Rules for Thieves Read online

  The carriage doesn’t head straight for Mount Arat. Instead, Ser flies between Arat and the closest mountain to the right, whose name I don’t know. Lights come into view below, shining from the valley formed by Arat and its neighbor. The lights can only belong to Ruhia, cradled in the midst of the mountains. The clouds here are so heavy that I can’t make out any of the city itself, just light bouncing around in the air.

  From what I can see out Beck’s window, it looks like the carriage is hugging the side of Arat. We’re probably about to land. Beck’s head blocks most of the view, and I almost tell him to move, but I don’t want to be the first to break the silence.

  The carriage jolts, and I bang against the side door. We’ve arrived. Beck, of course, is totally unfazed by the rough landing. As the carriage skids to a stop, he opens the door and a blast of cold air hits me. Beck leaps out first.

  I’m not totally sure how the door on my side actually opens, so I slide across the seat and follow him out. I jump down like it’s no big deal, but I stumble as I hit the ground, my feet skidding in . . . snow. I guess I should’ve figured there’d be snow here year round, but I wasn’t prepared to land in it.

  Beck looks like he’s about to catch my arm and help me up, but I glare at him and he backs off. I straighten up without his help and look around. The carriage is sitting, a bit too precariously for my liking, on some kind of ledge. There’s nothing much to see but gray rocks and the blinding whiteness of snow in every direction. I avoid looking past the ledge to see how far up we are. Not that I’m afraid of heights or anything.

  “This way,” Beck says, breaking the silence. He walks along the ledge, and I follow after him, careful not to skid again. I’m not wearing the most practical shoes for mountain climbing in the snow. They’re not practical shoes for anything, actually, since they’ve been falling apart for two years now, and the snow seeps in, freezing against my skin. The wind, whipping in our faces and stinging my eyes, is no better. I hate the cold.

  “I can’t believe you live here voluntarily,” I say. “It’s like winter all the time.”

  “Some people like winter.” I wish I could see his face so I’d know if he’s teasing, but he doesn’t turn around.

  “Yeah, and those people are wrong.”

  “Careful,” he says. “You might offend your own patron.”

  Now I know he’s teasing. But how did he even remember that my birth month is Zioni’s?

  “Sorry, Saint Zioni,” I say, not very reverently. “I know you’re the patron of winter and all, but I’m not real fond of this whole snow thing.”

  I glance behind me at Ser, who’s still pulling the carriage, steering it along the ledge after us. I don’t envy him that job. But I guess the height doesn’t seem so bad if you can fly.

  Beck stops, and I do too. In front of us is a wall of rock, and to the left is more rock. To the right is the ledge, and I don’t even want to know what’s beyond that.

  “Um, Beck, we appear to have reached a dead end,” I say. “Shouldn’t there be, you know, a secret Guild around here somewhere?”

  Another gust of wind hits me in the face, biting at my skin, but Beck’s not shivering so I try not to either. Despite my best efforts, I can’t keep my teeth from chattering.

  “There is a Guild here.” Beck turns back to me. “There’s a lot of magic protecting it,” he adds. “The entrance is spelled so that only someone who has been in the Guild before can open it. You have to be with someone from the Guild to get in.”

  Beck runs his hands over the wall in front of us. I’m starting to think Saint Zioni is his patron, not mine, since he doesn’t seem affected by the cold of the snow on his bare hands. He clears the powder away, revealing a rock wall with some kind of indentation carved in it.

  He pulls something from his pocket and holds it up so I can see. It’s a gold pendant, shaped like a coiled snake, and in the center is what looks like a real gem, sparkling green even in the dim sunlight. It must be the object I saw him holding last night in the rain, when he opened the cellar door.

  “Everyone who lives in the guildhall or is an official Guild member has one of these,” Beck explains. “It’s enchanted to look like an ordinary object until you need it. Once you’re officially a member of the Guild, you’ll get one too.”

  He places the pendant up against the indentation in the rock and presses it in. Then he gives it a twist. The pendant rotates once in a circle and starts glowing. Before I can even process this, the whole rock wall trembles.

