Rules for Thieves

by Alexandra Ott

  I smile, trying not to show that I’m feeling nervous too. One of us has to be the strong one. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  We stop outside Durban’s door. Beck takes a shaky, deep breath and knocks. There’s silence for a long moment. Too long. Is he even here?

  “You may enter.”

  I sigh in relief. At the last minute, I remember to shove my hands into my jacket pockets before we go in. The black lines are much more noticeable now than they were the first time I was here, and there’s a chance they’ll peek through the bandage.

  Durban takes us both in, his gaze as intense as before. “You’ve decided to stay,” he says to me. He doesn’t sound happy about it.

  “Yeah.” I can think of plenty of other things I could say in reply, but Beck was probably right about not mouthing off. I hold my tongue and try to think calm thoughts.

  Durban sighs like we’re the most dreadful inconvenience he’s ever had to deal with. From his desk, he picks up a massive brass lantern. “Follow me,” he says, brushing past us and sweeping out the door.

  “See?” I whisper to Beck. “I was totally civil.”

  Beck rolls his eyes and follows Durban out the door.

  Down one hall, then another, until we reach the spot where the hall branches into three—this much, at least, I remember from Mead’s tour. Durban doesn’t hesitate, taking us down the hallway Mead said we couldn’t enter, lighting the way with his lantern. I expect to feel magic or something that would show the hall’s spelled, but nothing happens. Maybe Durban did something to take the spell off, so we can walk down here?

  The doors in this hallway aren’t wood, like in the rest of the guildhall. They’re silvery metal, with heavy locks bolting them. Protected by magic too, probably. I almost laugh out loud at the thought of thieves having to protect against thieves.

  Durban stops in front of one of the doors. This one’s not as large as some of the others and doesn’t have a fancy lock on it. Durban knocks once, twice, three times. He pauses for a second, taps again, and again. There’s some kind of pattern to his knocks like a secret code, but before I can figure out what it is the door swings open by itself.

  Durban steps over the threshold. Beck and I look at each other and follow him, side by side. Durban blocks my view of the room. It’s dimly lit, with only a few candles in sconces like everywhere else.

  “Beck Reigler to see you about his trial, sir,” Durban says. For once he actually sounds meek. His voice is still cold and clipped, but it’s lost its edge. “And he’s brought a . . . new recruit. From Azeland, where he was last assigned. Name’s Rosco.”

  “I see,” says a man’s voice softly. “Thank you, Durban.” There’s nothing commanding in the man’s tone, but that’s clearly Durban’s cue to leave. He bows his head stiffly and exits.

  A desk sits in the corner of the room, lit by a single candle. It’s cluttered with papers and strange objects and—my eyes widen—a small bag overflowing with gold coins. They’re majas, without a doubt. More than I’ve ever seen at once in my entire life.

  I finally wrench my eyes away from the coins and take in the king himself, who’s sitting behind the desk. He’s younger than I imagined, no older than thirty. His brown hair is combed and trimmed neatly around an angular face, framing blue-gray eyes. He’s dressed in all black, from what I can see.

  Even as I stare at him, he examines us. I feel like an orphan on Adoption Day all over again.

  “Have a seat.” He gestures to the two chairs opposite the desk. We sit quickly, both trying to keep from staring at the coins piled in front of him and both failing.

  “So,” he says softly, “you wish the join the Guild, Rosco?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looks at Beck now. “And you think she can do it?”

  Beck doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

  Well, at least one of us is confident in my abilities.

  Kerick nods slowly. “I don’t have to remind you that we usually do not accept new members younger than thirteen, do I?”

  Nobody told me that. I look at Beck, who’s staring at the floor. “No, sir.”

  “I am willing to make an exception,” Kerick says. Beck looks up. “But only if you’re confident that Rosco will be an asset to this Guild. We are not a charity.”

  “I understand, sir,” Beck says quietly.

