“Billy, just trust me. I’m your damn sister. There are other people involved. Foreigners, not from here. They’re the ones asked me to come. I need your help.”
Billy looked left and right, checking his surroundings. The other sentries weren’t visible, given the fence’s curvature.
Kris dropped all pretense of joking. “I’m serious. This is important. It ain’t no bet with the kids.”
“Damn it, Kris.” Billy sighed. “I swear, you’re gonna feel guilty if I get in trouble for this. They’ll see us both hanged.”
“Well, then I won’t have to feel guilty for long, will I?” Her grin returned.
Night had arrived, and the entire area was darker.
Billy turned around and faced the fence. It was too high to jump over, but that wasn’t their plan.
He took a step back. “Did you tell any of your dirty-ass friends about this?”
“Of course not. I’m not evil. I’m just a bitch.” She winked at him.
He sighed again and knelt, then pulled a ring of keys from his belt and moved the grass around in front of him for a moment. Finding what he wanted, he stuck the key in and twisted.
“Help me, nimwit,” he grumbled.
Kris got down on her knees and felt for the secret door with her hands. All the sentries stood guard over one, and only their keys would open them. It was, truth be told, silly to even have them; no one was going to try to break into the damn castle.
At least, that was what Kris had thought.
Now she knew that wasn’t the case.
They lifted the door, the dirt and grass ripping apart at its edges. Billy would have to fix it later.
He stood up, still holding the door.
“Thanks, bro.” Kris smiled at him. “I owe ya one.”
“You’re damn right ya do. First, take this.” He handed her a key. “You’ll need it to open the other side, just like last time. Get it back to me tomorrow, and don’t ever ask me to do this again.”
“If I don’t tell ya no promises, I can’t ever be a liar.” Smiling, Kris dropped into the blackness below.
She fell only about seven feet, and she landed without any pain. Kris was light and athletic, so a short drop didn’t matter.
“Touch the wall panel for a few seconds,” her brother whispered into the hole.
“I know!” she shouted back. What did he think she was, an idiot who couldn’t remember six months ago?
She touched her hand to the stone on the right and waited a bit. It started glowing green, then lights fluttered on down the hallway.
“Thanks again!”
The door slammed shut above, and she took off. The hallway wasn’t long, but the quicker she got out of it, the less likely Billy was to get caught.
He’d worked his ass off for that job, and it was something no kid from the streets should ever get. He said five years ago he was done stealin’, done lootin’, and was turning straight no matter what it took.
And now he was workin’ as a sentry for the damned Prefect. Kris was proud of him.
She reached the end of the tunnel and thoughts of her brother dissipated.
Metal bars were screwed into the wall, creating a ladder.
Kris climbed it rapidly and used her brother’s key to open the door.
I love that sonofabitch, she thought.
She climbed through the hole and then was inside the castle walls, then turned to her left and looked at the tower.
The lights were on inside, shining brightly into the night sky.
“Yeah, something’s goin’ on up there,” Kris whispered.
She got her bearings by looking around the large yard in front of her. This was when she needed Brighten’s damned sharp eyes. He’d have been able to pick out any guards before they were even out of the hole.
Kris didn’t see any, so she hurried across the yard. The large trees planted there helped shield her from anyone who might be looking.
She could see into the Royal Dining Room, servants coming and going and people sitting at a large table.
Which was where Kris wanted them.
She skipped the rest of the way across the lawn and flattened herself against the building.
“Yeah, fuck ‘em.”
The words came from Kris’ left, just beyond the building’s curve.
“Something ain’t right about ‘em,” another voice said. “It ain’t just that they think they’re in charge. They actually are in charge now, and I don’t know how the Prefect decided that.”
“Ha! Prefect. More like puppet. That merchant must have bought him off with a pretty hefty bribe,” the first voice growled.
Kris needed to get into the building, but she wanted to hear more.
She slowly crept around the side of the building, ducking to avoid the windows.
“What can ya offer a Prefect? What kinda price would make him trade his kingdom?” the second guard asked.
“I don’t know, but have you seen ‘im?”
“The Prefect?”
“Yeah,” the first guard answered. “I saw ‘im last night before I came out here to smoke. Saw him shuffling to that dining room in there. That merchant has him drugged or something. He looks half-asleep, eyes barely open.”
“You think that’s it?” the second guard asked.
“I don’t know what it is, but something is different. His damned advisors need to do their jobs and see what the hell is goin’ on.”
Kris moved no farther; if she did, she’d be right in front of them. She pressed herself against the building, trying to disappear as best she could.
“Hard for them to say anything when he’s holed up in that tower all day,” the second guard continued.
“Then they need to grab ‘im when he comes down to dinner. Something’s gotta be done before this goes too far.”
Kris turned away from them. That was all she needed to hear. The Prefect would come down to dinner, which would probably last an hour or an hour and a half at most.
She had to move if she wanted to get up there.
Kris went the opposite direction of the guards, the smell of their cigarettes fading as she rushed away.
She slipped in a side door. The dining room was on the south side of the building, the tower on the north.
