Finally, something I’m good at!
The little blade fit in her hand as if crafted for her. In addition to the techniques Master Velvet had taught her, Ten—a lanky boy with a mop of curly brown hair and a face like a grinning skull—had given her a few pointers. The boy knew his way around a blade. He’d shown her where to stick it to make someone bleed out quickly and where to put it for a painful but non-lethal wound. She still had much to learn, but the progress encouraged her. Her confidence grew with every strike.
Three panted beside her. “You’re getting better, you know.”
“Thanks. I wish I could say the same for you, but I’ve seen the way you fling that thing around.” She eyed the cosh hanging limp in his hand. “You might have a chance with a feral squirrel or a hungry rat, but not much else.” The smile spreading her lips was genuine—the first real smile in what felt like forever.
“Please, Seven.” Three rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you swinging this thing around as well, and you’re not much better.”
“Yes, but at least I have this.” She brandished the dagger.
“Just wait!” The enigmatic smile returned. He swiveled his head to glance at Master Velvet, who ignored him.
Seven read disappointment in the slump of his shoulders. “What are you hoping for, Three?” Her curiosity burned.
“You’ll see.”
“Enough chatter, tyros!” Master Velvet’s voice cracked like a whip. “One little compliment, Seven, and it goes to your head. Think you’re too good to train?”
“No, Master Velvet.” Face burning, she returned to hacking the straw dummy. She worked the underarms, aiming for the spot Ten had pointed out. A thrust meant to slip between the ribs—a strike only used in desperation.
Her muscles ached and her lungs begged for air, yet she felt more alive than ever. Master Velvet had actually given them a small serving of meat and cheese with their last two meals. Seven had noticed the difference almost immediately. The fog in her mind diminished, though it refused to clear completely. She recalled Master Velvet’s instructions with ease. Her muscles responded better to the demands of the training. She’d made marked improvements in her training. Only her memories of life before the Night Guild remained spotty.
Seven lowered her voice. “Do you remember what you were before…all this?”
Three didn’t pause in his half-hearted assault on the dummy. “Not really. I just remember being hungry a lot. You? You remember your name?”
She tried to think back. She had a faint memory of a stream and a few bushes. Bright cloth with a flower pattern. Sorrow at some loss she couldn’t quite remember. But no name. Just empty holes where images of her past should have been. She shook her head.
Three shrugged. “No sense thinking about it. Even if we could remember, we couldn’t get out of here. We don’t know our way out. We don’t have the time.”
Master Velvet had kept them training for hours, only stopping to eat, sleep, and relieve themselves. They alternated between weapons practice and picking pockets. When not training, they ran and hauled buckets. Seven felt her body adapting to the physical demands of the work. The buckets of rocks and water seemed lighter, the distance between barrels less vast.
Since that first day, she—and all the children—had made a point of staying out of Twelve’s way. The heavy boy had not repeated his performance, but he still laid into the dummies with wild abandon. The crack of his knuckledusters against the wood post brought a smile to his face. When Master Velvet called an end to the training, the tyros gave the big boy a wide berth. Twelve looked like he wanted to lay into them next. Only Master Velvet’s eagle eye stopped him.
That didn’t prevent him from shoving them aside at meals. Seven rubbed the bruise in her side where Twelve’s elbow had knocked her off the bench. She’d started eating away from the table, unwilling to risk his ire.
If only there was something I could do about him. Maybe if I had help, but most of the others are afraid, too.
Two showed no sign of fear. Every time Twelve threatened or glared at one of the smaller tyros, Two interposed himself. The look in his eyes dared Twelve to strike. The tension between the two was one wrong word from snapping.
Master Velvet’s shout echoed in the Menagerie. “Weapons away! Get those cloaks on and get practicing your lifts. Bump and snatch. Hop to it.”
Seven and Three paired off, with Three donning the cloak. With a smile, he patted the purse in the hidden pocket. “Let’s see if you’re any better than you were yesterday.”
