“Get on with ye, take him to her. It won’t do him any good now. She’s been there a day and a night. The abbess doesn’t give anyone free room and board. She’ll be working for her supper by now. Still sure ye want her back?”
Iain reached out, caught the girl’s cloak and pulled her to her feet. “Show me where she is.”
As she led him out, Iain looked back at the innkeeper, still slumped on the floor. “If she’s been harmed, I’ll come back for you. And next time I have your throat in my fist, I won’t let go.”
The innkeeper put his hand to his bruised neck and jerked his head at the girl. “Go on.”
Iain followed the girl back out into the dark, his dirk still clutched in his hand, and she hurried ahead of him without stopping, leading the way through the winding streets. She looked back often, checking to see if Iain was still with her. He was, mere inches behind. “How far?” he asked her. The streets began to look familiar.
“Not far now,” she assured him. “It’s in the good part of town. It’s nice there.”
He knew. He’d grown up here, partly. It was a neighborhood where prosperous merchants made their homes, and Highland lairds with riches enough and the need for a house in town lodged.
Iain held his breath as they entered the square. He resisted the urge to pull his cloak up around his face as he passed the dark, lightless bulk of the first house. But no one would be watching for him, not this night or any other. He fixed his gaze on the girl’s skinny back and kept walking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Hurry up!” Bear said, shoving his bundle against Wee Kipper’s back. Wee Kipper went sprawling, and Bear had to pick him up again. He did it with one hand, since Wee Kipper was so small and so light. And that was exactly why he was here, in a dark tunnel under the city. Bear was the biggest of all of them, strong and powerful, but he didn’t like narrow spaces—he no longer fit the way he once had. Kipper did his best to hurry, but his legs were short, his own pack was heavy with loot, and it was so very dark in the tunnel. Coins spilled out of his bundle and rang against the hard dirt floor when he slipped again.
Hoolet, who was a few yards behind Bear hissed. “Be more careful!” she snapped.
“How far behind us are they?” Bear demanded.
“I’m not going to stop and look now, am I?” Hoolet said. She scooted past Bear and Wee Kipper and the weight of Wee Kipper’s pack tipped him into Bear’s hard body again. Bear shoved him back at Hoolet. His nose hit the soft space between her small breasts, and she swatted him across the ear. Kipper put a hand to his ear, stinging now as well as cold. If he’d had a voice, he would have yelled at her, but he’d forgotten how to speak. That was what made him perfect for the missions—that and the fact that he was so very small for his age. Like a mouse, he fit nimbly into the kind of spaces where people hid valuable treasures and thought them safe from those like him, Hoolet, Bear, and the other members of the Clan of Thieves.
Hoolet gathered the spilled coins quickly, then grabbed him by the collar and pushed him in front of her.
“Get on with ye, or they’ll be on us. D’you want to hang?”
Wee Kipper was very sure he did not.
He scrambled forward, trying to ignore the cold clasp of the muddy walls. Hoolet followed him. Behind them, Wee Kipper could see the grate in the floor they’d hastily lowered back into place. Through the bars, the flickering light of the torch stretched and reached for them as men searched the warehouse for the thieves. They weren’t usually so clumsy, but it was Wee Kipper’s first mission and he’d been nervous. He’d knocked over a tray perched on the edge of a cabinet, scattering silver forks onto the floor.
The watchman had woken at once and several forks had fallen from his pockets as he reached for the torch, called the alarm, and gave chase. It took only seconds for Wee Kipper and Hoolet to slip back through the floor grate into the dark tunnel where Bear waited. They sat silently as dirt rained down and the floorboards inches above their heads pounded with angry footsteps. Wee Kipper’s heart was still pounding. He was glad it was dark and Hoolet couldn’t see the tears on his cheeks, or the fact that his knees were knocking together so hard he was sure the watchmen would hear them. When the search retreated, the three of them slipped away down the tunnel.
The tunnel narrowed, grew small and tight. Wee Kipper crawled as fast as he could, ignoring the sting of small stones and ice that ground into his hands and knees. He kept going until the warehouse was far behind, and it was safe enough to stop and wait to see if their pursuers had discovered the entrance to the tunnel. All was quiet. Hoolet gave a cold laugh. “Fools. They never guess.”
