by Beth Alvarez
Tahl tilted an ear toward the refinery's wall. Even from outside, he could hear the steady whoosh of bellows and the occasional ping of metal against metal. “How many were here when you stopped by?”
“I didn't go in,” Ashyl whispered back. “I didn't think I should, specifically because of how many people were here. They were working later than I expected.”
“Manufacturing things they don't want people to know about?” Tahl raised a brow at the queen.
Oria shrugged. “Or increasing output to meet the demand that comes with all this construction.” She waved a hand at the area around them. “Orrad's an old city. I don't think it was prepared for this sudden economic boom.”
“I think I'll have questions about that, but not now.” Tahl joined Ashyl as she inched toward the back door. Jeran had reappeared and waved for their attention.
“There are still people here. There's a sort of metal grid above the main floor, and a walkway along the top where they're throwing iron into the furnace.” Jeran wriggled his fingers at the equipment inside the building, as if he wasn't sure what to call it. Tahl nodded in encouragement for him to continue. The rather esoteric names of the refinery's tools didn't matter to thieves. Jeran's eyes swept up a nearby stairway. “Most of the building is metal, so sneaking will be hard. My footwear's not as soft as yours.”
“I'll scout, then. Ashyl's with me. You and Hadren keep an eye on the workers. And the queen.” He kept his voice low, but with the rattle of equipment, the roaring fire, and the noisy gusting of the bellows, there was no need to whisper.
Above them, footsteps clattered on the walkway. Everyone looked up, but the worker carried on without notice. The back door was still open, but perhaps the workers found that a blessing. The cool air that rushed in had to feel good.
Tahl crept forward and motioned for them to close the door. His fingers flicked in a few silent instructions for Ashyl. Go. Far right. Up. Scout.
She nodded and stalked off in the other direction. The hand signals had been Niada's idea. Every time Tahl ventured out with other thieves, he was glad she'd invented them. The words they'd developed were limited, but they were useful, and he wouldn't have thought of them on his own.
When Ashyl reached the staircase far to the right, he slipped up the stairs nearby. Despite the metal treads, his footfalls were silent, each movement tightly controlled.
A handful of workers in thick leather gear moved around the walkways. It was hotter in the upper part of the building and the air was acrid and dry in Tahl's nostrils. Even so, it was less sooty and dirty than the floor below and Tahl had no doubt an office would be on the upper level, where a foreman could watch the day's activity and spare his papers from the grime.
The walkways were something of a maze and it wasn't long before Ashyl disappeared from sight. Tahl trusted her to find what they needed and focused on his own footing and movement. Smokestacks rose through the ceiling and most of the walkway was dangerously cluttered with boxes and carts, offering no shortage of places to hide. More than once, the proximity of a worker forced Tahl to duck behind something until the footsteps passed. Grateful as he was for the shelter, it made it hard to see the rest of the refinery.
At the far end, near a stairway that led to an open space near the front door on the first floor, a boxy, windowed room sat nestled in the corner of the building. The crude glass windows were gray with soot and practically useless, but no light came from inside and Tahl saw no hint of movement in the shadows behind the dirt. He reached the door at the same time as Ashyl and she ducked her head in deference.
Tahl hovered a hand above the door's handle, testing for wards or other strands of magic that might impede entry. Nothing tickled his senses, so he tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.
Watch, Tahl signed. Ashyl nodded and shifted so she could see every walkway path that led to their location.
Behind her, Tahl sank to his knees and opened his bag. Sometimes he missed the old one, the worn brown leather satchel he'd always used in the beginning. But his new bag was custom-made, super-soft leather dyed to match his midnight blue heist clothes and lined with pockets to fit all his tools. He removed his lock picks without needing to look and set to work.
Before any of the workers came back into view, he wrenched the lock open and slipped inside with Ashyl right behind him. The door made no sound when he closed it.
“You want to take the records, while I do the desk?” Tahl asked.