  “Step back,” Beck says, but I don’t need the warning. I back up so far I almost run into Ser, who’s standing silently behind us.

  The rock wall shakes for a minute, and then part of it moves, sliding up, leaving a cavernous doorway in the vacant space. The rock stops moving, and Beck strides forward and plucks the pendant from the wall. He slips it into his pocket and glances back at me.

  “Come on,” he says, and he ducks inside, disappearing into the blackness behind the rock.

  Chapter Seven

  I hesitate for a split second. The door is so big and I can’t really see what’s inside. But there’s no turning back now, so I run after Beck.

  It’s dark for a long time. We’re in some kind of tunnel, maybe? A light flickers up ahead, so I can just make out Beck’s movements, and the heavy pad of Ser’s steps sounds behind me along with the squeak of the carriage’s wheels. But there’s nothing else to break up the silent blackness. The air is damp and chilly against my skin.

  The light gradually gets closer and closer, and finally the arched doorway at the end of the tunnel stands before us, framed by two flickering torches bracketed to the wall. Beck stops in the doorway and turns, looking at me. For a second I think he’s going to take my hand, but he doesn’t. He walks through the door, and I follow right behind.

  As I step through the doorway, Beck turns back to look at me again, then sighs . . . in relief?

  “What?” I say.

  “I told you, there’s magic protecting the Guild. The enchantments might not have let you in if you were untrustworthy.”

  “What would’ve happened if I was?”

  Beck shrugs. “Who knows? I’ve never had to find out.”

  I shiver and follow him, stepping out of the doorway.

  The room that opens up before us isn’t exactly what I expected. There’s no sign of sorcery, no bubbling black cauldrons or runes carved into walls or anything cool. It’s a bare, low-ceilinged room, with the dark rock of the mountain forming the walls and floor. Some wooden tables and chairs are spread around, and doors line the walls. People are everywhere: in chairs, walking around the room, disappearing into some doors and emerging from others. Most of them are people I would pass on the street without a second glance. Some are unkempt, like Beck, but nothing out of the ordinary. Lanterns illuminate the doorways and candles flicker from tables, but the spaces between are shadowed. The air is dense and smells of smoke.

  There are a few people in long robes like magicians, but I can’t really get a good look since Beck moves quickly, making his way across the room, and I have to hurry to keep up. I glance over my shoulder, looking for Ser, but he’s gone.

  Beck leads me down a narrow hall with plain stone walls and floor and a low ceiling. After passing four or five doors, we stop. The entryway in front of us is adorned with a wooden nameplate, carved with a single name: Durban. Below the name is some kind of symbol that looks like a spiral.

  “What’s that symbol mean?” I ask. “Is it some other language?” Maybe they use some kind of cool rune system to communicate. . . .

  “Everyone uses a different symbol on their door in addition to their name, ’cause some Guild members can’t read.”

  “Oh.” It’s a helpful system, actually. My own reading skills aren’t the best. But a secret language would’ve been cooler. “So who’s Durban?”

  “He’s called the steward,” Beck says softly. “We report to him after finishing assignments. He han
dles day-to-day business that the king can’t be bothered with. Providing resources and prep for assignments, that kind of thing.”

  Before I can respond, he knocks sharply on the door.

  “You may enter,” says a voice from inside.

  The room is small, dim, and chilly, with hardly any furniture. Across from us, a man hunches over a tiny desk, scribbling furiously on some parchment.

  The man looks up, revealing a pointed chin, long nose, and sharp eyes that fasten on us critically. He’s like one of the guards at the orphanage, who were always looking at us with suspicion, always accusing, always a little too eager to draw a weapon.

  “Who’s this, Reigler?” His voice is as sharp as his eyes, cutting into us like a blade.

  Beck ducks his head. “New recruit,” he says to the floor.

  The steel in Durban’s gaze could pierce skin. “Is that so? Step forward, girl.”

  I don’t like being told what to do, but Beck’s sudden nervousness makes it clear that this man isn’t someone I want to offend. I take a small step forward.

  Durban examines me in silence before looking back at Beck. “Pick up a stray in Azeland, did we?”

