“Coffee sounds great!” Erik said.
Narra nodded and took another breath. Coffee. So simple, yet their patience drove her to be still. “Yes, coffee. Black.”
Alden nodded and led the charge to the kitchen, picking his way carefully over the remains of the oak chair. Erik followed suit, kicking the debris from the stairs before crossing to the supply closet opposite the trash bins. Narra sighed and joined them, taking a seat on the counter beside the double sinks embedded in the ceramic countertops.
While her uncle went about boiling water and preparing the coffee maker, Erik cleaned up her mess, much like he always did. Since they were children, he always looked out for her, calmed her angry beast, and tidied her messes. He was the brother she never had; one she would do anything for.
The kitchen door creaked open and Alden motioned them into the dining room, handing them steaming mugs of coffee on the way. Once seated, Narra elaborated on her conversation with the initiates slinging rumors about her kin. Her uncle did a good job of mimicking her stone-like expressions, rubbing his thick stubble as he thought.
“Honestly, Narra, I haven’t a clue what those boys were talking about,” Alden said.
“You must know,” she said. “You receive all the Guild contracts from the Guild Master.”
Her uncle’s brows furrowed uncertainly, and he patted the back of her empty hand. “I’m sure he will turn up and have a good explanation.”
“Did he mention anything about getting a contract in the city?”
Alden shook his head. “You know it’s treason to take a contract outside the Guild, Narra.”
“Your father has gone more than a day without checking in before. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, just a rumor.” Erik clapped her on the shoulder.
Narra worked her lip between her teeth, staring at the steam rising from her mug. “But he always tells me before he leaves,” she argued quietly. They were both right. There was most likely nothing to worry about. Her father had disappeared many times before, but never under such unusual circumstances. While she waited for his return, there was only one thing she could do. Clear her father’s name.
The legs of her chair squeaked as she stood.
“I’m going to North Station,” she said.
“Narra…” her uncle began.
She shook her head. “I’m going.”
“Well then, so am I.” Erik stood, swigged back his coffee and thumped the empty mug on the table.
Alden sighed and shook his head. “All right. Let’s head out then, kids.”
Narra narrowed her eyes, but her uncle simply grinned. He was the only man who could get away with calling her a child.
Black smoke rose from the remains of North Station. Stone littered the surrounding square and scorch marks stained the remaining western side of the train station. The fire brigade used powerful hoses from their steamwagons, dousing the area in water. Though the flames had nearly all died, the smoke had yet to cease .
Narra shifted beside Erik. Atop a nearby library, they stuck to the shadows. With dark overcast skies, it was easy to stay hidden with their dark cloaks against the grey stone.
Dread sat in her stomach, a heavy lump souring her insides. Had this been an attack on the empire, or a plot by her father? Was the Revolution to blame, or some unknown force? Was there more going on she didn’t understand? It was possible. She was hardly home anymore, and when she was, her father was typically inebriated. It didn’t inspire confidence in the man, but could he really have done something this stupid?
“Down here!” Alden called from an overhang below their perch on the rooftop steeple. Erik leaned over the edge, grabbing hold of the rope they’d used to scale the building. He swung down with ease. Narra kept her eyes on the train yard.
Patrol cars were stationed on the edge of the lot. Several detectives walked through the open maw of the southern tunnel. Patrolmen took statements from locals, but no one had survived the train ride. They didn’t stand a chance.
“Narra!” Erik called.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, Narra leaned over the edge. Wind rushed through her hair and stung her eyes. He motioned her down. With a quick nod, Narra twisted over the ledge, grabbing hold of the coarse rope. It burned her palms as she adjusted her grip and slid down.
“I think the detectives have found something,” Alden said.
With her feet on solid ground, Narra wiped her hands on her cloak. They’d be sore for some time. “Let’s follow,” she said.
They nodded and descended to the train yard.
Circling the yard took some time with all the Patrolmen, but they managed to sneak in the western side of the train station. Climbing over large blocks of cement, Narra followed her uncle into the remains of the building.
Voices echoed in the hollow space, and shadows danced on the walls. Keeping as quiet as possible, they inched over the rubble, being careful not to disturb the debris. There had to be a faster way. Glancing around the arched walls and hidden tracks, Narra spied an overhang that ran through the entire station. Metal walkways high into the vaulted ceiling, but just below the rafters, remained for at least half the building, petering off near the explosion point covered in rubble.
Narra came to a halt and motioned toward a ladder embedded in the wall. Her companions paused, their eyes following the ladder to the catwalk. They exchanged a look and nodded. Narra led the way, crossing the fifty-foot wide room quickly. She scaled the ladder. Erik and Alden followed close behind.
The head of the train lay below, buried in rubble and debris. Laborers threw blackened stone from the remains, having nearly uncovered the point of the explosion and the surrounding train cars.
Erik nudged her foot and she glanced over her shoulder. Kneeling against the metal, she kept low to avoid casting any shadows. Narra crawled out to let them both on the overhang. When she’d moved out into the center of the room, it became obvious they were too high for the lights to reach. Narra stood, her palms slick with sweat. Though the flames were almost all gone, the heat remained. Her pounding heart fell into rhythm with the tumbling rocks thrown by the laborers.
