Allon’s gaze dropped below chin level, then darted back up to her eyes. “Oh, not in the least.” He gave her a sly grin. “And didn’t you say you came here to ‘make it up to me’? I’m sure I can think of something you can—”
Ilanna gave him a stern frown. “You men! Only one thing on your minds. And here I thought you wanted to hear about my big job.”
Allon laughed. “Of course I do. Doesn’t mean I can’t think about other things, too.” He held up a pair of fingers. “I can have two things on my mind. Like a steel trap, remember?”
“Fair enough.” Ilanna stepped closer, brushing against him. His muscles tensed as she pressed her chest against his. But before he could embrace her, she smoothly moved past him to hover over the small desk beside his bed.
Upon the desk lay a dozen sketches in various states of completion. More than a few depicted her; she found it odd to see her full lips, round nose, and high cheekbones staring up at her from a piece of parchment.
She tapped the paper with one of the graphite sticks. “You got the eyes wrong. You made them hard, angry.” She turned to him with a teasing grin. “Is that how you see me?”
His face colored. “N-No, of course not.” He flipped the drawing over to hide it from her. “You weren’t supposed to see that. I-It’s not finished.”
Perfect. She’d thrown him off-balance.
She met his eyes. “It’s beautiful, Allon.” She spoke in a lower register, with just a hint of smoke. “You’re very talented.”
His embarrassment turned to pride. Few in the Guild knew of his artistic inclinations, but Ilanna had encouraged his interest. Such a little thing, yet it made a difference in his perception of her, made him believe she cared. All without the need for intimacy.
“That’s the second reason I want you for my job.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What? Why?”
She smiled. Too damned easy.
“Because I need you to draw, from memory, an entire building.”
His eyebrows nearly flew off his head. “What building?”
“I’ll tell you, but only if you agree to do the job.” She placed a finger to his lips to silence his questions and whispered into his ear. “Yes, it will be worth your while.” Her finger traced the outline of his mouth. She pushed him against the wall and pressed her body against his. He stirred in response. “I take it that’s a yes?”
Allon groaned. “Keeper take you, woman! How could any sane man say no to that?”
“Good.” Ilanna stepped back with a grin. “Then meet me in the Aerie in half an hour.” Her eyes dropped to his breeches. “You look like you’ll need a few minutes.” With a saucy smile, she strode from the room before he could say more.
The moment the door shut behind her, Ilanna shuddered. She resisted the urge to scrub her skin to rid it of the memory of his body against hers. The fact that she initiated the contact made it bearable, never enjoyable.
Thankfully, that was a lot easier than I expected. She’d come fully prepared to do whatever it took to get him to join her. No matter how distasteful.
A smile of satisfaction tugged at her lips. All those hours spent with Croquembouche proved very useful. The courtesan had taught her the tricks of her trade. A little touch, a hint of desire, a few words spoken in just the right sultry tone of voice, and men melted like snow in a Praamian summer. Manipulation grew easier when men believed they were needed and wanted.
A good start. Now let’s see what it takes to convince the rest of them.
* * *
“NO DOUBT YOU’VE heard the rumors flying around the Guild.” Ilanna gave a dismissive wave. “They’re all rot.”
She smiled at the eager curiosity burning in the five sets of eyes fixed on her. The still air of the Hawk apprentices’ chamber lent an air of mystery to their meeting, enhanced by the dim lamplight and the hush of Ilanna’s voice. Master Hawk had replaced the beds with a handful of chairs and a table. Ilanna would upgrade the lock after the meeting ended. She could take no chances with this plan.
“Three people know the truth.” She held up the corresponding number of fingers. “With you, that’s eight. Eight people in the entire Night Guild privy to my plan. Master Hawk, Master Gold, and myself I can trust. As for the rest of you…”
“Dramatic, Ilanna.” Errik reclined in his chair, grinning. “Now are you going to tell us the plan?”
“We’re going to bring down Duke Phonnis.”
The words hung in the air, and five sets of eyes went wide.
“What?” Errik nearly fell off his chair. “Twisted hell, Ilanna, I knew you were crazy, but this is something else!”
