by Beth Alvarez
Something moved behind the building and Tahl shifted to free his foot from the second house. He pressed close to the wall and focused on his breath. Slow, steady, even. The slower his breath, the less he trembled with effort.
A shadow stirred on the ground below, intent on the back of the house. Tahl eased his foot back to brace himself between houses again. He leaned out, just enough to get a better look.
You’ve got to be kidding. He fought back a groan. Of all the nights to encounter another thief, why now? Why here?
The thief vanished into the house on ground level and Tahl swung around the corner. No matter how sure of hand and foot he was, he could only move across the side of the stone building so fast. He ducked under one of the shuttered windows and aimed for the nearer of those left open. He needed speed now. Balanced on the edge of the window sill, he searched the edges of the frame until he found the latch. It was a single pane, hinged on one side instead of split down the middle, and every second he spent fuddling with opening the blasted thing was too much. The time he’d allowed himself for this leg of his mission no longer mattered.
Tahl hit the floor harder than he intended, wincing at the thud. Voices echoed elsewhere in the house, their conversation and laughter enough to mask the sounds of his movement. He allowed himself to breathe and left the window open as he darted into the hall.
He hadn’t had time to case the house; he could only pray what he needed wasn’t on the main floor. There had to be an office, a parlor, a workspace somewhere. Yet door after door opened to reveal sleeping quarters. Tahl bit back an oath.
Brant forbid something work out easy, tonight of all nights. He descended to the second floor with his teeth clenched and froze when he hit the hall.
At the far end of the hallway, his new rival stared with wide eyes for all of a heartbeat before he dodged into a room. Instinct gnawed at him and Tahl darted after the other thief. His tip-toed dash was soundless and when he appeared in the doorway, the other thief yelped.
A stroke of luck. The room was a library, with a desk at the far end of the room—exactly what Tahl hoped to find.
“The key is mine!” the other thief snarled in a whisper, brandishing a dagger in challenge.
Tahl’s brow furrowed and he pulled the door closed behind him, leaving only the thinnest sliver of light to pour in from the hall. “Key?” he whispered back.
The man’s face slackened in confusion. Man might have been a generous term, Tahl decided after his eyes had a moment to adjust. The other thief was perhaps a year or two older than he was—and at seventeen, Tahl was barely considered an adult.
“The guild’s challenge,” the young man replied. “You aren’t part of it?”
Tahl shook his head and relaxed his stance. The other thief copied him unconsciously, lowering his dagger.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Tahl said.
The thief raised a brow. “Then why are you here?”
“This man’s part of an imports company. I’m after his logbooks.” Tahl pointed toward the desk and the man relaxed further. “You’re with the guild?”
“It’s part of the admittance challenge every thief goes through. If you don’t even know about the hunt for the key, you’re nowhere near ready. It’d rust to nothing before you found the first clues.”
A small, unpleasant sense of irritation pricked at Tahl’s spine. He stood straighter. “That’s all potential recruits are required to do? Complete a treasure hunt they learned about through word of mouth?”
The thief shrugged. “If you’ve not got that far, I can’t help you, mate. Good luck with your logbooks.”
“Good luck with your key,” Tahl replied dryly as he circled the stranger and opened the drawers on the desk. “When you find it, tell Guildmaster Eseri I send my regards.”
The young man spun toward him with his mouth agape. Before he could protest, Tahl pressed a finger to his lips and hugged the book he was after to his chest. He backed to the windows behind the library desk, then twirled to fling them open.
“Hey!” the thief called before he caught himself. His hand clapped over his mouth and he wheeled toward the door.
Tahl caught the window sill in his free hand and swung outside. He hung on just long enough to slide the log book under his skintight shirt. Then his toes dug into the wall and he kicked off hard, twisting in midair to land in a roll. He tumbled across the narrow garden and stumbled when he rolled onto his feet.
Sloppy, he mentally hissed. The book slipped and he pulled it from his shirt as he dashed back the way he’d come.
Behind him, a guard dog bayed and angry voices rose in the night.
Chapter 6
The first thing Tahl was going to invest in after this venture was a better bag.
As soon as he’d made it back onto the roofs, he’d tucked the log book in with his gear and slung the straps over his shoulders again. But the straps were too narrow and stiff to be truly comfortable, and with every running leap he took, it chafed a little more through the thin knit of his shirt. There had been the part where he’d rolled over it, too—normally not a problem, but he’d landed just the right way for something to turn sideways and dig into his back when he’d tumbled. Now every step jolted the bag and its contents against the rising bruise.
He got what he deserved. If he was honest, he deserved worse. A skilled thief knew when to show off, and that hadn’t been the time. It had, however, been a wise time to run. What allotted time was left in the first leg of his mission had been spent hiding on the far side of a roof until the guards were suitably distracted. They hadn’t removed anyone from the house, which meant—Tahl assumed—the other thief had escaped. Good; he didn’t know what sort of clues the man hoped to find, but he hadn’t wanted the fellow to be caught.
