“You’re right, Flick. I’ll change my ways. Why don’t you find me a young man who’ll marry a lass who spent her childhood begging on the streets?”
Flick threw up his arms. “Just think about it.”
“I already have. I can’t get odd jobs around the city like you. I can’t make enough as a serving lass to cover my lodging, and I have no intention of marrying right now. And you know I need more coin for the gutter rats.”
As Kyra scooped up the last of her stew, Bella returned from the kitchen. “Speaking of gutter mice, Idalee was here looking for you.”
“Idalee?” Kyra asked. “She doesn’t often come this far in.”
“I sent her back with some stew. She didn’t say where she’d be, but I assume you can find her?”
Flick glanced at Kyra. “You fixing to look for her?”
Kyra suppressed a yawn. “She’s probably wandering the city right now. I’ll catch a nap and find her this evening.”
Kyra dreamed she was climbing. But instead of the Palace walls, she scaled a rock face in a hot, sandy landscape. The sun beat down on her hands and face, and though her arms grew weak, she never quite reached the top. It was late afternoon when Kyra finally woke. The cliff face lingered in her mind, but Kyra had long given up on making sense of her dreams. Instead, she dressed to go into the city. Idalee was probably done with her rounds for the day, and if Kyra left now, she would have a good chance of finding her.
As Kyra stepped out the front door of The Drunken Dog, a sharp voice called to her.
“You, girl. In the trousers.” Kyra turned out of habit, then regretted it when she saw the speaker was scarcely older than a girl herself, dressed in a gown that cost more than a year’s takings for Kyra. Her fingers were adorned with jewels, and her wrists and neck were ringed with trader charms—basilisk scales, love stones—the type of fanciful trinkets that honest folk ignored and the wealthy squandered their money on. The girl and her two shieldmen were clearly out of place in the dusty streets outside The Drunken Dog. She probably found it romantic to be exploring such a neighborhood. If the girl’s carelessness got her in trouble here, it would be the folk who lived here who paid for it.
The girl gestured imperiously to Kyra. “Carry my bags for me.”
Kyra hesitated. She had no respect for a spoiled nobleman’s daughter, but her shieldmen looked mean. People skirted around them, clearly glad the girl had focused on Kyra instead of them.
“Well, hurry up,” said the girl.
Kyra could hear Flick’s voice in her head, telling her not to do anything stupid. “Mayhap milady could have her soldiers carry her bags for her.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “I’ll pay you. Don’t pretend you don’t need the money.”
Kyra stiffened. When she finally replied, her voice was low and steady. “I’m sorry, milady. I in’t your packhorse.” The girl’s eyes widened, and Kyra ran for an alleyway. Once around the corner, she shinnied up a pole and pulled herself onto the rooftop. She peeked over the edge to see the nobleman’s daughter still staring in the direction of the alleyway. Not one to push her luck, Kyra backed up and hurried on her way.
The city of Forge took the form of several concentric rings. At its center was the Palace compound, with the Fastkeep at its heart and the outer compound surrounding it. The wealthy, or “wallhuggers” as some called them, formed the first ring outside the compound walls, taking advantage of the security the Palace provided. Outside that ring, craftsmen and merchants set up their shops, relying on the wealthy to keep them in business. The Drunken Dog, where Kyra rented a small room, was slightly outside the merchant ring—far enough from the Palace to avoid the authorities’ notice, but close enough to the markets to cultivate its diverse mix of patrons.
Kyra skirted along rooftops, heading away from the merchant district until she reached the outermost ring of the city. This area also had houses and shops, but the buildings were less clean and the streets less orderly. Gradually, the carpentry of the houses became more run-down; the piles of trash in the street grew larger and more numerous.
She climbed down and continued at a brisk pace, pausing periodically to drop a coin into an outstretched hand. Kyra felt her nerves tingle, her awareness sharpening out of habit. Every landmark had a memory attached. At one street, the baker’s wife passed out scraps after sunset. One road over, behind a wooden fence, there was a space where a small child could huddle while others ran past.
