The Fall of Ventaris (6 page)

Tyford grinned up at her, exposing a mouthful of crooked teeth. “So how’d you know where in the house you’d find the dagger?”

She hung until the rope began to settle. Tyford told her over and over again that thievery was all about patience and the wait, so she would wait. “I got some...inside information,” she replied without looking down. Best not to mention Brenn’s name here, and even if she had she doubted that Tyford would be impressed that most of her inside information came from a ganymede.
 

“Had a map, did you?”

She shifted, the rope digging into her legs and side. She still had marks from the last time she’d tried this. “Not exactly,” she managed, “but I knew the third floor was the place to look.”

“Anywhere on the third floor? How much time’d you waste going from room to room? You check them all?”

“No,” she snapped, reaching for the next rope. “Once I got up there I found the art gallery pretty easily. Big wooden doors with columns on either side are...” she snagged the cord and pulled it over “...hard to miss.”
 

He chuckled. “And all this wandering around didn’t bring any guards? Or did you just go invisible like Naria of the Dark?”
 

She swung over to the next rope, finding her hold more smoothly this time. “My accomplice,” she grunted between reaches, “distracted the guards.”

“Accomplice?” Tyford barked derisive laughter. “If I had a sou for every accomplice who’s turned on his boss, I wouldn’t need to dip into your purse.” Duchess said nothing, concentrating on reaching the far wall one rope-grip at a time. “Lesson number one,” Tyford proclaimed from the ground, “a distraction shouldn’t be able to talk. You throw a stone to make a guard look the other way, or roll some marbles, loose a mouse, but nothing that can turn you in.”
 

She swung to the next rope, irked at his smug certainty but refusing to show it. The old thief had to know what he was talking about, or else he wouldn’t be an
old
thief. Besides, she couldn’t risk offending him, not today. Her offhand intention to make Pollux dead was easier said than done. She’d no idea of how she might pull it off. Hells, first she’d actually have to get to him. Takkis’ hold in Temple was well guarded, and infiltrating it would be far more difficult than entering Eusbius’ manor. Tyford would have forgotten more about getting into forbidden places than most people ever learned, and he must know
something
that could help her.

Finally, she reached the far wall and lowered herself slowly down the last rope to the floor. Duchess shook out arms that felt as loose and floppy as a stuffed toy’s. “Then maybe
you
have some wisdom about how to get into places you don’t belong. Since I did such a bad job and all.”
 

Tyford squinted at her. “So you want a story, eh? Well, I’ll give you one. You rest those chicken arms and I’ll pour some wine.” She blinked. The crotchety old man rarely offered her even a sip, but she followed him back to the table where he handed her a cup. “I’ll give you one about a fine old break-
out
. Those are always more interesting.”

She said nothing, trying to conceal her disappointment. She’d have preferred hearing about break-
ins
, but she dared not press him lest he forget the story and set her to climbing again. Maybe she’d get something useful out of him anyway.

Tyford settled back into a chair. “The moral of this story comes at the beginning:
always know who the fuck you’re working for
. And I’m not talking about just names either.
You have to know who
they are, what they are, and what they want. Anyone who hires a thief’s a liar to the core, and most anyone in this city’s playing at least two games at once.

“I took the job because I was young and stupid. Like you, come to think of it. A pretty simple bit of business: steal some jewels belonging to a certain lady while she and her lord were at some party up the hill. Simple it wasn’t, though. The man that hired me was on the council, you see, and a friend to the sheriff of the district – his name was Bellis or Bellin or some such – and he’d decided to help out his friend by setting up a thief for him to catch in the act. Bellis-or-Bellin gets a nice collar, and the friend gets a boost for putting him in his job. Everyone makes out.

 
“Except no one
knew
anyone. The friend didn’t know Bellis wouldn’t just be happy with a collar. Bellis didn’t
know
that catching me was just too easy and that his friend had set up the whole damned thing. And when I took the job I didn’t know that these two were going to bungle the whole business and leave me caught in the middle.”

Duchess drank some wine and grimaced. She had been right; it was awful. “And I suppose that’s how you ended up getting backstabbed and wound up in jail?”

