And a stench. It was worse in the outer sections of the city—lowborn sections. Merchants and highborns did a better job of keeping filth from stagnating along the canals.
Sam let out a soft breath, steadying her nerves. In and out. That was all this needed to be. Anything more than that, and she risked failure. Success meant freedom, not only for her, but for Tray. That was the only reason she did this.
But if she failed… She tried not to think of what would happen, but she couldn’t help that she did. Failure meant she’d be tied to Marin and Bastan.
“How did I get into this again?” she muttered to herself.
“You don’t have to do this. Marin said—”
“I know what Marin told you,” Sam snapped.
Tray raised his hands, trying to placate her. His thick brown hair caught a gust of wind. She wondered which side of the family his hair came from. Hers was dark and wavy while Tray had thick brown hair. So much about him was different than her.
“You don’t need to do this for me,” he said. “If that’s the only reason—”
Sam shook her head. “That’s not the only reason.”
She wouldn’t tell him it was the main reason. Tray wouldn’t understand. He’d never really understood. His memories were only of a time after Sam had secured Bastan’s support. Prior to that, they had lived on the street, begging for whatever charity they could get. Being lowborn meant they didn’t get much.
She ignored Tray, making a point of not looking at the way he hulked over her, his muscular frame so much larger than her petite one. That was another difference between them. She had always struggled with being the smallest, or looking the youngest, while Tray’s size and sharp angular chin gave him an appearance older than his years.
Another breeze gusted through the streets, fluttering the curtains in the open window across the way. The shadows in the room moved, and she counted three.
“Kyza,” she swore softly. Had Marin known there would be three others in the home? Was that why she’d offered the job to her?
“Come on, Sam, you can’t use a god’s name like that.”
This time, she did turn to him. Tray was two years younger than she was, but given his size, she was thankful for his protection. Still, it got tiring having her brother always admonishing her.
“Yeah? Who else am I supposed to swear at? Marin never said anything about the number of people watching the inside.”
“Did you ask?”
She considered hitting her brother, but it wouldn’t matter. Likely, she couldn’t hurt him, anyway. The big idiot would stand there and take it, too, which took all the fun out of the attack. It had been years since she’d been able to actually intimidate him with her size. These days, he just shrugged it off.
“I was more focused on finding out the details of the job.” She touched the map in the pocket of her cloak. It had to be palace gems inside the house, didn’t it? What else would make Marin offer so much?
“Don’t the details involve who you might encounter?”
Tray said it calmly, but Sam felt the way he mocked her. Kyza! Had her brother gotten to the point where he didn’t need her? She couldn’t say the same, especially tonight. She needed him to observe. If something went sideways… Sam prayed nothing would, but if anything went wrong, having Tray watching her back gave her a little sense of peace that she would get help. There wasn’t anyone else willing to help her.
“Regardless of what she might have said, it doesn’t change the fact that there are three people inside.”
“You sure? Marin wouldn’t send you anywhere that you’d encounter that many people. And she told me there would only be one, and all we had to do was wait her out—”
“What do you mean she told you?”
Tray shrugged.
Sam jabbed him in the chest. He rubbed where she poked him but didn’t even bother to take a step back and give her the satisfaction that she might have hurt him, if only even a little. “You talked to her about the job?”
Tray tried to look defiant. “Why wouldn’t I talk to her about the job?”
“Tray—you know we’re doing this to get away from people like Marin and Bastan.”
“That’s why you want to do this, but I don’t think they’re as bad as you’d like me to believe. Marin isn’t, at least. I don’t know Bastan the same way you do.”
“Trust me, they’re the same. And they only do something for you if they intend to use you. I’m through getting used, through with risking myself so that others can get rich.”
“I don’t think that’s what Marin is after.”
“No? Then why does she have me breaking into this house if not for wealth?”
He shrugged again. “She didn’t share that with me, but I doubt it’s for money. You’ve seen where she lives. There’s nothing lavish about it, not like Bastan—”
She jabbed him in the chest again. “Nothing lavish? I haven’t been inside Marin’s home. Have you?”
Tray finally managed to look appropriately chastised. “She’s invited me a few times,” he admitted. “What was I supposed to do, considering all that she’s done for me?”
Sam hated that they were having this conversation here, on the top of the roof, in view of the stupid highborn house toward the center of the city that Marin wanted her to break in to, but it was a conversation they’d needed to have. Tray didn’t see anything wrong with the connection he’d made to Marin, not the same way that she did, but Sam had seen parts of the city in ways he hadn’t—and maybe he couldn’t.
“She’s not done anything for you,” Sam said softly. “Anything that she might have done has been for herself. Never think for a minute that it was for you.” She shook her head. “You’ve got to look deeper, Tray. There’s always another agenda.”
“What’s your agenda?” he asked.
She wanted to smack him, but restrained herself. “My agenda is keeping you safe. That’s no different from what it’s always been. Why would I have an agenda when it came to you?”
