by Beth Alvarez
Designing a layout for the rest of the basement the guild had claimed was Jeran's special assignment, but the thief was scatterbrained and often distracted with his more legitimate work. Tahl had offered him a more generous salary in hopes he would leave his job elsewhere in the city, but Jeran had refused. The man was passionate about his work; Tahl couldn't fault him for that. He felt the same way about the guild.
“Here are the books,” Nia said as she trotted into his office. Most of the time, he left the door wide open when he was present. The last thing he wanted to do was shut himself off from the rest of his guild. Tahl found other ways to remind his followers who was in charge. He removed the crown from its stand at the back of his office and settled it on his head as Nia dropped the books onto his desk.
A few older members had been startled by his age, but with the crown he'd stolen from Emperor Atoras on his brow, no one questioned his leadership.
Nia swiped a strand of black hair off her forehead and planted her hands on her hips as she stared down at the books. “What exactly are we looking for?”
Tahl pulled one of the green log books off the top of the stack and flipped it open. Dozens of names filled each book, listing professions and residences beside them in tidy rows. It was impossible to keep track of everyone in the city, but anyone involved in noteworthy business got their information written down. “Transport companies, livestock management... Anyone who might be interested in buying horses.”
“That could be half the people in the city.” She pulled her own book off the pile.
“No, it couldn't. Most people in Orrad have no reason to keep horses. Ebitha's horses are a guilty pleasure she can get away with because she's got a large parcel of land. Few people have that kind of space in the city.” He pulled out his chair and sat. One name on the page stood out. He groped blindly in the top drawer of his desk until his fingers found a pen. “Her horses cost her a fortune in feed, since there's not room for them to graze properly. But her husband cut deals with the farmers before he died. The feed hasn't gone up in price, but her money's evaporating, just the same.”
Niada paused to peer at him over the edge of her address book. “And what does that have to do with horses and heists, exactly?”
A frustrated sigh escaped Tahl's throat and he glared back at her. “Would you just write down the names? I have a hunch, okay? Something's not right.”
Her brows flicked upward before her expression settled to something cool and neutral. She wasn't good at hiding her thoughts and never had been, but Tahl didn't know how to explain what drove him to want to find the missing horse. He'd learned to trust his intuition a long time ago. If something struck him as odd or important, he knew it was.
A shadow appeared in the office doorway. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Ashyl's small voice asked.
Tahl didn't even look up. “Get the lamps.” He'd forgotten to light them and hadn't noticed until she'd blocked the doorway and blotted out the light.
The thief made a quick circuit of the office to light the three oil lamps on the shelves. She finished with the one on his desk and eyed the pile of books. A hint of curiosity showed in the way she tilted her head.
“Report?” Tahl prompted before she could ask any questions.
Ashyl straightened. “The wharfmaster isn't going to be easy to convince. He's already reported the guild activity on the docks and even asked Atoras to posts more guards. I scouted his office. Turns out he had it out for Lord Eseri, too.”
Nia lowered her book and frowned. “How do you suppose Eseri got things out of port, then?”
“Through a different port,” Tahl said. “That man has been wharfmaster for thirty-seven years. If Eseri didn't sway him, my chances aren't great. I know this may come as a surprise to you, but there are still honest men out there in the world. Not everyone can be bought.”
The girls exchanged looks. Eventually, Nia shrugged. “So we need another port.”
“We'll try heading south,” Tahl said. “We don't need anything big, and there are smaller ports all up and down the Ranton.”
“What about northwest?” Nia suggested.
Tahl raised a brow.
“There are those new manufactories being built up there. They've expanded the docks there to move freight without it having to pass through the city from the east side.” She pursed her lips. “Judging by what I've heard in the city, I think they'll be easy to sway.”
“I'd agree with that,” Ashyl said. “And since the manufactories are outside the city walls, the guard has fewer eyes in place.”
“Then we'll look northwest.” Tahl reached out and tapped the stack of the book. “Ashyl, read. We're looking for people who might want horses.”
Ashyl's brow furrowed. “Horses?”
“Don't ask,” Nia muttered. “You know how he is when he gets a wild hair.”
Tahl elected to ignore that. He scribbled down a handful of names and addresses.
A slim finger slid into view, a nicely rounded fingernail pointing out a name on his pad of paper. Tahl blinked twice and let his eyes flick to Ashyl's face. She was close to his age, dark-haired and brown-eyed like most people in the Westkings. Niada had often called her pretty. He wasn't sure he agreed.
“This is one I'm familiar with,” Ashyl said. “Do you want me to check some of these out?”
He pushed her hand away and went back to writing. “I want you to look through the address books and write down names, like I asked you to.”
She raised a brow. “What's this for?”
Frustrated at the relentless questions, Tahl leaned back in his chair and stared at his notes. “I think...” he began, half-aware of the tingle of magic in the crown against his brow.
Both girls leaned forward and he looked up, determination in his green eyes.
“I need to steal a horse.”