Tahl trotted along the peak of a roof and paused at the end. The building below sported a flat terrace instead of tiles or shakes. He considered jumping, then thought better of it and climbed down, instead. In warmer weather, the terrace might have been a welcome nighttime retreat, but the spring air still held a bit of a bite. All the better, he figured; the fewer people who were out, the better. He stalked across the terrace to crouch at the corner and slide his bag from his shoulder. The waterskin inside was small, but it was better than nothing. He allowed himself a single swig, held it in his mouth and let it trickle down his throat as his eyes drifted across the city.
Orrad hosted a number of impressive buildings, but with the arrival of the temple’s artifacts, the Queen’s Museum had become magnificent. Beacons of mage-light lit the tall building’s exterior in shades of gold, dulling the light of the stars overhead. Tahl couldn’t see them from the terrace where he took a second sip of water, but he could imagine the pine boughs and bright berries woven into garlands and draped around the museum’s entrance. Symbols of the Lifetree. He’d seen them but hadn’t wondered why they were there instead of the temple. Foolish. He’d let his goal of finding the guildmaster and joining the guild distract him from what was happening in the city. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
As he capped his waterskin and returned it to his bag, Tahl traced the rooftops with his eyes. The museum couldn’t be approached directly, not with those mage-lights on it. Safer to sweep northeast first, approach from the back. Like the temple and the palace, the museum faced south to welcome the most light in its doors. There were messages within the city’s layout, whether intentional or not. Everything considered good, just, sat in north-south alignment. The academy, which considered itself respectable but hid dealings that spoke otherwise, faced west and sat sideways. Comical, Tahl thought, that both the thieves’ guild headquarters and Lord Eseri’s mansion sat crooked, off-kilter from the grid.
The building immediately ahead sported a roof with a reasonable slope. Tahl started there, bounding from the terrace to that rooftop, and the next, and the next. The more momentum he retained, the better. The cold night air made his chest burn, the humidity
heavy in his lungs. The rest of him felt light, the soft patter of his steps all but lost in his senses. With every jump, his heart soared. With every landing, he felt a surge of victory.
Guards circled wide streets below. Tahl altered his path, cut farther north. The muscles in his legs burned, but he was close. Getting there was the easy part. He veered east to compensate for his detour. It worked better this way; he had to dismount from the roofs one way or another, and the neighborhoods that surrounded the north side of the museum took him closer to the building than his original approach.
He didn’t want to slow, but the alternative was plunging into the cobblestone street that was too wide to vault. Reluctant, he stalled, halting only when his toes reached the edge of the last roof. There he crouched, forcing his breath to remain slow and even. Gasps for air were noisy and useless.
The Queen’s Museum loomed ahead, taller than the three-story buildings that comprised most of the rest of the city, yet not as tall as the palace or Brant’s temple. It was hard to say where the artifacts would be inside, but he had no reason to worry just yet. Museums tended to be prideful of their displays. With something as rare and valuable as temple artifacts, they’d likely set up an exhibit and point signs straight toward it.
Tahl had seen exhibits once or twice and held a rough idea of where they might be, but his knowledge of the museum still lacked. Admission was expensive, which kept most of the working class at bay. Atoras was like most emperors in that respect—he withheld knowledge from the peasantry, fearing the advantage it may give them. As a mage, pitiful as his ability was, Tahl’s education was on par with that of most nobles. That the size of his purse was all that restrained him from enjoying the social luxuries of his peers sometimes rankled.
But not for long, he reassured himself as he retreated to the lee of the roof. The shadows were a luxury, themselves. Tahl adjusted his hold on the edge of the roof several times before he swung a leg down to scout for toe holds. By tomorrow morning, everything will change.
If he survived.
His feet reached the ground and he crouched beside the wall. An aching heat had started in his shoulders and thighs. And we’re not even to the hard part yet, he mused. A few seconds for stretches were all he could spare. Then he slipped around the corner of the building and tucked his hands into his pockets as he strolled into the wide avenue illuminated by the looming museum’s glow.
He wanted to run. A lesser thief might have. But even dressed as oddly as he was, he drew less attention if he walked. The guards roamed farther down, too far to see him clearly. From a distance, no one would notice the cut of his clothes. He could have been anyone, walking home from an evening’s work, walking home from a courtship dinner. Still, his pulse accelerated as he crossed the road. Only when he ducked into the shadows on the other side did he again feel safe.
What would it be like, to spend every night gripped by that kind of fear? To sink into danger—the real danger that came with a heist, instead of the uninspiring risk of injury that came with petty theft?
For a single, fleeting instant, the consuming heat of anger swelled in Tahl’s heart. Bahar Eseri had weaseled his way into leadership of the guild through politics and business, not skill. Then he admitted members through simple tests instead of true challenges, building his own empire of petty thieves who could never hope to taste the bitter fear of what Tahl was about to do.
To steal from the temple was to blight one’s soul, planting a festering rot that would eventually consume them. It was a fool’s errand, a descent into depravity that could shock a man even so arrogant as Lord Eseri.
He’s blighted, himself, no doubt, Tahl muttered silently to himself. I could ask for better company. He slid into a final alleyway and emerged at the edge of the museum’s broad plaza.
