Nyssa Glass and the Caper Crisis

by Burke, H. L.

  Nyssa Glass and the Caper Crisis

  H. L. Burke

  Copyright © 2016 H. L. Burke

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:

  978-1541396555

  ISBN-13:1541396553

  For information about H. L. Burke’s latest novels, author news and events, or to contact the writer, go to

  www.hlburkeauthor.com

  and sign up for the author’s newsletter!

  To fans of the series, who would follow Nyssa anywhere.

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter One

  Nyssa Glass picked through a collection of broken clocks and discarded videophones she’d salvaged from the trash bins. With her tweezers she separated a gear from inside one of the clocks. A draft crept in from the cracks in her attic room’s walls, and her already cold fingers stiffened. A lock of her wiry brown hair escaped from the twine she’d used to keep it out of her face. She ignored the tickle, focusing on her task.

  “You look about the right size,” she whispered to the part.

  She returned to her rickety workbench and picked up a magnifier she’d made out of pocket watch crystals. The magnification wasn’t as high as she would’ve liked, but if she fitted it over one eye and closed the other, it gave her a slightly better look at the smallest gears and cogs.

  The new gear snapped into place with a pleasing click. Nyssa exhaled and flipped the switch on the side of the mechanism. The clockwork whirred to life. Grinning, she shut the casing and turned it over to admire her work. Behind a glass window a tiny ballet dancer extended a tin-slippered toe then began a slow pirouette. As the clockwork wound up, the dancer spun a little faster. Tiny bells played a gentle lullaby from within.

  “I did it!” Nyssa’s smile broadened.

  It had taken weeks of scrounging to find the right parts, but finally she’d reconstructed the broken music box from the dismembered corpses of a half-dozen other machines.

  “If I can do this without any training, imagine what I’ll be able to fix after a year of instruction.” She beamed down at her creation. “Chief will just have to understand.” She reached into the pocket of her patched vest for the brochure. On its cover was a stately seal depicting a wrench and quill pen crossed like swords. Bold lettering advertised, “Miss Pratchett’s School for Mechanically Minded Maids: Scholarship Program.”

  Nyssa had read the application at least a dozen times. She could definitely pass the entrance exams. Though she had left school at ten when her parents had first fallen ill, she’d taken every opportunity in the four years since to learn, especially about machinery, and technical aptitude was 50% of the grade. If given a chance, she could earn her place at the school. It was only Chief she had to convince. She put the brochure back in her pocket.

  The pawn shop that served as a front for Chief’s lair would be closed now, and Chief, who never drank on the job, at least a few drinks in. Perhaps that would make him easier to convince.

  She slipped down the stairs, the old boards creaking under foot. When she opened the door at the bottom, heat and smoke hit her. Her fingers tingled as they came back to life.

  I wish Chief would let me leave this door open, so some of this would make its way up to me … of course, the stench might come with it. She wrinkled her nose at the mix of cheap cigar smoke, spilt beer, and sweaty, unwashed men.

  Chief and two other men huddled around a rickety table covered in coins, cigar stubs, and playing cards. Heat radiated from the pot-bellied stove behind them. Sweat crept down their red faces. They stared at their cards, not looking up when Nyssa approached. She took a moment to warm herself and plot out her argument.

  Besides Chief, the other two players were both crew members—Old Barney and the new recruit with the ginger beard she knew simply as “Red.” Barney, balding and arthritic, tended to be the kindest of the bunch, perhaps because she’d picked up the slack when his gnarled fingers could no longer handle the intricate work of lock picking. Red, on the other hand, often leered at her in a way she didn’t like.

  Maybe all this could wait until he’s gone …

  She glanced at the wall clock. Just after six. Generally when Chief got a game going, it would last until the men were broke or blackout drunk, whichever came first. That could be hours.