It didn’t matter how fast Kris was—there were simply too many people in this damned place for her to run straight for the tower. She’d be seen and brought down before she made it another hundred feet. Getting this far inside was unheard of.
She needed different clothes.
Last time she and Brighten had found them in the kitchen, and that was where she headed now.
She didn’t run as she had outside—that would be entirely too obvious. Instead, she walked, keeping her head down and doing her best imitation of a servant.
Her memory might not be as great as Brighten’s, but she remembered how to get to the kitchen.
It only took her a minute or two to get to the tall doors.
“Who’re you?”
A fat man was standing right in front of Kris.
“New help,” she answered.
“Ain’t order no new help.” The man’s bristling mustache hung over his upper lip.
“Didja talk to Brad?” Kris asked. She had no clue where this was going, but she’d been in more jams like this than she could count.
Confuse the marks—that was her and Brighten’s motto.
“Brad?” the fat man asked.
“Yeah, Brad. He came out yesterday askin’ for help.”
The fat man’s eyebrows raised. He was at least a foot taller than Kris. “Who the hell is Brad?”
“I don’t know. Said he works for you.”
“For me?” the fat man asked.
“Yeah, said he and Cheryl were lookin’ for more folks to work the kitchen.” Kris would introduce as many names as possible to confuse this fat bastard. If she didn’t, she was goin’ to the stocks.
“Cheryl? Girl, what are you
talkin’ ‘bout? You ain’t even dressed for kitchen work, and I don’t know no Brad and Cheryl.” The fat man was growing pissed.
And that wasn’t good.
“Well, let’s go look for ‘em. Brad said he works nights.”
The fat man turned to the kitchen staff, a whole host of women and men shuffling to and fro with pots and pans.
“Listen up!” he shouted. “Anyone know any damn Brad that works a night shift?”
The staff stopped and stared at their boss.
“Welp, this isn’t the way I wanted it to go,” Kris whispered to herself. “Fuck it.”
She rushed forward, going low, and grabbed the fat man’s left foot. She pulled as she ran to her right, and his legs slid out from under him. He landed with a loud crash, pans raining down on top of him.
“HEY!” someone shouted, but Kris hardly heard them.
She was past them, moving as easily here as she had on the cobblestones outside.
All of ‘em were marks, and right now she had to steal a single thing and then get lost.
Kris rushed to her right as the group finally started to move. She glanced at the fat man, who kept slipping as he tried to regain his feet.
Kris wanted to get to the back of the kitchen, but the damn problem was, she’d have to get to the front right after.
Focus on the item, not the getaway, Brighten always said. You focus on the getaway, you’ll never get the item.
She rounded a large sink and saw what she wanted—the hanging aprons and what looked to be a chef suit.
“GET HER!”
Kris reached the hooks, and, hardly slowing, grabbed both items.
She turned around—
“Aye, girlie, you done fucked up now.” The fat man blocked the front door.
“Did you find Brad?” she asked.
“Brad? You must think me an idiot.” More people were coming behind him now, creating a barrier for her. “Ain’t no Brad, and you just stole from the Prefect right there.”
“With what?” Kris asked. “What’d I steal?”
She walked slowly forward, gaining ground. She knew the marks wouldn’t consider her a threat because of how small she was in comparison to the fat man.
“That apron right there in yer hand. Same with the clothes.”
“This stuff? Naw, Brad told me to grab ‘em.”
“THERE AIN’T NO FUCKIN’ BRAD!” the fat man screamed, his face growing red.
Kris couldn’t help but smile.
She was five feet from him and needed just a couple more to make the plan work.
Brighten would be proud, all this quick plannin’.
“Brad?” Kris asked, pretending to look over the man’s shoulders as she kept stepping forward. “Brad, where the hell are you? Quit playin’ games here! You’ll get in me serious trouble!”
“Oh, it’s too late, girlie—”
The fat man wanted to say something else, but Kris didn’t give him time.
His legs were spread just wide enough; she launched forward feet first, sliding through them and grabbing his ankles once more.
Her weight pulled them out from under him a second time, and he hit the floor with a loud smack.
“AHH!” he shouted, but it was gargled, blood probably pouring from his nose.
Kris didn’t have time to look, though. She ducked and shot into the crowd before her. She’d done this shit for years, creating a distraction and then simply running out.
She pulled at people’s aprons and belts and feet. Some tripped, some only yelled, but the confusion was growing.
Kris reached the edge of the crowd, bursting through. Only the ones in the back saw her rushing away.
“There she is!”
But it was too late for the crowd. Kris already had the items, and these marks weren’t gonna catch her.
This is harder than last time, she thought as she rounded a corner, looking for a closet to hide in for a second.
She grinned and thought sarcastically, No worries, though. All I gotta do is climb to the top of the Prefect’s tower. Should be a cinch.
Kris slipped into a closet. There were noises coming from the kitchen, but those idiots weren’t going to find her. They weren’t even going to raise a stink, because fat man wasn’t gonna want the whole castle knowing a teenager had broken his nose.
