Good. He should feel every bit of pain he’s inflicted on the rest of us!
The other tyros trooped into the room without a word. Only the rustling of blankets and the creak of the wooden bunks broke the silence.
Three slipped into his bunk beside her.
“Thank you.” Seven opened her hand to reveal the pear she had smuggled from the table.
Three took it with a grateful smile. “The only way we’re going to get through this alive is if we runts look out for each other.”
“Deal.” She reached out a hand, and he clasped it.
“Do you remember anything before all this?”
She screwed up her face in concentration. “I-I get these dreams…memories, maybe.” The mind-numbing fog of exhaustion made it hard to think.
“That why you cry out in the night? Not happy memories, then.”
Seven dropped her eyes, her face burning.
Three grinned. “Tell you what? You can have one of mine.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve seen a face, smiling, laughing. A little sister, I think.”
Something tugged at the back of Seven’s mind. She’d had a sister, too, hadn’t she?
“A voice tells me I need to look out for her.” Three’s smile wavered. A tear glistened in his eye. “I think something happened to her, but I can’t remember what.” He squeezed her hand. “But I’ve got you now. We can take care of each—”
“Silence!” Master Velvet stood at the door, torch in hand, his expression somber. “Get to sleep, my little tyros. I hope today’s lesson was…illuminating.” No one said a word and he nodded. “Tomorrow, you learn the skills that will keep you alive in the Night Guild.”
The door clanged shut behind him, plunging the room into darkness. Seven stared at the stone ceiling, unable to sleep. Her heart raced and her limbs trembled—from fear and excitement.
She’d done it. She’d stood her ground against someone twice her size. I stood tall, Mama. You’d be proud of me. Twelve had nearly killed her, but his beating at Master Velvet’s hands had been worth a bruised face.
I can do it. I might not be as strong as the others, but I will be every bit as tough. She would work hard and become the best of the lot. No one will ever be able to say I don’t belong in the Night Guild!
Chapter Six
“Empty your loads and gather around, tyros.” Master Velvet waved them over. “Time for a change.”
Seven dropped her burden with a groan. Thank the Bright Lady! No more buckets. She hurried to sit in the semi-circle forming before Master Velvet.
He paced the room, hands thrust into his waistcoat pockets. “Today, my little drudges, begins the first day of your real training. To be a productive member of the Night Guild, there are certain skills you must master.”
Seven perked up. Maybe these new skills will be easier. Anything would be an improvement over endless hours of hauling.
“The Night Guild is in the business of acquiring possessions and monies from people too ignorant or careless to be worthy of ownership.”
Master Velvet drew his hands from his pockets, a pair of gold coins clutched between his fingers. A wiggle of his fingers set them dancing from knuckle to knuckle. A collective gasp rose from the tyros huddled on the floor.
“To the uninitiated, the things we do may seem like magic or sorcery.” The coins sparkled in the torchlight. “But you will learn how these things are done, learn them so well they’ll become second nature to you.”
Master Velvet’s long, lean fingers twitched and the coins disappeared.
“I warn you, tyros, these skills are not easily mastered. Years of training await each of you. The journey will not be an easy one, but I swear on the Watcher’s name, you will become proper members of the Night Guild.” His eyes narrowed. “Or die trying!”
A dagger appeared in his hand. The tyros nearest him flinched. Vicious glee filled Master Velvet’s smile. “Now, on your feet, all of you! Your training begins now.”
* * *
“Are you sure you’re doing it right, Seven?”
Seven scrunched her face, concentrating hard. “I’m doing it just like he showed us, Three. See?” She attempted to snatch the purse.
Three patted the oversized waistcoat Master Velvet had given him.
“I could still feel it. So you’re doing something wrong.”
Frustration mounting, Seven tried again, doing exactly as Master Velvet had taught them. Walk toward the mark. Bump into him. Dip two fingers into his pocket to hook the purse. Apologize to the mark and touch him with my free hand. Hide the purse in my palm and hurry away.
