Thieves of Weirdwood

by Christian McKay Heidicker

  “Hazelrigg?” Wally said. “There’s nothing in there but burnt furniture.”

  Arthur tapped his temple. “That’s just what it wants you to think.”

  Wally was about to ask how a house could want anything, but Arthur started pacing. “We’ll steal everything that isn’t bolted down and redistribute the wealth to lowly street urchins!”

  “I hate to break it to you, Arthur, but we’re lowly street urchins.”

  Arthur grinned. “Not for long, Cooper.” He threw his arm around Wally’s shoulders. “I’ll be just like Garnett Lacroix, and you’ll be my Merry Rogues! Or the start of them, at least.”

  Wally remembered the astronomical number on the hospital bill, and he swallowed another argument.

  Arthur gave charred Hazelrigg a valiant look. “With the money we steal tonight, we’ll build a secret hideout in the sewers and carve a daffodil above the entrance to let people know that’s where they go for chivalry.”

  “I thought you said the money would go to street urchins.”

  “We’ll steal enough for both!” Arthur said.

  With a flourish, he leapt to another roof, heading toward the Gilded Quarter.

  Wally clenched his fists. “Don’t follow him.”

  But then he looked to the distant cliffs and saw Greyridge Mental Hospital, glimmering in the setting sun. And he followed Arthur Benton.

  * * *

  Wally tried to keep up as Arthur traversed the slanted rooftops with reckless confidence.

  “Yesterday,” Arthur said, “I saw a girl enter Hazelrigg in finery so fine she could only be the child of nobles. She carried two swords and wore golden robes embroidered with forests of black thread.” He wiggled a hand over his shoulder. “Had rubies and lapis lazuli on her fingers too.”

  Wally sat and carefully slipped down the shingles. He’d never understood why anyone willingly climbed to a height where gravity was trying to pull their body down to a splattery death.

  “Nobles?” he called after Arthur. “In a burnt-down house? That makes no sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense, Cooper! You just have to use your imagination.” Arthur leapt to another rooftop. “Perhaps these nobles are the wealthy cousins of some foreign king, but they were discovered in a dastardly plot to steal his throne. The king loved them dearly, so instead of executing them, he exiled them from the kingdom. Now they live in a burnt-out estate to protect their valuables!”

  “Arthur,” Wally said, “you sound like an adventure story.”

  “Thanks!”

  They descended a fire escape ladder to Fir Street.

  “Robbing a burnt house is a waste of time,” Wally said, relieved to be on solid ground again.

  “You’d think locking a burnt house would be too,” Arthur said. He pulled an onyx key ring from his pocket. “I nicked this from the girl in the fancy robes. Distracted her with the Lacroix eyebrow.”

  Arthur did his best flirtatious expression, and Wally did his best not to gag.

  “Who makes a key ring out of stone?” Wally asked.

  Arthur shrugged. “Why do rich people do anything they do?” He gave the key ring a twirl. “Strangely enough, none of these keys actually work on the front door. Must be for the rooms inside or something.”

  “Wait, if the keys don’t work on Hazelrigg, then why aren’t we looking for the house where they—”

  “Shh!” Arthur said. “Time to be invisible.”

  Wally pursed his lips as they entered the crowds of bustling Market Square. He tried to ignore the clinking pockets that passed his fingertips. By trusting Arthur, Wally wondered if he was dooming Graham to a lifetime of experimental treatments.

  * * *

  By the time they reached Mulberry Lane, the lamplighters had ignited the streetlamps, bringing a gloomy warmth to the evening. Flames flickered across Hazelrigg’s charred brickwork. A moan emanated from the chimney. On the front door, the face of an onyx demon scowled its fanged mouth, as if in warning: Do not enter this place.

  “You sure about this?” Wally whispered.

  “What, Cooper?” Arthur said. “Afraid of this little demon here? He’s not snarling. He’s smiling. See?” He patted its stone horn. “He’s friendly.”

  “I meant that this burnt house isn’t inspiring much confidence.”

