Years aboard ships had taught Ahren to keep a close eye on his effects. One trick sailors used was to mis-tie their sea bags with a knot closely resembling the simple reef knot. Most thieving sea men knew to avoid the trick, but it was a habit Ahren had retained. Only someone looking for the trick knot would spot it. But whoever had opened his bag hadn’t known and tied a reef knot in its place.
Fear tickled along his nape as he untied the braided cord and searched inside. Everything, even the small bag of silver coins, was where he had left them. Tossing the bag aside, he opened the chest at the foot of the bed. He carefully pulled out the folded blankets and checked inside. The long, black hair he had affixed between the inner wall and the bottom was intact. Ahren pulled out his dagger and pried the wedged false bottom out from the trunk. The gold bishkas were still in their place as well as his poisons and more incriminating equipment. But just because the thief hadn’t found them didn’t mean he wouldn’t be back.
Ahren’s jaw tightened, holding back his anger. Leaving the coins, he scooped his gear out from the trunk and shoved the blankets back inside. He’d have to take the risk and carry everything. Whoever was in his room wasn’t looking for money. It wasn’t the first time a bounty hunter had tracked him. Tomorrow, he’d tell Viston he was leaving Frobinsky as soon as the job was completed.
#
Two nights later, Perun and Ahren strolled down the city streets, past closed vendors and crowded taverns filled with music. Perun’s heart quickened as they neared the wealthier neighborhoods. Long evenings of plotting and watching were over. After tonight, he would have fully proven his worth to the Tyenee.
“Beautiful night,” Ahren said, looking skyward beyond the wide brim of his hat. He seemed completely at ease casually walking beside him.
Perun glanced up at the swift-moving clouds racing across the star-glazed heavens. “It is.”
Ahren patted Perun lightly on the shoulder. “You need to relax. Being nervous will get you nothing but caught.”
“Sorry,” Perun chuckled. They passed through the square before Yaskrim’s home. A pair of young men in sleeveless doublets leaned against the carved fountain as a third petted and caressed a black-haired girl in a yellow dress.
“Did you stretch?” Ahren asked as they circled the buildings behind the house.
“What?”
Ahren smiled. “The best advice I ever received was to stretch before a job. It keeps you limber.”
They slipped into a shallow alleyway behind the houses and stopped beside a nine-foot brick wall. After checking behind them to be sure no one was watching, Ahren dropped to his knees and laced his upturned fingers together. Perun set his foot firmly in the thief’s hands, and Ahren immediately lifted him up. Grabbing the rough and gritty top of the wall, Perun peered over the side. The small yard beyond was empty. He nodded, and Ahren lifted him up more until he could pull himself to the top. He turned to offer Ahren his hand, but the seasoned burglar simply jumped, grabbed the edge, and scaled up the wall.
Perun stood to grab the eave of a window above him when a massive, shaggy dog raced barking out from the shadows of the garden. It jumped against the brick wall, snarling and snapping at the two intruders.
“Quickly,” Ahren hissed. “Go.”
Perun clambered up to the narrow ledge then sped up to the roof above with Ahren right behind him. Wooden shingles creaked as they followed the sloped roof up to the adjoining building. They pulled themselves over the low wall circling the roof and crouched. The dog continued its frenzy.
“Be quiet!” a man yelled. The dog went silent.
Perun sighed. They waited a few quiet minutes then moved to the side of the house facing Yaskrim’s home. Candlelight flickered in an open window across the street. Inside, a graying-haired woman sat at a table beside the window, playing a game with a man partially hidden behind the wall.
“Here we are,” Ahren said, sliding into a seated position against short wall beside the chimney. “How long do they normally stay up?”
“The first night, they were up late,” Perun replied. His mentor had asked the question twice before. “The other nights, they retired shortly before midnight.”
Ahren nodded. “Then we’ve plenty of time for you to stretch. Straighten your legs, and grab your toes.”
#
After fifteen minutes of stretching, shouts and bangs echoed from down the street. The growing ruckus intensified as more yells and raised voices joined in chaotic cadence. Perun raised his head to see over the low wall, but Ahren held him down.
