by Julie Berry
"Nobody trusts you!"
He had the nerve to look affronted. "Besides," he said, "I'd hang if they caught me stealing from this client."
The irony was too much for me. "That didn't stop you from stealing from me!" He inclined his head in a small bow. "Pardon my saying so, but you're small fry compared to him."
My heart plummeted into my belly. If he wouldn't steal it back, however would I get it? Someone grand wouldn't be tempted by money. "Who'd you sell my jewel to? King Hubert?"
He smirked. He stalled. He took a long lick of his greasy fingers, a sight to turn anyone's stomach. All was truly lost now, and he was enjoying my suffering.
"Not quite," he said, "though give me time and I'll make a client of him, too. No," he said, gnawing on a bone, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "This time my client was only a shade less illustrious. I sold your spangle to Prince Gregor. He took a strange fancy to it. Said it'd be the perfect gift for his ladylove."
I felt as though a chunk of potato had lodged in my throat. I hadn't taken a bite.
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"The princess?" I asked, trying to be casual.
Peter nodded. I saw a flash of annoyance on his face. "Why, what have you got against her?" I asked.
He frowned, "Nothing."
Something was going on under Peter's skin. I couldn't make it out, but it was a chink in his armor, which was all I needed. So I gambled.
I made an extravagant sigh. "It'd be a shame if Prince Gregor couldn't give Princess Beatrix a wedding gift, wouldn't it?"
He watched me under heavy-lidded eyes, saying nothing.
"And you won't steal it back for me, though by all rights you should, because you'd hang for it. I suppose I can't blame you for objecting to that." He tilted his head, eyeing me from one side, much as Dog did.
A terrifying thought popped into my head. Tonight was a rash, reckless night, so I seized hold of it. "Of course, I could try to steal it back myself...." He snorted derisively. "You? Ha."
"... if only there was someone who could teach me how it's done. A trainer. A tutor in thievery. For hire." I jingled my bag.
Lucinda, have you gone mad?
Odd strains of gypsy music floated out to us across the dark festival. I watched Peter's face through the shadows.
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Once past the horror of his table manners, his face was a fascinating study in indecision.
"Supposing there was such a trainer," he said warily, "how much would he be paid?"
I met his gaze. "Everything I've got here, as soon as I've got the gem in my hands."
He shook his head. "No good. I can't be responsible for the outcome. Too risky."
"A third up front, then," I said, "and the rest upon the success of the mission."
"Half."
Why, why was I bargaining with a thief? Would he really be able to help me? Did I have a chance of success? Now wasn't the time for caution. I couldn't afford it. "Half."
Peter shifted in his seat. "And if anything goes wrong, or you get caught, you've got nothing to do with me, got that? I don't know you and I never taught you anything."
I tore a bite of chicken flesh from its bones. "Never anything." Peter ate the last of his potato then put forth his hand. "Then I offer you my services."
I slapped my hand in his, chicken bone and all. "Dear."
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Chapter 14
I counted out the coins on the stone edge of the watering trough. Peter insisted on watching; I insisted he stand far enough away that he couldn't touch.
"That's no way to show trust in your new advisor," he sniffed.
"Balderdash."
Once he'd pocketed the coins, and I'd tied my much-lighter wallet securely back upon my belt, suddenly Peter was all business.
"Right then," he said. "First, you begin by knowing your target. I can help there. The prince believes the gem is magic. Romantic. Like a love charm." He laughed. "That idiot will believe anything I tell him."
I bristled. "He is not an idiot!"
Peter made a low whistle and shook his head. "So you're another one, are you?" 116
"Another one what?" I cursed myself for talking without thinking. "Another of the empty-headed Saint Sebastien females who run around besotted by Prince Gregor's dimples and curls."
Thank heaven the darkness concealed my blushing.
I'd never thought of that. It made me feel sick. Of course I wasn't the first to look at him.
"Nothing of the kind," I snapped.
Peter grinned. "And how would you know if he's an idiot or not?" Think fast! "I've heard tell of him."
