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by Sarah Prineas

  “Do it again,” Sootle said, when I reached the bottom and climbed out. “Not enough soot. You haven’t scrubbed it well enough.”

  Back up I went, all the way to the top, and on the way down scraped even more soot off the chimney bricks. Then I did another chimney, and another one. Coughing up black soot, I reached the bottom of the fourth chimney, this one in a dining room, and Sootle was sitting in a chair unwrapping bacon and cheese in two slices of bread.

  Oh, good. Time to eat. My stomach growled.

  “None for you, Pip,” Sootle said. “You had a good breakfast, and we don’t want our charboys getting fat. You’d get stuck up there, wouldn’t you?”

  I didn’t think I would.

  Sootle took a bite of his cheese-and-bacon. “Back up with you,” he said, his mouth full. “And do it proper-like this time.”

  I took a deep breath and headed back up the chimney.

  By the time we got to the last chimney, the eighth one, my arms and legs were quivering with tiredness and my fingers and toes were rubbed raw from clinging to the bricks. My eyes burned and every breath felt clogged with soot. I sat on the doorstep and coughed while the housekeeper paid Sootle. He threaded the coins onto a purse string and handed me a bag to carry.

  That job was done, but the just-the-job was still waiting to be done. In the dead of night I was asleep in the charkids’ cellar, Pip-cat curled next to me, when a bony hand shook me awake. “Up with you, Pip,” Sootle’s voice said. He held a lantern turned low. Blinking, I followed him up the stairs into the dark, empty kitchen. “We’ve got a chimney to sweep,” he whispered.

  A chimney to sweep in the middle of the night?

  Without speaking, we left the house, winding our way through the quiet, dark streets of the Sunrise to the river. Sootle rowed us out to the magisters’ island, to Periwinkle’s house. There he tied the boat, then led me ’round the side of the house, which was a dark shadow against the darker night, no lights showing. Nobody awake inside, then.

  Two other chimney swifts, Drury and the skinny one from the smokehole tavern, were waiting there. Sootle whispered with them while I yawned and rubbed sleep out of my eyes. The river flowed past with a quiet rush-rush, and the stars shone down. Over the island I felt the magics of the city, the stone strength of Arhionvar pushing up against the warmth of the old Wellmet magic. Still settled. Pip-cat climbed up to my shoulder and crouched there, its prickle-fluff tail curled around my neck like a scarf.

  Sootle pulled me by the sleeve and I followed him to the side of the house. A rope ladder hung there. “Up,” Sootle breathed into my ear. “And quiet as you go.”

  I started up, Pip climbing the stone wall beside me. I felt the ladder jerk, and then Sootle started up, too. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him below me, a dark lump against the side of the house.

  At the top, Pip and I crouched at the edge of the roof until Sootle joined us. He had a knapsack on his back. “Which chimney?” he whispered.

  Which one had I marked with the chalk that day, he meant.

  The eight chimneys stuck up from the roof like dead tree trunks, all of them the same. “I think it’s that one,” I whispered, pointing.

  We climbed the sloping roof, the overlapping slate tiles cool and rough under my bare feet, to the chimney. Drats. No chalk-marked X on the bricks.

  We checked another chimney, and then another, and found the mark, pale white in the starlight. My feet crunched on sticks, the remains of the swift’s nest I’d pushed off the chimney that morning.

  “Shh,” Sootle breathed. He pulled me down to crouch next to him, right beside the chimney.

  Right. Now what?

  Sootle took off his knapsack and set it on the roof. “Here’s what you’re going to do, Pip,” he whispered. He pulled a long, rag-wrapped package out of the knapsack. “Torryfine tongs,” he whispered. “Use them to pick up the lady wizard’s locus stone. It’ll be next to her bed, or somewhere nearby. It looks like an ordinary river stone.” He gripped me by the front of my black sweater and pulled me closer, his voice hissing into my ear. “Whatever happens, don’t touch the stone. It’ll kill you dead if you do, and that wouldn’t do us much good, would it?”

  I shook my head.

  He let me go and pulled another package out of the knapsack and unwrapped it. A cage made out of wire mesh, about the size of my hand. In the starlight, the cage wires glimmered pearly green.

