Clockwork Thief Box Set

by Katherine Bogle

  Now, it might as well be a paperweight, light in her practiced fingers. The long barrel glinted in the moonlight. She gripped the bronze handle, smooth in her clammy hands. At the base of the shaft, in front of the safety, QR had been carved into the metal. Quinn Reiner.

  The thief-for-hire had been gone for only a few days, yet so much had happened. Would things have been different if he’d never gone to that train? Would he still be alive, or would her uncle have found some other reason to kill him? She shook her head. His death affected her nearly as much as his life had. Heat welled in her chest. She hated him. She hated him as much in death as she had in life.

  Her fist tightened around the pistol.

  There was so much she’d never known and would never get to ask. Why had he chosen to stay the Guild Master? Why hadn’t he passed it down to her like her mother wanted?

  The Guild Master is the best of thieves; the cleverest, most cunning of us all. You’d never suspect him of the position, and maybe that’s the point. Her father’s meaning made sense now. She had never suspected him of being the Guild Master. He was an abusive drunk, but under the surface he’d been more than she ever imagined, even if he’d taken the position from her.

  Narra’s knuckles went white around the grip of the revolver. Was she not good enough to be Guild Master? Not strong enough? Too heartless like the initiates claimed when they thought she wasn’t listening ?

  She scoffed.

  If having a heart were a prerequisite to being the Guild Master, her father was truly unsuitable for the position. She shook her head. No. Quinn had kept the position because above all else he valued power. That had to be why he dehumanized her. Why he trained her to be so hardened. She could find no other explanation.

  The crack of metal on brick startled her from her thoughts. Her heart jumped. The tell-tale swoosh of Erik’s swing followed. She stilled. It was just her friend. His boots hit the top of the arch and his grappling hook retracted with a thunk .

  “Anything yet?” he asked. His feet scraped against the shingles as he slid down beside her.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Erik sat back; his feet braced on the stone lip of the roof, just like hers.

  “That’s too bad.” He smiled. “I was kind of hoping you’d killed him already.”

  She couldn’t help the quirk of her lips. “Not yet.”

  Erik scanned the street below while she inspected his hardened jaw. He wasn’t lying. He did wish she’d killed him. Narra returned her gaze to the bar across the wide cobblestone street.

  She wouldn’t kill him, not yet. The Guild needed justice first.

  The door to the bar creaked open, filling the street with laughter once again. Narra froze. One soldier stepped outside, a pipe in his hands. He walked several feet from the building before pulling a matchbox from his pocket. He swiped it across the stripe. A small orange flame lit his young face. He lit the tobacco, or whatever it was, and inhaled. Smoke fogged the air with every breath. He shook the small match until the flame winked out, and then flicked it at the street.

  Her shoulders relaxed and she returned her father’s pistol to its holster.

  “If only Ezriel shared the same vices.” Erik waved at the man below.

  “If only,” she agreed .

  The front entrance creaked open again. Another soldier with a wide jaw, dark hair, and straight nose stepped outside.

  Both Narra and Erik froze. Her fists tightened around a dagger at her hip. Ezriel . Flames licked her chest and burned up her throat. She gritted her teeth against the heat and stood.

  Erik grabbed her wrist. “We should sneak up from the east.”

  Narra nodded. “Let’s take the escape ladder down.”

  Erik agreed.

  She led the way to the opposite side of the roof, where an iron ladder clung to the side of the building. The narrow alley below drowned in shadows.

  Narra swung from the roof onto the ladder. Cold burned her palms as she slid to the alley floor three stories below. She stepped back from the street, heart pounding. They’d circle the block and come up on the other side of the bar, right behind the two soldiers. Ezriel would never see them coming.

  Erik hit the ground with a soft thump before he joined Narra at the far end of the narrow alley. Brick rose on either side, hardly two feet of space for them to pass.

  They emerged on the next street over—empty. It only took a few minutes to race through the alleys, cross the street, and work their way to the back of the bar. Light filtered out every first floor window, revealing a wide room filled with military men, bar maidens, and plenty of weapons.

