The Fall of Ventaris (37 page)

A wide window, clear glass in diamond-shaped panes, would admit a good deal of light into the shop during the day, but at night it would keep out even a skilled thief. To enter that way she would have to break the glass and smash the framework, a job that would take an hour or two and bring every blackarm in the city running to investigate. The door beside it was solid and banded with iron to boot. It would take a strong man with a strong ax to break it down.

Luckily she knew a better way in.

A noise from behind made her turn just in time to see a pair of blackarms come around the bend, one holding a lantern, the other a club, and she melted into the shadow of a bush. They walked slowly, looking this way and that, and she thanked Mayu for this garden, for the street was otherwise too well lit for her to have hidden anywhere else. The blackarms drew closer, and she was disturbed to see they engaged in none of the idle chat that would likely have distracted their low-district counterparts. She ducked below the wall and listened until the sound of their boots on the cobbles faded away.

She waited a few moments to ensure they were really gone, then slipped over the wall and across the street. At the left of the shop was a narrow alley that ran between the building and its neighbor, that no doubt gave access to the rear of the building. Across it lay an iron gate. Six feet tall and topped with sharp spikes, it was a formidable barrier. A large padlock hung from the wrought-iron handle. She was unlikely to tickle it open before the patrol returned.

The device she produced from her pack was shaped like a metal
T
, with a half-circle attached to each upper branch and a small lever protruding from the bottom. A thief’s step, Tyford had called it. “Enough of these and you can climb a fence as easy as a ladder.” He’d had six, and had sold her one for an exorbitant price. At the time she’d howled at the cost, but now she was glad she’d spent the money. She held the thief’s step between two bars, perhaps four feet from the ground, and with her free hand she began to turn the lever. The body of the step was threaded like a screw, and as the lever wound up the device the half-circles extended to right and left. She’d applied fresh oil that morning, and there was not one squeak to give her away. Still, it seemed like ages until the step had expanded enough to touch the bars, and even longer until it would stay in place on its own. She cranked the lever harder until it would move no more, locked it in place, and then tested the step by pressing down hard with her right hand. The device did not budge.
 

Grasping the top of the gate with both hands, she set her right foot against the step and pulled herself up. She set her other foot atop the gate, neatly between two spikes. She stood, left hand against the neighboring building for balance, and paused to collect herself. So easily circumventing the gate made her feel clever and wicked, like a thief from the stories. Even Naria of the Dark would have —
 

The bat that had nested under the eave chose that moment to flutter from its perch and brush past her in a flurry of leathery wings. Duchess managed to hold back the shriek that would have brought a patrol running, but was unable to contain the lurch backwards towards the street. She pinwheeled her arms wildly, fighting for balance, and at the last moment managed to throw herself forward. She half-fell, half-slipped into the alley, and she heard the tear of cloth just before the collar of her cloak suddenly tightened around her neck like a noose. Her feet scrabbled madly on the stones of the alleyway, but she could not gain enough purchase to relieve the pressure on her throat. As she fumbled madly for the clasp, she heard footsteps on the street outside, coming closer.
 

The fabric had been pulled too tight for her to unhook the clasp, and no amount of pulling would tear it. Her chest blazed with the need for air while the footsteps rang louder. Desperate, she scrabbled her dagger from its sheath and sawed at the cloak, praying she would not cut her own throat trying to free herself. The gods of ill fortune finally relented, the blade cut true, and she slipped free of the cloth and staggered away, gasping for air. Now the light of a lantern was visible, nearly upon her, so she snatched the cloak off the gate — now that she could breathe it naturally came free with one tug — and retreated into the shadows of the alley. She shoved her dagger into the torn cloak to hide the shine of light on steel and crouched, making herself as small as possible. There was nothing for them to see, she told herself, nothing at all...

...except the thief’s step, which was wedged halfway up the height of the gate.