  “It’s made of torryfine metal,” Sootle whispered. “Use the tongs to put the wizard stone in here, and it won’t hurt you. Then come back up.”

  Torryfine? Tourmalifine, he meant. The little cage and the tongs were made out of tourmalifine.

  That meant . . .

  Oh, it was clever! Tourmalifine repelled magic; I’d read all about that. This was how the chimney swifts were stealing and hiding the locus stones without getting killed by them. Because tourmalifine repelled magic, the tongs and the cage protected the thief from the effects of touching a locus magicalicus. Had Sootle thought that up himself?

  He put the rag-wrapped tongs and cage into the knapsack and handed it to me. “My other charboy lost his nerve,” Sootle said. “Nearly bunged things up last night thieving another lady wizard’s stone. He’s no use to me anymore. You going to be useful, my intrepid young Pip?”

  I nodded.

  “Right, then,” he whispered. “Off you go.”

  Right. I slung the knapsack on my back and climbed into the chimney.

  Down I went, my arms and legs aching from all the sweeping I’d done earlier in the day. As I went lower, the bricks grew warmer and the air grew thick with smoke. Looking down the shaft of the chimney, I saw below me the red glow of a dying fire in the hearth. A cough tickled in my throat, and I covered my face with my sweater-sleeve and choked it back down again. Pip climbed past me, flicking me in the face with its tail. I blinked the smoke out of my eyes and watched as Pip-cat climbed down to the hearth and then snapped up the dying embers, swallowing them until only ash was left and the smoke cleared.

  Well done, Pip. I climbed the rest of the way down. At the bottom, I lowered myself quietly into the ashy hearth. I crouched there, surveying the room. Pip crouched next to me, its red eyes glowing.

  The room was completely dark. The wide, canopied bed was against one wall, I knew, and there was a wardrobe and another chair somewhere around, and a small table that I didn’t want to bump into. I didn’t dare use the lothfalas spell to kindle a light.

  Oh, but I did have a way to see better.

  I rested my hand on Pip’s back and, my voice the barest breath of a whisper, said “Tallennar,” and blinked, and through Pip’s eyes the room was shining with light, everything in it edged with ember-bright flame. I heard with Pip’s ears, too, the wind rush-shushing over the top of the chimney, way overhead, and the soft huffs of the sleeper in the bed, breathing.

  As I lifted Pip onto my shoulder, the room shifted and I saw the room from my level. There, the table beside the bed. Sure as sure, the locus stone was there. My feet feather quiet, I crept out of the hearth and across the room. On the table, a stack of books, a dark werelight lantern, and no locus stone. It was more a cabinet than a table, I realized. I crouched down. There, a door. In Pip’s fire-vision its keyhole sparkled.

  I had just the thing for it. I fished my lockpick wires out of my pocket and—quick hands—picked the sparking lock. The door swung open, silent. Inside, on a little velvet pillow, was a locus magicalicus stone. It was a plain, rounded, gray river stone, but to Pip’s eyes it burned brighter than a star, a blaze of dazzling light in the dark cave of the cabinet.

  I didn’t bother with the tourmalifine tongs. I already knew I could touch the locus stone without being hurt by it. I reached in to pick it up. Then I froze, my fingers not quite touching the stone, the light from it so bright I could see the dark shadows of my bones inside the glowing skin of my hand.

  Should I do this? Steal a locus stone from a wizard? I’d done it once before, whe
n I’d been a gutterboy and had picked Nevery’s pocket. Then, I hadn’t known what I was doing. Now I did. I knew what it was like for a wizard to lose a locus magicalicus.

  It was awful. When I’d lost my first locus magicalicus, it’d been like being desperately hungry and never finding a bite of something to eat. A horrible, empty, aching feeling.

  But I had to do this. My hand shook a little as I lowered it and picked up the stone. My fingers tingled, and the stone flashed, filling the room with sudden light. It was light that only Pip could see, and me, seeing through Pip’s eyes.

  Blinking the brights out of my eyes, I paused, listening. The sleeper in the bed didn’t stir.

  I pulled the tourmalifine cage out of the knapsack and unwrapped it. The wires felt cold. I put the locus stone inside the cage. As it touched the wires, the stone snapped and flared, giving off sparks and sizzles of magic. It didn’t like being in there. Quickly I wrapped it back up again. Then I crept back across the room to the chimney. After whispering the spell to get my own vision and hearing back, I climbed up, the knapsack scraping against the brick walls. At the top I climbed out.

