“With alcohol involved Voran was likely the catalyst. I won’t let it impede my performance. Though I’d prefer not to board with him.”
“I’ll stick Baskaran in a room with Eloran once we find the old man,” Cyriana promised. “Punishment for murdering our former partner. Speaking of, I’m having difficulties locating our forger. Wither couldn’t give me a reliable lead either.”
“This might make your situation trickier, though at least I can shed light on your quandary. I happen to be in a unique position these days to learn what befell the wrinkled blowhard. It was all some nobles discussed several weeks ago.”
“Please tell me Eloran isn’t dead.”
“Not yet so far as I know.”
“What an ominous thing to say.”
Furrows traced through liberally applied makeup adorning his forehead. “The arrogant man was caught forging documents. A minor noble hired Eloran to fabricate records naming him the beneficiary of a sickly great-aunt instead of her own living children. The eldest child, one Maynard Talivin, took offense at the notion when he learned of it and paid good money to capture the guilty parties. His uppity nephew is currently residing in a gaol lacking basic amenities, but Eloran was never handed over to the proper authorities; he merely disappeared. Official word is he was never found. I haven’t been able to verify the rumors, but all indications suggest that the spurned noble is holding him beneath his estate. Most days Lord Talivin seems too cheerful for a person who couldn’t track down the man trying to swindle him out of his fortune.”
“Huh. I suppose the circumstances could be worse.”
“Evidently I was naïve to believe they couldn’t be shoddier. Please elaborate.”
“Freeing him from a blue blood’s home will certainly be easier than a gaol.”
“Damn but you’re determined,” Thorkell declared. “You really mean to do this, don’t you?”
“The man’s abrasive, but Eloran’s the best forger living today. We can’t replace him like we do with pickpockets and duelists. This job cannot be done without him. I’ll ask you never to speak those words in his hearing though.”
“I’m sure he already thinks it.”
“Is squirreling criminals away in their own basements a common practice here?”
“Some nobles prefer to deal with undesirables their own way rather than turning them over to the Draugans. Torturing in secret is good fun apparently. Plus loyal Asdori still don’t trust their hated occupiers on principle.”
“The Empire isn’t so bad. They’ve unwittingly given me lucrative business opportunities.”
“I won’t argue with you.” Thorkell withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed it against his brow. “Is there anything else you’d like me to know before we begin?”
“Only one. I’m in charge. I’ll defer to you on matters of cosmetics and accessorizing, but otherwise this is my show through and through. You’ll need to set aside your world renowned ego while in my employ.”
“I hardly have an ego.”
“I’m surprised your head even fits snugly under that outlandish hat, it’s so swelled. You have enough ego for any two men, provided Eloran isn’t one.”
“Fair enough. But I can agree to your inflated self-worth clause, assuming you don’t insist on stupid decisions.” Thorkell twirled his cane and tapped it against cobblestones. “Alas, now I must take my leave. I’m expected for afternoon tea, where I’ll broach the topic of departing with my clueless colleagues. I’ll meet with you on the twenty-fourth.”
“We’re boarding at the Royal Exchange. Loiter in the dining area long enough and we’ll find one another.”
“Wonderful. They serve a mouth-watering filleted mackerel sprinkled with garlic salt. You can treat me to a bowl while I become acquainted with the other misfits you’ve found. Don’t expect to ever feast your eyes upon suave Einar Milard again though. That boat has sailed, my dear.”
“I’ll count my blessings. See you in two days.”
Chapter 4
Distasteful though it is to imagine, there are street urchins who would like nothing more than to wedge their begrimed fingers into your jacket and wiggle around. For the fashionable patrician strolling the market, vigilance is your greatest accessory.
Andiron Sairis, The Peculiar Urban World
Date Unknown
23 Vallasir
“This is straddling the line between audacious and madness, even for us,” Maylene asserted. “Breaking into a nobleman’s estate, eluding all those murderous house guards and rescuing a man who annoys the crap out of me. All because he can make scribbles on parchment look fanciful. Oh, and Eloran might not even currently reside where Thorkell claims he should be.”