Seven ground her teeth when, predictably, her attempt failed. She still struggled with the bump, though she could pull off the snatch without thinking. Three was still hopeless at both, and even worse with the weapons.
Over and over, she tried and failed. Her fingers nudged the coat just a bit too much. The purse caught on the pocket seam. She stumbled and fell, bringing Three to the floor with her.
“Damn it!” Seven brushed dirt from her clothing. “I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong.”
“Seven! Three!” Master Velvet beckoned. “Over here. Drop the cloak, Three.”
They obeyed and trotted over to stand before Master Velvet.
“You’ve been at this for a week now, more than enough practice. Time to put you to a real test.” He held up a slim wallet and slipped it into the outer pocket of his vest. “Bump it.”
Seven studied him, wary. It can’t be that easy. With Master Velvet, nothing ever is.
His eyes revealed nothing. “Now, Seven!”
Seven affected a limp and moved toward him. She stumbled at the last moment, bumping into him with her left shoulder as she dipped into the vest pocket with her right hand. Something bit into her fingers and, screaming, she whipped her hand free. Bright blood dripped from deep gashes across her fingertips, staining the fabric of Master Velvet’s vest.
She expected him to react in anger. Instead, he bared his teeth in a mocking grin. “What happened, tyro?”
“Y-Your vest…” Seven stammered. “It cut me!”
“Of course it did. That’s what you get for not being good enough.”
What? Seven studied him, mouth agape. “B-but…” Her face burned and her fingers throbbed. She squeezed the wound to staunch the flow of blood.
Master Velvet patted the vest pockets. “Razor blades. They’re a quick teacher, let me tell you. You make that mistake once, you’ll never make it again.”
Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, but she gritted her teeth to hold them back. I won’t cry, won’t give him the satisfaction!
Master Velvet turned to the other tyros. All activity had ceased, and the children now stared at Seven with wide eyes. “Let this be a lesson to you. Do it right or don’t bother doing it at all.” He stabbed a finger at Seven. “You think a little cut is bad? Imagine what will happen when you’re dancing at the end of a rope or losing a hand for thieving.”
His head swiveled to pierce Seven with a glare. “Get your hands right above the pocket, dip, and pull. Do that over and over. Next time, you may lose more than just a bit of blood.”
Seven nodded, unable to find words, and stared at the bright crimson drops on his vest. So that’s where his name comes from.
* * *
Seven bit back a whimper as she slipped into her bunk. Blood soaked through the cloth bandages on her hands.
Master Velvet strode up to her. “Put this on the wounds.” He proffered a jar. “It’ll help with the pain and speed up healing.”
Seven ducked her head. “Thank you, Master Velvet.”
Wincing at the throbbing in her fingers, she unwrapped the bloody bindings. Several cuts—most shallow, one near to the bone—leaked crimson onto the dirt floor. Master Velvet removed the lid and held out the jar. Seven recoiled in disgust.
“It may smell horrible, but the gokulah unguent does a wondrous job.”
Seven dipped her pinky into the unguent, careful not to drip blood. She dabbed the foul-smelling
stuff on her lacerated fingers. A jolt of heat and pain coursed through her hands and up to her shoulders, eliciting a wince.
“Stings, doesn’t it? In a few minutes, the heat will die down and your hands will go numb. That’s when you know the gokulah is doing its job.”
She swallowed a whimper. “Thank you, Master Velvet.”
Master Velvet visited the others in turn, offering the unguent to the tyros. The rancid stench of the gokulah leaf permeated the room, thick and suffocating. But to Seven, it was far better than the pain of her sliced fingers.
She’d tried the bump a dozen times and had the wounds to prove it. Three had fared little better. His cuts were deeper and longer than hers. He just couldn’t get it right. Master Velvet’s razor coat was as unforgiving as the man himself.
None of the other tyros had escaped unscathed, either. Four had managed to perform the bump correctly on the second try and Eight only suffered a few shallow wounds before getting it right. The others had failed miserably, Nine worst of all. Seven actually felt a fleeting moment of pity for the trembling little tyro. Every attempt at the bump had left him bleeding heavily. Even Twelve managed to complete it with fewer gashes.
