by Kester Grant
And I’m going to get it back.
Once the revolution is over, I’ll get what I’ve waited, planned, and worked for these last two years. I’ll use these boys, as they’ve used me for their games of war. They’ll be my weapon to destroy the Tiger once and for all, because they can do what I, as a child of the Miracle Court, cannot. They can attack, report, and destroy a Guild without bringing war to the Court.
They will be my revenge.
I get out my tools—my carved picks, my needles and pins for locks—and slip them into my trouser pockets. I roll up my sleeve and strap my dagger to my lower arm, then pull my cuff back over it. I dip my hands in a small pot of gray dust to keep my palms dry, and I pull out pieces of long gray cloth, wrapping them around my hands as makeshift gloves. I pull on my jacket and tuck the loose hairs into my cap.
I climb out the window to avoid meeting St. Juste again and drop to the ground, creeping into an alley at the back of the house. There I pause, slowing my breathing till I’m completely still. The noises of the night and the darkness of the street swell around me. I listen. The boys’ voices are raised inside. St. Juste is sternly telling someone off. I tilt my head, focusing. I can make out their laughter, recognize each voice. Nobody knows I am gone.
I’m the Black Cat of the Thieves Guild, and this is my hunting.
I’m ready.
The meeting place is a warehouse, filled as far as the eye can see with barrels of Japanese sake. I try to stay calm and not dwell on what is about to happen. I sigh and stretch my arms; it will be some time before they come. So I get to work. I uncork the first few barrels, taking care not to breathe in, and I pull the syringe and water pouch from my jacket.
The Bats appear first: Corday, Montparnasse, Col-Blanche, all arriving in silence. One moment they’re not there; the next they are. They stand in the shadows watching, saying nothing. I keep quiet too, waiting for the others.
The Dead Lord and Loup appear next, the familiar smell of the Ghosts announcing them minutes before they enter, covered in their layers of gray dust. Orso nods to me and Loup bows.
Then comes Adlen Yelles, Lord of the Guild of Dreamers, which surprises no one, since this is one of his warehouses, where the Smugglers deliver him the drugs that he in turn sells to Those Who Walk by Day. He gives me a small bow, and I see Corday’s eyebrow twitch at the sight.
There’s chittering and scrabbling overhead. I raise my head and respond in kind to the call of the Rats of the Smugglers Guild. Tamar l’Aure enters first, leading an elderly woman who’s bent almost double. Both are swathed in cloaks of matted brown fur, with thick oilskin aprons and boots made to withstand long voyages at sea. Both move with a strange mixture of sleekness and caution. Their hair, where it peeks out from under their furred caps, is a mess of coils and braids, and their skin is burned and leathery with exposure to salt and sun. The old woman is being led; her eyes are wide and milky white, for she is blind. This is Nihuang, the Fisherman, Merveille of the Miracle Court and Lady of the Smugglers Guild.
Tamar is jittery and ill-tempered. Like all the Rats of the Smugglers Guild, she would rather be sailing on the open sea than be here on land. Her gaze meets mine, and she does not smile.
There’s a sound like the fluttering of wings, and Femi appears—Aves, the Elanion, the one who summoned them all for me. He slips through a window and smiles weakly at me. Someone coughs behind him, and a small figure emerges from the same window after him.
I bow low to Lady Komayd of the Guild of Letters, who watches me like an amused auntie watching a small child at play.
“Is that Gayatri?” the Fisherman asks Tamar in a bracing voice.
“It is, Mother,” Tamar says.
“Yes, the smell of dusty parchment and ink is unmistakable.”
“Better that than salt and fish,” Lady Komayd retorts.
“Hmmph,” the Fisherman says with a sniff. “And what did such a small Cat do to summon the Lady of Paper?”
“She rescued one of my sons from the Châtelet,” Komayd replies. “A…favorite son. So it is a debt of thanks that the People of the Pen owe you, Black Cat, and that is why I am here.” She fixes me in her sight and smiles, lines wrinkling the corners of her large eyes.
