“It’s the only plan we’ve got,” Beck says, still pacing. I don’t think he’s noticed the exchange between Rosalia and me—he’s too busy turning things over in his head, putting the pieces into place.
“Just because it’s the only plan we’ve got doesn’t make it a good plan,” I say, because someone ought to point it out.
Rosalia sighs. “Do you ever contribute anything useful? Or are you only good for whining and complaining while everyone else comes up with ideas?”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “You did not just accuse me of being too negative.”
She arches her eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re, like, the queen of negativity.”
Rosalia starts to respond, but Beck interrupts. “Neither of you is being particularly helpful at the moment.”
“She started it,” I mutter.
Beck sighs. “All right, look. Why don’t you come over here as soon as you can get away from your brother? Then we’ll head over to the Shadow meeting early, have extra time to search for the coin. If anyone asks, we’ll say we’re looking for Mead. Whether we find the coin or not, we’ll stick around for the meeting, see what we can find out about who the leader is. Then I’ll meet up with Rosalia and report back to the king.”
“Oh, so I’m going to do all of the actual work, but Rosalia will get to report back to the king and take credit for it? That seems fair.”
Beck closes his eyes. “We will be sure to mention your contributions.”
“Make sure you do,” I say. Rosalia rolls her eyes, so I keep going just to annoy her. “When this is all over, I’ll expect nothing less than a parade in my honor. A festival. An annual Guild holiday. With confetti. And cake. And dozens of minstrels singing ballads about my heroics.”
Beck laughs. “And what exactly would the lyrics of these ballads be?”
“Oh, you know. Something about how I single-handedly defeated the evil Shadows because I’m so smart and brave and talented and—”
“And modest,” Beck says.
“And clever and courageous and—”
“Now you’re just saying synonyms,” Rosalia points out.
“And heroic and daring and brilliant and . . .” I pause, trying to think of more good adjectives.
“Bold,” Beck suggests, grinning.
Much to my surprise, Rosalia grins too. “Intrepid,” she supplies. “Audacious. Spirited. Witty.”
Huh. Will wonders never cease.
“And endlessly annoying,” she continues, ending the little feel-good moment as soon as she started it. “Not to mention obnoxious, lazy, arrogant, temperamental, insufferable, overconfident, reckless, unendurable, tiresome—”
“Now you’re just saying synonyms.”
“And unbearably sarcastic,” she finishes.
There’s a split second of silence; then Beck bursts out laughing.
“Well, on that note,” I say, glaring at him, “I’ll be going now. I can see that my contributions are completely underappreciated.”
Beck tries to say something, but he can’t stop laughing.
I make a big show of spinning on my heel and storming down the aisle toward the front door.
“I forgot ‘overly dramatic,’ ” Rosalia says, which sends Beck into a fit of laughter again.
“You’ll see,” I call over my shoulder. “After we find that stupid coin, you’ll owe me forever. Just you wait!” I stomp outside into the snow, closing the door on the sound of their laughter.
Okay, maybe it was a little funny. But I will never in a million years admit that to Rosalia, even if she tortures me with her big scary knife. I do have some dignity.
I make it a point to grab a large branch and use it to wipe out my own footprints, walking backward through the trees and trying to erase any signs of my presence. Wouldn’t want to give Rosalia anything else to complain about.
There’s just one problem: doing this is so slow. I can only take a few steps before I have to stop and scrape the branch through the snow, and it doesn’t do a very good job of obliterating my tracks. Then I have to glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not about to crash into a tree, take a few more steps, and then repeat the process all over again.
After only a minute or two my hands get cold and numb, making it harder to grip the branch. Also, dragging the branch through thick snow makes the muscles in my arms burn, and my back aches from bending over. I keep stumbling over tree roots hidden under the snow, and the low-hanging branches laden with sharp icicles keep thwacking me. I’m tempted to give up before I’m even halfway down the hill, but Rosalia’s accusations about my whining and laziness keep a fire burning in my veins. I’ll tidy up every inch of snow in the whole entire woods just to spite her.
