The Northern Sunrise

by Rob J. Hayes

  As they talked Amaury stood nearby and huddled deeper into his jacket, sulking, glaring and occasionally even pouting, a facial expression that did not suit his strong jaw. Two Rares constables happened past but they were on the lookout for unsavoury activity and two women taking a midnight stroll with a burly bodyguard to look out for them may seem strange but it apparently did not warrant further investigation.

  Eventually Isabel decided to broach the heart of the matter and the reason for the meeting.

  “I need to call in a favour, Jen,” she said slowly with the hint of an apology in her tone.

  “You have enough to choose from, Bella. Ask away.”

  “There is a ball coming up, quite a large one,” Isabel said.

  Jen nodded. “The Autumn celebration of Sassaille’s independence. It will be my first ball in almost two months. Alexis caught a terrible chill during the summer months, of all times, and has been unable to attend for some time.”

  Isabel sighed. “I know. I’m afraid what I’m going to ask you may damage your social standing a little, or at least that of Alexis’.”

  “His social standing is my own, Bella. What is it?”

  “A couple by the name of Baron and Baroness Bonvillain will also be in attendance,” Isabel decided it best to bite the bullet. “I need you to start a fight.”

  Giving his tails the slip had been the easy part. Jacques had gone out of the back of the mansion and they were looking for a fancy-to-do gentleman, not a rough and ready thug. He already knew getting back into the mansion without those same tails noticing would be the most difficult part of the evening but for now he put the matter out of his head, there was crime afoot, or at least the preparations for crime.

  Jacques had long ago decided it was the mark of a good thief to get in, steal the desired item, and get out again without being caught. It was the mark of a great thief to tick off all the boxes of a good thief without the unfortunate fool who was being stolen from ever actually knowing they had been the victim of a crime. Jacques had also long ago decided that he was not the type of thief to settle with simply being good.

  It all came down to preparation in the end. If he was going to steal something, and he was fairly certain that was the ultimate goal Seigneur Daron had in mind, then he needed to know how they were going to get in and out. He needed to know all the possible entrances and exits and he needed to know which ones to fall back on should the prime choices become untenable. Being a great thief wasn’t easy, it took a great deal of patience and hard work and there were at least two days of preparation for every hour of adrenaline-pumping actual thievery.

  Jacques retrieved a small paper book, which he had recently stolen from a late night shop on Solstace Lane, from his jacket pocket and started scribbling down a few notes about the building.

  The Lavouré mansion was old but not old-fashioned. Multiple renovations throughout the years had kept the style of the mansion tasteful and only slightly outdated. Decorative gargoyles each twice the size of a mortal man were the only true testament to the building’s old lineage. Stone creatures such as the gargoyles had been incredibly popular back around the foundation of Sassaille and it had been a status symbol to have the largest and most detailed creatures gracing the roof of one’s home. Of course those had been different times, rife with superstition and magic. Science was now at the forefront of discovery and stone gargoyles were seen as an indication of the past. Most of the noble families had already taken their gargoyles down, especially after the unfortunate death of Prince Francis Sassaille a century ago. That the Lavourés were willing to keep such stone monstrosities around was a testament either to their social defiance, or their social ineptitude. Jacques rather suspected it was more likely to be the former despite Gaston Lavouré’s apparent lack of social grace.

  The grounds surrounding the mansion were large and, for the most part, well lit through the use of alchemical lamps. Considering the cover Jacques and Isabel were using, he doubted a daring moonlit escape through the grounds would be likely but it was always worth having an escape plan B should A go awry so he made specific note of the placement of the lamps and shadows that they threw. That the Lavouré gardener appeared to be lazy at best and incompetent at worst would only serve to help their cause, Jacques could spot at least a dozen unruly bushes to hide in from outside the fence that surrounded the estate.

  The fence would be a not unsubstantial issue should a quick exit be in order, it was a good twenty feet high and rather than simple iron bars they were jagged strips of steel that would tear all but the most experienced of climbers to ribbons. Jacques was such an experienced climber but Isabel had never taken to the sport quite like he and he would not want to risk her well-being.

  Jacques measured both the grounds and the mansion itself by way of paces. It took a long time but with some rough calculations in his book he was able to determine the size of both to some degree of accuracy. In case he hadn’t already realised it, the size of the grounds were enough to convince him that the Lavourés were extremely wealthy.

  He stopped briefly to look in on the gun range Gaston had set up within the grounds of his estate. Jacques had heard all the gritty details of the evening from Isabel but for the life of him he just couldn’t remember much bar the odd blurry image of embarrassment. He did not much enjoy being so drunk he lost control and determined to make certain he never messed up the preparation of Bitter Bark ever again.

  Jacques was beginning his third tour around the outside of the grounds, his little note book already teaming with measurements, observations and a laundry list of possible required objects and materials, when he heard voices. They were not the sort of voices one uses for a normal moonlight stroll; they were harsh whispered voices full of devious intent. Jacques knew the difference and knew it well for he was well-versed in all manner of whispering and had in fact once been considered quite the expert on the subject.

