Proper Thieves

by Smith, Luke CJ

  “I was beginning to wonder if he knew how to do anything other than fly in a wide spiral,” Danel said. He turned his hands sharply, and the ship followed suit, banking hard and arcing downward after Allister. “For an actual mage, he’s not very good at this.”

  The buildings out on the edge of Kauleth were shorter, but the distance between them was narrow, and the roads that connected them lay in weird geometric patterns. Danel was right; Allister wasn’t very good at flying, and he’d chosen a terrible place to try to evade his pursuers. His ship bounced off the facades of one building after another as he struggled to keep from slamming into anything head on.

  At one point, he flew through a banner that had been strung across the street, rendering him effectively blind. He dipped too low and wound up smashing through the glass heads of a whole row of gas streetlights, popping each in a chain of small, yellow fireballs as he passed.

  Danel laughed. Vertus put his nearly fingerless hand on the mage’s shoulder and laughed too. Danel grimaced and stopped laughing.

  The wind finally stripped the banner off the front of Allister’s ship; Danel banked hard to avoid it as it floated past. The buildings opened up and the street widened into a long, straight boulevard. “Get above him,” Tolem said. “Force him down.”

  Danel tilted his hands back and the ship began to climb. He leveled off then sped up, bringing them most of the way over Allister’s ship. Allister began to go faster. Danel matched his speed.

  “We’ve got him,” Vertus said, squeezing Danel’s shoulder with what was left of his hand.

  “Now,” Tolem said. “Hit him.”

  The ship dropped. Vertus looked back to peer down the big hole in the floor to see if he could catch a glimpse of Allister’s reaction. And he did—he saw Allister, wearing Nalan’s face and bracing his feet against the front wall of his ship. He pulled his hands back to his chest. His ship slammed to a halt as Vertus and the others flew straight on past.

  Before Vertus had time to report what he’d seen, there was a loud bang, and the floor rose up and catapulted all of the passengers off their feet. The world began to pinwheel around them as their ship spun, somersaulting end over end, nose over aft, completely out of control.

  “He hit us!” Vertus howled. “He hit us from underneath! He flipped us like a goddamn coin!”

  Everything in the cabin tumbled, then came to a stop with a bone-crunching thud as the ship slammed sidelong against the façade of a factory building.

  “Level us off!” Tolem shouted over the sound of the ship’s twisting metal frame.

  “Oh!” Danel shouted back acerbically. “Hey! Thanks!”

  It took Vertus a minute to figure out which way was up, and by the time he did, the ship was already moving again, following Allister out of the man-made canyon and up over the city again.

  “Not very good, huh?” Tolem smirked down at the back of Danel’s head. Danel didn’t respond.

  The countryside lay just past the last rows of buildings, a dark black ocean leading all the way out to the horizon. Lit only by the moon and starlight, Vertus couldn’t make out anything in front of them except the ship.

  “Can you read his mind?” Phaedra asked. “Can you tell where he’s headed?”

  Tolem shook his head. “All I can hear in his head is that damn song.”

  “I can tell you where he’s going,” Danel said through gritted teeth.

  The ship leapt forward, catching the top of Allister’s ship hard, shearing off the roof-mounted funnel and a good part of the roof itself as well. Danel didn’t let up; he pushed down hard, shoving Allister’s craft out of the sky.

  “We’ve got him,” Vertus said through a toothless grin.

  Danel nodded, smiling as well. “We’ve got—”

  A huge black shape appeared in the front window, and before Danel or Allister or anyone else had a chance to react, both ships plowed into it. For Vertus, the world became a tangle of broken tree limbs, pine needles, rent Aurium panels, and tossed human bodies. There was a sick feeling—sicker than usual—in the pit of his stomach as the ship plummeted from the sky. They were falling in darkness, tumbling headlong into the pull of gravity.

  They hit hard.

  Samus

  The sweat from Samus’ bald head was dripping into Nalan’s eyes, blinding the boy. “Please!” His voice was nearing panic. “Please, please stop!”

