Honor Among Thieves (9 page)

“Looks like that would break easily.” Fox grimaced.
“You know, that sounded a lot more sensible before I said it out
loud.”

Delgar shot a quick glance in his direction.“Glass
weapons can be surprisingly durable. Dwarves have several reasons
for making them. But these daggers aren’t meant for fighting.
They’re like costumes: meant for effect, not everyday wear.”

“
These
daggers? How many are there?”

The dwarf tipped his head toward a table. Five
finished daggers rested on a soft, thick cloth.

Fox went over for a closer look. “Why so many?”

“Practice, for starters,” Delgar said. “I haven’t
worked in glass for more than forty years.”

“They all look perfect.” Fox picked up one of the
curved blades, turned it this way and that to catch the light, and
traded it for another. “They’re also identical.”

“Not quite. Look more closely at the roses.”

At first glance, Fox assumed that the tightly furled,
long-stemmed rosebud had been etched into the glass. But it looked
somehow . . . deeper.

He ran his fingertips over the blade to find that it
was perfectly smooth.

“The design is
inside
the glass! How did you
do this?”

The dwarf put down the cooled glass and stretched.
“When you have a few years to spare, I’d be happy to show you. Put
that dagger back and run your eye down the line from left to right.
Concentrate on the roses.”

Fox did as he was told. The tight rosebud on the
first dagger unfurled a bit on the next, and so on until the fifth
dagger depicted a half-blown rose.

“The Thorn’s rose opens at sunrise and closes at
sunset. There’s no telling exactly when we’ll get into Muldonny’s
curiosity room. If you have to make the switch with someone
watching, you’ll have less chance of detection if the copy and
original match.”

Fox grimaced. “I should have thought of that. Good
planning.”

“I’d take credit if I could. It was the elf’s idea.
She’s got Avidan working on them, too.”

“Now there’s a frightening thought.”

“He was in here a little earlier. He said he’d
offered to treat you for the pox but you declined, so he was
extending the offer to me.” Delgar lifted one eyebrow. “Clearly,
Avidan misunderstands the nature of our relationship.”

Fox touched the cut on his forehead. “He made the
medicine for this. He had extra.”

The dwarf’s lips twitched as he took in his friend’s
battered face. “Is that the fairy’s handiwork?”

“Indirectly,” Fox said. “She created what you might
call a misunderstanding with a couple of fishermen. The older one
had a wicked hook.”

The dwarf snorted. “How long have you been waiting to
use that line?”

“Oh, I’ve been casting about for an hour or two.” Fox
paused. “We could probably do this for hours.”

“Let’s not.”

The dwarf pushed his chair away from the fire pit and
stretched his muscled legs. “Are you going to tell me what’s on
your mind, or do I have to fish for it?”

“I thought we were stopping.”

“Believe it or not, that one was accidental. Change
the subject before someone overhears and kills us both.”

Fox took the locket from his bag and handed it to the
dwarf.

Delgar’s gaze went right to the broken clasp. “This
looks like an easy fix. I’ll get to it tonight.”

“Never mind the clasp. Look inside.”

The dwarf flipped the locket open and studied the
runes. Color faded from his forge-reddened face.

“You, my friend, have been dipping into the wrong
pockets.”

“The locket isn’t stolen. It was passed down through
my family.”

A long slow whistle escaped the dwarf. “Are you sure
this means what it seems to? The adepts claim that Eldreath’s
bloodline had been wiped out.”

“They claim a lot of things.”
“True.”

“If I am descended from Eldreath, I’m making a liar
out of Rhendish just by breathing and walking around.”

“How did he find out?” The dwarf grimaced as the
answer came to him. “Your mother.”

“That’s the obvious answer.” The words tasted bitter
in Fox’s mouth. “You’ve seen how they left her.”

“If that’s how they got the information, she didn’t
make it easy for them.”

They sat in silence for several long moments. Delgar
cleared his throat. “So what are you going to do?”

