The Thief Who Pulled on Trouble's Braids (5 page)

Chapter Eight

It remained for me to find a safe place to stow the idol. I wasn’t going to be taking it along on my reconnaissance of Heirus’s villa, and I damn sure wasn’t leaving it at home. I could think of no better place than at Holgren’s.

I stopped by a butcher’s, and bought scrap and bones for Bone. He was still my responsibility, and I didn’t want to press Holgren’s generous impulses too far. Then I found a hack willing to take me as far as Daughter’s Bridge, and walked the rest of the way.

When I knocked, Bone’s deep, thumping bark started up. This time Holgren answered the door himself, with Bone trying to butt past his legs. Holgren wore a sheepish grin. I suspected they had been rough-housing. Bone grinned and drooled and thumped his tail against the doorsill. I patted his head. It was like patting fur-covered rock.

“Hello, Amra. What have you got there?”

“Treats for the beast.” I passed him the packet from the butcher. “And I brought that thing we talked about yesterday.”

“Excellent. Come in, come in. It’s a hot day. Would you like wine?”

“That would be nice.” I entered and sat down on the dusty sofa.

“Inspector Kluge came around this morning.”

“How did that go?”

“Oh, fine. He was asking after someone named Marfa. I told him she was my sister, come to give me a dog. Some chitchat followed, a few questions about Corbin. I couldn’t help him, and he left it at that.” He passed me a glass. It was a crisp Kirabor. Not cheap.

“Sorry to bring the law to your door, Holgren.”

He waved it away. “I’m glad you brought him. The dog, that is.”

“So you and Bone are getting along all right?”

“I’d forgotten how enjoyable it can be to have a companion. I haven’t had a dog since… for a long time.”

“Well I’m glad you two have hit it off. Though I could have used him around last night.”

“Oh?”

I told him about my visitor. He shook his head.

“I’ve no idea what it was, I’m afraid. I’ve never heard of anything that fits the description. Grohl are humanoid, and a rather ghastly grey color, but they bleed red like you and I, and don’t have any protrusions around the head or hands. And they wouldn’t come within fifty miles of a human habitation for any reason other than to burn it to the ground.”

“Whatever it was, I’m pretty sure it was after this.” I unwrapped the toad and passed it to him. “I think my burglar can track that statue, somehow. I don’t have any proof. I just can’t think of any other reason it would be trying to sneak through my window.”

“There’s no telling, really. You could very well be right.” He held it, and a strange look passed over his face. He set it down on the table and wiped his hand on his vest in an unconscious gesture.

“There’s something more to this than meets the eye, Amra. Something distasteful. Something dangerous, I think.” He looked up at me. “Have you noticed anything? Anything unusual?”

“Other than monsters crawling through my window? No. It’s unusually ugly, but other than that, no. Not really.”

“No strange urges? No odd thoughts crossing your mind? No sudden sickness?”

“No, nothing like that. Except—”

“Except?”

“Nothing, really. Just bad dreams and headaches the past couple of days. When I sleep. I keep hearing whispers, and breathing. I think it’s just the heat.”

“Maybe so, maybe no.” He frowned and stared at the idol for a time. “There is something about it. Something old. Ancient. And unclean. It looks post-Diaspora, but feels far older....” He trailed off. His mind was somewhere else. He began mumbling to himself, in no language I recognized. I sat quietly, sipping my wine. One of the privileges of being a mage, I suppose, is that you can be as strange as you like, and nobody dares comment. Finally he shook himself and took a deep breath. He smiled a small smile at me.

“Would you mind terribly leaving it with me? I’d like to probe this mystery a bit further. It’s very odd, almost as if—well, anyway, would you mind?”

“Not at all. You’d be doing me a favor. Another favor, actually. Just watch yourself. Apparently it’s worth killing for.”

He smiled an unpleasant smile. “I’ve ample protection, believe me. Anyone able to defeat my wards will have earned whatever they can take from me. Give me a few days, Amra, and I’ll see what I can see.”

I spent a few minutes being licked to death by Bone, then took my leave. Holgren waved distractedly, pondering the lump of gold on the table and, presumably, the old evil it represented.

~ ~ ~

Finding the villa Heirus had rented wasn’t terribly difficult. I hired a hack and told him I wanted to take a leisurely afternoon ride. I put a gold mark in his horny hand and pointed him down the Jacos Road. He was happy to oblige, with a week’s wages in his fist.

