There was no coming back from Lady Death’s embrace.
“I’ll find out,” she said.
Erik’s brow cinched together.
“I’m going to find out what happened to my father. I’ll find out who killed him.”
“Narra—”
“I have to do this, Erik. Do not try and stop me.” She flicked her cloak on, and clipped it to her shoulders.
He smiled and shook his head. “There’s never any stopping you.”
“Never,” she agreed, heading for the door. Erik’s eyes bored into her back.
“Good luck,” he offered.
Narra glanced over her shoulder. Her best friend smiled his characteristic half-smile. He was concerned for her, but he shouldn’t be. Narra always found her villain.
Candles burned and wax dripped from the chandelier hanging above the commanders’ meeting table in the Guild Saloon. A thick piece of molten red wax dropped free and splattered atop the growing mound below. The commanders had already gathered upon Narra’s arrival, bickering over contracts as usual. How dare they start without all the thief leaders present? She bit back a snarl.
While the twins argued with the Commander of the Boomers, August sat back, his lips turned down under his bushy white moustache. She clenched her fists. Fighting. They were always fighting. And what good did it do?
Narra slammed the saloon door shut behind her. The bickering stopped. Good. Taking her time, Narra stepped across the dirt- laden floor and joined her fellow commanders, leaving her throne for a seat at the circular table. August flashed her a small smile while the others nodded in greeting. No one bothered with pleasantries or asked about her father. They knew her anger better than most.
“You’ve started the reading of contracts without me?” she asked, flicking an accusing glare across the table at Claudia. The raven-haired beauty regarded her with a scowl. She never liked Narra.
“We weren’t sure you were coming,” August said, reaching over to pat the back of her hand. She didn’t cringe away like she’d do with the others, or twist their wrist until it broke. August was a kind man, and she silently thanked him for not mentioning Quinn.
“I’m here now,” she countered.
“We haven’t gotten far,” Graves chimed in, glaring at the twins beneath a bushy set of gray brows.
“We’d get somewhere if the Boomers didn’t try and take every contract out from under us,” Klaus snarled. His dark eyes narrowed like an angry cat.
“Let’s not start this again,” August huffed, standing to get their attention. He reached across the table and took the bundle of papers from Graves, who calmed under the elderly man’s gentle gaze. “We’ll start again.”
“We’ve already wasted much time,” Claudia protested.
“And yet, you waste more time by arguing,” Narra said.
Claudia bristled and slapped the table. The few weapons scattered atop the wood rattled. “Fine. Let us start again ,” she mocked.
Narra simply nodded, trying not to enjoy the furious glare the older woman gave her. If she wanted to undermine Narra’s leadership, let her try.
Though Claudia never showed her the respect she was due, at least the others understood her background and her accomplishments. Before she was twenty-years-old she’d gone on more contracts than most initiates combined, completing over a hundred in a few short years. Yet, Claudia still questioned if she deserved a spot at this table because of her age. More than once Narra had to remind the woman how many missions Claudia had completed. The number wasn’t even half that of Narra’s.
August took charge of the meeting, flipping through contracts, reading each out in detail. Once the reading was done, the faction heads went about their arguments—why they above all others would be perfect for the mission.
“The contractor wants the jewels stolen outside the home to avoid suspicion from within. This is the perfect job for a pickpocket,” Klaus argued.
“My Boomers would be able to cause a distraction and steal the rubies from the wife’s neck. Why would I let the Pocks take such a lucrative contract?” Graves snarled, glaring across the table at the tall, handsome Klaus.
August rubbed his beard, glancing between the two commanders. While Narra always watched and occasionally plucked a job out from under the others, August, the Commander of the Brains, waited. Instead of throwing his own hat in the ring, he spent most of his time dissolving feuds between the others. He knew as well as she that arguing over these missions was meaningless. The other factions came to August constantly with orders for weapons, gadgets, and transport. He needn’t take missions for pennies when the other commanders paid him so handsomely.
“I will not concede this to you, Graves, and have you further endanger the Guild with your antics.” Klaus sat back and crossed his arms. Was this the end of the fight?
Graves opened his mouth to snap back, but August held up a hand.
“Give this one to Klaus, Graves. Your kids have been causing a lot of trouble lately. We don’t want more Patrolmen on the streets than necessary.”
The leader of the Boomers twitched his moustache back and forth. He looked off at the bar at the back of the room longingly, before turning his gaze on Klaus.
After a few moments of deliberation, he conceded. “It’s yours, Klaus. ”
Instead of grinning over his victory, Klaus nodded solemnly and thanked the older man. A smart choice, and yet, what did it all matter? While she sat there wasting time, her father’s killer was on the loose. She shouldn’t have come today. She should have taken Erik with her back to North Station to look for clues.
With the matter settled, August moved on to the next contract. He read through sheet after sheet, broke up arguments, and let the others bicker for as long as they needed. All fights couldn’t be won with wisdom when large sums were involved.
“This contract comes from Sir James Blacksworth. He writes: I, Sir Blacksworth of West Port, commission the Thieves Guild to steal the crowned sword of General Asher Grayson. It can be found in the Rova City military barracks in his office on the third floor. I will pick up the sword upon your retrieval. Send word by raven when the job is done. I will bring the reward of one thousand rovin for your trouble.” August laid the parchment on the table.