“But it was close this time,” Bear replied.
“It was Wee Kipper’s fault. At least he didn’t scream,” she said, taunting his silence.
No, he didn’t scream. If he was caught, he couldn’t tell tales or name names.
“Let’s go home,” Bear grumbled, and Hoolet pushed past Kipper to the front again, took the lead.
She led them back through the tunnels that the clan had burrowed under the city—through basements and under houses and through ditches. It was a fast, secret way to traverse the city, but one had to be small and quick. Hoolet paused as she reached the end. They came up in the ruins of a burnt-out house, under a pile of broken bricks and charred timbers. Carefully, she lifted the board that covered the entrance and peered out in the dark. Satisfied there was no one to see, she crept out of the tunnel.
The whiteness outside dazzled Wee Kipper’s eyes, and the fresh, clean air was welcome. He shouldered the pack and followed his companions out of the ruined house, moving awkwardly under the weight of his pack over piles of bricks, burnt timbers, and debris, until they slipped through the fence and came out in the alley. Hoolet paused at every turn, slipped between the shadows as quick as a cat, as silent as the owl she was named for.
The square was covered by a glistening carpet of snow. It took Wee Kipper’s breath away. The elegant houses that bordered the broad space were solemn and dark, glaring down at them balefully as they crept around the edge of the square, past grand wrought-iron gates, marble steps, and porticos. Only one house was still ablaze with lights, as it was every night. Those who knew what went on inside it called that house the Pearl. Otherwise, it was simply known as Number Four King James’s Square. Wee Kipper could see people inside as they passed the windows, heard laughter and music. Chieftain had told him that it was a whorehouse, a place where men sported with women. And not just any whorehouse—it was the finest brothel in all Edinburgh.
Hoolet spat in the snow and turned her eyes away from the place. “The life of a thief is better than the life of a whore,” she muttered. Wee Kipper knew Hoolet’s mother had been a whore, and she’d died when Hoolet was just a wee lass.
Wee Kipper was staring at the windows of the magical place and not watching his feet, and he tripped. He sprawled full length in the snow, the loot in his pack jangling.
“Shh!” Hoolet hissed, and Bear groaned. They stopped to wait for him to pick himself up.
Wee Kipper tried to get up, but between the weight of the pack on his back and the slippery ice under the snow, it was almost impossible. Once he would have made a game of playing in soft, fresh snow, of sliding on the ice, but those days were gone. He was a grown-up now, in mind if not body. He tried again.
Then he saw it—a hand, just peeping out of the snow. The fingers were delicate, curved, and nearly as white as the snow. He reached out to run his finger over the pale bumps of the knuckles. The fingers twitched, and he gaped. It moved again, the index finger quirking, beckoning, before going still again.
He heard a soft sound, a sigh.
He began to brush the snow away, working quickly. He exposed a wrist, then an arm, a shoulder, and then a face.
He held his breath. It was the fairest, whitest face he’d ever seen.
Wee Kipper frowned, sure she was dead, like his mother and his sisters . . . But her blue lips parted,
and she drew a breath.
Kipper stared down at the pale oval of her face and waited for her to wake up. The long lashes that lay on her cheeks were crusted with ice that shone like diamonds in the light that poured from the windows of the Pearl. She took another breath.
“Don’t just sit there waiting for your mam to pick ye up,” Hoolet hissed. She couldn’t see the lady in the snow from where she stood.
Wee Kipper lifted the frozen hand to show them.
Bear and Hoolet hurried over to crouch beside him.
“It’s naught but a drunken hoor,” Hoolet said, her tone acid. “Let’s go.”
Bear grabbed Wee Kipper under the arms, hauled him to his feet, and brushed the snow from his coat. “Are ye all right, lad?”
Wee Kipper pulled away impatiently and dropped back down beside the woman. Perhaps she was one of the ladies from inside, and she’d fallen from a window. He didn’t care—she was alive, and cold, and she needed help.
