I drift in and out of the conversation as the guys make jokes, mostly at each other’s expense. Even though Beck is quieter than he was last night at dinner with just me and Mead, he seems comfortable here. I’ve figured out that Peakes must have been born in the Guild too, if he hasn’t had his trial yet, but I don’t know about the others. Am I the only outsider? Have they known each other their entire lives?
Bray and Flint stand up from the table, and with a quick good-bye they carry their dishes away. Peakes leaps up after them like he doesn’t want to be left behind. Rosalia manages to fit in one more angry glare at Mead before shoving away from the table and going after her brother. And Sister Morgila thought I was hostile.
Mead lingers for a few more minutes before he, too, leaves the table. Beck and I finish our meals mostly in silence, though he keeps glancing at me like he’s going to say something and then looking away again.
Finally I give up on him and speak first. “Were all of you born in the Guild?”
“Not Rosalia,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of paste, “or Bray. But Rosalia came here with her parents, and Bray with his father, a long time ago, so they’ve basically grown up with us.”
“Oh.” I frown. “How come all of you listen to Rosalia? Is she, like, in charge of something?”
He’s surprised. “What do you mean?”
“All of you do whatever Rosalia tells you to.”
Beck considers this for a long moment and laughs. “Because we’re all secretly terrified of her.”
“But Peakes is her brother, and everyone teases him . . . ?”
Beck shrugs. “Peakes is the youngest, and aside from me he’s the only one who hasn’t passed his trial yet, so he’s an easy target. But Rosalia never lets it go too far.”
“Okay, new question. You call everyone by their last names except her . . . why?”
Beck shrugs again, finishing his mouthful of nonfood. “It’d be too confusing to call both of them Peakes, and it suits him better than her.” He looks at my untouched oatmeal, which has taken on a sickly green hue in this light. “Are you going to eat that?”
After Beck finishes my breakfast, he picks up both empty bowls and carries them over to the dirty-dishes stack. We head back through the maze of tunnels to Beck’s room. With nothing much to do and hours to go before our meeting with the king, we lie around the room, bored, until someone slams open the door.
“Beck Reigler,” Mead announces, standing in the doorway, “I’ve been instructed to fetch you. By force, if necessary.”
“For?” Beck says, not looking up.
“Tunnels. Racing. The usual crew.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Reigler. This is not optional.”
“I—”
“You don’t need to spend all your time moping around and worrying about the trial. Besides, we need you for the team. Bray’s recruiting Dryn.”
Beck finally looks up, but his gaze rests on me, not Mead. “I don’t think so,” he repeats.
“What are we talking about?” I ask.
“You can join us, Rosco,” Mead says jovially, though I suspect I’m an afterthought. “If you want. But it’s starting now, so let’s go.”
“What’s starting now?” I ask.
Beck sighs. “All right.”
Mead grins. “You might want to dress warm, Rosco. The ice tunnels can be drafty.”
Chapter Ten
Ice tunnels?” I ask Beck as we rush down the hallway. Mead left a minute ago, with a warning that we’d better be there in five minutes or he’d track us down. Beck threw me an overlarge coat and gloves from his dresser, put on similar ones himself, and then grabbed, of all things, a small wooden sled, which he’s now dragging behind him. He’s also refusing to answer any of my questions.
“You’ll see when you get there,” he says for the tenth time.
“Okay, but how about you give me a preview?”
“It’s just a game,” Beck says. “A race. This part of the mountain is full of caves and tunnels. The Guild converted the larger ones into our headquarters, but there a lot more that are covered in enough ice.”
Enough ice. A race.
I look at the sled trailing behind us.
“Are you serious?” I say.
Beck grins. “Did I mention that Guild games can be somewhat reckless?”
“Somewhat?” I object, but the idea does sound sort of fun. There’s never enough snow in Azeland to sled properly, and I’ve always wanted to try it. . . .
Beck leads me back to the front entry. Like before, the door-disguised-as-rock slides open with the press of pendant to stone. Abruptly we’re outside, the icy wind whipping into my face. I should’ve taken the time to button this coat.