  “Excuse me,” I snap, “but I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself. I’m not a stray dog.” I’m also tired of explaining this to everyone.

  Beck winces, but Durban’s eyes are fixed on me again. “Well,” he says, like he’s contemplating something. “Well.”

  We wait for Durban to form an actual sentence. His expression is hard, his lips pressed into a tight line.

  “Your name?” he says at last.

  “Alli Rosco.”

  Durban’s gaze flicks back to Beck. “And what makes you think that Rosco is qualified to be brought into our midst, Reigler? Or did you confuse the Guild with a shelter for wayward orphans?”

  I open my mouth to use some very foul language, but Beck comes to my defense. “She escaped protectors in Azeland. And before that, she managed to break out of a guarded orphanage. I’ve seen her steal; she’s good.”

  Heat floods my face. I didn’t know Beck thinks I’m a good thief. Although everything sounds much more impressive when he says it like that.

  Durban sighs in resignation. “And what of Grent? Did you remember to look for him, when you weren’t rescuing orphans?”

  “Grent’s in prison,” Beck says, “serving five years.”

  Durban gives an unconcerned shrug. Almost as an afterthought, he jots something down on a piece of parchment. I can only guess what it says. Reminder: Bust fellow thief out of prison in Azeland?

  “Well,” Durban says. I’m starting to think it’s the only word in his vocabulary. “Your trial is coming up, isn’t it?” Beck nods. “You’ll need to visit the king tomorrow, then. Come by here at lunchtime and I’ll see what I can do. Rosco, if you want to join the Guild, you can accompany Reigler to visit the king and see if he will assign you a trial. If you come to your senses and decide to leave . . . Well, we can’t have you blabbing about the Guild to everyone you meet; your memory will be modified, and a thilastri will take you down to Ruhia.”

  He turns back to his papers and resumes scribbling. We’re dismissed.

  In the hallway, I can’t contain myself any longer. “He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?”

  The corners of Beck’s lips quirk. “Yeah, maybe a little.” He leads me back down the hall, toward where we came in. “But he’s really important here, so could you maybe not mouth off to him?”

  “I would never,” I say in my best fake-innocence voice.

  Beck smiles. “Come on, it’s time for dinner.”

  We return to the first room, which is even more crowded than before. A few people are grouped around a long serving table on one wall that holds the food.

  Beck and I join the end of the line. As we wait, I examine the Guild members. Most of them are big and rough-looking, the kinds of people you’d expect to be bodyguards or protectors or something. Many of them have weapons prominently displayed. There are lots of knives and sharp pointy objects attached to their belts.

  We finally reach the table, grab plates, and serve ourselves. Beck takes a slice of bread, and I imitate him. We reach the main dish and . . . I have no idea what it is. The tray is full of a gooey green substance that can’t seem to decide if it’s a liquid or a solid. Beck doesn’t seem alarmed by the appearance of our dinner and scoops up a large helping. Seeing no alternative meals on the table, I do the same. Maybe it tastes better than it looks?

  I sit down across from Beck at a nearby table, eyeing the gooey mass on my plate with suspicion. Is anything inside it alive? I poke it with the tip of my fork. Lifting the fork from the glop, I stare in disgust at the sickly goo congealing on the prongs.

  “Beck, are you completely sure this is edible?”

  “What?” He looks up from his own plate, which is already half empty.

  “What is this, exactly?” I take a cautious sniff and grimace at the scent of burned rubber.

  He shrugs. “It’s better not to ask.”

  “I’ve had some questionable meals in my time,” I say, “and I’m not exactly a picky eater. But I’m not totally convinced that this is actually food.”

  Beck looks confused, but before he can respond, we’re interrupted by a boy shouting “Reigler!” and striding over to Beck.

  Beck jumps up, and he and the new boy do some kind of funny hand-slapping thing that must be a greeting. “When’d you get in?” the boy asks.

  “Just now,” Beck says, grinning. “How’re things here?”

  “The usual,” the boy says. “A few fistfights, small assignments, steward nearly killing everyone . . .” He trails off. He’s noticed me.

