Midnight Thief (2 page)

The boy jerked his hand back. “You in’t never seen a griffin before.”

“No, but I’ve seen a chicken. Look, the traders can say anything they want about their goods, and folk won’t argue with them. But nobody’ll believe you went across the Aerin Mountains. You’ll end up with your money taken if you’re lucky, or flogged and pilloried if you’re not.”

Real fear flashed through his eyes, and Kyra’s annoyance gave way to pity. She shook her head and handed the boy a coin. “It’s clever, I’ll give you that. You out here alone?”

The boy hesitated, then gave an unconvincing shake of his head.

“Come with me. I’ll take you to some others.”

She continued on her way. If he’d refused to follow, she would have let him go, but she heard the boy fall into step behind her. As the streets grew narrower, the buildings crowded together so the upper stories hung over the pathways, blocking much of the already waning sunlight. As a child, Kyra had never noticed the smell of garbage and sweat, but now she wrinkled her nose and walked faster.

Eventually, Kyra heard children shouting in the distance. She followed the sound until the alley opened into a secluded courtyard. Fifteen pairs of bare feet pounded the hard-packed dirt. The children had dust on their faces and tears in their clothing. Their game tonight was a new one, with rules Kyra didn’t recognize. But like the other games, it involved a lot of running. Running was the easiest way to stay warm.

Kyra edged closer, and several children broke away from the game, shouting her name. She smiled and squeezed a few shoulders as they gathered around. “I’ve got someone new for you,” she said, finally turning to acknowledge the griffin boy. “Show him how things work.”

“We’ve seen him around,” said a girl with knobby arms and tangled black hair. “He didn’t want to talk to us.”

“Now he will.” Kyra gave him a push toward the others before turning back to the black-haired girl. “You come looking for me, Idalee?”

“Where were you last night?”

“Working.” She paused for a moment, reminded of James’s mysterious behavior. “Why’d you come to The Drunken Dog?” In many ways, the area around The Drunken Dog was safer than Idalee’s usual haunts, but Kyra worried about her wandering away from her friends.

“Lettie’s sick again.”

Kyra frowned. Idalee’s younger sister was constantly ill. “Take me to her?”

As the girl pulled her down a side street, Kyra couldn’t help noticing how Idalee had matured since their first meeting. Two years ago, Kyra had been in the neighborhood when she heard shouting. She ran up just in time to see a skinny girl charge an older boy headfirst, knocking him down and pounding at him with remarkable ferocity. The other children were in an uproar, and Kyra picked up more than a few bruises pulling the two apart. It took some work to sort things out, but eventually she pieced together that one of the older boys had tried to take Lettie’s supper. Despite the tongue-lashing that Kyra delivered to all involved, she couldn’t help but admire Idalee’s spirit, and tiny Lettie reminded Kyra of her own childhood in the streets. While Kyra would never admit to having favorites, she found herself spending more and more time helping these two.

Idalee led her to a dead end, where several boards had been placed in a crude lean-to. It was too small for both Idalee and Kyra to fit comfortably, so Kyra pushed aside the cloth covering its opening and peered inside. Someone shivered underneath a pile of blankets. “Lettie?”

The form shifted and a small, round face turned toward her. The child’s normally large eyes were half closed, and Kyra could tell from Lettie’s raspy breathing that something wasn’t right. Every time the child took a breath, she winced. Kyra put her hand on Lettie’s forehead. It was warm to the touch.

“Can she walk?” Kyra asked Idalee.

“A bit, but you’ve got to go slow, and she coughs if you walk too fast.”

“Well, I can’t carry her all the way,” Kyra muttered. She thought for a moment. “Why don’t I take Lettie back with me? I’ll bring her to a healer tomorrow.”

Though Kyra’s landlord might not like that plan. Last year, Kyra had let Idalee and Lettie stay with her during a blizzard. When Laman discovered them, he’d pulled Kyra aside and made it clear that he had no intentions of turning The Drunken Dog into an orphanage. Well, Laman didn’t need to know, and Bella wouldn’t say anything.

Idalee nodded. “Come on, Lettie, you’re going home with Kyra.” She coaxed her sister out of the blankets and tied a small gray cloak around her neck. Lettie coughed but didn’t complain. The little girl whispered a question as she took Kyra’s hand.

“What?” Kyra asked. Lettie always spoke in a barely audible tone. Kyra leaned closer and laughed.

“Well, I don’t know if there’s any more stew, but I’m sure Bella will have something equally tasty tonight.”

As Idalee had predicted, Kyra and Lettie’s walk back to The Drunken Dog took quite a while. The tavern was already filling with a lively after-dinner crowd when they returned. Brendel had set up in his favorite corner and was tuning his lute in front of a brightly colored painting of dragons and dryads. Kyra remembered that he was going to sing “Lady Evelyne” tonight.

