The Silver Thief

by Edward W. Robertson

"I came here to cut you a second smile. But I know Cane was onto this." At last, she put the stiletto away. "Fuck me, let's go murder some Crows."

  * * *

  Quiet-like, they put out the word. Two days later, the word came back. Lately, a man by name of Bastya had been slumming the pubs in the Sharps. And when he got sloshed enough, he liked to beckon those he'd been speaking with closer. Tell them he belonged to a certain group—one that had reduced the Order to ashes in the wind. And promise they were always looking for good men, should the listener consider themselves up to the task.

  Vess picked him up. Questioned him. He confessed to working for the Crows, but swore he'd never give them up. After Vess clipped his fingers knuckle by knuckle, he was ready to give up the Crows, his mother, and Father Taim himself. According to him, a Crow lieutenant was holed up in a hotel on the fringe of Stodden Hills.

  But when they sent a scout to the room, it was empty. The proprietor was happy to take their bribe—and explain the room had been rented weeks ago and left vacant ever since.

  "Makes no sense," Vess said. "Why pay for a room you ain't going to use?"

  Raxa shook her head. "They are using it. For situations like this. They're watching the hotel. And now that they've seen us sniffing around, they'll go back to ground. We might not see another Crow for months."

  Gaits exhaled slowly. Defeated. Resigned. "We should keep our eyes and ears open regardless. But if they're truly gone, I don't see another option besides returning to business as usual and awaiting their return."

  Vess' eyes narrowed. "This is piles of convenient for the Order. 'Aw shit, the Crows flapped away. Guess we better forget them for good and move on like the last many weeks never happened and we never killed any Knives at all.'"

  "We won't forget what they've done," Raxa said. "We're not done hunting them, either. But we can't go after them. They're too skittish. We have to make them come to us."

  "Oh yeah? How you make the salmon leap into the bear's mouth?"

  "We don't. We treat them like the bear. Lure them into a trap."

  Vess' suspicion remained, but it was now matched by interest. "Like how?"

  Raxa hadn't been working with any hard ideas. Just concepts. She glanced at Gaits, ready for his hawk-like mind to spit out an answer, but he looked glassy-eyed and tired.

  "They're mercenaries," Raxa said. "No matter how much the Black Star paid them, they'll blow through it soon enough. Then they'll need more work."

  Vess clicked her tongue. "So we say, 'Hey, we're looking for rough boys. Got a job needs jobbing.'"

  "Right. We're a potential client impressed with how they handled the job on the Order. We're looking for them to do something similar for us."

  "Who is this proposal supposed to come from?" Gaits said. "If they're so cautious as to give out false information to their foot soldiers in order to protect their leaders, they'll smell a rat from a mile away."

  "Naw," Vess said. "Not if we use a Blindy."

  "A what?"

  Vess gestured searchingly. She jabbed her assistant in the ribs. "You know what I mean. Guys what take their own eyes. Urt's people, like at the temple."

  Her assistant, a middle-aged man named Jennis with the baby fat of a eunuch, rubbed the rib where Vess had poked him. "I infer that you refer to the Bonded."

  "The Bonded," Gaits said. "Expensive. But not a bad idea."

  Raxa considered this. The Bonded Messengers of Urt, usually called Bonded, or sometimes "Urtists," were exactly what the situation called for. Every one of the Bonded was blind, a condition they reportedly inflicted on themselves during their training. The point was to be the ultimate safe courier. Incapable of identifying those who hired them, or of reading the messages they were entrusted to deliver.

  Not that they couldn't figure out the contents of a note by handing it off to someone who could see. But they took a vow, too. The strength of which was represented by the self-inflicted blindness. Servants of Urt, they believed that exposing the secrets they carried would result in their eternal damnation. And that as long as they carried their secrets faithfully, no harm would ever be allowed to befall them.

  Raxa had heard enough about the Bonded to know this wasn't strictly true. On rare occasion, someone had tried to extract their secrets through the usual means. Supposedly, none of the Bonded had ever given in. Somehow, the kidnappers had always been found. Whatever torture they'd inflicted on the Bonded had been returned tenfold.