Peter shrugged. "Anyway, he'll have it on his person, that's certain. He met the princess for the first time today. He's been all worked up about it." That, I knew. "So he'll have his love charm with him, sure as anything. And if I know him, it will be in his inside breast pocket." Peter gestured into his jacket with his hand.
That caught my attention. "How d'you know where he'd keep it? How would you know him so well?"
That same tight-lipped look I'd seen a moment before crossed his face and vanished as quickly, to be replaced by his usual sarcasm. "You mean, why would a gent like me keep such low company? I told you, he's my client." "Yes, but you don't just have the prince as your client any old day of the week," I said.
"That's true," he said. "Only on days when I have something he'd want to buy." 117
"Does the king know that the prince buys stolen gems?"
"Not 'stolen,' " Peter said, elaborately pressing his fingertip and thumb together in an affected flourish under his nose. "Exclusive and sought after." "Indeed."
"Time's wasting," he said, glancing around. "Quit interrupting the training." "I'm not ..."
"As I was saying, the prince thinks it's a love token, so he'll have it with him. He won't have given it to her yet, I'll wager. He'll be waiting for a more private opportunity."
I gasped.
"What?" Peter asked.
"Nothing," I said. I've got some marvelous gems I could show you. A diamond they say is the largest ever to come out of India.
"Peter," I said. "When you sold the stone to him, where did you say it was from?"
He scratched his head. "China? No. India. That's right." I nodded. "Adds to the perceived value. Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering."
"Yes, well, I wish you'd quit changing the subject. As I was about to say, the princess will likely be back at the palace by now. The festival by night is no place for respectable young ladies," he said, giving me a meaningful look. I pulled my coat tighter around me.
Peter continued. "By tradition, the prince will have
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hosted the festival and the dancing all day long, which works to your advantage. He'll be exhausted. He'll have just stuffed himself at the banquet. Then there'll be more music and dancing afterward, though not the kind you saw earlier today. Now, pay attention."
I was already paying attention.
Peter chose a stone from the ground, wiped it, and dropped it into his pocket. "An inside pocket is difficult," he said. "And the prince is heavily guarded. If it were me picking it off him, I'd strike up a conversation with him, in the middle of a lot of commotion, lots of people all around, and at the right moment I'd direct his attention elsewhere, so he turns, see?" Peter demonstrated a dramatic turn to one side, as if he'd heard a cry of "Fire!" "Now, watch here. Right at that moment, while he's turning, I'd slide in with one quick movement, grab the stone, and have it out before he's realized there's nothing to see." Peter demonstrated by robbing himself of a pebble. "Impossible!" I said.
He shook his head. "You'll never make your living as a thief. That's the most elementary maneuver. I do it twice in a week at least."
I didn't doubt him.
"But you're not me," he continued, "and in this one case, therein lies your advantage. I'm not a girl. You are."
He looked at me as if he'd made a revelation. I was utterly baffled. 119
; "Don't be a simpleton! What I mean is, you're a girl. You can flirt with him, cozy up to him, dance with him. He won't even notice a little tickle in his chest pocket." He grinned rakishly. "He'll probably like it."
I jumped up from the watering trough. "Just what kind of a girl do you think I am?"
He looked at me thoughtfully. "Truth be told, I couldn't say. One day you're sharing your bedroom with street thieves, next day you're nearly a duchess." Sharing my... !
"At any rate, I don't see why it wouldn't work. You're not ugly." I blinked. Not ugly? I could feel my face grow hot. I had no special delusions of beauty, but still.
He continued. "The prince won't be choosy. At festival, he'll dance with anyone."
Oh, better yet.
Once more, he looked me up and down. "I'll go so far as to say that the prince will find you quite amusing." He wagged a finger in my face. "We're not talking about marrying you off. We're talking about getting near to the prince for one minute, maybe two. Surely you can produce enough charms to manage that."
"Spoken from the lips of an expert on charm," I said.