  Samus gripped the hilt of the dagger with both hands now, positioning it over Nalan’s chest. He lifted his knees off the floor, putting all the weight he had into pushing down on the blade. From beneath him, he could feel Nalan straining against his weight; one of the boy’s hands gripped at his bicep, while the other fumbled desperately to hold on to any other part. His robes. His face. His chest. For once in his pampered life, Samus’ girth worked to his advantage; nothing on his body was solid enough for Nalan to push against.

  Samus forced his blade closer and closer to Nalan’s ribs.

  “For what it’s worth...boy,” Samus panted from his exertions, “no one...gets into this line of work...to kill children.” He blinked away a torrent of sweat. “It’s meant to be...a gentleman’s sport…”

  Nalan squirmed. He tried again to wedge one of his feet up under Samus, but to no avail. His face screwed up; he looked like he might begin to sob.

  “But sometimes…” Samus bounced on top of the boy, trying to thrust his way through his defenses in one rough push.

  “...being a proper thief…”

  He bounced again, and the tip of the blade grazed Nalan’s flesh.

  “...requires you…”

  He bounced again, and he could feel metal on bone.

  “...to be…”

  He bounced again. The boy screamed.

  Samus tightened his grip on the hilt. He smiled.

  “...a proper bastard.”

  He reared up to bounce one final time, to let gravity and his own body weight finish the job. Nalan closed his eyes tight, screaming still.

  And the next thing Samus knew, he was lying in a heap against the far wall, his robes covered in an explosion of red gore, and his head ringing like a church bell.

  Breigh stood over Nalan and sighed. She was holding a leather sack with a split seam on one side. “Fie,” she said, considering the bag. “So much for my souvenir.”

  As Samus’ vision went from double back to single, he realized he was thoroughly painted in blood and bits of flesh. He felt something sitting on top of his head. He reached up and discovered it was a human ear.

  “Contrary to what they teach you in school,” Breigh said, obviously woozy from a loss of blood, “it’s not easy to tear a person’s head off with your bare hands. It sort of ends up a gooey mess.” She shrugged and dropped the bag on Samus’ prone body. “This, I suppose, is why they give executioners big, heavy axes.”

  She crouched down over him and scowled. “Still. It was my souvenir. And I had to go and rupture the bag it was in by clobbering you across your big, hideous noggin. This displeases me greatly. Almost as much as seeing you trying to hack my good friend Nalan here to bits with a pen knife.”

  She looked across the room at Nalan, who was hugging his bloody arm to his chest, trying to catch his breath. “Zella sends her apologies, friend Nalan,” she said. “I came as soon as she was able to send word of your plight.”

  “Now, Nalan’s been diagnosed with a peculiar mental abnormality—pacifism. They tell me he’ll live a long and healthy life…” She shrugged. “If you can call that living. Out of respect for what I’m sure his wishes would be if he weren’t in shock…”

  From across the room, Nalan gasped between short, hyperventilating breaths. “Throw him…out...a window.”

  Breigh looked back at Nalan, then down at Samus. She grinned.

  “You heard the man.”

  Tolem

  It took Tolem a half dozen tries to finally kick open the door to his ship. The frame was mangled, crushed beyond repair. Allister’s ship had tak
en significantly less damage. It would fly again. But its pilot was gone.

  Staggering to his feet, Tolem wheeled around, searching for some sign of the boy. “Allister!” he bellowed into the dark forest. “Come on, boy. Let’s be done with this.” As the sound of his echoing voice died away, Tolem heard a small noise coming from around the side of a large rock outcropping nearby. He followed it.

  Tolem was no tracker, but he could tell when someone had dragged themselves through the forest on their elbows. There was a long trail in the weeds, and at the end of it, face down, still crawling, was the body of a young man.

  “Allister,” Tolem said. “Stop. It’s over.”

  Half hidden by shadows, the young man shook his head and said nothing.

  “Kill the little shit.” Tolem looked back over his shoulder. Vertus was hobbling over. Phaedra, who was bleeding pretty badly from the forehead, was close behind. “He’s a mage. You want to give him time to think about melting your face off? Kill him!”