Master Velvet paused before exiting the room. “We repeat this lesson every day, tyros. You will bleed to get this right.”
The slam of the door rattled Seven’s fingers. Thankfully, the gokulah had begun to take effect. She lay on her bunk, staring into the darkness.
“You there, Three?”
“Yes,” Three whispered, tears in his voice.
“We’re going to get it. We’re going to practice over and over until we get it right.”
A muffled sob rose from the bunk next to her. She reached out for him. Ignoring the pain in her fingers, she gripped the small boy’s hand and clung to it.
“You’ll get it right, Three. We all will.”
Dread sat like a weight in her stomach. What other choice do we have?
Chapter Eight
The nightmares came again.
“By the Apprentice, Liora, how could you allow this to happen? One is already more than we can handle!”
The angry man with the bottle in his hand sent a shiver of fear through the little girl. She huddled deeper into her chair. Maybe he won’t notice me. He can’t be angry when he sees how hard I’m working!
The angel just looked tired. “But Girard, Viola needs a sister. Or a brother.”
“Curse it all, Liora, you know how poorly things are at the chandlery. What with this limp, I can’t get around like I used to. I had to hire Guill to make deliveries for me and that sets me back more drakes each month than we can afford.”
“But the mending is picking up! Now that Viola is helping—”
“The child ruins more clothing than she repairs, Liora!”
The girl bit her lip to hold back a tear. Mama told me I’m getting better…
“She is barely into her seventh year, Girard. Give her time.”
“Time! That is something I wish I had. The Night Guild is hounding me every second day for the money I owe.”
“I thought you paid them.” Viola recognized Mama’s angry voice. “Don’t tell me you gambled it away at the Hound’s—”
“I was winning, Keeper take it!” The dining room table trembled beneath the impact of Papa’s fist. “Until Rainen showed up and cheated. If I get my hands around his scrawny neck, by the Watcher, I’ll—”
Viola covered her ears and buried her face in the oversized chair. It smelled like the angel, its familiarity soothing.
The angry man turned to the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours, Liora. I have to go into the chandlery for a few hours.”
Mama closed the door and turned to the little girl. “You’re going to have a little sister or brother, you know?”
“Really, Mama? I’ve always wanted someone to play with!”
A thrill of excitement ran through her. She thought, I can teach a little brother or sister how to dig for worms in the garden or how to hide from the angry dog outside the chandlery. I’ll have someone to sleep with, to hold on to in the darkness.
“And in a few months, you will. The Bright Lady has seen fit to bless us with a new little life.” Mama’s face fell when she looked around the room. “Though we have precious little to offer.”
The angel covered her mouth and turned away, her shoulders racked with a cough she tried to hide. When she turned back to the little girl, her hand was tucked against her side.
“Now, put down your sewing. I say we go out into the garden and spend a few minutes practicing your dances.”
“That would be wonderful, Mama. But can I finish this tunic first? That way, when the baker comes by tomorrow, all of his clothes will be done.” She couldn’t let Mama do all the work; Mama was already exhausted enough.
“Of course, my flower.”
As the angel turned away, bright red stained her dress where she’d wiped her hand.
The scene changed.
Now, the little girl stood beside the angel’s bed. Sweat plastered her perfect hair to her forehead, and a pile of stained and rumpled bedclothes lay piled against the wall. She looked so frail in her bed.
The bundle in Mama’s arms stirred and whined. She rocked the baby, singing a lullaby Viola had always loved.
The little girl kissed the infant’s forehead. “She’s beautiful, Mama.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Exhaustion showed through the angel’s smile, but the dark circles faded against the happiness filling them.
The girl reached out a hand to stroke the tiny head. “What are we going to name her?”
“What if we call her Rose? Like the flower.”
“I’d like that. And we can give her the rose bush next to my violas, right?”