Walking it would have been better, but there was a much higher chance of me being noticed. There isn’t much traffic that far down the Jacos, and anyone walking down and then back would have been noticed by a relatively alert guard.

There were dozens of villas along the Jacos Road, ranging from weekend cottages and love nests to full-fledged farm concerns. But only three backed onto the cliffs. They were all relatively small, and crowded in on each other. It’s not a huge cliff. The villas were built for the view.

The first, I happened to know, belonged to Gran Ophir, a shipping magnate. The second turned out to be deserted, and had been for years, by the look of it. Which left only the southernmost.

It looked innocuous enough at first glance. Ivy-covered brick walls about twice my height. A wrought iron gate, all curlicues and blunt spikes. Glimpses of a two-story structure screened behind lush vegetation. But the ivy was actually adder-tongue, a thorny, semi-poisonous climbing vine, and if you looked close enough you could see the occasional tell-tale glint of broken glass mortared into the top of the wall. And beyond the whimsy gate, two visible guards, armed with sword and crossbow.

I let the hack go on about a mile further, until we came to a quaint little country tavern. I had a drink in their beer garden and watched golden bees do their thing in the late afternoon sunshine. I let my mind wander.

I had seen what there was to see, and knew better by now than to try and force any sort of plan. It would all fall into place soon enough. Theft is as much art as it is craft. Reconnaissance work was a big part of that art, that craft. The villa’s security, from what I had seen, was professional. I’d circumvented worse. But I hadn’t seen anything but the surface.

I realized I was about to break one of my own rules. I was going to rush a job.

Usually I took at least a week to plan a break-in. I liked to observe the comings and goings, scheduled and otherwise, familiarize myself with faces and body language and study the peculiarities of the layout. To see what doors were used, and when, and by who. Which windows were opened, and which were never opened. To see if a guard had a tendency to nod, or drink, or even scratch his arse. I like to get to a place where I can grasp the rhythm of a household intuitively. The smallest thing can give you an insight which can lead to a plan. But there was no place to loiter and observe along the Jacos Road, and I had monsters trying to crawl through my window in the middle of the night, and I was willing to bet that the only way to make sure that kind of thing stopped was to kill the mysterious Elamner behind those villa walls.

When I reckoned an hour or so had passed, I woke my coachman up from where he snoozed in the shade of an old oak, and we headed back to the city. I didn’t so much as glance at the villa as we passed the second time. You take what care you can.

Once back in the city, I rented a horse from Alain the carriage maker. I wasn’t about to walk back to the villa.

Alain wasn’t really in the practice of renting mounts, which was one of the reasons I preferred to rent from him. Another was that I’d done him a good turn once, and he felt some obligation over it. I could almost trust him. He would do right by me and wouldn’t get curious as to what I might be doing.

He had a very large work yard out in the Spindles, on the city end of the Jacos Road, and half a dozen carpenters in his employ. He was an honest, stubborn, self-made man who was doing very well thanks to his skill and his wife Myra’s business acumen.

I walked through the gate into his yard, and was immediately confronted with a gigantic wheeled...
thing.
Like a carriage big enough for a giant to lie down in.

“Amra! What do you think of it?” Alain called from across the yard.

“I think I pity the horse,” I replied. “What the hells is it?”

“They’re calling it an omnibus. Fits forty passengers.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He punched me in the arm. “I’m talking about making money, woman. This here omnibus will troll the length of Orange Road all day every day. People will jump on, pay their two coppers, ride as far as they want. Transport for the working man!”

“As long as the working man works along Orange Road.” Which, admittedly, thousands did. It was a very long, wide road. “Does Myra approve?”

He smiled. “She approves of the fee for building it, which I’ll be collecting now that it’s nearly finished. She’s more cautious about the investment side of things. But you’re not here to talk about omnibuses. Or is it omnibi?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. And I do need something. A horse for the night.”

Alain picked out a grey gelding for me. From the looks of him, the horse had an appointment with the knackers in the not-too-distant future. My trust began to diminish.

“He looks ready to collapse,” I told Alain.

Alain scratched his ample stomach. “He’s a gentle one, is Kram. And you sit a horse like you’ve a stick shoved up an uncomfortable place, Amra.”