“I trust the rumors.” Cyriana stretched her legs and crossed one boot atop the other. A marble plaza stretched before her, populated with market stalls and jostling crowds. Statuary towering above the courtyard’s center depicted Emperor Malavin and Empress Syell, descended from Draugan rulers who carved the Empire of Asdor into mere provinces three decades earlier. “You worry too much. Learn to relax and enjoy a lovely spring day.”
“Worrying helps keep bounties off my pretty head.”
“Makes life a bitch if you ask me.”
“I’ll be sure to when a lack of it has gotten you killed. I’d also like to point out that conning a con man into performing is a risky strategy. You have another exceedingly crafty plan if he calls your bluff?”
“Why would he? Thorkell’s drawn to the challenge like us. The blackmail gives him a handy excuse to act offended and holier-than-thou. I’d also prefer to believe he’s actually a friend.”
“Friends are dangerous, Cyriana. You should’ve learned that better than anyone by now.”
“I don’t have to trust my friends. I only need to trust they love gold.”
“Would he say the same about us?” Maylene questioned.
“He’d be wise to harbor doubts. I do happen to have a letter drafted spoiling his schemes like I threatened.”
“Might you have a clever ploy to keep me from bailing?”
“You? Maylene, there’s a good chance you’re the only true friend I have. If you deserted me while my back was turned, I think it’d be time for some soul-searching. That, or go out and find a replacement friend. Maybe one with a little less sass this time.”
“It never ceases to amaze me how sweet you can be when you want to.”
“A correctable flaw, I’m sure. Teach me how to be more like you, please.”
“Whoa, there he is,” Maylene declared, nudging Cyriana in the elbow. “The dusky Shiylan lad. The boy has talent to spare.”
“He’s a lanky chap, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’d hazard a guess he grew up on the streets, begging for scraps. No idea if he’s self-taught or got instruction, but he’s earned the right to boast. This one does it all by his lonesome. No partners to cause distractions or blindside the dupes.”
“An idiot child tried nabbing my purse yesterday by pretending to smack into me.”
“He’ll be dead in a few months if he doesn’t shape up. But our Shiylan here is an artist. Witness, my friend.”
The enterprising thief shambled toward a stall occupied by one man dressed in tailored finery. He casually sidled alongside the gentleman and reached with one hand into mounds of figs while his other slinked amid the dupe’s attire. Clothing ruffled and the cutpurse withdrew an arm, never shifting his gaze from dried fruit he inspected in one hand. Once his oblivious victim departed, the Shiylan retrieved coins from his newly filched purse and paid the merchant. Gathering figs in one hand, he popped several into his mouth and continued walking.
Cyriana whistled in appreciation. “Oh, the audacity in that clever little show. I like him.”
“Told you. And voila, we’ve found our sleight of hand.”
“Let’s go introduce ourselves.” Cyriana lifted herself off the bench and slipped into swarming hordes. Maylene remained at her side before disa
ppearing from sight on a differing trajectory.
Ahead the Shiylan pickpocket meandered toward a passageway adjoining the agora and flanked by columns. He lingered to peruse various textile stalls with halfhearted interest, walking at a languid pace to avoid arousing suspicion. Cyriana ran one hand over a woven carpet and resumed her trail through passersby.
She elbowed one rotund man inhaling pistachios and muscled between a giggling flock of young women, knocking a lavender umbrella from dainty hands. Nattering throngs drowned indignant squeals as she continued in pursuit. Her target strolled beneath the arched corridor and Cyriana hastened to close the distance. Shadows blanketed narrow alleys devoid of milling civilians, though home to innumerable scurrying rodents. She smacked leather boots onto cobblestones until there was no doubt her approach could be heard. The pickpocket slowed and cast an inquisitive eye over one shoulder.
Cyriana folded her arms and offered an amiable smile. “That was elegant.”
“Huh?” He halted and pivoted to face her, fumbling in a search for words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your little display out there with the dignified gentleman.” She noted a lithe figure sidling closer from behind the man and strolled forward to keep his wary focus on her. “I admired your aplomb.”
