A tiny squeak came from the rusty door hinges, followed by the faint crunch of boots on gravel as the Syndicate door opened and someone stepped out. I squinted through the darkness and recognized Elvin’s reedy profile, silhouetted against the warm light spilling out of the interior. He was talking to Ambrose, who leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his eyes. With a final nod, Elvin left and Ambrose closed the door again.
Elvin strode off down the street, and I narrowed my eyes at him. The arrogant prat. He was probably eating another of his stupid pomegranates and planning to take all the newer, easier bounties. Brent and I were convinced that Ambrose saved the quickest and most profitable bounties for him. It wouldn’t surprise me if we found out that Elvin had more than a hundred thousand coins credited to his account, even though he’d only been with the Syndicate for about a year.
I watched him until he faded from sight, then went back to watching the Syndicate’s base, staying on the rooftop long after the last light winked out. After sundown, the shop beneath the roof I occupied was always empty and provided a perfect vantagepoint. Several streets over, one of the Nightsworn patrolled. I kept an eye on the feathers on his helmet that moved down the street, pausing from time to time. The Nightsworn were smart enough to vary their patrol routes, but I’d picked up on their seemingly random pattern nonetheless.
Minutes continued to drag by. I heard a distant door slamming and some drunk laughing a little too loudly. A few dogs barked, but on the whole, the night was almost perfectly still and silent. I kept my eyes fixed on the safehouse and counted the seconds between each small sound, all while eyeing which route would make my shadows least visible.
Ambrose, thankfully, had a predictable routine. He would tidy his desk first, stack the papers, align the inkwell, then check all the locks twice. Then he would retire to his back bedroom and read until his low candle was snuffed out. People wouldn’t even need a perfect memory like mine in order to know the cadence of his habits. A faint light flickered briefly in the back window, the telltale glow of a candle being snuffed. Then darkness settled fully over the safehouse, thick and undisturbed.
Still, I waited, even long after Ambrose’s window lost its glow. The first stretch of sleep was the lightest. His mind would still likely be half-aware, so something as simple as a door opening or a board creaking could pull him back to wakefulness.
Deep sleep would come later, along with the best time to sneak into any building. A breeze tugged at my black cloak and I pulled it tighter and crouched low against the cool shingles, patiently blending in until the time came to move.
I shifted my weight to ease the cramp developing in my calf and glanced at the moon’s slow crawl across the sky. By my count, Ambrose had been in bed for nearly an hour. I rolled my shoulders and slowly counted the seconds as they snailed by. Nearly there.
I mentally walked through my plan, down to how many paces from each room to the next, imagining each step in the exact lockpicking process I’d need to get inside the office.
Another quarter hour passed before I finally pushed myself upright. It had been long enough.
The rooftop tiles gave a soft scrape beneath my palms as I crawled backward from the edge. I moved carefully, keeping low until I reached the shadowy side of the building. From there, I was easily able to lean over to grasp a tree’s branches, then shinny my way down the trunk until I landed on the ground below. I kept my knees bent from absorbed impact and froze, listening hard.
There was nothing unusual in the night sounds, only the gentle hush of the city’s occupants all dreaming. Now the only thing I needed to watch for was the occasional Nightsworn patrol, but by my calculations, they wouldn’t be this way for more than ten minutes.
I slipped into the narrow alley behind the safehouse, carefully treading on packed earth. The air back here always smelled rather musty and sour, even before I reached the compost heap. I paused once more beneath the darkened windows, straining my ears to hear anything from inside the building. It would be just my luck for Ambrose to go for a drink in the dead of night.
But still, there was nothing.
A wicked grin flickered on my face. This was always the fun part. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins so my vision sharpened and my hearing was attuned to every sleepy snuffle.
Keeping to the wall, I edged toward the back corner, where the garbage chute jutted out over the compost heap. Even in the dim light, I could make out the dark mound of scraps below it. My nose wrinkled. This was my least favorite part of the otherwise brilliant plan.