“I don’t think you have one with me,” he said, “but you have one with Marin. You know she said she knew our mother. Why wouldn’t she help us?”
Because no one ever really helped anyone else in their part of the city. It was all about keeping away from the highborns and their sections. If lowborns got too close to them, highborns found ways of making it painful for them. And those in Caster were the lowest of the lowborns.
There wasn't any way for her to move beyond this section, not without wealth. It was possible to buy your way into one of the nicer sections of the city, but it took far more money than Sam had saved. It was the reason she kept taking jobs.
The only other option was leaving the city altogether, but that meant trying to get beyond the swamp and then the mountains that bordered the city. There was no crossing the steam fields to the west. She could try heading by sea, but even that took money she didn’t have. They were isolated here in Verdholm, separated from the rest of the world.
And she was trapped.
She didn’t say any of that to Tray. He wouldn’t have listened, anyway. There was a part of her that appreciated his simple belief that others would look out for him. In his case, that was true. Sam had always watched out for him. Maybe that was why he didn’t understand. He’d never had to try to do it on his own; she’d always been there for him.
Sam sighed. “Let me just do this and get us our freedom from Marin and Bastan. Then we can get away from them and not worry about what they might do to us.”
“Marin wouldn’t hurt me, Sam. I’m sure—”
Sam raised her hand and he cut off. At least she could still end an argument between them, but this time, she didn’t feel like she ended it in a way that left her feeling like she had the upper hand. When had that changed between them?
“I’m going to get the job done. In and out.”
“Marin said this shouldn’t be a problem for you,” Tray told her.
Sam
decided to let the first part of that statement roll off her. There was no use arguing with him about Marin anymore. It didn’t get them anywhere, especially not standing on a rooftop overlooking the canals.
“Fine. That might be what she claimed, but I’ve gotten plenty used to ignoring most of what she says.”
“She said—”
Sam jabbed him in the chest, silencing him. At least her two years on him could still overrule him. Probably not for much longer, but she’d take all the time she had left. “If she was wrong about the number of people in the house, what else do you think she’s wrong about? What if what she’s after is not even there?”
Sam didn’t want to think of what would happen to them if Marin had been wrong about that. Marin had only given her a few days. If she failed, then the job would go to someone else. And she wouldn’t have the freedom she wanted.
“What do you want to do then?”
Sam did not want to get caught. If they were caught sneaking into a highborn’s house, the penalty would be a barred cell for her, but for Tray, it might be worse. Thieves weren’t treated well in Verdholm. Women were treated better than the men—the stupid royals and all the imbeciles working with them seemed to think the men were responsible for corrupting the women—but she didn’t care for the idea of the cell. No thief did, but then, there weren’t many alternatives available for most. Why else would she have taken up thieving?
Well, Sam knew why she had taken it up. Maybe not the reason she’d started, but she continued thieving because she enjoyed it. And because she was good at it. And because there was a part of her that believed she would one day find a job that would get her free of Caster. Maybe not to one of the highborn sections of the city like this, but better than Caster.
The wind gusted again, and the curtain fluttered once more. This time, she saw no shadows on the other side. Once she sneaked in through that window, then it would be a matter of finding her way to the room at the top of the stairs… and to the prize.
If it was a gem, maybe she’d keep it for herself.
“Sam?”
“I’m thinking,” she said.
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
She glared at Tray. Sometimes, he could be obnoxious. “I’m going in. You wait out here and—”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not. I’m quieter than you, and I’m the one who knows what Marin is after. And if you’re caught…” That was the reason she used him for protection, but not much else. If she got pinched, she’d end up in prison, and she trusted Tray would at least try to break her out.
“I know what happens if I get caught. I’m not letting you go in there by yourself.”
“I’m not letting you risk your butt when it means you might die.”
“Sam—”
She shook her head. “Tray, you know I’m better at this than you. Watch me from here, come in for me if you think I’m in danger, but let me get in there. Kyza! I could have been in and back out in the time you’ve spent arguing with me.”
“I doubt that.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have taken much longer.”
Shooting him another glare, she started down the side of the building without giving Tray a chance to argue. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten it into his head that he had to come after her, though she’d never needed it. She wouldn’t put it past him to do it again, especially if he really thought she was in danger.
There wouldn’t be any danger. This was an in and out job, nothing more than that. It wouldn’t take her long to find what Marin wanted.
Sam grabbed the canal staff she’d leaned against the side of the building. There had been no sense carrying it up to the rooftop with her, it’d only make noise.
The staff was about an arm’s length longer than she was tall and made of flexible ewe wood. She dipped it into the canal, pushing it as far as she could to the other side, before bending it toward her. This was the other reason Tray couldn’t come with her; he was just too heavy to leap the canals. When they were younger, and he was lighter, he had followed her, but it had been a few years since he’d managed to chase her through the canals.