“Come on,” Beck says, jogging toward the ledge where Ser landed our carriage before. “This way.”
I am not fond of how quickly he’s taking this really very narrow strip of rock, but I’m not about to be a coward. I run after him.
Thankfully, after a minute or so the ledge begins to widen. A couple of turns later, we duck under an overhanging icicle, squeeze between two rocks, and emerge victorious on a wide expanse of snow. We’re in a cavern, surrounded on three sides by the same gray rock, but directly across from us the rock drops sharply away. The snow here is hard-packed and thin, barely providing traction as we walk. My feet skid over slick spots where the snow doesn’t completely cover the ice that lies beneath it. The rocky walls stretch so far above our heads I can’t see how high they reach, but shafts of sunlight filter in from above.
Several other people are gathered on the far side of the expanse. I spot Mead, with his height and paleness, right away. Next to him is Flint, the wiry boy from breakfast. I recognize Bray and Peakes too, the latter looking even scrawnier in contrast to Bray’s bulk. There are also a couple of people I don’t recognize: a girl, probably several years older than me, with short-cropped dark hair, and another boy, probably Mead’s age, with some kind of twisty tattoo wrapping around one arm.
“About time,” Mead says. “Dryn, Kierr, this is Rosco, by the way. New recruit.”
The girl—Dryn?—looks at me, frowns, and turns to Mead. “New girl’s on your team,” she says to him. “We’ve already got Peakes.”
Peakes’s scarlet blush reflects my own embarrassment, but Mead shrugs indifferently. “All right, but I get Reigler and Flint.”
“Deal,” Bray says. “Have we got enough sleds for the Fall?”
Mead glances around, doing a quick count. “Nope. Let’s do the Pass.”
“No way,” Bray says. “You know Flint’s fastest on the Pass.”
Mead gives another lazy shrug. “Got any better routes for eight players with four sleds?”
Bray frowns but seems to concede the point. “All right. Five minutes for strategy, and then we start.”
Bray, Peakes, Dryn, and Tattoo Guy form a huddle, and the rest of us—Mead, Beck, Flint, and me—move to the other end of the cavern, as far from them as possible.
“Okay,” Mead says, clapping his hands together. “Rosco’s going to be our first, and she’ll hand off to Flint. Reigler’s second, hand off to me. Got it?” Everyone nods except me. Mead approaches a wooden sled and pushes it across the snow toward me. “Flint and I will go get in position. Reigler, explain the rules to Rosco.” Mead and Flint race off, passing between two large rocks and out of sight.
“Explain,” I say to Beck.
“Okay, each team has four players, but only two sleds,” Beck says. “So we’ve chosen two tunnels that we call the Pass. The first tunnel ends on a ledge, and then the second tunnel starts. The finish line is the bottom of the second tunnel. Each team will send two players down the first tunnel, then they’ll hand off their sleds to their teammates, who will take the second tunnel. That way everyone gets a go. First team to have two sledders reach the finish line wins. So Mead and Flint are climbing down to the ledge to wait for us. You’ll go down first and give your sled t
o Flint, and I’ll be right behind you to give mine to Mead.”
“So how do you and I get to the finish line?”
“We run.”
Before I can respond, someone shouts over at us. “You guys ready?”
“Ready,” Beck yells back, grabbing his sled. “Come on!”
Beck and I follow Bray and Peakes, who are both tugging sleds behind them. And now I finally realize what we’re doing.
The rocky platform we’re standing on drops off abruptly. The only thing between us and a very long fall to the ground is a wide, ice-encrusted tunnel so steep that I can’t see how far down it goes. The walls of the tunnel are slick, tight curves that twist and turn. Every inch of it is covered in thick, jagged layers of ice, gleaming blue and white in the dim light.
This won’t be like sledding down a hill, or sledding on snow. This will be a fast drop, full of rocks and other obstacles, with the tunnel itself twisting and curving around.
I gulp.
