“Then if you’ll forgive me, I have a situation to deal with. Perhaps we can meet again in the near future.” The merchant opens the door, but Glint doesn’t move.
“Merchant Giller?” the mistress asks.
“Quite sorry, I’m merely looking around for my coat.”
Once again, the mistress is horror-struck by the lapse in her hospitality. Her face goes so red Myrrh wonders if it actually hurts.
“Clea! The merchant’s coat! Now!”
Merchant Buliat shakes his head. “If she hadn’t alerted us to the guard’s absence, I would consider letting Clea go due to this inattention. Accept my apology, again.”
“There’s no need, my new friend.” Glint turns on that smile again, and even Myrrh finds herself a little wobbly. The servant comes racing out, apron askew, and shakes the wrinkles from Glint’s coat as she hands it out.
“Terribly sorry, Merchant,” she says, touching her brow.
“Think nothing of it. Much like your master, I am grateful for your attentiveness in the other situation. And for your generosity in filling my wine tonight.” He winks as he tugs the waistcoat over his shoulders.
“Until next time?” Merchant Buliat asks as he extends a hand.
Glint clasps it firmly. “Until then.”
***
“Aren’t you worried about the sentries?” Myrrh hisses once they’ve put a couple blocks between them and the Buliat residence. She managed to hide her limp while in sight of the building, but now it’s crept into her gait.
Glint looks over his shoulder as if also calculating earshot from the merchant’s. He raises a finger as they cover another block.
At the next corner, he grabs her hand, pulls her toward the edge of the street. He releases her and puts his back to the wall.
The laugh that comes from his belly is so genuine she can’t help smiling.
“That,” he says, tipping his head back against the wall as he unbuttons his waistcoat, “was the most fun I’ve had in months.”
“Fun?”
“Yes, fun.” He tugs her arm, urging her to join him, backs to the wall. “Look around.”
“At what?”
“The night. The shadows. They’re ours.”
Myrrh scans the street, but the darkened alcoves and alleyways seem more menacing than enticing right now.
“I guess I’m still on edge.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. You did have the hard job this time. Maybe next time I’ll take it a bit easier on you, eh?” He nudges her with an elbow.
Myrrh blinks, still feeling out of sorts. “You didn’t know they’d invite me inside.”
“No. But still. You did well. We’ll plan better in the future to avoid unnecessary risk. As for your question about the sentries, there were none.”
“How do you know?”
“One, I would have seen them. That’s not arrogance. It’s just one of my strengths. Two, Buliat wouldn’t have cared about keeping you inside and under guard if he had men outside watching your movements. None of the merchant class trust each other. They see people like us as crooks and liars, but they’re the real scoundrels, no sense of loyalty to anything but money. As soon as they spy weakness, they fall on each other like starving dogs.”
He pushes off the wall, turns, and rubs his hair to destroy the slicked-back look. It falls almost into his eyes, banishing the high-society gentleman and restoring the unrepentant rake. “So…?”
“So, what?”
“Did you get the information?”
She snorts. “Do you think I went to all that trouble to fail?”
His teeth shine in the moonlight when he grins. “Excellent.”
“I grabbed this too.” She pulls out the necklace, forgetting her plan to hold on to it as insurance for leaving his operation.
He gives a low whistle. “Nice. I’ll introduce you to a fence tomorrow.”
“You don’t want it?”
“You earned it. All I did was sit around and drink wine.” His brow furrows. “Tell me how you hurt your ankle.”
“You noticed?”
He goes down on one knee, ignoring the fact that the dirty cobblestones will ruin his trousers, and lifts her injured leg onto his other thigh. He presses a hand against the top of her foot. “Can you pull back against pressure?”
“So you’re a healer now too?”
The joking expression is gone from his face when he looks up. “No, but I learn what I can to take care of my people. Can you pull?”
She winces as a sharp pain travels up her leg when she tries to press her foot harder into his hand. He nods, then presses against the side of her foot, again asking her to resist the force. The examination continues for a few minutes, and then he gently places her boot back on the ground.
“A sprain, I think. Lace the boot tight for a couple days, and you should be good.”
“I was worried I broke it.”
“I figured.” He stands and brushes off his pant leg. “I know you’d protest if I offered to carry you home, but what do you say to me lending a shoulder?”
Slowly, as if approaching a startled horse, he steps up beside her and slips a questioning hand around her waist.
Myrrh considers objecting until she tries to weight the foot and pain shoots up to her knee.
“Fine.”
“So,” he says as they start off, her arm over his shoulders for support, “what did Rella think of Merchant Giller’s performance tonight? Is he up to her standards?”
“Ask her after she has a nice warm bath and a glass of his best whiskey.”
Chapter Fourteen
GLINT IS AWAY for much of the next few days. Myrrh’s happy to lie in bed, injured foot propped on a pillow, reading A Stranger Tide. The book is about a pirate queen who carves out a territory in a chain of islands Myrrh hasn’t heard of. For all she knows, they aren’t even real.