She grunted a halfhearted response, but crept to the rows of shelves and stacks of crates beneath the windows. The ledgers were mostly clean. The foreman probably didn't dirty his hands often. At least, not physically, Tahl thought with a wry smile. He sorted through the papers on the desk with a practiced eye, skimming for anything out of the ordinary. Shipments of coal and raw iron came from all over the empire. Pig iron didn't go far from Orrad, though a few loads had departed by ship. The youth of the refinery made Tahl raise a brow at the numbers involved, but the place was novel and rumored to be the most efficient refinery in the world. If those output numbers were standard, he was inclined to believe it.
“Do you want connections to Daribur specifically, or anything that looks suspicious?” Ashyl asked.
Tahl paused his sorting to look at her. “That depends on why you're asking. Find something?”
“No. Just asking, in case I do. I think this is just employee records. There are a lot of people on staff here.”
“There would have to be, with all the work they're doing.” Tahl abandoned the papers and pulled open a drawer. A trinket inside caught his eye and he lifted it to inspect. “This looks like the mechanism on that diagram.”
“Sample, maybe? Was it made here, or sent here to see if someone here can replicate it?”
“Don't know. Haven't seen anything that answers that question.” Tahl touched his pocket, where the diagram still waited for further study. He wasn't able to read the alphabet well, but he'd gotten the gist. He slipped the mechanism into his pocket alongside the paper and pulled open another drawer.
Ashyl paused. “Do you smell that?”
Tahl sniffed. The air was hot and acrid, but he didn't detect any new odors.
She inched toward one of the crates stacked beside the shelves, inhaling deeply. “It's in here.”
A sense of uneasiness wriggled up Tahl's spine and crawled across his scalp. He abandoned the desk and stalked toward the crate. He and Ashyl reached for the wooden lid at the same time. It was tacked shut and they both pried to loosen it. As it came open, the scent of sulphur reached his nose.
Ashyl slid the lid aside and reached for a stack of papers in the top of the straw-filled crate. More schematics, plans for whatever lay inside. She paged through them and squinted down at the crate's contents. “What is that?”
Tahl leaned forward as the same sense of uneasiness wrapped itself around him and tightened to a knot in his belly. “What the queen's afraid of.”
Chapter 10
Tahl's pack thudded against his back, its contents as heavy as the burden of knowing what they'd found. Ashyl had pocketed all the papers, but he took the crate's contents for himself before they closed it and escaped the office. It protruded strangely from the top of his bag, but he'd balanced it carefully before emerging onto the walkway. This time, he and Ashyl went the same direction.
They skirted around the workers and tip-toed down the stairs, one after the other. No one waited at the bottom.
Tahl scanned the first floor of the refinery before he darted past the door to investigate. Not far from where he'd left them, the queen crouched behind a number of heaping ore carts with Hadren and Jeran.
Jeran pointed at the object that stuck from Tahl's pack and hooked his little finger to signal a question.
Later, Tahl signed. He motioned for the group to come.
Ashyl waved for them to stay still. Booted footsteps clomped toward their hiding place and the group of thieves shrank back into the shadows.
The man didn't seem to notice them. He threw the back door open and sucked in a lungful of fresh air, then stepped outside. Instead of leaving, he lingered on the back step. Taking a break, it seemed.
Jeran pointed toward the front door and shrugged.
Could they make it out the front? Tahl tried to recall what the street was like. He'd only been out there a handful of times. Tempted as he was to try it, he didn't trust Oria to make it out the door unnoticed. He shook his head and signaled toward the back.
Hadren, Jeran, and Ashyl all mirrored the signal and followed it with a flurry of surprised gestures.
Tahl jerked his head toward the back again, then rolled his eyes and planted a palm on the ground. Thieves, all of them, and yet somehow they'd forgotten how to sneak. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the sense of heat around him. Pursuing his power was always easier in places like this, where his fire affinity was fed by the flames in the furnaces and the heat in the air.