She closed the door, a wide smile on her face. Brighten would be pissin’ his pants right now, but she loved this shit.
Brigthen was nearly pissin’ his pants, metaphorically speaking.
He didn’t know how he’d let Kris talk him into this, but it wasn’t going to end well.
The group of kids—the class, as Brighten was coming to think of it—had entered a capacious auditorium.
“Now, y’all sit your asses down in them chairs and wait until the headmaster gets here. I don’t want no questions, and no fightin’. Just keep quiet, ya understand?”
Brighten was confused for a second, not understanding the direction to keep quiet and then being asked a question. After a moment, he came to the conclusion that Belarus was not a smart man.
He smiled at that.
“What’s your name?” the boy next to Brighten asked.
“Jenkins,” Brighten replied without hesitation. He hadn’t given his real name to a stranger in years.
“How far along are you with magic?”
Oh, help me, Father, he thought, almost physically cringing at the question.
“Far enough to be here.” He didn’t hang out with these kids, and he didn’t know how to act around them.
But the answer seemed to suffice. “I’m Lionel, and I can tell ya one thing—that guy Belarus is a damn ass.”
Brighten smiled. They could definitely agree on that.
“I don’t know who he thinks he is, but he looks like he fell off the ugly tree and hit every damn branch on the way down, ya know what I mean?”
Brighten nodded. “It was a tall tree, too.”
Lionel chuckled. “That’s a good one. Look at his hand, man. All bandaged up but acting like he can kick our ass. Probably got beat up by a girl.”
“Nah, probably just broke it wiping his ass.”
“Ha!” Lionel actually laughed. “You’re funny. I haven’t seen you around. Where you been training at?”
The good thing about stealin’ for a livin’? You understood every part of the city. Every nook and cranny. Every magic shop.
He just had to hope this kid didn’t train at the same one.
“Chester’s,” Brighten answered.
“Ah, I went there when I was younger. A good chap, Chester. Just sucks that all these guys are losin’ their businesses, and here we are ushered into some class we don’t know nothin’ about.”
Brighten had never disliked the kids from the middle and upper classes. He never trusted them, though. This kid, however, seemed to be…nervous, just like Brighten.
You use marks, you don’t befriend them. He could hear himself saying that to Kris, and quickly shut down any feelings of kindness.
“There he is,” Lionel stated
Brighten saw him—a tall man, older but not elderly.
Belarus gave him a wide berth and clearly showed deference.
“You ever seen this guy?” Lionel asked.
Brighten shook his head. “No, never.”
“Me either. He hasn’t been in any magic shops around here. I’ve been to them all over the years.” Lionel didn’t trust this headmaster, and Brighten couldn’t help but identify with that.
He didn’t trust the man either.
“Welcome,” the stranger started. “My name is Rendal Hemmons, and I’m the headmaster of the Prefect’s new school. It’s an honor to be here, and I’m hoping that very soon I get to work with all of you on a personal level.”
“What are those?” Brighten whispered, unable to help himself.
“What?” Lionel asked.
“The bracelets on his arms. What are those?”
Lionel was quiet for a moment, clearly having not seen them. “I…I don’t know. Never seen anything like them.”
The headmaster’s eyes caught Brighten’s and held them for a second. “You all are supposed to be the best of the best, and that’s why the Prefect summoned you first. You’re going to become the greatest mages this kingdom has ever seen.”
“Why aren’t we allowed to train with our old teachers?” someone shouted from the front.
The headmaster turned his head to the boy and smiled. “You liked your old teacher, huh?”
“Yeah. He was really good,” the kid answered, clearly not feeling threatened.
“You want to go back to him?” the headmaster asked.
“Yeah. I don’t know why I’m here.”
Rendal nodded. “Sure, then, head on back. We won’t make you stay.”
“What about the proclamation?” the kid asked. “Ralph already shut down his damn shop.”
Rendal chuckled and looked at Belarus, who was standing just off stage. “His damn shop. Do you hear that, Belarus?”
“I did, bos—headmaster. Despicable.”
The kid was more nervous now than he had been moments before.
Rendal turned back to the kid. “Well, that’s right. The shop has shut down. I hadn’t thought of that… What’s your name again?”
“Sal,” the kid answered.
“I hadn’t thought of that, Sal,” the headmaster said. “But you’re right, the shops are all closed. Thanks to our glorious Prefect, we now have a school that focuses on creating the greatest mages in the world instead of a bunch of tiny schools teaching their own kinds of magic. We have an academy that’s going to make you warrior mages.”
“Warrior mages?” Brighten whispered, turning to Lionel. “You ever heard of such a thing?”
Lionel shook his head. “No. Why would Sidnie need warrior mages? We’ve never been to war.”
“Sal,” the headmaster continued, “since you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be. Belarus, please show this student to the door.”
“Be my pleasure.” Belarus stepped forward.
“No, no. I didn’t mean that. I want to be here. I just… I just—” The kid couldn’t think of what he was “just” trying to say.
Hand of Justice Boxed Set Page 35