Well, okay, not every inch. I’m not getting any younger here.
By the time I reach the bottom of the hill, my arms ache so badly, I can barely lift my stick, but my footprints are mostly gone. I fling the branch to the ground in triumph. Take that, Rosalia Peakes.
I’ll show her tomorrow, too. I’ll find the coin and meet the leader of the Shadows and make the king so indebted to me that he really will offer me a ton of money, and Rosalia will eat her words. Plus, I’ll have so much gold, I might just hire a minstrel to compose that song about me. And then I’ll have him follow Rosalia around all day and sing it loudly in her ear. Everywhere she goes, the minstrel will pop out of the shadows to proclaim my greatness, and then I’ll be the one laughing.
I’ll just do this one last thing, find one little coin and take the Shadows down, and then I’ll be done with thieving for good.
But something in my gut tells me it won’t be that simple. Despite Beck’s best efforts, nothing about my life ever really goes as planned.
Chapter Eighteen
The house at 218 South Astian looks almost exactly like I remember it. Cheerful window trim, bright flowerpots, a decorative little gate. Snow blankets the lawn now, though, and jagged icicles dangle from the vacant, frost-covered flower boxes under the windows. There’s also a bright winter wreath now on the front door. It’s still hard to believe that this is where the Shadows operate from.
Beck and I didn’t chat much on the way here. I met him in the chapel early this morning just like we planned, but he’s acting distracted, gazing off into space and not really paying attention to me. Maybe he’s just worried about what will happen today, whether we can find the coin or what will happen when he meets the king later. But it feels weird not to have him lecturing me about the plan like he normally does. I never thought I’d say this, but I almost miss it.
“Ready?” I ask him as we open the gate and walk toward the house.
He nods.
I step up to the porch, clench the heart-shaped door knocker, and rap it twice.
The young woman, the one who seems to own the house, glares down at us when she finally opens the door. “You’re early. The meeting’s not for another hour.”
“I know,” I say. “I was hoping to have a chance to talk with Koby Mead before the meeting starts. About my assignments? He’s the one who’s been training me, since I’m a new recruit and all.”
The woman studies me for a moment before turning her gaze to Beck. “And you?” she asks.
“Hitched a ride here with her,” he says casually.
The woman peers past us, toward the street. “Don’t see a ride anywhere.” Her voice is calm, but her suspicion is clear.
“We didn’t want to have the driver drop us off in front of the house, obviously,” I say. “We left the carriage a few blocks back.” The snow on the street has finally melted enough today that there are horse-drawn carriages back in the streets instead of sleighs, so it’s a likely enough lie.
The woman steps back from the doorway, ushering us inside. “Use the back door from the alley next time,” she says. “I don’t want the neighbors to see you.”
“We will,” Beck says quickly.
“Let Ivo take
your coats,” she says, which is clearly code for Let the big scary guard guy search you for weapons. “Then you can head upstairs. Mead was on the third floor, last time I saw him.”
“Thank you,” Beck says. She makes an irritated sound and walks away, disappearing into the main living area at the end of the hallway. Beck and I take off our coats, gloves, hats, scarves, and boots, then get the grunt of approval from Ivo. In silent agreement, we put everything back on again, in case we have to leave in a hurry. Then we head up the creaky narrow staircase to the second floor.
The stairs end in a tiny round hallway, with doors branching off on all sides. A circular blue-and-red throw rug covers the center of the wooden floor. More framed paintings dot the walls, though they’re so dusty I can barely make out the images. A single candle sits on a table opposite the stairs, casting the space in a warm orange glow.
“Which door?” I ask Beck.
He frowns. “I guess we try them all? See if we can find a clue about where the coin might be?”
“This is a terrible plan.”
“Shh,” Beck hisses. “Your voice echoes in here.”
“Sorry.”