“You must’ve seen wrong, lady. I was browsing fabrics.”
Maylene glided unseen with noiseless footfalls, prodding a dagger against his nape. The man’s body stiffened and his eyes widened in fear. “I’m sure you were,” she cooed. “No pressing need to panic though. The Draugans don’t have to ever learn what valuables are lining your pockets. We’re only looking to chat with a man of talent. We thought maybe you might be such a man. If you are, I’ll withdraw my knife.”
“Shit yes,” he stammered. “I am. I…I have talents.”
“Good choice.” Maylene tucked her blade into a sleeve and sauntered into his line of sight. “I can abide purse snatchers, but not liars.”
The Shiylan breathed a sigh and rubbed his neck, eyeing her as though she might reconsider opening his throat.
“We already know you have enviable skills,” remarked Cyriana. “What my companion and I performed is a favored trick among street thieves. Distraction is a powerful tool to have in your arsenal. Yet you eschew the ruse and choose to work alone. A daring decision that invites more risk but might offer more lucrative rewards. We simply had to meet this plucky fellow.”
He surveyed his fingers, perhaps ensuring no blood smeared the tips. “Couldn’t talk in the courtyard like a sane woman?”
“We didn’t want to strike up a conversation in the vicinity of your clientele. I presumed you’d appreciate the gracious gesture. My name is Cyriana. The intimate one is Maylene. And you are?”
“Desin.” Brown eyes flicked to Maylene and the discomfiting grin on her face. “Listen, I don’t want no trouble.”
“Neither do we. But we do want to employ you for a venture.”
“Uh, I don’t think I follow.”
“We’re thieves like you,” Cyriana explained. “Only we pilfer priceless artifacts and jewels rather than cut purses hoping to find a few jangling coins. We’re masters of the trade.”
“Why would you need me?”
“Occasionally we have cause to want a deft sleight of hand. During elaborate schemes, it pays to have someone capable of lifting keys or planting evidence on a person with poise. We have some practice with the art, but our skills lie elsewhere.”
Maylene snapped her fingers as if remembering a thought. “Oh, we forgot to mention the part about us making you richer than your wildest dreams.”
“Strange that slipped our minds,” concurred Cyriana. “If you accept, you’ll earn more coins than a lifetime of sifting through pockets will achieve.”
“And if I don’t?” Desin questioned.
“We aren’t in a mood to make the Draugans aware of your activities. Though that doesn’t mean we won’t if you insist on fussing. You might not know this since you’re a Shiylan, but legionaries aren’t a gentle breed when it comes to criminals. They’re overly rough as a matter of fact.”
“Brutal even,” chirped Maylene. “They don’t carry batons for encouragement. The only weapons legionaries have are pointy and go right through you.”
“And they have plenty leeway when choosing who to stab.”
“I guess it’s best I agree, isn’t it?” asked Desin.
“We can’t make the decision for you,” Cyriana uttered. “But yes, it is.”
“I can understand you’re feeling a twinge untrustworthy since I tried to skewer your neck,” Maylene claimed. “I promise we’re far less manipulative once you’re in our party.”
“Okay, then I suppose I’m in.”
Cyriana clapped her hands together and smiled. “Lovely. No need for any unpleasantness. Maylene, if you’d be so kind?”
She stepped alongside Desin and reached into a pocket on his trousers. He squirmed against her exploratory hand until she withdrew an engraved locket and let it dangle loosely from her fingers.
Desin’s expression crumpled into sheer confusion and he shoved hands into his own pockets. “What the hell? That isn’t mine.”
“This little beauty belonged to Lady Sithel before I took a shining to it. You might recognize the name, given that she’s married to the Draugan Praefectus. She was most distraught when it vanished some months ago.” Maylene held the locket by a golden chain and watched burnished links glimmer in weak sunlight. “This would’ve gotten you hanged without question.”