Once comfortable she had the staff fixed in the bottom of the canal, she jumped.
There was a skill to canal jumping. When she was young, her mother had taught it to them as a sport, one of the few memories she had of her mother. Most were difficult to recall. Sam often wondered what their mother would say if she learned how Sam now used that skill.
She sailed over the canal. The air was cooler over the water, though she wondered how many ever recognized that. It wasn’t anything she ever thought much about, other than when she soared over the canal. It wasn’t terribly wide—maybe fifteen feet, allowing two barges to pass each other—but wide enough that to cross, you either had to leap the canals like she did, or you trekked until you found a suitable bridge. In this part of the city, the bridges were few and far between, and gated at each end to prevent unsavory types from getting in. Those like her.
Like most of the buildings along the canals, the house was set only a few paces back from the water. She ducked low as she pulled the staff from the water and rested it in front of the house. On this side of the canal, there wasn’t much risk of anyone else finding it, and if they did, they’d likely think it was nothing more than a push stick for one of the barges. It wasn’t stiff enough for that, and not quite long enough, either. Close enough that it would pass for it, which was all she needed.
Sam crept along the front of the home, the brick catching her deep gray cloak. The cloak as much as anything else she wore labeled her a thief, but she wasn’t about to risk entry without the concealment. Besides, a cloak like this was expensive, the fabric enhanced so it let light slip past it, hiding her, some magical cloth from a place Sam would never visit.
When she got to the open window, Sam ducked back down, surveying the water and the line of buildings on the other side of the canal. She saw Tray outlined on the roof, but nothing else. A barge moved in the distance but was heading away from her. It would pose no danger.
Sam flipped herself over the windowsill and into the empty room she’d spied from the other side of the canal.
She remained behind the curtain, wrapping both it and her cloak around her, keeping hidden as she took stock of what she detected around her. The years she’d spent prowling the streets had given her almost a preternatural sense, one where she noted sounds and smells and sometimes even the slightest shifting movements, and was able to react. It didn’t always work, but when it did, those reflexes kept Sam safe.
They had also taught her how to achieve almost total silence. She’d learned a way of walking that was practically silent. In some ways, it was more a state of being, a way of knowing silence, of embracing it. When she was younger, it had been mostly the way she walked, but as she’d grown older, she’d discovered silence in other ways. Control your breathing. Steady your nerves so your heart doesn’t beat too wildly, soften your steps so your joints don’t creak. It came naturally to her in ways it didn’t for her brother.
There was nothing that seemed out of place. That in itself made her a little nervous.
Hiding here didn’t get the job done, and it didn’t get Tray off the roof any faster. Her brother might be many things, but she worried he’d come barging in after her if she took too long. He’d have to cross the canal, but she wouldn’t put it past him to figure out a way to get over here.
She peered out from behind the curtain to inspect the room carefully. She’d already determined that no one moved here, but what if she had misread the situation. At least by the window, she could hop back out and be across the canal faster than most could chase her.
Her eyes adjusted to the light of three lanterns in the room. It seemed cozy, with two plush sofas, each long enough to seat three people, on either side of a table in the middle of the room that had two glasses resting on it, the remnants of the others she’d seen here through t
he curtain. One of the glasses had a smear of red around the rim.
Sam grinned to herself. She’d never be caught dead smearing that paste on her lips like so many of the highborn women were wont to do.
At the door, she paused once more, listening. Here, she watched the floor for any shadows that would indicate movement on the other side of the door. If anything moved, she’d head back and hide behind the curtain, or even leave the house altogether. The longer she was here, the less comfortable she felt with what Marin told her and the more she wanted to know what Marin had sent her here to get.
Sam pulled the sketch of the floorplan from her pocket and unfolded it. She saw the room she was in, and saw where Marin had marked where she should find the item, but that meant going down a short hall until she reached a stairway. From there, she needed to go up two flights to the upper level where there was apparently one massive room. That much she believed. Only these rich highborn types would waste space like that.
She stuffed the map back into her pocket.
Taking a deep breath, Sam pulled the door open a crack. The hall on the other side was a little longer than it appeared on the map, but a wide stairway stretched up at the end of it just as shown on the map.
Sam crept forward, keeping her cloak wrapped around her, ready to turn and run at the first sign of a problem. It was times like these when she wished she had a weapon of some sort, but weapons—if caught—posed more problems than she was willing to risk. It was better to run, and pray that she wasn’t caught, than to risk having something with her that would result in her being imprisoned for longer.
At the stairs, she paused, listening. Was there a scraping above her?
No. Nothing was there other than the soft creaking of the building, almost as if it settled. Many of these older homes along the canal did settle, and they often had a strange groaning sound to them, as if they were alive.
She took the stairs two at a time, her feet padding across the wood, barely making any sound. That was one benefit to her size.
Wasting: The Book of Maladies Page 2