The Shadowhand Covenant (4 page)

Codes between thieves were common. I knew a few basic ones that simply identified me as a thief, meant to solicit help from other thieves when in a tight spot. So, naturally, the Shadowhands had developed their own special system. Sure, things like the lone red candle were general knowledge among thieves because it was to the Shadowhands' advantage. But a code like this eclipse thing had to be the most secret of secrets in order to work and keep anyone—

“Hang on,” I said, maybe a bit too loudly. I lowered my voice and said, “How do
you
know the Shadowhand passcode?”

Ma breathed loudly through her nose and peeked over her shoulder to make sure Maloch was still following at a
discreet distance. “Because, Jaxter,” she said plainly, “I was a Shadowhand.”

I stopped in my tracks, but Ma gripped my arm tightly and kept me moving forward.

“Keep going,” she whispered, a smile never leaving her lips. “If a Shadowhand is sending his son to collect us, there must be unimaginable danger involved. Someone might be watching. We can't do anything suspicious. Just pretend we're out for a stroll and act normally.”

I plastered a fake smile on my face and pretended to point out a flock of birds flying overhead. “‘Act normally?'” I said through clenched teeth. “Someone I hate claims to be the son of a Shadowhand and suddenly you tell me that
I'm one too.
There's nothing normal about this.”

“Oh, stop making a fuss,” she chided. “It's really not that big a deal.”

My mother didn't do humble very well.

“Out with it then,” I said. “What's the story?”

She sighed. “Not much to tell. Honest. It was a long time ago. Just after your da and I got married. Word about my forgery skills had gotten around, I was summoned, and I
accepted the invite. Tripled our income for a while, I can tell you. Oh, the heists we pulled . . .”

“So what happened? You said you
were
a Shadowhand.” Then a thought occurred to me. “Or . . . or are you . . . ?”

“No, son, I'm not still a Shadowhand. And, yes, I know that's what I'd say if I were still a Shadowhand, but I give you my word that I'm not. I gave it up just after you were born. We settled down here in Vengekeep, and glamorous as the Shadowhand life was, it was far too dangerous for a new mother. So I walked away.”

“And they let you?” I didn't imagine that was easy. She knew the identities of her fellow Shadowhands and all their secrets. It didn't seem like something you just walked away from.

“They asked me to reconsider, but when I told them no . . . well, yes, I walked away. They knew I would keep quiet. I'd signed the Shadowhand Covenant, and breaking it would have meant placing my family in more danger than anything all the High Laird's troops could've mustered. I'm bound to the Covenant. For the rest of my life.”

I didn't like the sound of that last bit.

“Did you know that Mr. Oxter is a Shadowhand?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Hadn't a clue. He must have joined after I left. But chances are he knew I was. He'd have seen my name on the Covenant.”

I was about to ask Ma what being bound to the Covenant meant exactly, but we'd arrived at the Oxter house. Three stories high with copper trim around the windows, it put most other houses in town to shame. We slipped down the alley between the Oxter house and the pie shop next door. Ma and I waited near the back door until Maloch showed up, followed shortly by Da.

Once inside, Maloch led us through to the dining room. A long table with ten chairs sat below a massive crystal chandelier. A light coat of dust covered everything. It looked like it had been some time since the room had been used.

Maloch reached behind a large hutch containing colored glass plates and pulled a hidden lever. The whirring of gears filled the air as the hutch slid to the side, revealing a small room beyond. Maloch led us in, allowing the hutch to close behind us.

Da lit an oil lamp atop an old, ornate desk at the center
of the room. Piles of parchment camouflaged the desk's surface. Ma looked around.

“Maloch, I thought you were bringing us to see your father,” she said.

Maloch didn't say anything. He produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the middle drawer of the desk, and pulled out a green leather-bound book, which he handed to Ma. She squinted at the pages, then fluttered her eyes.

“Oof!” Ma said with a bemused chuckle. “'S been a while since I've had to read shadowscript. Give me a mo.”

I looked over her shoulder at the writing in the book. I didn't recognize the language—it looked like a bunch of meaningless symbols—and guessed it was a special code used only by Shadowhands. On closer inspection, I saw that the writing was moving. I would focus on one character, and a moment later, it would squirm on the page and shift into a new symbol. In a blink, it would shift again to something entirely different. Each character transformed among three different shapes. I found it harder and harder to focus on the page, as every symbol wriggled and contorted. I finally had to look away.

Ma ran her finger across the yellowed parchment. “You
just have to know which symbols mean something and which are rubbish.” She sifted through the book slowly, her face growing more concerned with each page turn. She stopped on what looked like a list, where each line was crossed out. Ma looked up at Maloch with a mix of fear and astonishment in her eyes.

“Maloch . . . ,” she said, her voice cracking. “Do you realize—?”

“I can't read it, but Da told me what it says,” Maloch said. “Now you know why he wanted
you
to see it.”

I kept an eye on the sliding hutch, still expecting an ambush from Aronas and his men at any moment. “So why are you doing your father's dirty work for him?” I asked. “Why didn't he come to Ma himself?”

“My father is missing!” Maloch whirled on me, clenching his fists. He was a head taller than me, with arms like fence posts. He was ready to tear me apart. But I could hear the concern and fear in his voice. “He's been gone for two weeks now. And he told me that if he was ever gone for that long without checking in, I was to get your ma and bring her here.”

“Why her?”

“She's a
Shadowhand.
Are you really that thick, Jaxter?” Maloch said as he turned and punched the wall.

Da raised his hands. “All right, everyone. Calm down. What's it say, Allia?” He pointed to the book.