Inching out over the catwalk, Narra followed two detectives from where the front of the train was buried to the cars preceding the explosion site. They stopped, and so did she, ducking low. She was out of overhang. Biting down on her lip, she lowered herself to peer over the edge. The car beside the bomb had blown its top, and was only partially concealed by cement rubble.
Erik and Alden shuffled in close, Erik’s elbow digging into her shoulder. She shot him a glare, and he mouthed an apology.
“There’s a body here!” one of the laborer’s called. Narra scooted forward as much as she dared.
“We’ve already recovered the workers, and the soldiers were all left in Drestel Ridge,” a detective with dark hair and a savage scar over his left eye growled. “Who could it be?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the laborer said softly .
The two detectives worked their way through the rubble. Narra shifted to get a better look. Erik grunted in protest as she dug her shoulder into the side of his face. Alden moved further down, giving them room to peer below the railing.
Three laborers waited by a mound of stone. Between the charred bits of train car, a flash of silver hair appeared. Alden stiffened. Narra shifted forward to see the face.
Her father stared sightless up at her. Everything stopped. Her heart fell silent. Her breath stilled. Her eyes widened. All sound disappeared. How was this possible?
It wasn’t.
One blue eye met hers, already clouding over. The right side of his face was scorched to the bone, a massacre of charred tissue. No. This wasn’t her father. It couldn’t be. Where was his other eye? The other half of his disappointed frown was torn away by flames. The lines of his face were wiped away and part of his silver hair was gone. This wasn’t the man who raised her.
It couldn’t be.
Her heart started up
too quickly. It rammed inside her ribcage and stole the breath from her lungs. Narra sat back fast, and a clang echoed as she hit the opposite railing. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.
“What was that?” someone said below.
“Narra,” Erik whispered. His dazzling blue-green eyes met hers, a sharp contrast to the vacant blue of the dead man’s.
“It’s not him,” she snapped back. Too loud. She was being too loud. They were on a mission. But a mission for what? She couldn’t quite remember.
“Someone’s up there,” a rough voice spat. “Send a team!”
“We’ve got to go,” Alden hissed.
Erik gripped her bicep gently. “Narra.”
“It’s not him, Erik,” she whispered. Her vision blurred. “It’s not him.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. He smiled softly. “Okay, it’s not him. But we’ve got to go.”
She slowly nodded. Someone was coming. Someone bad. Or were they the bad ones? No. Yes. Maybe? What was happening to her? Why couldn’t she think?
Erik gripped her arm hard and heaved her to her feet. “Follow me.”
He held her gaze with an intensity she didn’t associate with her best friend. He stared until she nodded. Follow . That she could do.
Alden led the way, moving quietly but quickly—a true thief. Erik followed close behind, his boots clanging softly on the grated floor. Too loud , she thought. He’s always too loud . They reached the ladder in time to see a patrolman scaling it with several others close behind.
“Emperor’s ancestors,” Alden hissed, halting at an intersection. He glanced in either direction, then motioned them to follow.
They had to get away. They would get away. It was important. She had to listen to Erik; had to follow. She couldn’t look back. But her gaze kept inching back every chance she got. Don’t look back, Narra. Her father’s voice whispered. No. The silver haired half-faced man wasn’t her father. He couldn’t be. He was still there with her, his voice in her ears.
Erik stopped. Alden descended another ladder, half torn off at the bottom, and right beside a group of laborers. She should be worried. She should think of a plan. But she wanted to look back. To go back. She had to prove that wasn’t the man who forced her to train at five years old, who regarded even her greatest achievements with cynicism. Why did she want that man not to be her father? If he was dead, wasn’t that a good thing? No. Why?
“You’re next.” Erik urged her forward gently.
Alden was halfway down the ladder, almost to the breaking point. He was still in shadow. That was good. He was smart; he’d get them out. Narra gripped the rungs and slid down. She moved slowly, the cold bite of metal irritating her already burned palms. The sting brought her back to life. Her chest ached, and her abdomen burned.
When Erik followed and they were all on the ladder, Alden leapt. His boots hit the ground too hard. Narra jumped next. Rubble slipped beneath her. Her heart skipped and she gasped. Alden grabbed her elbow, steadying her before Erik joined them .
She looked up, only to find three laborers staring at them.
“Detective!” one shouted.
They ran. Every muscle tensed as she dove after her uncle. Run, run, run . They had to escape. They shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have gone.
The beating of boots followed until the clear afternoon air met them. Narra sucked in great lungfuls, glad for the itch of smoke to leave her throat. They tore across the road and into the alley beside the library.
“We need to split up,” Alden barked.
“We can take the rooftops,” Erik suggested.
Alden nodded. “Keep her safe.”
“I will.”
No one had to keep her safe. She kept others safe. She was a commander, one of the most skilled thieves in the Guild. Why did Erik need to protect her?
“Ready to fly?” Erik ran beside her, sweat pouring down his temples and a wicked grin on his face.