"Why, thank you." He swept off his hat with a flourish. Then he patted the pebble in his coat pocket. "Let's practice. I'll be the prince. Approach me and try to get my attention."
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I'd never felt so self-conscious in all my life. Peter watched me expectantly. Think of the house, I told myself. This was only a training exercise, one for which I'd paid a fortune. Might as well make the most of it.
"Hello, Your Highness," I attempted.
"No, no, no," he said. "Simper! Bat your eyelashes. Look at him this way," he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, making a repulsive smile intended to look coy, then looked away. "Curtsy. Bow your head modestly." He contorted his neck grotesquely.
"You're about as modest as a tom turkey," I observed.
"I'm not female!" he said. "It'll come naturally to you."
There was no point favoring that remark with a reply. "Can't I just trip him and hope it flies out of his pocket?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Amateurs," he muttered. "Now try again." It's only Peter, I told myself. Just practice.
But when the real performance came, it wouldn't be Peter. It would be him. My stomach flopped. Yes, I'd twice made a fool of myself around him, but not that kind of fool. Not a deceiver, and a thief.
He'll lose all respect for me.
He has no respect for me.
All these thoughts chased each other while Peter watched me, arms folded. "Well?"
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I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and willed my mind not to think. I thought of the painted ladies passing by.
Now.
"Hello, Peter," I purred, half opening my eyes. "Don't you look fine tonight?" I fluttered my eyelids and turned my shoulders to show my profile to its best advantage--if, hypothetically speaking, my profile had any advantage, which I doubted.
Peter's mouth fell open.
I sidled closer to him.
"How long has it been since I saw you last?" I drawled, soprano voce. "I declare I almost fainted when I laid eyes on you just now. Such a sight for sore eyes." I rested one hand briefly on his shoulder. "Cold tonight, isn't it?"
Peter's eyes bulged. He swallowed hard and stepped back.
"Yes. Well. Very good." He straightened his collar and shook himself slightly. "Yes. Now let's just practice the filch." He indicated his jacket. "Try to get the stone without drawing attention to yourself."
Peter was about my height, which helped. He pretended to look away. With my left hand low, I tugged his lapel out just slightly. With my right, I slipped a hand into the pocket, grabbed the stone, and pulled it out.
"Good enough," Peter said. "Let's go."
"Wait," I said. "Let's try it again. I'm sure that wasn't
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subtle enough. You could tell I was doing it, couldn't you?"
"Of course I could," Peter snapped. "I'm a professional, not an idiot prince who's had his vanity stroked. But you did fine. The prince won't notice. Let's go."
He grabbed my hand and started pulling me. Dog protested loudly. "Your friend here will be no help at all," Peter said. "You'll have to keep him with you," I said. Peter grimaced.
We handed Poke our trenchers as we passed by. His fowl spits were nearly bare. "A good night, eh, Poke?" Peter said.
He hustled me through the crowd, which had grown more dense and boisterous. Suddenly everyone seemed to be a large, loud man with a foaming mug in his hand, a bawdy song on his lips, and a feathered female on his arm. My heart thumped and my insides felt like jelly. Lucinda Chapdelaine, what has come over you?
"Are you sure this is going to work?" I asked. "I've paid a lot for this training. I don't think I got enough practice."
"Too much practice makes you rigid," he said. "I work by instinct. Quick mind, quick eye, quick fingers. It's a way of thinking."
"I'm not used to that way of thinking," I grumbled.
Peter stopped and faced me severely. "If you want this
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stone bad enough, you'll muster the right thinking whether you're used to it or not."
I nodded. He was right.
"Cheer up," he said, pressing forward once more. "If you're successful, I might let you work with me." He pointed through the throng. "Look. There he is."
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Chapter 15
Unmistakably, there he was.
We were near the pavilion where the orchestra had played earlier that day. A group of gypsy musicians now occupied the stage, their music as wild and haunting as the other music had been ordered and smooth. There was still dancing going on, but not the gavotte. Women whirled, colored scarves trailing behind them like flaming serpents. Others clapped tambourines. Men stomped and clapped and shouted over the music.