  Narra glanced back at Erik. He stared at a long rifle leaning against the wall beside the front door. They’d have to take Ezriel quietly, or they’d never get away without a firefight.

  “Go around the other side of the building.” Narra motioned to the back of the wooden structure. “Come out the other side. While you distract them, I’ll knock out Ezriel. By the time the smoker turns around you’ll be close enough to do the same.”

  Erik nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Without question, he took off for the other side of the bar. Once his shadow disappeared around the corner, Narra ducked beneath the windowsills until she reached the front corner of the building. She plastered her back to the wall and waited.

  “Want a puff?” the smoker asked.

  “Sure.” A long pause followed, then a heavy exhale. “Good stuff.”

  “Snatched a bit from the casino.”

  Ezriel chuckled. “Those Rupans know their stuff.”

  They both laughed.

  “Hello there, gentlemen,” Erik said.

  Narra smiled. She peeked around the corner. Both Ezriel and the smoker faced her best friend. While Ezriel took another puff on the wooden pipe, the smoker reached for the short sword at his hip.

  “Nice evening isn’t it?” Erik continued, a wide grin on his face. Though his smile conveyed sincerity, his eyes screamed rage.

  She stepped out from behind the corner.

  “A bit chilly.” Ezriel shrugged.

  Erik’s jaw hardened at the same moment as hers. Ezriel’s cavalier attitude was infuriating. She reached for a dagger, just in case.

  “Who are you?” the smoker growled, his voice raspy.

  Narra lunged. She slammed her boot into the back of Ezriel’s kneecap. He tumbled to the ground with a yelp. The smoker whipped around. Erik leapt, pulling his short sword from within his cloak. He smashed the hilt into the back of the man’s head.

  “What in Srah’s name—” Ezriel gasped

  “This is for the Guild,” Narra cut him off. She slammed her boot into his face.

  The corporal collapsed, out cold.

  Narra took a steadying breath. “That went well.”

  “Better than expected,” Erik agreed.

  A crash from within the bar had them both spinning for the windows. Through the small front window Narra could see two soldiers fighting inside. She sighed with relief.

  “Let’s get out of here before they’re thrown out,” Erik said.

  Narra nodded. “Let’s get back to the Guild.”

  N arra slammed her boot into Ezriel’s spine, propelling him through the arched sewer passage. He collapsed on the dirt floor of the Den, groaning as he rolled onto his back.

  More than a dozen thieves occupied the open space, angry scowls and tears on their faces.

  “Meet Corporal Ezriel Grayson,” Narra began. She tilted her chin up, rage coursing through every inch of her being. Her breath hissed out between her teeth. “He killed thirteen initiates. Thirteen of our children .”

  It had taken Narra and Erik a few hours to return to the Guild with Ezriel in tow. With his hands bound and mouth gagged, he glanced between the thieves. His eyes didn’t widen and he didn’t shake. He wasn’t afraid of them, but he should be. What kind of sociopath was he? When he had woken on the way back, he’d laughed, and even now when about to face
punishment for his crimes, he didn’t even bat an eye.

  The thieves shifted, murmurs passing through the crowd.

  “What is this?” Graves emerged from one of the eastern passages, hair mussed and sleep crusting his eyes. His thick eyebrows furrowed as the other thieves parted to let the man through. “What’s happened? Why are you back so soon?”

  Narra nodded at Ezriel. “He killed them all.”

  “What ?” Graves’ eyes flew wide.

  A deep rumble, muffled by the gag, flowed from the corporal. Sparks lit her veins. Erik stepped in front of her, slamming his boot into the man’s stomach. Ezriel coughed violently, curling in on himself.

  “Murderer!” Claudia screamed from the western passage.

  The dark-haired woman pushed through the crowd. Tears filled her eyes. She joined the other commanders, fists shaking at her sides.

  “Those children were our future ,” Claudia hissed. She crouched next to the corporal, her head tilted like an angry tiger. Her lips pulled back in a snarl. Never had Narra seen Claudia so enraged. Her outer turmoil mirrored Narra’s inner inferno. Her dark gaze whipped up to meet Narra’s. “He killed all thirteen?” Her voice broke.