He clasped her cold hand in his, claiming her, and looked pleadingly at Bear. Bear looked into the woman’s face. “Lord, she’s bonny. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a woman so bonny. Is she alive?”
Wee Kipper nodded and began to dig the rest of her out of the drift. He shrugged out of his heavy pack and let it fall into the snow. “Hey!” Hoolet cried, but he ignored her.
“What’ll we do with her?” Bear asked.
“One of ye can go up and ring the bell, get them to take her back inside where she belongs,” Hoolet said sharply, kicking Wee Kipper’s pack back toward him. “It’s not our problem, is it? Let’s go. I’m cold, and Chieftain’s waitin’.”
But Wee Kipper refused to take his eyes off the lass in the snow. Bear sighed and rose to go to the front door. But Hoolet hissed a warning when she saw two people enter the square.
Hoolet grabbed Kipper and dragged him into the shadow of the steps, next to the woman. Bear leaped over the railing and joined them.
The snow crunched under the girl’s feet, and she paused and pointed to the house across the square. “There,” she said. “That’s where she is. It’s called the Pearl.”
Iain looked up at the lighted windows of the mansion and swallowed. It was busy. He could see people inside, hear music.
“He lied,” the girl said to him. “They brought her here just tonight, hours ago. They gave her poppy, so she’s probably still asleep. She’ll be of no use to the abbess like that. Not until she wakes up tomorrow.” Iain felt relief hit him like a wave. It wasn’t too late.
The girl was watching him, studying his face. He tossed her a coin. “Go,” he said, and she was gone in an instant.
He stared up at the house for a long moment, scanning the windows. Only one was dark. It must be busy, despite the weather. He sheathed his knife in his belt, the motion swift and angry, and climbed the steps.
“Let’s go,” Hoolet said once the customer had gone inside. She rose and started forward, but Wee Kipper didn’t move.
Bear glanced at him, then looked at Hoolet. “We can’t just leave her here in the snow.”
Wee Kipper pointed across the square, his eyes on Hoolet.
“Nay!” Hoolet said. “Nay!”
Wee Kipper folded his arms across his chest and regarded her mutinously. He picked up his pack and reached for the straps of Bear’s. He looked at the big lad pleadingly. Carry her . . . Bear swallowed, made a small sound of pity.
“The lad’s right. It would be wrong to leave her.”
Hoolet glanced at the lass disdainfully, but Wee Kipper saw her face soften. She sighed and jerked her head, and Bear bent to pick the lass up.
She glared at Wee Kipper. “You’ll carry both packs, yours and Bear’s. Mind ye don’t fall or drop anything,” He nodded eagerly and gave her a quick smile, which she ignored. He shouldered the heavy packs, bent double under them.
“She hardly weighs a thing. She’s lighter than my pack,” Bear said.
“Chieftain’ll kill ye both for this,” Hoolet muttered, and set off across the square.
On the far side of the square, they opened a tall, wrought-iron gate and slipped between two houses. Hoolet hooted like an owl and waited until she heard a soft chirp in reply. Bear and Wee Kipper followed her around the back of the house to a small cellar door. Hoolet rapped a quick, specific cadence. The door swung open, letting a narrow beam of light rush out over the snow, followed by warmth and the smell of burnt bacon.
“About time. Any problems?” Dux asked, holding the door for them.
Hoolet breezed past, her nose in the air, frowning. Bear followed, ducking under the low lintel with the lass in his arms.
“What on earth—” Everyone in the room crowded around.
Wee Kipper slipped inside and let the packs fall to the floor. His shoulders hurt, and his ears, feet, and fingers were burning with cold. Behind him, Dux shut the door and bolted it. Bear set the lass down on the floor by the brazier. Her head lolled. Was she dead after all?
“What’s this?” Chieftain asked, crossing to stand over her. He poked her with his toe. Her brow furrowed, and she sighed. Wee Kipper crossed to sit beside her, claiming her, showing them all that she was his now.
The little ones hurried over. “Och, she’s bonny,” Fussle said, running a grubby finger along her cheek.
Magpie poked her frozen hair. “She looks like she’s made of snow,” she whispered.