  The scariest part? Nobody knew who was watching out for the Bonded.

  "It's worth the cost," Raxa said. "Speaking of rats and their smells. The person we send to hire the Bonded—we'll get them to wear the perfume of the Jalladins. They've been feuding with the Paddimores for years. At first, our messenger won't say who he's with, but the Bonded will smell the perfume. Later, when our messenger gets into details with the Crows and reveals he's working for the Jalladins, the Bonded can back up his story."

  Gaits chuckled darkly. "Gurles was more right than he knew. You take to this work a little too easily."

  Vess shifted in her seat. "You want to trap the bear, you got to make the meadow look sunny. We can't let the Crows know we're working together."

  "I wasn't planning to tell them," Raxa said dryly.

  "We got to make sure their own eyes don't tell them, either. The Order and the Knives? We got to make it look like we're still fighting. We need to arrange a run-in. And you want to do this right, then our people can't know we're not at war."

  Raxa had no doubt who Vess meant to sacrifice to this gambit. The Knives' lowlings. Young teens, mostly, along with a few older types who hadn't shown any skills more advanced than the ability to fetch. The idea rested in front of Raxa like a corpse in her bed. She wanted to walk away from it, but if she tried to deny the reality of it, she'd only make it worse for herself.

  She stood. "Set it up. I'll arrange things with the Bonded."

  This was a greater pain in her ass than she anticipated, requiring her to hire one go-between to hire someone else to pose as the "client," and then to hire yet another agent to get in contact with the murky organization that oversaw the Bonded. Worse, she also had to find a Crow. Or at least a way to get in touch with them.

  While she worked these angles, report came in of a brawl between Knives and the Order. Lowlings. No deaths. Comforting. But one of her people, a fourteen-year-old boy named Vadem, had lost an eye to one of the Little Knives' namesakes. Raxa paid him a bonus out of her own pocket and promised him he'd always have a job with the Order.

  After that, for the first time in too long, she went around to see her kids. They looked good. Excluding a few scrapes on his hands and elbows, Fedd didn't have a mark on him.

  When she got back to her makeshift offices in the Sharps, a message was waiting for her. It turned out the Bonded already knew how to get in touch with the Army of Crows. This made good business sense, but Raxa found it mildly disturbing how much the Bonded seem to know.

  Regardless, she authorized the delivery of the initial message to the Bonded. With it, they'd establish contact, then arrange a meeting between the Crows and her agent who was posing as a member of the Jalladin family. At that meet, they'd grab up whoever showed up for the Crows—who, if they were negotiating for their outfit, were either leadership, or knew how to get in contact with them.

  And would thus be able to lead Raxa and Vess directly to the Black Star.

  This was the plan. But after the last few weeks, Raxa didn't have much faith left in plans, no matter how foolproof they sounded. Thanks to her agent, she knew where the Bonded operated from (a warehouse half a block from a temple of Urt) and what the individual couriering their message looked like (thin-bodied man; aquiline nose). When night rolled around, and their agent made his way to the Bonded, she followed.

  The agent entered the warehouse. Raxa waited in the darkness outside. Not two minutes later, the agent departed the building. Half an hour after that, so did a thin man with a bent, prominent
nose.

  The Bonded moved down the street with the aid of a lightweight cane made of…what did you call it, that stuff Gaits liked his chairs to be made out of. The wood from Gallador. Bamboo. And when he walked, his face was rarely pointed in the same direction as his feet. Instead, he tilted his head like a sparrow, or let his chin drift in a series of slow, aimless loops.

  Despite his blindness, the man walked as fast as anyone else. People said that, in exchange for the sacrifice of their eyes, Urt had given the Bonded other senses. Like second sight. Or the ability to feel the presence of other people in the room with them. It was said that no one could follow the Bonded without the Bonded knowing it.

  As the man passed by, Raxa stood and shifted into the shadows. She rose from her cover behind a stoop and entered the street. Watching the Bonded with every drop of her attention, she matched pace. After three blocks, without so much as a twitch or flinch to indicate he felt something amiss, Raxa closed to within half a block of him. Then a hundred feet. Then fifty. At ten feet away, he still gave no sign he knew. Either his extra senses couldn't reach into the shadows, or he was such a good actor she'd never know that he knew she was there.