Chapter 2
Some time after Ashyl and Nia had helped Tahl work his way to the bottom of their list of possible contacts, he closed the door to his office and buried his face in his hands.
It wasn't unusual for his work to take from dusk til dawn, especially in the summer, when the nights were short and had to be used wisely. Summer was now behind them, but this hardly seemed like a wise use of time, and he slouched in the chair behind his desk as weariness fell over him. Sometimes he slept in his office. There was a blanket stuffed under the desk for just that reason. Suspecting this would be one of those days, he found the edge of the blanket with his toe and dragged it across the floor. The crown shifted on his brow and he pulled it off his head.
The emperor's stolen crown was a pretentious thing to wear, but the other thieves both respected it and thought it a grand joke. In truth, he kept it close because he hadn't yet figured out what it did. To someone like him, with just enough of a Gift to make himself a nuisance, the sense of power about the crown was barely detectable. He'd taken to wearing it at home for a while, where he could watch the streets below his windows and see if anyone came to retrieve it. But no one ever appeared, and Tahl had concluded quickly enough that whatever power rested in the crown, it wouldn't let anyone track him.
What it did allow was still a mystery. Mage-enhanced items were more than just rare. The skill it took to weave magic into a physical object was all but a mystery. When Tahl had been part of the academy, he'd spoken to his teachers about such artifacts, more out of curiosity than truly caring how to do it. Such a feat would have been well outside the realm of what he could do. As it happened, it was beyond what anyone could do; his teacher had called the act of enchanting items a Lost Art.
Which means the crown is either older than the empire itself, or the art's not quite as lost as they make it out to be. He ran his thumbs over the gems as he thought. More than once, he'd prodded the crown with his own feeble magic, hoping he'd be able to sense something more than the faint tingle of power. Nothing had ever answered. So he'd worn it for a dozen things, trying to determine if the power in the crown let him de
tect lies, or think more clearly, or influence people more easily, or any number of other things it had not, in fact, done.
“Maybe it doesn't actually do anything,” Tahl muttered to himself as he put it down.
In truth, he didn't know why he kept poking at it. For all he knew, the magic the crown was imbued with only served to ensure it never needed to be polished. He dragged his blanket off the floor, wrapped it around his shoulders, and slumped.
The crown wasn't the only investigation that seemed to be going nowhere. He couldn't learn anything about the crown, couldn't learn anything about the queen, and now it seemed even the horse problem was going to leave him scratching his head.
If Tahl was being honest, his primary concern over the missing horse was the old woman's wellbeing. Ebitha was one of few people in Orrad—in his entire life, blight it—who had been kind to him. He'd had guilt over leaving the widow without a stableboy, and he'd never felt guilt over much. Tahl owed it to her to ferret out whoever was destroying her fortune. He didn't know how to begin without staking out the manor, and after taking up the mantle he'd earned and embracing his role as the Ghost of Orrad, that was time he couldn't spare. But I can get the horse, he reassured himself as he squinted at the notes spread across his desk.
Most of those notes were unnecessary, but to leave anyone off his list would have given Nia and Ashyl clues as to what he intended to do. Finding Ebitha's horse wouldn't be hard. The missing horse was white, and there was only one person in Orrad interested in obtaining white horses. Finding a way to make sure the horse's absence wasn't noticed was the challenge.
“That and getting the stupid thing out of the pasture,” he said, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. Brant's roots, but he was tired. Frustration and exhaustion mingled in his head and as he closed his eyes, he used his Gift to snuff the flames of the oil lamps scattered around the room. The last thing he saw was the crown on his desk, its multicolored gems glittering in the light of that final flame. The memory of clutching it tight to his side as his blood ran down the flank of a snow-white horse made the scar in his leg ache, but Tahl paid it no mind. A cat nap, he promised himself. Then his new heist could begin.
Tahl's 'cat nap' lasted until early afternoon. He fought the urge to grumble as he scrubbed grit from his eyes and stuffed his blanket back under his desk. It wasn't like him to oversleep, but the previous night had not been the only night he'd pushed. There was always something to do in the guild, something to oversee, someone to train. His guildmates seemed to appreciate that he did not believe himself above training exercises. There were few secrets to share beyond suggestions on how to land or where to practice, but it was easy to outpace most of them, and Tahl admitted he got a hint of competitive satisfaction from knowing he was still at the top.
He covered the checkmark-shaped scar under his right eye with wax before he left his office.
Headquarters was empty. Since his sleep had gone uninterrupted, Tahl assumed Jeran hadn't yet returned and likely wouldn't until that night. With luck, those blueprints would be on his desk by morning.
A small, makeshift kitchen area stood in one corner and Tahl stopped there to retrieve something to eat. One of the puzzles the engineer had been working on was figuring out ventilation for fires so they could have proper meals instead of things that could be prepared cold. The museum had a boiler system it used for heat, and Tahl had suggested they figure out a way to vent their fires into the boiler room, but all that had done was send Jeran off muttering about masonry.