“There’s a brawl in the bar down the street,” he said. “Keep low.”
Across the street, a bald, lazy-eyed man rose from his chair and leaned out the window to peer at the rising commotion. He watched for several second, talking to his wife still at the table, then shook his head and returned to his seat.
Perun leaned back against the wall, listening to the fight and enjoying the reprieve from Ahren’s exercises. “So,” he said, wiping the sweat from his face. “Did you learn the stretching technique from the Black Raven?”
Ahren gave a guilty smile. “He was my mentor.”
“I should have guessed,” Perun chuckled, shaking his head. “Rooftops, fourth-floor windows; very reminiscent of the Raven’s work.”
“It’s not necessarily his signature,” Ahren said with an amused defensiveness. “First floors are always guarded. Rooftops are not expected and less defended. He taught me that in Lunnisburg.”
“I understand,” Perun said, waving his hand. “It makes sense. So you knew him in Lunnisburg?”
Ahren nodded.
“I heard rumors, jealous thieves whispering yarns. Is it true he entered the church through the roof when he stole Saint Theobold’s thumb?”
“He did.”
“Impressive.” The Church’s bounty for the theft was still over five hundred gold. Meager payment compared to what some of the other victims wanted. “Did you work with him anywhere else? He’s been just about everywhere: Nadjancia, Whemile, Ralkosty…”
“Just here and in Lunnisburg,” Ahren replied. He sat quiet for several moments. “He doesn’t really talk about the jobs he’s done.”
Perun shrugged. “How did he get the name Black Raven?”
“A wanted poster branded him that. The name just stuck, but he embraced it. How about you? Do you have any name you wish to be known as?”
Killer of the Black Raven, Perun thought. “Nothing yet.”
“Give it time,” Ahren said with a grin. “Eventually, you’ll end up with one whether you wish it or not.”
The tavern brawl eventually faded and went silent. The couple across the square remained at their table talking, ignoring their game. Twenty minutes later, their conversation slowed.
“This is it,” Perun whispered, sliding his legs beneath him.
The old man rose from his seat and left while his wife put away the game and then picked up their glasses. Tingles of excitement returned as Perun watched the wife carry a flat, wooden box and walk away.
The two thieves waited several minutes before Ahren crawled to the wall overlooking the square and peeked over the edge. He signaled it was clear, and Perun hurried over to the edge across from Yaskrim’s unlocked window. A narrow, four-story chasm stretched between the buildings, and the insignificant windowsill was too small to jump to.
Stretching his arm toward the window, Perun leaned out over the gap. Ahren took Perun’s other wrist and held tight. Perun’s fingers inched closer as his body hung over the alleyway below. He squeezed Ahren’s muscled arm and leaned further until he could feel the cool, metal frames. Sweat trickled down his face as he struggled to hook his nails into the crack between the brown, copper shutters. He felt his slick palm slipping in Ahren’s hold, but he pushed his weight further out. The window hinges squeaked as Perun pulled one of the paned doors open. He moved the other one aside, and then, to his relief, Ahren pulled him back safely to the rooftop.
; “Good work,” Ahren whispered. He glanced toward the empty square then leapt across the alleyway and onto the windowsill before ducking inside the darkened room. He looked back and motioned Perun to follow.
Perun took a deep breath, reared back, then jumped. His foot barely caught the sill, and his body teetered backward. Panicked, his arm shot up to grab hold of the window frame before he could slip. His pulse thudded in his ears as he crawled through the window and into the room to meet Ahren’s scolding stare. Letting out his breath, he moved further inside, but Ahren’s finger shot to the open window behind him.
Stay calm, Perun told himself. He pulled the windows closed, leaving them unlocked. Visualizing Laurent’s detailed map, Perun navigated around the furniture in the dark room as he crossed to the hall door. He pressed his ear to the gap between the frame and the door and listened. Silence.
