Rules for Thieves

by Alexandra Ott

  “Small . . . ish,” I say, making a circle with my hand to demonstrate the size of the necklace. But I’m just guessing, actually. I don’t think the king said if that drawing was done to scale or not, now that I think about it.

  “All right,” Dryn says, nodding, “that gives us a place to start. Now, is this going to involve stealth or deception in any way? Sneaking around, probably?”

  I’m so relieved to finally know the answer to a question that I practically shout at her. “Yes!”

  “Okay,” she says. “Follow me.”

  We make our way across the room, past a knife-throwing range where several large handles are embedded in small wooden targets, and past a large cushioned ring where two men are sparring. Dryn pushes away a large black partition and waves me through to the other side.

  I’m in a small rectangular space, set off by six-foot-high partitions. And in front of me is a maze.

  Except that the walls of the maze are fairly low, just over my head; a tall person could see right over them. Which makes me wonder what their purpose is. They’re rather flimsy-looking, possibly cardboard, their edges jaggedly torn.

  I’m so distracted by the weird walls that it takes me a second to notice the floor, which is even stranger. At the entrance to the maze, the rock floor of the cavern is covered in dark, even circles, spaced neatly next to each other, with only glimpses of rock visible between them. Unlike the walls, these don’t look flimsy at all. They’re made of some material I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen before that is most likely very expensive.

  “Pressure sensors,” Dryn explains, seeing my gaze. “Made by magicians. We stole them from a security company that sells them to banks and noblemen who want to guard their safes. Eventually, you’ll learn how to disable them in case you ever come across them, but for now, I’m going to use them.”

  It takes me a second to catch on. “It’s a test,” I say, dread coiling in my stomach.

  “Right. There’s a safe over there, on the other side of the maze.” She points toward the entrance. “The point of the maze isn’t to confuse you, it’s to make you practice turning corners and fitting in narrow spaces. Get to the safe without setting off a sensor, and you win.”

  The way she says “win” reminds me of how competitive she was at the sled race, and I suspect that there’s nothing in the safe, no prize to be reached. The goal is just to win, to beat the game.

  “And how exactly do I keep from setting off the sensors?” I ask, knowing I’m not going to like the answer.

  She gives me that sharp grin again, the one that reminds me, in the same way that Durban’s voice does, of razor blades. “You have two options. Either you walk on your toes and manage to step in the spaces between the sensors, or you walk so lightly that the sensors don’t even detect your steps.”

  She cuts a sideways glance at me, and I understand. I really only have one option. The point of this whole exercise is to teach me how to be stealthy. Stepping in between the sensors is possible, but it would take ages to precisely plant each step, and it wouldn’t really teach me anything. The goal is to learn how to walk lightly, to be silent and quick, unheard and unnoticed. The pressure pads aren’t really meant to be obstacles. They’re for measurement. Light enough, or not light enough.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it, then.”

  Dryn gestures with one hand toward the entry. “Go ahead,” she says.

  I take my shoes off—there’s no way this will work with them on. The cavern floor is chilly against my bare feet. I step forward, toward the entrance—the absolute last normal step I can take from here to the end.

  “Oh, and Rosco?” Dryn calls. “You have two minutes.”

  That’s okay. In order to succeed, I’ll have to be fast anyway. Slow means heavy.

  I will myself to be light. I am a cloud, floating away. I am nothing but air. My bones are like Dryn’s, weightless and small. I am hollow.

  I take a step, my foot landing on the first sensor.

  I don’t know if it goes off. I’m not paying attention to that. I’m flying, barely allowing my feet to land before lifting them again, springing on my toes. I’m a bird, soaring. I don’t need to touch the ground.

  The walls curve rapidly, back and forth, the turns so narrow that I nearly stumble into them. My cursed arm bangs the walls more than once, and the pain is excruciating. At one point the passage is so tight I have to squeeze through sideways, and it seems impossible that anyone larger than me has ever successfully managed this. Maybe Dryn is playing some kind of elaborate hoax, and this isn’t a test at all but a prank designed to make me look ridiculous. If so, it is wildly successful.