He snorted, but didn’t dignify the question with a response. “Bellis turns me over to the Whites, who plant me in the imperial dungeons to wait for the inquisitor to get to me. This friend on the council nearly pisses himself, because when they hang me up by the thumbs the first name I’ll give them is his. Later I found out that he had something on the inquisitor, and he trades his silence for a delay in putting me to the question. None of that got me out of that cell, mind you, so there I sit. My hair’s full of lice and my stomach’s in knots because every godsdamned morning I wake up thinking that’s the day they put me to the question and
next’s
the one they hang me. That goes on for weeks.” He drank from his cup. “Either my employer couldn’t figure out how to spring me, or he decided the best thing was to just leave me to rot. I didn’t know any of this, of course, but after a few weeks I realized the only one getting me out of that cell was
me
.
 

“As you can expect, I was thinking about escape before they’d even closed the door. Getting out of the cell was the easy part, but how to get out of the dungeon once I did? The door to the whole area was locked from the outside and guarded day and night not by some damn fool blackarm but a White. You don’t want to mess with a White and that’s for sure.

 
“I sat in that cell long enough to see that there were about two jailors for every prisoner, and there were a
lot
of prisoners. Back in those days – just like today, I’ll warrant – when a man pleased someone important at court he’d be given a job working for the empress. The high-born became maids or clerks or secretaries, but the low-born...well, they couldn’t be seen around the palace no matter what favor they’d won, but they could be
under
it. So they became jailors.
 

 
“’Course, the problem with all these jailors was that most of them didn’t know who all the prisoners were, and the Whites who guarded the door didn’t know who all the jailors were. And they were coming and going at all hours. So I watched and waited, and when I learned when the shifts changed, I made my move.” Tyford laughed again and poured himself some more wine. “I tickled open the cell door – any thief worth spit can hide a lockpick on him – and when one shift of jailors was on the way out, I just walked right on out with them.”

Her brow furrowed. “You just...in disguise?”

“Nope. Just walked out.” He laughed, obviously relishing her surprise. “Girl, going unseen isn’t just about knowing where the shadows are and sticking to ‘em. Sometimes if you
look
like you’re supposed to be doing whatever it is you’re doing, people won’t even give you a second glance.”

“But what about your clothes! You couldn’t have looked like a jailor!”

“The imperial quartermaster was slow in getting the jailors their livery, maybe because there were so godsdamned many of ‘em, so some of them were dressed like either one of us right now. I just turned my shirt inside out to hide the worst of the dirt, but most of them were just as dirty as the prisoners anyway.” He swirled his wine. “It’s all about knowing what people expect, girl.”

She suddenly remembered that spring day in Temple, when she’d been looking for information about Eusbius. The old Domae woman had caught her attention with her certainty, the powerful, visceral force of her
belief
. She acted like any other priest, and Duchess, in turn, had treated her like one. She thought of the thousand gods at the center of the walk and the sweetness of cake on her lips. A smile blossomed on her face, and Tyford seemed to take that as appreciation for his story.
 

“Besides, escaping prisoners don’t line up with their jailors to file past a guard, right? So when none of the others raised the alarm, neither did the White at the door.” He pointed his cup at her. “A good thief has the right skills, girl, but a great one has the right skills and the right attitude. Learn that and you might someday be worth the time I’m spending.” He gulped down the rest of his wine.

He’d given her more than one lesson, and she’d gotten her money’s worth today. There was one piece of his story still missing, though. “So what did you do about your employer? The one who left you to rot?”

Tyford’s mouth twisted. “That was back when I still wore the cloak, remember, so I couldn’t let it go by unanswered. I would have lost standing on the Highway, and for someone in my trade that could be death.” He nodded, looking grimly into the distance. “I showed that bastard Tyford wasn’t one to fuck with, and made sure everyone on the Grey knew it.

 
“Though
there’s
something interesting,” he went on, gesturing for the start of her next lesson. “Me telling that story seems to have gotten us off the subject we’d been on. Half the Highway seems to know everything about how you got
into
Eusbius’ manor, but no one’s talking about how you got
out
.” He gave her a shrewd glance. “Funny that you still haven’t mentioned that.”
 

“Yes,” she replied, savoring his evident, burning curiosity. “I’m funny like that.”

*
 
*
 
*

For a moment, she thought she was dead.