  Chief had rolled up his shirtsleeves, and a cigar dangled beneath his impressive black mustache, dripping ash. Judging by his share of coins, he’d won the majority of hands, and that should put him in a good mood. Still, there was a strong chance her request could set him raging.

  I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kick me out into the snow. I have to phrase this carefully and wait for the perfect moment.

  Standing as close to the stove as she could bear, she savored the warmth. I really have it a lot better than some kids. Normally I’m fed, and if I do my job, he doesn’t knock me around. Plus while the attic isn’t a mansion, it’s far better than an alleyway or under a bridge. She eyed the door to her room. Her hand strayed to her vest pocket. The paper of the brochure crinkled when she pressed against it. But I don’t want to be a thief forever. What if Mom and Dad can see me somehow? What if they’re looking down from heaven right now, knowing their little girl breaks into houses for a living? They’d be so disappointed in me.

  A fuzzy memory of her mother’s adoring eyes sent hot shame sweeping through Nyssa’s chest. No, Mom wanted me to be more than a thief. Even if she didn’t, I want to be more.

  She stepped forward and opened her mouth, but before she could begin, Chief let out a whoop and slammed his cards on the table. Nyssa shrank back, her heart pounding in her throat.

  “Full house, Red, I knew you was bluffin’.” He chuckled and leaned over the pot.

  Red’s face darkened to match his beard.

  Chief raked the coins from the center of the table into his pile and began stacking them. He jabbed a finger at the space before Red and the few dull coppers that remained there. “You don’t have enough for the next ante. Better luck next time, eh? Barn and I will finish off this game.”

  The older man shook his head and scooped up his own small pile of currency. “Nope, that’s enough for me tonight. This’ll be one pint at the pub and maybe a meat pie.”

  “Suit yourself.” Chief snorted.

  “You can front me enough for one more hand.” Red’s fingers clenched around his playing cards. “I feel my luck shifting.”

  “Luck don’t pay the bills.” Chief bit one of the coins, squinted at it, then set it on a stack.

  “How about I pay in something better than coin? Information.” Red grinned. “I know about an easy heist that will set us all up like kings.”

  Chief narrowed his eyes. “If there was a score to be had, I’da heard it.”

  “You don’t know everything, Chief.” Red put his hands behind his head, a smug smile on his face.

  Chief raised an eyebrow, and a chill shot through Nyssa. For a few seconds, all she could hear was her own pulse and the ticking of the trusty wall clock.

  Chief’s chair screeched on the wooden floor. His hand flew like a piston firing across the table.

  Red yelped as Chief’s fingers closed about his throat.

  “You’ll tell me what you know, else you’ll be leavin’ this house short an ear.”

  “All right! All right! Was just a joke.” Red wrenched free and rubbed his neck. Welts rose where Chief’s fingernails had scraped him. “See, my lady knows a man who begs outside one of the big churches downtown, St. Pat’s, she says. The word is some wealthy man sent them a big cash donation … but he also says, they still let th
eir treasurer keep the funds in his safe off church grounds.” A malicious twinkle returned to his eyes. “It’s not in a bank or anything. Just a safe at the back of his store. Easy job.”

  Chief scowled. “A church charity fund? Not worth my time.”

  “I tell you, it’s a big donation. Chessa—that’s my lady—she says it’s enough to build the church up all over again. And St. Pat’s ain’t no small church. It’s got stained glass and one of those big pipe organs and everything.”

  “How’d you know?” Barney chuckled. “My right eye says you’ve never seen the inside of a church.”

  “Don’t need to go inside one to know that’s a lot of cash,” Red snapped.

  Nyssa exhaled. A big heist would put Chief in a good mood, maybe even good enough for her to bring up the school, but would even he stoop so low as to rob a church?

  Chief shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “Did this girl of yours say where the shop is?”

  “Clockwork Row. Keeper is a bachelor type, old, lives above the shop, but even if he catches us in the act, he won’t be much trouble.” Red placed his hands together and made a snapping motion.