  But then I round the last corner, and the end veers into view. I leap off the last sensor and land hard, my heels thudding to the ground for the first time since I entered the maze. A small gap between the maze walls and the natural rock makes a sort of doorway; I step through and walk back up the length of the maze to the front again, where Dryn is waiting impassively.

  “Time?” I ask.

  “You were fast,” she says, inclining her head. “And you only set off two sensors.”

  “Only?” I can’t believe it. “Then I failed.”

  “Well, technically,” Dryn says. “But nobody ever passes their first try. You did well.” She says this casually, in the way you might say the sun is bright or Ruhia is cold, but I suspect that Dryn is not the sort of person to hand out compliments unearned. I smile. I might actually be good at this.

  “So, I’m done with this one?” I ask, trying not to sound too relieved.

  Dryn nods. “We can move on for the moment. Now we know you can step lightly, but can you do it without making a sound?”

  I really don’t like where this is going. “Silence has never been one of my favorite things,” I warn her.

  She grins her razor-blade grin again. “Oh, Prince is going to love you.”

  • • •

  Prince, it turns out, is a very large dog.

  A very large dog with very impressive hearing, and even more impressive teeth.

  A good-sized pen in one corner of the cavern is entirely devoted to Prince, who sleeps on a large pile of blankets in a far corner. A high chain-link wall firmly squares off his territory.

  “Only Kierr can go in there,” Dryn says to me conversationally. “Prince snaps at everybody else, even if they bring food.”

  Kierr, it turns out, is Tattoo Guy, the one I met ice sledding. Dryn drags him away from the boxing area and commandeers his services. Which must be a regular occurrence, since he’s fairly good-natured about it.

  Kierr opens the gate and slips into Prince’s pen. The dog’s head jerks up, teeth bared, but then he drops it back down and closes his eyes again. Kierr walks casually up to the dog, then slips off his watch and sets it near the pile of blankets.

  This time, I don’t need anyone to explain to me what I have to do. I have only one question. “What happens if he mauls me?”

  Dryn shrugs. “Kierr stops him in time. Usually.”

  I can’t tell if she’s joking. But surely the Guild doesn’t want all its new recruits to die on the first day of training, or there wouldn’t be anybody left. This is as much a test of bravery as it is of my thieving abilities, and it’s one test I don’t intend to fail.

  Kierr makes a sweeping gesture toward the open gate. I square my shoulders and walk inside.

  I’m glad we did the pressure-sensor thing first, because it really does help. Moving both quickly and lightly, I take a direct route across the pen, my toes barely hitting the floor with each step.

  I hold my breath as I get closer to Prince, not wanting the sound of breathing to give me away. It’s probably a useless gesture, though; I’m sure he can hear my heart hammering.

  Keeping my eyes on the sleeping dog beside me, I reach down and scoop up the watch.

  Prince doesn’t move.

  Still holding my breath, I move back across the pen, victory within sight—
/>
  There’s a low growl behind me.

  I run.

  I charge through the gate, and Kierr slams it shut behind me. Prince reaches it a second later, teeth snapping, and lets out a loud bark.

  “Oh, shut up,” Kierr says. Prince peers at me through the fence and gives one last warning growl, then retreats to his bed. Breathless, I hand Kierr his watch.

  “That was close,” Dryn says, her eyebrows arched, but I think she sounds a little impressed.

  Dryn tells me I’ve earned a “break,” which means I get to watch other people train for a while instead of doing stuff myself. We sit down by the fighting ring and watch a couple of matches. While we watch, Dryn points out things about each fighter’s techniques and movements, giving me instruction on what to do—and, more importantly, what not to do. Though Dryn never gets up there herself, it’s clear that she knows what she’s talking about—she calls half of the fighters’ moves before they make them. She doesn’t always offer a prediction on who will win a match, but when she does, she’s always right.