Someone had left a box of dried meats and roasted nuts. Tahl considered it, then swiped a piece of unblemished fruit instead. He didn't trust anything he didn't witness the others eating. Desperate as Tahl was for a proper meal, he'd have to make plans to go home that night or he wouldn't get it. After work is done, he reminded himself. He retrieved his bag of supplies on the way out.
When he emerged from the sewer tunnels and into the cheery afternoon sunlight, Tahl was tempted to go home then and put the job off for another night. He knew better than to procrastinate, but the draw of a full stomach and a soft bed was almost as irresistible as a siren's call. Resigned to his apple, he started the winding trek across the city. Halfway through the market, he paused to swipe a stick of fried and honeyed treats. Protein was a better fuel, but sugar was a quick boost that satisfied his sweet tooth, too. He'd snatch a bag of almonds or something later to make up for the splurge.
Against the northern sky, the palace stood like a looming cliff. Tahl had not been back since the daring escape that sent him over an actual cliff, and a hint of unease crept up his spine. Even the wax over his scar would do him little good there; he'd entered the castle in disguise. While Nia had pulled off the wax before he began the actual thieving, it was always possible the serving staff would recognize him and put the pieces together. Tahl kept his head down and worked his way toward the north gate.
The gate guards watched people come and go with little interest, but Tahl still waited for a chance to hide from clear view before he slipped past. The chance came when a farmer with an ox-drawn cart came in, his cart heaped with goods to trade. Tahl angled his shoulders and face toward the cart as he walked, pretending to watch his toes, so the guard to his right would only clearly see his back.
Nia sometimes chided him for paranoia, but she didn't understand. The Ghost's face decorated dozens of posters across the city, and all that separated Tahl from the now-infamous thief was a thin ribbon of flesh-colored concealing wax. Bahar Eseri had been sent to the gallows for crimes much smaller than stealing the crown. Tahl couldn't fathom what horrors might wait for the Ghost.
He shook off the thought and breathed deep as he passed beyond the city and wandered into the mess of businesses that lay just outside the walls. The largest part of Orrad's shanty town was on the east side, facing the Ranton river, where work was plentiful in the fisheries and warehouses that lined the docks. North and northwest of the city, there were fewer houses outside the walls and more businesses that no one wanted nearby. Farriers, tanneries, and any number of manufactories lined the roads.
The manufactories were largely new. The first had sprung up a handful of months prior. A half dozen more followed, the buildings in various states of construction. Their existence had caused quite a stir among artisans who had plied their trade in Orrad for generations. Some believed the massive buildings that churned out product would destroy their business. Others merely criticized the smell. Even well away from the first manufactory—more accurately described as a blast furnace for smelting iron—an acrid stench hung in the air.
Given how badly people hated the place, Tahl had long since decided it was a perfect place to hide. If Niada was right about the guild winning over the dock workers that supplied the manufactories, then they could prove a valuable asset to his own brand of business.
He ducked into an alley behind the iron refinery and held his stick of honey treats between his teeth. With his hands free, it only took a moment to climb to the lowest part of the roof. He'd wait for the sun to set, then head for his goal. Tahl took the stick from his mouth and bit into one of the fried treats with a satisfying crunch.
Below, a scrape signaled the opening of a door and Tahl leaned forward to peer down from the shadowed side of the roof, more out of boredom than curiosity. He admitted he knew little about the manufactories and their business. Several processed wool and produced textiles, but none could yet replicate the fine knit that made his heist outfit, so he wasn't particularly interested. They could churn out blankets and broadcloth all day, but until they could make something close-fitting that flexed like a second skin, he had little reason to care.
But the men that shuffled out of the refinery cast furtive glances down the alley before they hustled toward the far end. Tahl frowned. Thieves? They weren't his, nor were they faces he recognized from run-ins around the city. Nor could he fathom what could be inside an iron refinery that might be worth stealing. They hadn't carried an
ything that he could see.
Worth investigating, he mused as he slipped one of the fried goodies off its stick and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. There was always a chance it was nothing; it was possible they weren't doing anything out of the ordinary. Sneaking an extra break, perhaps, or trying to skip out on work. Tahl simply found everything suspicious.
The men did not return. Tahl considered delving inside to see what he could find, but dismissed the idea as reckless when there were people inside. Good as he was at sneaking about, he didn't enjoy taking unnecessary chances, and exploring the refinery—or any of the manufactories—was not why he'd ventured north of the city. He could return another time, perhaps roll the exploration into the job of determining whether or not people in the refinery could be brought over to their side. A job for Ashyl, he decided. She can do it tomorrow.
The early autumn days had already begun to shrink. By the time Tahl had finished mentally assigning new tasks to his recruits, the sun had dropped low in the sky and the streets began to fill with people leaving their jobs for the day. Seizing the opportunity, he abandoned the roof and moved through the bustle. People were the best disguise, especially when the crowd was full of people who were scarred and shabbily dressed. Tahl took comfort in how he blended in.
