The girl on the ground, her sparkly leotard glittering in the sunlight, beamed as several tokens landed in the hat on the ground. She did a backward somersault as if to say thanks. Above her, the girl on the bubble-cycle had spread her arms out to the sides and was pedaling like mad to stay aloft. She reached down and took the hand of her partner, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were on the cycle together, the first girl still pedaling, the other standing on her shoulders, both enjoying the applause.
“Can we give them something?” Flick asked.
“I don’t see why not.” Jonathan fished in his pocket and pulled out his trinkets, perusing them carefully, before choosing the birthday badge. He flicked it into the hat. “Pink was never really me, anyway.”
Flick watched the girls give Jonathan a nod of thanks. “Why did you get a pink badge, then?”
“Because the person who gave it to me thought I was a girl. Now, come on. Lots to see.”
They didn’t rush as they walked through the City of Five Lights. You couldn’t rush—the place was far too busy for that. There was no distinction between pavement and road, so tricycles and scooters and strange little open cars with shuddering and banging motors swerved through the crowds, which parted grudgingly to let them through. There were sellers all over the place, touting and competing for attention.
“High-flying kites, right here, ladies and gents. Get a high-flying kite for the kiddies, only needs a breath of wind to stay up all day. Only a small trinket needed, good people…”
“Never feel the wet again! Genuine merrow-skin, fresh off the boats. Waterproof guaranteed…”
“Lowest commission in the City of Five Lights. We bottle what others won’t. Yes, madam, even from a knick-knack! We’ll only skim off what’s honest, and you’ll soon be back again for more. Best bottling in Five Lights, ask anyone here today…”
This last stallholder had a display on his cart that was made entirely of bottles of various sizes, including some of the droplet-shaped ones Flick had seen earlier hanging from the man’s belt at the fountain.
Flick poked Jonathan. “What’s bottling? What are those?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Check your guidebook.”
They paused against a wall while Flick took out the guidebook for the City of Five Lights.
“There.” Jonathan pointed. “Bottling.”
ON THE BOTTLING OF MAGICAL ENERGY
In some worlds, it can be essential to carry magic with you. There are numerous places where it is possible to obtain bottled magical energy, and the most convenient is the City of Five Lights.
Bottled magic is generated from a distilling process, whereby the energy an object contains is taken from it and stored for later use. Bottling destroys the object itself, and the distillers often take some of the object’s magic for themselves as payment.
To use the bottled magic, the glass must be smashed and destroyed, releasing the energy stored inside it.
Bottled magical energy has the following uses:
Currency.
Social status.
Use in magical acts, such as temporarily “vanishing” a small object.
Travel via schism to and from the City of Five Lights (see: Schisms).
Flick looked up. “You said no one should travel through a schism,” she said accusingly.
“You shouldn’t. Because the schism would take the magic keeping you alive. But if you have some spare, such as a bottle or three…”
“Oh. So, it’s like having a battery, then?” Flick mused.
“A little. And the amount needed would depend on the person. People born in Five Lights are already very magical. We, on the other hand, are not.”
Flick felt rather disheartened at the news that other people were substantially more magical than she was. “So, we’d need a lot of extra magic to use a schism?”
“More than you could imagine. I can’t even fathom what we might trade for that amount of magic. And remember, we are supposed to maintain a balance of magic and schism—the last thing this place needs is us trying to hoard magic like specialized dragons. We don’t need to, anyway. We have the suitcase.” He held it up. “And that is the safest and most elegant way to travel. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Lunch? There’s a delightful place called the Marigold not too far from here.”
Across the square, a man with white-blond hair and a red coat watched the travelers with unblinking interest. He took a small lined notebook from his pocket and penned a short note. The ink shone for a moment, before vanishing into the paper like snow melting into a pond.