He coiled the flow of magic underneath the palm of his hand and felt warmth bloom against the stone. It swelled in his senses. Behind him, Oria twitched.
Smoke poured from between his fingers, denser than he'd anticipated, his power augmented by the nearby fire. Thick clouds billowed around them, flooding the air and cutting off all visibility. Beyond their hiding place, startled shouts and coughs rose above the noise of the furnaces and bellows.
Tahl darted through the thick of it. The smoke continued to churn, pouring out of the back door. The man on the steps doubled over coughing and spun to face the refinery. His eyes found Tahl instead.
The man scarcely yelped before Tahl tackled him and clamped an arm around his neck. Tahl squeezed. The man clawed at his arm and gasped uselessly, but Tahl's wiry arms were as strong as the smelted iron. After a few seconds of struggle, the man collapsed.
“Go,” Tahl whispered. He dared not lift his voice any more than that.
The queen emerged from the smoke first, though Hadren was just behind, gripping her arm to steer her through the smoke clouds. Ashyl and Jeran followed together.
“Split up,” Tahl ordered as they started down the alley behind the refinery. “Teams of two. The fisherman's shack. Meet me there.”
The thieves all nodded. Oria squeaked as Hadren jerked her along.
Tahl spun back, his attention locked on his smoke. It grew thicker as he focused, masking their escape, but not masking him. A factory worker launched out of the smoke with a massive hammer raised over his head.
His attention snapped from his magic to his adversary and Tahl ducked aside. The hammer plowed into the earth.
Without the smokescreen between them, the man was no threat. But the others hadn't gone far, and with Tahl's orders to split up, there was no way to aid all his comrades. Instead, Tahl opted for a distraction.
He darted closer to the hammer-wielding factory worker. Before the man could react, he twisted to one side and dashed toward the door.
The smoke inside had not yet cleared. Tahl tried to concentrate enough to fortify it on his way through. It responded, though weakly, thickening and spreading farther throughout the refinery.
Coughing came from several places throughout the building. Tahl counted and noted their locations at the same time. Seven; eight, counting his friend with the hammer who stumbled his way back to the door in pursuit. Tahl ducked up the stairs, ignoring the way his hurried footsteps clanged against the metal. It was hard not to be stealthy. Making noise so the workers would follow him went against his nature, but every minute they followed him was another minute between them and his team.
“Upstairs!” someone shouted. Good. Let them try to follow him across the narrow metal walkways that spanned a grid of bars.
Tahl stuck to the path until someone rounded a corner to cut him off. Then he grinned and leaped the rail to land on the grid. The rounded bars were little thicker than his thumb, but they were solid and still. He followed one toward the front door while the man who'd tried to intercept him raced across the walkway in an attempt to beat him there.
Toward the front of the refinery, there was little smoke in the air and Tahl saw people below. A pair of men had grabbed poles. They jabbed up at him, but they were clumsy and the blunt poles were little threat to begin with. Tahl hopped from bar to bar across the grid to evade. As long as he kept moving, he didn't need to worry about balance.
A number of wide access doors lined the front of the building. Ore carts stacked with coal and raw iron sat before some. Those were his best bet. Tahl chose one farthest from the wide path where the workers pursued him on the ground floor and cut toward it.
It took a second for those below to change direction. They wove around equipment and materials, but Tahl's path was unimpeded. He dove between the widest-spaced grid bars and landed atop a cart of coal. He skidded down the side of the pile, jumped before he hit the edge of the cart, and landed on the stone floor with coal clattering around him.
The second he turned to the door, a worker rounded the corner of the ore cart with a hand axe.
Tahl unbarred the door and flung it wide. “Sorry, I've got enough scars.” He grinned at the man and darted out the front.
Refinery workers converged at the doorway, shouting orders and epithets as Tahl raced down the street toward the new docks. He didn't know anything about the guard presence beyond the city walls, but he was willing to wager the patrols were few and far between compared to the city streets.