I glared at him, but he was right. I can keep a saddle. Just. Growing up very poor in a city built on the side of a mountain, I didn't get much opportunity to learn. Bellarius wasn't known for its horesmanship.

Alain promised to have the horse saddled and ready an hour after sunset, and I flipped him a silver mark. Then I went home to start laying out my gear.

A funny thing happened along the way. There was a boy—well, I say boy, but he was in his late teens. He was staring at me.

He stood in the shade of the column that supports the aqueduct above Tar Street, just on the edge of the Spindles, and he had the biggest, kindest eyes I’d ever seen. He also has a shaved head, and was dressed in the simple rust-colored wrap of an ascetic. He was staring at me, and smiling a little. I scowled and his smile grew.

He didn’t try to approach me. I couldn’t puzzle it out, so I stopped trying. Lucernis is full of all sorts. I went on my way, but could feel his gaze on me until I turned the corner.

Chapter Nine

I hid Kram in a copse of pin oak and hackberry about a mile from the villa, tying the lead to a low branch. I don’t know why I bothered. Kram was one horse utterly uninterested in wandering. He had the look of a convict who’d given up all hope of escape, and was just waiting for death.

I didn’t expect to actually enter Heirus’s villa that night; all I planned to do was take a good long look at the layout of the grounds, and see what sort of security measures he had in place. And I was going to do it from the relative safety of the deserted villa next door to his. That was the plan, anyway.

The night was dark, but not as dark as I might have wished. Here on the outskirts of the city, manmade light was scarce. No street lamps, no lanterns or candles from windows close on either side of the street. There were just the stars and the moon. But the moon was almost full, and cast a bright silver light down through a cloudless sky. I have excellent night vision; that advantage would be whittled down.

I spent the next half-hour scuttling through the weed-choked ditch that ran alongside the Jacos Road, moving as quickly and quietly as I could toward the villa. It was dry as a bone, which was a blessing, but I startled the occasional creature. An opossum, a snake. A couple other things I didn’t get a good look at. I am a city dweller, and had been almost all my life. I distrusted nature. It was an uncomfortable, nerve-rasping journey.

I wore a dark, dark grey cotton tunic and trousers, and a pair of black, thin-soled boots. In one pocket I had a black silk vizard, for when it came time to cover my face. Otherwise it was a distraction. Any article of clothing you don’t wear on a daily basis can be distracting, and in my line of business, distraction can be fatal.

On my back was a pack chock full of various implements and instruments of the trade, all carefully stowed so as not to shift or make noise. It was far more than I usually took to a job, but I planned to make the deserted villa next to Heirus’s my base, so I wouldn’t have to lug everything around the entire time. My blades were lamp-blacked, so as not to cast a stray glint at an inopportune moment. I was as prepared as I could be.

The deserted villa was nowhere near as well-put-together as Heirus’s. It had a wall, but it was low and made of wood and dilapidated, sagging badly in some spots. It had been hardly more than decorative when it was new. Now, honeysuckle and morning glory and creeping laver were slowly tearing it down. When I finally reached it, I crept along the side opposite Heirus’s until I found a gap wide enough to squirm through. I did, dragging my pack after me. Once inside the grounds, I crouched, and listened for a hundred heartbeats. Nothing but the occasional call of a night gull, and the whisper of a breeze in the riotous growth that had once been a smallish formal garden. I watched the darkened, paint-peeling house for any sign of movement. Nothing. In the strong moonlight, the villa looked diseased.

And just as I had decided it truly was deserted, I heard feet crunching on a gravel path somewhere off to my left. I froze, knife in hand. I couldn’t see anything; the foliage was too thick. I listened to whoever it was cross from my extreme left to almost level with my position, then heard the footsteps recede.

If I had to guess, it was a sentry, making a circuit of the yard. But I didn’t have to guess. I had all night. I pushed forward, slowly and silently through the dense shrubbery until I had a clear view of the villa. It was a two story affair. I could tell by the layout there was an interior courtyard. There were very few windows on the outside, all of them too small to fit through. All the focus would be in, toward the courtyard, which would likely be tiled, with a fountain in the center. Hallways on both floors would run along the outer walls. The question was, did the builder break from the traditional villa layout to take in the sea view from the cliffs? I couldn’t tell from where I was, but thought it probable.