  “Really? I’m getting more confident by the second.” Arthur squinted through a smoky window. “When I tracked that girl in the robes here, I got a peek inside. You can’t see it now because the windows are so dirty, but the whole foyer is done up as pretty as a music box. There’s gold curtains and cranberry carpets and wallpaper that would make the dresses on Lacey Lane turn green with envy.”

  Wally wanted to ask how dresses could be envious, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  Arthur gestured to the front door. “Sir?”

  Wally took out his lock-pick set, glancing around the empty street. The people of the Gilded Quarter avoided Hazelrigg like they avoided sewage carts. The family had died in the fire, and some claimed they’d heard voices inside—like whispers mixed with crackling flames. But Wally didn’t believe in ghosts.

  Just then, a large black bird alighted on Hazelrigg’s roof and cawed.

  Wally stared at it. “What if the Rook finds out we’re outside of our thieving zone?”

  Arthur smiled. “The Rook will forgive anything if you pay him enough. With the riches we find inside, he’ll probably promote us to Talons!”

  “Arthur. We’re twelve.”

  “I know,” Arthur said, disappointed. “I was really hoping to get there when I was still in my single digits. Now, can you open this or not?”

  Wally huffed and set to work. It didn’t take much fiddling to discover that the door had no lock. It had a keyhole. But no tumbler. No mechanism.

  “Weird,” Wally said.

  “What’s the matter, Cooper? Lock got the best of ya?”

  Wally offered him the picks. “You wanna try?”

  Arthur stuck his hands in his armpits. “I need my hands clean to steal the precious silks.”

  Wally rolled his eyes, went to the side window, and bent his wire. He wriggled it between the glass and the frame, curving it upward and jiggering open the clasp. The window popped open.

  “Some security for nobles,” Wally said.

  A whistle screeched through the night. “Oy! You there!”

  Wally’s blood ran cold as an Oaker came tromping down the street, brandishing his nightstick. Wally tried to make a break for it, but Arthur hooked an arm through his, spinning him around.

  “Evening, officer!” Arthur said, hailing the Oaker.

  “What’re you urchins doing in the Gilded Quarter?” the Oaker demanded, tapping his nightstick against his palm. “Clear out before I crack ya both unconscious.”

  Wally clenched his fists, ready to fight. The Oaker would probably seize every cent they had, claiming it as stolen property, before hauling them to jail.

  “Why, we’re collecting ash for paints, sir,” Arthur said, as easily as if it were the truth. “Apprentices for the great artist Herman Mahler, we is.” He pointed a thumb at Hazelrigg. “Someone’s gotta put this burnt monstrosity to use.”

  The Oaker lowered his nightstick. “Paint, eh? I do a little painting myself every now and then.”

  In the flickering gaslight, Wally saw blue flecks of paint on the Oaker’s fingers—something Arthur must have noticed the moment the man approached.

  Arthur squeezed Wally’s shoulder. “See, Wilberforce? Wasn’t I just saying that this fine specimen of an Oaker was an artist in disguise? Got a painter’s poise, he does!” He smiled at the Oaker. “Finest black paint you’ve ever seen, sir. Perfect for capturing starry nights.”

  The Oaker scratched the back of his neck, thinking. “I’ll be in a world of trouble if the chief finds out I let the likes of you waltz into Hazelrigg.”

  “We’ll be in and out, quick as ferrets,” Arthur said. “Once we’ve mixed up our world
-class paint, we’ll drop some off at the station.”

  The Oaker almost smiled, then caught himself. “Just make sure you’re out by eleven bells. That’s when the next watchman comes by.” He tipped his cap. “I’ll look forward to that paint of yours.”

  He whistled down the street, and Arthur stepped through the window.

  Wally shook his head. “I’ll never know how you do it, Arthur.”

  “It’s easy,” Arthur said. “Everyone’s a book. I just happen to be very good at reading.”

  Wally followed him inside. The front room of Hazelrigg was lit by ash-smeared light. The walls were gray with soot, and the floor was a wreckage of charred furniture. The singed carpet curled around the edges, and a smoky chandelier dangled by a few broken links of chain.

  “So much for cranberry carpets,” Wally said.

  Arthur removed his cap. “It was here. I swear it.”

