Proper Thieves

by Smith, Luke CJ

  "Oh! Oh gosh," Nalan said, stooping to gather his friend back up again. Breigh and Zella exchanged secret smiles.

  "Krist and fucking Kroham, I think my jaw is broken," Allister shouted, still barely remembering to act. He shot dagger eyes at his three companions. "Oh, what a thing to happen to me tonight when I'm so deathly fucking ill!"

  "Ho! What transpires yonder?" Chud, another thickly muscled War School alpha in a red tabard called over at Breigh from the other side of the comfort room line.

  "This flimsy ginger’s taken a dire turn," she called back. "He requires an escort to the nurse’s chambers."

  Chud laughed loud and hard, as if hoping to ensure everyone in the hall understood the depths of his disdain for the scrawny boy. Beside him, an eighth classman sprayed a thousand-year-old tapestry with yesterday's breadfruit.

  "Onward, now. Let's go," Breigh said, marching the three of them off down the corridor. Allister limped along as he leaned on Nalan. As they rounded the corner, Zella opened the channel.

  Breigh’s voice boomed into Zella’s link. Everyone around her winced at once. She thought the same way she spoke—bellowing like cannon fire. Breigh was the most recent addition to the crew, and she joined up for the same reason she did anything: because she was bored. There were, after all, only so many times she could defeat the same thirty opponents on the pit team. So when Allister “casually” mentioned in the course of chatting her up that he was part of the crew that stole the black hatchet, Breigh gladly took his bait and agreed to meet with Devan and the others.

  But just now, Allister didn't seem to feel like chatting. He rubbed gingerly at his jaw which was still smarting from its introduction to the floor.

  Zella said, ruffling Allister's hair.

  he groused.

  Nalan said, with a complete lack of cleverness. He was grinning from ear to ear.

  Allister said, pulling away from his human crutch. Nalan's smile faded fast.

  Breigh stopped walking. She reached out, clutched the front of Allister’s tunic, and lifted him off the ground. Without straining, she hoisted his face up to hers and pulled him in for a long, deep kiss. When they parted, it was with an audible pop. Breigh announced. She let Allister drop back down to the floor.

  Allister stumbled a little, obviously out of breath.

  came a fifth voice in the link.

  Nalan said quickly.

  Allister said after him.

  Breigh said. Nalan and Allister looked her way with apprehension. Breigh smiled eagerly.

  Martialists rarely fraternized with students from the other schools at The Collegium, but within an hour of meeting the others, Breigh was f friends with Zella, slightly less intimidating to Nalan, more than a little grabby with Allister, and, perhaps most surprisingly, deeply impressed with Devan. Martialists’ children who are born small, sickly, or deformed are sent to be raised in the other schools, but those children who are strong enough to grow up in the War School are raised to respect two sorts of people: mighty soldiers and brash strategists. As Devan detailed his plan for their current job, it became plainly obvious to Breigh that Devan was very much in the latter camp.

  But the best part of all came when Devan explained the part that he would play in the plan. When the audacity of his idea became clear to Breigh, she clamped him in a bone-mashing bear hug.

  Devan replied. The other four could hear faint strains of the symphony behind his voice.

  Zella replied.

  Devan replied.

 

 

  Allister rolled his eyes. Breigh laughed like a thunderclap in everyone’s mind. The group picked up the pace.

  Nalan

  When the four arrived in front of Instructor Winselle's quarters, Nalan was still going over and over the moments leading up to Allister telling him to shut up. "What do you think, guys?” his voice kept saying over and over in his head. “Should I drop him again?"

  Nalan wasn't good at people—if he hadn’t been friends with Devan practically since birth, he doubted he’d have any friends at all. But Nalan was good at Things. Metal things, things with moving parts—especially locks. He loved locks. He often thought of the inside of his own head as having tumblers and pins and levers, moving in perfect synchronicity. Except when it came to people, of course. People he wasn't so good at.

  So Nalan was perfectly happy for the link to go quiet as he crouched down and got to work. The lock on Instructor Winselle's door was amazingly complex, but that only worked to her disadvantage, as Nalan tore into this new challenge with a fanatic's zeal. Within seconds of touching the mechanism, he knew it intimately. With a little push, the bolt slid through, and the lock opened.

  he said with a broad, awkward smile.

  Zella thought, giving Nalan a quick squeeze on both shoulders.

  Allister was rolling up the sleeves of his robe, exposing his hairless, freckled arms. He turned to Breigh.

  her eyes glinted hungrily. She looked like she could pick him up and take a bite out of him like an apple. Allister cocked an eyebrow rakishly in her direction. Those two confused Nalan terribly.

  Without another word, Allister stuck a finger in his mouth to wet it, then touched it to Breigh's forehead. The connection was made. Watching from the side, Nalan imagined he would feel guilty using a girlfriend as a magical battery. But, given that he had no talent for magic, and given that he'd never had a girlfriend, he really had no way of knowing.

