“It’s your coin.” He pulled off his wig and shrugged out of the merchant’s cloak. “I’ll go back in tomorrow. But first I’ve gotta get around a proper meal.”
“Good.” She gripped his arm. “Find that way in, Errik. Everything’s riding on you.”
“I know.” He met her gaze. “For Denber.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ilanna nodded. She watched him go, only turning away once the doors of House Hawk boomed shut behind him.
She glanced down. She had to get out of the page’s robes and into her regular work clothes. She would pay the Coin Counters’ Temple a visit once night fell. She’d spent hours sitting atop the flat-roofed temple with her fellow Hawks. Maybe there’s a way in from up there.
She strode through the silent tunnels of House Hawk. After Denber and Werrin’s deaths, the mood in the House had grown more subdued. The passages seemed emptier, gloomier. No one passed her in the halls; no words of greeting or peals of the twins’ exuberant laughter echoed around her.
She glanced down the passage to the room Willem had shared with Werrin. The door stood open. Guilt surged through her. She hadn’t spoken to Lem since Denber’s death. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.
“Lem?” Clearing her throat, she spoke louder. “Lem, you in here?”
No answer came. She poked her head into the room.
Willem sat on his bed, hands folded in his lap, expression vacant. The rise and fall of his chest were the only indications he still lived.
She stepped closer. “Lem, can you hear me?” He gave no indication he had. “It’s me, Ilanna.”
He didn’t move as she sat on the edge of his bed.
“Bloody hell, Lem! You look awful.” She pressed a cup to his cracked lips. “Drink.”
His mouth opened and he swallowed, but his eyes remained fixed on empty air.
“Come on, Lem. You’ve got to snap out of it.”
She recognized his condition. Her grief over Ethen’s death and horror at Sabat’s brutality had rendered her immobile. She’d lain in her bed for days, unthinking, uncaring, willing herself to die. A desire for vengeance had pulled her back from the brink of despair. It had to work for Willem, too.
“Willem.” Her hand cracked across his face.
His eyes widened a fraction, and he turned to stare numbly at her.
“So Werrin dies and this is what you do? Starve yourself to death?”
Willem winced as he swallowed. “Go…away…’Lanna.”
“No.” She folded her arms. “Not until you eat something.” Her nose wrinkled. “And take a shower. I haven’t smelled something this bad since the first time I cleaned Werrin’s bed.”
Willem’s mouth twitched.
“Remember how he used to hide his clothes under his mattress? They’d pile up, but he’d wear ’em again and again until they reeked.” She chuckled. “I swear there had to be something wrong with his nose!”
“Filthy…bastard.” His words came out in a quiet rasp. He didn’t meet her eyes. “Hated…bathing.”
“Almost as much as someone else.” She dug an elbow into ribs that had grown far too prominent. “What d’you think he’d say if he saw you now?”
“Doesn’t matter.” His shoulders slumped.
“Yes it does! Do you think he’d want you to waste away like this? Or do you think he’d want you to figure out how to get back at the bastard responsible?”
For the first time, life flickered in Willem’s eyes. “The Duke?”
“That’s right.” Ilanna squeezed his hand. “I’ve got the Guild’s permission to take down the Duke and I need your help.”
Confusion cracked the mask of numbness. “My help?”
“Something only you can do. You’re the only one I can trust.” She searched his eyes. “But I need to know you can do it. For Werrin.”
His hands tightened around hers. “For Werrin.” The spark of vitality flared to life, and a trace of the old Willem shone through. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cloaked in grey, Ilanna blended with the moonless night. Torchlight illuminated the courtyard below but failed to reach the upper level of the Coin Counters’ Temple. She’d have plenty of time to examine the flat rooftop.
A quick sweep confirmed what she already knew. I’m not getting in this way.
She’d spent hours up here with Denber and the other Hawks, relaxing, sharing meals, studying the Black Spire. The roof had no access hatches, not even a glass skylight or a chimney protruding from the featureless space.