Her heart sank. The blackarms, if that was who the footsteps belonged to, would surely see the reflection of lantern light against the step. They probably had the key to the gate, and if not one would remain to watch the alley while the other summoned reinforcements. She would be caught, questioned...

The light moved off, and she heard the rustling of shrubbery. She crept forward to peek between the bars and blessed Bartol and his varying patrol routes. The pair of blackarms she had seen earlier had returned, but this time they were beating the bushes in the garden where Duchess had lain not ten minutes before. Their backs were to the alley, but she dared not try to remove the step lest the guards hear the scrape of metal on metal. She looked at the cloak in her hand. It was black as night, black as the alley, and before she could think better (or worse) of it she draped the cloth over the step, doing her best to envelope the device. Then she faded back into the shadows and waited for the blackarms to either pass or sound the alarm.
 

The moment seemed to stretch out for eternity, but finally she saw the guards resume their route without a glance at the gate. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing in relief. The cloak had done its job. She almost forgave it for strangling her.

*
 
*
 
*

The courtyard behind the shop was modest, hedged on all sides by the rear walls of other buildings, and accessible only by the alley Duchess had used and one other. She scouted along that second alley and found that it, too, was closed at the other end by a gate. There were a few lights in the windows of neighboring buildings, but even if anyone peered out, Duchess would be well hidden. The courtyard was secure...and empty.

She approached the back door of the shop: heavy oak and banded with iron, with no keyhole to be seen. “The Atropi accept deliveries through the back of the shop...can’t have men traipsing through the sitting area with bolts of cloth and boxes of thread, can they?” Tremaine had said. “There’s a fearsome door that is kept bolted from the inside – that’s common knowledge – but what’s less well known is that bolt can be retracted from the outside with a key. The sisters occasionally like to come and go unobserved, and they use the back door for just that purpose.”

“How do you know this?” Duchess had asked, suspicious. She didn’t
think
Tremaine would double-cross her, but in this city of lies one could never be too sure.
 

Tremaine simply smiled. “Every apprentice in this city, even one who works for the Atropi, is registered with the guild. And I know of one apprentice with a past she’d prefer went unmentioned.” And that was that.

Duchess examined the door carefully. It would be hard to conceal a panel in wood, but the iron bands were ornately scrolled and rust-free. She probed the metal with her fingers and soon found a small round section that swung outward on a hidden hinge, revealing a keyhole. She smiled; she’d have to thank Guildmaster Tremaine. She drew her lockpicks from her bag and got to work.

The lock was hardly formidable, which made sense given that it was hidden. She probed around, feeling for the pins and finding them. As she neatly disengaged the lock she sent mental thanks to Lysander for sharing this particular skill, and to Tyford for honing it. She put her picks away and pulled open the door.

Duchess had no fear of guard dogs – the kind on four legs at least – since a bit of
fruning
had revealed that the Atropi had a notorious dislike for animals. Even as young women they eschewed riding on horseback, instead taking a carriage or even walking where a carriage could not go. She stepped inside, lighting a stub of candle to keep her from falling over dressforms and furniture. Inside was Gloria Tremaine’s shop all over again: fitting rooms, storage closets, work areas, and a wide parlor that looked out on the street. Most interesting was the locked metal box, as large as a knapsack, she found hidden under a shelf in a closet.
 

She hesitated a moment — she’d not come for money — and then gave in to temptation and drew out her lockpicks once more. Soon the candlelight gleamed on copper, silver and even gold. Clearly the Atropi’s idea of petty coin far outstripped her own. She felt as if she were in the safe room again, with Castor looking on disapprovingly. She itched to take the money but held back. Surely the Atropi kept records as well as the White. Any discrepancy with the box would be noted and investigated. If the sisters had the least suspicion that someone had been in the shop they might change the design of the empress’ dress and all of the night’s work would be wasted. Minette would no doubt advise her not to throw away the feast for the almonds. Biting her lip, she closed the box and re-engaged the lock.
 