Ahren crept quietly up behind him, and Perun carefully cracked opened the door. He peered out to see the hall empty, lined with busts and tapestries. Carefully, the two men snuck out into the passage and made their way toward the stairs and down to the third floor. Stone figures, veiled and silhouetted in shadows, leaned out over the halls in a multitude of frozen stances. Some were robed saints, their marble faces hidden beneath wide hoods. Others were warriors, their swords and shields raised in combat or stoically against their chests. More were angels, mythical beings, or round-faces cherubs. Perun’s creeping paranoia rose as he passed the dark figures seeming to leap from the walls.
Faint light shone under a closed door as they passed quietly across a rich violet rug running the length of a hallway. They stopped at a pointed double-door beside it, framed in a pair of dark, wooden maidens, their outstretched fingers arched above it. Licking his lips, Perun knelt before the bronze and brass keyhole cast in the form of an open-mouthed wolf. He removed a narrow case of picks from a hidden pouch inside his doublet and carefully worked the bent wires into the keyhole. He felt Ahren’s eyes on his back as he worked. Perun’s skills at lock picking were unrivaled. With a few short prods, he found the mechanism and twisted the picks around. A solid click echoed, and the door was unlocked. Quickly, they cracked it open and slipped inside.
A lascivious scene of nude figures sculpted in shockingly erotic poses filled the wide, shallow room. Pale moonlight shone through the arched windows facing the inner courtyard and glistened off their bronze and marble flesh. A wide grin stretched along Perun’s lips as he wove his way through the obscene and arousing sculptures. No wonder he hides this room.
“Keep your eye out for the key,” Ahren whispered, momentarily admiring a pink marble statue, her head thrown back in ecstasy while another woman knelt before her.
Gold glinted from the far wall as Perun crept closer. Elaborate swords with intricate, twisted hilts hung from the wall beside gilded masks, ivory figurines, and a dizzying collection of artistic trinkets. He closed his eyes and visualized the collection, searching for anything with a protrusion matching Laurente’s keyhole. There. Opening his lids, he removed a gold and silver disk from the wall. A rectangular pin jutted a half-inch from its bottom. Taking a moment, he also helped himself to a string of pearls draped about the neck of an ample-breasted statue.
Ahren gave an approving smile and began making his way back toward the exit. Intoxicated by his success, Perun opened the door and stepped into the hall. A woman’s gasp greeted him.
Whirling around, he saw a young maid standing in the hallway, her mouth open in surprise. Her trembling lips drew together then opened in a piercing scream.
“Thieves!” The pitcher of water in her hands crashed to the floor as she spun around to flee.
Whipping the dagger from his belt, Perun hurled it down the hall after her. The spinning blade buried into her back, and the maid staggered then crumpled to the floor. “Run,” he hissed.
Ahren stood behind him, his scathing eyes locked on Perun. His mouth moved as if about to speak, but a door burst open down the hall behind him. Without a word, Ahren bolted down the passage.
They sped through the halls and down the stairs as shouts and roared behind them. Perun turned and cut across a balcony overlooking a manicured courtyard. He grabbed the door handle at the other side, but it was locked. Searching for another exit, he spied the dining room door partially open. Ahren noticed it as well and grabbed the iron railing and swung himself over the edge. Following his lead, Perun swung over the rails and dropped one story into the garden below.
They raced through the dining hall, knocking over chairs as they went, and burst through the kitchen door. The strong scent of rosemary steamed from a cauldron hanging inside a fireplace, filling the large kitchen. They crossed the room into a small hallway where a young, auburn-haired serving girl stood frozen in shock. Ahren yanked open the servants’ door leading to the street, and the two thieves fled into the night.
#
Glancing over his shoulder, Ahren knocked on the green wooden door of a simple house along the outskirts of the wealthy district. His clothes clung uncomfortably to his sweating skin, and his anger was only overshadowed by his sense of urgency.
The door creaked open, and a green eye peered cautiously out. “You’re here!” Laurente opened the door. “Come in. Come in.”
The two thieves stepped briskly inside. Simple, well-made furniture lined the outer walls of the artist’s narrow house, blanketed under a thin layer of dust. A half-chiseled statue of a bearded man stood in the center of the room atop a short, wooden pedestal. Mallets and various tools lay strewn across tables on either side. A large trunk and several canvas bags rested beside the door, ready to leave.