The man, a professional Thief, stood and cricked his neck. He flapped his scarlet coat out before fastening the single gold button at his waist. There was no need for a Thief to blend in. A decent Thief could wear the brightest red and still not be troubled as he did his job. Going unnoticed was for amateurs. And thieving in Five Lights was especially profitable—the value of a stolen item was much higher than one freely given, after all.
The Thief watched the travelers enter the food district. He mentally assessed the two of them. Young. Inexperienced. And most importantly, carrying a suitcase. That was what he’d been waiting for.
Months he’d been sitting, watching for a Strangeworlds Society member coming into Five Lights. Months of anxiety, of fear that he and his employers had missed out on their only chance.
The notebook in his pocket stirred, and he took it out to read the response. Then he smiled.
The Thief moved through the busy quad and down a slender alleyway leading to a quiet, stone-lined street. He roughly dragged his hand over the biting stonework, drawing blood. Feeling where the sharp metal seal of the Thieves was hammered into the wall, he pressed his bleeding palm onto it. The toll paid, the metal seal trembled beneath his touch, and the entire wall shifted. The brickwork slid sideways, like a screen door, allowing the man to slip into a narrow stone walkway and listen as the door that shouldn’t have been there closed quietly behind him.
He took a moment to press a cotton handkerchief to his bleeding hand before starting down the passage. There was no light, and if he wanted any he would have to buy it himself. He tolerated the darkness the way one might tolerate an unpleasant visitor—by knowing that, eventually, he would be far away from it.
It was how all the First Class Thieves endured the city.
The man came to the door at the end of the passage and lifted the iron knocker hung in the shape of a crown, beaten flat.
A bored woman’s voice invited him in.
The Thief went into a room that, although small, had enough darkness at the edges to make it appear large. The woman who had asked him in ignored his entrance. She sat at a desk the width and breadth of a double bed, the chair behind it the sort with wings, though not for flying. The book of maps she was reading was browning and hand-bound and probably should have been handled by someone wearing gloves. She licked a finger and turned the page.
The man cleared his throat. “A member of the Strangeworlds Society is here.”
The woman looked up from the book with an uninterested expression. “Yes, I got your message, Hid.” She tapped a notepad on the desk. “A child, though. Not the man?”
“Well, he is almost a man, this one. But he is Daniel Mercator’s child, Overseer. He is the spitting image of him.” Hid mimed spitting, for emphasis.
The Overseer rested her chin on her hand. “I see.”
“He has a suitcase with him,” Hid said. “A schism contained in a box.”
The Overseer said nothing. The two Thieves stared at each other, their lives before Five Lights hanging over them like a dark cloud. Some things were better never spoken of. And, in some instances, buried.
“You did say it would only be a matter of time before Five Lights was at risk, Glean. Madam Overseer,” Hid said, carefully correcting his manners.
“The Unseen could already be here, and we would know nothing of them.” Glean sighed. Then she stood and cracked her knuckles. �
��The Mercator boy will head for the Strangeworlds Society outpost—Quickspark’s. It will be interesting to see how he reacts to what he finds.”
“His suitcase, though. It could be a way out. Our way out.”
Glean slowly steepled her fingers, two of them meeting at a time. “It doubtless leads back to his own world. Tempting. Though it would involve having to deal with other Strangeworlds Society members who might come to try to defend the place. The boy might be threatened into providing something else, of course.”
A crafty expression came over Hid’s face. “He has another child with him.”
Glean frowned. “Another Mercator? I wasn’t aware the Head Custodian had more than one child.”
“I don’t know who she is. But she could be valuable.”
“You mean as leverage. Take the girl, and have him trade a suitcase for her safe return?”
Hid nodded. “Better to negotiate for a world we truly want than thieving for scraps, Overseer.”
A smile slowly crept over Glean’s face. “Then take her. When you can.”
* * *
Flick felt her jacket move. She looked down to see a hand retreating out of her pocket. “Hey!”
Jonathan turned around.
“Are you picking my pocket?” Flick grabbed the wrist of a girl in a red coat.