Peakes has set his sled down on the left side of the tunnel, with Bray just behind him. Beck leads me to the other side. “You’re up,” he says gently.
“We’re going at the same time?” I ask, looking at Peakes. “What if we crash into each other?”
Beck’s mouth twitches. “Avoid that,” he says.
Shouts filter up to us, echoing and distorted, from our other team members, waiting on the ledge somewhere many, many feet down.
I position my sled at the edge of the drop, in imitation of Peakes.
Jumping over the wall at the orphanage suddenly seems laughably easy. “This,” I say, “is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.” I climb onto the sled.
Beck positions himself behind me, to give me a push.
“One,” Bray calls.
“Two,” Beck shouts back.
Then, in unison: “Three!”
Beck pushes the sled, and everything drops out from under me.
The sled shoots down the tunnel, runners skidding and carving on the ice. My stomach has dropped somewhere near my feet. I’m dying, I’m dying, this is how I’m going to die—
Across the tunnel, Peakes shoots ahead of me. He’s riding his sled along the left wall, letting the curve push him forward. He doesn’t appear to be dead, so . . .
I steer as best I can, throwing my weight to the right, tucking my arms in tight for more speed—
I’ve overdone it. The sled arcs up the wall, careening forward, runners gliding across the unbroken ice at the top—
The wall curves away, and I’m gliding on nothing but air.
I’m flying.
I let out a scream of equal parts delight, adrenaline, and fear as I shoot through the air, overtaking Peakes. The sled lands back on the ice with a jolt, runners skidding. I hear shouts, but the frigid air whips against my face so hard I don’t dare look up to see how far away they are. There’s nothing but me and the sled and the ice as I speed toward the finish.
My feet hit the hard-packed snow first, and I tumble out of the tunnel, landing on the ledge on my knees. As Flint whoops in triumph and runs toward me, I roll away from the sled, letting him grab it. In a blink, he’s gone, leaping gracefully onto the sled like it’s an extension of his body. He goes down the second tunnel headfirst.
“All right, Rosco?” Mead asks. All the breath has been knocked out of me; it’s all I can do to smile. Mead smiles back.
From the tunnel above me come shouts. “I hate to rush you,” Mead says, “but you might want to move.”
I lurch to my feet and stumble away from the tunnel exit just as Peakes slides into view. He’s winded and staggering, but he manages to land on his feet, at least. Dryn grabs the sled from him and races away, shooting down the second tunnel almost as fast as Flint did.
“Wow, Rosco,” Peakes says when he catches his breath. “That was some stunt you pulled back there.”
Mead gives me an affectionate pat on the back, so I decide this must be a compliment.
I glance down at my right hand. The snow has dampened the bandage covering it and seeped through, threatening to expose the black markings. The cold is making it ache even worse, too. I quickly shove my hand into my coat pocket.
Peakes and I back against the rock wall, out of the way of both tunnels, as first Beck and then Bray arrive and hand off their sleds, and Mead and Tattoo Guy disappear into the second tunnel.
“How was it, Alli?” Beck asks me, still gasping for breath.
“I think I almost died,” I say. “Can I do it again?”
Everyone laughs. “Flint was right,” Bray says with a chuckle, “you’re going to fit right in here. Come on, if we hurry we can see the finish.”
A snow-packed pathway curves away from the ledge. The four of us remaining—Beck, Bray, Peakes, and me—run across the path, the ice tunnel shooting somewhere below us. At the end of the path there’s a three-foot jump to another, larger ledge, where the second tunnel ends. Since the tunnel curves around a bit before ending here, we’ve beaten the second set of sledders to the bottom; only Flint and Dryn are waiting.
“I would’ve been first,” Dryn is grumbling. “You got the better sled.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Flint says. As Beck and I approach, he grins at me. “Nice work up there, Rosco.”
I can’t seem to stop smiling.