Fox didn’t need to ask what his friend meant. In the
next chamber, hidden behind one of the dwarf’s apparently solid
rock doors, was a trove of magical items. Some still held weak
sputters of arcane power, others were as silent as tombstones. Fox
had spent the past eight years stealing them from museums and
private collectors and curiosity shops and from Rhendish himself,
hoarding them against the day when magic returned to Sevrin. His
association with a dwarf, a fairy, and now an elf gave him
important contacts to the old races. The magical items gave him
bargaining power and potential weapons. In time, he hoped to build
an alliance strong enough to force the adepts from power.

No one but Delgar knew the extent of his collection,
but Fox had a certain following in the city, mostly among young
people who celebrated his exploits as acts of daring and
rebellion.

That, of course, was Vishni’s doing. The fairy’s
“improved tales” put Fox well along the path to becoming a folk
hero.

Fox had mixed feelings about this, but he permitted
it because he believed the folk hero of Vishni’s stories could
accomplish great things. But the same actions, undertaken by a man
of Eldreath’s bloodlines, would be perceived in a very different
light.

“What does the elf say about this?” Delgar asked.

“I haven’t told her. I just found out myself.”

“But you’re planning to,” the dwarf said.

Fox scowled and folded his arms. “I might.”

“You like her.”

“She doesn’t make it easy,” Fox said cautiously, “but
yes, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Delgar rose and began to pace. “You didn’t notice
anything strange about the two men we saw in the alley with the
elf?”

He thought this over. “Now that you mention it, one
of them looked a little old for a street thug.”

“Define old.”

“Well, he had gray hair. And he looked pretty well
fed, which tends to make people look older.”

“He was stocky, in other words. About my height, you
think?”

“Pretty close,” Fox said.

“And he was clean-shaven, which is unusual for a
human of his age.” Delgar stroked his own smooth chin. “What about
the other man?”

“About six feet tall, lean, probably about my age.”
Understanding flooded Fox’s face. “You think they looked like
us.”

“They were close enough to fool Rhendish’s clockwork
guards.”

Fox laughed and shook his head. “Are all dwarves this
suspicious?”

“I prefer to think of myself as analytical. And yes,
dwarves tend to be analytical. Humans, on the other hand, tend to
be emotional and impulsive.”

“I prefer to think of myself as instinctual,” Fox
said.

“Have it your way. But I noticed you haven’t brought
the elf this far into the tunnels. You haven’t shown her the
trove.”

Fox rolled his eyes. “I’m not a perfect idiot, you
know.”

“That you’re not.” The dwarf stopped pacing and
clapped Fox on the shoulder. “But only because nobody’s
perfect.”

For nearly four years now, Avidan had harbored no
thought of leaving the warren of rooms and tunnels he knew as the
Fox Den. He had no aversion to the larger world; the thought of
venturing out into it had simply never occurred to him.

But something very similar to curiosity began to stir
as he followed Fox and Delgar through an intricate maze of tunnels
and secret doors.

The hidden web Delgar had created was nothing short
of marvelous. In addition to clearing ancient dwarf-built tunnels,
the dwarf had made use of human constructions, such as the culverts
below the streets for rain run-off and the cellars of houses built
closely together. He’d dug small tunnels connecting these cellars,
and fashioned doors that seemed to disappear into the stone
walls.

For the first time Avidan realized how Fox was able
to procure any materials he requested. Now that he thought about
it, the herbs and minerals and oils he was putting into the elf’s
rose daggers would require a small fortune.

Or access to the workrooms of Sevrin’s
alchemists.

This, too, was a fascinating thought. He’d never been
particularly impressed by the northern alchemists. His own work was
far more advanced. But the most recent assortment of materials Fox
brought him showed a certain amount of sophistication.

“I suppose much progress can be made in one hundred
years,” he murmured.

Delgar glanced back over his shoulder. “I haven’t
been at it quite that long, but thanks.”

Avidan saw no reason to explain that he spoke of
alchemy, not excavation. He followed Fox and the dwarf up a flight
of rough-hewn stone stairs and waited while Fox tinkered with a
wood-and-wire mechanism. After a few moments, the young thief swung
a flagstone portal to one side.

The two friends crawled through the opening. Fox
reached down to help Avidan up.