“This calls for a drink,” Laurente said, fetching a stout bottle of wine.
“No time,” Ahren said. “Veetrael knows we were in his house. He might notice the key missing.”
The gleeful smile fell from Laurente’s face. “He knows?”
Ahren nodded. “Probably.” He motioned for Perun to step forward. “But you’ll be out of the city before he can catch you.”
Removing the disk from his pouch, Perun took the artist’s pendant and inserted the pin into the square hole. The gold chain around Laurente’s neck rattled and drew tighter.
“No!” the old man screamed, grabbing the chain and trying to pull it away from his throat. The tightening links stopped, leaving the pendant hanging just below his collarbone. Its blue central stone had change to bright yellow.
“I don’t understand,” Perun said. He looked at the key and then back to Ahren.
“You idiots,” Laurente cried, clenching the medallion in his fist. “You’ve damned me…damned me!”
“There’s something we’re missing,” Ahren mumbled. The key obviously did something. Did Perun insert it the wrong way? Was there an incantation needed?
Heavy banging on the door roused Ahren from his thoughts.
“Laurente!” a man yelled through the closed door. “Open up!”
The old artist’s red face paled. “It’s Yaskrim!” He shoved the yellow-gemmed pendant under his billowy shirt, but the chain was too short to conceal it.
“Is there another exit?” Ahren whispered.
“No!” Laurente looked around, panicked.
“Open the door!” Yaskrim hollered, his fist pounding harder.
Laurente pointed up the narrow staircase. “Go. Hide!”
Ahren snapped at Perun, and the two men hurried up the wooden steps to a small hallway with doors at either end. They slipped into a narrow bedroom strewn with sketches, scratched-out designs, and other works the artist had discarded in his packing. Ahren ducked behind a paint-stained workbench beside the door.
Downstairs, they could still hear Yaskrim shouting. “Open the door, Laurente, or by Saint Vishtin, I swear—”
The door creaked open.
“Where are they?” Yaskrim demanded. “And don’t lie to me.” Multiple boot steps marched inside across Laurente’s wooden floor. Something heavy smashed. Answer me!”
“They’re…they’re gone.” Laurente mumbled, his voice so low Ahren could barely hear it.
“I give you gold. I give you a house. And this is how you pay me!” Yaskrim roared. “Thieves! They broke into my house, steal my property, and murder one of my servants, for what?”
“Murder?” Laurente exclaimed, his pitch high.
“I had more trust in you than this,” Yaskrim spat.
Ahren shifted in the tense silence. Boot steps clomped slowly up the stairs. His fingers slowly wrapped around his dagger handle.
“Since it appears you have already packed,” Yaskrim continued, “let us escort you back to my house. You obviously can’t be trusted.”
“No!” the artist wailed. “Let me go. I beg you.”
“Grehlt,” Yaskrim snapped. “Let’s escort Laurente back home.”
The hard boots went back down the steps, and a harsh slap silenced Laurente’s sobs. Ahren kept hold of his dagger, listening to shuffles echo up from below. The door slammed, and the house fell silent.
#
The dark streets lay empty as Ahren and Perun crossed the seemingly abandoned city. Yet unlike the others homes, the windows of Yaskrim’s house were still lit at the late hour. Ahren’s senses were peaked as he and Perun slipped through the still unlocked window back into Yaskrim’s house.
After checking the halls for anyone passing through, they quietly hurried down the passage to the second floor. Muted voices rose from the first floor as people shuffled in and around their master’s study. The two thieves crept along the now lit hallway, past windows overlooking the front courtyard.
“Sulk all you want,” Yaskrim shouted, marching out a door near the end of the passage. “You will tell me.”
Ahren pushed open the door beside him, and he and Perun leapt inside. The small bedroom appeared used but currently empty. Leaving it cracked, he peered outside as Yaskrim and a scraggly-haired man walked past.
“He has until morning,” Yaskrim muttered. The portly man with his short, white beard twisted his hands around a silver-knobbed cane.
Ahren watched them turn down the staircase then waited several seconds before venturing back into the hallway. Quickly, he hurried to Laurente’s door and stepped inside.
Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2) Page 20