Clockwork Thief Box Set

by Katherine Bogle

  “Are you all right?” She cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly on her stool.

  Erik’s lips quirked into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed doubtfully, but Erik only shrugged. Alden returned with a pitcher full of bubbling yellow ale and three glasses. He set them on the bar with a thud and poured them each a glass.

  “Now this is how you start a day!” Alden grinned and held up his glass. Erik took his and clinked it against her uncle’s before downing a large mouthful. Narra hesitated before sliding the third across the polished wood. She’d never been much of a drinker. “Come on Narra, take a walk on the wild side.”

  Narra sighed and took a sip. Bitter ale filled her mouth, and the foam stuck to her lip. She winced, and barely resisted a displeased shiver. She wanted so badly to spit it out, but instead she swallowed before setting her drink back down. That was enough of that. She looked up to find Erik had already drunk half of his.

  “That’s my girl!” Alden chugged his back, leaving a foam moustache across his hairy upper lip.

  Licking the foam from her lip, Narra shot Erik a concerned look, but his fake grin had returned and his eyes glazed over while he poured another drink.

  “While you kids are here, I have something for you.” Alden held up a finger before he ducked below the bar. Paper rustled and a metal mug rolled across the floor. “Now where are those…ah hah!” Alden stood, cracking his head off the wood. He staggered back, rubbing his skull, a fistful of paper in hand.

  “Contracts?” Her eyes widened slightly, warm delight filling her chest.

  “Yep.” He set them on the bar before pouring himself another drink.

  Narra took the pages greedily and flicked through them, each scrawled with names, dates and instructions. Two lines waited at the bottom of each. One was filled with the client’s signature, while the other remained clear for the initials of whoever took the contract.

  Erik and Alden droned about getting the Initiates drunk, while Narra read each page carefully, her senses acute enough to follow their conversation simultaneously. Two contracts were for local gangs with a grudge, wanting the Thieves Guild to steal their enemy’s riches. Another was from an upperclassman deep in debt—she recognized him as a storeowner near the warehouse district. He had a thriving business in local produce, but with the unseasonably cold summer, his crops hadn’t fared well and he’d lost hundreds of rovin. If he didn’t have his taxes come spring, he’d be put in prison, or worse.

  “Bring them tonight, Erik! I’ll get out the old whiskey. They’ll be done for,” Alden said. They joined each other in laughter.

  Sorting through the pages, Narra flipped through contracts for break-ins, heists, explosives, and assassinations. Only the Guild Master could approve these contracts, but it would be up to the Council of Commanders—herself included—to take their pick. She very much doubted some of them, those offering small amounts of coin, would be chosen by the Guild leaders.

  “Narra, what do you think?” Erik asked.

  Narra looked up from the contracts. “If you want to get the Initiates drunk, that’s your business. But remember what happened last time.”

  Erik paled. Last year, during the Initiation ritual, Erik had gotten belligerent with the new recruits and slept with two of them—both of whom never let him live it down.

  “You have a point.” He gulped.

  “What happened last year?” Alden asked.

  “Nothing!” Erik coughed, taking a swig of his beer and avoiding Alden’s gaze.

  “What happened last year?” Alden repeated, facing Narra this time.

  “Two voluptuous recruits.”

  “Narra!” Erik gasped.

  “What?”

  “You promised not to tell.”

  “Oh.”

  Alden lost himself in laughter, slapping the bar and holding his gut, the bar-top vibrating with his bellow.

  “It’s not funny!” Erik said. His face was redder than she’d ever seen it.

  Once Uncle Alden’s amusement died, he wiped tears from his eyes and waved him off. “Only you would think bedding two damsels was worth keeping a secret.” He froze, his eyes widening. “Or was this a performance issue?”

  Erik groaned, burying his head in his arms.

  Alden gasped. “It was?”

  Narra straightened the pile of papers in front of her and scooted them across the bar until they nudged Erik’s bare forearm. “Take these back to the Guild when you go.”

  Erik raised his head, meeting her eyes. “You’re not coming?”