“Ow.” The girl winced. Her tight dark curls were cut very short. She seemed to be about the same age as Flick. “You’ve got open pockets, haven’t you? Fair game.”
“Fair game?” Flick’s eyebrows shot up in outrage.
“I’ve got a license.” The girl extracted a small card from her sleeve with her free hand. “See?”
Jonathan took it.
NICC DE VYCE
LICENSED THIEF – THIRD CLASS
BY COMMAND OF THE
ORDER OF THIEVES,
THE CITY OF FIVE LIGHTS AND ITS ENCLOSING RESIDENCIES.
“This seems to check out.” He handed it to Flick. “Apologies, Miss de Vyce.”
“Out-of-towners, are you?” The Thief rubbed her wrist as Flick let go.
“You could say that.”
“Well, watch yourselves. Thieves got a new quota, today, so there’s lots of us on the ground.” She sniffed and glanced about. “Did I hear you say you’re going to the Marigold Inn?”
Flick scowled, not wanting to tell this Thief anything. “We might have been.”
“You’ll struggle. It’s not been around for a while, that place.”
“What do you mean?” asked Flick.
Nicc de Vyce blinked at her. “Wow. You really aren’t from around here, are you? Look, if you want some food, head west onto Cat-Scratch Street. Find the Wilting Lily. Tell them I sent you, they’ll do you a deal.”
“What sort of deal?” Flick narrowed her eyes in distrust.
Jonathan looked suspicious too. “Why are you telling us this?”
Nicc held up a thimble. It was very familiar. “Because this is a nice trinket. Don’t worry.” She grinned, as Jonathan checked his pockets. “I left you a receipt. Catch you later, out-of-towners.” And she stepped backward and melted into the bustling crowd.
Jonathan took a piece of paper from his pocket. “Receipt of Theft,” he read. “One thimble. Well, that’s that, then.”
“We should tell the police,” Flick said, as they started walking again. She felt incredibly annoyed by Nicc’s brazen thievery and kept her hands stuffed into her pockets as she walked.
“There’d be no point in reporting it.” Jonathan sighed. “Thieves have a license to practice here. It’s as much a job as being a plumber or engineer.”
“And they leave receipts?” Flick stepped back to let a herd of very small brown sheep amble down the road. They were like cuddly toys. A shepherd was driving them, a dark stick in his hand.
“I suppose it makes the whole process official. I dread to imagine what they think of anyone operating freelance. Still. The tip about the inn wasn’t bad.”
“You think we should trust her?”
“Well, why not? Would we trust a baker, or a florist? Probably. Well, why not a Thief? Remember: this isn’t our world. We shouldn’t impose our rules or expectations on it.”
Cat-Scratch Street was easy enough to find, and they didn’t have to go far before they found the Wilting Lily. A large, green-white painted inn, it had a swinging sign with a dying white flower on it. There were a lot of tables and chairs outside, and several of the tables were occupied by couples and groups drinking wine and eating olives.
Jonathan led the way inside, and Flick sighed in pleasure at the coolness of the air—she hadn’t realized how warm the City of Five Lights was.
“Table for two, is it?” An older gentleman with a beard in two fine plaits came forward to greet them. He caught sight of the suitcase. “Or are you looking for a room?”
“Both, if possible,” Jonathan said.
“Someone called de Vyce sent us,” Flick added.
The man beamed. “Niccy! Ah, she’s a good honest girl.”
“Isn’t she a Thief?” Flick asked incredulously.
“Absolutely! She’ll be one of the best one day, you mark my words. A room and a table for Niccy’s friends. No charge!”
“We shall certainly pay,” Jonathan said.
“Then let us meet halfway. You pay for your food, I give you the room for the night gratis.” The man spread his hands out, showing he had nothing to hide. “You won’t find a better offer than that.”
“Thank you.” Flick smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Jesper, my friends call me,” he said. “And my enemies call me a stubborn old man who knows too much for his own good. Now—a table. The patio has lovely shade. Follow me, please?”