  He crept closer along the fence, making certain to stay out of the light and out of the bushes, the last thing he needed was for an ill-timed thorn in his shoe to give him away.

  “…here?” said one of the voices in an angry tone. It belonged to a woman without a doubt.

  “I can’t have Percy overhearing. The man is as loyal as a dog but his mind is not whole these days. The less he knows, the better. Believe me.” The second voice undoubtedly belonged to Gaston Lavouré.

  “I wish you would just get rid of the doddering, old fool,” whispered the woman.

  Jacques crept a little closer but he still couldn’t see the people through the fence and the foliage.

  “I couldn’t do that,” Lavouré hissed in reply. “He’s been with my family longer than I have.”

  “Fine. But with the weather cooling off we won’t be able to meet like this outside much longer.”

  “You worry too much,” Lavouré replied his voice taking on a lighter tone.

  “You worry too little.”

  Jacques crept closer still, almost up to the steel fence that blocked his entrance to the grounds. He could just about make out two shapes in a grassy clearing surrounded by flower beds. They were no more than fifteen feet from the fence and they appeared to be standing close to each other.

  One of the shapes leaned closer to the other one and Jacques strained his ears but heard nothing.

  “Business first, Gaston,” said the woman.

  “Fine, fine,” said Lavouré. “The Bonvillains are in. They may not have said as much openly but that fool, Bastien, is so eager to prove himself to us I’m certain we could ask him to shoot Daron himself and he would.”

  “So why don’t we ask him?” asked the woman. “Bonvillain is quite dangerous, I’m certain he could kill Daron if we can pin the man to a location. The King would then execute Bonvillain for murdering his advisor and we would be rid of them both.”

  A low hum reached Jacques’ ears and for the first time since arriving in Rares he found the presence of an airship to be an annoyance.
r />   “…dangerous,” Jacques strained his ears to hear Lavouré. “What if he should talk before he was executed? No. Besides, Daron isn’t the only problem…”

  The hum from the airship overshadowed the Duc’s voice. Jacques could still hear the man whispering but he couldn’t pick out any individual words. He crept right up to the fence, staying low out of sight and pressing his face against the bars.

  “…only enough to make him think he’s on the inside.”

  “Thibault doesn’t like him,” said the woman.

  “That’s your problem,” Lavouré said matter-of-factly. “We need the Bonvillains and I have no intention of waiting…” Again the Duc’s words were drowned out by the hum of the airship.

  Jacques briefly considered moving off a short way, climbing the bars and getting closer to the two but there was no way he could guarantee they would still be where they were and he didn’t much fancy making the climb without protective gloves.

  He heard a soft thud just audible over the hum of the airship and curiosity got the better of him. Jacques slowly stood, inching his way up until he could see over the foliage and into the Lavouré estate. The two shadows were no longer standing but now appeared to be entwined upon the grass. One of the two let out a soft gasp and Jacques decided he would likely learn nothing else from them that night, at least nothing relevant to the job at hand. With all the patience and silence of a cat he moved away from the fence and off into the night.

  Chapter 15 – Misdirection

  “I don’t like it,” Jacques said as he pulled off a boot and threw it in the vague direction of the wardrobe. Isabel could tell he was upset and not just from the tone of his voice, Jacques never mistreated his disguises.

  She had found Jacques strangely absent upon her return to the mansion and, coupled with the two strange men hanging around outside pretending to be disinterested, she was fairly alarmed at his absence. So she had made herself a cup of chamomile tea, well known to have soothing properties, and sat in the Baron’s private study to await the return of her partner in crime.

  “I can tell,” Isabel said in a voice she knew would be infuriatingly calm to Jacques in his current state. She looked longingly at her cup and wished she had brought a pot of tea instead of the one cup.

  Jacques stopped for a moment and glared at her before pulling off the other boot and shaking it in the air then throwing it towards its counterpart. “How is the book?” he asked.

  Isabel turned the book over in her lap to look at the cover. The Elemental’s Wife, a dull and dreary read with little to no real content, she had picked it up from a book seller who had guaranteed it was just what a lady of her standing would enjoy. In truth her concern for Jacques had meant she had read very little that night.

  “I’ve read worse,” she admitted, her demeanour remaining as calm and still as an indoor pond.

  “We’re being played from both angles!” Jacques was on the verge of shouting. He attempted to pull off his jacket, got tangled in the sleeves and ended up careening into the nearby wall. He was lucky not to hit the drinks cabinet which would have resulted in a lot of noise, possible injury and a deplorable waste of good alcohol. After a few moments of snorting like a bull about to charge Jacques calmed enough to extricate himself from the jacket which he promptly dumped upon his desk before collapsing into the cushioned sofa by the wardrobe. “We should run,” he admitted quietly.

  “Where would we go?” Isabel asked.

  “Great Turlain?” Jacques suggested with false cheer.

  “You would hate it there.”

  “There are less people trying to have us killed there.” Jacques sighed. “Arkland?”