On the fifth or sixth day after the adventures at Buliat’s, she’s completely wrapped up in the story—a monstrous sea creature is attacking the queen’s fleet—when a knock comes at her door.
“Yeah?”
She expects Tep with another tray of food. He’s brought three since she woke, enough she feels a bit like a stuffed sausage.
Instead, a stranger’s face appears as the door swings open. A moment later, she spots Glint with his hand on the door latch. Myrrh tugs the covers up toward her chin and narrows her eyes.
“You see,” Glint says to the other man. “Even my sister’s a reader. It’s just my little rat of a brother who’s been so stubborn.”
His sister?
The man clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable at seeing her in bed. As well he should be. Myrrh shoots Glint a glare.
“And now your sister would like her privacy restored, thank you.”
Glint responds with an amused smile. “As you wish, dear sibling.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, Myrrh jumps out of bed, wincing when she accidentally steps too hard on the ankle. She hops to the wardrobe, drags off the nightgown, and pulls on her linen clothes. Her ankle is swollen like an apple, but she shoves it into one of the boots and cinches the laces tight. Grits her teeth and tightens them more.
Out in the hall, she hears voices coming from a room two doors down.
“I don’t care about reading!” Nab sounds like a whining five-year-old.
Glint backs out of the doorway, chuckling. “In this case, Harold, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter. Father has tasked me with furthering your education while you’re fostered here.”
He spies Myrrh and tosses her a wink.
“This is so stupid!”
“Young man, I’m afraid it’s critical that someone of your pedigree know how to conduct written business,” the tutor says in a calm voice. “Your brother has informed me of your previous difficulties, and I assure you we’ll work through them. I see you have a writing desk here already. Shall we begin?”
/>
Glint watches for a moment more before latching the door. He turns a grin to Myrrh. She’s not sure what to say. Without Hawk, she figured Nab would never have the chance to learn.
He must see the gratitude on her face because he shrugs. “Needed to keep him busy with something, right? Can’t have a half-trained thief rattling around my house looking for ways to amuse himself.”
It’s a poor excuse. Myrrh lets him use it though.
“Are you heading downstairs?” He offers an arm, which she refuses, preferring to limp. He’s done enough for her today.
“I can’t lay around all day.”
He shrugs. “As far as I’m concerned, what good is roguery without a healthy measure of indolence? Anyway, I met with some of our associates this afternoon. The leaders. I informed them about what you learned at Buliat’s.”
“You met here?”
He shakes his head. “It would destroy my reputation to have a bunch of miscreants and thugs knocking at the door.”
“Hmm. So the rest of your organization remains a mystery. I’ve begun to think I’m the only person you’ve convinced to join up.”
“Well, there are the men I sent to abduct you.”
“Right. Aside from them I suppose.”
He takes the stairs slowly, keeping pace with her limping gait. “Do you have a plan, or are you just walking to delay your healing?”
“I thought you were going to help me fence my pickings from the mansion.”
“Ah,” he says. “Well, if you insist. Perhaps we could visit a tavern while we’re out.”
***
The fence, a man with gold teeth and beady eyes, cocks an eyebrow at her. He stands behind a battered wooden counter, thick fingers inspecting the jade-and-emerald pendant. “Not going go be easy for me to sell.”
Myrrh narrows her gaze, scanning the room. A low ceiling presses down over their heads, the rafters dark with soot from a fireplace that crackles along one wall. Judging by the smoke spilling out the top of the fire chamber, the flue doesn’t work very well.
Glint steps forward and leans an elbow on the counter. No doubt ready to step in on the negotiations. Myrrh lays her palms flat and glances at him. She doesn’t need help.
“I suppose I’ll find someone more talented then.”
The fence turns yellow-stained eyes her way. “It’s a unique piece; that’s the problem.”
“Fortunately, Ostgard is the center of trade for an entire continent. Even if there weren’t a thousand merchant families in the city alone, all with more money than they can spend, there are traders from as far away as the Hevish Archipelago.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she spies Glint’s smile at her use of the name she learned just a few days ago.
The man shakes his head and sets down the necklace. “So you say, but I’ve been in the business for a long time. Takes caution not to attract the wrong interest. I assume the previous owner would not be pleased to see her necklace on the market.”
Myrrh sighs and plucks up the chain, flipping the pendant into her hand. The man’s eyes widen slightly, betraying his surprise.
“A shame.” She turns to leave, poking at the pendant.
“Wait,” the man says quickly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t sell it.”
“Quite true. But you see, after being forced to argue, I came to a realization. Such a large city…” She opens the catch and clasps the necklace around her throat. “I don’t actually need the funds right now, and what are the chances the former owner frequents the same establishments as I?”
She pushes the door, which despite its rickety appearance—no doubt crafted to give the impression of poverty—takes measurable force to open.
She glances back as she steps into the dim light of the alley. Glint is still standing by the counter, shaking his head in bewilderment. After a moment, he dashes forward. She shuts the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Just as I said. I’ve decided I quite like the necklace.”
“He was only negotiating. It’s expected. But he fetches some of the best prices in the city. Jak handles most of my business…it’s hard to find a good fence.”