If the grounds were being patrolled here, they were undoubtedly being patrolled by Heirus’s men. Whoever was in charge of his security was no idiot. Anyone interested in gaining access to the Elamner’s villa would almost certainly make use of the abandoned dwelling next door. Gran Ophir, the deserted villa’s northern neighbor, wouldn’t bother with such security measures. His villa was for the use of a mistress who happened to be travelling. The interesting tidbits you pick up, sitting around Tambor’s.

I had a decision to make. I had planned to set up shop in the unused building and observe the Elamner’s grounds from the roof. See how many guards, and what sort of rotation. Whether there were dogs. See what I could see of the interior of the villa, from a safe distance. The patrol here had complicated matters. I thought about it, and decided the risks did not outweigh the possible benefits.

I sat there in the darkness, utterly still. Two tiger moths fluttered around my head, landed on my arm. Began to copulate. I ignored them, though they were as big as my palm. Distractions can be fatal. About a half-hour later the guard made another circuit. He was armed with short sword and crossbow. The sword was sheathed, the crossbow’s stock tucked into the crook of his arm. He was professional enough. He scanned his surroundings and didn’t talk to himself or hum or whistle. He wore a doublet and loose, almost baggy trousers tucked into low boots. He wasn’t wearing chain armor, that much I could tell. I couldn’t tell from this distance if his doublet was just padded, or if iron plates had been sewn into it. Either was common.

As he moved off, away from me and in the direction of Heirus’s villa, I moved quickly and quietly to my left, toward the cliffs. There was my best chance of entering  the dilapidated building.

Once I got to the back of the villa it was a case of good news, bad news. The good news was that practically the entire back wall was open to the air, a series of huge windows with dilapidated shutters, to afford a view of the sea. Most of those shutters were stacked haphazardly on the ground about twenty feet away. Now it was a series of open, gaping entrances. The bad news was that there was absolutely no cover from the house to the cliff other than that low, wide stack of shutters. And there were two more guards stationed just inside the building.

I eased back into the deeper shadow of a huge hackberry, and waited some more. Listened to the dull roar of waves crashing against rocks forty feet below. Eventually the roaming guard came around the far corner and exchanged a few words with his two companions. I couldn’t hear what they said over the surf. One appeared to grunt and took over the walking duties, crossbow slung over his shoulder.

I decided gaining entry to the abandoned villa wasn’t worth the risk. Once you get in, you have to get out. Again I was at a crossroads. Go home, think of some other approach. Or go ahead, into Heirus’s villa, practically blind. I wasn’t kidding myself. If I went into that villa tonight, it would be to kill the man. I could let this go, if I wanted to. Corbin hadn’t asked me to avenge his death. All he’d asked me to do was look after his dog.

Kluge’s words came back to me. First they’d hacked off his fingers, then they’d let him run. Then they’d killed him, just for the sport of it.

Tonight was as good a night as any, and better for being sooner rather than later.

I trailed the roving guard at a safe distance back toward my entry point, then made my way carefully toward the Elamner’s villa through the dense undergrowth that had been the front garden. I reached the sagging wall and took a look.

Between the two walls lay about ten yards of open ground that ran all the way to the cliffs. Someone kept the vegetation trimmed there; nothing grew more than ankle high. I couldn’t see anyone on the wall across the open space, but I would have bet gold someone was set to watch that open space. I could see a small wooden door set into the side wall of the Elamner’s villa, and about ten feet from my position, a gap in the wooden wall of the abandoned one. Where the guards passed back and forth, no doubt. Where the watcher would be stationed. No doubt the roaming guard would give the ‘all’s well’ every time he passed.

All right, time to take a little risk.

I made my way carefully, quietly along the sagging vine-covered wall that ran parallel to the Elamner’s villa, back towards the cliffs. When I reached the corner of the old house, I vaulted the low wall, to keep it between me and the watchmen stationed in the abandoned villa. Then I crawled through the shadow at the foot of the wall the rest of the way to the cliffs.

I stopped and pulled the bag of resin out of my pack, anointed both hands, and stowed it away. Took a few deep breaths. Then, offering up a brief prayer to Vosto, the god of fools and drunks, I lowered myself feet-first down the cliff face.