The prince stood by a table loaded with food and drink, talking with a group of guards. At the sight of them my confidence, if I had any, drained away. Gregor set his plate down on the table and dropped it, splattering a guard with sauce. The others shouted with laughter.
Peter crouched behind me, his breath tickling my ear. "He makes quite a figure, doesn't he?" he asked
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maliciously. "I can't go any closer than this. We can't have him see me. I'll be over there"--he indicated an abandoned stall some distance behind where we stood--"trying to keep your goat away from you. That's a bonus, by the way, for which I could charge extra. Don't say I've never done anything for you." My rising panic reached a crest. I spun around and clutched his sleeve. "Peter, I can't do this," I said.
He looked me straight in the eye. I found it hard to match his gaze. "It's no skin off my nose whether you do or don't," he said. He patted his jingling pocket, swollen with Beryl's gold, then tapped my forehead sharply with his pointer finger. "But I say that you can. And you will." He smiled at me.
"You'll be watching, won't you?" I asked.
"Promise."
Only slightly relieved, I turned back for a glance at the prince, who was laughing with a guard.
His face sent a stab of longing through me.
I turned back to look at Peter, but he was already gone. I scanned around for him, or even for Dog, but saw no trace of either of them.
What's a thief's promise worth, anyway?
If I succeeded, Peter would get the rest of my gold. Or perhaps he'd simply slip away, content with half. It was
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enough to make him a wealthy man, not to mention whatever price he'd gotten from Prince Gregor. Why did he dress so raggedly, and live on the streets? By what he'd collected in only a few days, he ought to live in comfort in an elegant townhouse.
One of Gregor's guards gestured toward a carriage. He might leave soon. By the looks of things, I didn't have long to try my new dramatic skills upon him. Now or never. And if never, what would become of me? I took a first fearful step.
I felt naked without Peter. Each step forward was an ef
fort. I cut a swath of silence through the chaos, as conversations stopped and white eyes stared from bearded faces at the unescorted young gentlewoman (if only they knew!) on the city streets after dark at the festival. Their curiosity mingled with contempt. They formed an impenetrable wall around me.
Suddenly reaching the prince felt like my best option. He was the one person I knew in this wild assembly--if our acquaintance could be called "knowing." I fixed my eyes on his face and hurried forward.
And then, I was only a few feet away, and he turned and saw me, which was more frightening then facing the flock of wolves I'd just passed through. And now there was no turning back.
At the sight of me, he smiled, and I turned to jelly all over again. Pick his pocket? Was I mad?
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"Miss Peters," he said, bowing.
He remembered my name! My un-name, that is.
His guards didn't bow, but their eyes took me in appraisingly.
"Can I assist you, Miss Peters?" Prince Gregor said, all politeness. How many guards were there? A hundred? Half a dozen, to be sure, but all of them staring at me.
And Gregor, waiting for an answer. I had none to give him.
Got to get closer to him, away from these guards. Music. Gypsy music. "Dance!" I blurted.
Oh, help.
I thrust my chin out defiantly. "I came to dance."
A ripple of laughter passed through his guards. They winked at each other, and the nearest one elbowed Prince Gregor.
"I'll dance with her for you, Your Highness," he said. "Save you for the princess, eh?"
The night air was sharp, cold as the grave, but my cheeks burned. I was trapped.
Gregor's expression was puzzled, but he offered me his hand. "That's all right, Rolf," he told the guard. "This lady is an acquaintance of mine. I claim the honor."
There was more laughing and waggling of eyebrows
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among the guards, but Gregor led me away from them. Whispers followed us. Gregor's guards weren't the only ones amused by my audacity.
"Don't mind them," Gregor said. "It's just that no one's ever done that before."
I looked sidelong at him, searching for a bulge near his breast pocket. "Done what?"
He grinned. "Asked me to dance."
"Nonsense," I said. "Every girl in the kingdom is desperate to dance with you."