  Sootle was waiting. “You’ve got it?” he whispered.

  I crouched next to him beside the chimney, and nodded. Yes, I had it. Periwinkle’s locus magicalicus. “What’re you going to do with it?” I asked.

  Sootle gave me a keen look. “None of your business, is it?”

  True, it wasn’t charboy Pip’s business, but it was wizard Conn’s. I kept hold of the knapsack. “Are you going to get money for it?” I asked.

  His hand shot out and cuffed me on the ear. “Give me the bag, Pip, and no more questions.”

  All right. I handed over the knapsack.

  Sorry, Periwinkle. She wouldn’t like losing her stone. I would get it back for her. Sure as sure, I would.

  Uproar at magisters meeting this morning. Periwinkle’s stone stolen during the night despite precautions. Guard outside her door, stone locked in safe place. Lock picked, apparently, and guard not alerted.

  Certain Conn involved. Inspected Peri’s room this morning, noticed soot from chimney on floor. Brushed it aside with my foot, assume it was not observed by anyone else.

  Am undecided about whether to have a further discussion with Duchess and Underlord about this.

  Perhaps not. Will keep my own counsel for now. Must trust that Conn knows what he is doing.

  My own locus stone the only one left. Except for Conn’s, of course. Means my stone will be the thieves’ next target. Must take extra precautions.

  CHAPTER

  16

  I woke up in the cellar of the chimney swifts’ house, surrounded by charkids. A lantern was in the middle of the floor, and one of the kids was passing around their dinner from a basket. A swift must’ve brought it down; the thump of his feet on the stairs had woken me up.

  After I’d stolen Periwinkle’s locus magicalicus, Sootle had rowed us back to the Sunrise. I’d only managed to snatch bits of sleep for the past couple of days, so when we arrived at Sootle’s house I stumbled down to the cellar and into my blanket. I’d slept the whole day away. My stomach growled.

  I sat up with the prickly blanket wrapped around me. Beside me, Pip-cat uncurled itself, got to its four paws, and stretched.

  Like me, the charkids were skinny and covered with soot, barefoot and dressed in black. One of the chargirls edged up to me and handed me a hard roll with cheese in it. “What’s your name?”

  “Pip,” I said. “What’s yours?”

  “Emm,” she said. “You Sootle’s new charboy?”

  I nodded and took a bite of roll-and-cheese.

  Another charkid came over, a boy with hair shaved short and eyes rimmed with red, as if he’d been crying. “He’s mean, is Sootle,” he said.

  I shrugged. He wasn’t that bad.

  “The boss is meaner,” said the girl.

  The boss? “Sootle’s the boss, isn’t he?”

  “Shhh,” whispered the boy, with a quick glance at the ceiling, as if somehow the boss could hear him. He shook his head. “The boss is somebody else.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Emm glanced toward the ceiling, too. “He’s upstairs. In the attic. That’s where he stays.”

  “They keep him in a cage,” the boy leaned in to whisper.

  A cage?

  “’Cos he’s so mean,” Emm said.

  “No, it isn’t a cage,” another chargirl put in. “It’s a room, a metal room.”

  “Whatever it is, he’s out of it now,” the boy whispered, “’cos they’re having a meeting up there.”

  A meeting? I got to my feet, swallowing the last bite of my dinner. Maybe at the meeting they’d talk about why the swifts were stealing the locus stones and what they were going to do with them. I started toward the stairs.

  The charkids stared. “We’re supposed to stay down here,” Emm said, grabbing at my ankle. “Drury said so.”

  I shook her off. “I won’t be long,” I said.

  With Pip following, I went up the stairs and padded through the dark kitchen, then up the even darker stairs, pausing to listen at each door. When I got to the door to the room where I’d first met Sootle, I heard the sound of low talking. I pressed my ear against the keyhole, but couldn’t make out the words. Hm. I’d have to take a chance.

  Quick as sticks, I cat-footed back down to the kitchen, where I found a scuttle full of kindling, a striker, and a shovel and broom, and lugged it all back to the door. Taking a deep breath and keeping my head down, I went in.