“She’s as human as any of us, and bonny means naught,” Hoolet said, pouring a cup of ale from the pitcher on the table. She grabbed a chunk of bread and sat by herself across the room. “Bonny is cheap. Just ask the other whores at the Pearl.”
“Is she—” Dux asked, pushing up his spectacles and peering more closely at the lass by the fire. He picked up her hand, put his fingers on her pulse. “She’s alive,” he said.
“Go and count what they brought in,” Chieftain said, nudging Dux hard in the ribs. Dux had been a student at the university, but he’d fallen on hard times and was expelled. Chieftain made use of his talent for numbers and figures, and his ability to read. Dux kept abreast of the shipping news, knew what cargo was coming in to which warehouse, and advised Chieftain on what missions offered the best chance of profit against the possible risk of getting caught and consigned to the tolbooth and hanged.
Kipper watched Dux cross the room and open the packs. Hoolet leaned over his shoulder.
“Is she sick?” Fussle asked, looking at the lady on the floor. Wee Kipper frowned at him. Of course she wasn’t sick. Just lost and cold and probably afraid. Perhaps her mother was dead too . . .
“What if she’s a princess?” Magpie asked. She was just seven, but her size and her innocent face made her a clever pickpocket.
Wee Kipper smiled at her.
She’s a whore,” Hoolet insisted. “We found her at the Pearl. Why else would she be there?”
“She wasn’t in the Pearl,” Bear said. “She was outside it. Perhaps she was lost.”
“Or drunk,” Hoolet said.
“Or dying of something catching,” Chieftain said.
“If she’s got something, it’s probably the pox,” Hoolet said. Dux pulled a length of lace out of one of the packs and held it up. “That’s mine,” Hoolet said, and snatched it from him. She went to her sleeping corner and thrust it under her pallet.
Wee Kipper took the lady’s ice-cold hand in his. He turned it over and looked at the lines on her palm, the way his gran used to do, when he had a gran. The others crowded to look too. Magpie put her cheek on Wee Kipper’s arm. “What’s it tell ye?”
He smiled at her, and Magpie sighed. “Ye see? I said she was a princess! Wee Kipper thinks we should keep her.”
“We’ll decide that tomorrow, when she’s awake and can tell us who she is. Go to yer beds,” Hoolet said, coming to gather them for sleep.
“Will she be gone when we wake up?” Magpie pouted.
“We’ll tie her to her bed,” Hoolet said. “Bear, put her on the pallet in Wee Kipper’s corne
r. He wanted her here—he can sleep on the floor.”
Bear gave a rumbling sigh. “Seems harsh, Hoolet. The lad did well tonight, and it was his first mission.”
“Is this yours too, Hoolet?” Dux asked, pulling a silk gown, pale green, from the pack of stolen goods. “It’s very fine . . .”
Hoolet snatched that as well, her face flaming. “Aye, that’s mine,” she said.
“You’ve not got enough to fill that fine bodice,” Chieftain jested as Hoolet hid the gown away with the lace.
“Will I find slippers in here as well, and stockings?” Dux asked.
Hoolet was bright red now. She grabbed the pack and took the whole thing to her sleeping place while the others laughed at her vanity.
Wee Kipper thought the frozen lady would look well in such a gown with her hair caught up in a sparkling net, the way he’d seen fine ladies of the town wear theirs . . .
“Come on lad. We’ll get her settled and let her sleep,” Bear said as he picked her up again and carried her into the corner where Wee Kipper slept. He shouldered aside the ragged curtain that served as a door and laid her down on the pallet. Wee Kipper covered her with his own blanket.
“She’ll be fine when she wakes, lad,” Bear said. He was nearly fourteen, big for his age already, and he was kind. Wee Kipper nodded. Hoolet tied an expert noose, and slipped it around the lady’s icy wrist. She tied the other end around the leg of the table. Kipper sat down against the wall and watched the lady as she slept. She sighed in her sleep as if she was glad to be warm at last, and safe.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Iain entered the house without knocking. He’d find Laire if he had to search every inch of the place.
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