He stood and dusted himself off. The flagstone proved
to be part of the stone paving separating a large hearth from the
room’s wooden floor. Fortunately for them, the warm summer night
made a fire unnecessary.

Avidan surveyed the private supper room Vishni had
rented in what he’d been told was one of Sevrin’s better taverns.
The walls were paneled with smoke-darkened wood. A garish tapestry
depicting a dragon hunt covered one wall, adding color and
subtracting from Avidan’s estimation of the owner’s taste. Blue
linen draperies softened the open windows. The room was hardly what
he had been accustomed to in his youth, but the furnishings were
adequate and the food plentiful.

The small table held a large bottle of wine and a
platter of bread, cheese and fruit. Fragrant steam rose from a
basket of savory hand pies. Smoked fish had been cut into neat
slices and arranged on a plate. Three chairs and place settings
stood ready.

“There’s no need for you to talk much,” Fox said,
repeating words Avidan had heard and ignored several times now.
“Let the other alchemist do the talking. Learn as much as you can
about him.”

“You need have no concerns about the conversation. No
doubt we will find much to discuss.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” muttered the dwarf.

“No going off on tangents,” Fox said. “And for the
love of a thousand tiny gods, don’t offer to treat him for the
pox.”

Avidan’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Why would I do
that?”

The dwarf and the thief exchanged a quick, worried
glance. Fox cleared his throat. “We’ll hold onto the alchemist
until after the dagger is retrieved, so you don’t need to worry too
much about what you say to him. Just make sure you don’t give him
reason to leave the room or raise an alarm. Vishni will give you a
signal if you’re heading into dangerous waters.”

“I believe the plan is for her to kick me in the
shins.”

Fox shrugged. “It’s best to keep these things
simple.”

Avidan accepted this with a nod and took his place at
the table. “I am ready.”

The dwarf glanced out the window. Twilight faded
toward dark. A lamplighter sang the hour as he went about his
work.

“Ready or not, we have to leave,” Delgar said. “We’ll
be waiting in the tunnel and we can come if you need us, but only
call as a last resort. Revealing this tunnel would lose us a big
section of the city.”

“I am well aware of the risks attending this
meeting,” Avidan said with simple dignity. “As I’m aware how these
risks might be compounded by the participation of someone who is,
as I believe the expression goes,
as crazy as three squirrels in
a cage
.”

A wave of chagrin swept Fox’s face. “Listen,
Avidan—”

He cut the young man off with an upraised hand. “I
have long been aware of your opinion. It could hardly be otherwise,
given how you found me. And in all candor I cannot dispute your
conclusion.

“But this task I can do,” he said firmly. “Go now,
and leave me to it.”

The two friends exchanged another troubled glance,
but they left the room without further comment.

Avidan poured a little wine and sipped. To his
surprise, the rich taste of pomegranate liqueur slid across his
tongue. He had not tasted this treasure of Veldoon since—

He stopped this thought before it could lead him onto
dangerous pathways. He could not afford to think about those lost
years, not if he hoped to play the part of a sane man.

A woman’s laughter rang out in the hall beyond the
supper room. The door opened and Vishni swept in on the arm of the
alchemist she’d hunted and charmed.

As always, Avidan could see through the illusion
Vishni wore to the reality beneath. The experience was a bit like
looking through a very solid rainbow. Tonight she chose to appear
blond and blue-eyed and buxom—the quintessential northland woman,
everything a visitor to Sevrin might hope to find in a temporary
companion.

The man with her was somewhat less than average
height, by the standards of Sevrin, and slightly built. He wore his
glossy black hair neatly combed and oiled. His skin had been warmed
by the southern sun to a color just short of brown. His nose was
thin and aquiline, his eyes an unusual shade of light gray
surrounded by a darker ring.

Looking upon him was like gazing into a mirror.

Avidan rose and spread both hands palms up in the
Veldooni gesture of greeting.

The alchemist started when he saw Avidan. “I did not
expect to meet a countryman.” His gaze swept Avidan’s simple blue
tunic. “And a brother of alchemy, as well!”