  Wally sighed. “Let’s head to Market Square and pick some pockets before we miss the dinner rush.”

  Arthur ignored this and searched the room, peeking behind disintegrating curtains and under blackened couch cushions.

  “What are you doing?” Wally asked, foot propped on the windowsill.

  Arthur tested the knobs on a dresser one by one. “I’m looking for the secret entrance.”

  Wally gritted his teeth as he stormed to the bookshelf and tilted the burnt books, pretending to search for a loaded spring. “Well, what do you know? No secret entrance.”

  “We have to find the thing that’s out of place.” Arthur eyed a charred sconce on the wall. “Aha! A secret lever!”

  Before Wally could stop him, Arthur grabbed hold of the sconce and yanked. The wall cracked and then came crashing down on top of him.

  Wally, in a panic, pulled the plaster chunks off Arthur. Only after he saw that Arthur was unharmed did he say, “Happy?”

  Arthur spit out ash. “You’re going to feel quite the fool once I figure this out.”

  Wally bent to pick up the onyx key ring that had spilled from Arthur’s pocket and froze. It was the same color as the demon adorning the front door. He decided to try something, and when it didn’t work, he would drag Arthur to Market Square by his suspenders.

  Wally snagged the key ring and crawled out of the window while Arthur tried to reassemble a burnt footstool, as if the pattern on the upholstery would reveal some secret map.

  Wally went to the front door and set the onyx ring in the stone demon’s snarling mouth. It fit. He jumped back when the demon’s teeth seemed to close around the ring, ending in a grin.

  Impossible, he thought to himself. The shadows must be playing tricks.

  “Hey, uh, Arthur?”

  Arthur struggled inside. “Hold on. I’ve almost got—” There was a splintering sound.

  “Arthur,” Wally said. “Stop fooling around and come look at this.”

  Arthur climbed out of the window, rubbing soot from his hands. He saw the onyx demon and laughed. “Of course! It wasn’t a key ring, but a knocker! I knew there was a secret!” As an afterthought, he patted Wally on the shoulder. “Oh, um, nice work, Cooper.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Arthur wiggled his fingers. “Here goes.”

  He turned the door handle, pushed it open … and both boys gasped.

  The burnt-out foyer of Hazelrigg was gone. It was replaced by another room, bright and polished and glowing into the gray of the street. Strangely, Hazelrigg’s windows were still dark with smoke.

  Arthur, eyes wide, tried stepping through the door, but Wally caught his arm. “If their security’s this tight, who knows what else is in there?”

  “Has anyone ever told you, Cooper, that you’re too cautious?”

  “I’m not cautious. I’m smart.”

  “Suit yourself,” Arthur said. “I can take it from here. Of course, I can only carry enough gold and jewels for one person, so I’m afraid your cut will be relatively … nonexistent.”

  With that, he stepped into the golden light of the room. Wally hesitated.

  A haunted voice echoed down the street. “Please, sir? Spare a few coins? I need to eat.”

  Wally followed Arthur into the glow.

  2

  THE MANOR

  The new foyer was more richly decorated than any room Wally had ever seen—or even dreamt of. The burnt chandelier was replaced with another that blazed with golden branches and shone on a grand staircase. The walls were no longer ashen but wallpapered with what looked like golden fish scales. In the corners stood statues of a goat-legged man and a mermaid and vases painted with unfamiliar creatures: an underwater bird and a frog with antlers.

  “Bet you feel pretty silly now, eh, Cooper?” Arthur said.

  Wally touched his lips, numb with shock. “I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

  Arthur sat in an ornate armchair and kicked up his feet. “See? I was born to be rich.”

  This broke the spell over Wally a bit. “Someone needs to tell your shirt.”

  Arthur leapt up and brushed soot from the fancy upholstery.

  A creak in the staircase made Wally’s eye twitch. They needed to grab as much as they could and get out of there before someone saw them. He grabbed a golden candelabra from the bannister, but Arthur snatched it away and replaced it.

  “Don’t waste our time with trifling objects, Cooper,” Arthur said. “The real treasure will be farther in. As Garnett Lacroix says, we have to scrape off the crusty gruel to get to the good stuff.”