  Allister's eyes widened as he began channeling Breigh’s immense physical strength through his own slight frame in the form of mystic energy. He’d once described the sensation as being like standing up too fast while injecting bull adrenaline into your eyes. he thought to the others, still steadying himself.

  Zella pushed the door open with all the noise you'd expect from two-hundred-year-old iron hinges. A breeze blew out, carrying the smell of must and sweet herbs. She held it open and Nalan snuck a peek inside. Instructor Winselle’s chambers were huge by any standard, but especially when compared with the size of an average person’s quarters in The Tower. Housing was assigned on the basis of three things: merit, years of service, and—though no one ever spoke of it publicly—familial ties to The Collegium’s four great financiers. Hence the vaulted, cathedral ceilings, the soaring gothic archways, and the hand-laid mosaic flooring.

  Allister pushed Nalan aside and stepped across the threshold, hands raised in front of him. Almost immediately, the air in front of Allister's hands began to glow blue. he thought quietly to the others. He stopped, cocked his head to one side. He smiled brightly. Nalan could see Allister’s thin frame actually shaking with excitement. He called mentally to Breigh.

  Standing apart from them, Breigh was watching the hall with the door half cracked. Her connection to Allister was already taking its toll; she seemed to be having trouble keeping her eyes open.

 
Zella cautioned. Her hands were on his hips. Nalan's hands were on Zella’s. All three of them inched forward very, very slowly into Instructor Winselle's receiving room.

  Allister was rubbing his hairless chin, staring wide-eyed at the energy currents in the room that only he could see. <...I'll tell you later, Breigh...> He trailed off, deep in thought. Allister could be a little much sometimes, but Nalan liked him for exactly this reason: he was in love with his Art as deeply as Nalan was for his Things.

  The walls were lined with huge bookshelves that ran from the floor all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. Interspersed with the books were trinkets, treasures, and arcane knickknacks from around the known worlds. Nalan kept an eye fixed on a mounted taxidermy basilisk's head as he walked past, as if he were expecting it to come back to life and devour him.

  Slowly, Allister got down to one knee, bringing his hands down closer to the floor, like he was trying to reach under the flap of a tent. His hands were glowing bright blue now. He began to rise again, bringing his hands up, higher and higher, until they were as far above his head as his bony arms could get them. Above them, a blue energy field shimmered—a bare hint of the kinds of forces Allister could see but the others couldn't. he said.

  Zella and Nalan stepped quickly past him. A tall wooden archway separated the receiving room from the main hall. They stopped beneath it. On the other side of the arch, dominating the center of the great round room beyond, was an immense onyx-and-glass display case. It stretched halfway up to the stained glass dome two stories above them.

  Zella and Nalan made room as Allister backed into the arch between them. When he got there, he gingerly brought his hands back down, lowering the flap of the imaginary tent behind him.

  he thought quietly to himself, exhaling sharply. Nalan couldn't help but wonder what it was they'd narrowly avoided, but he figured it was probably best not to think about it until later. In his narrow experience, he'd found happiness almost always relied on proper thought management. He wondered why the instructors didn't teach that at The Collegium. Maybe when he got to a higher grade level...

  He looked around. Zella and Allister were both staring at him expectantly.

  <...Yes?> He asked, eyes glancing back and forth between them.

  Zella said flatly.

  Nalan crushed his eyes shut again. He produced his slim tool kit from his pocket and fingered his favorite probe.

  Zella said.

  he said, readjusting his sleeves.

  It went quiet in Nalan’s head, as the others’ voices cut off like a switch.

  Zella raised two fingers on one hand, and put the back of that hand to her forehead. Hand gestures were a crutch for novices, Nalan had heard, but Zella was no novice, despite her young age. He could only assume that, for what she was attempting, she could use all the help she could get.

  Her breath quickened and grew louder, until Nalan feared that the Listening Circle might hear them, or that she was having some kind of attack. As he was about to reach out to touch her arm to make sure she was okay, her eyes opened again. When they did, her face had changed. Or at least his perception of it had. It was no longer Zella's face, but Instructor Winselle's. Even though he was expecting it, her transformation still made him jump inside. There were still some traces of Zella's features bleeding through the Inflection, but otherwise, the resemblance was amazing.

  Inflections are built off mental images collected by the practitioner during a moment of intense interpersonal interaction. Nalan thought of it as making a putty cast of a key only, instead of capturing the key's features, Zella was making a copy of that person's unique, personal magical field. The fact that she'd been able to fashion an effective Inflection off the single, chastising glance from Instructor Winselle in class that morning was, in a word, unbelievable.

  And if the conversation they'd had that afternoon was any indication, Allister was having trouble believing it, too.

  Nalan swallowed hard. He guessed they were about to find out how good Zella really was.

  Instructor Winselle

  One of the cello students hit a screeching, sour note and Instructor Winselle tried not to wince. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Devan since she’d taken her seat. Across the auditorium, Devan hadn’t taken his eyes off her, either. Both sat rigidly still, barely moving, barely blinking, for the last twenty minutes.