  “And you vouch for her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.” Kerick steeples his fingers, revealing a deep, rough scar slashed across the back of his hand. “In that case, you may take Rosco with you on your trial. Since you vouch for her, you can train her. The two of you will work together to complete this task.”

  I have no idea how this typically works, but this seems like a relief to me. I won’t have to do it alone. I’ll have Beck with me.

  I glance at Beck’s face. He’s trying to mask his expression, but a muscle twitches in his jaw. Obviously he’s not as happy with this idea as I am.

  “Now,” Kerick continues, “since there are two of you, I expect you can handle a challenging task.”

  From within the desk he pulls out a small scrap of parchment. He lays it flat in front of us so we can see. It’s a sketch of a necklace, with a gray chain that’s probably silver, and some kind of blue stone in the middle.

  “This necklace,” Kerick explains, “was recently purchased by Lord Atherton of the Shoringham estate in Ruhia, as a gift for his wife, Lady Atherton. The Guild needs to acquire it. Take the necklace and bring it here, and you will pass your trial. You may use any of the Guild’s resources if necessary, although you cannot ask anyone else to steal it for you. Tell Durban if you need anything, and he will assist you. However, you may not share the specifics of your trial with anyone, even Guild members; when asking for Guild resources or making preparations, you must provide as little information as possible. Otherwise, you may do whatever you feel is necessary to complete this task, as long as you tell no one about the Guild. If caught, you will say you were working alone.”

  Kerick stops, letting all this sink in. I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The task seems straightforward enough—steal the necklace, bring it back—but stealing from a noble will probably be even harder and more risky than it sounds. Judging from the tightness of Beck’s jaw, he’s reached the same conclusion.

  “If I may offer some advice,” Kerick continues, “there will be a ball held for Ruhian nobility at the Dearborn barony tomorrow evening. The Athertons attend every year, and I have heard from a reliable source that Lady Atherton plans to wear the necklace at the event. The crowds at a ball may make sneaking in easier.”

  Beck perks up a bit at this. He nods slowly, and I can practically see him formulating a plan. I’m glad to be doing this with him. Making plans isn’t really in my skill set.

  “You have until the first day of Mirati’s Month to report back here,” Kerick says. “If you do not return by then, it will be assumed that you have been captured or chosen not to continue. Understood?”

  We both nod vigorously and say, almost in unison, “Yes, sir.”

  “Reigler, you’re dismissed. Rosco, stay a moment.”

  My stomach lurches. What does he want to say to me that he won’t say in front of Beck?

  Beck casts a worried glance at me, but he leaves.

  I’m alone with the king of the Thieves Guild.

  Kerick meets my eyes and holds me there. “I don’t know how much you have been told about the way the Thieves Guild operates. But before you undertake this trial, there are some things you should know.”

  He leans back in his chair, his gaze still locked on me. “I’ve known Beck Reigler for many years, and I trust his judgment. If he thinks you can pass the trial, I have no doubt you can. Your ability to complete the task is not what concerns me.”

  Well, there’s an unexpected vote of confidence. It seems everyone thinks I’m a good thief except me.

 
; “What concerns me,” Kerick says, “is not whether you are able to do what is necessary, but whether you are willing.”

  Now he’s totally lost me. Didn’t I just say I want to join?

  His gaze is uncomfortably intense as he continues. “You must be willing to do anything and everything the Guild asks of you. Being a member means doing whatever is necessary to ensure its survival. Being a thief means doing whatever is necessary to ensure yours. If you want something, if you need something, you must take it. But taking something for yourself, for your Guild, means you will always be taking away from someone else. You must be willing to take from anyone. From everyone. That’s the first rule of survival. Someone’s loss is another’s gain. Someone’s death is another’s life. If you can’t accept this, then I can’t rely on you. So I will ask you only once. Are you sure that you want to become a member of the Thieves Guild?”

  The answer should be easy, since I don’t have a choice in the matter. I have to join the Guild to get the money. And I have nothing to lose, right?

  So why do I feel like I’m giving something up?