  Nyssa winced.

  “Nah, I don’t like adding murder into the mix.” Chief shook his head. “Police get more nosey if someone dies, ’specially on that side of town. Still …” His gaze darted to Nyssa. “You’re lurking, girl. You got that frilly frock still? The one you used casing the hotel job last month?”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof her mouth, but she managed a nod.

  “Good. Clean up a bit and no one will question you poking around Clockwork Row. An old bachelor like that probably’ll trip over himself if a waif like you starts buttering him up. Probably show you right to the safe.” He laughed. “Tomorrow you go there, scope out the security, the locks, alarms, you know the drill.”

  Another job. I’d really hoped to get out of here before one came up. Figures flashed through her mind. Her math was rusty, but even if Chief took his usual forty percent, that still left 20% of what sounded like a small fortune for her share, more than enough for tuition. But to start my new life with funds gained like that … though with how many sins are on my conscience, one more burglary seems a hole in a sieve.

  “Barney, you up for another job?” Chief narrowed his eyes at the old man.

  “I’m too near the grave to tempt God by robbing a church, plus my rheumatism’s been acting up.” Barney stood. “I might be able to pull lookout duty if you need another hand, but I’d rather sit this one out, Chief.”

  “For a small shop shouldn’t need more than three.” Chief stood. “More take for us, then. Nyssa, you’ll be on safecracking duty as well as casing then.”

  “Okay.”

  Barney winked at her. He probably thought he was doing her a favor, giving her a bigger role in their heists, passing on the torch to another cracker. Nyssa’s stomach churned.

  I need to get into Miss Pratchett’s or that will be me in fifty years.

  “Wait for my word and don’t go blabbing about this to your woman.” Chief wagged a finger in Red’s face then swept Red’s few remaining coins into the pot. “That’s for trying to bully me for information. Get out of here.”

  Red flushed, grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, and stomped out of the backroom.

  “I’d best be going, too. Night, Chief. Darling.” Barney winked at Nyssa before following Red out.

  Nyssa bit her bottom lip. Chief brought a leather purse from inside his jacket and started depositing coins.

  “If it’s really a big take, none of us will have to work for a while.” She kept her voice steady and her eyes on Chief.

  “Huh, Red’ll burn through his share on booze and gambling before the new year, and I don’t like to sit still. Don’t go getting your hopes up for a holiday.”

  She stood taller. Now or never, Nyssa. You’ve got to say it.

  “I was thinking, though, Chief … do you remember when my uncle got arrested?”

  “Best partner I ever had.” Chief grimaced. “Damned inconvenient of him to get himself nicked like that. You’re almost as good a safecracker as he was, though, girl. We’ll do fine without him.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.” She swallowed. “When he got taken, you said I had to work off his debts. Well, I’ve been working for nearly a year now, and that sum has to be nearly paid off … with the takings from this heist, can we be even?”

  Chief froze, his expression deadly. Nyssa’s heart faltered.

  “Why are you worried about that?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

  A shiver ran down Nyssa’s spine in spite of the heat from the stove. “It’s just … I don’t think I want to do this forever, and if I’m going to learn another trade—”

  Chief slapped the table and let out a foghorn laugh. “A … another … trade?” he choked out. “Nyssa, you’re a Glass. Glasses are thieves. Your uncle was a thief. Your grandfather was a thief. Your traitor father might’ve skipped out of the family business, but look where that got him: dying of consumption in a moldy old shack, coughing up blood.”

  Nyssa’s fists tightened. “He … he didn’t die because he wasn’t a thief. He worked hard, good honest work.”

  “And you think you can do the same?” He shook his head. “Face it, Glass, even if you wanted out, you have over a dozen burglaries to your name. The New Taured Police probably have sketches of you on file, not to mention, if you were to leave the gang, then you wouldn’t have my protection.” He smirked. “I’d never rat on a cohort. An ex-cohort? Well, remember where your uncle ended up.”