Ilanna didn’t smile. “This is no joke. I’m going to make sure the Duke regrets executing Denber and Werrin.” She met the eyes of each person in turn. “Before I tell you anything, I expect your oaths of secrecy.” She drew a dagger from her bracer and held it out, hilt-first. “Swear before the Watcher in the Dark that nothing I say here will pass your lips. Not with your House Master, your comrades, no one.”
Allon stood first. “I swear it.” He dragged the blade across his palm. Blood welled and dropped into the golden platter sitting on the table.
Errik came next. “I swear it.”
Darreth, a compact, bespectacled man wearing the black-trimmed robes of House Scorpion hesitated a moment. Wincing, he carved a shallow slice in his palm. “I swear it.”
Veslund and Joost, Journeymen of House Fox, repeated the oath. She’d selected them on Errik’s recommendation that they knew their business and could keep their mouths shut.
Ilanna added her blood to the plate without flinching. “We are sworn.” She slammed the crimson-edged dagger into the table. “Watcher help you if you speak a word of this outside this room.”
Shadows hung thick in the room, lending the perfect ambience for the nature of the meeting. She made a mental note to install more alchemical lamps—they’d need more light once they had the blueprints.
“No doubt you’re wondering how I intend to bring down the Duke.” All nodded. “I can’t kill him, but I’m going to do the next best thing. I’m going to ruin him.”
Errik, Allon, and the two Foxes leaned closer.
“Unlike the rest of the nobles of Praamis, the Duke derives his fortune from two sources.” She held up a finger. “One, from the debts owed him by the Royal Treasury. According to Entar, the interest alone is enough for a comfortable living.” She held up the other finger. “But it’s his other source of income that we’re going to destroy. His business.”
A smile played on Darreth’s face and Errik’s eyebrow danced toward his hairline.
“For decades, the Duke has enjoyed a reputation as Praamis’ primary deterrence against crime. The nobles unwilling to pay King Ohilmos for protection from the Guild turned to the Duke. His Arbitors catch ten criminals for every one caught by the Praamian Guard. But it’s his security systems that are the true foundation of his reputation.”
Ilanna smiled. “As you know, the Black Spire was once believed to be the most secure building in Praamis. Impossible to break in to.” Her grin turned sardonic. “Thankfully, someone showed him the truth, but that hasn’t stopped the nobles of Praamis from paying him to keep our hands well away from their valuables. He’s designed vaults, strong-rooms, and lock-boxes, all impenetrable. His traps and snares have sent many of our fellow Journeymen to an early grave.”
Five heads nodded.
“That is how I—how we—are going to bring him down.” She met the eyes of each person in the room. “We’re going to prove that no clever traps or locked rooms can keep out the Night Guild. We’re going to shatter his reputation by breaking into the places he believes most secure. Just as with the Black Spire.”
Ilanna could see their minds working. They didn’t need to know her ultimate target yet. She doubted any of them would betray her—she’d chosen them for their reliability—but wouldn’t take the risk.
“You’re each here because you
have something to offer. Errik.” The Serpent straightened. “I need someone who can slip in and out of a building undetected.”
Allon bristled, but Ilanna held up a hand. “You have another task, Allon. I need your sharp memory and your artistic skill. I’ll need you to get into a specific building and memorize the layout.”
The Hound nodded, mollified.
She turned to the Scorpion. “Darreth, there are none in House Scorpion as adept at sums and calculations as you.”
“That is true.” Darreth was an odd fellow. He embodied the word “slim”, all bones with no muscle. His long-fingered hands seemed eternally in motion. He spoke in a grating voice that stopped just short of irritating. He never made eye contact, but his gaze hovered just over her shoulder. Yet the mind behind his wide-set eyes was as sharp as his chin and nose.
She jerked a thumb at the Hound. “You’ll work with Allon to draft architectural blueprints of the building. We’ll need them to study and figure out the best way to reach our target.”
“You two.” She indicated the two Foxes with a nod of her head. “I’ll need your skills on the streets, finding the quickest escape routes and running errands. Nothing glamorous, but you’ll get paid fair just the same.”
