from Heartsease.
“I . . . used to be a gutterboy,” I added slowly. “But I’m something else now”—I didn’t know what, exactly—“and I need some information from you.”
Den and Jo glanced at each other. Jo shrugged, then Den nodded. “Right, Conn,” Den said. “What d’you want to know?”
I let out a breath. Good. “D’you know anything about jewel thieves?” I asked.
CHAPTER
12
Den told me about a smokehole tavern on Strangle Street in the Twilight, a place where, he said, more than once he’d heard people whispering at a table in a corner about thievery and fancy jewels.
“But you don’t want to get mixed up with that lot,” Den told me.
I wasn’t going to get mixed up with the locus stone thieves, I was just going to spy on them, and follow them to their headquarters, and see if I could figure out why they were stealing locus stones from the city’s magisters. It was a strange thing for thieves to do, really, stealing locus stones. The thieves couldn’t sell them, and if they weren’t wizards they couldn’t use them. It didn’t make sense.
When it was late enough, I wound my way through the back alleys of the Twilight, followed by Pip-cat, to Strangle Street. There, I edged past a group of people gathered around a run-down shop with a broken front window, as if it’d had a brick thrown through it. Next to the shop was a burned-out husk of a house; the air smelled like smoke, as if the fire had happened recently. Trouble in the Twilight, but that was for Embre to deal with.
The smokehole was a tavern where people went to drink redstreak and black gin, and to make dark deals. I went down two steps and slunk inside the dim-dark room. Covering the floor was sawdust, scuffed up with damp patches. The walls were cracked plaster, and the ceiling was low. Along one wall was a counter, and behind that stood the tavern’s keeper, a red-faced woman with
burly arms. Around the room were rough wooden tables and benches, mostly empty.
I sat down at a table with my back against the wall and a clear path to the door. After a while the potboy, a kid wearing a stained apron and carrying a tray, came up to me.
“You got money to pay for that seat?” he asked, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
I nodded. I’d saved back a couple of coppers from selling my boots to the swagshop.
“A’right,” the potboy said. “What d’you want?”
“Bread and cheese?” I asked.
“One copper lock,” he said, and waited.
I gave him the coin; he went to fetch the food.
When he came back with a slice of bread and a piece of cheese, I nodded at the bench across from me. He glanced at the tavern keeper, then shrugged and sat down.
“Want some?” I asked, offering the plate.
He grabbed up the cheese and stuffed it into his mouth.
I took the plate back and ate a bite of the bread. “I’m looking for jewel thieves.”
“Think you’re going to find ’em here?” he asked, his mouth full.
I nodded.
The potboy glanced over his shoulder again. Then he swallowed down the cheese and leaned closer, whispering. “The chimney swifts. They drink at that table, late.” He pointed at a table in the corner. “But you don’t want to go in with them.”
“Why not?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You just don’t.” He stood up. “And you can’t hang about in here until they come in.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. I left.
Chimney swifts! I should’ve thought of them before. They used their bristly brushes to sweep chimneys clean of soot, both in the Sunrise and the Twilight. And on the wizards’ islands in the river. A chimney swift would make a very good thief. He or she could get into any house, even if the doors were locked, and steal something, then climb right back up the chimney again and be away clean.
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