“Of course, my princess.” Coughing shook the angel’s body and she turned her head away from the baby. She wiped her mouth, but a trace of crimson remained at her lips.
The little girl pretended not to notice. She held out her arms. “Can I hold her?”
Mama nodded between convulsive coughs, and the girl took the baby.
“Hello, Rose.” She kissed the perfect little nose. “I’m Viola. I’m going to teach you how to play, how to sew, how to grow flowers and, most of all, how to dance!” She wouldn’t let the angel see her worry.
Mama smiled at her. “You will be a wonderful older sister.”
The little girl sat in the chair by Mama’s bed, marveling at the bundle in her arms. She sang to the baby, hoping Rose wouldn’t have to hear the angel’s coughing.
“No, Mama!” Seven jerked awake, reaching for the angel. Her hands met empty air.
She lay back and balled her fists, trying to cling to the dream. Already, it had begun to fade. Exhaustion dragged her back into a dreamless sleep, until no traces of the images remained.
* * *
Seven flexed her fingers. I can’t believe it! How is it possible? The gokulah had done its work. She could grip her knife with only minor discomfort.
Beside her, Three pounded at the straw dummy. His attacks were listless, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy.
He looks exhausted—more exhausted, rather.
His gaze returned time and again to the tunnel down which Master Velvet had disappeared a few minutes earlier.
“Don’t get distracted, Three. He’ll be angry if he sees you like this.”
Three gave her a weak smile.
“Your fingers hurting?”
Three shook his head.
“Then what is it?”
“Listen up, tyros!” Master Velvet’s voice neutered Three’s retort. “One of your number is too good to use the tools of the trade offered him by the Night Guild.”
Three’s face reddened and he dropped his eyes.
Master Velvet strode toward Three and thrust something into his chest, sending the small boy stumbling.
“You think you’re special, tyro?”
Three managed a squeak. “No, Maste
r Velvet!”
“Well, I got you what you asked for. Now it’s time to prove yourself deserving of the special treatment.” He bent until his long nose touched Three’s. “Show me what you can do, tyro.”
Three stumbled backward, clutching the items Master Velvet had given him: a long strip of leather and a bag filled with something heavy. He ran his fingers over the leather and nodded.
“Thank you, Master Velvet. I won’t let you down, I promise!” Three backed away from the straw dummies, his lips moving as he counted paces. “Twenty.”
He fiddled in the purse and produced a handful of smooth, rounded stones. Dropping the pouch, he gripped the strip of leather at both ends. He slipped a stone into the cradle in the middle of the strip. A confident smile broadened his face. “Watch this!”
He whipped his arm up and whirled the strip around his head. When he released one end of the leather, the stone skidded a few paces across the floor.
“Sorry,” Three mumbled, his face reddening.
Twelve snorted. “Impressive! As long as your enemies stand a few feet away from you and don’t mind waiting while you spin that stupid thing—” He cringed beneath Master Velvet’s glare and snapped his mouth shut.
Three reached for another stone. “One more chance, please, Master Velvet.”
At Master Velvet’s nod, he slipped the stone into the cradle. He scrunched up his face, biting his lip, and whirled the strip of leather around his head. This time, when he released it, the stone struck the wall of the Menagerie with an audible crack.
Master Velvet’s eyebrows quirked. “Try again, Three. This time, hit one of the straw men.”
Three’s face blazed crimson. The confident smile returned when his stone slammed into one of the dummies. A loud thud echoed and the straw dummy’s head burst beneath the impact.
Master Velvet beckoned Three. “Let me see that.”
Trembling, Three placed the strip of leather into Master Velvet’s hand.
“You called this thing a sling, tyro?”
“Yes, Master Velvet.”
Master Velvet studied the simple weapon. “Impressive.”
Words tumbled from Three’s mouth. “I’m out of practice, Master Velvet, but I promise I’ll do better next time if you let me keep it. I—”
Child of the Night Guild (Queen of Thieves Book 1) Page 5