The City of Pillars (2 page)

That thought led Rondel to question the heritage of his partner as he watched her easily climb the outer wall protecting the museum. Andrasta found hand holds in the pitch black as if they were lit by sparkling diamonds. She waited at the top with an outstretched arm for him to grab.

He took a three-step running start, placed his boot on the bottom of the wall, and drove his leg up. Hoping the momentum might aid his jump, he reached for her hand. He missed and cursed his poor night vision. His feet struck the cobbled path beneath him with a scuffling tap.

Might as well be thunder.

Rondel panicked at the noise, pressing his back against the wall, trying to make himself appear as small as possible. His good hand found the hilt of his blade.

“Get your rear moving and try again before the next patrol comes. I’m not looking to fight,” Andrasta hissed above him.

“Really? You want to avoid a fight? You feeling all right?” he whispered back. A sword was about as natural in his partner’s hands as a lute had once been in his.

“Get. Up here. Now.”

Rondel cringed at the frustration in Andrasta’s voice. Though he couldn’t see her face in the dark, he didn’t have to in order know it wore a scowl. He spun away from the wall and stepped back.

Though they had been together for nearly a year, working jobs with varying levels of questionable morality, he still deferred to her when it came to the finer points of thievery.

After all, the last year encapsulates my entire experience as a thief. Andrasta on the other hand seems made for the role.

He stared at Andrasta’s outstretched hand. The woman lay on her stomach atop the wall to give him a closer target.

He inhaled, took four great steps, and leaped. Andrasta’s calloused hand latched on to his wrist. The shortened fingers on his bad hand tightened around her arm.

She grunted and swung him up until he could bring up his good hand to grab the wall’s edge. He pulled himself up the rest of the way.

As usual, with Andrasta helping him, the process took less than a couple of seconds. They had perfected the movement over many months.

It bothered Rondel they had to invent the process at all, but no matter how much stronger he got, unless he scaled something with well-defined hand holds, the missing finger tips on his left hand made it nearly impossible to manage such climbs alone.

Before Rondel could mutter his thanks, Andrasta jumped down the other side. The lack of noise had him once again noting the feline qualities of the woman. He joined her at the bottom, thankful he didn’t break an ankle when landing.

Inside the walls, a small, lush courtyard stood between them and the front of the museum. The courtyard and also the city’s famous library were two of a handful of places in Zafar that received sunlight during parts of the day.

Half a dozen date palms stood amongst a sea of jasmine. Moonlight reflected off the white flower petals, bringing to mind a phrase Rondel had come across while doing research in Zafar’s library.

“Where a flower blooms, one will find hope,” he whispered.

“I
hope
you stop making so much noise.”

He pressed his lips tight.

Andrasta tiptoed toward the front of the museum. Rondel followed.

They reached a thick, cedar door. Andrasta went to work on the lock.

Gods, how much did it cost to import? The closest cedar tree is hundreds of miles away.

Two faint clicks sounded, followed by three more, then a long pause, and finally one final roll of the tumbler.

Hmm, we haven’t come across many like that.

Andrasta opened the door slowly, pausing at the beginnings of a faint creak. Rondel handed her a small vial of oil from a pocket in his belt. She doused the hinges and opened it without sound. They slipped inside and shut the door noiselessly.

The museum consisted of three floors above ground and a large basement used for storage of old exhibits or pieces not yet ready for display. The first floor held mostly pottery and paintings from around the world.

They glided through the partitions, half walls, and stands separating each collection from other regions of Untan. Rondel paused for half a breath in the center of the room which showcased ancient Erba.

A painting over five hundred years old illustrated the low mountains Zafar had been built upon. Lush vegetation surrounded the base and even rode up the lower parts of the steppes before reaching the plateau most of the city rested on.

Today, the painting would show a city of rock built atop rock, surrounded by dirt with a few rare patches of plant life like those in the museum’s courtyard. One would need to travel to Erba’s coasts to come across land capable of growing large quantities of food or raising vast herds like the lands depicted in the painting.