  The first rule of survival. Just like Beck’s first rule: Stealing is necessary to survive.

  Who knew being a thief had so many rules. I guess even freedom has limits.

  “I’m sure.”

  Kerick nods once, looking satisfied. “Very well. You may go.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I say, because it seems like the thing to say.

  On my way out, I glance back. He’s already looking at the papers on his desk, sparing no more of his attention on me.

  • • •

  Beck waits for me at the end of the hall, holding Durban’s large lantern. His face is ashen.

  “So, that went well,” I say.

  Beck gives me a withering look.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone being given a trial this hard before,” he moans. “Only some of the older thieves are sent to steal from nobility. This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

  “Don’t be so whiny. We get to work together on it. How hard can it be to sneak into a crowded ballroom and take one little necklace?”

  “You don’t get it,” Beck insists. “He wants us to fail. He thinks you’re too young to join and that I shouldn’t have brought you. He thinks we’re going to mess this up.”

  “Well, that’s not what he just told me.”

  Beck’s eyes widen. “Really? What did he say?”

  “He said he trusts your judgment about me. He said he’s not concerned about my ‘ability’ or something.”

  “Seriously? He said that?”

  “Yeah, he said that.”

  Beck frowns. “What else did he say? Why’d he keep you so long?”

  “He just wanted to give me some overly dramatic speech about making sacrifices for the Guild or whatever. I get the gist.”

  “Oh.” He sounds relieved. “Well. Guess we need to go see Durban then.” Without another word he sets off down the hall, waving the lantern in front of him. I practically have to jog to keep up.

  “Wait, we do? Why?”

  “To get everything we need,” Beck says, not slowing down. “We’ll need transportation. And clothes. And a forger, probably. . . . How are we supposed to get all this ready for tomorrow?”

  “I really have no idea what your plan is,” I say.

  “Isn’t it obvious? We’ll need to disguise ourselves. Servants disguises would be less conspicuous, but we’ll be traveling by thilastri anyway, and we’ll need an excuse to get close to Lady Atherton . . . unless we have one of each costume?”

  “Huh?”

  “But it’ll probably be harder to get the right clothing for us on such short notice. Olleen probably won’t have anything to fit you. . . .”

  “Slow down and explain what you’re talking about.”

  “But a servant could hardly walk up to Lady Atherton and just grab the necklace off her neck—”

  “Beck Reigler, if you don’t tell me what the plan is right this minute, I will beat you over the head with that lantern.”

  Beck glances at me, figures out I’m serious, and slows a little but still doesn’t stop. “We’re going to have to disguise ourselves as nobility to sneak into the ball.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Um, Beck?” I say. “That is a bad plan. A really, really bad plan.”

  “Why? How else can we get up close to Atherton?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because neither of us could pass for nobility even if a million majas suddenly landed in our laps?”

  “Nobles don’t notice anything unless it’s obvious. If we have the right clothes and arrive by thilastri they’ll never know the difference. It’s the clothes that count.”

  “Who are we going to pretend to be? The heirs of Lord and Lady Thief of the estate of Delusion?”

  “All right, genius, do you have a better plan?”

  “Your disguise-ourselves-as-servants plan wasn’t totally ridiculous,” I say, to distract from the fact that I have no plan.

  “Won’t work. We have to arrive by thilastri, for one thing, since we don’t have any other transportation, and how’re we going to explain that? And somehow we’re going to have to get close enough to Atherton to get the necklace from her, and servants won’t be able to do that. Besides, people suspect servants to be thieves. They won’t suspect fellow nobility.”

  Fair points. “But even if we dress up as nobility, which may be impossible, and come up with a good story about who we are, which is even more unlikely, we’d still have to try and fit in. We don’t have noble manners, we don’t know who anyone is, we can’t dance—”

  “Speak for yourself,” Beck says lightly. “I, for one, am a terrific dancer.”

  “Oh, now you decide to make jokes.”

  Beck takes a deep breath. “I’m just trying to figure this out, okay?”