  Narra shook her head. “I’m going home.”

  He nodded slowly, taking the papers in hand and quickly thumbing through them. “All right, I’ll take them.” Narra stood.

  “Leaving so soon?” Her uncle inclined his head.

  “It’s been a long night.” Even as she said it her muscles ached and a wave of exhaustion threatened to pull her under.

  Alden and Erik exchanged a look, and she glanced between them, unsure what they were confused over. She hardly ever stuck around when they started talking conquests. Narra grabbed her cloak from the back of a chair and clipped it on, pulling it tight around her weapons, and shielded her hair.

  “Well, see you later.” Erik smiled.

  They said their goodbyes, and Narra took her leave. Her stomach had gone sour, and business was back on her mind, even with sleep calling her. If she wanted to be at the next commander meeting, she should get some rest. Heading for the door, Narra waved over her shoulder. Their chatter continued as she returned to the cold.

  N arra's boots clapped up the wooden steps, the sound echoing in the empty stairwell. She leapt up several at a time until she reached the third floor. Chatter wormed through the walls and into the long wood-paneled corridor. Narra didn't have many neighbors, and liked it that way.

  Lanterns hung from the brass hooks on the walls, their flames drawn low, dousing the carpet in orange. A few doors down Narra stopped before a door that stood out from the rest. Not a sound flowed through. Long before she was born, her father had bought the building. With his new ownership he took it upon himself to outfit their flat with brick walls, secret passages, and a thick metal door—one that told neighbours to stay quiet and pay rent on time.

  Or else .

  Pushing her cloak over her shoulders, she unzipped the pouch at her right thigh and produced a set of keys. Six separate locks with six unique keys kept even the cleverest lock pick at bay. If the locks weren't freed in a certain order, the door would never open—it would seal like a vault. Narra undid each—the order forever ingrained in her memory—and entered the apartment.

  The thick door was heavy and swung in slowly. Inside, the room was dark, a dim kitchen light hung from the ceiling, casting shadows over the smooth dark wood and small kitchen table.

  A bang sounded from the adjacent living room.

  Her heartbeat sped. Who else was inside? Her father was supposed to be off at the Guild this morning. No one else could have gotten inside, of that she was sure.

  Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her short sword and she withdrew it slowly. Her steps lightened as she padded across the wooden floor, avoiding every creaky board with practice that only came from sneaking out as a teenager.

  Something moved in the shadowed hall and a figure crashed over the back of the brown upholstered sofa, landing on the coffee table. The wood cracked and caved on one side, dumping the man on the floor with a thud. He grunted and thrashed. A bottle smashed against the floor. The scent of whiskey exploded into the air, splashing across the worn wood.

  "Emperor's ancestors!" her father spat.

  Narra exhaled her relief. Her heart slowed and she returned her sword to its sheath. As she got her pounding heart under control, she peeled the cloak from her back and tossed it onto a kitchen chair.

  "You're drunk," she said, her tone flat, but accusing. Her fingers trembled with frustration as she unclipp
ed her belt. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Narra?" her father grunted, and stumbled to his feet, glass cracking beneath his leather boots. "Where have you been?"

  Fire kindled in her chest. She gripped the belt tightly, the metal clasps digging into her skin. Her father's voice whispered in her mind: a commander is calm, assertive, and never backs down, Narra. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for just a moment.

  "Conducting Initiation Day," she said. He would know what day it was if he bothered to sober up. And why wasn’t he at the Guild already? Narra stepped out of the harness wrapping her hips and laid it across the back of the chair before returning to the front door. She sealed it, turning the long metal rod along its back like that of a vault. She flung the locks back into place and stepped back into the dim kitchen light. The oil lamp was nearly empty, the small flame flicking behind thin glass.

  "That was yesterday," he grumbled. Scratching his head, he kicked away the remains of the wooden slab of a coffee table. It clattered off its two remaining legs, banging against a desk chair facing their only window in the room. "It's long past dawn."