Rondel caught up to Andrasta. She had stopped next to a partially open door at the far corner of the first floor. Three voices came from inside. A shaft of light struck her face as she peeked through the slit.

Andrasta made eye contact with him, gesturing with a finger to her dark lips for silence. She moved aside so Rondel could eavesdrop on the conversation.

Though Andrasta had picked up most of the local language, Rondel knew it better.

“Bedr!” said a gruff voice.

“What?”

“Wipe that blasted smile off your face or I’ll do it for you. You better not be cheating.”

“How can I cheat? It’s your deck and Fahim’s dealing.”

“Djinns take you! That’s your sixth winning hand in a row.”

“That’s a poor curse to wish on any man,” said Bedr.

The man with the gruff voice paused. “You’re right, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you and Fahim are into something together.”

A third voice chuckled. “Everything’s fine when you’re winning. Yet when you start to lose, everyone else is cheating. Can’t you accept that Hubul might actually be smiling down on us?”

The first man laughed, his anger fading. “The father of the gods has better things to do than smile down on us. Besides, if he’s willing to throw some blessings our way, I’d rather something better than victory in a few card games.”

Rondel shook his head and eased away from the door. Andrasta and he stepped back and spoke in whispers so soft they had to press their mouths to each other’s ears.

“All three guards are playing cards. The top two floors should be clear.”

“Let’s kill them quickly,” said Andrasta drawing her sword.

Rondel stayed her hand. “Why?”

“Here’s a better question. Why leave them alive to sneak up on us or sound an alarm later?”

She’s got me there.

Rondel had killed more people than he cared to admit since forming his partnership with Andrasta. The majority of them deserved killing, but a few he wasn’t so sure about. He regretted those.

Just people in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like these guards.

Yet, he couldn’t have the guards ruining their plans either.

“We could tie them up.”

Andrasta didn’t even bother answering the suggestion. She let her eyes go blank and gave him her famous cold stare. With the long diagonal scar spanning the length of her face from forehead to jaw and crossing her nose in between, it was a stare he preferred others to be on the receiving end of.

He scanned the room. A piece of art at the far wall consisted of rusted armor, broken pieces of wood, old copper, and ratty cloth all held together by rope and twine. It was part of the modern movement which more or less consisted of picking through trash and making some sort of sculpture which no one could figure out.

Yet, everyone pretends they have the answer.

“Let’s lock them in the room then.” Andrasta followed his gaze to the sculpture and sighed. “Come on. That’s more than enough stuff to barricade the door and shift change isn’t until dawn. That’s hours away, and no one outside would be able to hear them shouting.”

She replaced her sword in her scabbard. “Fine.”

* * *

Though the pounding of fists echoed throughout the high-ceilinged space, Rondel wasn’t worried about the door. Short of having an elephant inside, the three guards would never muster the strength necessary to cast aside the barricade blocking them inside the room.

Due to the museum’s acoustics, the pounding lessened in volume as they ascended the stairs. Complete silence enveloped them on the third floor.

Andrasta looked over her shoulder then back at a floor covered in runes. Moonlight from a window in the ceiling illuminated the space. “You’re sure about this?”

As sure as I’m going to be.

“Of course.”

Rondel took point as they maneuvered through the displays, carefully loping back and forth while gradually making their way toward their destination. He paused only twice to examine the patterns etched on the floor’s tiles.

Sorcery had been woven into the tiles during the museum’s construction. Traversing the third level at night meant stepping on the tiles in a predetermined sequence. A misstep supposedly conjured up guard demons.

Rondel had visited the museum many times over the last month during daylight hours in order to study the pattern. Then he’d moved to Zafar’s famed library for more research.

And I still don’t know if I’m completely right.

Sweat beaded across his forehead while stepping lightly on the center of each tile. Andrasta followed his lead. He let out a slow breath when they reached the safe area around a display case near the center of the room. They both stared at what lay beneath a wire mesh covering.