I feel the corner of my mouth twitch in response. Favorite son indeed.
“Indeed, Cat,” Orso says. “And now that you have our full attention, why don’t you explain to us why we are here.”
I try not to shake as I bow to the group. Fathers and Mothers of the Miracle Court, Guild Lords and Ladies, Masters—they’re all watching me. I try to keep a brave face and not think about how I, a mere Cat, summoned five Lords of the Miracle Court. And they came.
I clear my throat. “I am going to break in to the Guild of Flesh.” I announce. My voice it is not as steady as I would like, but it will have to do.
In the ensuing silence, they all stare at me. Orso looks dazed. Komayd stares as if I’ve gone insane. Corday cocks her head to one side, considering me.
Then the Fisherman starts to laugh. Which is not the response I was hoping for.
“She’s mad,” Tamar says.
“Yes, but this should at least be entertaining,” the Fisherman replies, quieting her chuckles. “Do go on, my dear—you were saying?”
“To enter a Guild House uninvited is not only breaking the Law, it is an act of war,” Col-Blanche interjects.
“The Law is already broken, and only his ending can mend it,” I say.
There is another silence at this. The Lords and Ladies share an unreadable look. Have I gone too far?
“It has been a long time since the Court had a judge among us,” says Yelles slowly.
I swallow, unsure whether this is a compliment or a threat. I am not trying to place myself in the position of judge to the Court—how could I? Judges are the keepers of the Law, and distributors of punishment who rose up among the Court in times of threat and war. I am not trying to start a war, no matter what the Lords might think. I only know that there is no other way to save Ettie, and Azelma, and all of the other Sisters.
“He has found her, then?” Orso asks. “Kaplan has found Ettie, and you are going to rescue her?”
The sound of her name makes my heart tighten. I force my feelings down and tell myself that it was worth it.
“Do the stripes on your back not remind you of the foolishness of your plan?” Tamar asks before I can answer.
“They sing to me day and night,” I snap. “They sing the hunting song in his name.”
Tamar narrows her eyes. “You’re not going to rescue anybody, are you?”
“None of us is safe while he lives,” I reply.
“You’re going to kill him,” Yelles says.
Femi shakes his head in disbelief. “No, she’s going to get killed trying.”
“Child, the Tiger will slit your throat and wear your skin on his back.” Corday’s voice is as calm as if she’s asking me about the weather.
“Probably. But if there’s a single chance on this earth that I can destroy him, is it not worth trying?”
“You’ll fail,” Corday says, emotionless, then turns to Montparnasse with a motion that shows she is leaving. I feel panic lance through me. They can’t leave, not yet.
“Nina, you can’t even get to the Guild House,” Femi says.
He’s right. Almost all the Guilds keep the location of their houses secret. Femi knows where they are, but he is bound by the Law never to reveal their location, and I can’t ask it of him.
“The Guild of Letters audits every Guild,” I say. “They know the location of the Flesh Guild.”
Corday pauses at the window.
Everyone’s attention turns to Lady Komayd. She smiles, betraying nothing.
“Tell us your plan, then,” she says.
Which is better than an outright refus
al to help me. At least they’re listening.
“I know that none of the Guilds can be seen to endorse my quest,” I say. “If they’re caught, it could mean war. So I ask no Ghosts, Rats, Bats, or Dreamers to join me. I need only information from the People of the Pen, and a gift from the Fisherman and the Lord of Dreamers, to help me.
“If I fail and perish, then what I have done can be left at my door. They will say I was half mad with grief and it drove me to do the unthinkable. You may all wash your hands of me in peace.
“But if I succeed, if Kaplan falls, then I will ask something of you. I will ask that you set free the Sisters of the Guild of Flesh.”
“The Sisters are no more—the Tiger destroyed them,” Col-Blanche says.
“Many of that Guild live still, under the sway of the poppy,” Yelles answers.
