Proper Thieves
Page 23
Zella touched her thumb to her ringfinger.
Nalan
The bay door was growing smaller behind them as they circled around The Palace, taking in the billions of twinkling lights that lined the ship's immense spires. The sides of the ship had lost some paint where it had scraped the inner frame of the massive gates, and there was a steel lance jutting through the front window, where it had passed inches away from Nalan's shoulder and half-inches from Allister's face.
“The look on that guard's face?” Allister had laughed himself to tears. “When he finally let go of the lance? Like, 'Well, now I know. This won't work.'“ He cracked up yet again. His entire body was shaking and covered in sweat.
“Allister, cool it,” Devan said quickly.
Nalan looked around at the walls of the cabin. They seemed to be taking on a deep blue hue.
Nalan turned around and looked out the rear window. An intense blue light illuminated the night sky behind them.
Allister shifted his hands gently to the left. “Heading to the aren—hey!”
Diving, Nalan collided heavily with the back of Allister's seat. He grabbed his partner's hands and jerked them hard to the right. The ship rolled; Devan slammed hard into the wall; one of The Palace's massive orbiting balls of blue fire raced past, missing their rear flank by less than a meter. And when the ship righted itself, Nalan looked back to the rear window, only to find it filled with The Palace's security airships.
“Go, Allister,” Nalan said, slapping the pilot on the shoulder as he climbed off him. But the ship just held its course. “Allister, go!”
The ship leapt forward. Allister’s breathing was fast and shallow, his pallor bone-white; he tilted his hands, and the ship leapt forward. On the floor behind them, Devan was shaking his head, his eyes distant and unfocused. He looked like he was trying to make sense of the world.
In the window above where Devan lay, the world sped past as the security ships grew larger and larger.
Breigh
“Breigh of Fold and Fael.” Aided by a touch of magic, Faerathore's voice echoed throughout the arena. “Today you earned a great victory. Glory to you, Breigh!”
The crowd chanted: “Glory! Glory! Glory!”
Breigh sneered and said nothing.
“Your Companion, however...” Faerathore's voice grew fierce without losing its theatricality. “...she has committed crimes. As a champion of the Grand Arena, you have earned a night of celebration unlike any you have ever known. But first, turn your companion over to the guard and let justice be done.”
Through Zella's eyes, Breigh watched the line of steel-clad guardsmen as they slowly advanced.
Pulling herself free from Zella’s grip, Breigh stooped down and grabbed up two handfuls of earth, then let it slowly drain out between her fingers. Her bleeding hands now dried, she punched one fist into the palm of her other hand.
“It has already been a night of celebration unlike any I’ve ever known,” Breigh shouted, more to the guard than anyone else. But the crowd cheered all the same.
High in the mezzanine, Faerathore gestured to the captain of the guard. “Crossbows!” the captain commanded. The guard drew arms.
Breigh's body tensed. Zella could feel it from a foot away. She put a hand on her friend's shoulder. “Breigh,” she said softly. “It's going to be okay.”
The guards took aim. The crowd began to jeer.
Breigh shook her head. Her shoulders heaved with each ragged breath. “You might want to meet the gods with peace in your heart,” she hissed. “But not me. Not me. Never me.”
“No, see,” Zella began. “That...”
Before she could finish her thought, Allister's airship dropped out of the sky and crushed the crossbow men under its mighty frame.
“That wasn't what I meant,” Zella said with a smile. Taking Breigh by the arm, she began to run.
“Darling,” Devan greeted Zella at the door with a peck on the cheek. Through Zella’s eyes, Breigh could see Devan was trembling.
“Dear heart,” Zella replied. Breigh could feel it; Zella was trembling too.
Between the two of them, they got Breigh into the cabin, and Nalan closed the door. Allister raised his hands, and the ship lifted off.
Allister
All around them, flashes of mage fire blazed across the outer surface of the ship’s flight field—the powerful force sphere that surrounded the craft and kept it aloft.
“The gold!” Breigh called up from the back of the cabin. “All that and no gold?”
“Fuck the gold!” Allister called back. “Guys...we've got to go!” The first three Palace airships were cresting the upper rim of the arena and arcing down to meet them. Out the window, Allister could see strands of blue energy forming between the incoming ships. The mages in those ships were spinning an immense snare—if they didn't move fast, they'd be caught in it like a net.
But before he could move, Breigh reached up with one hand and caught him by the throat. “Fuck? The gold?!”
Allister gagged. Reflexively, he brought his hands up, and as he did, the airship rocketed skyward, arching backward until the craft was upside down, hurtling over the rim of the arena in the opposite direction.
“Breigh!” Hanging onto the back of Allister's seat for dear life with one hand, Devan shook her by the shoulder with the other. “We've got the icons, so we’ve got the gold! But we need for Allister to not die!”
Breigh released the pilot's throat. “Do it!” Devan barked up at Allister. “Get us out of here!”