“Lettie, do you want to hear the talesinger?”

Kyra guided Lettie to a table, then ducked into the kitchen to fetch some food. Lettie’s eyes opened wide at the chicken pie Kyra brought out.

“Don’t burn your tongue,” Kyra said. Lettie gripped her spoon with an eagerness that made Kyra suspect her warning was useless. As they both dug in, Brendel strummed a few chords and cleared his throat.

“Good evening, good gentlemen and ladies.” There were some good-natured heckles from the audience, which the young talesinger acknowledged with a charming grin. “I’ve always loved the tale of noble Lady Evelyne, and I know many of you do as well. Tonight, I am honored to play for you the first act, which I just finished penning”—he made a show of counting on his fingers—“seven hours ago.”

As the laughter died down, Brendel launched straight into the opening chords. He sang of the felbeast—the giant bear-creature that ravaged the countryside long ago. Kyra glanced nervously at Lettie during one of Brendel’s more convincing growls, but the child, fascinated by Brendel’s quick-moving fingers, seemed unfazed. Then the talesinger switched to a softer melody. In a high falsetto, he sang the part of Lady Evelyne. She wept for her people and wondered if the carnage could be stopped. The noble lady gathered her courage, bid good-bye to her family and betrothed, and entered the forest to confront the felbeast.

“That’s how we know the ballad in’t true,” said a familiar voice at Kyra’s shoulder. “A real fatpurse would have sacrificed a servant girl instead.”

Kyra turned her head.

Behind her, James inclined his head in greeting. “Good to see you again. Join me for a flagon?”

T H R E E

B
rendel’s song washed over Kyra as she scrambled to gather her wits. “Right now?” she asked.

He gave her a mocking smile. “Unless you’re eager to hear the ballad.”

Kyra jerked her head toward Lettie, who was so engrossed in Brendel’s performance she hadn’t yet noticed James. “I can’t leave her alone.”

“She’ll be fine. Keep her in view while we talk.”

Kyra scanned the room, hoping to see Flick in the crowd, but he wasn’t there. For a moment, Kyra considered telling James that she really did want to hear the rest of the ballad. But then, what was she afraid of? The only thing James had done so far was overpay her. Kyra schooled her features and nodded. Lettie barely acknowledged Kyra when she tapped her on the shoulder and told her where she was going.

James led her to a nearby table. As Kyra slid onto the bench across from him, he beckoned to a serving girl and ordered two mugs of ale.

“I trust you got some rest this morning?” he asked.

“Aye.”

The ensuing silence was interrupted by the serving girl returning with the ale. James pushed one mug toward Kyra. She wet her lips but didn’t drink.

“How long have you been in your current trade, Kyra?”

“About eight years.” Kyra wrapped both hands around the mug. The chill seeped into her palms and made her shiver.

“Is it a good living?”

She hesitated. “Why are you asking?”

“Of course, I apologize for my rudeness,” he said smoothly. “You’re right to be suspicious. I’m asking because we were impressed with your work last night.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“We’re looking for someone with your skills. Your agility, how you can move without being seen. You searched the compound for longer than you’d planned without getting caught, and you kept your head when you couldn’t find the loot. I see your skills have served you well in your current way of life.”

“I’m a thief,” she said curtly.

“A thief,” he echoed. “How much coin do you make, as a thief?”

“Enough.” She didn’t quite succeed in removing the defensiveness from her voice.

James scanned the dining room. “Enough to feed yourself and pay for decent lodging.” His tone made the sentence seem more a question than a statement. Kyra felt an uneasy stirring in her stomach. Did he know she was short on coin? She wasn’t in danger of being evicted, but recently it had become much harder to pay her lodging. The entire city was suffering from the attacks in the outskirts.

James continued. “Why does someone with your talents have to scramble for rent?”

So he did know. What else did he know about her? “We’ve got to be careful,” she said. “Wallhuggers get suspicious if there’s too much going on.”

“Then why not move to less-guarded homes?”

“If someone can buy guards to watch his trinkets, he’s got more than his fair share. I in’t fixing to steal someone’s bread money. And even with the wallhuggers, we need to be careful what we take. I won’t risk my neck for a jewelry collection when nobody in the city buys stones anymore. Folk are scared, ’cause of the raids.” Kyra paused and shifted her eyes to his face. “Actually, I’m wondering who you’d lined up to take that ruby.”