“How can we free anyone under the influence of the poppy?” Col-Blanche asks.
The Lords of the Miracle Court are notoriously suspicious; their eyes turn to the bottles I’ve pulled from the crates and set before me.
“Ysengrim be damned, child, what have you done?” the Fisherman hisses.
“We have awakened those who slumber,” Yelles says, his voice a fraction of a whisper.
“We have been diluting the drugs that the Guild of Dreamers sells to the Tiger,” I add.
“Have the Fleshers not suspected? Not seen signs?” Tamar asks.
“It took many years to come up with a dilution that is subtle enough for the Fleshers not to notice,” Yelles says. “Sons and daughters of my own Guild gave themselves to the experiment—for we had to be sure the addiction could be reversed.”
“How many years?” the Fisherman asks curiously as her unseeing eyes glance in Yelles’s general direction.
“Since he destroyed my sister, Lady Kamelia, and enslaved her children.” Yelles’s voice is sharp and raw. “When the Tiger came to me and offered me a fortune if I would make him a brew of the poppy so strong it could force any man to his bidding, I was too young, too greedy, too naïve. I made it and sold it to him, thinking it none of my business what he did with it. And he used it on my own sister, to destroy her and her Guild.” His eyes shine with unshed tears. “And when we saw what he had done…” He shakes his head mournfully. “We were weak. He had allies, slavers, a hundred ships in our ports. Could we have gone to war with them and prevailed? Our duty was to protect our Guilds, to protect the Court. That is what we told ourselves to justify doing nothing.”
He turns his eyes to me.
“Then one day a Cat with a back scarred in stripes came to me saying that she was going to kill the Tiger and set all the Sisters free. She asked for my help. How could I refuse?”
He waves a hand over the barrels of sake. “We have been diluting the poppy the Tiger buys for two years. According to our studies, the Sisters should be coherent enough not to fight you if you reason with them. Some may remember who they are. Most will not, having been too long under the poppy’s sway.
“And if the Cat fails—which is likely,” he says, giving me a measured look, “then all the blame for the dilution of the drugs will be placed on her. My sons will swear she broke in and tampered with the bottles alone.”
“No,” says the Fisherman. And there is so much force in that single word that we all look up. “She is asking us to attack a Guild. She stands here among us and admits to planning the murder of a Lord of the Miracle Court. We should drown her in shackles of iron in the name of preventing a war and be done with it.”
“There are nine Guilds, nine Lords. Yet the Sisters’ seat lies empty and a false lord, a slaver, sits among us!” Yelles shouts, fists clenched and fire raging in his eyes. “The Miracle Court was not created to protect those who trade in the flesh of the Wretched, and yet we have allowed it. It’s time we correct our failure.”
“Brave words from a man who has been fiddling with bottles in secret,” the Fisherman parries, not a whit impressed.
“What I have done in secret I have done to protect the children of my Guild. What I do tonight I will do to avenge my sister and to put right the wrongs that have been committed against all. Even if none else will aid the Cat, I will,” Yelles says. “Kaplan has no place at the high table. Ridding the Court of him is our duty. It is our duty to the Law.”
The Fisherman shakes her head. “I was not yet Lady of Rats when the Tiger was first taken. It is well known that Kamelia and I—” The Fisherman breaks off and looks suddenly very old. “I was at sea when he returned and established his hold on the Court. I arrived too late to save her.
“I have done what I could without putting my own children in jeopardy. I take in more girls than the other Guilds combined, for they are safer on the waters than in the Court, where the Tiger’s eye can easily fall upon them.”
I glance at the scowling Tamar, wondering if that’s how she came to be Master of the Guild of Smugglers.
“We Rats have seen more than this Court has. The slavers control the seas, and though seeing one of them fall would be a boon to us, you must know, Cat, that if the Tiger falls, his brethren will come to avenge him.”
I know the Fisherman cannot see me, yet I feel her gaze upon me, piercing my skin.
“They will fall upon the Guilds like a curse.”