Duchess was just approaching the wooden stairs to her apartment, her mind buzzing with plans concerning both Jana and the fallen White, when the big man lurched out of hiding, nearly upon her. She froze in her tracks, only barely stifling the startled shriek that bubbled up in her throat. Her hand twitched toward her dagger, but just in time she saw the red cap and held back. She hadn’t seen Antony since that fearful day she’d met with Uncle Cornelius, but there was no mistaking that chin scar and those huge hands. She eased her hand slowly away from the weapon. Draw steel before the second-in-command of the Red and she’d dance with Mayu within a heartbeat. She composed what she hoped was a politely attentive look.

“Antony,” she said, after her heart had resumed its normal pace. “How good to see you again. What does the Uncle need from me?” She even sounded calm, thank the gods.

Antony swept his cap from his head with a massive paw and bowed slightly, glancing about as if afraid of prying eyes. “I am here of my own volition,” he said diffidently, “and my appearance should not in any way imply a connection to anyone I may work for.” He frowned, as if coming to the end of a script and uncertain of his next line. He coughed into his hat and placed it back on his head. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said finally.

Strange and stranger, she thought. She couldn’t imagine what business Antony would have with her that did not involve Uncle Cornelius. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk in private?” He nodded and she led the way up the stairs, which creaked under his weight. As she was unlocking her door she glanced at the red hand painted on the sill. Everyone in the Shallows knew that mark signified protection by the band of thugs and murderers known as the Red. She hoped it also meant protection
from
the Red.
 

Antony closed the door behind them and scanned the room as if expecting an ambush. Here was a man with fighting instincts, and she wondered briefly if anything she could do might wean him away from the Uncle and into her service. Then she regained her sanity and instead lit a candle and gestured for him to sit.

“I was about to have a cup of wine. Would you care to join me?” He nodded briefly, taking a chair on one side of the splintered wooden table she’d inherited with the apartment. The chair creaked beneath his weight, but held. She lit a few more candles and brought out two wooden cups and a clay flagon of wine. Not an impressive vintage, but she hadn’t expected to host a redcap that day. And it was still
vastly
better than the cup she’d shared with Tyford. Antony seemed to have no complaints, and as he drank she settled on a bench opposite him.

“What can I do for you?” She sipped calmly, as if she had such visitors every day.

Antony toyed with his cup, absurdly tiny in his massive hands, looking desperately uncomfortable. “I, uh...my Uncle said that you might be able to do something for me.”

“Any friend of the Uncle’s is a friend of mine.” It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Do you know Julius?” he asked, looking anywhere but at her. She took another drink to buy time for thought. There was a man named Julius who ran the dice game in the back rooms at the
Grieving Bier,
and she seemed to recall hearing he was Grey, although she had never spoken to him. “He has something of mine and I need it back,” Antony went on. He finished his wine in a single swallow and thumped his cup onto the table. “I need it back
now
.”

She tried to hide her surprise. Antony was clearly upset with Julius, which could only mean that Julius was being uncooperative. She could not imagine why any man would be so foolish as to refuse a high-ranked member of the Red. “What is this thing?” she asked warily.

“Rosamile’s ring. She’s my fiance, Rosamile is, and I’d finally saved up for the perfect ring. Gold with a black stone, engraved with her name on the inside. Rosamile’s not lettered but she can read her own name, and there it was.” He fiddled with the frayed cuff of his tunic. “It was my own fault. We were celebrating, me and some of my boys, and they’d convinced me to try my luck before Rosamile had me by the purse-strings.” He smiled sheepishly and Duchess blinked; Antony’s face was not made for such expressions. “I started out winning again and again, and then something just changed.” He sighed and his fists tightened until his joints popped. “A dozen rolls later, I was out of sou and well...the boys were looking at me and the ring was in my pocket, so...” Duchess could fill in the rest. Julius was on the Grey, and when Antony entered the game, he was tacitly submitting to the rules. For a member of the Red to pick a fight with the Grey over an honestly incurred gambling debt...it was a tricky situation, not unlike the one the Uncle himself had been in over that dagger. The Grey had fairly stolen the thing, but when the baron had demanded his friend the Uncle get it back, Cornelius had found himself caught between colors. Odd that the Uncle’s lieutenant should so quickly find himself in the same straits.