  Most of the fighters are older people who I don’t recognize, but Bray steps up for the third match, and Kierr goes against him. Kierr suddenly appears impossibly small in comparison to Bray’s bulk. Bray looks so intimidating standing in the ring that he seems nothing like the friendly guy I met at dinner and raced in the ice caves.

  “Pay close attention to this one,” Dryn says as Kierr and Bray circle each other. “Chances are most of your opponents are going to be larger than you, which means you’ll have to be faster and smarter. Watch Kierr’s technique here.”

  I still don’t know much about this, but it’s clear right away that Bray is very good. He uses his size and force to his advantage, but it’s not the only thing he relies on. Kierr immediately goes on the defensive, weaving in and out of Bray’s attempted strikes. At first Dryn points out all the things Kierr’s doing right that I should try to imitate, but then she starts shaking her head in disapproval. Kierr is getting worn out, his movements growing slower. Bray mostly stands in place and forces Kierr to do all the work avoiding him. Even I can tell who’s going to win this one.

  By the end of the fight, Kierr’s sporting a nasty bruise on his face but grinning broadly. He and Bray shake hands and leap down from the ring.

  “Learning anything, Rosco?” Kierr says to me.

  “She learned how to get knocked out,” Dryn says dryly.

  “So what’s next for you?” Bray asks me. “Want to learn how to swordfight?”

  Sword fighting with Bray sounds like fun, actually. I look imploringly at Dryn, but she shakes her head. “Just basics for her,” she says. “She’s getting a crash course for her trial.”

  “Another time,” Bray says. “After you pass your trial, of course.” He winks at me.

  “Definitely,” I say.

  Bray claps me on the shoulder like we’re old friends, then nods at Dryn and saunters off. Warmth fills my chest again. I’m starting to feel like one of them, like a young Guild member myself. I have to earn their respect, but I seem to be doing okay at it so far. Maybe it won’t matter that I didn’t grow up here, like Beck and Mead and Peakes and them. Maybe being brave and a good thief and more than a little reckless are all it takes to fit in. If so, I’ve just got to work on the “good thief” part. But given my progress so far, I might actually be good at it.

  “Where to next?” I ask Dryn. I beam a little, unable to contain how pleased I’m feeling.

  She lifts her sharp eyebrows again, and this time it’s not in approval. “All we have time for is the final test,” she says. “Save some of that energy, ’cause you’re going to need it.”

  “And the final test is . . . ?”

  “You’re going to steal,” she says, “from me.”

  • • •

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t joking.

  She makes me leave the cavern and tells me to count out five minutes. When I return, I have to locate her in the crowded space and figure out how I’m going to steal the knife that’s sheathed at her right hip. The technique I use to steal it is entirely up to me—stealth, speed, confrontation—but I will win the challenge if I can get the knife away from her in under ten minutes.

  The problem, of course, is that she knows I’m coming.

  Direct confrontation obviously isn’t an option, since I have no real fighting skills. I decide to treat Dryn like the sleeping dog—a combination of stealth and speed might allow me to get close enough to grab the knife. But the dog was asleep, and Dryn certainly won’t be. She may not have Prince’s hearing, but she’ll be watching for me. Maybe I can hide behind something, get in as close as I can, and then . . .

  My five minutes are up. I reenter the cavern.

  I spend a couple of minutes walking through the archery and weapons ranges. I want to move quickly, but I force myself to take it slow. If Dryn sees me before I see her, I’ll have lost my only advantage. I try to blend in with the crowd of Guild members instead, all the while keeping a lookout for the dark brown color of Dryn’s jacket.

  Which is why I don’t recognize her right away. I’ve almost passed by her entirely when I catch a glimpse of her face. She’s taken her jacket off, so she’s now dressed in black. Cheater.

  I duck down behind one of the partitions. Dryn is on the other side, but I don’t think she’s noticed me; she’s deep in conversation with Kierr. Maybe she doesn’t realize my five minutes are up, or maybe she doesn’t think she has to try very hard to stop me. I grit my teeth. Either way, she’s wrong.