Damn it! She hated waiting for Errik to find a way in. No upper-story access, so now what? She drew out her miniature quickfire globes—each barely larger than a man’s knuckle—and held them close to the rooftop. Pulling a dagger from her bracers, she scratched at the masonry. Chunks of mortar came loose with minimal effort.
With an anchored rope, she could slide down the walls, away from the guards, and into an upper-floor window.
Wouldn’t take much to pound an anchor into the stone. Bloody noisy, though.
In the distance, twelve peals echoed across Praamis; the Lady’s Bells tolled midnight.
That’ll do. The bells should cover any noise. But it would take her more than twelve strikes to anchor a spike securely enough that she would trust her weight on it. Better call Jarl in to get it set up. The Pathfinder’s enormous arms would make short work of the job.
She trusted Errik to find a way in but she needed a back-up plan just in case. No such thing as overplanning, Denber had told her.
She peered over the edge of the roof. The guards had retreated from the chill evening breeze and huddled in the meager shelter of the gallery. The torches and alchemical lamps rendered them night-blind. No way they’d see her leaping the gap to the neighboring Temple of Derelana. From there, she could slip through the maze of spires and dart across the slim plank bridge that connected the Lady of Vengeance’s temple to a nearby warehouse. The Hawk’s Highway traversed the length and breadth of the city, a network invisible to all below. The Pathfinders, the Journeymen of House Hawk responsible for maintaining and expanding the Highway, knew their work well.
She stopped as she came to an intersection. One way led back to the Aerie and the Guild, the other to Old Town Market, her home, and her child. Longing twisted in her chest. She ached to wrap her arms around her son, see his eyes and face light up the way they did whenever he saw her. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She’d carried out the orders in her note, but there was a chance that someone, whoever it was, had an eye on her. If they could slip into her room unnoticed, they had skills to match her own.
In a way, that narrowed the potential suspects. House Bloodbear hadn’t three intelligent thoughts between them, much less the stealth to sneak through House Hawk. They relied on brute strength and intimidation. A Bloodbear wouldn’t have the foresight to use her secret against her.
She’d discarded House Grubber as well. A few Grubbers had some skill at sneaking, but very few. She snorted. That only leaves House Hound, Serpent, Scorpion, and Fox. Narrows it right the hell down! Just three hundred-odd people to suspect.
Much as she wanted, she couldn’t rule out her own House. Bryden was the only one to make his dislike for her public but more than a few Hawks resented her success, hated the fact she’d risen so quickly. She trusted Jarl, Werrin, and Master Hawk as much as she dared. She could only truly trust one person: herself.
And Ria. The fire in Ria’s eyes told Ilanna she would die before she allowed anything to happen to Kodyn. In a way, it was as if Ria’s fierce protectiveness made up for the fact no one had protected her. Is that why I took her home with me? Am I doing the same?
She pushed the thought aside and stepped onto the bridge that would lead her back to the Guild. If she hurried, she’d have time for a few hours of rest. She needed a clear head for the next step in the job.
* * *
Nursing a steaming cup of tea, Ilanna listened t
o Joost and Veslund’s report.
“…guards stayed put the night through. Four squads of three: here, here, and here.”
Darreth slapped Veslund’s grimy finger away from the temple blueprints, as if completely unaware that the Fox stood almost a full head taller and far broader in the shoulders.
Scowling, Veslund continued. “As I was saying, they got all ways in covered. A patrol goes ’round the outside ’bout once every hour.”
“Forty-five minutes, by my count,” Joost drawled.
Veslund flushed and opened his mouth to retort, but Ilanna held up a hand. “Close enough. Anything else?”
Veslund dug his fingers into his bushy beard, scratching his cheek. “Nothing I can be thinking of.”
Joost scratched the hair on his head, dropping flakes onto the map. “Maybe this helps, but I saw lights come on up here.” Under Darreth’s glare, his pointing finger stopped just short of touching the map. “Northwest corner, lookin’ out over the plaza, there are windows on the third floor.”
“Any idea what’s up there?”
Joost shook his head.
