"There are maps of all the enclaves in the libraries. When things got hot we studied them, trying to decide if moving was practical."
"But where are we bound?"
"Thieves' Quarter."
"How do you know there is one?"
She laughed, low and melodious. For all the aggravation, Sunbright was glad to hear her happy. It had been a long time since she'd laughed. Regrettably, that was his fault. He'd have to make up for the grief he'd caused her. For now, he plodded along without complaining.
It was dodgy, though, to stay calm. He was a creature of the earth, a groundling, and being a mile in the air unnerved him. Too, he couldn't banish the picture of Ioulaum shattering to fist-sized chunks from his mind's eye. True, the island wouldn't be destroyed for over three centuries, but still he felt it hung by a thread.
Through the warehouse district they tripped, avoiding city guards and night crews and dogs, sometimes skirting so close to the city's edge that Sunbright felt the yawning gap kiss his quaking knees. But finally they turned inward where lights and roistering marked taverns and food shops where workers wended after hours. Knucklebones told Sunbright to sit tight while she scouted. The barbarian propped his rump in a niche, folded his arms, but left his ears awake, and napped.
Cat-quiet, Knucklebones faded through shadows, circling buildings, and hunting the darker spots. Her part-elven night vision was sharper than a human's, and since mostly humans inhabited the enclaves, she had an advantage. Sure enough, she spied prime targets, two sailors drunk and lurching. They passed an alley perfect for ambush and, as she expected, were hooked into the shadows like dazed trout. Scanning for onlookers, Knucklebones skittered along a building front, down the side and around, to catch the assailants in the rear.
The thieves were good, she noted. They'd dumped the sailors in the alley, smacked them with sacks of wet sand just hard enough to stun them-killings roused the city guard-rifled their purses and boots in seconds, then charged down the alley, quick to flee before anyone sought missing comrades.
Knucklebones would have been plowed under if she hadn't hissed from the dark, "Heads up, fasthands!"
"Eh? Split, Littledark." The thieves, a husband-and-wife team, plastered themselves against the walls lest this was a trap and crossbow bolts came flying. They rattled Thieves' Cant so fast Knucklebones could barely grasp it.
"Just hatched, turtles," Knucklebones whispered. "Where pillow?"
The thieves exchanged the lowest murmur, then decided to entrust Knucklebones-whose cant was correct-with the location of a den, but warned her not to follow. "Toe to Elkan's, hooks and hods, Blue Cobbles, west, two, one, two, Kibbe. Fog."
"Misted."
And like fog, Knucklebones faded away in the dark, stamping unnaturally loud so they heard her leave.
Sunbright jerked awake at her touch. "Whoa!" he grumbled. "I didn't hear you."
"Piffle. If I were noisy, I'd have died at two. Come, I know where to go. Elkan's, hooks and hods, Blue Cobbles, west, two, one, two, Kibbe."
"Those are directions?"
"Elkan's must be an ironmongery, selling pothooks and bricklayer's hods, in the Street of Blue Cobbles on the west side. Knock twice, then once, then twice, and say Kibbe sent you."
Sunbright scratched his sore ear and asked her, "How do we know we won't drop through a hole in the earth? Or as a joke we're sent to knock on the city guard's barracks?"
"We don't," she said casually. "That's what makes thieving so exciting."
Sunbright straightened his tackle and followed her tiny, dark form through more alleys. They traveled light in summer, with Knucklebones in her laced leather vest and breeches and no shoes, her black elven blade at her waist, and only a thin blanket roll with her comb and such tucked inside. Sunbright wore a long yellow shirt and iron-bound boots of moosehide, his back scabbard holding Harvester and a longbow and four arrows beside, a blanket roll and canteen and haversack of rations. Ever since returning the dwarf's warhammer, he'd had no other weapon except a long knife on his wide belt.
He opined, "Spearing killer whales through the ice before they can burst through and eat you is exciting too."
"Belt up, country mouse," she whispered over her shoulder.
"Yes, milady."
Flitting through dark streets, Knucklebones occasionally touched a wall, setting it aglow with her cold light cantra-everyone born to the empire knew some magic-to study how paint had faded on public buildings. From this information, she figured out which was the western side of the city.
Sunbright objected, "But if the city engineers rotate the island, how can there be a west side?"
"Silly. They rotate it at varying speeds. The Netherese consider it lucky to view the dawn, so nobles favor the eastern side to build their homes. So the western side is less prosperous, and houses are smaller. The paint fades at a different angle and rate. There are signs in a city, same as a forest."
"I'd need another lifetime to learn them."
"No need" she said. "You have me." From the dark, she squeezed his craggy, calloused hand with her small, cool one.
Knucklebones found the ironmongery by the smell of rust, lampblack, and grease. Crouching along the foundation and sniffing, she whiffed sweat and wine and moist earth. "A deep cellar."
Hunting found the entrance, a building away at the end of an alley. Sunbright had to crouch to negotiate a wet-walled passage that Knucklebones said was guarded; lined with murder holes with cocked crossbows behind. At the end she knocked twice, once, twice, and whispered, "Kibbe!"
A greased door yawned open, cool air hinted of wine. A doorman closed the portal, pointed to a turning, downward-sloping passage, twinkling with light. The fearless Knucklebones tripped on. Sunbright had to stoop because Harvester's pommel scraped on stone overhead. He groused, "Why not take an hour and raise the ceilings?"
"If guards come raiding, they have to bend over. Slows them down."
Or maybe all thieves were short, Sunbright supposed. Living in caves must stunt them. The big barbarian didn't know what to expect, but was surprised to arrive at a table with a clerk behind it. Knucklebones had already warned him to keep mum, so he listened to a conversation of gibberish.
By candlelight, the clerk was old and gray, and his palsied hands shook. A retired thief employed by the guild. He nodded at Sunbright and said, "Purse?"
"Blood," Knucklebones replied. "Fisted or palmed?"
"Palmed. Ferrets sent some flying home. Half up front, half after. Cutty?"
"Latch booster, mostly. Peeler with bigarm here."
"Bones're clean, but suit," the old man said. "Clink."
Knucklebones demanded of Sunbright, "Give me your purses. All of them."
"I only have the one."
"Shut up and give!"
Meekly he handed over his lean purse: Knucklebones usually carried their money anyway. The thief produced three purses from her leather vest and breeches, and dumped out a meager pile of coins. Methodically, the old clerk sorted them, weighed some on a small scale, bit others, then returned exactly half. Asking for names, Knucklebones gave "Butterfly and Ten Pound."
The clerk jotted glyphs in a small book, and finished with, "Keep your stone honed." Knucklebones nodded and circled the table, then spiraled down toward the torchlight.
"What is this hole?" asked Sunbright. "Why does it loop?"
"Don't know. Enclaves are mostly hollow, to save weight so the mythallar doesn't have to work so hard. When they build one, they drill all sorts of tunnels in odd shapes. Some have uses right away, like sewers or grain storage or water pipes. Others are for future expansion, or just a whim."