It was on these streets that Flick had found her a decade ago. She’d been suspicious of him at first. The boy’s clean face and untorn clothes immediately marked him as an outsider. Though, at fourteen, he hadn’t yet reached his full height, he was still nearly twice her size. Kyra had scowled and slipped into one of her hiding places, but he returned the next day.
“Your hands look small. Can you reach between the slats of a fence?” he asked her.
Kyra checked to make sure the other children were in view before moving closer. Flick told her that a lady had dropped her purse behind a locked fence. It was just out of his reach, but if Kyra would help him get it, he promised her half the pickings. It was simple enough, and surprisingly, the boy was true to his word. After that, he kept coming back with more ideas. He learned about Kyra’s penchant for climbing into high places, and she learned that he roamed the streets because his mother was becoming too ill to care for him. In time, Flick started bringing Kyra food even when there were no jobs.
They became business partners of sorts, and eventually friends. It was Flick who took Kyra to The Drunken Dog and introduced her to Bella, Flick who told Kyra that she could stop living on the streets if she made enough money. Somehow, Bella convinced the owner of The Drunken Dog to rent a room to Kyra, and in hindsight, it was a good thing she had. Most of the children from Kyra’s younger days were gone. Kyra had no idea where they were or whether they were still alive.
“Griffin feathers, milady? Bring you good luck.” A small boy with stringy hair thrust a tattered bunch of feathers at her.
Kyra almost walked past him, then sighed and turned around. Everything about the boy betrayed him as new to the streets, from the way he failed to blend in, to his carelessness in addressing strangers. She took the boy’s trinket and rolled it between her fingers. “You new at this?”
Confusion flashed across the boy’s face. “Just a quarter copper each, milady.”
Kyra handed it back to him. “You can’t take chicken feathers and say they’re from griffins. People in’t that dull.”
The boy jerked his hand back. “You in’t never seen a griffin before.”
“No, but I’ve seen a chicken. Look, the traders can say anything they want about their goods, and folk won’t argue with them. But nobody’ll believe you went across the Aerin Mountains. You’ll end up with your money taken if you’re lucky, or flogged and pilloried if you’re not.”
Real fear flashed through his eyes, and Kyra’s annoyance gave way to pity. She shook her head and handed the boy a coin. “It’s clever, I’ll give you that. You out here alone?”
The boy hesitated, then gave an unconvincing shake of his head.
“Come with me. I’ll take you to some others.”
She continued on her way. If he’d refused to follow, she would have let him go, but she heard the boy fall into step behind her. As the streets grew narrower, the buildings crowded together so the upper stories hung over the pathways, blocking much of the already waning sunlight. As a child, Kyra had never noticed the smell of garbage and sweat, but now she wrinkled her nose and walked faster.
Eventually, Kyra heard children shouting in the distance. She followed the sound until the alley opened into a secluded courtyard. Fifteen pairs of bare feet pounded the hard-packed dirt. The children had dust on their faces and tears in their clothing. Their game tonight was a new one, with rules Kyra didn’t recognize. But like the other games, it involved a lot of running. Running was the easiest way to stay warm.
Kyra edged clos
er, and several children broke away from the game, shouting her name. She smiled and squeezed a few shoulders as they gathered around. “I’ve got someone new for you,” she said, finally turning to acknowledge the griffin boy. “Show him how things work.”
“We’ve seen him around,” said a girl with knobby arms and tangled black hair. “He didn’t want to talk to us.”
“Now he will.” Kyra gave him a push toward the others before turning back to the black-haired girl. “You come looking for me, Idalee?”
“Where were you last night?”
“Working.” She paused for a moment, reminded of James’s mysterious behavior. “Why’d you come to The Drunken Dog?” In many ways, the area around The Drunken Dog was safer than Idalee’s usual haunts, but Kyra worried about her wandering away from her friends.
“Lettie’s sick again.”
Kyra frowned. Idalee’s younger sister was constantly ill. “Take me to her?”