“And after tonight, I imagine he’ll think twice about trying to swindle you or your associates in the future.”
Glint sighs as he steps into the evening light slanting onto the main street. Passersby step around him as he looks at the sky in exasperation. Myrrh joins him, ignoring his beleaguered act. Finally, he sighs and tucks hands into his pockets. Playing the part of a merchant out for a casual evening, he wears a loose leather jacket over a silk shirt. It suits him better than the waistcoat but not quite so well, in her opinion, as proper thief’s garb.
He glances at her, meeting her eyes before sliding his gaze down to the pendant. With gentle fingers, he straightens the stone so that it lies flat against her breastbone just below the hollow of her throat.
He cocks his head and smiles crookedly. “It does suit you.”
She snorts. “No more than that gown thing your associate bought for me.” She thinks of the strange velvet garment still hanging in her wardrobe.
“I mean it, Myrrh. It’s nice.”
She blinks, unused to compliments of this sort.
He smirks. “So, ready for that drink?”
***
Myrrh and Glint sit at a corner table in an establishment that’s nothing like a Rat Town tavern. At high tables scattered around the room, men and women speak in low voices and sip colorful drinks. Not one insult is thrown across the barroom floor, a space of dark wood planks without a hint of sawdust scattered to collect vomit and spilled drinks. The only musician is a woman in a long red gown who plucks a slow tune from a harp.
Do these people actually enjoy such a sedate atmosphere?
The barmaid approaches, clad in a straight black skirt that ends well below her knees and a bodice that shows only a hint of cleavage. Her eyes linger on Glint as she steps up to the table.
“What will it be?” she asks, finally managing to drag her eyes to Myrrh.
“I don’t know. Ale, I guess.”
The barmaid’s brow furrows, and Glint lays fingers on Myrrh’s wrist. “Let me buy you a Tendun whiskey.” He turns a sneer toward the barmaid. “You do have that variety, don’t you?”
“I have—yes, sir. We should have one bottle.”
“Please see that the portions are generous.”
As the barmaid scurries off, Myrrh curls her lip. “What’s wrong with ale?”
“If you ask me, not a thing. But this is Lower Fringe. These people have to do something to pretend at the sort of snobbery that will gain them audiences in the Fifths. Even if that’s eschewing a perfectly good beverage.”
Myrrh snorts. “I’d like to see them try drinking in Rat Town.”
Glint grins, leans back, and drapes an arm over an empty chair. “Indeed.”
The drinks arrive, deeply hued liquor that smells faintly of smoke and burns a line down her throat and into her stomach. Myrrh sips twice, then sets her tumbler down and cups a hand loosely around it. She watches these pretenders at high society while they strut and posture.
No, she doubts this is fun for them. But for her, it makes for pleasant entertainment.
“So, I have a couple things to discuss that make this more than a social evening,” Glint says.
“Oh?”
“As I mentioned, I met with my leadership today.”
“And?”
“Buliat is a strong supporter of Emmerst, the merchant at the heart of the plot to unseat the Maire.”
“You didn’t mention that before.”
“I wasn’t certain until we spoke at length, but Buliat managed to hint at the Maire’s inadequacy multiple times.”
“So do you plan to use him to get to Emmerst and the council?”
Glint shakes his head. “Not enough influence. But I can keep him fr
om throwing too much support to the plot. Or rather, you can.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mentioned I had plans for your future involvement in the organization.”
“You really ought to give it a name. ‘The organization’ just doesn’t have much of a ring.”
He smiles crookedly. “Maybe you ought to give it a name if it will shut you up.”
He nudges her leg under the table, making sure she knows he’s teasing.
“So what are these ideas?”
“All this information gathering and working from the shadows becomes tiresome, don’t you think? It’s time for a good old-fashioned heist.”
“Hmm. What do you have in mind?”
“The spice shipment. I’ll give you four men. Good, solid thieves who follow orders without question.”
“You want me to lead it?”
He nods. “The shipment is due at Third Docks before dawn three mornings from now. We’ll apprehend it before it makes port.”
“How much of the shipment?”
“Every crate aboard the barge will do nicely,” he says with a grin.
She sips some more whiskey as a slow smile stretches her lips.
***
“And what will Merchant Giller be doing while I’m stealing the contents of a barge?” she asks as they stroll home along the waterfront. A cold fog has settled over the city, its chill pressing through her thin clothing. Her ankle aches ferociously, but she gets the feeling it would be even worse if not blunted by the whiskey.
He sucks his lip while thinking. “You know merchants. Giller will probably be over in Maire’s Quarter hoping to be seen in some of the fine eateries and drinking establishments.”
“You have the papers to cross Fourth Bridge?”
He raises his hand, wiggling his finger. The Maire’s signet ring has been spun so that the crest hides in his palm, but he’s still wearing it openly.
“I didn’t pinch it just for fun,” he says. “The papers are simple to forge. The only difficult part is the seal. Easy if you have his crest to press into the wax though.”
Mistress of Thieves (Chronicles of a Cutpurse Book 1) Page 9