Surely it wasn't too late to avoid robbing anyone. Wick squirmed a little bit. “That doesn't sound like much of a plan.”
“My plans have always worked before. Just don't do anything stupid and we'll make it out fine.”
Two hours after sunset, they packed up what little wasn't still in their bags and slipped out into the dark. Wick paused to listen. The muted chatter of a few remaining party-goers floated through the trees, and somewhere, a few extra seraphs had been undoubtedly assigned to keep the night watch, but for now, the city seemed to be quiet.
Archer hiked his bag further up on his shoulder and jerked his head out toward the street. “Let's go.”
Wick had a sick feeling as they ventured out into the city to burgle.
Chapter eight
How A Tree Fell
Out of A Tree
OF COURSE, THE place they needed to go had to be in one of the city's tallest buildings. And being a seraph house, it had no stairs on the outside. They had to suffer through quite a bit of climbing, shimmying, and pulling each other up over balconies and up to higher floors before they even reached the level where Archer said the seraphs were keeping their piece of the Heather Stone.
“There are lights lit up there!” Wick whispered at some point in their journey. “Are there still people inside?”
Archer shook his head. “I don't think so.”
“You don't sound like you're sure,” Wick whispered.
“I am sure!” Archer hissed back.
“If you're not sure, we're going to be caught,” Wick said. Of course, that was what he wanted, wasn't it? He wanted Archer to be caught so that he could deliver the Oak Leaf like he was supposed to and get the other pieces back to their rightful owners. But if Wick was also mistaken for a criminal. . . “How sure are you?”
“What scale do you want me to use? One to ten?”
“Does it matter? How sure are you?”
“One to ten? Out of one hundred? Or more abstract?”
Wick was getting exasperated. “It doesn't matter. One to ten. I don't care. One to ten.”
“Fine. One to ten,” Archer whispered, as though it had been Wick who wanted to know which scale they were using so badly.
“Yes. Out of ten, one being you aren't sure at all, ten being absolutely certain, how sure are you that there isn't anyone up there?”
“At least a three.”
“Wonderful.”
“We'll be fine.”
With that uncertainty out of the way, Archer and started to shimmy around the balcony wrapping around the outside of the building, his back pressed up against the glass of the huge windows. Wick hesitantly followed him, twisting his neck to see inside.
The space inside appeared to be some sort of sitting room. A few comfortable chaise lounges were scattered around the large fireplace opposite from the windows, and while no one was in sight, the back of Wick's neck prickled with the knowledge that someone could appear at any moment.
“This looks like a place where someone lives,” Wick whispered, twisting around to speak to Archer, who was pressed against the wall behind him. “Are you sure that this is where your people keep their piece of the Heather Stone?”
“Yes,” Archer insisted. “This is where they hide it.”
“Because the person you met with said so?”
“No, because I've been here before. I told you, I know this house. I just wasn't sure if they still kept the stone here, that's why I went to meet him. I needed him to confirm for me.”
He sounded certain. “So how do we get in?”
Archer pushed around Wick, pressing gently against the glass with the tips of his fingers as he crossed the windows. At last, he found the one that gave slightly, seeming to be separate from all the other panes of glass around it. He gave it a harder push, and the piece of glass sprang open. A door. The seraphs had built a door into the large panes of glass. Wick made a mental note of the architecture. With the door now open, they could hear voices and clinking glasses floating up from the lower levels of the house. It sounded like a party.
Wick turned to Archer. “Now how certain are you that no one's here?”
“At least a two.”
It was only then that Wick spotted the emblem stamped into the iron of the window frame. “That's the Hessen family seal! This house belongs to the Hessen family! They've hosted me before.”
Archer look flabbergasted. “That's not my fault!”
“I can't rob this house with a clear conscience!”
“Look, I don't think you could rob anyone's house with a clear conscience,” Archer said. “Now are you going in or not?”
It was too late to turn back, so Wick entered the house. It smelled like fresh cedar. For the moment, at least, no one seemed to be on this level of the building. Everything was quiet other than the creak of trees outside and the crackle of the fire from within.
Archer made a straight line across the room to the fireplace. Next to the hearth, almost hidden in the shadows next to the stone of the sides of the fireplace, was a little wooden box, painted an earthy green.
Wick hesitated, then crossed after Archer to take a look as well. Archer twisted the lock on the box, and it sprang open. Carefully, to avoid making the hinges of the little box creak too loudly, he cracked the box open.
It was a keepsake box, full nearly to bursting. A few folded letters curled out of the box's opening as soon as Archer cracked the lid. Similar items filled the box. Letters, flowers folded out of paper, little handmade presents from someone dear, even a few sparkling stones.
Archer reached around to the inside of the box and grabbed the opposite side of the lock. With a harsh twist and a quick pull, he unlocked a second mechanism. The ornate lower half of the box fell open on its own set of hinges, swinging downwards. Wick stuck out his hand to catch the opaque piece of green stone as it tumbled out.
The seraph's piece of the stone was shaped like a diamond, but still rough-cut, like the others. Aside from a rose lightly carved into the face of it, no one had dared to alter its shape or cut.