“Ah, the ruby.” James met Kyra’s gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting as if sharing a private joke. “Pity you couldn’t find it.” He might as well have admitted flat out that the ruby had never existed. “We deal mostly with the wallhuggers,” James continued before Kyra had a chance to think further. “If you worked with us, you wouldn’t have to worry about taking someone’s dinner. You wouldn’t have to worry about coin at all. We take good care of our own.”

“How good is that?”

“How’d you like to own a house in the city?”

“A house?”

Just the thought made her mouth go dry. Only the nobles and merchants owned property. What he was offering was impossible. Though with the way he’d paid her this morning…

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” she said.

“We’re a group who takes opportunities as we see them.” He chose his words carefully, picking his way through his sentence like a jeweler selecting stones. “Sometimes we cooperate with others; sometimes we pursue our own plans.”

“And your plans don’t always agree with the Palace,” Kyra finished.

“The Palace serves money and privilege. They uphold the laws because the laws suit them. The rest of us have to fight to control our fates.”

Several factors suddenly came together. James’s words and appearance—his quickness and the aura of quiet lethality that surrounded him—brought some old stories into Kyra’s mind.

“The Assassins Guild,” she blurted.

His lips curled into a smile. “There are some in the city who call us that.”

Images flitted through Kyra’s mind. A secret band of men who exercised power in Forge’s underworld. Deadly assassins who killed with impunity. “The whispers are real, then? The Guild is back?”

“It depends on which stories you’ve heard. We’re not murderers for hire. We just do what’s needed to reach our goals.”

“And what are those?”

“As I was saying, the city favors those who are born into power. But not all in power use it well, and not all with money deserve it. We act as a…balancing force. To make sure that those born outside the Palace walls don’t get trampled by those born within.”

She snorted. “Are you trying to tell me that the Guild is some kind of talesinger’s hero? The stories can’t all be false.”

His smile was quick and tight. “In case you haven’t noticed, the Palace’s got armies at its beck and call. They need more convincing than mere words and a handshake.”

Kyra shook her head. “Your goals are too high-thinking for me. I just do what I need to get by.”

“You say that, but your actions say otherwise. Didn’t you just tell me that you only steal from the rich? But you don’t have to share our goals to help us. The benefits for you would be more immediate.”

Kyra noticed she had begun to lean away from him. Perhaps he noticed as well, because he continued. “We don’t need you as an assassin. You’re too small. I’m guessing you’re useless in a fight, despite your speed.”

Though she recoiled at the thought of killing for hire, she bristled at his dismissive tone. “Then what do you want me for?”

“The strengths you’ve built over the last eight years. We need someone who can get in the Palace without being noticed.”

“If you want me to get something for you, just hire me.”

“It can’t be job by job. You’re good, but we’ll need to train you further. You’ll need to gather information from the Palace without raising suspicions.”

“What was wrong with the way I cracked the Palace last night?”

Now he looked amused. “I apologize again. I was unclear. We know you can crack the outer Palace compound. What we need is someone who can do the same thing, but in the Fastkeep.”

Kyra let her breath out with a hiss. “That’s dangerous.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who’d worry about that. You’ll be well compensated, of course.”

“What’s the point if I’m dead?”

“Are you refusing my offer, then?”

Kyra opened her mouth to say yes, but no sound came out. Despite the insanity of what he was proposing, she was intrigued. There was no reason to completely refuse him now. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

“Very well,” he answered. “See Rand over there?” He gestured toward a redheaded man drinking at one of the other tables. She nodded.

“If you change your mind, tell him. He knows where to find me.”

“The Assassins Guild?” asked Flick. “I’d think assassins would be too busy killing people to be secretly running the city.”

Flick bounced Lettie higher in his arms as he and Kyra weaved between horses, people, and wagons. Lettie was weaker today, barely moving as she snuggled into Flick’s shoulder.

“He says they’re not assassins for hire,” Kyra explained again.

“What do they do, then, bake sweet buns and feed orphans?”

She’d had the same doubts, but somehow it was annoying to hear them from Flick. Kyra scowled. “You’re not a plum citizen yourself.”

He ignored her jab. “What exactly is it that James wants from you?”

“Same things I’ve been doing—raiding and fetching. He didn’t go into specifics.” She took a deep breath. “I could use the coin.”

Flick was silent for a moment. “How far behind are you?”

“I’m paid up on my lodging now with what James gave me. But I’m still going from job to job. I don’t like that.”

He frowned and shifted Lettie’s weight to his other hip. “Mayhap I could help.”

“No, you can’t. You’ve got your own money troubles. Why are you arguing so much, anyway? You’re usually the first to hatch something against the wallhuggers.”

He didn’t argue her point, but after another pause, he spoke again. “Maybe we can figure something else out. I don’t trust him.”

They stopped in front of a cottage. “This is Miranda’s house,” Flick said, freeing one arm to knock on the door.

