She bolted before anyone could stop her, running up stairs and around corners before finally collapsing in a dead end. It was all too much. Bella was not cold in her grave, yet they expected her to put it all aside and go after the Guild.
Footsteps sounded. Flick’s familiar form rounded the corner.
“I must be a bad thief if you found me so easy,” she said.
“You always run upward when you’re upset.” He sat down beside her. “And you favor right turns. You’re lucky they didn’t sound the alarm.”
She’d forgotten about that. “I still have one more dose of antidote. I can’t run.”
Flick looked like he was mulling over his words. “I suppose we have enough troubles already that we don’t need to be tossing blame at each other,” he said.
A weight lifted off of her at those words. Kyra looked at him, and the forgiveness in his eyes made her want to burst into tears again. “No, you were right. I should’ve listened to you. I’m…sorry.” The words felt woefully inadequate. “I was stupid. It was just maps and trade schedules at first, and I wanted to prove myself. It’s no excuse.”
Again, they sat in silence. Through the window, Kyra could hear the murmurs of refugees in the Palace courtyard.
Finally, Flick spoke again. “How much do you remember from your gutter-rat days?”
“Not much,” she said dully.
“Do you remember back before you were climbing buildings? You weren’t that great at it when we met.”
“No.” She was in no mood to reminisce. “I guess I didn’t have any reason to be.”
“But once you started, you loved it. Every time I saw you, you’d scamper up something higher and more dangerous. I was plumb sure you’d be dead within the year. You did have your falls. There’s probably still some merchants who’ve not forgiven you for destroying their stalls with your antics.”
Kyra smiled despite herself. Flick put his arm over her shoulders, and she let him pull her close, leaning her head on his shoulder as she had when they’d kept warm together as children. “It’s strange,” Flick continued. “It’s not like you’re the only lass to make mistakes. We all did. You just manage to do it in a grander fashion. Maybe it’s because you climb so much higher than the rest of us.”
Kyra chuckled bitterly. “So I’m more gifted than your usual gutter rat—I ruin other people’s lives, not just my own. James told me to let go of my delusions of moral superiority. Maybe he’s right.”
“Do you really believe that, Kyra?”
“I don’t know.”
Flick sighed. “Kyra, think about it. If James really believed you were like him, would he have gone to the trouble of threatening you or hiring someone to kill you? He’s scared of you, Kyra. He might have tricked you into helping him once, but you’re a danger to him. He knows you’re not his puppet anymore.”
Kyra felt a rush of blood to her face as she considered Flick’s words. James had lied to her and tried to turn her into something she wasn’t. And now he’d taken Bella. Even if she didn’t know anything else about herself, Kyra knew that Flick was right. She wasn’t James’s puppet anymore.
She jumped to her feet. “Let’s go back.”
Martin was in the corridor when Kyra and Flick came back downstairs. “Are they still in there?” Kyra asked.
“They’re still planning. Sir Malikel’s not happy though. I’d apologize real quick. And sincerely too.”
Tristam and Malikel were deep in conversation when she returned, and it took a moment for them to acknowledge her entrance.
“I’m sorry,” she said before either of them could react. “That won’t happen again.”
Malikel gave her a long, measured look. “Make sure it doesn’t.”
“I have an idea,” she said. “For attacking the Guild.”
The councilman waited for her to continue.
“Don’t send an invasion,” said Kyra. “Just send one person. Me.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Flick turn his head and stare at her.
Tristam raised an eyebrow. “An army won’t work, and a strike party won’t work, so you intend to single-handedly invade their building and bring back prisoners?”
“Everything the Assassins Guild does hangs on James,” she said, ignoring Tristam’s sarcasm and avoiding Flick’s eyes. “He’s got a good crew, but he’s the core. He makes all the plans, and it’s his determination that holds it all together. If we kill James—if I kill James—there’s no clear person to take his place. It would cripple the Guild.”