They had it.
Wick glanced at Archer. Now that the piece was in his hands, he was tempted to take it and run. Archer could do quite a bit of damage even if he lacked two of the stones, but not even close to the destruction one could wreak with all eight if that was what he was really planning.
And there was still time. If he could find someone in authority before Archer could make it out of Eri, he could keep the remaining stones from being stolen. This was his chance to get away.
And yet, something made him hesitate.
Some of the stones in the keepsake box were gemstones. Some of them would have been excellent pieces to take and resell. But Archer didn't take even one of them. He didn't even touch them. Taking the fake stone out of his pocket, he placed it in the bottom of the box. Then he folded the box back up on its two sets of hinges and clicked it shut again, setting it carefully back where he had found it.
Something here seemed wrong. This wasn't the petty thief that had been described to Wick, and now he felt confused. He weighed the pros and cons of letting this go on. If everything turned out wrong, would he still have enough time to gather the forces he would need to catch Archer?
If he couldn't, was he wasting his only opportunity now?
Straightening, Archer turned to him. “All right, we have it, let's grab the letter and get going before someone turns up.”
Wick held out the seraph's piece of the Heather Stone, and Archer took it. Digging in his bag for just a moment, he produced a small scrap of cloth and wrapped it around the piece.
“Clever,” Wick said. “Using the cloth to keep the stones from touching and reacting with each other.”
“I'm glad you appreciate that I'm not a total moron.” Archer tucked the little package inside his bag.
It was then, of course, that someone flew up from one of the lower levels and landed o
nly ten feet away from them on the wooden floor. It was a lower-class seraph, as Wick could tell by his simpler white clothing and lack of ornate jewelry, but he had the long hair customary of the seraphs and a mouth that was already wide open shouting the alarm.
“Time to go!” Archer made a break for the door in the glass that they had come in through, pushing Wick out ahead of him. Wick raced out in a rush, sped up further by Archer pushing through behind him, and he nearly fell over the edge of the balcony. Archer managed to avoid falling, and Wick barely caught his balance before he could go over the edge.
Together they ran back the way they had come. Jumping down the platforms to the ground was much easier than it had been climbing up them, but in their rush, they nearly took a tumble several times. As they reached the balcony just above the ground, someone flew into the air just behind Wick, grabbing for them. Wick jumped out of reach, pushing Archer ahead of him and knocking both of them off the far edge of the balcony.
They tumbled down the last length to the ground.
Wick smacked into the ground, and Archer slammed down on top of him. Every part of Wick was ground into the dirt road. Everything hurt.
Grimacing, Archer scrambled up, grabbing Wick's arm and yanking him up behind him. “Come on, we have to go!”
Wick had just enough time to look up as Archer hauled him to his feet. It seemed everyone in the citadel had been woken up. Seraphs spilled from the balconies like water, pouring down toward them and swooping across the ground to grab them.
Wick got his feet under him at last, and the two of them took off across the ground. Archer started weaving through the trees and buildings, ducking under things and scurrying through narrow places, trying to lose all the seraphs that were on their tails.
It didn't work for long. More winged men and women were pouring from windows and doorways and walkways above with every passing moment, only gaining them more pursuers the farther they ran. Wick could already tell that their techniques to evade were failing them. They were going to be caught.
“This way!” Archer raced across a large open space, nearly being caught by the collar at least three times, and leaped across the space a bridge should have spanned. Wick was close behind him. Past the bridge, Wick could see the edge of the city. Outside, it was pitch black. He couldn't even see the terrain past the city limits. But Archer knew his way better in Eri than himself. Wick had no choice but to follow.
He leaped across the gap.
Someone caught him by the arm before he even touched down on the other side. A second seraph snatched his other arm, and they yanked him up into the air, toward the treetops. More seraphs joined the mob every minute. It took him a moment to realize that many of them were laughing.
Maybe they didn't understand that he and Archer were thieves. Maybe they just saw this as another bit of fun.
If he escaped. . . would they even try to find him?
Wick yanked his arms free of their grip, and he plummeted like a stone.
The fall would kill him.
Then, out of nowhere, a tree branch slammed against his chest. He had just enough presence of mind to cling to it. His grip started to slip, and he hitched his armpits up higher across the branch. If he could just get a leg up, he would be safe. With a mighty heave, he got the crook of one leg up over the branch. A seraph swooped by, and he stopped moving, trying to camouflage into the branch. If he looked as much like a tree as they all said, maybe no one would see him.
The seraph soared on past.
It worked!
He finally managed to haul his body onto the branch and started shimmying down the trunk of the tree. Another seraph soared by, and he buried his face in the trunk of the tree until the danger was past.
Where did Archer go?
He clung to the tree with both arms as he craned his neck around, looking for Archer. Had they both gotten away from the mob?
No.
A huge knot of seraphs raced across the edge of the forest not far from him, and Wick caught a flash of Archer's furious face being tossed around in their midst. Suddenly the shape of the mob changed, a few of them jerking back.