“How do you know her?”

“She hired me and a friend once to patch up her wall.”

A small woman with silver hair and wizened hands answered.

“Flick!” Miranda beamed and reached up to give him a hug. Kyra rolled her eyes when they weren’t looking. This was typical for Flick. Gets hired to do one odd job, and on their next meeting, the woman greets him like a long-lost son. Flick was always trying to get Kyra to meet new people, and some introductions took better than others.

“This is my friend Kyra,” Flick said, lightly pushing her forward. “And this”—he patted Lettie on the head—“is our patient.” Lettie smiled shyly and clung to his chest.

The odor of dried herbs hit Kyra as she entered. She looked for the source and spotted shelves of jars along the walls, carefully labeled in precise handwriting. Some of the jars—mint, dandelion root, willow—Kyra recognized. Others looked to be from across the Aerins, which was intriguing. Not many healers could boast such rare herbs. One empty jar read
SEAWEED—NYMPH GROWN
. Another, labeled
GRIFFIN TAIL
, had a few tattered feathers at the bottom. Kyra noticed that they didn’t look anything at all like the chicken feathers the boy in the street had been selling. Meanwhile, Miranda was listening to Lettie’s breathing, looking at her tongue, and occasionally asking Kyra questions.

“Her lungs are weak,” the healer finally said. “I can give her herbs, but the best thing would just be to keep her warm.” Miranda mixed some herbs with water and started it boiling on the stove. “It will cost more than usual, I’m afraid. Medicines are scarce since the Demon Riders started raiding the countryside.”

“Demon Riders?” Flick asked. Kyra leaned in to hear better. News of the barbarians was becoming too common for comfort.

“I’ve not seen them,” said Miranda, “but I
have
gone out there to help the injured. The survivors talk of folk who ride on the backs of giant beasts.”

“How bad are the raids?” asked Flick.

“They come quickly, they leave quickly. They go mostly for livestock, but they’re brutal to those who resist them. It’s a horrible sight to see.” Miranda sighed. “I help those I can, but many are beyond help by the time I get there. The caravans don’t travel as often since the raids started, and they’ve raised their prices for all their goods. Rare ingredients are all but impossible to come by. I could have saved some from infection if I’d had dryad hair, but the Far Ranger caravans no longer come here. They come too far, traveling over the Aerin Mountains, to risk losing it to barbarians.”

“Dryad hair?” asked Flick. Like Kyra, he was skeptical of the fantastical stories from across the mountains.

“One of the best remedies I know,” said Miranda. “Nothing on this side—herbs, roots, animals—comes even close. But the supply has just trickled off.” Miranda removed the boiling pot and poured its contents through a cloth, straining out the leaves. “But enough of this. We’ll scare the child. Just be careful if you leave the city.” She transferred the potion into a leather flask and handed it to Kyra. “Have her breathe the fumes whenever she has trouble.”

“Come here, Lettie.” Kyra opened the flask and stuck it under the girl’s nose. The child obediently took several deep breaths. “Feel any different?” Kyra asked.

Lettie nodded. “It hurts less.”

Kyra scrutinized the girl, surprised that the herbs would work so quickly. But there did seem to be a difference. The tension was gone from Lettie’s face, and she no longer winced with each breath.

“This potion should be good for a week,” Miranda said. “Would you like some herbs for more batches? It would be four coppers per measure.”

“How much would we need?” Kyra asked.

“We could try three weeks’ worth and see if she improves.”

Three weeks’ worth would be twelve coppers. Kyra did some calculations in her head. If she bought the medicine, would her money last until she found another job? It would be tight, but she could probably do it. She pulled out her coin purse and paid the healer, thanking her again as they left.

“Why don’t you go back,” Kyra told Flick as they stood outside Miranda’s house. “I’ll take Lettie straight to Idalee. I don’t want to keep them apart too long.”

“You know your way from here?”

“Well enough.”

Flick straightened, a sly grin on his face. “Well then, I might stop by the wool district on my way back.”

Kyra raised an eyebrow. “You still courting that merchant’s daughter? She’s a mite above your station, don’t you think?”

“Above my station? I’ll remind you that I am the son of a nobleman.”

“
Bastard
son.”

Flick raised his arms in an exaggerated stretch as he walked away. “I’m still closer to the wall than you.”

Kyra watched him go, buoyed slightly by his good spirits. Flick hadn’t seen his father since his mother died. She’d been a merchant’s daughter as well, but was thrown out by her family when they found out about her affair with Flick’s father. She managed to get by for a while as his mistress—until she became ill and the nobleman lost interest. Any mention of his father used to send Flick into low spirits, but it seemed that even deep wounds healed with time.