As the girl pulled her down a side street, Kyra couldn’t help noticing how Idalee had matured since their first meeting. Two years ago, Kyra had been in the neighborhood when she heard shouting. She ran up just in time to see a skinny girl charge an older boy headfirst, knocking him down and pounding at him with remarkable ferocity. The other children were in an uproar, and Kyra picked up more than a few bruises pulling the two apart. It took some work to sort things out, but eventually she pieced together that one of the older boys had tried to take Lettie’s supper. Despite the tongue-lashing that Kyra delivered to all involved, she couldn’t help but admire Idalee’s spirit, and tiny Lettie reminded Kyra of her own childhood in the streets. While Kyra would never admit to having favorites, she found herself spending more and more time helping these two.
Idalee led her to a dead end, where several boards had been placed in a crude lean-to. It was too small for both Idalee and Kyra to fit comfortably, so Kyra pushed aside the cloth covering its opening and peered inside. Someone shivered underneath a pile of blankets. “Lettie?”
The form shifted and a small, round face turned toward her. The child’s normally large eyes were half closed, and Kyra could tell from Lettie’s raspy breathing that something wasn’t right. Every time the child took a breath, she winced. Kyra put her hand on Lettie’s forehead. It was warm to the touch.
“Can she walk?” Kyra asked Idalee.
“A bit, but you’ve got to go slow, and she coughs if you walk too fast.”
“Well, I can’t carry her all the way,” Kyra muttered. She thought for a moment. “Why don’t I take Lettie back with me? I’ll bring her to a healer tomorrow.”
Though Kyra’s landlord might not like that plan. Last year, Kyra had let Idalee and Lettie stay with her during a blizzard. When Laman discovered them, he’d pulled Kyra aside and made it clear that he had no intentions of turning The Drunken Dog into an orphanage. Well, Laman didn’t need to know, and Bella wouldn’t say anything.
Idalee nodded. “Come on, Lettie, you’re going home with Kyra.” She coaxed her sister out of the blankets and tied a small gray cloak around her neck. Lettie coughed but didn’t complain. The little girl whispered a question as she took Kyra’s hand.
“What?” Kyra asked. Lettie always spoke in a barely audible tone. Kyra leaned closer and laughed.
“Well, I don’t know if there’s any more stew, but I’m sure Bella will have something equally tasty tonight.”
As Idalee had predicted, Kyra and Lettie’s walk back to The Drunken Dog took quite a while. The tavern was already filling with a lively after-dinner crowd when they returned. Brendel had set up in his favorite corner and was tuning his lute in front of a brightly colored painting of dragons and dryads. Kyra remembered that he was going to sing “Lady Evelyne” tonight.
“Lettie, do you want to hear the talesinger?”
Kyra guided Lettie to a table, then ducked into the kitchen to fetch some food. Lettie’s eyes opened wide at the chicken pie Kyra brought out.
“Don’t burn your tongue,” Kyra said. Lettie gripped her spoon with an eagerness that made Kyra suspect her warning was useless. As they both dug in, Brendel strummed a few chords and cleared his throat.
“Good evening, good gentlemen and ladies.” There were some good-natured heckles from the audience, which the young talesinger acknowledged with a charming grin. “I’ve always loved the tale of noble Lady Evelyne, and I know many of you do as well. Tonight, I am honored to play for you the first act, which I just finished penning”—he made a show of counting on his fingers—“seven hours ago.”
As the laughter died down, Brendel launched straight into the opening chords. He sang of the felbeast—the giant bear-creature that ravaged the countryside long ago. Kyra glanced nervously at Lettie during one of Brendel’s more convincing growls, but the child, fascinated by Brendel’s quick-moving fingers, seemed unfazed. Then the talesinger switched to a softer melody. In a high falsetto, he sang the part of Lady Evelyne. She wept for her people and wondered if the carnage could be stopped. The noble lady gathered her courage, bid good-bye to her family and betrothed, and entered the forest to confront the felbeast.
“That’s how we know the ballad in’t true,” said a familiar voice at Kyra’s shoulder. “A real fatpurse would have sacrificed a servant girl instead.”