Desin shifted his horrified eyes to Cyriana while she bared a mischievous grin. “I told you we had some talents for planting evidence on others. A good thing for you we didn’t have to employ the tactic.” Cyriana strode past and beckoned for him to follow. “Come along. We’ll introduce you to the others and even let you keep the purse you lifted. Word to the wise, it’d be best for company cohesion if you forego holding grudges. Chin up though. You won’t be the only one we blackmailed into service.”
*
24 Vallasir
“That’s your plan?” demanded Maylene. “Two days to ponder using that shrewd little brain of yours and this is what you settle on? I thought you were a damned professional.”
“More professional than a roof-skulking lock picker like you,” Thorkell retorted.
Cyriana entered and shut the bedchamber’s door behind Baskaran and herself. “I love waltzing into the middle of an argument. Does this one happen to be important for once or is it trivial like always?”
Maylene lifted a decanter and poured wine into her goblet. “Cyriana, talk some sense into the man.”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re even gabbing about. And I’m too hungry to think. Hand me a chunk from that loaf, will you?” Cyriana accepted torn bread from Desin and gnawed through the crust. “Now, tell me what’s happened.”
“He’s lost his mind, that’s what.” Maylene slurped her drink and wiped moist lips with a thumb. “I’ve suspected for days now, but this confirms it. I must truly be desperate to shack up with you lot.”
“Is this true, Thorkell? Have you misplaced your brain?”
“I can assure you it’s as indelibly productive as ever.”
“Then what is she taking issue with?”
Thorkell munched on fish, licking his greasy fingers after every mouthful. “Maylene considers any plan not spent shimmying through windows as too daunting. I believe the contrary is true and thus we are at an impasse for how to help Eloran breathe fresh air once more.”
“I can guess what Maylene’s strategy might be. Let’s hear yours.”
“Brace yourself,” muttered the other woman.
Thorkell rubbed a smooth chin no longer adorned with fake facial hair. “Last month a local theater group performed Broken Countryside for three nights. It’s a tragedy about the final days of the Almayan Kingdom’s failed rebellion against the Empire. The performance was somewhat pedantic if you a
sk me, though I’m a harsh judge of theater. What matters for us is that this ensemble happens to have half a dozen sets of Draugan armor not currently in use.”
“Perhaps I’m missing a key detail,” Baskaran said. “Is this armor valuable to us in some manner?”
Maylene wagged a finger at Thorkell and groaned. “He wants us to steal costumes from a theater troupe and impersonate Draugan legionaries. This pompous northerner is under the impression we can waltz up to Lord Talivin’s estate and convince him to turn Eloran over to our care if we ask nicely. In other words, he’s insane.”
“Not insane,” Thorkell countered. “Only well aware of my own abilities.”
“Won’t the troupe notice an entire part of their wardrobe is missing?” questioned Baskaran.
“They have no upcoming plays using legionary armor, which means the costumes will be stuffed out of sight in storage. This is a respected company with diverse performances. They have places to tuck pieces aside rather than spend time fretting about unused attire. The theft should go unnoticed for several days at least.”
“Does the armor even look authentic?” Cyriana inquired. “Easy enough to fool an audience, but we’ll need to be up close and personal with our targets. House guards and one vexed noble will have more critical eyes.”
“Son of a bitch,” interrupted Maylene. “Don’t even tell me you’re considering this.”
“It may have merit. We have precious few alternatives and I lose nothing by hearing him out.”
“To answer your question, I don’t know,” responded Thorkell. “Fortunately, legionaries stationed within peaceful cities frequently wear pristine armor. Clean costumes would not appear out of place.”
“Yes, but if the play’s about a rebellion won’t the armor be intentionally scratched and grimed?”
Thorkell licked his teeth and shrugged. “We won’t know until we have ourselves a gander. Not that it matters, so far as I’m concerned. Recruits are often given armor another legionary died in. And with Almaya quiet again these days, war weary veterans are being reassigned elsewhere. I’d wager some legionaries in Ercora don’t look freshly polished. Clean or soiled, the costumes won’t be suspicious.”
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