  His path through the city was winding. Circuitous. Often, he took a meandering back alley when there was a perfectly good thoroughfare. It took Raxa until the end of her shadow juice to understand why: even at night, the thoroughfares could be noisy. But in the alleys—where, as Bonded, he didn't have to fear any brigand—he could hear every footstep.

  The rope connecting her to reality grew taut. Pulling her closer and closer to the edge of the shadows. As the Bonded neared the corner of Hodder and Venn, Raxa moved into a dark doorway and let herself sink from the world of darkness and silver. She seated herself and watched the Bonded trundle down the street. After he disappeared around a bend in the street, she got up and went back to the Order's temporary office.

  By morning, a message had come in from the agent. Raxa and Gaits convened with Vess and Jennis. The message—which was unsigned, and offered no confirmation it was from the Crows—wanted to know the specific target, as well as the scope of the job. The four of them replied that they wanted to move against the Paddimores. As thoroughly and mercilessly as the Crows had during their last job.

  That night began as a repeat of the one before it: the agent headed to the warehouse, response in hand. Three minutes later, the agent left the warehouse. This time, it took nearly an hour before the thin blind man emerged, but within six blocks, it was obvious his path was the same as the night before.

  Hidden in the shadows, Raxa dashed past him. Once she was several blocks ahead, she found an empty side street and walked back into the real world. There, she hustled to the corner of Hodder and Venn.

  Ten minutes later, the Bonded strolled past her, cane sweeping the air before his feet. Raxa returned to the shadows and fell in behind him. The Bonded jagged down two miles of alleys and connecting roads before Raxa had to exit the shadows outside the cathedral of Phannon.

  Another morning, another response from the Crows. They wanted to know if the strike against the Paddimores should be public or private.

  That night, Raxa went straight to the cathedral of Phannon. It took two hours for the Bonded to walk past, cane swishing through the air. Like the previous two nights, she followed along in the nether, but once more had to stop before the Bonded had delivered the message.

  The next morning, the Crows asked for payment.

  "Son of a bitch." Gaits' voice was strained. "They have no intention of meeting us in person. The Bonded are too safe. The Crows mean to conduct the entire negotiation through them."

  Vess got up from her chair, stalking jerkily around the table like one of the tall brown birds that patrolled the bay's mud flats at low tide. "So how do we get to the Crows?" She stopped, grinning madly. "Ah! We already set the table. We pay them to attack the Paddimores. And as they flee the crime, we attack them."

  "Are we certain that's wise? If there's a single witness, they'll link us to having incited an attack against one of Narashtovik's wealthiest families. We may find ourselves in the same position as the Black Star: hunted down by a relentless foe."

  "We're going to haggle," Raxa said. "I'll take care of the rest."

  That night, she picked up the Bonded's route where she'd left off the night before. In time, he arrived and wandered onward, Raxa trailing a few steps behind him as he weaved his way through the city. By now, she had a good idea what was going on. The Crows' drop was specific to them. Blind, the Bonded followed a memorized route to that drop. But in order to make sure no one was able to shadow him to it, he made his route as crooked as a pubic hair. There was no way to follow him without being exceedingly obvious about it.

  Not through the real world, anyway.

  The Bonded made his way to a main street and crossed to Shepherd Lane, a squiggly alley running through a quiet neighborhood in the textile district. For all Raxa knew, the Bonded had another ten miles on his route—but less than a mile after she started dogging him, he made a turn and came to a blank wall. In perfect silence, he tapped his fingers along the wall, dislodging a small brick. He extracted the brick, withdrew a folded note from his satchel, placed it in the wall, and put the brick back in place. This done, he left the alley.

  Back on Shepherd Lane, Raxa hurried to a doorway in the opposite direction from the way the Bonded was now headed. Safe in the darkness, she rocked back into reality. Ten minutes after the blind man had left her sight, she popped into the shadows, ran into the alley, and confirmed the note was the one they'd sent to the Crows.