“Kyra.” Flick’s voice was tinged with panic. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.” She ignored him.
“You may be right about James,” said Malikel. “The Assassins Guild fell out of power a century ago, and it wasn’t until recently that it reemerged, perhaps because of James’s leadership. But how do you propose to kill him, Kyra? Can you outfight him?”
“No,” said Kyra, remembering her humiliating practice match with James. “But there’s other ways. James wanted me to poison you. Why not do the same to him?”
“The Palace doesn’t keep clearberry juice,” said Malikel. “We can offer you other poisons, though they aren’t ideal.”
“Just give me what you have,” said Kyra. “I might also use the Guild’s stores. James keeps his poison in a chest in his study.”
“It’s especially dangerous for you to go in there, Kyra,” said Tristam. “After the fire, they probably know you’re alive. And they know your tactics better than anyone.”
“Just as I know the Guild better than any of your men,” said Kyra. The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. “I’m the only one with any chance of cracking the Guildhouse. No one else here can do this.”
“Do what?” said Flick. “Any one of us is perfectly capable of getting killed by the Assassins Guild.”
Kyra sighed and looked at Flick, hardening herself to the worry in his eyes. “What else would I do, Flick? Wait around for them to kill me? I in’t doing this out of some misplaced sense of guilt. I’m doing this because it’s the only thing that will work.”
Tristam cleared his throat. “I think she’s right, Flick,” he said reluctantly. “Tactically speaking, Kyra’s our best hope for infiltrating the Guild.” Tristam ignored Flick’s glare and looked at Kyra. “It will be dangerous though.”
“We could watch the perimeter,” said Martin. “Keep soldiers and dogs.” Kyra shot him a grateful look.
“You have my permission, if you’re willing, Kyra,” said Malikel. “If you’re successful, it could be enough to earn you a pardon from the Council. What do you need from us to do this?”
“I want my last dose of antidote. If I do this, it’s my choice and you’ll trust me to come back without your leash.”
“Yes, Willem filled me in on his…arrangement with your antidote while I was away.” There was an edge to Malikel’s voice that Kyra had never heard before, and she glanced at him. The official was not looking at her, but instead he seemed lost in his own thoughts. “You’ll receive your antidote.” He looked at her and regained his usual steady demeanor. “What else do you need? Do you have a concrete strategy?”
Kyra bit her lip. “I have a plan, but I’ll need help.”
The title of “Best Tavern” was a point of much debate amongst the thirstier members of Forge’s population. The Drunken Dog had been one of the top contenders before the fire. A few other names also popped up regularly, including the Scorned Maiden, a raucous establishment in the northeast quarter. Kyra had visited a few times and found the patrons too rowdy for her taste. But others refused to get their ale anywhere else. One such devotee was Bacchus.
He was there tonight. If he followed his usual routine, he would come out sometime around midnight, hopefully drunk. As Kyra waited from a nearby rooftop, she once again rehearsed the plan in her mind. The neighborhood was quiet, with gently sloping rooftops all at the same height. It would be easy to trail him from above until
he was alone. Periodically, Kyra reached into her belt pouch and fingered a damp cloth inside.
It was a slow evening at the tavern, and people started leaving soon after the dinner hour. They came out in small groups, clutching their cloaks against the wind and bidding each other good-bye in loud voices before walking or lurching home.
Finally, Bacchus emerged. He had one arm around a serving girl, who giggled as he planted a wet kiss on her lips. She playfully slapped him away before retreating into the dining room. Bacchus stood for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to follow her. He must have elected against it, because he fastened his cloak and started down the street. Kyra had expected him to be more on his guard, but he walked alone and his stride was slightly unsteady. Perhaps this meant the Guild didn’t think she was alive. Or perhaps Bacchus’s opinion of her was so low that he couldn’t be bothered to be careful.
She trailed above and behind him, keeping her footfalls soft on the wooden shingles. As he turned into more secluded alleyways, she ran ahead, silently lowering herself down to a ledge just above his height. As he came closer, she reached into her pouch, took out the cloth, and held it tightly in her fist.