He shook his head. “That time, too. I can feel you pulling the purse out when you move away. Maybe you need to do it faster.”
“I can’t do it faster, Three. Not yet, at least.” Seven clenched her fists in frustration.
He held up a hand. “It’s okay, Seven. Give it time. You’ll get it.”
“Here.” She threw him the bulging, cloth-stuffed purse. “Let me try again.” Even as she tugged the purse free, the look on Three’s face told her she’d failed.
Her friend shrugged. “Still felt it.”
Seven ground her teeth. Master Velvet said this is supposed to be easy. So why can’t I get it right?
Three tugged the vest over his head. “Let’s give the bump a break for a moment.” He pulled a dun-colored cloak around his shoulders. “What say we give the snatch a try?”
Seven nodded. The snatch required timing and dexterity, but she’d grown adept at it. She walked toward Three, brushed against his cloak, and lifted the purse from the hidden pocket, all without breaking stride.
Three’s eyes widened. “Damn, Seven. I didn’t feel a thing!”
She beamed. “Well, at least there’s one thing I’m good at.”
Master Velvet strode up behind her and took her small, muddy hands. “You’ve got good finger-work, tyro.” He ran his calloused hands over her fingers. “They’re quick and nimble. With the right training, you could become quite the purse collector.”
“Thank you, Master Velvet.” She flushed at his praise. It was the first full compliment she’d ever heard pass his lips.
“Keep it up, Seven. Three.” With a nod, he moved to the next pair of tyros.
Three slapped her on the shoulder. “Look at that! You’re getting there.”
“Yeah. Now if only I could get the bump down properly.” She held out her arms. “Here, give me the vest and cloak. You’ve got to practice, too.”
As Three passed her the clothing, Twelve’s shout echoed through the Menagerie. “Damn it! You’re doing it wrong, you stupid sack of shite.”
Two met Twelve’s glare without a trace of fear. “How in the Keeper’s name can I be doing it wrong, Twelve?” Two was taller than Twelve, though not as broad. “I’m standing here in this vest. You’re supposed to be pulling the damned purse.”
“Well…” Twelve faltered, his face reddening. With a snarl, he threw the purse in Two’s face and stormed off.
Three snorted. “Looks like he’s not doing much better than you are, Seven.”
Seven glared at her friend. “That’s not saying much for me, you know. With those fat sausage fingers, he can barely fit his hands in the pocket.”
“There you go.” He gave her a broad grin. “You’ve got the advantage, at least over him. Just give it time and you’ll get better at it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s see how good you are.”
“I’ll bet you a peach I can do the bump better than you.”
“You’re on!”
* * *
“Fitchets make our work easy, but not everyone is fortunate enough to have them in their robes.” Master Velvet held up a cloak, showing them the two horizontal slits at waist level. “Here you can see where the wearer would carry his purse.”
He turned the coat inside out. “Now, look here. As you can see, there is a hidden pocket inside the coat. With practice, you should be able to spot a f
itchet without having to reach into the cloak. Who can tell me how?”
Seven raised her hand. “You can see stitching on the outside of the cloak.” She had a faint memory of sewing a torn pocket.
Master Velvet nodded. “Very good, Seven.”
Behind her, Twelve snorted and whispered to no one in particular, “Of course the girl knows that one.” Seven ignored the gibe.
Master Velvet didn’t seem to hear him. He dropped the coat and retrieved another. “But look. On this cloak, there is nowhere for the mark to store their purse. No fitchets on the inside or outside. Where would the owner of this cloak hide his wealth?”
Two raised a hand. “On his belt?”
“Very good, Two.” He lifted his namesake velvet waistcoat, revealing a thick leather belt. A purse dangled at his hip. “But how can you remove the purse without your mark noticing? Anyone care to venture a guess?”
His eyes roamed the crowd of silent tyros.
“Seven, come up here.”
Seven jumped to her feet at the barked command and hurried to his side.
“How would you take it from me, tyro?”