I descended far enough that I would be invisible to anyone not standing directly at the cliff’s edge. The cliff was granite, and offered good hand and footholds. But my pack put my center of balance too far out over the water, and the rock was slick. I did not look down. If I fell, I was dead. The fall itself probably wouldn’t kill me, unless I hit one of the jagged rocks down there. But there were things in the water that would finish the job. Phecklas. Grey urdu. They don’t call it the Dragonsea for nothing. And anyway, I can’t swim.

Slowly, carefully, ignoring the sudden sweat in my eyes, I crabbed sidewise across the cliff. I keep myself fit; I have to. But in five minutes my inner thighs were trembling and the muscles of my upper arms burned with the effort. The surf pounded and growled, an empty stomach waiting for a morsel to fall on the teeth of the rocks below.

When I judged I had gone far enough, I slowly, carefully rose up and took a look. I’d gone about three feet past the corner. Here, thankfully, there was no thorny, poisonous adder tongue to contend with. There was about two feet of rocky ground between the cliff’s edge and the wall, and it was in deep shadow. It wouldn’t get any better. I dragged myself up and lay on my stomach, panting. I thought I had kept myself in shape, but obviously I’d been drinking too much wine and not exercising enough. When I’d got my breath back I carefully wriggled out of the pack straps and dug out all I thought I’d need. It wasn’t much, really. The small grapnel with the silk cord. Lock picks. Small flask of oil. Resin bag. A pair of heavy gloves to deal with the glass atop the wall. Weapons were already secreted on my person, more than I should ever have to use in one night.

Some thieves prefer to carry tools varied and complex. I’ve always preferred to travel light, unless I know I’m not going to be disturbed, or there is a need to bring something along for a specific task. This was reconnaissance work, and maybe blood work, not theft. I’d kill the Elamner if I could, but I didn’t count on getting that lucky. There was just no telling what my chances were until I was inside. I slipped the vizard over my face and took up the grapnel.

The trickiest part about grapnel work is the noise. Steel on stone is a distinctive sound, in the dead of night. Which is why I wrap mine in cotton cloth. The tines will bite through the cloth if you’ve got a good catch, and if you don’t, then you won’t have to worry about steel dragging along stone when you pull it back for another cast. Not that I had to worry about any of that with the surf pounding. A bat would have been hard-pressed to hear anything.

I put my back against the wall and, silk cord coiled in one hand, lobbed the three-pronged grapnel up and over. It cleared the top of the wall, and I started reeling in line. It caught, and I tugged harder, finally putting all my weight into it. It held. First cast lucky. I worried about the glass sawing into the line. Nothing I could do about it.

The gloves were so thick they were a hindrance, but I went up the rope quickly enough, and after scanning the gloom inside for any movement, carefully and quietly cleared a wide space of the inset glass shards. Then I lay on the top of the wall on my stomach, and turned the grapnel around and dropped the line into the villa grounds.

There was a chance that the line would be noticed, but there was a greater chance that I would need a quick exit when it was time to leave, and having to recast the grapnel while people were trying to kill me wasn’t something I wanted to do. You figure the odds and you take your chances. I straddled the wall, slid myself down, hung by my fingertips for a moment, and dropped down quietly into the shadows at the base of the wall.

I made my way as quietly as I could over to a darkened, shuttered window. I used a knife to slip the latch on the shutter, and then I probed gently beyond with its tip. No glass, no parchment window. Just a shuttered casement, starting at waist height.

I listened, took a peek in the crack between the shutters. Darkness and silence on the other side; a stillness that betokened an empty, lifeless room. I threw the dice and decided to slip into the room.

Opening the shutters a bare necessary amount still flooded the room with moonlight. I froze.

I was almost right about the room. It was lifeless, but it wasn’t quite empty.

Sprawled on the floor with a dagger in his heart was the corpse of a man. Judging by his raw silk robes, his dark skin and his oiled, ringleted hair, he was an Elamner. Someone had chalked a protective circle around him on the parquetry. There was no blood. There was, however a crazy grin on the corpse’s face. A palpable sense of unwelcome poured out of that room, a... malevolence. As if the very air inside it wished me ill. Bad, bad magic that I’d probably be stupid to test.

Another tiger moth fluttered past my shoulder into the room, and instantly fell to the floor, lifeless.