The Queen’s Museum grazed the sky, its mage-lights blotting the heavens above to empty blackness. Ironic, given the treasures the place held. If the Lifetree’s branches were the gate to Heaven, then to block out its stars in honor of Brant’s artifacts was an act of blasphemy.
All around the building, armored guards marched in rows of three. Tahl sank back into the shadows as they approached. When he put his head down to hide his face, he all but disappeared. But he watched.
They moved in steady rhythm, perfectly spaced so that no one could slip by. At every corner of the building, more guards stood ready, spears resting against the cobbles. Tahl had planned to climb the north facing wall and gain entry through the roof, but he’d forgotten the museum bore two entrances, both north and south. Acting casual helped him cross streets, but it would do nothing to help him get inside. A side approach was his only option.
He watched the guards cycle past, his toe tapping a steady, soundless rhythm against the ground. They all marched the same direction, northward up the west side, where Tahl would have to climb. He’d have to move southward, toward the main entrance, and catch the gap where the party marched on and left the south corner exposed.
Exposed save the guards posted at the corner, that was. He’d need something to distract them, pull their attention toward the entrance. That would provide an opening of almost a minute before the next team of guards would round the corner. One minute to climb high enough that he wouldn’t be seen.
I’ve worked on tighter schedules, he reassured himself as he backtracked into the alley and moved farther south. It would have been easier to judge how far he needed to go if he’d been on the roofs, but he wasn’t about to risk being seen before he even made it to the museum. When the illuminated building’s corner soared over the top of the building beside him, he squeezed into the gap between two houses and padded closer.
The distraction would be the easy part. As if any of this is going to be easy from now forward. Tahl let a group of guards pass the corner and braced himself to act after the next one. His heart thumped against his ribcage, tried to urge his breath to race along with it. He struggled to maintain control of his breathing as he summoned what little magic he had.
The guards passed.
Tahl forced his magic to manifest. A teeming swarm of smoke bats formed over one of the massive mage-lights, darting and weaving so it was impossible to tell where they’d come from. Their hazy wings threw writhing shadows against the front of the museum, obscuring the windows. An ill omen.
At the south corner, one of the guards nudged his partner and pointed with his spear. They raised their voices to scold the creatures and, when the swarm didn’t dissipate, raised their spears to bang on the bottom of the massive brass sconce that held the mage-light against the wall.
Tahl bolted for the building. His magic wouldn’t last long, and his opening would evaporate with it. His fingers dug into the tiny gaps between the stone blocks and he leveraged himself up fast. Only a few handholds in, he jabbed his fingers into a gap and winced when a fingernail cracked. Climbing claws, he added to his mental list. Before the next job, I’m getting climbing claws.
Not that he needed them. He was used to the cuts and scrapes and chips in his nails, all of them hard-earned. His toes were protected, though, and the soft, pliable doeskin gripped the wall just as well as his own skin might. He pushed himself left, the countdown ticking loudly in his head. Voices neared the corner, signaling the guards’ return. Grimacing, Tahl hauled himself up beside one of the solid brass sconces just as the guards rounded the corner. Elsewhere, on the edge of his senses, he felt his smoke unravel.
Below, footsteps clacked against the stone and a trio of guards strolled past.
Tahl pressed himself closer to the corner where the mage-light’s sconce met the wall. The sconce had looked smaller from the ground. When he was right beside it, the thing was taller than him. Its left side made a perfect hiding spot, out of sight when the guards rounded the corner, and he doubted any of them would look directly at a mage-light of that strength, anyway.
Except now I have to figure out how to go unnoticed with the light shining directly on me. Maybe he hadn’t tho
ught that all the way through. Straight up was the best option, but would leave him most visible, casting a massive shadow up the wall for all of Orrad to see. He shifted farther left instead. There was no escaping the lights, but there was a narrow cone of shadow that crept up between the two nearest lights. Their meeting point was weakest. If he was fast and cautious, perhaps he could make it through. Beyond that point, the roof was only a few feet away.
The next team of guards passed underneath him and Tahl waited until they reached the next mage-light before he started upward at an angle. His movement wasn’t noisy, but movement drew the eye. With all the odd, arching shapes and different colors of stone that made up the museum’s exterior wall, a still shadow was more likely to go unnoticed. He froze when the next trio passed.
His shoulders already screamed, his upper arms burned. His legs fared better—difficult as the climb was, his nightly rooftop running had conditioned his legs well. Worst was the bruise in his lower back where he’d landed on his bag. Those muscles groaned; their straining protest was enough to put a fleeting regret in the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t afford to pay it any mind. He’d have time to hurt tomorrow. The next handhold put him at the meeting of the two mage-lights’ beams.
Here goes.
He swung into the light. His toes wedged between two particularly uneven stones and he thrust himself upward, stretching beyond what he thought he could reach.
A shrill whistle burst from the guards on the ground, now far below.
That didn’t take long. Tahl’s amused smile morphed into a grimace. The top was no more than four feet off.
A stone cracked against the wall, narrowly missing his leg.
Slings! He overextended his reach, his arms too exerted to pull him that far. He pulled back and found a closer handhold. At least they’re not arrows.