Seven studied the purse a moment. Her fingers fumbled at the complicated knot. It refused to budge. Nothing short of unbuckling the belt would allow her to slip it off. She tugged at the purse, but the strings held.
Master Velvet clucked his tongue and wagged his finger. “Ah, poor tyro. Alas for you, I have now hooked you,”—his fingers clamped around her wrist and squeezed—“and you are off to the Sheriff’s picture frame.” He mimed a hangman’s noose and released her hand.
Seven rubbed her wrist, her face burning.
“There, there, Seven.” Master Velvet patted her head, which only made her blood run hotter. “Back to your place.”
Seven took her place beside Three, ignoring Twelve’s sniggering.
“Let me show you the tools you will need for this.” Master Velvet produced a ring from his coat. Made of dull metal, it slipped onto his index finger with practiced ease.
“Notice the blade?” He held out his hand, revealing a short, curved knife extending from the ring, sharp edge facing away from his palm. “This little piece of jewelry will be your best friend from now until the day you leave the streets.”
Gripping the purse between his pinky and ring finger, he pulled the string taut with his middle finger and, with a flick of his index finger, severed the cord neatly. He held up his trophy. “That, my tyros, is how you lift a purse from a belt.”
He drew a dozen smaller rings from within his cloak and tossed them to the ground. Seven scrambled with the other tyros, trying to find one that fit her small fingers.
“If you learn nothing else today, remember this: keep the blade sharp, and you stand a better chance of avoiding an early grave.”
* * *
“Take a good look at these, tyros.” Master Velvet stood behind a table strewn with weapons of various shapes and sizes. “This is the hardware you will keep on your person at all times. Never, of course, to be used on each other or your esteemed companions of the Night Guild. But only for the more…dire situations. Emergencies, if you will.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“A good question, Six.” Master Velvet tapped a pair of knuckledusters. “Let’s say you’re walking about town, minding your own business like the obedient tyros you are. Then someone comes up to you and tries to take what’s rightfully yours. What do you do? Why you slip this wicked duo on your fists and give him the business.” He threw a few quick jabs at empty air before returning the brass knuckles to the table.
“But what if they refuse to be convinced?” He ran his fingers over a set of bright push-daggers. “For the more stubborn opponents, you may need something a bit more…permanent.”
Seven shivered at his wolfish grin.
Master Velvet passed over an assortment of short, curved blades and hefted what looked like a stuffed sock. “This, my drudges, is a cosh, or blackjack, the sort of weapon you want to always have at hand. It may not look like much, but if you fling it around properly,”—he slammed the cosh onto the table with a bang and the tyros all jumped—“it can be quite the useful tool. Hit a full grown man in the right place and you can drop him in his tracks.”
Replacing the blackjack, he waved at the assorted weaponry. “Come up here and take one for yourselves. Get used to the feel of the thing and learn its secrets.”
The other children leapt to their feet and someone—It had to be Twelve!—shoved her hard. Biting down on her anger, Seven raced toward the children scrabbling and clawing for the weapons on the table. Unable to break through the melee, she edged her way around to the other side. Three followed at her heel.
By the time she found an opening in the press of children, only a few weapons remained. She didn’t bother with the knuckledusters or the push-daggers. They looked like they were meant to be wielded by a strong hand. The cosh looked practical, but something about a long, straight-bladed dagger drew her attention.
She closed her hand around the leather-bound hilt and slid the dagger from its sheath with a whisper of steel on leather. She gave a few experimental thrusts and swipes. It felt comfortable in her hand, almost familiar—she had a fleeting memory of the smell of roses and lilies.
Master Velvet scowled and hopped out of reach. “Watch what you’re doing, tyro! Damn fool, going to get someone killed.”
Seven’s face burned. “Sorry, Master Velvet.” With awkward, jerky movements, she wrestled the dagger back into its scabbard.
“Like this, tyro.” Master Velvet drew the blade and sheathed it with practiced ease. “Keep your wrists loose and let the edge of the blade slide along the sides of the scabbard.”