Kyra turned her head.
Behind her, James inclined his head in greeting. “Good to see you again. Join me for a flagon?”
T H R E E
Brendel’s song washed over Kyra as she scrambled to gather her wits. “Right now?” she asked.
He gave her a mocking smile. “Unless you’re eager to hear the ballad.”
Kyra jerked her head toward Lettie, who was so engrossed in Brendel’s performance she hadn’t yet noticed James. “I can’t leave her alone.”
“She’ll be fine. Keep her in view while we talk.”
Kyra scanned the room, hoping to see Flick in the crowd, but he wasn’t there. For a moment, Kyra considered telling James that she really did want to hear the rest of the ballad. But then, what was she afraid of? The only thing James had done so far was overpay her. Kyra schooled her features and nodded. Lettie barely acknowledged Kyra when she tapped her on the shoulder and told her where she was going.
James led her to a nearby table. As Kyra slid onto the bench across from him, he beckoned to a serving girl and ordered two mugs of ale.
“I trust you got some rest this morning?” he asked.
“Aye.”
The ensuing silence was interrupted by the serving girl returning with the ale. James pushed one mug toward Kyra. She wet her lips but didn’t drink.
“How long have you been in your current trade, Kyra?”
“About eight years.” Kyra wrapped both hands around the mug. The chill seeped into her palms and made her shiver.
“Is it a good living?”
She hesitated. “Why are you asking?”
“Of course, I apologize for my rudeness,” he said smoothly. “You’re right to be suspicious. I’m asking because we were impressed with your work last night.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“We’re looking for someone with your skills. Your agility, how you can move without being seen. You searched the compound for longer than you’d planned without getting caught, and you kept your head when you couldn’t find the loot. I see your skills have served you well in your current way of life.”
“I’m a thief,” she said curtly.
“A thief,” he echoed. “How much coin do you make, as a thief?”
“Enough.” She didn’t quite succeed in removing the defensiveness from her voice.
James scanned the dining room. “Enough to feed yourself and pay for decent lodging.” His tone made the sentence seem more a question than a statement. Kyra felt an uneasy stirring in her stomach. Did he know she was short on coin? She wasn’t in danger of being evicted, but recently it had become much harder to pay her lodging. The entire city was suffering from the attacks in the outskirts.
James continued. “Why does someone with your talents have to scramble for rent?”
So he did know. What else did he know about her? “We’ve got to be careful,” she said. “Wallhuggers get suspicious if there’s too much going on.”
“Then why not move to less-guarded homes?”
“If someone can buy guards to watch his trinkets, he’s got more than his fair share. I in’t fixing to steal someone’s bread money. And even with the wallhuggers, we need to be careful what we take. I won’t risk my neck for a jewelry collection when nobody in the city buys stones anymore. Folk are scared, ’cause of the raids.” Kyra paused and shifted her eyes to his face. “Actually, I’m wondering who you’d lined up to take that ruby.”
“Ah, the ruby.” James met Kyra’s gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting as if sharing a private joke. “Pity you couldn’t find it.” He might as well have admitted flat out that the ruby had never existed. “We deal mostly with the wallhuggers,” James continued before Kyra had a chance to think further. “If you worked with us, you wouldn’t have to worry about taking someone’s dinner. You wouldn’t have to worry about coin at all. We take good care of our own.”
“How good is that?”
“How’d you like to own a house in the city?”
“A house?”
Just the thought made her mouth go dry. Only the nobles and merchants owned property. What he was offering was impossible. Though with the way he’d paid her this morning…
“You still haven’t told me who you are,” she said.
“We’re a group who takes opportunities as we see them.” He chose his words carefully, picking his way through his sentence like a jeweler selecting stones. “Sometimes we cooperate with others; sometimes we pursue our own plans.”
“And your plans don’t always agree with the Palace,” Kyra finished.
“The Palace serves money and privilege. They uphold the laws because the laws suit them. The rest of us have to fight to control our fates.”
Midnight Thief Page 2