“Let them come,” Yelles answers in a hard voice.
“Yelles, our grief is shared, but do not let it make you foolish. You do not know of what you speak. The Tiger is but one; his allies are legion.”
“Are we Those Who Walk by Day, to cower in the face of our enemies? Is that what Kamelia would have done? We have been afraid too long!” Yelles retorts.
The Fisherman laughs in response. “If Kamelia had known what the Tiger would do to her children, she would have torn out his throat. But then, she was Raksha, a she-wolf, and was always much fiercer than we were.”
She smiles and turns her head away as if her entire argument with Yelles has been staged to test him, as if it is all a game to her.
She nods in my direction. “What is it you want of us, Cat?”
Beside her, Tamar makes a small sound of discontent, as if she disagrees.
“I want you to give me the voice of Mor,” I reply, tensing as I wait for the answer.
“Is that all you will ask of me?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“And for so small a price will we call Death the Endless down upon ourselves and our children.” Her milky eyes seem to be looking for something that we cannot see. She sighs. “Very well, then. For Kamelia.”
Tamar’s face crumples, and she turns to gaze accusingly at me. “You dwell on land, little Cat. What do you know of Kaplan’s slaver kin? Why do you think the first Lords let the Tiger be taken as a child? They knew that the Guilds combined could not withstand them. And you would make them our enemies?” she says.
“Enough, Tamar! Your opinion was not asked for,” the Fisherman says.
Tamar is silenced. She looks resentfully at me, but I also see something else in her eyes—fear.
“It is a noble ambition,” says Col-Blanche, “but we do not know how many dens the Tiger controls, or where they are. Even if we knew, how can we free the Sisters and subdue their captors? We don’t know how many sons of Flesh are posted in each, how many weapons are at their command. To go blind into such a fight would be disastrous, and the other Guilds, the ones allied to the Tiger, might take his side. It would be an all-out Guild war,” he finishes.
“But one of us does know their numbers,” I say.
Everyone waits for me to go on, and I proceed, rolling out a map of the city I painstakingly copied from St. Juste, down to the little red marks he has made for the places where the revolutionaries will erect their barricades.
“Lady Komayd, will you give us the information we need?” I ask in a solemn voice. “The numbers of the Tiger
’s sons, the locations of his dens, the numbers of his weapons and”—I swallow hard, knowing the enormity of what I am asking—“the location of his Guild House?”
She considers it for a moment, and I hold my breath.
“You ask much, little Cat. Rescuing one of my sons from the Châtelet was indeed a great feat, but the bone debt you seek could mean war.” She taps her fingers to the side of her head and quirks her mouth. “And yet the Tiger is a stain upon this Court,” she says with resolve, and her small eyes shine behind her spectacles. “The Guild of Flesh is here.” She steps forward to the map and points. “On the right bank of the Serpent la Seine. It stands three stories high, with an underground cellar. The Tiger’s quarters take up the entire top floor. There are never guards at the front of the house, so as not to call attention to their location.”
“And also because no one in their right mind would ever attack them,” Femi says drily. But he uncrosses his arms and steps forward to look better at the map.
“There are walls on the east and south sides of the house,” continues Lady Komayd. “There are four guards posted in each corner. Two more guards are stationed at the west side of the house in front of the river. Boats unload their goods there, and the goods are carried through a gate into the garden.”
“You will need a distraction there.” Femi points to the riverside. “To draw the guards away from the garden.”
“I might have something that will bring all the guards to the front of the house,” I say innocently.
Everyone stares.
“Angry men wanting to overthrow the government marching up and down every street in the city,” I say by way of explanation.
Orso snorts, and I give him a hard look.
“There will be an uprising, and soon,” I say firmly. “Those Who Walk by Day are merely waiting for the death of General Lamarque.”
Corday’s mouth falls open. She recovers quickly but takes long strides to the table and points at me. “You—you are the one who paid us to kill Lamarque?” she exclaims.
Femi sighs loudly again.