I stepped forward. “Yeah. You're retired. Why not ask the other Shadowhands for help?”

“Because,” Ma said, looking up from the book with sad eyes, “the Shadowhands are vanishing.”

“However long the vessapede, the tail will come.”

—Sirilias Grimjinx, liaison to the par-Goblin Rogue Triumvirate

^“
W
hat do you mean . . . vanishing?” I asked.

Ma snapped the book shut and stood. “This house isn't safe anymore. Maloch, go upstairs and pack a bag. You're staying with us until we can get things situated.”

“And then we're looking for my da?” Maloch asked.

Ma ignored his question as she pillaged the desk drawers. “We won't bother splitting up on the way home. Too risky. We need to stay close. Go, Maloch.” Scowling, Maloch obeyed.

Da found a burlap sack and began filling it with whatever Ma pulled from the desk. “What is all this, Allia?”

A lifetime of thieving had taught my parents to be cool in all situations. And in those moments when things got really rough and Da started to worry, Ma always stayed collected and unfazed. So, watching her scramble to get us out of the house, her eyes dark and distant, I couldn't help but panic a little. I just had no idea what I was panicking about.

Ma thumbed through the green book. “Yab Oxter first noticed that other Shadowhands were disappearing about a month ago. One by one, he lost contact, and he grew suspicious. He started to document what he knew about the disappearances.”

She held out the book, showing the squirming shadowscript. “He left here two weeks ago to look for the last three Shadowhands: Alvar Oro, Bennis Carra, and Dylis Jareen.”

“How many are missing?” I asked.

Ma tucked the book into the sack. “There are only ever twelve active Shadowhands at a time. Makes it easier for everyone to trust each other. It sounds like Yab is gone now too. Who knows if the three listed here are still around?”

She and Da both took the small dirks they kept strapped near their ankles and hid them up their sleeves for easier access. I'd seen them do this only a handful of times before. Always when the danger was very, very real.

“Ma, I've never seen you this scared,” I said.

Ma put her hands on my shoulders. “Jaxter, these are the Shadowhands. No one in the Five Provinces is better at moving in secret and staying hidden. If someone has been eliminating them . . . that's someone you should be scared of.”

Once Maloch returned with his things, we left for home. Ma made me walk ahead with Maloch while she and Da kept an eye on us from behind.

“So,” I said, looking down at my feet as we walked, “you're a thief.”

Maloch could hardly keep from smiling. “Since the day I was born.”

He sounded smug, and it made my chest burn.

“And when we were kids, and I showed you how to pick a lock—”

“I already knew how,” he said, grinning even wider. I hated that grin.

“And all the times your da pushed to have our family arrested . . .”

At this, Maloch laughed. “Best way to make sure no one suspected he was a Shadowhand.”

And then I did the bravest thing I think I've ever done. Braver than facing down magma men. Braver than dodging hordes of killer balanx skeletons. I turned and slugged Maloch as hard as I could in the arm.

It was like punching a fleshy wall. I probably did more damage to my knuckles than to him. I'm not even sure he felt it. Still, he looked at me, annoyed. “What was that for?”

“That,” I said, trying to sound intimidating, “was for treating me like a total garfluk these past few years. I can't believe that all this time you've really been a thief in training.”

His eyes lit up. “You gotta admit, Jaxter, I had everyone fooled. ‘The greatest role you'll ever play is the role that others believe in.'”

I hated that he was a better thief than me. I hated that he and his father had hoodwinked my family all these years. But more than anything, I hated that he was quoting par-Goblin
proverbs to me. I wanted to hit him again . . . but the feeling hadn't returned to my hand after the last blow. “You beat me up in the catacombs!”

The memory, over six months old, was still fresh in my mind. Callie and I had been searching for a secret way out of the town-state when Maloch attacked, pretending to arrest me.

He rolled his eyes. “Jaxter, if I'd wanted to hurt you in the catacombs, you'd never have left there on your own two feet. I was holding back.”

“You could have said something,” I complained.

“Whatever,” Maloch said. “Doesn't really matter for you, does it? You're not a thief anymore.”

I wanted to retort but couldn't. Instead, I just punched him in that meaty arm of his again. I heard something in my hand pop.

“If you'd like,” he said softly, “I could teach you how to throw a punch.”

I suspected that the offer was less about teaching me self-defense and more about demonstrating a real punch by using my face as his target, so I kept to myself the rest of the walk home.

When we arrived at my parents' house, the sun was setting and we found the Dowager's carriage pulled up to the front door. The Dowager was waiting outside.

“There you are!” she said in her singsong voice. “I was getting worried. And who's your friend?”

I coughed at the idea that Maloch was my friend. “This,” I said, looking her in the eyes, “is Maloch Oxter.”

The Dowager's nose wrinkled. “
The
Maloch Oxter?”

Maloch frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

The Dowager tilted her head, studying Maloch's face. “He doesn't
look
evil, Jaxter. I thought you said—”

Before Maloch could reply, Da clamped his hand around Maloch's mouth and ushered him toward the house. As Da fought to get Maloch through the door, Ma curtsied politely.

“Lovely to see you again, Annestra. Forgive us, but we have an urgent matter to attend to. You know. Phydollotry shop business.” She then turned and helped Da pull Maloch into the house, closing the door behind them.

The Dowager smiled sweetly after them. “For rogues,
your parents are such nice people. We should visit them again. For now, it's time we were getting back.”

I started. “Really? So soon?”

“I'm afraid so. My brother is expecting a response from me regarding those missing artifacts. I'm sorry we have to leave earlier than we'd planned.”