  Tolem drew a deep breath through his nose. Then he drew a dagger from his boot.

  Walking slowly, Tolem closed the distance between himself and Allister. Pulling up beside the boy, he put a foot down in the small of his back, pinning him in place. He dropped down to one knee beside where Allister lay, facedown in the dirt.

  Tolem gripped the boy by his hair and positioned the knife under his throat. He grimaced. He shook his head.

  As his arm tensed up, the boy spoke: “Can’t look me in the face when you do it, can you?”

  The voice sounded terrified. But it didn’t sound like Allister’s.

  Tolem moved his foot and yanked on the young man’s shoulder, turning him roughly over onto his back. The thin, angular features he’d been expecting were replaced by ones that looked eerily like his own when he’d been that age.

  “Devan.” Tolem let his knife hand fall to his side.

  “This doesn’t change things a goddamn cunt hair,” Vertus shouted, storming his way over. “You know what needs doing, so fucking do it.”

  Gasping for breath, Devan lay there staring at Tolem. Tolem stared right back. No, he thought. No, no, no…

  “Use your head, Tolem,” Vertus said. “You let him go again, he’ll just come after us again. Why do I need to explain this to you? To you? Of all fucking people?”

  Tolem tried to tune the bastard out and think. But he couldn’t. Nothing was coming. No plans. No options. No other ways out.

  Phaedra didn’t look at him. “You did tell him...that whatever happened next was on him.”

  He could kill her. And Vertus. Samus and Torg were already dead. He could send the boy and his friends back to The Tower. He’d just tell all of Vertus’ associates that the kids had hired some muscle to ambush them in the woods. “I only escaped by the grace of the gods,” he’d tell them. Maybe he’d nick himself with a dagger to show off a fresh wound. It’s a trick that had worked before.

  Tolem ran a fingertip along the scar across his forehead and looked away.

  “Tolem…” Devan said between short, jagged breaths. “I...I know I fucked up…”

  “Oh,” Vertus said. “Oh yes you did, my son.”

  Tolem refused to look at him. If he killed Vertus and Phaedra, he’d have the gold. But without Vertus’ contacts, he was vulnerable. Just another rich mark ripe to be some other thief’s next score.

  But that wasn’t the real problem, and Tolem knew it.

  “Big time. I fucked up big time. I called my shot...and I missed the mark. Completely. Completely missed the mark.” Devan winced as he tried to reposition himself on the ground. “I’m not used to failing. I went a little crazy. I should’ve… I shouldn’t have...”

  Devan reached out and gripped him by the forearm. “I...I learned my lesson! I swear!” A tear rolled down his cheek. “I’ll never...I’ll never…”

  He hadn’t learned it, though. Tolem knew he hadn’t. Tolem remembered getting his first taste of the life. The feeling that night after his first successful job. It wasn’t about the gold; it was about everything else that came before and after it. And now, Devan had tasted it. That was the real problem. Because Tolem knew he’d never stop ‘til he tasted it again.

  “Enough of this bollocks,” Vertus spat, taking a step forward into Tolem’s field of vision. He drew a small knife from under his cloak. “You want me to do it? I’ll do it. Move aside.”

  Tolem didn’t move.

  Goddamn you, Devan.

  “Tolem...” Devan choked out through a throat that was closing up. He was beginning to cry. “...please...”

  God-fucking-damn you.

  “Move aside, Tolem,” Vertus said more firmly than before.

  Goddamn you for making me do this.

  “Tolem, I said—”

  In a blur of motion, Tolem turned and lashed out, jamming his knife squarely into Devan’s chest. The boy’s eyes went wide. He gasped wetly. He looked down at the dagger. And then he looked up and fell silent, his eyes staring blankly up at the stars between the treetops.

  Vertus snorted and laughed. Phaedra jumped, gaping at what she’d just seen.

  Tolem rose from his knees and walked off into the woods. He could hear Phaedra starting to cry. He could hear Vertus starting to shuffle his way back to the wreckage of the ships, still chuckling to himself. He could hear the rustling of the trees overhead.

  He put his hands over his face and tried not to scream.