  It was Devan, too. A simple identity spell assured her it was so. It wasn’t unheard of for students to craft crude obfuscation charms to subvert such workings, but she could see through those like glass. She was absolutely and completely certain that…

  She paused and cocked her head just slightly. Whispering under her breath, she cast the spell for a fourth time. Just to be certain. It was him. She was sure of it.

  The first movement came to a close. The conductor lowered his baton, and the audience applauded. Instructor Winselle didn’t. Neither did Devan. The Peak girl was still huddled up next to him in her cloak, barely moving.

  He’s playing with me, she thought to herself, narrowing her eyes to slits. He’s making this big show tonight, but he’ll try to steal the idol tomorrow night instead. Or the next night. Or any time he thinks my guard is down. But that’s his mistake. The minute I get back to my chambers, I’ll…

  Winselle noticed Devan’s face begin to twist and contort. His jaw began to distend, though his lips stayed together. His eyelids began to flutter. It was like he was fighting something, resisting something—the end-state of a metamorphic spell, perhaps? Surely he didn’t know anyone who would cast a working on him powerful enough to fool one of her—

  Devan opened his mouth and yawned. Only yawned. And for just a moment, Instructor Winselle thought he looked embarrassed for letting his facade slip.

  Winselle couldn’t help it—she chuckled briefly, laughing through her nose. Just like that, the burning tension in the back of her neck eased, her jaw unclenched, and her shoulders relaxed. What am I doing? She asked herself. He’s no monster. He’s just a student. A disrespectful little shit of a student, but still… Her eyes softened…

  …then almost immediately widened when it occurred to her what she’d left in her chambers for him to find. By the gods, she thought, shaking her head gently, what if he had gotten in? What if he’d made it past the kettle snares?

  Instructor Winselle put a hand to her lips and bit worriedly at the calloused edge of a finger. As soon as I can get out of here, she thought, I’ve got to disarm the enchantments in my main hall. Losing the idol would be a small price to pay compared to what would happen if the headmaster ever found out I intended to unleash a pair of Furies on one of my students.”

  Allister

  Zella and Nalan were halfway into the main hall of Instructor Winselle’s chambers when Allister flung himself to the ground, arms outstretched toward them, eyes huge and bulging.

  Nalan looked back; Zella kept walking, too focused on maintaining her disguise to realize what was happening behind her. “What?” Nalan mouthed. Without Zella’s mental link, they were operating in pure silence. “What is it?”

  Where Nalan only saw open space in the vast hall, Allister saw a huge, multicolored sphere of light. It had been invisible until the moment it “smelled” something—the air being disrupted, body heat, Zella’s inflection, something—and swooped in to investigate. The enchantment Allister had used to snare it was erected hastily and with little elegance; as a result, the sphere began to struggle against its bonds. Now it was really curious.

  Devan had told him to expect patrolling cantrips. But Allister wasn’t expecting anything this…enthusiastic.

  You fucked up, said the voice in his head. You fucked up so bad.

  For Allister, it was like attempting to hold the leashes on a pack of wild dogs, all of whom were very, v
ery interested in Zella. Zella, meanwhile, kept walking, doing a good job emulating the entitled strut Instructor Winselle used when she patrolled the classroom every day. She was taking it slow...so very slow. Going too fast had perils attached to it, Allister knew. But, by the gods, he felt like his arms were going to be pulled out of their sockets.

  “Go,” he mouthed to Nalan. Nalan cocked his head to one side. “Fucking go,” Allister mouthed more emphatically. Nalan nodded and hurried – as fast as he dared – to catch up to Zella.

  The cantrip lunged then relaxed, lunged then relaxed. And just when Allister thought he had gotten a handle on the rhythm of its exertions, a second sphere came arcing through the darkened hall. “Oh shit,” he breathed. “Oh shit.” He dug his teeth into his lower lip and shot out a hand toward this second intruder. His snare caught it just perfectly, and the moment it did, he nearly went flying after it. He dug one heel hard into the floor, praying to catch the edge of one of the flooring stones. It did, and he braced himself there, mouthing “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit” all the while.

  You’re fucking this up, said the voice in his head—the one he heard when the jokes ran out and the good times quieted down. You’re fucking this up because you’re a failure and a fraud, and after this, everyone’s going to know it. Devan’s going to know it, and Zella’s going to know it, and Breigh...Breigh probably already knows it. She knows you’re a joke of a mage. She knows Devan only let you stay in after the ledger scroll job because you brought her in. She knows...

  From across the hall, he watched as Zella and Nalan approached the display case, every inch between them pregnant with terrible anticipation. He expected each marble floor tile they crossed would explode and kill them. He expected every light fixture they passed under would explode and kill them. And the monolithic display case that loomed over them most certainly felt like it would explode and kill them. But at least when they got there, they’d be safe from the cantrips.