Focus.
Kyra jumped the moment he passed underneath. She landed on his back. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she scrambled to wrap her arms around his neck. Bacchus grunted and collapsed, first to his knees, and then—with a little help from Kyra—flat on his face.
Even drunk and taken by surprise, Bacchus had good reflexes. He lay stunned for a split second, and then reached for his knife. Kyra straddled the assassin and pinned his arms with her knees. She pulled his head back and flung the damp cloth over his face, drawing it tight. He rolled over and she rolled with him, clamping her legs around his waist and keeping a hold on the cloth as her back hit the pavement. As Ilona had promised, the herb mixture worked quickly. Kyra hung on for a precarious few moments, then the assassin went limp. She kept the cloth over his nose and mouth for thirty more breaths before she crawled out from under him.
A shadow moved at the entry to the alleyway, and she jumped, only to breathe a sigh of relief when she recognized Flick’s head of thick curls.
“Looks like you didn’t need reinforcements,” he said.
“He was drunk. Help me move him.”
Flick took one arm and they dragged Bacchus’s limp body out of view.
Kyra rifled through his pockets. “This one,” she said, holding up one key, “and this one.”
Flick handed her a thin piece of metal and a file. “You take one, and I’ll do the other.”
Kyra laid the key on the ground next to the blank Flick had given her. After comparing the two, she picked up her file. The first stroke of metal on metal shrieked through the quiet alley, and she cringed.
“It’s all right,” said Flick. “It’s not as loud as you think.”
She just hoped the people on the other side of the walls were asleep.
The two of them worked without talking, shaping the pieces as quickly as they could. She was almost done when she noticed that Flick had already finished. He had always been good with keys. A few minutes later, Kyra handed hers to Flick for inspection. He held it up against the original, turning it in all directions. One edge caught his attention and he stroked it with his finger, frowning in concentration as he reached a hand to Kyra. She handed him a file, and he made a few finishing touches before handing it back to her.
“This should work,” he said. “I can put the real ones back on Bacchus.”
Kyra nodded. “Take his coin.” According to Ilona, Bacchus would have no memory of the moments leading to the attack. Hopefully, he would blame it on common thieves.
“You’ll try to get in tonight?” Flick asked, though he knew the plan as well as she did.
“Best to do it tonight, if I can. We don’t know what Bacchus will think when he wakes up. Don’t want him getting suspicious and warning James.”
Flick squeezed her shoulder, eyes dark with worry. “Be careful.”
T W E N T Y - E I G H T
There was a leather merchant across the road from the Guildhouse, owned by a man who hadn’t invested in good locks. He slept upstairs at night, and it was trivial for Kyra to slip inside and use his store as a lookout post. She settled herself by the window and kept a mental tag on the snoring from upstairs. The rhythmic sound and the smell of leather were calming, and she latched on to them to still her nerves. Kyra had feigned confidence to reassure Flick, but now she had nothing to distract her from the task that lay before her.
The Guildhouse’s layout was deceptively simple. It masqueraded as a large storehouse for trade caravans and was set back from the road to make room for horses and wagons. All that open space also made it easy for those inside to see anyone approaching. And once Kyra got in, the building’s close quarters and thin walls would make it hard to stay hidden.
There were dim lights in the windows despite the late hour, and Kyra settled herself for a long wait. Just as her feet started to fall asleep, a handful of men left the building. Kyra weighed her options. She doubted the Guildhouse would ever empty completely, so this was as good a chance as any.
She felt like a bright red target as she dashed across the street. There was no way to stay completely hidden—she just had to trust the shadows and her ability to blend in. Kyra skirted the perimeter, past watering troughs and a post for tying horses, staying a good distance away from a door guard who peered off in the opposite direction. Once out of his line of sight, she crept closer and pushed on a darkened window. The glass didn’t budge. She climbed and tried an upper window. That one was locked as well.