  ---

  Tolem emerged a few minutes later. “Help me turn it over,” he said quietly, gesturing to Devan’s ship. Between himself, Phaedra, and Danel, they were able to roll it over. The ship still wanted to hover, after all. To their surprise, when the ship righted, the gold was still sitting in the cargo hold, the mountain of coins holding its shape even after being upside down.

  “A holding spell,” Danel said. “Wish we’d thought of that.”

  Tolem said nothing. He climbed into the ship and waited.

  Phaedra joined him. She reached out to take his hand. He pulled it gently away.

  Vertus climbed in next. He said nothing for a long time. When he did speak, it was nothing Tolem wanted to hear. “I don’t know why I doubted you, Tolem,” he said jovially. He reached over and patted Tolem on the shoulder.

  Tolem stared over at the outcropping. They’d left Devan where they found him. He’d left his blade in his heart.

  He wanted to see the world, Tolem thought to himself. He wanted to do something amazing.

  He turned; Danel was watching him, waiting for him to say something.

  “Get us out of here,” Tolem said.

  The ship rose into the sky and made for the rendezvous point.

  Down below, Devan lay there, surrounded by the softly blowing grass. Staring at the sky. Far away from home.

  Tolem

  Two weeks passed.

  Zella placed a single gold coin on the table next to Tolem’s hand. It was the same coin he had left for Devan in an envelope, under a mountain of painted iron.

  Dressed in a simple white robe, seated in a reclining chair, Tolem stared at the coin for a moment and went back to staring out over the fountains. The water sculptures of the Kaulethi Gardens were legendary in this part of the six worlds.

  Zella sat in a chair next to Tolem and stared at him.

  “How’d you get in here?” Tolem asked at last, not bothering to turn and look at her.

  “I’m sure you, of all people, can guess,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “Are you ready?”

  Tolem exhaled deeply. “I’m actually surprised it took you this long to find me.” It took a lot to keep his voice from cracking. He felt like ice had gripped his insides.

  “It didn’t. We just thought we’d wait a little. Let you sweat.” There was a cold menace to Zella’s voice and a sense of long-simmering anticipation.

  “And you think you’ll get out of here alive, do you?”

  “We have a plan.”

  Tolem smiled at that. “
Of course. You have a plan.”

  “It’s not a Devan plan,” Zella said, her voice betraying her rage at least as much as Tolem’s was betraying his fear, “but we’re finding ways to make do now that he’s…”

  She trailed off.

  Tolem turned and looked at her for the first time. “Dead,” he said.

  Zella clenched her jaw. “Yeah. Dead.” Her eyes burned holes through the older man. “How does that feel? How does it feel to have that on you? Your nephew. Stabbing him through the heart.”

  “It doesn’t,” Tolem said. “It doesn’t...feel...any way, Zella. It happened. It was business. If you’d like, I can lie to you and tell you I fell on the ground and cried like a baby after I did it. But that’s not true. It’s...it was business.”

  Zella glowered at Tolem. “I don’t believe you. I can’t believe...that stabbing your own nephew in the heart doesn’t even register. Doesn’t merit some kind of emotional response.”

  “There are worse people in the world than me, Zella.”

  “And that makes it okay?” Zella shouted. Her voice broke the stillness of the resort grounds. All at once, a nearby flock of white birds took to wing. “You fucking asshole,” she said, fairly spitting her words at him. “You fucking coward.”

  Tolem locked his eyes on Zella’s. Let her get this out of her system, he thought. Don’t make it worse. She’s no killer. You can still get out of this.

  Agitated, Zella stood and paced around at the foot of Tolem’s chair. “In that letter you sent Devan,” she said, “you said his problem was that he saw the world the way he wanted it to be. You made that sound like a weakness.”

  “And you’re going to tell me it isn’t,” Tolem said, watching her walk back and forth.

  Zella stopped, and for a time she stared down at Tolem where he sat.

  “No,” she said, at last. Her voice was quieter, suddenly. “I’m not going to tell you that. Devan would have, if he were here. But I will tell you it’s not just a weakness.”