The compost heap smelled much fouler up close than it did from the top of the garbage chute, even though there were only a few feet of difference. I inhaled as infrequently as possible as I picked my way around potato peelings, wilted cabbage leaves, and ashes from fireplaces, careful not to sink too deep into anything that would cling to my boots. Dawn was still at least three hours away; the sky was that inky black color that always came before the sun decided to rise.
Half-buried beneath a cabbage leaf sat the rind of a pomegranate, cracked open and stripped mostly clean. I nudged the rind free with the toe of my boot and delicately picked it up between two fingers. A few seed pods still clung stubbornly to the white membrane, shriveled but intact. Excellent. I tucked the rind into my pocket and turned my attention to the chute.
From the kitchen above, it had looked narrow but manageable. From below, it looked like a coffin stood upright against the wall. The wooden slats were damp from yesterday’s rinse, and bits of vegetable matter clung to the edges. I wiped my hands on my breeches, flexed my fingers, and tested the sides. It was solid enough to hold me, even if it wouldn’t be easy. If only Ambrose weren’t so meticulous about checking all the locks, a window would have been a much more attractive option.
After a deep breath, I hauled myself upward, bracing one boot against a narrow seam in the wall. The smell intensified immediately, trapped and concentrated within the chute’s narrow walls. I swallowed hard and kept climbing, laboriously finding ways to wedge my body in and wriggle my way up the slanted chute. My shoulders brushed both sides, and for a moment I wondered if I’d misjudged the width, but I exhaled slowly and wriggled upward inch by inch.
I closed my eyes, trying to fight off the claustrophobia that immediately sent warning bells ringing in my head. This wasn’t like the trunk from my youth. The chute was short, even if it wasnarrow. It would end. Only a few more seconds, then I would be out. I forced myself to control my breathing, slow and deliberate, and continued to work my way upward, digging my fingers into the wood and pushing with my legs until my head neared the square opening into the kitchen.
At the very top I paused again, awkwardly wedged just below the flap, and listened to make sure Ambrose wasn’t puttering around, making a late-night snack or anything. The last thing I needed was to push my way out and find Ambrose waiting for me and whatever pathetic explanation I could cobble together.
But luck was actually on my side for once. I didn’t hear anything. With one final heave, I hooked my arms over the edge and pulled myself through, emerging into the blessedly fresh air of the kitchen. I silently slipped out of my boots and jacket and shoved them back down the chute to the garbage heap below. No sense in tracking the compost smell through the house. Ambrose’s nose would wake him before I made a single sound.
My shirt still carried a faint smell, but there was nothing to be done about that now. I padded across the kitchen, walked the thirty-two paces down the hall, and crouched in front of the Employer’s office, glad I had the entire floorplan memorized to the inch and could navigate it at night.
As I blindly pulled out my lockpicking set in the pitch darkness, a thought struck me. What if the Employer was inside? What if he only came when the rest of us had gone our separate ways and Ambrose was sleeping?
I shrugged the thought away. The Employer had never been seen before, there were no other lights on, and no one had entered the building since I’d left. Wherever the Employer was, it wasn’t here. I refocused on the lock, barely visible in the heavy darkness. With only the tiniest scraping sound, I inserted the first tool into the keyhole and began jiggling it around to find the tumbler.
The lock was a moderately difficult one, hard enough that a novice would find it impossible, but simple enough that I was able to manage. The trick was easing the tension just enough without forcing it.
It took several tense minutes of fidgeting with the lock and adjusting the tools based on feeling alone. Each second felt like an hour, and a bead of sweat slid down my neck as I worked. I tried to time each scrape of the tools in the lock with one of Ambrose’s soft snores from the next room, praying that he would stay asleep. I wouldn’t be able to escape in time if he woke up and ran to discover the source of the noises.
At long last, there was a satisfying click and the door opened.
I tensed, half expecting the Employer to jump out or announce himself, then I gave a jump as Ambrose let out a thunderous snore. The door began to creak as I pushed it open, so I paused until Ambrose resumed his usual snores before quietly entering and locking the door behind me.