“Speaking of…” Veslund’s forehead scrunched. “Right about midnight, the temple got a visitor. Hood, cloak, the works. When he came out, I coulda sworn he was Lord Vorrel.”
Joost snorted. “And how in the frozen hell d’you know what a nobleman looks like?”
“I seen ’im around town. Ye know, I may not have yer poncy skill with numbers, but I’ve got a good head for faces. I don’t—”
Ilanna snapped her fingers. “Joost. What time did the lights go on in that window?”
“Right ’bout midnight, says I.”
“Interesting.” Ilanna leaned over the blueprints. “Right here, northwest corner?”
Joost nodded.
“Lord Vorrel pays a late night visit to the Coin Counters. I’d wager the lights came on after he showed up. Means he, like Lord Munder, probably went up to see the Grand Reckoner.”
Darreth finished her thought. “The Grand Reckoner’s office, you think?”
“Makes sense. The temple’s built like a fortress, yet there’s a bloody great window on one corner? Seems reasonable the Grand Reckoner’s got the pull to claim that for his office.”
She tensed at a knock. The tightness faded at the familiar voice. “It’s Errik.”
At Ilanna’s nod, Veslund pulled the door open. Errik’s expressionless face revealed nothing but his eyes sparkled.
“You’ve found a way in!” Excitement set Ilanna’s heart thumping.
“I did. And a way to get you in, too.”
Triumphant laughter burst from Ilanna’s throat. “Excellent!” She smacked the Serpent’s back. “How do we do this?”
Errik shouldered his way up to the table and stabbed a finger at the northeastern wall. “There’s a second-floor window, right about here. Two hours before midnight, I’ll open it for you. Be ready.”
“I’ll be there.” She’d have Jarl set up the anchor under cover of the midday bells. Tight, but it would work. “How’re you getting in?”
He gave her a sly grin. “Serpent’s secret.”
Ilanna wanted to pry but knew better. Every House had secrets of tradecraft they guarded with fierce zeal. She respected Errik enough to restrain her questions.
“Joost, Veslund, be outside the temple before sunset. I’ll want you close at hand in case of trouble.”
The bearded Fox nodded. “Gotcha.”
“Darreth, you got as many details from Allon as you could?”
The Scorpion nodded. “It won’t get any more complete.”
“Good. Then you’re done for now. But don’t get busy. If all goes well, I’ll be back with the blueprints tonight. We’re going to need you for the second job, too.”
“As you say.”
Ilanna rubbed her hands together, excitement setting her pulse racing. “Gentlemen, tonight is the night!”
* * *
Ilanna crouched at the edge of the Coin Counters’ Temple’s roof, peering down at the small window set into the northernmost section of the temple’s east wall. Her neck ached from the awkward position but she refused to move. She had to be ready for Errik’s signal.
The window opened outward and an arm protruded from within. Time to move.
She dropped the silken cord over the side of the building, checked her harness one last time, and slid down the rope. They’d chosen a perfect night. A sliver of moon hung among the twinkling stars and a gentle breeze carried away what little noise her soft-soled boots made as she walked down the wall. She’d studied the pattern of the patrol with care; she should have two or three more minutes before they showed. She could drop the few paces to the window in a matter of—
Light appeared around the corner of the temple, accompanied by the clatter of hobnailed boots. The second-floor window closed.
Ilanna cursed. Damn them! Bloody bastards are early.
Heart thundering, she flattened herself against the wall. The guards’ conversation grew louder as they approached. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the night’s chill. She clung to the rope, not daring to move, to breathe. Even the slightest sound or flutter of cloth could attract the guards’ attention.
The guards moved at a steady pace. But to Ilanna, the patrol seemed slow as snails. Her forearms and fingers burned from the effort of gripping the rope. Moisture softened her leather gloves and she felt her hold slipping. She couldn’t adjust her position but if she didn’t do something, she would fall. Every shred of strength went into clinging to the rope.