  I close my eyes. I visualize pressure sensors covering every inch of the floor between her and me. I creep to the other side of the partition, so I’ll have a direct shot. I take a deep breath.

  And run.

  She sees me coming and tries to turn, but Kierr’s in the way and I’m fast. She can’t quite spin away quick enough. As I run past her, I grab the knife. I have so much momentum that I can’t stop running, and now I’ve overshot it and I’m about to crash into an archery target. . . .

  I skid, trying to slow myself down, but I slam into the side of the wooden target and land with a rather loud thud on my back, all the air whooshing out of my lungs. The knife is clenched in my hand.

  I hear laughter. And applause.

  Someone walks over to me, and a tattooed hand appears. “Get up,” Kierr says. I accept his help and let him pull me to my feet. Nothing seems to be broken, but I think my back is going to be bruised, and fresh waves of pain are shooting up and down my cursed arm.

  Dryn almost smiles. “Not bad,” she says to me. “Not bad.”

  “Your escape is going to need a little work, though,” Kierr says, laughing.

  “Agreed,” I say, rubbing my back with a wince.

  I hand Dryn’s knife back to her. “So, what do you think, coach? Do I pass?”

  She looks me up and down again. “You’re fast,” she says, for the second time today. “And you know how to play to your strengths. Keep doing that, and you’ll be fine.”

  “That means you passed,” Kierr translates.

  Dryn points a finger at me. “But I expect to see you back here for full training as soon as your trial is over,” she says. “If you don’t show up, I’ll find you.” But she smiles when she says it.

  “You got it,” I say. “Thanks, guys.”

  “Be careful,” Kierr says, giving me a little salute.

  “I will.” I wave in farewell and walk out of the training center, feeling lighter than I have in days. My curse suddenly seems irrelevant, a problem that happened to somebody else. It’s not going to stop me.

  I’m going to pass this trial, and Beck and I are going to join the Guild for real. Those rich people and their balls and their necklaces aren’t going to stand in our way.

  They won’t know what hit them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rosalia?” I moan in disbelief. “Why?”

  I have returned from my training session only to find that my lunch is
cold and Beck has clearly lost his mind. Instead of letting me in on whatever it is he’s been doing today, he insists that I need to go see Rosalia, of all people. Given how prickly Rosalia seems, I’m not sure this is a good idea.

  Beck remains unmoved by my reaction. “Her mother was once a lady-in-waiting for some noblewoman or other, and—”

  “Wait, what? Then how’d she end up here?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Beck says impatiently, “but rumor has it she fell in love with Rosalia’s father, who was a commoner, and ran off with him. When Rosalia was little, their father lost everything and they came here, where Peakes was born. Their mother died, but before she did she taught Rosalia all about being a noblewoman. If there’s anybody in the Guild who knows about how to behave in a ballroom, it’s her.”

  “So why don’t you have to go see her too?”

  “I already did. I told her you’d be coming. Besides, I don’t need as much training there as you do. You’re the one who’s going to have to corner Lady Atherton somewhere, so you’ve got to convince her you’re nobility.”

  “Great, so I’m doing all the work while you’re off enjoying the party?”

  “Hardly. I’m going to be your bodyguard. I’ll get us out of there if anything goes wrong.”

  I start to ask him what he’s going to do if something happens, but the image of him holding a knife to the shopkeeper’s throat flashes in my head. I guess I know.

  “But if nothing bad happens—which it won’t, because no one will see me and I’ll totally fool Lady what’s-her-name—then you don’t have to do anything but smile and look pretty.”

  I expect Beck to joke back, but apparently he’s not in the mood. “Atherton,” he says. “Her name is Lady Atherton.”

  “I know, I know.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve got this.”

  Beck looks pained. “Go see Rosalia. Please.”

  “Fine. Where is she?”

  “She’s got a room in the single living quarters. She’s waiting for you there. Halfway down the hall on the left side. Just look for the nameplate.”

  “Right,” I say. “Okay, and then what should I do after that?”