  Narra’s jaw hardened. Had Claudia somehow been involved with one of the initiates? “Yes.”

  Like a lioness, Claudia pounced. Her fingers wrapped around the corporal’s jacket, yanking him to his knees. “You’ll suffer for taking my Damien.”

  Damien. She recognized the name. One of the older boys, perhaps with the Brains. Claudia’s anguish suddenly made sense.

  Murmurs of rage passed through the other members, whispers of how to best kill the man. Drawn and quartered. Hung. Drowned. Bled out. He deserved any punishment the Guild saw fit. He deserved worse.

  Kill him , her father whispered. Narra bit her tongue. She planned on it.

  Erik’s hand wrapped around her bicep, squeezing to get her attention. She met his blue gaze. “This is going to get out of hand.”

  Narra worked her jaw while Claudia threw Ezriel back on the floor. She stood and drew her twin daggers, long curved blades with jeweled hilts.

  “There’s no going back if you let this continue,” Erik warned .

  Narra yanked her arm from his grasp. Her father’s voice was right for once. It was time to kill him. She glared at her best friend. “Whatever he gets will be too good for him, Erik.” She turned her gaze on the others. “Gather the commanders. We’ll meet now to decide the novin scum’s fate.”

  Claudia nodded—her eyes wild, tears staining her cheeks with kohl. She shifted from foot to foot, guarding her prey.

  “Graves, gather the others,” Narra said. The man nodded and took off the way he’d come, back to August’s workshop.

  “We should kill him here and now !” one of the older members bellowed. Rage shook his limbs. If she remembered correctly, his youngest brother was one of the initiates.

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  He shot forward. Narra drew her dagger. He stopped inches from her face, her knife at his throat. “He killed my brother .”

  “I know,” she whispered. Tears welled in his eyes. “But we won’t give him a swift end.”

  Understanding blossomed on his face. He nodded and stepped back.

  Narra waited until he retreated a few steps before sheathing her dagger. “Bring him to the saloon.”

  Erik stepped forward. He yanked Ezriel to his feet. The corporal winced, but grinned and chuckled behind his gag—her gun cleaning rag stuck in his mouth. Erik growled and shoved him against the wall, breaking his smile.

  “Shut up.” Erik took him by the arm and led the way to the saloon passage. The other thieves shoved him as he passed through the crowd, snapping slurs and curses, while others spit in the corporal’s face.

  Narra followed. Though fire burned in her chest and gut, calm lay over her mind. Finally, Ezriel was caught. He’d pay for Marina, and for the Guild children. She’d see to it the other commanders wouldn’t go easy. Erik was right; there was no coming back from this. She wasn’t sure she’d want to anyway.

  Warm candlelight bathed the saloon in amber. Wax dripped from the chandelier, amassing in a large clump of white at the center of the meeting table. Erik shoved Ezriel inside, forcing him into one of the oak chairs by the bar. He spun the chair to face the table and her throne, the legs scraping against the floor.

  Claudia took her seat, slamming her daggers on the table as she sat. Graves returned then, twisting his moustache, eyes wide as he slipped more calmly onto his chair. Though six of the dead initiates had been his, he didn’t look angry. Instead his fingers tapped the oak table—anxious. It had been a long time since something so grave had plagued the Guild.

  In the past, Emperor Zaneth had used their services many times—until his own son, the current Emperor Malek, hanged him for his association with the Guild. The dark mark in history had sent the Thieves underground, where the intricacy of the sewers protected them. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The very man to sentence his own father to death for an association with the Guild had contracted them to guard whatever package he’d been keeping on that train. What a hypocrite.

  “Claudia!” Klaus stormed through the door, flying to his sister’s side. So her brother had known about her affair. Claudia burst into tears in Klaus’s arms. He embraced her, gently stroking her hair and whispering assurances.

  Clint joined them next, his dark shadow slipping in nearly unnoticed in the low light. He met her gaze, his black eyes unreadable. “This is him?”