Which left the rooftop. Kyra pulled herself onto the shingles and crossed toward the back, where she could look down on the courtyard. She recognized the water basin where she had washed her hands. If she leaned over the edge of the roof, she could see the guard stationed at the back door. Kyra reached into her pouch and took out a pebble, aiming for the fence at the opposite end of the courtyard. Her first pebble fell short, but the second one bounced off the fence with a hollow thud. The guard straightened and looked around. Kyra threw two more stones in quick succession. He drew his knife. As he approached the fence, Kyra lowered herself to the ground. There was a click as she turned the key, but the guard didn’t look back. Once inside, Kyra ducked into a storage room. There she waited, breathing through her tunic to avoid sneezing at the dust, and listened until she was sure there was no one nearby.
Kyra cracked the door open and peered into the hallway. It was dark, with a flickering light coming from around the corner. She could hear distant voices. The cadence and tone of one was clearly recognizable—James. He was meeting with someone in a room up front, which meant his study was probably empty. Kyra drew a shaky breath. She needed to think of James as just another person in the building. Thinking of him in any other way would get her killed.
As Kyra crept down the hallway, the other voices came into focus, and she paused. James was talking to a woman. Since when had there been another woman in the Guild? Kyra paused for a split second in front of James’s study, hand on the doorknob, and then continued down the hallway toward the voices.
“Our interest is in the livestock and supplies,” a lightly accented woman’s voice said as Kyra stopped a few steps from the door. “The city raids are an unnecessary risk.”
“I understand,” said James. “But mayhap I can convince your people to join us on one last raid of the city.”
“We have armor and medicine, enough to last a while. What more could you offer us?” said another man.
“Supplies for the winter, for one. Ranged weapons for another. There’s no reason for you to rely solely on your cats’ claws.”
“And why are you so eager to have us attack the city?” asked the woman.
“Our city is flawed. It’s a place where the wealthy live their lives and the poor exist to serve them. I would change that.”
“You use inte
resting methods to accomplish your ends.” There was a hint of amusement in the woman’s voice. “Burning the city to make it better.”
“You can’t change a river’s course with a shovel. You need an earthquake, and earthquakes have a cost. The last attack weakened their defenses. The north gate is destroyed, and the Red Shields will be busy for weeks with repairs. If we strike before they have a chance to recover, we could breach the Palace.”
“The Palace? That’s your goal?”
“The compound and the Council members who live within.”
“That will be dangerous.”
“I can make it worth your risk. The spoils from the raid should outfit you for years. Shall we say, another raid in a month?”
It took all Kyra’s strength to stay outwardly calm, keep her breathing steady so she wouldn’t give herself away. It was one thing to know that James was helping the barbarians, something else altogether to hear him negotiating with them, brushing aside the death of innocents as if they were mere inconveniences. She wanted to run into the room and tear him apart. Instead, she hugged her shoulders to suppress her sudden trembling and gathered herself to turn back. If she did what she came to do, James would cease to be a problem.
The voices faded behind her as she slipped into the study and closed the door. Kyra leaned against it for a few breaths, willing her heartbeat to steady. She could do this.
She checked her pouch for Malikel’s poisons. They would work if she had nothing better, but clearberry juice was quick and deadly, her best option for catching James by surprise. James’s poison chest was below his desk. The padlock gave way with some work. Inside, there were dozens of small vials. Kyra picked each up one by one, holding the labels to the moonlight. Vial after vial was labeled with the same blue symbol. Blueflower extract. It was a slow-acting poison, usually left on clothing. In constant contact with the victims, it would leach into their bloodstreams, weakening them until they succumbed to illness or infection. It was too slow to be of use to her. James would no doubt recognize the poison’s effect before it became life-threatening. But what was he doing with so many flasks of this? She counted ten vials, enough for over a hundred victims. Was he trying to poison the Council?
Midnight Thief Page 20
