“Imagine doing one more job, and then never having to steal again, unless you want to,” I say. “Imagine living like kings and queens for the rest of our lives. Imagine making history among thieves. Imagine our faces on the walls of this tavern—and not the wall by the latrine—oh no. We’ll be right there, by the bar, or maybe there, at the front door, where everyone can see us. Everyone will say, ‘Those are the Javelins. They used to sit in this very pub. This is where they planned the greatest heist of all time.’”
Scriv sits back in his chair, folding his arms. “Greatest heist of all time, eh? That’s some big talk.”
“Big talk for a big haul. I heard about it a week ago, but I didn’t mention it because I wanted everyone focused on the Fae-Hunter job. I knew if we pulled that one off, we might have what we need to do this big one. I wasn’t sure the hunters would have the right artifacts, or that we’d be able to lay hands on them. But I did a preliminary survey of the haul this evening, and I found this.”
Stuffing one hand into my satchel, I pull out a thin, round disc, no larger than my palm, made of translucent white stone and covered in twisting black roots.
Maven’s eyes widen. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes.”
“Goddamn,” she breathes. “Can I touch it?”
I toss it over, and she catches it. Her fingers run reverently over the black roots and the raised images of mushrooms on its surface.
“What am I missing?” says Boulder. “What is that thing?”
“Something I learned about recently, a device known as theDoras Álainn,” I reply. “It creates a portal that lets humans walk from this world into Faerie and back.”
“Wait... did she say intoFaerie?” exclaims Flex. “Into fucking Faerie?”
“That’s not the best part,” I say. “Have any of you heard of an inventor called Drosselmeyer?”
“I have!” exclaims Flex, and Maven nods.
“Of course we’ve heard of him,” says Scriv. “Every thief worth his salt knows how valuable Drosselmeyer pieces are.”
Boulder looks unsettled. He has difficulty grasping and remembering things as readily as the other Javelins do. For his benefit, I decide to explain further.
“For those who might not recall, Drosselmeyer is—orwas—an inventor,” I say, ignoring Scriv’s annoyed expression. “He crafted wondrous things, from machinery to weapons. But not everyone knows that he was once a Fae-Hunter himself. He used to venture into Faerie, capture its inhabitants, and stealartifacts, some of which he incorporated into his inventions. Years ago, he left the society of Fae-Hunters, and it was rumored that he sent most of what he stole back to Faerie. But he didn’t return everything, and he never stopped creating inventions. In fact, I’m told his devices became even more strange and fantastical after that, blending science and magic together.”
Boulder nods with renewed understanding, but Scriv only rolls his eyes. “What does any of this have to do with us?”
“Apparently Drosselmeyer has disappeared. You’ve heard me mention Wringer, my informant in South Hive? Well, he has a cousin who worked on Drosselmeyer’s estate, in the very house itself. He said the servants and guards have been carrying on like Drosselmeyer is still there, keeping the place tidy and operational, but about ten days ago a group of Fae showed up and cleared out the house and the workshop. They took everything—all the treasures in his safe, all the artifacts from his secret rooms, all his inventions.”
“Took everythingwhere?” asks Flex.
I grin, taking my time to look at each of the Javelins in turn, reveling in my command of their attention. “Wringer’s cousin was hiding in a wardrobe during the Fae intrusion, and he heard one of them mention ‘Annordun.’”
“Never heard of it,” says Flex, but Maven’s eyes widen still more.
“It’s a legendary fortress on an island in the far north of Faerie,” she exclaims. “It was built through the joint magic of the Unseelie queen Ygraine and the Seelie king Lirannon, to house artifacts that are considered too dangerous or too valuable for any individual or kingdom to own. It’s enchanted so that no Fae may enter, except for two Stewards, each chosen respectively by the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.”
“NoFaemay enter.” I smirk. “But we’re not Fae, are we?”
A trio of rowdy revelers passes by our table. None of us speak until they’re gone. What we’re discussing is particularly sensitive, and even in a place like this, which is friendly to criminals, it’s best to be cautious.
“Let me get this straight.” Scriv clears his throat and leans forward. “You want us to use a magic portal to walk into the most notorious fortress in Faerie so we can steal Drosselmeyer’s entire collection from under the noses of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts?”
“Exactly.” I smile brightly at him. “The fortress is locked down against Fae and against powerful magic. They’re not expecting humans to break in.”
“That’s because no humans would be stupid enough to enter Faerie willingly, much less try to steal artifacts that the Fae themselves are afraid to handle,” retorts Scriv.
“Right, but we’re only after Drosselmeyer’s things. We won’t touch the really dangerous stuff. Even a handful of his inventions could set us all up for life. And think about it—these could be his final works. If he’s dead, they’re the last pieces he ever made. Collectors will crave them. We’ll be able to name our price.”
“Ifwe survive,” mutters Scriv. “There’s a reason humans don’t go thieving in Faerie. There are monsters, spells, strange landscapes, plants that can swallow you whole—not to mention the fact that all the known paths between worlds are closely monitored by the Fae themselves. I’ve heard that they imprison or kill any humans who cross into their territory without permission.”
“True.” I hold up the Doras Álainn. “But according to my sources, this was designed by Fae-Hunters. It was created to permit stealthy passage into the Fae realm. We won’t set off alarms like we would if we used one of the better-known paths into Faerie. Our entrance and our exit will be undetectable.”
