Hawk was betrayed here, likely by someone he called a friend. Things just shouldn’t happen that way.
But it’s not the time for revenge. Glint is right about that. Someday, she’ll turn this filthy town inside out. But not this morning and not armed with only a dagger and a satchel of spices.
She turns away from the tavern door and trudges on.
At First Bridge, crows and pigeons pluck at crumbs where the once weekly Rat Town Market must have sprung up last night. The stalls are gone now, the pickpockets vanished into their holes, the sellers of mystery meat counting their coins and moving on before someone with a sick child comes knocking. She shuffles over the bridge, legs leaden. Beyond the yards where dockworkers and a few buyers trudge between warehouses, the chimneys of Smeltertown already belch black smoke. Myrrh sways, struck by exhaustion as she thinks of the long walk between here and Lower Fringe.
Eyelids sagging, she sighs and heads for the waterfront where a handful of carts and horses wait to taxi merchants and buyers.
The cart driver she approaches scans her leather thief’s garb and asks for half his payment up front. She hands it over gladly, slumps into the cart seat, and dozes most of the way to Lower Fringe.
The man wakes her with an unkind jab from his crop. Myrrh rolls her eyes but hands over the rest of her payment before stepping down. The last two blocks to reach Glint’s home seem to take forever, but she finally knocks on the door and shoves it open.
Glint jumps up from the table where he’s breakfasting on a steaming heap of eggs.
“You’re back! I figured you’d stay in Carp’s Refuge—is everything okay, Myrrh?”
“We took the barge and everything on it.” She sags against the wall as she pushes the door shut. “A boy died.”
“Sixes.” He’s at her side in a heartbeat, slipping one arm around her back and another behind her knees. He lifts her easily, pulls her against his loose-fitting shirt.
She shakes her head. “I can walk…”
“Oh, just be quiet. Let me help.” He carries her across the room and up the stairs, breathing lightly with the effort. At the door to her room, he crouches to get a hand on the latch but doesn’t set her down. Only once he’s reached her bedside does he stoop to lay her gently on top of the covers.
She swallows and tries to sit, but he waves her off and circles to the foot of the bed to unlace her boots. One by one, he tugs them off, then slips her legs gently beneath the covers.
His thumb brushes her cheek, wiping away the single tear.
“Rest now. We can talk later.”
Myrrh falls deeply and instantly into a black sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
SOMETIME WHILE SHE slept, she wiggled out of her leathers and kicked them into a heap against the wall. Myrrh doesn’t remember. But when Glint opens the door, carrying a clinking backpack, he blushes and immediately retreats.
Myrrh looks down to see the slinky underclothing keeping her decent. Barely.
She drags the covers to her chin. “You can come now.”
Glint clears his throat as he enters. The glow of candles, not sunlight, illuminates the corridor. She must have slept through the day.
He sits on the edge of her bed and starts digging through the backpack. Myrrh’s not in the mood for curiosity, so she stares at the ceiling.
“Buliat’s piping mad. Roaring at the Shield Watch and dockmasters. Accusing them of losing his barge.”
She drops her arm over her forehead. “The captain will wash up eventually to tell the tale.”
“But he doesn’t know where you took the ship.”
“No.”
“Hey, Myrrh?” He pauses. She still doesn’t look at him. “Can I tell you a story?”
“Can it wait?” The sight of the boy’s shocked eyes stabs into her thoughts again. She dreamed about him.
“Hmm.” He abandons the backpack for a moment and shifts. “Look at me.”
She flicks her gaze his way, then back to the ceiling.
“A real look.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Quick, showing the thief reflexes he often hides, he pounces so that his hands are on the covers to either side of her shoulders. His face hovers above hers, hair falling on either side. She rolls her eyes but finally meets his. It’s too much work to avoid his gaze.
“It’s not your fault, what happened with the boy.”
“It was my operation. I should have checked the cabin.”
“Accidents happen. Most people attempting a heist of the level you pulled off wouldn’t bother to spare lives.”
“That doesn’t make it okay. The kid’s still dead.”
“Let me ask you this. If you knew he was the one who killed Hawk, would you feel differently?”
Myrrh struggles against his weight on the comforter. After a moment’s hesitation, he lets her sit up.
“Was he involved?” she asks.
Glint shakes his head. She wants to slap him for that instant of hope.
“Then why did you say that?”
“Because I want you to listen to my story.”
Now that she’s sitting, comforter around her body like a cloak, she has a view of the backpack he brought.
“Don’t you think I earned a day to get over what I did first?” she spits, gesturing at the collection of swords and throwing knives in the canvas bag.
“Actually, no. I think you’ll want to learn what I aim to teach you today.”
“How to kill in new and interesting ways?”
“How to disable an opponent without causing fatal wounds.”
“Oh.”
He raises a hand as if to brush strands of hair from her face but then drops it. “When I was fifteen, I watched my mother beaten to death by thugs hired by a particular consortium of merchants.”