  Narra glanced at the barred window. The curtains were drawn, but a sliver of soft light shone through the crack, illuminating stacks of strewn papers and an inkwell, but no plume.

  "Not even noon, and you're wasted," she said, "and yet you question me? "

  "Where were you?" he hissed. Blue fire, much like her own, met her gaze. Though he was her father, nothing but their eyes would suggest a relation with Quinn. Where her skin was pale, his was dark. His jaw was square and firm, his eyebrows thick, his eyes sunken. He was the opposite of her delicate lips, sharp cheekbones, bright eyes and thick lashes. Yet, he was her blood.

  "There was a hanging in Varek Square," Narra said. She lowered her eyes from his fierce gaze, whose depths reminded her to always respect her ancestors, and she was still a child in his eyes. Her fists tightened at her side. She was twenty-five and still let this man treat her like an infant. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she stand up to him?

  "That's all?"

  "Yes. The emperor made a decree about terrorists. That's all," Narra ground out.

  "The emperor himself?" His eyebrows furrowed below a mane of shoulder-length silver hair.

  "His daughters." An image of Marina flashed before her—soft heart-shaped face, and big hazel eyes reflecting honest disdain for her sisters. If only Narra could bring herself to show her father how she truly felt.

  He didn't miss her pause. "What is it?"

  Narra’s heart jumped. She kept still and smoothed the surprise from her face. No one could read her like her father. "Nothing." His jaw set and again she avoided his gaze. "His daughters were interesting."

  "Interesting?" He cocked an eyebrow.

  "Two were vile like Rova, but the youngest..." Narra paused and bit her lip before she could stop herself.

  "Marina."

  "Yes, Marina. She regarded her sisters like the animals they are," she said. "I never imagined any of the royal family were different than their father. But I was wrong."

  Narra unclenched her fists, smoothing them over her hips. Get a hold of yourself.

  Quinn scoffed and rolled his eyes. Her heart plummeted for her stomach. He brushed past, the pungent stench of whiskey hung in the air, warm from his breath. Her stomach clenched and she wrinkled her nose. This was not the time to confess her suspicions about the emperor's family. She should never have come home.

  "Was Erik with you?"

  Narra glanced at him suspiciously. "Of course."

  "And what did he think of that stupid girl?"

  Narra spun, ready to spit a retort, but her father laughed in her face.

  "My beautiful Narra." He chuckled, and stepped over to her. He held her face in his hands. His fingers were sticky, his breath heavy with liquor. He held her gaze, his wrinkled forehead and crow’s feet much more prominent this close. His blue stare held pity.

  A growl rose in her throat. Who was he to judge her? She was a commander of the Thieves Guild and he was no one .

  "Your beauty is your strength, as it is any pretty woman's. You use yours to the benefit of yourself and the Guild, as I'm sure she uses hers for her own benefit. Don't let her fool you. You're much too smart for that, my little queen."

  Narra bristled at the pet name, and he released her, stumbling back into the living room where he fell onto the couch, his arm shielding his eyes .

  "Turn off the light." He kicked off his boots. They thudded somewhere among the remains of the coffee table.

  She gritted her teeth, her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed. His chest rose and fell slower until he fell asleep. How could he dismiss her so fully? Ever since she was young, he constantly talked down to her. Chest burning with fury, she turned to the kitchen light and switched off the oil. The fire died inside its glass casing and drowned her in darkness. She breathed a heavy sigh.

  "Yes, father."

  "You've got to be a fool to think the Picks would give the Shadows a port job," Claudia hissed at her fellow commander. Her thin lips drew back over her teeth in a snarl. From her coal-lined eyes, to her sharp jaw, everything about the older caramel-skinned woman spoke danger.

  Narra sat back on a small platform next to the others. A large circular oak table was in the center, surrounded by five of the commanders. While her fellow generals argued about money, contracts, and whether to team up on certain missions, she sat on her throne, one leg hung carelessly over its arm, her back resting between the other and the red upholstery.