“Just try a room, I guess.”
I heave open the nearest door. It’s a tiny, cramped bedroom, decorated similarly to the rest of the house—quaint wooden furniture, bright colors, portraits on the walls, floral wallpaper. A quilt is tucked onto the neatly made bed. But there’s no one here.
“Do you think . . . ?” I ask.
“Doesn’t look like this room is used much. Too much dust. And it’s at the front of the house, where more people are likely to stumble in. Not the most logical hiding place for the coin.”
“All right.” We try the next door, which leads to a tiny bathroom. I open the single cupboard and flip through it, but there’s nothing except a few bars of scented soap and a pile of towels. Beck runs his hands over the walls, feeling for something—hidden compartments? Hollow spaces?
I clamber over the toilet and pull back the cheerful yellow bath curtain. Nothing. No place to hide a coin anywhere.
“Check for loose tiles,” Beck whispers to me. “They could slide out.”
I check, but none of the tiles are loose. Meanwhile Beck inspects the toilet tank, but he comes up empty too.
“Okay, I’m thinking it’s not here,” I say.
We tiptoe out of the bathroom and open the next door. It’s another bedroom, except it looks even more unused than the last. Cobwebs choke the corners, and there’s a fine layer of undisturbed dust on every piece of furniture.
I glance at Beck, and he shakes his head. “Doesn’t seem likely they’d keep it here either. It’d be in the bedroom that the leader or the woman is using, probably, somewhere they could keep an eye on it.”
“But what if it is in here, and we’re missing it?”
“We don’t have time to thoroughly check every room. Let’s check the most likely ones first, and then we can always come back in here if we don’t find anything.”
We move on.
The last door off the circular landing leads to a much larger space. A few armchairs are tucked in a corner beside a row of bookcases. Another staircase, this one rounded and spiraling, is in the far corner, leading up to the third floor. There are more doors off this room, but further investigation reveals only closets stuffed full of spare furniture and boxes.
“The coin could be anywhere in here,” I say, looking around at the mountains of boxes in despair.
“I still don’t think it’s likely,” Beck says. “Look at how easy it is for us to just walk in here and poke around. They wouldn’t keep the coin where any Shadow member could just stumble onto it.”
“But if that’s true, how are we ever going to find it? We’re basically just wandering around hoping to stumble onto it.”
Beck doesn’t say anything, but his expression is worried. “Let’s keep looking.”
After checking the bookcases to make sure they don’t lead to secret passages or anything—disappointingly, they don’t—we head up to the third floor.
These rooms seem to be much more in use than the ones downstairs. There’s a bathroom almost identical to the first one, but it’s more of a mess—someone’s dirty towel crumpled on the floor, the sink still wet, soap scum in the tub. No sign of a hidden compartment anywhere, though.
Voices drift over to us, coming from behind one of the other doors. We tiptoe past it, trying not to alert anyone to our presence, and try a third door. It’s locked.
I step out of the way while Beck withdraws a set of lockpicks and goes to work. After a couple of minutes, he turns the lock and jiggles the knob free, and we go in.
Unlike the other rooms, this one looks lived in, and I can tell right away that it belongs to her, the woman whose house this is. The sheets are rumpled and twisted on the bed, the nearby dresser drawers are half-open with clothes spilling out everywhere, and the gauzy white curtains over the window are flung wide.
Beck and I look at each other. This room could be a possibility.
We step inside, closing the door quietly, and get to work. I tackle the dresser first. It’s topped with a mirror, a hairbrush, and bottles of perfume. A teal seashell-shaped bowl holds a tangle of jewelry. I dump it out and paw through it, but there’s no coin anywhere. Next I go through the drawers, dumping clothing onto the floor, searching for any hidden little compartments or coin pouches or anything. All I find are heaps of clothing and bare wooden drawers.