She blinks. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. I would have killed every one of them if I’d had the training and strength. I attacked, but they batted me away as easily as if they were swatting a fly. A single man was able to restrain me, no matter how I fought. And I had no choice but to watch.”
“That’s why you asked about Hawk.”
He nods. “Because I believe you’d take a life without regret if it meant protecting someone you love.”
“The boy wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“You’re right. And I am so sorry you have to face what happened. But you can’t let it take you out of the fight. My dirty little secret is that I don’t just want to rule this city for the power and wealth it will bring. I want to make the merchant filth beg for mercy. I want the people who betrayed Hawk to regret what they did every minute of their pathetic lives.”
“After your mother…is that when you became a thief?”
He fixes her with a considering look. “I’ll tell you the whole story someday. But it’s a longer tale than we have time for tonight.”
Myrrh nods. “Fair enough.”
With a deep inhalation, he turns his attention back to his sack of weapons. “So, are you up for some practice?”
“I should probably get dressed first.”
A mischievous smile touches his lips. “But it would be so much more interesting to see you fight in that…attire.”
“Go.” She shoves his arm.
He raises his hands in mock surrender as he stands and then picks up the sack. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
***
“Like this.” Glint’s breath tickles her ear as he steps in and grabs her wrist. He squeezes and twists with just the right pressure, and the sword falls from her grip, clattering to the floor. Another hand snakes around her lower back as she tries to back away. He rotates his hips, drops to a knee, and somehow bends her backward over his thigh. She bucks her hips, trying to spin around and slip free, but ends up with one wrist pinned to the floor, the other trapped between their rib cages.
His face hovers inches from hers.
Glint’s dark eyes seem to pin her as easily as his weight does. He’s out of breath, despite the ease with which he took her down. Easing a knee to either side of her thighs, he releases her wrist and pushes up to hands and knees.
Myrrh swallows. Okay, so that wasn’t what she expected out of this training session.
“Somewhere in there, you want to constrict blood flow to their neck to cause them to pass out,” he says, eyes still locked to hers.
“Miser’s little toe, you two are gross.”
They both stiffen at the sound of Nab’s voice. The stupid little flea has just entered the dining room, an obnoxious swagger in his step and a thin reading primer in his hand.
“We’re practicing swordplay,” Myrrh stammers as she climbs to her feet.
“Uh-huh. And tell me, is Glint good with his sword?”
Myrrh blushes furiously as she glances at the pack of throwing knives. If she puts one through Nab’s sleeve, will it shut the kid up?
“Mistress Myrrh hasn’t had the chance to experience my full talents,” Glint says easily. “Though I think we’ve just established that her defenses against them are weak.”
Miser’s flaccid coin purse. Her cheeks are so hot Myrrh has to stalk to the window and peer out to get herself under control. Full dark cloaks the city, tendrils of mist hovering near grates and potholes.
After a few deep breaths, she turns. Glint and Nab burst out laughing.
“Worthless rats,” she mutters.
“So how’s the reading going?” Glint asks.
Nab responds with a glare.
“That fun, huh? Well, keep at it.” Glint chuckles and turns to Myrrh. “Had enough practice for a while? I have a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Given the way she’s breathing, I think she could use a lot more practice,” Nab says.
“I went by our old squat early this morning,” she snaps. “Still unoccupied. Maybe you’d like to practice relocating.”
He grins and sticks out his tongue. “Naw. From what I’ve seen, you’re sorely in need of a chaperone.”
Myrrh rolls her eyes. “Can we talk upstairs? I really don’t want to have to look at Nab’s face any longer than I have to.”
Glint finishes tucking the weapons back in the sack before standing and slinging it over his shoulder. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt his studying.”
Nab groans as they head for the stairs. At the second-floor landing, Glint stops and unlocks the door. Tosses the sack inside.
“What’s in there?” she asks.
“Mountains of loot. Piles of gold coin.”
“Really?”
“No just the stuff I don’t want guests to see. Or rather, the stuff Merchant Giller can’t be seen with. Some of which is loot from our previous operations, but mostly it’s weapons and such.”
He shuts the door firmly and relocks it before heading up. As he ascends, she can’t help noticing the change in his gait. Straight shoulders, lifted chin, no glances to take in the surroundings. Almost as if the mention of his role as a merchant brings out his arrogance. He’s good at shifting personas. Better than she could be anyway.
Inside the sitting room, he flops into a chair. Over the past few days, she’s noticed that Tep keeps the fire banked and the supply of whiskey and wine stocked. The red-faced chef, whose name she hasn’t learned, seems responsible for the cooking and maybe a bit of cleaning up. Just two servants scarcely seems enough to maintain a merchant’s home, but they somehow manage. No doubt Glint needs to be careful who he brings into his employ.
“I’ve had some discussions with my leadership over the past days. Wine?”
“I just woke up.”
He winks. “And after the sound whooping you just received, you wouldn’t want to let your guard down against someone of my skills.”
This time she refuses the bait. “Now that I know your tricks, you won’t find it so easy.”
“Then you’ll have a glass?”
“Fine.”