  * * *

  The morning brought a counteroffer from the Crows.

  "We can, of course, counter again," Gaits said. "But we need to determine an end game. We're only going to be able to stretch out negotiations for so long before they start to get suspicious that we don't want to reach a deal at all."

  Raxa suppressed a grin. "We only need to make one more counter."

  "Don't tell me you intend to actually hire them. The last thing we need is another enemy."

  "I know where the Bonded is making the drop. Last night, I saw the Crows' man pick up the message. Tonight, I'm going to follow him back to his leadership."

  Silence clamped down on the table.

  "Er." Gaits' eyes shifted side to side. "How do you know where the Bonded is making the drop?"

  "Because I followed him."

  Vess pursed her lips and tipped back her head. "Nobody can follow the Bonded. They sniff you out like a hound."

  "You can keep telling me I can't have done it," Raxa said. "Or we can put together a plan to grab the Crows' leaders tomorrow."

  Vess began to laugh. "You done it, didn't you? One more night. Then we learn which children of bitches tried to set us at each other's throats."

  They made plans to send the agent back to the Bonded at ten that night. Raxa would stake out the drop, follow the Crows' messenger back to the nest, then return and report their location to the others. From there, they'd make strike plans. Toughest part would be getting their crews close enough to prevent an escape without tipping off the Crows to the closing of the noose. On the plus side, the Crows couldn't have many of their troops in the city just then. Not if they wanted to stay hidden.

  By the time the meeting wrapped up, it was still two hours until noon. Following the Bonded to the drop had kept her up past two in the morning. Feeling beat, Raxa walked home. In the quiet of her manor, she warmed water on the stove and pumped it to the tub, mixing the simmering liquid with room temperature water and a great deal of soap chips, leaving the surface bubbly and opaque. An extravagance, but what the hell. She ran the Order now. Besides, it never hurt to be able to hide beneath the surface.

  Once everything was in place, she disrobed, hung her clothes on the hooks on the wall, and stepped into the tub. The water was good and warm. She sank to her chin and exhaled, bubbles popping around her neck. For the first time since the burning of the Marr
igan, she relaxed. She rested her head against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes.

  A light thud woke her from a doze. She sat up, sloshing lukewarm water around the tub. Her head felt as thick as congealed butter. How long had—?

  Feeling eyes on her, she swung her head toward the door. Three men stood over her. One of them was Gaits.

  "Lyle's balls, Gaits." She lowered her shoulders back under the water. "Just because you helped get me this place doesn't mean you don't have to knock." She eyeballed his companions. One was a brawler, hulking and veiny. The other looked feverish, eyes burning within a gaunt face. "Who are they? New hires for tomorrow?"

  "They," Gaits said, not taking his eyes off her for a moment, "are the people I've hired to make sure you don't pull any of your tricks. Not that I expect you to, Raxa. Because I have your kids—and if you try anything, they won't live to see the end of the day."

  23

  "I did it!" Dante laughed in disbelief. Ten feet away, the pint-sized Andrac—it was hardly taller than the length of a man's hand—curled its claws and stalked toward him. "Oh shit."

  "Er," Blays said. "Should we step on it?"

  "Stay there," Dante said to the demon. It continued to advance. "Stay!" He held up his palm and mustered his most wizardly voice. "You will come no closer!"

  Blays backed up a step. "Want me to try throwing it a bone?"

  "Why isn't it listening? They follow Gladdic's orders!"

  "Barely. Besides, I thought this was about learning to destroy them, not to boss them around."

  Dante skipped away from the tiny Star-Eater, glancing to the side to make sure he wasn't about to fall off the ledge of rock. "They heal fast. Keeper, hit it hard!"

  Ether glowed from her weathered hands. Dante called forth what little he could, forming an incandescent sphere. The demon broke into a run toward Dante, forcing him to turn and dash away.

  Darts of ether shot from the Keeper and streaked toward the demon's back. The light struck home, nether spraying from the Andrac like a snowball hurled against a stone wall. Black dust burst away, then slowed, hanging in mid-air; holes perforated the creature's back. As Dante watched, the scattered nether drew back toward the demon.