Wick saw Archer's wings flash out, and all of a sudden he fell from the mob of seraphs. He dropped into the trees. The seraphs milled around for a moment, trying to find him again.
Wick waited to see what would happen when the seraphs realized they had lost both of them. If they called a search, he would need to stay in the tree and blend in. But it seemed that worrying about it was unnecessary. When the seraphs realized they had lost both their victims, they gradually splintered off and went back to their parties and midnight flights.
Wick thanked his lucky stars that most of the seraphs hadn't had a clue what was going on. Once he was sure the mobbing was over, he slid down the trunk of the tree to the ground and set out to learn what had happened to Archer.
When he reached the place where Archer had fallen, there was no sign of him. He couldn't have recovered from the fall and run away already, could he?
Somewhere above him, a branch cracked.
Wick didn't have enough time to even realize what that might mean before something heavy hit his shoulders. His face collided with the leaves.
Wick's shoulder throbbed where Archer's knee had run into it. His chin hurt where it had hit the ground. His arms hurt from hanging off that tree branch. A lot of things hurt. Suddenly he realized Archer was laughing.
“Stop laughing,” Wick snapped. “This isn't funny. Now get off me.”
Wick pushed Archer off his back and crawled further away to regroup.
Archer didn't stop. His deep-throated laugh turned into almost a giggle.
Wick slowly picked himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed his face with one hand, and with the other he found the trunk of an evergreen tree behind him to slump against. Finally, he asked, “What are you laughing about?”
Archer lay face up in the leaves, hair falling in his face, one leg bent and one arm slung across his ribs, shaking silently as he laughed. Gradually his laughter slowed, and he gasped out, “I didn't know any of those people.” His laughter slowed to a stop, and he stared up at the sky with a sigh. “At last, my reputation precedes me.”
Wick didn't laugh. “If we had been caught, really caught, my career would be over.”
Archer picked one hand up off the ground long enough to wave it dismissively. “I doubt any of them knew you, either. Forget about it.”
“Easy enough for a thief to say,” Wick said.
“I'm not a thief,” Archer responded, as though the topic bored him. “Rogue, brigand, will-o-wisp, occasional pilferer. Not just thief. Sticking to thieving is for the simple people.”
Wick felt it was below him to respond to that. Instead he, too, stared up at the sky. His eyes were starting to adjust to the blackness now, and he could see the stars and a bright crescent moon between the tops of the trees. It was a still night. No more avenging seraphs with grabbing arms swooping down like vultures on prey.
“I don't think they knew you stole the piece,” he said at length. “Most of them didn't know what it was all about, so they just let you go.”
“They let us go,” Archer corrected, getting to a sitting position. He dug through his bag and pulled out the carved piece of stone. Turning it slowly in the moonlight, he admired the glint. Then he gave Wick a side-eyed look. “You helped steal it, so you took part in the whole thing.”
“And no,” Archer went on, “I don't think they even knew why they were trying to catch us. This late at night, I'd be willing to bet that half of them were drunk. To them, it was just some game.”
“And with the fake in place, you don't think they'll come after you?”
“That's what the fake is for.” Archer tucked the piece away and reached behind his back to massage his bad wing, grimacing. “That's why I put it there. We'll be long gone by the time they think to check that the stone in the box is the real one
, if they bother to check at all.” He grinned.
“And that's funny too, is it?” Wick asked.
Archer stood up, still rubbing his wing. “Yes, actually, I find it hilarious. So. Now we have four pieces of the stone, we're halfway there.”
“You,” Wick said with emphasis, “have three pieces. Whatever proof you said you had is still back in the Hessen house somewhere, so for now the Oak Leaf is still mine.” A thought struck him. “And now that I've risked everything on this adventure and still haven't seen any proof that you're telling the truth, the deal is over.”
As amusing as the whole thing might have been to Archer, Wick knew his people, and he knew the centaurs. In fact, he knew all the people of Aro. And all of them, the leaders especially, were quick-witted and terrifying people. They did not take to traitors easily and did not suffer enemies gladly. If he went on with this, he could see himself becoming their enemy in their eyes, and he did not want that.
“We're going back there,” he declared. “We're going back and we're telling them what is going on. We might both be arrested, but maybe my name can still be salvaged, and at least then this whole nonsense will be put to an end.”
Archer whipped his wing back behind his back with a snap. Even in the dimness of the moonlight, Wick could see Archer's expression quickly take on a much darker and angrier look. “Do you really think that would work?”
Taken aback by the dangerous look on Archer's face, Wick couldn't conjure a response.
“One of them just saw you trying to steal an ancient artifact that has been prized by their people for centuries. If you go back in there and tell them anything, they'll realize that my plan is to steal them all and that you were just standing by watching me do it.” Archer took a few steps closer, just a little closer than the place where it was uncomfortable. Wick was slightly taller than him, but at this moment, Archer looked a good deal bigger and much more dangerous. “Do you think that will look very good for your reputation, Wick?”
Wick was forced to take a step back, losing ground but getting back the personal space Archer had just invaded. As soon as he moved, he got the feeling that he had lost some unspoken contest.
Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas Page 8