  “Mead, this is Alli Rosco,” Beck says quickly. “Alli, this is Koby Mead.”

  The boy offers me his hand, and we shake. He’s pale as a ghost, with a shock of light hair and gray eyes. He looks to be a little older than us, but his goofy grin makes him seem even younger.

  “Pleased to meet you, Rosco,” he says. His Ruhian accent is even more pronounced than Beck’s. “You an Azelander, then?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Beck sits back down, and Mead pulls up a chair beside me. “Spill, Reigler,” Mead says. “I want every gory detail of your trip.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Beck says dryly, “but there wasn’t much gore involved.”

  “Yeah? So ol’ Grent’s not dead, then?”

  “Nah. Doing a fiver.”

  “Too bad,” Mead mutters, “I had money down on him losing a fight and going to Xeroth. Y’know how he is, always picking a fight with the wrong guy.”

  “How inconvenient for you that he’s alive,” Beck mutters around a mouthful of green goo.

  Mead turns to me. “So, Rosco, you joining the Guild?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe.”

  “Haven’t gotten Kerick to agree?” he asks. I have no idea what he means and look at Beck for help.

  “We haven’t exactly gotten that far,” he says. “Durban was . . . well, Durban.”

  Mead laughs. “Less than enthusiastic, was he?”

  “You could say that. Anyway, we’re both meeting with Kerick tomorrow to see about trials. That is, if she decides to stay.”

  “Better hope he approves then,” Mead says. “Don’t want him to be in a bad mood when he assigns your trial.”

  Seeing Beck’s expression, he adds, “But no worries. You had good reason for bringing her, right? Kerick’s fair.” Beck doesn’t look reassured, so he keeps going. “My trial was so easy anyone could pass. Nothing you can’t handle.”

  “Right,” Beck says. “You passed with only half a brain, so how hard can it be?”

  “Considering your stressful situation, I won’t take offense at that comment.” Mead rises from his seat. “I’m gonna get some food before it’s all gone.” He strolls off, greeting people cheerily as he goes, joining the food line.

  “What’s everyone tal
king about?” I demand as soon as he’s gone. “First Ser, and now—”

  “It’s nothing,” Beck says, but he lowers his voice. “It’s just, we’re supposed to be selective about who we bring into the Guild, and not everyone welcomes outsiders. The Guild’s not a charity. Only the best thieves are supposed to be allowed in. That’s why you have to pass a trial before you’re officially a member. Kerick is the king of the Guild, so he decides what the trials will be. He can make them easy, or hard. And you don’t want to get on his bad side.”

  “So Mead thinks Kerick won’t approve of you bringing me here.” I try to figure it out. “But why?”

  Beck shrugs. “Like Mead said, Kerick’s fair. It’ll be fine.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Beck opens his mouth to say something, but Mead returns with a plate full of green goo, and the conversation is dropped.

  Through the rest of the meal, Beck and Mead talk about people I don’t know. Mead fills Beck in on what he’s missed and who’s gone where. It seems like they know everybody here. While they talk, I stab at the green goop with my fork and try to choke it down. Not thinking about the taste is the only thing that makes it bearable. It’s worse than the cough medicine Sister Perla made me take, maybe worse even than the time Sister Romisha tried to wash my mouth out with soap. . . .

  “So, Rosco, has Reigler given you the tour?” Mead asks suddenly.

  I swallow my mouthful of glop, trying not to gag as it goes down. “No,” I say when my mouth is empty, “I haven’t seen much of anything.”

  Mead shoves back from the table and stands in one quick motion. “This is an outrage!” he says, but he can’t keep from grinning. “This is no way to treat a guest, Reigler! You should be ashamed of yourself.” He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, and I have a feeling half the Guild is staring at us now.

  Beck just smiles. “How inhospitable of me.”

  “This is no laughing matter!” Mead cries. He looks at me and winks. “If you’re finished eating, Rosco, allow me to give you a tour.”

  “All right.” The three of us pick up our plates and add them to a large stack of dirty dishes on one of the tables. Who has to clean those up?