I turn away from the dresser. Beck has already torn apart the bed and is now crawling around on the ground, checking the floorboards. I head over to the nearby nightstand and ransack it. More jewelry, candle stubs and a box of matches, a comb, loose papers, a stubby quill pen . . . and a little pouch of gleaming coins.
“Beck!” I whisper loudly. He rushes over and looks at the bag in my hand.
“Empty it,” he whispers. “We have to check every coin.”
I dump the coins into an unceremonious heap, wincing at the noise they make. Beck starts sorting through them, examining each one before casting it aside, and I copy him. An ordinary jamar. And another, and another, and another . . .
There are enough jamars here to buy food for a whole month, but none of these coins look unique or special in any way. Nothing screams Powerful and possibly magical thief coin belonging to the king of the Guild. There isn’t even any foreign currency.
Beck slumps back on his heels, disappointed. “It isn’t here. It isn’t anywhere.”
“We don’t know that,” I say. “There’s still that other room to check, where people are talking. And we didn’t look in those other rooms very thoroughly. It’s got to be here somewhere.” But even as I say it, I’m not convinced it’s the truth. The coin might not be anywhere in the house.
But my words are all it takes for Beck to snap out of it, his usual fierce determination overtaking him. “All right,” he says, “we need a new plan.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
“I think you should go down to the meeting alone. You can see who the leader is and get as much information as you can. I’ll stay up here and keep looking. I’ll be able to search every room once everyone goes downstairs.”
This seems reasonable, but I hate the idea of having to go down to the meeting by myself. “Are you sure? You don’t need to see who the leader is?”
“You can tell me,” Beck says, giving me a little smile. “We’ll meet up outside after the meeting’s over.”
“Okay.” I stand up and look around at the mess we’ve made. “What about this? Do we need to clean up?”
Beck frowns, considering. “It will take too long, and it’d probably still be obvious that someone’s been in here. Let’s just leave it. It’s a house full of thieves, after all. Anyone could’ve picked the lock and come in here looking for valuables. They won’t know it was us, and they won’t know we were looking for the coin.”
“They will if we don’t pick these
up,” I say, pointing to the jamars scattered across the floorboards. “A real thief wouldn’t just leave those behind.”
“Good point.” We gather up the scattered coins and slip them back inside the coin pouch, which Beck tucks into his pocket.
“Better take some of that jewelry, too,” he says, heading over to the dresser.
I frown. This feels way too much like real thievery, taking things we don’t strictly need. But Beck’s right about the jewelry looking suspicious if we leave it behind. Anyway, I try to remind myself that it belongs to a Shadow thief, the one who’s actively undermining the Guild and its king, putting Beck’s life in danger, and planning to kill my brother. I refuse to feel bad for her.
But my stomach doesn’t listen, twisting with guilt anyway.
Beck finishes pocketing the jewelry and slips back out into the hallway. “I’ll wait in the bathroom for everyone to leave,” he says. “You should head down to the meeting now. It’ll probably start soon. Find out everything you can.”
“Okay,” I say. “See you when it’s over.”
“See you. And, Alli?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
I grin. “Aren’t I always?”
• • •
Downstairs, people have started assembling in the living room. Like before, the furniture has been pushed against the walls, and most people are sitting on the floor. But unlike before, there are a lot of people here this time. Beck must’ve been right about what a big meeting this is. I’m early, and the room is already almost full.
I return to the space along the wall where the new recruits sat last time, mostly hidden by the stairs overhead. It’s a little chilling, looking out over the room from here—it is packed with people, and all of them are thieves and Shadows. Or pretending to be Shadows, in my case.
There are a few familiar faces in the crowd. Keene stands by the fireplace, right in front of the list, talking with some goonish-looking guys who are laughing at whatever he’s saying. That guy who was at the first meeting, leaning against the wall and keeping his hat low so I couldn’t see his face, is here again, and he’s doing the exact same thing. All I can see of him is the hat. I don’t spot anyone else I recognize, though.
The Shadow Thieves Page 21