  I open my mouth to respond, but Beck stops paying attention. We’ve stopped outside Durban’s door again. Again we wait, and again Durban’s voice says, “You may enter.”

  I’ve seen way more of this man and his office than anyone ought to in one day.

  Durban doesn’t ask for the details of our trial, and Beck doesn’t share them. Beck starts listing off things we need, and Durban alternates between jotting things down on his parchment or protesting that he can’t get something Beck’s asked for. They go back and forth, Beck asking for things and Durban arguing about it. Within a few minutes, I’ve totally lost track of what they’re talking about, but I notice the pattern of their conversation, the way Beck keeps his voice calm yet firm during the arguing, while Durban’s voice sharpens with every back-and-forth. I can’t tell who’s winning.

  Finally they seem to be wrapping things up. “The invitations will be difficult, with so little time,” Durban says, “but we have people in Ruhia. I’ll see what they can do. As far as the disguises, we should have the clothing available, but it may not be in the right size. You’ll need to see Olleen Mighan about the clothes and alterations.”

  “Thank you.” Beck’s not totally sincere but very polite. He and Durban look at me like I’m supposed to say something.

  I manage a curt, “We appreciate your help.” Looking relieved, Beck ushers me out the door.

  “See, I don’t mouth off to people if I try,” I say smugly.

  Beck snorts. “Come on, we’ve got to go see Olleen.”

  Great, more running around through hallways. “So who’s Olleen?” I ask as Beck takes off at a brisk pace. “Is she, like, the clothing and disguise person?”

  “Yeah. She’s head seamstress.”

  “Oh. Will she have time to make us disguises by tomorrow?”

  “Hopefully there will be some already made that can be altered to fit us,” Beck explains. “But yeah, it will be hard to get the clothes ready by tomorrow.”

  We haven’t gone very far, but Beck leads me over to a big wooden door near the kitchens. This one doesn�
�t even have a nameplate.

  Beck knocks once, then opens the door without waiting for a response. We step into one of the largest rooms I’ve seen here. Yet somehow the room isn’t large enough for all the furniture and material crammed into it—wardrobes, dressers, boxes, tables, cupboards. Clothes are scattered everywhere: piled on tables and tumbling out of drawers and falling off boxes and draped over chairs.

  The room’s only occupant is an older woman with graying hair and crooked eyeglasses, sitting at one of the tables. She holds a piece of fabric with one hand and needle and thread with the other. She’s the most motherly-looking figure I’ve ever seen in my life.

  She sees Beck, and a huge smile lights her face. “Beck! So good to see you, I hadn’t heard you were back!” In a flash she’s across the room, giving him a quick hug.

  Then she spots me. “Who’s this?” she asks warmly. For a second I’m afraid she’s going to hug me too, and I have no idea how to respond to that. But something in my face must warn her off, because she doesn’t come any closer.

  “This is Alli Rosco,” Beck says. “We’re doing our trial together.”

  Olleen looks vaguely surprised. “Is it time for your trial already? You’ve grown so quickly, I’d forgotten. . . .”

  Beck nods. “Yeah, and we’ve got a big favor to ask.”

  In an instant, Olleen’s expression grows serious, and she’s all business. “What do you need?”

  “We’ll be attending a ball,” Beck explains, “at a barony. And we’ll need disguises to get inside.”

  “You’ll need noble’s wear, then,” Olleen says instantly, already looking around the room, surveying the clothing that’s been thrown around. “Unless you were thinking of servant disguises . . . ?”

  “We’re considering both,” Beck says. “We’re trying to get a forger to get us an invitation as nobility, but if that fails we’ll need the servant disguises.”

  Olleen nods. “When?”

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  “It’ll be difficult,” Olleen says. She looks sharply at me. “This one’ll be hard to fit. We don’t have many girls her age or size. But I have some gowns we can reuse, if I get them tailored right. . . . And as for the servant disguises, there’s usually a uniform for an event. I’ll need to know what it is.”