  "My sister is right, Clint. What use would your Shadows be at the Docks?" Claudia's twin, Klaus, glared, a mirror image of his sister with shorter hair and lashes.

  While the twins reared their competitive natures, Narra swiped a rag over her gold and bronze plated clockwork revolver, which lay disassembled; some pieces in her lap, the others carefully placed on the wooden arm of her high-backed chair. Cleaning each piece, from the barrel to the chambers, with her powder-stained piece of cloth, she listened and waited. The commanders adored the fight—whether it be over resources, men, or contracts—no one wanted to seem weak. Though the commanders were joined under the name of the Thieves Guild, it was rare the factions got along .

  "Stay out of this, Klaus." The tall handsome man leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking beneath him. Clint crossed his arms over his chest. Though he smiled like the huge flirt he was, a twitch in his cheek marked the irritation he felt.

  Narra snapped her pieces back into place, glancing from under her lashes at the others. A chandelier dripping wax hung several feet above the table, the small flames flicking back and forth with the moving current. Every time Klaus shook his fist or Claudia flipped her hair, the fire swayed with them, shadows dancing across the rest of the dark Guild saloon. It had been some time since the Guild's leaders came to blows. Could today be the last in their small truce?

  "I won't have you talk to my sister as if she's one of your conquests, Clint!" Klaus's olive skin drew taut against his face. He narrowed his brown, nearly black eyes, and bared his teeth.

  Beasts.

  Narra resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  "Enough, all of you." August heaved a sigh. Atop a full head of long white hair, his gold-rimmed goggles shook with his head, the gears along the edges squeaking. "You're acting like children."

  The twins exchanged a glance, and just like that, the bite was yanked from their barks. No one fought with August.

  "What do you propose?" Clint asked. His smile dropped.

  "The Shadows can slide in unnoticed for the vault, while your Picks cause a distraction on the wharf. It'll give you both what you want, and hopefully get everyone out alive this time." August twirled the tips of his white moustache, a small grin peeking beneath as he settled his stern gaze on Claudia.

  The tall woman flipped the hair from her shoulder and gave a curt nod. "Fine."

  Claudia wasn't well known for keeping members long, and s
et a cold glare on Narra whenever she could. Narra was the reason Claudia and the Lockpicks wouldn't receive any new members. Maybe if Claudia spent less time arguing, and more time teaching her initiates teamwork, she’d have a new batch of thieves this year .

  "Are we in agreement then?" August glanced between the two leaders. They nodded. "Excellent! Shall we move on?"

  Graves, the leader of the Boomers, shifted through the small stack of contracts Erik had dropped off sometime that morning. "Let's see here..."

  Narra tuned out the others, letting their droning fill the silence. She concentrated on her cleaning. Her father had given her the revolver on her sixteenth birthday, the year she had been indoctrinated into the Thieves Guild. He'd said it was a gift and a burden that she was a woman now, a woman of the Guild, which meant she had certain responsibilities—the first and foremost being to follow in her mother's footsteps. Khlara Rheka had been the Commander of Negotiations before she died giving birth to Narra. No one had stepped up to take the position, so when it became obvious Narra didn't fit in with any of the other factions, the commanders agreed unanimously to give her the position. She'd always been skilled compared to her fellow initiates, and with her new title her infamy only grew. Would the newcomers ever fear her any less?

  "The Revolution wants us to stop a train ?" Klaus balked. "Is the Guild Master rovin mad?"

  Her blue gaze snapped up. The Guild Master was the unseen head of the Guild—the only person the commanders were not to question. Calling him a greedy lunatic was heresy.

  "Klaus," Claudia warned.

  Narra shoved six bullets into their chambers.

  "You're all thinking it!" Klaus snapped.

  "Listen here, son. If you don't want the contract, you don't need to curse the gods," Graves huffed. He sat ramrod straight, the perfect posture she assumed followed him from his days in the Rovan army.

  "If you all want to go on listening to everything that fool says—"

  Narra snapped the cylinder into place. It spun as she rose, shoving the revolver into her belt. "I'll take the contract."