“Which is it? Get the gold or leave?” Allister rasped. “Listen to what I’m telling you: if we take the lock too far from the room it opens, the lock won't be able to make a connection.”
Zella grabbed Allister roughly by the collar. “How is this the first we’ve heard about this?”
Allister seemed to shrink into his seat. “Was it not obvious?” he croaked.
Nalan
Nalan looked at Zella, and together, they raced toward the rear of the cabin. When they got there, Zella lashed Nalan to a support beam, then placed her hands on either side of Nalan’s face. “You’ve got this, Nalan,” she said, and smiled. Nalan nodded. There was no way even Zella could calm him down just then, but he appreciated the effort. In a flash of light, Nalan’s face transformed into that of Thomme Faerathore.
Once that ball was spinning, Zella placed one hand on Nalan’s temple and reached out the other toward Allister. Nalan’s eyes widened as the inside of the cabin was suddenly filled with a huge, complex locking apparatus.
Through the translucent machine, Nalan could see Devan staring out the back window. The ships were gaining on them already. “Alli, just...” He shook his head. It wasn’t a look Nalan had ever seen on his face before. He was at a loss, powerless to help in this situation. “Just hold it steady, would you?”
But there was no holding the ship steady. Even when Allister wasn't evading ensnarement spells or dodging multicolored fireballs, the ship's uneven enchantments felt like the simple act of flying would eventually shake the craft to pieces.
Through Faerathore’s face, Nalan squinted into the air before him. The face of the machine was a blur of dials and levers, and behind them, wall after wall of gears shook into an indistinct blur. “The shaking...I can’t focus...I can't do this!”
“You've got this, Nalan,” Zella said, rubbing his back. “Come on.”
“No, I don't. This is precision work, and I can’t...” Aggravated beyond words, he turned and yelled up at the pilot. “Allister! Can't you do anything to steady us out?”
Allister said nothing. He wiped the sweat from his eyes.
“Well?” Breigh demanded.
Allister opened his mouth to reply, but just as he did, the ship slammed to a full stop, as surely as if someone had grabbed it by the tail. Their forward momentum had ceased, but the shaking remained.
“There,” Allister said, more than a note of hysteria in his voice. “Happy?”
“What?” Breigh asked. Still blind, she whipped her head around trying to find anything she could focus on. “What's happened?”
Allister waved his hands in vain. “Ensnarement. The mages have gotten a hold of our flight field. They've got us.” His hands fell limp in his lap. “They've fucking got us,” he said quietly.
Allister
“They're taking us higher,” Devan said.
Allister looked out the window at the twinkling lights of The Palace. They were getting smaller. “They want to break the connection with the icons, keep us from opening the lock.” He masked his face with his hands. “Of course, little do they know that there's not much hope of that thanks to this dilapidated flight field...”
He fell quiet. He looked out from between his fingers. “Hey...Nalan...”
Nalan was still valiantly trying to work the lock's tumblers, even as they shifted and gyrated erratically under his fingertips. “What?” he breathed.
“How long...how long do you think you would need to get the lock open if I could get the shaking to stop?”
Nalan wiped the sweat from his brow. “Less than a minute. Why?”
“Um...How much less than a minute?”
Devan, Breigh, Zella, and Nalan all turned to look up to the pilot’s seat. “Why?” they all said in unison.
Allister braced his feet against the front console. “Because…” His voice was steady again. “...because I'm going to try something really, really stupid, okay? And I need all of you to not be mad at me.”
Devan looked over at Allister. “Alli? What the fuck are you doing?”
Fuck you, Devan, Allister thought. Again, when he’d heard himself think that, it sounded like his own voice.
The airship continued to climb.
Nalan’s hands began grasping at the air in front of him. “Guys? The lock...the lock is fading…I can’t feel it anymore…”
“Everybody hold on,” Allister said.
Devan reached over and helped Zella pull tight on Nalan's straps.
“Tiny man?” Breigh asked.
Allister didn't respond to her.
This is stupid, said the voice inside Allister’s head. This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever come up with. The stupidest thing in a long, loooong line of stupid things.
“Okay,” Allister said back. And as he said it, he realized the voice inside his head sounded nothing like his own voice.
If you end up dead, then you end up dead. That’s fine. But you’re going to kill Zella, Devan, Breigh, and Nalan.
“Okay,” Allister said back. And as he said it, he realized the voice inside his head sounded exactly like Devan.
Are you fucking listening to me? They’re all going to die. The only people who ever trusted you to do anything are going to die in a burning heap because you weren’t good enough.
“Okay,” Allister said. He bit his lip. “Here goes.”
Allister squeezed both hands into fists. And the ship's flight field collapsed.
Nalan
Gracelessly, the ship began to fall, and all its occupants began to tumble around inside, screaming and cursing. All except Nalan. Nalan's hands were finally free to play.
The machine was huge and complex, but it was needlessly complex: redundant systems, trap doors, red herrings, blind alleys. One by one, he mentally peeled away the irrelevant mechanisms, looking for the heart of the thing. The core logic. The only puzzle pieces that mattered. And there he found a series of five numbered tumblers which corresponded to five specific dials out of the dozens that littered the front face of the machine.