  “You would hate it there even more and who is to say Seigneur Daron’s influence does not stretch that far. We have no choice but to play our parts, Jacques.”

  “He’s playing us as surely as Lavouré and the others,” Jacques complained. He had told her of what he had overheard as soon as he climbed in through the window, he hadn’t even seemed surprised to find her there waiting for him. Isabel could only speculate who Duc Lavouré’s female lover had been but the content of their conversation had been revealing enough.

  “You do not believe Seigneur Daron to be true to his word?” Isabel asked. “You think he has no intention of giving back our money even once we have completed his task?”

  Jacques gave her a withering look. “Our money is most certainly already gone. Far too much hassle to freeze our bank accounts when he can simply empty them. We’ve been working to prolong our lives from the very beginning.”

  “So we start stealing things here and there, little things to begin with, just to build up our resources. We have access to the richest mansions in the richest city in the world, I’m certain we can find something to steal.”

  Jacques sighed and shook his head. “Daron is either planning to keep us around indefinitely or kill us. We both know he will never simply let us go.” Isabel agreed but it was something she had been trying not to think about but had instead been relying on Jacques coming up with an ingenious plan to escape Daron’s clutches and his sphere of influence.

  “Lavouré and his group also appear to be using us,” Jacques continued, “and it was clear from the conversation that they don’t expect us to still be around after they have finished with us. Honestly, Bel, I don’t see another way out of this one.” He sighed again and lowered his head into his hands. “We have to run.”

  Isabel had known Jacques for well over a decade and they had been through some pretty drastic and dire situations but in all that time she had never seen him like this. The man she loved, the genius who had come up with the plans to steal some of the most valuable possessions in the entire kingdom was on the verge of real despair and Isabel knew she needed to do something to pull him out of it.

  “So should we give up?” she asked, her voice taking on a hard edge.

  “Yes,” Jacques said into his hands. “We should run.”

  “So those are our choices?” Isabel spat. “Roll over and submit or run away.”

  Jacques looked up at her with surprise plain on his face.

  “Do you know how many heists we’ve pulled off since we began working together, Jacques?” Isabel asked and forged on before he could answer. “Thirteen. Do you know how many we’ve failed? None.

  “Do you know what Rémi said when I asked him to fence the schematics for the Fall of Elements? He told me that there are children on the streets of Thethingham who pretend to be us. There are boys who grow up wanting to be the ‘Jacques of All Trades’ and the ‘Isabel of the Ball’.”

  “That’s what they call us?” Jacques asked in a timid voice.

  “It is.”

  “Those are terrible monikers.”

  “They’re children, dear, not poets. My point is they pretend to be us. They play at reliving our past jobs and they whisper about what our next one might be and what amazing trick we will use to pull it off.

  “Jacques Revou and Isabel de Rosier do not bungle jobs, they do not get caught and they do not run away!” Isabel said with a voice as firm as a particularly rigid steel girder.

  Jacques let out a ghost of a smile. “In some of our heists running away is intrinsically part of the plan.”

  “But never without the loot,” Isabel corrected.

  “Apart from that one time…” Jacques stopped and Isabel could already see the cogs moving behind his eyes.

  “The Marvel job?” she asked.

  Jacques grinned. “Steal something so large, valuable and obvious they can’t help but come after you…”

  “Then ditch it so that they stop chasing and leave you alone…”

  “Only later do they realise that something even more valuable but far less obvious is also missing.”

  Isabel nodded. “By which time you are long gone and far from their reach. Misdirection. But who are we misdirecting in this scenario.”

  Jacques gave Isabel the most overt wink she had ever witness
ed. “Everyone.”

  Chapter 16 – Just Enough Rope to Hang Themselves

  Renard considered the word ‘dislike’ and quickly rejected it for not being venomous enough. It simply didn’t truly reflect his hatred of the woman. If not for her the Kingdom would be practically his already and he wouldn’t need to go through the effort of proving anything. Nor would he need to rely on a couple of capricious thieves who seemed more interested in training pet Oozes and catching up with old friends, than they did furthering his agendas and thus saving their own lives.

  ‘Detest’ was a much more apt word but it was still missing something, it didn’t accurately portray the seething anger he felt towards her. Even her posture was annoying him today, it spoke of the type of bearing that was bred into people and it was saying ‘I’m better than you’ to Renard. People presuming they were better than him had been looking down upon him his entire life.

  “You needn’t wait, my Queen,” Renard said with the slightest nod of his head that he could muster. It was just enough to not be considered rude. “It is a minor issue for the King to deal with and nothing that need concern your grace.”

  Queen Julienne Sassaille smiled back at Renard showing just the right amount of compassion, humility and good grace. She was a marvel to behold and that only made Renard hate her even more. “My husband, the King, may require my counsel,” she said in a soft voice. “I shall wait upon his pleasure.”

  Renard felt like grinning from ear to ear but he didn’t let it show. He knew the best way to get the Queen to stay was to advise her to leave and for the point of this audience he very much needed her to stay. “I was only thinking about your health, my Queen. A woman in your condition…”