Instead of a rising argument, the commanders remained still. Narra glanced at the others, her heart racing. This was a lucrative mission. She could do it, and get her mind off her father. She needed to think clearly, and with his death so heavy on her mind, there was no way she could find his killer. She’d need money to buy off informants and street rats to get the information she needed anyway. This could be her chance. Her fingers twitched toward her pistol. She wanted more than anything to pull it out and clean it. The simple task always calmed her mind.
“I’ll take it,” Narra said.
“Rheka.” August’s blue eyes widened considerably. “Entering the Barracks won’t be easy.”
“It’s suicide,” Clint agreed, his dark gaze settled on her. He quirked an eyebrow, most likely trying to figure out when she’d gone insane. They didn’t understand. And they couldn’t.
“It’s easy money,” she said.
“Why argue with the girl?” Claudia scoffed. “If she wants to die, let her.”
Narra narrowed her gaze at the woman, who only smirked. Claudia was lucky hurting another commander was Guild treason. With her blood boiling, she wanted nothing more than to cut the pretty smile off her wrinkled face.
August tapped the table to draw her attention. “Rheka, I know things are a bit confusing right now with your father and all, but this isn’t a contract to take.”
“I’m surprised the Guild Master left it in at all,” Graves said.
“If you’re caught, you’ll be hung,” August continued.
Heat rushed to her skin and her heartbeat quickened. Did they think her weak like her father? Her fists clenched. She wasn’t a fool, or a traitor. She could take care of herself. No one needed to l
ook after her. She’d do this on her own, whether they approved or not.
Narra stood and snatched the contract from August’s fingers. “You aren’t my father, August.”
The white-haired man snapped back, his brows raised. She pretended not to see the hurt in his eyes.
“Let me be clear, I do not need your opinions on my decision,” Narra said. She met the eyes of each of the commanders. This risk was worth it, even if they refused to see it. “Do not get in my way.”
Rova City military barracks sat at the western edge of the city, a mass of dark stone surrounded by fields, forests, and training courses. The converted old castle, from the ages of Kings before the continent split up, would be a challenge to get inside. One she would readily take on.
Skirting the road leading to the barracks, Narra rushed through the trees, embracing the shadows. She leapt over a fallen log, her heart pounding in her ears. She’d spent the day staking out the old building and with the majority of the soldiers inside asleep, it was time to make her move.
Tall stone walls rose between the trees, only a few feet away from the forest’s edge. There was no cover between the wall and the trees, but she’d planned for this.
Once the trees thinned, she slowed, dodging between thick trunks. Though shrouded in shadow, several soldiers rotated shifts on the walls above. The murmur of their voices drifted down to her. Right on time. As soon as they switched off, she’d make her move.
Taking a running start, Narra took off between two trees, aiming for a third, closest to her target. At the last second she jumped, grabbed a low hanging branch and swung herself up. She stood on the branch and wrapped her fingers around the next. Up and up she climbed, as if the branches were nature’s ladder, until she crouched on the highest that could easily support her weight.
Her hot breath fogged the cool night air. She took a few deep breaths to still her racing heart. The next part would be the hardest. If she couldn’t get onto the barracks outer wall without being seen, it was all over.
Wiping the sweat from her palms, she tucked her hair behind her ear before readying her grappling hook. She sprung the claws and waited. The torchlight above grazed the surrounding leaves, casting a pattern across her bare hands and chest.
A shadow approached the soldier on the wall. They greeted one another and switched off. One man left from sight. The other began circling the wall. While he covered half the barracks’ rim, another soldier circled the opposite end. She’d have five minutes before he checked in with the gatekeeper in a small stone outpost at the far side.
The soldier heaved his rifle over his shoulder and began his rounds. She closed her eyes and counted down the seconds, listening to his footsteps. He passed the first junction, up and down a small set of stairs. Now. Narra leapt from her branch, letting the grappling hook loose.
The surrounding leaves shook as she freefell.
She winced. Her hook hit stone, the claws digging in. She hit the retract button and held on tight.
The device yanked her up so hard she nearly lost her grip. It slipped between her fingers. Her heart plummeted for her stomach. She reached out, grabbing the cold stone wall. She hoisted herself up and over. Leaning against the inside outlook, she took a moment to right her breathing. That had been too close. She needed to regain her concentration. This wasn’t a time for screw ups.
Pulling the hook back into the handle, she clipped it onto her belt and pulled her cloak on tight, concealing her hair. Only a few minutes left to get inside before the second guard arrived.
Narra stood and peered over the wall into the courtyard. Though the moon was high in the sky, the time long past midnight, three soldiers stood in the yard wielding daggers. Fifteen feet away, potato sacks were stuffed with hay like target dummies. One after the other they let their knives fly. Each twisted through the air with precision and thunked into the wooden post behind the dummy.
She bit her lip. Nearly two decades ago she’d done the same. For hours upon hours, her father stood at her back, urging her on.