“Yes,” she said. She couldn’t mimic his smile, but the instincts of a thief were burned into every muscle in her body. She pulled her grappling hook from her utility belt, and Erik did the same. At the end of the alley her uncle ran left and they went right.
Erik took the lead into the street. Horns blared as they raced in front of traffic. Her heart sped. Shouts told them to stop, but they kept running. Once they crossed the street, the shopping district came into view, high rooftops and buildings tightly knit together. They could escape this way—she was sure of it.
“Ready?”
Narra glanced at Erik, who held his hook close to his face. “Ready,” she said.
Erik held his grappling hook aloft and shot it towards the roof. Narra did the same, aiming closer to the chimney. Holding on tight, she hit the retract button. The cord yanked her hard, ripping her from the ground and up into the air. They hit the roof running—no one could catch them now.
W arm morning light passed through her dark red curtains, casting crimson across her exposed shoulders. Narra shifted from the light, turning back into the safety of darkness. She wasn’t ready for morning. She wasn’t ready to face her father’s demise. Her fingers wrapped around the cotton sheets and she yanked them to her chin. Her chest ached. Vacant. Empty. Her father was gone and she felt nothing. Hollow. She couldn’t feel anything, not for a traitor. His burned face and silver hair flashed behind her eyelids. She groaned.
What in Srah’s name could have possessed her father to betray the Guild? The Guild was his life. His family. More so than she’d ever been. He’d never considered her. She could hardly call herself his daughter. Yet, he cast it all aside for the score of a lifetime .
What a joke.
Narra twisted onto her back and sighed. She couldn’t sleep now any more than she could when Erik brought her home the previous night.
Quinn was such a fool. It didn’t matter why he stole a contract from the Guild, or why he chose to betray them. He was a novin traitor. The rumors would spread, and the infamous Reiner, thief-for- hire, would rot. No one would mourn him. He was nothing but a dead thief.
Throwing her sheets back, Narra stood. The dark-wood floor chilled her bare toes, tempting her to return to the warmth of the sheets. The air had grown cold overnight, and without her father there, who would light the fire? Shaking her head, she pulled her nightclothes off and tossed them on the bed. Cold seeped into her skin, making her shiver. She rummaged through her dresser.
She had to get to the Guild. There were meetings to be had, and she wouldn’t let her father make her late. She wouldn’t allow him to ruin one more thing.
Narra pulled on a dark gray button up, leather pants and knee-high boots before stepping into her harness. It wrapped around her hips and thighs, the metal clasps cold against her bare midriff. Snatching her holsters from the floor, she clipped in her revolver, short sword, and arranged her throwing knives before slamming the drawers to her dresser shut. They banged loudly, breaking through the quiet morning. Her hands rested on the top of the dresser, her nails scratching the polished wood.
She hated that even in death he affected her. She hated the burning in her eyes and the shaking of her hands. She hated him, and everything he stood for. But she would not let him ruin her.
Narra flung the door to her room open and started. Erik stood on the other side, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Narra took a deep breath while her heart restarted.
“Going to the Guild,” she said, brushing passed him and into the kitchen.
“Narra.” He sighed.
Golden beams of light came through the living room window, illuminating the remains of a coffee table in the corner. Her chest burned and she flew across the room. She yanked the curtains shut before turning on Erik.
“We don’t open these!” she snapped. She stormed back to the dim light of the kitchen .
“Apologies,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. It was clear he didn’t want to fight w
ith her, but the burning replaced the emptiness. It was nice to feel something other than a black hole in her chest.
“Why have you stayed?”
“You know why.” He shook his head. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She grabbed her cloak from the back of a kitchen chair. “But I need to leave.”
“Narra, you can talk to me.”
“I have nothing to say.” Narra slid her fingers across the dusty countertop and grabbed the bowl of fruit from beside the sink. The apples her father loved so much had gone soft, brown spots corrupting their brilliant color. Her fists clenched and she shoved the bowl across the counter. It, and the apples, clattered into the sink.
“How could he betray the Guild?” Her throat closed. She fought for breath.
“You don’t know that he did.” He laid a warm hand on her shoulder, cutting through the cold of the morning, but intensifying the burn in her chest.
“Why else would he be on that train?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Narra pulled back and leaned against the counter. Blue-green eyes pierced her own. He saw every bit of how she felt; how the nothingness drowned in fear. Fear over not knowing her father, or his intentions. Fear over her own inability to see his deceit. Fear for whatever came next.
Narra clamped down on her emotions. She took a deep breath in an effort to reel herself in. “He’s a novin traitor, Erik. He betrayed the Guild, and everyone will know it. Why would he do this?”
“He could have been framed, or tricked.”
Narra scoffed.
“All I’m saying is that you don’t know what happened. None of us do.”
Her hardened heart fluttered. Could he be right? No one knew what truly happened to her father, but she couldn’t escape the facts. Her father went missing one night, on a mission to acquire the score of a lifetime , on a contract he certainly had not acquired from the Guild, and the next day he showed up dead.
Whatever he’d done, whomever he’d agreed to work with, this was his reward. Death.
Clockwork Thief Box Set Page 6