Jesper took them out to the back of the inn, where a patio shaded by lush green trees waited for them. Jesper put a jug of what tasted like lemonade on the table and handed Flick a menu, before leaving.
“This is nice.” Flick opened the menu. “Is this as nice as the place you wanted to go?”
“Hm?” He looked up, as if he didn’t know what she meant.
“You wanted to go somewhere else. The… Marzipan?”
“The Marigold,” he corrected her. “This place is nicer, actually. We’ve gotten rather lucky. Almost worth the theft of the thimble, though we don’t have much left to trade. We shall have to be very careful from here on in.”
“Why’s that?” A red-coated figure helped herself to one of the spare seats and they looked up, startled. “Oh, don’t mind me,” Nicc said as she filled her empty glass with the drink from the jug.
“I don’t believe we arranged to share our lunch,” Jonathan managed, as he watched Nicc take a sip of the drink.
“I don’t make plans.” Nicc grinned. Her eyes sparkled with humor, and the freckles over her nose made her look cute, rather than sneaky. “I never know when I might get a better offer.”
“Not above stealing your food as well, then?” Flick asked cuttingly. The attempted rifling through her pockets still stung.
“Above?” Nicc put her glass down. “What do you mean?”
“Well… stealing,” Flick said. “You don’t have to steal. You could buy things.”
“With what?” Nicc cast a hand around. “I don’t have the talent or skill to make anything. I can’t perform, save for going unseen. And I don’t come from a rich family. Thieving is a respectable job. I take what I need, and I pay my way with it.”
“But you’re stealing things that belong to other people,” Flick insisted.
Nicc leaned an elbow on the table. “What’s your name, out-of-towner?”
“Flick.”
“Flick? Well, Miss Flick, I don’t know where you’ve dropped in from, but Thieving is not the same as stealing. Stealing is done by folks who want more than they need. Taking for the sake of taking or taking to deprive someone. Thieving is a skill. An art form. It is going unseen, noticing what the owner is not guarding and Thieving it into your own
ership. Using that to trade for what you need. I’m not taking things to keep or to hoard. I’m taking them to survive. It’s what the Order does.”
“So…” Flick frowned. “It’s a skill? That you learn?”
“Yes.” Nicc nodded excitedly. “You go to the school, learn the tricks and when you get your license, you go out and thieve. The Order takes a cut to keep the school running and that’s that. Look.” Nicc pointed at one of the large buildings that loomed past the gardens. “See that red-brick building? That’s the Order of Thieves.”
“Right in the middle of the city,” Jonathan mused.
Flick tapped the menu in front of her. “What do you do with the things you thieve? Do you bottle them into magic?”
“Sometimes,” Nicc said, nodding. “The Order doesn’t like us to store too much magic, though. Prefers if we deal in items.”
“Why?”
“Well…” Nicc stopped. Then she frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“Balance,” Jonathan said, as if it was a suggestion, but Flick thought it was probably more an explanation for her sake. “Too much stored magic can’t be a good thing.”
Nicc sniffed. “I don’t know about that. I don’t like magic. Don’t trust it. I know there’s a rumor some of the higher-ups like to get a lot of magic and schism-jump. You’d never catch me doing something like that. I know where I belong and it’s here. Going to other worlds? I like the one I’m in, thank you.” She glanced down at the suitcase. Then lowered her voice. “You’re with the Strangeworlds Society, aren’t you?”
Flick felt her muscles contract as if preparing to run, and Jonathan went slightly red.
“That obvious, is it?” he asked, aiming for bravado and landing on nervousness.
Nicc smiled, and Flick felt some of her fright give way. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to broadcast the fact you’re here.”
“You’ve heard of us, then?”
“Never met one of you in person, but heard of, yeah. Heard you were all gone, actually.”
Jonathan’s expression shut down. His face was as readable as a blank slate. “And where did you hear that?”
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