Tremaine had said the sisters’ private workroom was on the second floor, so Duchess found the stairs and climbed, holding her candle before her. The room took up the entire floor, and was outfitted much like the work rooms downstairs, but much finer. Nerrish rugs covered the wooden floor, fine drapes shrouded the windows and three overstuffed chairs were set out, no doubt for the use of the sisters when they rested from their labors. There were three empty dressforms, cloth of various shades folded on tables and shelves, or rolled up in corners, and there were needles and thread aplenty, but no dresses. Had she missed something?
 

She went back downstairs and checked the shop from front to back once more, peering into every closet, corner, and cranny. In the apprentices’ work room she found dresses in various stages of assembly, but fine as they were, they were nothing fit for an empress.
 

Panic coiled in her belly, snaking up to her throat as if to choke her as the cloak had. She’d missed something. She hurried back up the stairs, picked through stacks and bolts of cloth, looking for any hint that might lead her to the dress.
 

Her hands were shaking, and she stopped, taking a deep breath to collect herself. This wasn’t helping. She moved to the center of the room and turned a slow circle, sweeping her gaze over tables, shelves, rugs, and walls. The room was a rectangle, she noted, except for one irregular corner. She moved to inspect it, holding up her candle so she could clearly see. All four walls were richly paneled in birchwood, but it seemed to her that on
this
wall the grooves between two panels were deeper than they should be. With her finger she traced a crack that ran from floor to ceiling. She set down the candle and probed along the surface for a hidden catch, but came up empty. She laid her hands flat against the wood and pressed, at first gently and then with more pressure. The panel held for a moment and then popped inward.
 

She smiled, her chest loosening, and found that the panel could slide to the right. She pushed it out of the way and held up her candle to reveal...nothing. Except for another empty dressform, the hidden closet was completely empty.

Her stomach tightened with dismay. If the Atropi had a dress for the empress, this was the place it should be. Why else keep a hidden compartment in their workroom? It was possible they’d been working on the dress in their manse in Garden, although Tremaine said the sisters always did their work at the shop. Had Tremaine lied?

She closed the closet door and began to pace the floor of the workroom, her mind working furiously. Someone had given up the game, but who? Tremaine? The guildmaster had nothing to gain from such a ruse. Amabilis? He knew she had a quarrel with the Atropi, certainly, but she could not believe that he’d make this kind of trouble given the trouble he’d barely eluded. With the threat of the Uncle and the Red hanging over him, he’d never dare.

Somehow, some way they had learned of her plans with Tremaine. They
knew
. They must.

She ran her hands through her hair and tried to think. If the Atropi
truly
knew Duchess intended to humiliate them in court, they would have hidden a squad of blackarms inside the shop, waiting to catch her at burglary. The sisters’ suspicions had been aroused, yes, but they did not
know
. They suspected something was in the wind and had prudently found the dress a new hiding place, but that was merely a general precaution. They did not know.

And yet the problem remained that there was no dress. Her plan had failed almost before it had been put into motion. If Duchess went back to Tremaine empty-handed, the guildmaster would withdraw her help, and then everything Duchess had done tonight would be for naught.

“No,” she muttered, fear and frustration boiling in her belly. “No.” She took a deep breath, and another, trying to still her pounding heart. A curious thought occurred to her: how would Tremaine know Duchess had seen the dress? After all, she herself did not know what it looked like. If she had, she wouldn’t have bothered sending Duchess on this mad mission.
 

She continued pacing, considering. There was no dress here, but she did not
need
one. She merely needed to describe a dress that the guildmaster would find believable.
 

She dared not be careless. Tremaine had ways of finding out what the Atropi were up to — the information about the hidden lock on the back door hadn’t come from nowhere — so while she might not know everything about the dress, she might know
something
. If Duchess brought back an obvious fairy tale, Tremaine would know she was lying.