Nalan began turning those dials. He watched the way they affected the relevant systems around them. Working backward in his head from “open chute” to “locked chute,” he could see there was only one configuration that made sense. Now it was just a matter of finding it.
He turned a dial to six. The first tumbler fell into place.
Breigh
Breigh’s body was tense, taut, as though she were ready to lunge at her fate the moment it betrayed its location.
“Two tumblers!” Nalan called from the back.
“What’s it look like, tiny man?” she asked.
Allister could barely speak. He sounded like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. “What...does what...look like?”
“Three tumblers!” Nalan called.
“The ground! What does it look like? If I can’t see my end coming, I at least want to know what it looks like!”
“Four…” Nalan called, then stopped. “Two tumblers…”
“Allister!”
“Wha—I...it’s...bright? And swirly? And it’s getting bigger and bigger every second? Is that what you want to hear?!”
“Three tumblers!”
Devan
Spinning savagely, the ship hurtled downward toward The Palace's main thoroughfare. Distantly, Devan realized that the whirls of color he saw through the front window were people in their bright, gaudy clothing.
“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” Devan mumbled, clutching hard to a railing near the ship's ceiling.
“Well I’m glad to hear that!” Zella called out to him. He shot her a look; he’d wished she hadn’t heard that. “If this was part of the plan and you didn’t tell me,” she yelled, “I’d be beyond pissed!”
But he wasn’t listening. He was focused instead on the weird feeling in his stomach. It was a cold emptiness that felt like it would leech out into his entire body and drain him dry. It was something beyond the terror of falling, more potent than the impotence of watching as his plans fell apart around him, and more paralyzing than the helplessness he felt as he clamored and crawled through the crowd of gamblers after Breigh killed Arachnus.
Failure, he decided at last. This is what failure feels like.
“Four tumblers!” Nalan called out.
Nalan
A fourth dial clicked into place. The fifth one spun in its housing. Nalan kept his fingers pressed on the case, trying to feel where the machine wanted to go. From order to chaos...
Across the way, Zella and Devan found each other in midair. Their fingers interlocked.
From order to chaos... Sweat clouded Nalan's vision.
In the front of the ship, Breigh reached around Allister’s seat and squeezed him tightly. Nalan could see Allister’s fists clenched tight. Past them, through the window, he could see people—pointing, screaming, scattering, and running out of their path.
Zella pulled Devan close. He pushed back at her, trying to get away. She just pulled all the harder.
From order to chaos...
Nalan felt a click. It was faint, but it was there.
He jostled the dial in its housing, testing it. It was there. It was there.
“I got it!” he shouted.
He pulled the primary lever. The lock clanged open. An avalanche of gold exploded into the bed of the airship, sweeping Devan and Zella away like wheat in a hurricane, mashing them against the back of Allister’s seat where Breigh was.
Allister
Allister opened both hands wide, pointed straight down, and all around them the flight field popped back on in a brilliant golden flash. Allister arced his hands upward and the ship, shaking and groaning once more, followed his lead, leaving no more than a meter's clearance between it and the street. It pulled its nose away from gravity's embrace and raced skyward, leaving The Palace far, far behind.
Breigh bellowed in triumph, throwing great handfuls of coins into the air. Half buried under a mountain of treasure, Zella clung to Devan and laughed, loud and raw. Devan laid there, letting her. Buried to his waist in gold, Nalan slumped against the center support strut where he was still tethered and allowe
d himself to smile.
But Allister was silent. He was listening to the inside of his head. And it was silent there too.
He leaned his head back against the seat and breathed.
At last, he let out a short chuckle. He looked back over his shoulder.
“Hey Devan!” he called out.
Devan turned away from the revelry and looked up at Allister. “What?”
“Your plan sucked balls, Devan!”
For a moment, everyone in the ship fell silent. Then, Allister threw his head back and cackled with laughter. Breigh looked sidelong at Zella, and the both of them started laughing too. Even Nalan joined in at that point. They laughed longer and harder than Allister could remember them doing in a long time, certainly since they left The Tower.
It was a shame Devan didn’t join them.
Devan
Allister pressed his wrist to his eye. “Ow! Krist in a pretty hat, Breigh!”
“You challenged me to a gold fight,” Breigh said, playfully tossing another handful of coins at her scrawny paramour.
“Yeah, but not to the death!” he said, throwing his hands up over his face. The moment he took his eyes off her, she lunged, snarling, tackling him at the waist. He let loose a shriek as her momentum carried them over the crest of the mountain of golden coins spilling from the open door of the airship.
The cave that Tolem had picked out as the meeting point seemed ideal. It would be next to impossible for The Palace's airships to spot them from the sky, especially once they had adjusted a few of the dry shrubs to cover the mouth of the cavern. All they had to do now was wait for Tolem to arrive.