She ducked her head. “Yes, Master Velvet.”
He drew the blade again. “A good choice, this one. Not too long for you, but with just enough bite behind it. Keep the edge honed and it will serve you well.”
“Yes, Master Velvet.”
“Now, you lot, time to practice on some real opponents!” Master Velvet raised his arms, a mocking smile on his face. “Behold your foes, the mighty men of hay!”
Against the near wall stood a handful of straw dummies. The others laid into them with gusto, all save Nine. The boy stood staring at his club, mouth agape, a tremor setting his weapon trembling.
“Get over there, Seven!” Master Velvet shoved her hard, sending her stumbling. “See what that thing can do.”
Seven shuffled toward the straw man Three and Four had claimed. Three swung a cosh with wild, erratic movements, nearly hitting Four.
Four glared. “Watch what you’re doing, idiot!”
Three’s face turned bright pink and he mumbled an apology. With an angry look, Four returned to punching the dummy, a push-dagger in each fist. Every time his hands thwacked into the straw, golden strands fell to the floor. He nodded at the weapons with a contented smile.
Three, however, looked less than pleased and slipped back to the table. He returned a moment later with a pair of knuckledusters. His punches barely made a sound and he turned an even brighter shade of red.
When he fled to retrieve another weapon, Seven stepped up to the dummy and drew the blade. She lashed out at the straw man, slashing, hacking, and thrusting. The dagger sliced only a few strands with every cut, but the weapon felt good in her hand.
Perfect. She’d made the right choice.
Loud grunting and growling drew her attention. She stopped and realized that most of the other children had paused as well. All eyes were on Twelve.
The big boy pounded the straw dummy. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into his wide eyes. A snarl twisted his lips, baring his teeth, and his voice rose in a growl. The knuckledusters on his fists all but demolished the hay-covered figure. Only once he’d reached wood did he stop, chest heaving, eyes unseeing, face a dark red.
He turned and saw Seven staring at him, open-mouthed. “What are you looking at, girl?”
S
even turned away and attacked the straw dummy. She lashed out with weak, aimless blows, her heart pounding. The sound of weapons striking straw and wood once more echoed in the Menagerie. That maniacal, enraged look on Twelve’s face, she’d seen it before…
“Damn it!” Three threw his cosh to the floor and rubbed his wrist. “I’m no good at this!”
“Try another one,” Four offered.
“I tried them all. They’re just not for me.” Three waved to catch Master Velvet’s attention. “Master Velvet?”
“Speak, tyro.”
“Can we talk in private?”
Master Velvet eyeballed the small boy and stroked his chin. With a grunt, he jerked his head and led Three a few steps away. The two shared a brief exchange, Three holding out his hands as if asking for a favor. The expression on Master Velvet’s face showed his reluctance, but he shrugged and nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do, tyro. This sort of thing is not often done, but it’s known to happen now and again.”
“Thank you, Master Velvet!” Three’s face broke into a smile. “I promise you will not regret it!”
“I better not, boy.”
Three hurried back to the dummy and retrieved the cosh from the floor. His blows were no less weak or ineffective, but his eyes burned with delight.
Seven couldn’t help her curiosity. “What did you ask for?”
“You’ll see,” was all Three would say.
Chapter Seven
Seven bit back a cry as the little knife struck wood. Her sweat-soaked palms slipped and the grip twisted in her hand. A sharp pain flashed through her wrist.
Master Velvet strolled over and inspected her handiwork. “Good work, Seven. Just remember to lean into the thrusts a bit more. Don’t just use your arm, but put your back into it. Gives you more power.”
She cradled her hand to her chest. “Yes, Master Velvet.”
Despite the pain, Seven studied the dummy with pride. In the last two days, she had hacked, cut, and sliced away the hay-covered torso. Only the sturdy wooden post remained, with bite marks left by her dagger.
Child of the Night Guild (Queen of Thieves Book 1) Page 4