Veslund, a slant-eyed man with a shock of wild hair, scratched his scraggly beard. “Ye’ll be paying us, then? No fair share of the take?”
“Day rates for now.” Ilanna met the Fox’s eyes. “This is a two-part job, but the first part has no payoff. If I want your Houses’ cooperation, I’ve got to pay you the standard fees.” Each House had their fees for intra-Guild work. Not surprisingly, House Serpent and Scorpion charged the highest rates, while House Grubber’s costs bordered on pittance.
“S’fair enough, I guess.” Joost shrugged and stretched out his too-long legs. “Better’n liftin’ purses, says I.” His sallow, clean-shaven face contrasted with his fellow Fox’s scruffiness.
Ilanna turned to Allon and Errik. “Any problem with that?”
Errik shook his head. Allon looked like he wanted to protest but shrugged.
“Good. To business then.” She rubbed her hands together. “As I said, this plan comes in two parts. We can’t move directly against the Duke just yet. First, we need to get our hands on as many blueprints as we can find. You know what that means?”
Darreth had no reaction, but Errik whistled quietly. The two Foxes looked lost.
Allon’s face turned a shade paler. “You can’t be serious, Ilanna! It’s impossible, not to mention profane.”
“As impossible as the Black Spire?” She spoke in a strong, confident voice. “Keeper-damned difficult, sure. But just because no one’s done it doesn’t mean it can’t be done.” She plowed on before the Hound could speak. “Gentlemen, we’re going to break into the Coin Counters’ Temple.”
Chapter Thirteen
“YOU SURE ABOUT this, Ilanna? This doesn’t just walk the line of sacrilege—it bloody well dances over it!”
Ilanna glanced sidelong at her companion. “I never took you for the superstitious type, Allon.”
Grimacing, the Hound adjusted the black vest beneath his deep blue waistcoat. “Not superstitious. Just not the sort to tempt the gods’ wrath.” He inclined his head in the direction of the squat, grey building. “It’s a temple, for the Maiden’s sake.”
Ilanna snorted. “You really think the gods are going to look down from the heavens and strike you with a bolt of lightning or open the ground beneath your feet? They’re far too busy with their own ‘god things’ to take notice of us.” She straightened her cloth cap. “Besides, we’re not actually stealing from the gods. Just…taking a little jaunt through their temple, is all.”
“Still don’t like it.” Allon scowled. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Ilanna rolled her eyes. “Keeper’s bony knees, Allon! Had I known there’d be so much whining, I’d have—”
“Not whining.” Allon’s jaw muscles tightened. “Just trying to keep your soul from damnation.”
She looked up at the Hound. “Sentiment noted. Now, can you sack up or should I find someone else to take your place?”
Allon’s fists tightened but he nodded. “Let’s go.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “But if the Apprentice sends you to some frozen hell for what we’re about to do, make sure to let him know I was forced against my will.”
Ilanna’s harsh laughter turned more than a few heads. She ducked, dropping her eyes to the street. Her job was to avoid drawing attention to herself. Her hair hung in a tight scholar’s braid and she wore the clothes of a page: a brown tweed jacket over a rough shirt and grey trousers. The satchel slung over her shoulder completed the façade.
Beside her, Allon looked prim and proper in his crushed velvet coat, stiff black trousers, and boots that glistened with a fresh coat of polish. He’d applied enough hair oil to light every candle in the Night Guild. The scent of aftershave hung in a thick cloud around him. Chin lifted, his strides long and confident, he moved with every shred of self-importance his disguise conveyed.
She hunched her shoulders, hung her head, and trotted after Allon. The cloth cap gave her cover to study the market around them.
Joost lounged in the shade of a cloth-seller’s stall, slicing into an apple with a belt knife. He whistled a tune without looking up, a signal that he had a watch on the street. She didn’t expect anything to go wrong, not at this early stage, but she wouldn’t take chances.