He stands and runs fingers over the bottles on a side table before selecting one with a purplish hue. The goblet he hands her is warm from the heat of the fire.
“Anyway, it seems I’ve been falling short in my duties.”
“How so?”
“Our organization has grown. Almost fifty strong now. When Hawk was alive, I could count on him to keep things running while I pretended at being a merchant. I can’t just step out of a dinner to deal with a pressing issue. So my leaders have been left hanging when they needed direction.”
“So nominate one to make decisions when you can’t.”
“That’s the thing.” He swirls his wine. “I picked each of them for a specific talent. None have the ability—or frankly, the integrity—for me to feel confident giving them free rein over the direction we take.”
“Can you find someone else?”
He stares at her. “I think I already have.”
“Wait, what?” Myrrh smooths the legs of her trousers.
“You never gave me an answer. Are you up for leaving the freelancer life behind for good? I can’t promise you’ll be as free as you were as a Rat Town grubber, but I will keep you from being bored. Running the day-to-day operations of a criminal organization is a challenging task. I’ll do my best to teach you before the time comes, but I won’t be able to think for you when it arrives.”
She stares at the fire for a long while before casting him a sideways glance. “No.”
He blinks, totally dumbfounded. “Really?”
“Not unless you consider letting me give this band of villains a proper name.”
He laughs and taps his toe. “Hmm. I’d have to think about that. But perhaps we could start with a title for you.”
“Leader of crooks and lowlifes?”
“How about Mistress of Thieves?”
Chapter Seventeen
A FEW DAYS later, Myrrh finally manages to drag herself out of bed before noon. Proud of herself, she pushes the curtains open and squints against the bright late-morning sun. A couple days ago, Glint presented her with a few more sets of clothing, winking as he mentioned something about the custom of doing occasional laundry in polite society. If the garb wasn’t so sixing comfortable, she might have punched him for that.
She slips on the first outfit that her hand falls on, a loose tunic and trousers of sky-blue silk. Totally impractical for anything but lounging around a pretend merchant’s mansion, but she has no other plans for the day.
Tucking her book under her arm, she heads out to find something to drink and a comfortable chair. Tep casts her a long-suffering look when she pokes her head into the kitchen, but produces a cup of warm coffee that wafts a delicious aroma to her nose while she climbs the stairs to the sitting room.
Unfortunately, Nab is enjoying the fire.
Well, not enjoying.
He’s clutching fistfuls of hair in his hands, growling at the large lettering in his latest reading primer.
Myrrh takes careful steps back, using her best thief’s stealth to avoid his attention.
“Glint wants you,” Nab says as she turns for the stairs. “And I don’t mean in that way. This time.”
She shoots him a glare, but he doesn’t look up from his book.
“And where am I supposed to find him?”
“Sixes if I know. His room?”
She sighs and leaves Nab to his struggles, tiptoeing back down to the third floor.
“Come in,” Glint calls when she knocks.
He’s at his desk, looking at the contents of a small silver bowl. She doesn’t miss the smooth motion when he slides the desk drawer shut. The lock engages with a click.
It shouldn’t bother her. Everyone deserves their privacy. But still.
“Your spice haul has made us temporarily rich,” he says, pinching a group of gems from the bowl and letting them fall one by one. “I owe you a night on the town.”
�
��A thieves’ carousing, or sedate dinner and drinks as Merchant Giller and Rella?”
He stretches his legs out, crosses them at the ankle, then puts his hands behind his head. “That is an interesting question. So many facets and considerations…but the celebration will have to wait. I need to introduce you to the leadership. No matter the circumstances, they won’t take your promotion easily, but they won’t take it at all if you’re a stranger.”
“I thought you were going to wait to put me in charge. There was something about teaching me what the sixing pox I’m doing?”
He stands and crosses to the table, dragging his desk chair. “Sit. You shouldn’t have to drink your coffee standing up. And yes, I want to wait. But it depends on how events unfold. My senior associates are already agitated because I haven’t been able to give the…acquisitions arm of our operation the proper attention. Been too focused on the political side of things. I can leave them to grumble for a while, but eventually, I’ll face a mutiny if I do nothing.”
She takes a seat and sets the saucer down, bringing the coffee cup to her nose for a deep breath. “So you’ll finally show me the central hideout for the ‘Organization Glint Refuses to Name’?”
“Eventually. But not tonight. I’ve invited them here for dinner.”
“I thought you couldn’t be seen hosting a rabble of miscreants.”
He smirks. “Which is precisely why they’re going to have a chance to practice their manners.”
“Oh?”
“Formal attire, arrival at dusk. If anyone tries to pick a pocket on the way here, they’re out.” He draws his finger across his neck.
“That’s harsh.”
“I’m kidding. Sort of. But Merchant Giller will need to start entertaining guests eventually. Might as well have a bit of a dry run.”
She looks at him over the rim of her cup. “So I take it you’ll be needing Rella’s services tonight?”
Mistress of Thieves (Chronicles of a Cutpurse Book 1) Page 11