A moment later the scrape of runners against ice echoes down the tunnel, and we all glance at the exit. Something barrels down, a blur of brown and black and pale hair—
Beck, Flint, and I erupt into cheers. Mead staggers to his feet and barely manages to dive out of the way as the second sled shoots forward, pitching its rider into the snow in a heap. At least I’m not the only one who landed that way.
Flint and Mead are already taunting our defeated opponents, but the teasing is good-natured. Beck and I burst into laughter as Peakes tries and fails to pick the ice out of his hair. Bray, not at all sore about losing, gives Peakes a high five. Shouts and laughter echo through the caves and bounce back to us. We are euphoric with adrenaline and recklessness.
I can’t remember ever feeling this way before.
Kids at the orphanage were never like this. We didn’t have running jokes about previous exploits and victories, with designated positions in a group. No one ever stayed at the orphanage long enough for that. Kids came and went, in and out, even me. There was never a shared history to connect us.
It feels like a family.
This must be what it’s like. To have brothers and sisters that you actually know, to grow up with the same group of people, to bond over shared lives. These are people who don’t leave.
I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be a part of this family.
• • •
By the time we all head back inside, we’re soaked head to toe, shivering, and laughing so loudly that half the Guild stares at us as we reenter the hall. Shouting boisterous good-byes, everyone heads off down separate hallways to their respective rooms in search of dry clothing.
I don’t have anything dry to wear—I’m in the same clothes I stole from that shop in Azeland and have been wearing ever since. But Beck offers to let me look through his dresser to find something that fits.
“I’m just borrowing these,” I say firmly, opening the bottom drawer. Beck’s been way too generous already, and I don’t want to owe him anything else.
“Of course,” Beck says. “You’ll get plenty of your own clothes once you join. But you’re welcome to anything in there in the meantime.”
I’m too wet and cold to argue the point any further. I find a nice warm sweater that actually fits me pretty well, and some worn but sturdy trousers that bunch a little at the ankles but aren’t too bad otherwise. The only thing I don’t have is a dry pair of shoes, but oh well.
After changing in the back bedroom and bandaging my aching hand again, I rejoin Beck in the main room, only to abruptly notice what he looks like for the first time this morning. The shirt and pants he’s changed into
are not only dry but also very clean and barely wrinkled, and it looks like he’s actually attempted to tame his hair. The bagginess of my sweater and pants suddenly seems offensive in comparison. “Oh,” I say, “am I supposed to be dressed up for this whole meeting-the-king thing?”
Beck barely glances at what I’m wearing. “It’s considered a sign of respect to wear your best clothing, but for most of us here that just means anything that’s clean. And you’re new, so he’ll know you don’t have anything to wear yet.”
“Are you sure?” My stomach is churning, though whether from nerves or magical injury I can’t tell. The whole ice-sledding escapade helped me forget about meeting with the king today.
God help me, I’m about to meet the king of the Thieves Guild.
“Don’t worry, Allicat,” Beck says. “It’s no big deal. Although, it might be helpful if you try not to insult him or mouth off.”
“Who, me?” I say, too innocently. “When would I ever do such a thing?”
“You did with Durban, but this will go a lot smoother if you don’t. Even if he says something awful and makes you angry, which he probably won’t, don’t say anything.”
I’m about to make another joke, but I can tell from the look on Beck’s face he’s seriously worried, so I nod. “No problem. I can be quiet and respectful and whatever.”
Beck makes a startled choking sound. “Somehow I doubt that,” he says when he’s finished sputtering.
“No really. How do you think I got out of the orphanage? I just played nice for a while.”
“And here I thought you killed all the Sisters, set off a large explosion, and burned the orphanage to the ground.”
“Oh, that happened too. But before all that, I had to play nice for a couple of minutes. And it nearly killed me, but I totally did it.”
“Guess we have nothing to worry about, then.” He scrubs one hand across the back of his neck. “I guess it’s time,” he says.
“Guess so,” I say back, but he doesn’t move for a second, just takes a deep breath. “You okay?”
“Sure. It’s just, I’ve been waiting for my trial for a long time.”
Rules for Thieves Page 10