  The room was the same as before, blank walls and empty fireplace, and it was chilly. Six chimney swifts and Sootle were sitting around the table. They all stopped talking and looked up as I came in.

  “Drury told you charkids to stay in the cellar,” Sootle said sharply.

  I shrugged. “I was asleep.” I held up the scuttle. “D’you want a fire?”

  Sootle glanced at the empty hearth, then nodded. “Be quick about it, Pip.” Then he hunched over the table and spoke in a low voice to the other swifts, and they leaned forward to listen.

  I went to the hearth. Since the last time I’d been there and climbed the chimney, somebody had lit a wood fire and let it burn down to ashes. Slowly, keeping my ear on the conversation at the table behind me, I unloaded each piece of wood from the scuttle, then swept up the ashes in the hearth.

  The swifts kept talking, but they kept their voices too low for me to hear. They kept somebody in a metal room upstairs? At my side, Pip twitched its prickly cat tail and then climbed up to my shoulder. Hmmm. If I did the seeing-and-hearing spell, Pip’s sharp ears would let me hear what the swifts were talking about at the table. I was about to whisper Tallennar when the door banged open.

  The swifts at the table jumped to their feet. I stayed crouching by the hearth, and peeked over my shoulder to see. Two big men lumbered into the room. My heart gave a sudden jolt of fright. I recognized them. They were the men who’d beaten the fluff out of me at the Heartsease courtyard and then tried to kidnap me. The men stepped aside. A wizard came in the doorway—Nimble, smiling his secret smirk. Nimble? What was he doing here?

  And then came the boss.

  Oh. Oh, no.

  The boss was Crowe.

  From Duchess Rowan to Underlord Embre

  It has been days, and no word from Conn.

  Have you heard from Magister Nevery?

  The magisters are alarmed, now that Magister Periwinkle’s locus stone has been stolen and Nevery’s stone is the only one left. They are certain that Conn is responsible, and they grow more impatient. Not as impatient as I am. Why won’t he send us a note, at least?

  —Rowan F

  Dawn Palace

  The Sunrise

  Dear Rowan,

  You, impatient? Truly, it is hard to imagine such a thing.

  No, I haven’t heard from Nevery, or from Conn. My man Fist spoke to a potboy at a tavern who said a blue-eyed, black-haired gutterboy wi
th a strange cat was there several days ago. But the potboy would say nothing about what the gutterboy wanted at the tavern. Can we assume the “cat” was Conn’s dragon and that Conn wasn’t at the tavern to drink redstreak gin?

  I think we must trust Conn to know his business and leave him to it.

  Yours always,

  Embre

  Dusk House

  The Twilight

  CHAPTER

  17

  Crowe, here in the city. My stomach clenched with icy fear. He had sent the minions to kidnap me. He was behind the locus stone thefts. The anstriker spell had gone wrong somehow, and he’d been here all along. I had to get away before he saw me.

  Crowe stepped smoothly past his minions, past Nimble, his cold gaze probing the room.

  I kept my head down. Let him not see me. Please don’t see me.

  His gaze swept right past me at the hearth and came to rest on Sootle. “I see you’ve started without me,” he said.

  His voice was just like I remembered from when I was a scared little kid. Flat, quiet. He made the room feel colder just by stepping into it. I risked a quick glance. He looked just the same. Middling height, not very big, not very old. Neat black suit and neatly combed and oiled black hair. He didn’t look noticeable, but everyone in the room knew he was there. As if he took up a lot more space than most people.

  Maybe he wouldn’t see me at all. If I stayed crouched and quiet and looked like a charboy sweeping out a hearth. My hands shaking, I swept up a bit more of the ash from the fireplace and put it into the scuttle.

  “We were just talking, sir,” Sootle said, stepping quickly aside from the head of the table.

  “So I see,” Crowe said. He moved to the table and stood there. He had his back to me, but I knew Crowe, I knew he was aware of everything and everyone in the room. He crooked a finger and his minions stepped up beside him. Crowe whispered something. The minions nodded and went to stand in front of the door, burly arms folded across their chests. Nimble stood next to the table, still wearing his smirk; he’d glanced around the room, but he hadn’t recognized me, I didn’t think. Moving carefully, I got some soot from the hearth I was sweeping and rubbed it over my face. Not much of a disguise, really.