She imagined she could feel the heat of the torches drifting up to singe her legs as the guards passed. Their boots clicked on the cobblestone street, and one actually took up a whistled tune. Ilanna willed them to move faster; her grip would give out at any moment.
After long, agonizing seconds, she couldn’t bear it any longer. Burying her head in her cloak, she reached for the rope with her free hand and let her breath out in a gasp. Fire thrummed through her hands, turned her aching fingers to claws. For a few pounding heartbeats, she clung to the wall.
Below her, the window opened, and Errik’s beckoning hand appeared again. Biting back a grunt at the pain in her arms, Ilanna slid the last distance. Errik gripped her legs and pulled her into the room. Her boots landed without a sound on a rolled-up carpet. Faint starlight revealed a pile of dusty furniture.
“What took so long?” she mouthed to Errik.
He shrugged.
Her nose wrinkled at the smell wafting from his clothing. She was glad she had no idea how he’d gotten in; it clearly involved the privies.
Errik poked his head out the open door. “This way,” he whispered.
Ilanna followed him into a carpeted corridor. No furniture decorated the hallway and the walls stood bare of tapestries, paintings, or art. The plain, utilitarian interior of the temple was a far cry from the high-vaulted ceilings, marble pillars and floors, and expansive luxury of the main chamber.
Errik thrust her through a doorway as light washed down the corridor. A grey-robed Reckoner strode into the hall, an alchemical lantern in his hand. The beam of light drew closer with every heartbeat.
Ilanna’s fingers sought a dagger from her bracer but Errik gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. She gripped the blade anyway. The familiar metal calmed her racing heart, stopped her hands from trembling with nervous excitement. The thrill of the job always set her on edge at first. Her mind would regain control of her body within a minute or two.
The Reckoner stopped at an entrance less than fifteen paces away, knocked, and entered. The light disappeared as the door closed behind him.
“Let’s go.”
Errik led her past the occupied room and down a corridor that turned left. A short distance away, a set of stairs descended to the first floor. The Serpent crouched at the bottom of the stairs and, holding up a hand, peered around the corner. Ilanna counted ten rapid heartbeats before he moved on.
He s
lipped from shelf to shelf with a stealthy grace Ilanna couldn’t help envying. It seemed to come natural to him, moving without a sound.
She counted out every pace in her mind. Darreth had drawn the plans according to Allon’s stride, then calculated she would need three steps to match his two. If her mental map was accurate, they were in the far rear of the public records room. We should be close to the locked room Allon mentioned.
The sound of footsteps sent Ilanna diving behind a shelf. Her dark grey cloak blended with the shadows but she would take no chances. The beam of an alchemical lamp tracked across thousands of scrolls, papers, binders, notebooks, and leather-bound tomes burdening the wooden shelves around her. The heavy breathing of a night watchman echoed in the silent chamber. After a minute that seemed like an eternity, the guard moved on.
Errik jerked his head to the right and Ilanna followed. Less than ten paces away stood an enormous metal door, nearly twice Ilanna’s height and three steps across. She drew out her quickfire globes and held them up to study the door.
Keeper take these priests! Four cylinder locks held the door secure. At a glance, she guessed each had four pins, perhaps even six.
Ilanna tapped a fingernail against the door to draw Errik’s attention. “Know how to deal with these?”
He shook his head. Serpents only learned to pick rudimentary locks.
“Gonna take me a few minutes.”
He nodded. “I’ll keep watch.”
Storing her quickfire globes, Ilanna thumbed a ball pick and snake rake from her bracer. She set to work on the lock and cursed as she felt not six pins, but eight. Bastards think you’re so clever, eh? It would take her longer than expected, but she’d cracked eight-pin locks before.
She smiled at the satisfying click of the first lock.
Errik hissed at her. “Too loud.”
“Nothing I can do about it.”
The second lock opened a minute later and she moved on to the third. These pins had a much higher tension, so she switched to a slant hook and triple rake. The lodestone in her bracer kept the picks not in use close at hand.
Thief of the Night Guild (Queen of Thieves Book 2) Page 11