A steady flow of people moved along the Path of Penitence, the broad, tree-lined avenue that cut through the Ward of Refuge. Many wore the colorful, tailored garments of Praamian nobles and merchants coming to pay respects to their favorite deity. Scores of olive-clad Praamian Guards stood at attention along the avenue, keeping a close eye on the passersby. Even skilled Foxes knew to avoid the Ward of Refuge. The temples didn’t take kindly to thieves stealing coins intended for their coffers.
Her gaze slid over steepled towers, elegant marble columns, and statues of the heroes of Einan. She had no need for the gods or their temples. She had eyes only for the squat, grey building that stood at the far side of the plaza.
Coin Counters’ Temple was home to the servants of Garridos the Apprentice, god of enterprise. The fortress-like building rose three stories—paltry compared to the towering heights of the Master’s Temple or the Monument to the Swordsman, but its length and width surpassed its neighbors.
The dull brick façade belied the true grandeur of its interior. Allon’s high-heeled boots clacked on the marble floor and echoed off the ceramic-tiled walls. The Hound led her into a pillared gallery, down a broad staircase, and through the entrance to the temple itself. The walls narrowed to a single door flanked by a pair of olive-clad Praamian Guards.
One held up a hand as they approached. “Name and business?”
Allon drew himself up. “Alten Trestleworth, private clerk to Lord Gileon Beritane.” He jerked his head at Ilanna. “Carrying records of great importance to House Beritane.”
Unimpressed, the guard studied the Hound. “Never seen you before.”
“And I’ve never seen you,” Allon sniffed, “yet you don’t hear me questioning your right to be here.”
The guard opened his mouth.
“What’s your name, fellow?” Allon drew out a stylus and wax tablet. “It will come in handy when I’m explaining to Lord Gileon why I was late for his meeting with Grand Reckoner Edmynd.”
The guard glanced at his companion, who shrugged. “Right.” He gave Allon an indifferent wave. “Know how to get where you’re going?”
Allon sniffed again and strode past. Ilanna bowed and shuffled after him.
Suppressed mirth crinkled the corners of Allon’s eyes. He’s having far too much fun with this. “The point is to avoid drawing attention.”
“Just playing the part,” he said. “Now, I believe it’s a page’s job to be silent unless spoken to.” His voice held the hauteur of a bureaucrat, the tone that grated on her ears every time
Bryden spoke.
The chamber they entered could have garrisoned a hundred soldiers—horses, gear, and all—with room to spare. A grand chandelier hung from a gilded chain, conveying an air of supreme importance and solemnity enhanced by the marble tiles on the walls and floor. Two Praamian Guards stood against the far wall, eyes wary, hands hovering near their clubs. A long, dark marble counter ran the length of the temple interior. Priests in the formal grey robes of Reckoners stood behind the counter, attending the people that formed a long line. Every so often, one of the priests would turn from the counter, carrying away purses, chests, and satchels and returning with slips of paper.
That’s where all the money goes. Her eyes fell on a smaller entrance set into a corner of the hall. So records storage is behind that door.
A balding, paunchy priest hustled toward them. He took one look at Allon’s clothes and bowed. “Welcome, good sir. I am Reckoner Helmor. May I ask what brings you to the Apprentice’s temple today?”
“Private business for my Lord Gileon Beritane.”
“Lord Gileon is a valued patron of the temple, but I must admit your face is unfamiliar.”
“As it should be.” Allon gave a dismissive wave. “My time is best spent balancing the finances of House Beritane, not running errands. Alas, my lord insisted that I make this delivery in person.” He drew out a signet ring and a letter bearing an official seal. “I trust that this will convey my Lord’s desires in sufficient clarity.”
After a moment of study, the priest cracked the seal and opened the letter. His eyebrows did a little dance as he read the contents. “All is in order.” He handed the parchment back to Allon. “I thank you for understanding our need to be certain.”
“Of course. There are records of inestimable value held here, more than a few of which belong to my Lord Gileon. He values your thoroughness, as do I.”
“I will admit,” Helmor said, hesitation in his voice, “that some of your master’s requests are somewhat…irregular.” He fingered the silver chain hanging from his neck. “It is uncommon for us to allow any outsiders into the records room. For security reasons, you understand.”
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