Out in the rain-fresh air, he sucked deep breaths and freed his lungs of the smoke he'd created. Running warmed his muscles, and he ran with a comfortable, lengthy stride. Behind him, the heavy, booted steps of the refinery workers faded as he outpaced them.
First leg down, he told himself. A handful of night-owls that roamed the developing dockside area shouted and tried to draw attention to him, but just as many ducked back into doorways or behind buildings to try and avoid his notice. To his relief, there wasn't a guard in sight.
Tahl ran until he reached the rocky shore. Then he allowed himself to slow, out of breath and regretting the unpleasant burn in his legs. He'd need to add more running to his routines; climbing and vaulting across the rooftops was more of a full-body exercise. It hadn't been that far, and he couldn't help but feel he shouldn't be breathless. He'd have to blame the smoke.
The river's edge was vacant and after he'd checked to make sure no one followed him, Tahl took his time. It was still a long trek to the fisherman's shack and he didn't know what would await him there. With that in mind, once he rounded the tip of the promontory, he stopped and sat beside the cliff. The object protruding from the top of his pack hadn't shifted much. He slid his pack's strap off his shoulder and opened it to loose the thing from what held it. Oh, he'd present the object for the others to inspect, but not until he had a chance to look at it, himself.
It was not iron. Nor was it completely metal. He slid his fingers down the fine steel's smooth length and frowned at the soot left on his fingers. It wasn't the sort of remnant one expected to see on anything new, and when he sniffed his hand, he caught the distinct scent of sulphur that had drawn Ashyl's attention in the first place. How had she smelled that? It was so faint, he could hardly pick it up above the petrichor.
Now that he had a chance to properly investigate, he saw the base of the thing wasn't metal, either. Instead, it was a wedge of wood that had been lacquered black. Preventing the soot from staining, perhaps. A gap between the wood and the long steel tube caught his attention and Tahl probed it with his fingers. Something was meant to go there. Something like...
His brow furrowed and he dug the strange mechanism from his pocket. It fit almost perfectly, a peculiar device with a chunk of flint wedged between pins.
Flint and black powder.
“Lifetree's mercy,” Tahl breathed, wiping his face with one hand.
He was in over his head.
“It's called a musket,” Jeran said as he examined the papers Ashyl had liberated from th
e crate. “The real thing is supposed to be much longer. This is just a sample indicating what they want. The schematics have the proper dimensions listed.”
Tahl crossed his arms a little tighter across his chest. “Does it say anything about who wants it?
“Nothing. Just the number requested.” Jeran licked his lips and lowered the paper. “They want five thousand.”
The team around the table grew quiet.
Five thousand weapons like nothing they'd seen before. Tahl closed his eyes long enough to exhale. “So this is what we're looking for.”
Oria bowed her head. “I had no idea it would be this severe.”
“Now would be a good time to tell us everything you know, Majesty,” Ashyl said, a sarcastic edge to her voice.
The queen gave a humorless laugh. “If I knew as much as you seem to think I do, perhaps none of this would have happened.”
“I think telling us the rest of what you do know would be wise at this point.” Tahl studied her as he spoke, but he felt none of the suspicion that flowed across the faces of his fellow thieves. Oria was secretive, obviously, but nothing in Tahl's instincts had indicated she was lying now. There was bitterness in her tone and regret on her face, but no hint of deceit—or nervousness, which would have betrayed any ill intentions.
Oria sighed and spread her hands to indicate helplessness. “I know little, but I'll tell you what I can. All this began shortly after the crown was stolen.”
Her choice of words made Tahl raise a brow. Even knowing he'd done it, she didn't accuse him of anything.
“The Westkings Empire is constantly threatened, but I'm sure that's not surprise,” she continued. “The Claiming Wars left everyone bitter. Atoras believes his empire should have encompassed the northern portion of the continent, as well, but the northern kingdoms banded together to drive the empire back.”
“The Claiming Wars weren't in Atoras's time,” Tahl said. “What does his opinion matter? This was something that happened to his great-grandfather.”
