“Yeah, but thieves are harder to elude than the Blackcoats,” Vergel mutters, shoulders slumped. “At least the Blackcoats will just toss us in jail. Fellow thieves willkillus on sight.”
“Not if they can’t catch us.”
Vergel grimaces. “Didn’t you hear the man? He said it’s loot stolen from House Dominant. So technically we would be stealing from a Great House.”
“No,technicallywe would be stealing fromthieveswho stole from a Great House. There’s a difference. We’re, like, thieves once removed. Thieves-in-law.”
Vergel snorts.
I ignore him. Vergel’s perpetually anxious. If he weren’t so trustworthy, I wouldn’t be able to put up with it. I turn to Zagar. “We’re in. Give us the where and when.”
Zagar smiles wide. “Lucent Quay. Before sunrise. Remember the prize is in the gong barrel.”
I nod. “Meet us tomorrow morning.” I motion to the establishment across the road. “You’ll have your cut after the job is done.”
Negotiations over, as if on cue, the rain finally begins to pour.
CHAPTER THREEGIN
I navigate the dingy streets of the Sleeve, slipping into dark, muddy alleyways when necessary to avoid being seen. But you can’t always hide. I hold my head high and shoulders straight when I pass some brute, twice my weight but half my fighting skill, letting him know I won’t hand over a single coin without a fight. It’s a dance and despite my earlier trepidation, I find I still know it well. Half the folk in the Sleeve are thieves. I bluff when I think it’ll work, and hide from sight when I know it won’t. Drunks are the worst since they’re unpredictable. As likely to throw a punch as they are to throw up the contents of their stomach. For the most part, I give them a wide berth. When I come upon a stumbling tavern brawler, his hands and face bloody from a fight, I pray he doesn’t turn his rage on me. For an instant, he looks me up and down and I tremble. But he’s too far gone to notice my fear and moves on, staggering into a wall where he loosens his britches and relieves himself.
I swallow my fear and move onward. My instincts return, despite the months of relative safety spent at House Eternal. I’m able to melt back into the shadows to avoid being seen. I time my footsteps to coincide with the pounding of some distant horse’s hooves to mask my approach. My skin is too clean and freshly perfumed, so I rub mud on my face and dab it with my sleeve, making it seem as if I haven’t bathed in weeks. Only an hour out of the estates and I’m back to the thief I had once been, clever, quick, and covered in filth, always looking over my shoulder, startling at the smallest sound.
Rollo’s words echo in my brain.Head to the Lashing. You’ll be safe there.… Find Bahram at the market, he sells kitchen pots and smokes a cigar. He has one blue eye and one black one. Tell him I sent you. Give him this, and he’ll take care of it.
The marketplace is nearly empty as it’s past sundown. The earlier rainstorms have chased away any stragglers, aside from a few local merchants who stay open later, hoping to catch workers on the way home, or those who deal in more unsavory goods than their public-facing tables might suggest. I know the signs. The vendor with the brightly painted pots, the ones with multicolored stripes that shimmer like the bands on a snake’s back, sells poison if you know how to ask. The toothless man with the graying hair and deep-set eyes stands over baskets of tobacco and spice, but if you have the coin, he’ll sell you something that’ll make the world spin before your eyes, a drug that’ll make you forget your name… for a time. In the Sleeve, everyone’s looking for some escape. And if they can’t find it at the bottom of a tankard, there are other ways, through flesh peddlers and their ilk.
Then I see him. A merchant selling dented kitchen pots. He sits beneath an oiled tent alongside his wares that are beaded with damp from the rain, spread out on a makeshift wooden table in front of him. In one hand, he holds a fat cigar, and in the other, a folded gazette. His legs are crossed; his feet are bare, revealing skinny gnarled toes and yellowed toenails long past needing a trim.
“Excuse me,” I say.
The man looks up at me and lifts one wiry eyebrow. One eye is blue and one eye is black. It’s got to be Bahram.
“Rollo sent me.”
The man looks around to make sure I’m alone before answering. “Did he now?”
I clear my throat. “Yes. He said you can take me to the Lashing.”
“The Lashing? Why would anyone want to go there?” the man says, snapping the papers he’s holding back into shape. He returns to reading.
“Rollo of House Eternal said you could help me,” I insist.
He puts the scroll down slowly, then takes a long puff of his cigar, eyebrow still raised. His pale blue eye and dark black eye are disconcerting. Smoke billows around him. “Rollo of House Eternal, huh?”
I nod and hold my head higher, though inside, I’m shaking. Then I remember. “He said to give you this.” I hand over the velvet pouch of coins.
Bahram picks up the pouch and weighs it in his hand. Then he shrugs and takes another quick puff of his cigar. “I can provide a boat, but that’s all. Good luck with getting there, most likely you’ll just find yourself at the bottom of the sea, especially after another Lacon raid on that place.”
I bristle even though it’s exactly why I was confused that Rollo would send me there. But it’s said the Ophir of the Lashing believe that Ophir can be avenged, that one day our kingdom will recover its former glory. “You don’t believe in the return of the Floating City?”
“I believe that it sank and will never rise again,” he sighs. “This is all we have. The Sleeve. All they’ll ever let us have. The more we want, the more we lose.”
“I can’t believe that,” I whisper. “I’m going to the Lashing.”
“Believe what you want. The boat will be docked at the south pier by tomorrow eve. Look forPanglaban.”
“Tomorrow? But where will I go tonight?”