“Hold the knife like this,” her father would snap, grabbing her fingers and repositioning them. “Now try.”
She’d aim as best she could at seven years old. Sometimes she’d hit, sometimes she’d miss, and sometimes the daggers would slip and cut her fragile skin.
“Idiot!” her father would bark. She’d wince and apologize, pick the dagger back up and try again. It didn’t matter how much she bled.
Thunk . Another dagger landed.
Narra started from the memory and stepped back. Emperor’s ancestors , she had to hurry. The torch of a coming soldier drove her over the wall, down a flight of stairs and into the dark recesses of the courtyard. Sleeping steamwagons, stacks of weapons, and crates of armor littered the walls, giving her plenty of cover between the practice grounds and the main building, which stood high above the outer walls.
She stuck to the curved outer wall until she reached the cart-port beside the kitchen entrance. She eased the door open an inch. Then two. All was quiet within. Only a dim lamp sat on the countertop at the center island. Narra slipped inside, easing the door shut behind her. She was thankful it didn’t creak.
Padding across the floor, she dodged piles of pots, pans, crates, and dishware until she reached the corridor. Voices murmured from the left. She ducked back inside, pressing her back against the door. She waited until footsteps came and went, then the hall was hers.
The inside of the barracks were just as old as the exterior. Stone walls were covered in tapestries of battles long won and paintings of all the great generals and emperors of their time. Red carpet lined the main hall and brass candlesticks sat atop dark wood furnishings. She imagined Rova Palace looked much like this.
Narra took the servants staircase up to the third floor. Her heartbeat increased with each step. With each breath she went deeper into the enemy’s den. If she wasn’t careful, this could very well be her final contract.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Narra stepped out of the safety of the dim stairwell. Lamps hung from the ceiling, turned low due to the late hour. More paintings of emperors than generals occupied the walls; Willa the Wilted and Norac the Conqueror being two of the more easily recognizable. Even some of the emperors from the Century of Blood had their places. Though they were revered leaders, she was surprised anyone found them worth keeping in the barracks. They were brutal killers, and not one had lived long with war so close to Rova City.
A warm light approached from the far side of the hall. Her heart skipped and she raced as quietly as possible down the length of the hall. Placards adorned each door—Lieutenant this, and General that. Conference rooms, studies, and quarters. She ran on silent feet until she found the name she sought.
General Asher Grayson.
She listened at the door. Not a sound. No light crept from underneath. Was anyone inside? Lamplight drew closer. She had no other choice. Narra dove inside.
With the dim light of the hall gone she was left in darkness. Srah help me. She sighed and paused by the door, waiting for the light to pass. Heavy footfalls approached.
She held her breath.
Closer.
She bit her lip .
Closer.
She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around a dagger.
They passed. She exhaled. Thank Srah.
Moonlight filtered between the shutters at the far side of the study. A desk sat in front of it, papers strewn everywhere. For a general, he wasn’t very neat. Narra stepped further inside, inspecting the conference table that occupied the center of the room with a dozen seats surrounding it. Along the walls were more tapestries, articles from the Rova Chronicle, and a large portrait of a frowning man with a rapier and a general’s hat.
Her lips twisted into a frown. Where was the sword? Narra searched the drawers of a dresser, the closet of an armoire, and the desk by the window. Nothing. Had Sir Blacksworth given them misinformation? It was unlikely. She recognized his name fr
om her history lessons. He must be the son of the late Knight Blacksworth, the last Captain of Armies.
Padding across the stone floor, she reached the window. It faced north, far away from the soldiers practicing or gatekeepers at their post. Mountains rose in the distance over a sea of black pine trees. She waited for the guard on the wall to do his round before inching the shutters open further. She might be able to find the sword with more light.
Moonlight seeped in and she ducked back inside, scanning the tabletops, the walls—there!—above a small table on the far side of the room, a glass case held the crowned sword of the General. A grin broke across her face. This would get her the money she needed.
Flying across the room, she broke out her lock pick set from the pouch at her thigh. A small golden lock held the case shut. She’d make quick work of it.
“INTRUDER!” the shout broke the stillness of the Barracks.
Emperor’s ancestors , she cursed. She glanced from the case to the window. She should flee. But if she didn’t take the sword this would all have been for nothing. She bit her lip. How had she angered Srah this time?
Narra snapped her lock picks out and into the lock. She had no other choice. She twisted the long pieces of metal as carefully as she could until the lock clicked. She withdrew her picks and opened the case.
Boots beat up the stairs and down the hall. Damn. She grabbed the sword from the case. The door flung open, cracking off the wall. Her heart stopped.
“The killer!” a man howled.
Killer? Narra stepped back, ripping the sword from its sheath. She had to get out of there. Now .
“Put the weapon down, thief!” A tall man stepped forward, pulling his sword from his hip.
Narra backed toward the window, reaching for her grappling hook with her free hand. Her hip bumped the conference table. Six men dove inside, leaping across the floor, weapons brandished and flashing in the moonlight. Narra spun, tore the grappling hook from her belt and dove over the desk, kicking open the shutters. She aimed her hook for the barracks outer wall.
Clockwork Thief Box Set Page 7