A silver flute etched with tiny runes, far more complicated than the ones on the floor, rested on a red cushion. Legend surrounding the flute said it belonged to Thalamanak, the greatest sorcerer who had ever lived. He once used the flute to control the monstrosities he had created and fought with during the Sorcerer Wars millennia ago. Based on Rondel’s research, the flute was necessary to get past one of the guardians protecting the Jewel of Bashan.

“Use your dagger to cut the wire,” said Rondel. “Relian steel should be sharp enough not to disturb the entire display.”

Andrasta frowned. “Something doesn’t feel right.” Worry shone on her face as she scanned the space.

“What do you mean?”

“This is too easy.”

“That means we planned well.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s wrong? We took care of the guards and made it through the wards on the floor.”

“What about Kamal and Wabu?”

“What about them?”

“This is their territory.”

“That hasn’t stopped us before.”

“I’m worried they’ve set up a trap as payback after the last job.”

“They have no way of knowing we’d be here. Besides, we beat them to that necklace fair and square.”

“Fair means little in our line of work. You should have let me kill them.”

Rondel waved a hand dismissively. “You’d kill the whole world if I let you. I’m surprised you haven’t tried to kill me yet.”

Andrasta’s dark face was a mask of stone. “I thought about it once or twice in the early days.”

Rondel blanched.

“You were pretty annoying then. But don’t worry, we’re good now.”

“Thanks. Regardless, we don’t have to worry about them.”

A strange grid-like shadow appeared over Andrasta’s face. She noticed it at about the same time he did. They looked up. A large net engulfed them. Cursing and groping for their weapons, they fell, trying to get loose.

A loud guffaw rang out above. Rondel paused in his struggles as a square-jawed, copper-skinned man descended by rope from the ceiling. The shadow of another man steadied the rope at the edge of the window.

“Good thing they weren’t worried about us, huh Kamal?” the man from the roof called down.

Wabu.

“Yeah. Otherwise, they might have used their heads and looked over all possible entrances rather than just the most obvious. By Hubul, it’s a wonder how they ever got one over on us.”

“Why
didn’t
we use the roof?” Andrasta snapped.

“The wards were supposed to be stronger there than those on the floor,” said Rondel.

“Apparently not.”

Kamal came to a halt just above the flute. He swung his sword, tearing up the wire mesh protecting what lay beneath. The entire display stand began to glow a pale yellow.

Kamal snatched the flute.

Rondel swore. “That’s ours.”

“Funny, I seem to be the one holding it. I’m not sure why you wanted this. Is it even real silver? Anyway, if you’re willing to steal it, it must be worth something to someone. We’ll find the buyer and make the deal ourselves.”

There is no buyer
, Rondel wanted to say, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was to let Kamal know the flute’s importance to them.

“I’m going to kill you,” growled Andrasta.

“I love you too.” Kamal gave the rope a tug and ascended upward as Wabu pulled.

Rondel felt the heat rising off Andrasta. Kamal had made a pass at her not long after they entered Zafar. She turned him down, and the thief had called her things afterward that Rondel never would have dared say to any woman. The only reason why Kamal still lived was because Rondel had convinced Andrasta retribution wouldn’t be worth the heat from Zafar’s underworld for killing one of their tools.

Given our situation, I think I was wrong on that count.

“By the way,” continued Kamal. “We’ve already informed the watch that someone matching your descriptions broke into the museum.”

“Maybe next time they’ll know better than to encroach on our territory,” said Wabu, straining under the weight of hoisting up Kamal.

Kamal called near the top. “Oh, if the watch wasn’t enough to bother with, then you may want to look at the floor. I’m not sure what’s happening, but it looks pretty serious.”

Fifty feet away, wisps of smoke varying in color—gray, black, and green—rose in more than half a dozen locations as Andrasta cut away the last of the netting.

Two cheetahs and three hyenas materialized from the rising smoke.