  She nodded.

  His gaze hardened as he glared across the wide room. Clint stalked across the saloon, his boots and clothes not even causing a whisper of sound. He stopped half a foot in front of Ezriel, whose head lolled up to meet Clint’s stone gaze. The commander pulled the gag from his lips, and tossed it to the ground. He didn’t say a word, simply stared long and hard.

  Her fingers brushed the cold steel at her hips. Would Clint try and kill the man himself?

  Without a word, Clint turned on his heels and marched back to the meeting table to take his seat. Her hands relaxed on her daggers. She met Erik’s gaze across the room. Sweat trickled down his temples. He lowered his hand from his weapon as well. He’d thought Clint might try something too.

  The door slammed shut.

  “Never in all my years with the Guild,” August bellowed. He slammed his cane down on the round center table. “Not since Zaneth’s reign has something of this magnitude occurred—and to the initiates .” He shook his head. His knuckles went white clutched around the hilt of his cane.

  Ezriel chuckled, drawing all eyes to him.

  “You miserable boy !” August smashed his fist on the table. Ezriel’s smirk remained. “You’re going to die here. Act like it.”

  “If you were going to kill me, you would have already.” Ezriel quirked an eyebrow, a half-grin plastered on his face.

  August rounded the table and stopped in front of Ezriel. He slammed his fist into Ezriel’s cheek, throwing the corporal back in his chair. Narra froze. She’d never seen August angry before, let alone strike someone.

  “When Lady Death comes for you, you’ll think it a blessing.” August stormed back to his seat, but he didn’t sit. His fists shook against the tabletop. His white knuckles turned red.

  “What do we do in this sort of situation?” Klaus asked. He’d sat down during August’s outburst, but remained close to his sister. Claudia straightened. Her tears had ceased, returning the murder to her eyes.

  “An extermination,” August said.

  Narra raised an eyebrow. An extermination? She’d never heard of such a thing. Then again, something like this hadn’t happened to the Guild in decades, maybe even centuries.

  She sat on her throne, crossing one leg over the other. She set her father’s pistol on the wide arm of the chair. Glancing at her rag, dirtied on the floor, she wished she’d found something else to gag the killer with.

  “An exter
mination like this hasn’t been done since the Century of Blood,” Clint said, his voice lower than usual. His gloved fingers tapped the table. He nodded. “An acceptable punishment.”

  Graves cleared his throat. “Are you sure it’s the only way?”

  “For those of us who aren’t ancient , what is an extermination ?” Claudia growled.

  August stared her down, his gaze hardened. “Every member of the Guild is to take turns delivering Ashra’s revenge. It’s called a death of a thousand cuts.”

  Claudia smirked and leveled her gaze at Ezriel over her shoulder.

  The corporal glared back at them, his lips twisted in a frown.

  “Where is your smile now?” she mocked.

  While Erik and the other commanders prepared Ezriel for his fate—tying him to the chair against his many protests—Narra watched and waited. He deserved this end. He deserved to suffer. The bloodbath at the vault flashed before her eyes. So much red . It had drowned the floor and their young faces. She’d hardly known them, yet in the brief moments they hadn’t been terrified of her, she had shared a drink with one in the saloon, and coached another to wield a dagger properly, and taught another how to quiet his footsteps on uneven terrain. The Guild had put her in charge of initiating these children. In a way, they were hers and now they were gone.

  Even as she glared daggers at the corporal, her heart ached and twisted. Asher would hate her for this. If he ever got to see his son again, the body would be nearly unrecognizable. A death of a thousand cuts. The punishment would seem cruel if delivered to another. But Ezriel was a serial killer and a rapist.

  Fire consumed her heart, lungs, and abdomen. It pushed hot air from her throat, sped up her heart and her breathing. She bit her tongue against the flames and the tears that stung her eyes.

  Let Asher hate her. He’d already done enough.

  With ropes securing Ezriel’s arms, legs, and waist to the wooden chair, the commanders stepped away. Erik ushered in the rest of the Guild, who’d been gathered during the preparation.