  “Alfred Moore sure seems to use the word gruel in his books a lot,” Wally said, annoyed.

  Arthur ignored him and studied the room. “Let’s see…” Three doors led out of the foyer. A double door at the top of the stairs and one on either side of the staircase. Each was carved with a different image: a moon, a tree, and what looked like a fang. Arthur shrugged, stepped right of the staircase, and opened the door with the tree.

  Wally’s jaw dropped. The room was dark and overgrown, as if a forest had burst through the floorboards and grown right to the ceiling. The air smelled of wet soil and was silvery with cricket song.

  Arthur swept into the forest room, giggling. “The things rich people come up with, eh? Flushing toilets. Gold teeth. Now this.” He pinched a leaf. “Amazing.”

  Wally took a tentative step inside. The walls were twined with ivy, which wrapped around branchy armchairs that seemed to grow right out of the ground. The carpet was mossy and dotted with lilies, and a brook trickled through its center. Willow branches hung from a ceiling painted with twinkling stars. How someone got paint to twinkle, Wally had no idea.

  “If these nobles can build an indoor greenhouse,” Arthur whispered, “just imagine what treasures lie beyond!”

  The boys moved as quiet as shadows through the forest room, around a giant willow tree and under its arching roots. The space stretched both wider and deeper than Hazelrigg’s walls could possibly hold. Wally tried not to think about that.

  On the far end of the room was an ivy-hidden doorway carved with a twisted ribbon. Arthur was about to open it when they heard voices on the other side of the willow. The boys ducked under a giant fern just as two robed figures entered the room.

  “I can’t even count the number of paper birds I’ve folded in the last two days,” a girl said. She sounded young, but her voice smoldered with confidence. “I’ll be the girl who died of a thousand paper cuts.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, Sekhmet,” a man said. “I received my fair share of grunt work in my days as a Novitiate. Lady Weirdwood once had me groom a griffin’s tail to make paintbrushes. She didn’t realize the griffin was rabid.”

  “If I’m going to bleed, I at least want it to be in battle,” Sekhmet said. “Let me come with you and Mom! I won’t even bring my swords! I’ll just watch.”

  “Do I need to remind you what happened last time?” her father said.

  Sekhmet fell quiet.

  “Besides,” he continued, “those paper cran
es you’re folding are vital to the Wardens’ mission. Ludwig’s birds are flapping away the poisonous clouds and guiding us through the ever-shifting battlefield of the Mercury Mines.”

  “I’d happily get lost in a poisonous cloud if it meant avoiding more boring work.”

  “Since you’re already upset,” her father said, “I may as well tell you that you’ve been assigned to take Huamei on a tour of the Manor. Get him acquainted with our work here.”

  Sekhmet huffed, and it sounded like water sizzling on hot coals. “I’m surprised his majesty would stoop so low as to follow a human around.”

  Their shadows passed over the fern under which Arthur and Wally were hiding. Wally dared a peek between the leaves. The man was tall with white hair and matching eyebrows. His daughter, Sekhmet, had curly black hair that hung past her waist. Her skin was a shade darker than Wally’s, which made the emerald of her eyes stand out. She wore two curved swords at her hips.

  “Can you at least tell me why you’re fighting in the Mercury Mines?” Sekhmet said.

  “Lady Weirdwood believes the Order of Eldar is trying to tunnel into this Manor’s Abyssment,” her father answered. “They’re hoping to overthrow the Wardens and replace us on the border. There’s money to be made when you control the line between the Real and the Imaginary. If the Order gets their way, they’ll tear more Rifts in the Veil—building tourist lodges in the centaur forest or selling unicorns as pets in the Real cities. Too many Rifts would tear the fabric of reality so that not even your mother could sew it up again. The Veil would fall, ushering in the apocalypse. The end of the world.”

  Sekhmet snorted. “Jerks.”

  The man chuckled. “On that we couldn’t agree more.”

  Their voices faded down a cave mouth into which the little brook trickled, and they disappeared from sight.

  “Let’s go,” Wally whispered, making a break for the exit.

  Arthur caught him by the rope belt. “Let’s go deeper? Excellent idea.”