  Nyssa stiffened. Yes, Chief knew every robbery she’d committed, every scam she’d pulled, but he’d been complicit in all of them. Would he really be able to leave her holding the blame? She needed to think this through. Playing along, for now, would buy time for that.

  “What time do you need me at Clockwork Row?”

  “Shops open at eight. If we start early enough, we might have everything we need by nightfall.”

  “I better get some sleep, then.”

  Even if I leave, there’s nothing to stop him from coming after me. I can’t start my new life with the shackles of the old around my feet. However, if I can switch things around, complete this last heist and leave him holding the bag, I’ll be the one skipping off into the sunset with the loot while Chief rots in jail. She turned away to hide her smile and headed up the stairs.

  Chapter Two

  Nyssa pulled her chin away from the tickly ruffles of her high collar and tried not to trip over the hem of her long pink skirts. Her boots, the one part of her normal wardrobe she’d been able to retain, since the layers of petticoats and muslin hid them, clicked against the wooden sidewalk. She turned onto Clockwork Row, a line of merchants devoted to everything from clocks to videophones. There was even a music shop sporting a massive player piano in the window with a bronze, clockwork drummer boy standing beside the door. A light dusting of snow sugarcoated the roofs. The sidewalks were clear, though the rock salt used to combat the ice crunched under foot.

  As she passed the second shop, its window filled to bursting with every fashion of timepiece imaginable, the clock tower at the end of the street struck the hour. A raucous symphony of chimes, bells, and cuckoos erupted from the clock shop. Nyssa stopped to stare.

  So many unique clocks … none with a ballerina, though. Perhaps if I can get out of this, I can earn an apprenticeship at a shop like this one, making beautiful things like that. She admired a particularly ornate cuckoo with a circle of birds flying about the face, chirping the hour. Yes, that’s what I’m meant to do: make things, fix things, not steal things.

  After taking a moment to smooth her hair and check her fingernails one last time for dirt and grease, she approached her target.

  The elegantly-lettered sign read, “Calloway’s Electrical Devices and Repairs.”

  A simple, clean display of radiosets and videophones sat
in the window cases. The shop beyond was empty other than a single old man behind the counter. She positioned herself as if window shopping to observe him. He wiped the countertop down with a cloth then took a radio from the shelf behind him. His hands moved with deft surety, unfastening the back panel and poking around among the wires.

  I wonder what he’s doing … I’ve never gotten a working radio to play with.

  Pedestrians and light steam-car traffic filtered onto the street. Soon customers bustled in and out of various shops, carrying parcels and chatting amongst each other. Nyssa hung back and continued her pretend browsing.

  The shops butted up against each other, no alleyway between Calloway’s and the businesses on either side. Curtained windows over the shop hinted at living quarters, as Red had suggested. No visible security on the upper floor, but wires over the shop door and around the window display suggested an alarm of some sort … probably also a silent alarm trigger somewhere in the shop, though that was less of a concern during a midnight robbery.

  She found a narrow passage between two shops further down the street and squeezed through into the alley behind the stores. Narrow, but clean as alleys went, no heavy scent of garbage or cat urine. Counting buildings, she figured out which back door matched up with the electrical repair shop. Good sturdy lock, wired to an alarm, but an older model.

  “Yep, I’ll go in this way,” she whispered to herself. “Should be able to get through this system in under five minutes … wonder what sort of safe he has.”

  Well, to figure that out she’d have to brave the inside. Hopefully the dress would do half the work for her. She loathed pink, but Chief said it made her look “harmless as a flower.” He was probably right, but she would’ve given anything to be in her own unassuming brown vest and trousers.

  Returning to the main street, she went over her backstory. If questioned, she was looking for a radioset for her father’s Christmas gift.

  Act stupid, like you don’t know a radioset from a compact mirror, and no one will suspect you’re eyeing the security, she reminded herself.