‘Twenty-one.’ Though she sometimes felt a hundred. ‘I’m blessed with a youthful glow.’
‘Still far too young to retire.’
‘I’m about the right age,’ said Shev. ‘Still alive.’
‘That could change,’ said Crandall, stepping close. As close to Shev as Carcolf had been and a very great deal less welcome.
‘Give the lady some room,’ said Severard, lip stuck out defiantly.
Crandall snorted. ‘Lady? Are you fucking serious, boy?’
Shev saw Severard had that stick of hers behind his back. Nice length of wood, it was, just the right weight for knocking someone on the head. But the very last thing she needed was him swinging that stick at Crandall. He’d be carrying it up his arse by the time Mason was through with him.
‘Why don’t you go out back and sweep the yard?’ said Shev.
Severard looked at her, jaw all set for action, the fool. God, maybe he was in love with her. ‘I don’t want-’
‘Go out back. I’ll be fine.’
He swallowed, shot the heavies one more glance, then slid out.
Shev gave a sharp whistle, brought all the hard eyes back to her. She knew well enough what having no choice looked like. ‘This thing you want. If I steal it, is that the last of it?’
Crandall shrugged. ‘Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Depends whether I want something stolen again, don’t it?’
‘Whether your daddy does, you mean.’
Crandall’s eye twitched. He didn’t like being reminded he was just a little prick in his daddy’s big shadow. But Shev was always saying the wrong thing. Or the right thing at the wrong time. Or the right thing at the right time to the wrong person, maybe.
‘You’ll do as you’re told, you little gash-licking bitch,’ he spat in her face, ‘or I’ll burn your shit-hole down with you in it. And your fucking Prayer Bells, too!’
Mason gave a disgusted sigh, scarred cheeks puffed out. As if to say, He’s a rat-faced little nothing, but what can I do?
Shev stared at Crandall. Damn, but she wanted to butt him in the face. Wanted to with all her being. She’d had bastards like this kicking her around her whole life. Almost be worth it to kick back just once. But she knew all she could do was smile. If she hurt Crandall, Mason would hurt her ten times as bad. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d do it. He made a living doing things he didn’t like. Didn’t they all?
Shev swallowed. Tried to make her fury look like fear. The deck was always stacked against folk like her.
‘Guess I haven’t got a choice.’
Crandall blasted her with shitty breath as he smiled. ‘Who does?’
Never consider the ground, that’s the trick to it.
Shev straddled the slimy angle of the roof, broken tiles jabbing her in the groin as she inched along, thinking about how much she’d rather be straddling Carcolf. Down in the busy street to her right some drunk idiots were haw-hawing way too loud over a joke, someone else blabbering in Suljuk which Shev didn’t understand more than one word in thirty of. Down in the empty alleyway on her left it seemed quiet, though.
She inched to the chimney, keeping low, just a shadow in the darkness, slipped the loop of her rope over it. Looked solid enough but she gave a good heave to check. Varini used to tell her she weighed two-thirds of nothing but even so she’d almost dragged a chimney clean off once and would’ve taken a tumble into the street with half a ton of masonry on her head if not for a luckily placed windowsill.
Careful, careful, that’s the trick, but a healthy streak of good luck doesn’t hurt, either.
Her heart was pounding now and she took a long breath and tried to settle it. Out of practice was all. She was the best thief in Westport, that was well known. That was why they wouldn’t let her stop. Why she wouldn’t let her stop. That was her blessing and her curse.
‘Best thief in Westport,’ she muttered to herself and slid down the rope to the edge of the roof, peering over. She could see the two guards flanking the doorway, lamplight gleaming on their helmets.
About the right time, and she heard the whores’ voices, shrill and angry. Saw the guards’ heads turn. More shrieking, and she caught the briefest glimpse of the women struggling before they went down in the gutter. The guards were drifting down the alleyway to watch and Shev smiled to herself. Those girls put on a hell of a show for a couple of silvers.
Seize your moment, that’s the trick to it.
In a twinkling she swung over the eaves, down the rope and in through the window. It had only taken a few coppers to get the maid to leave the shutters off the latch. She pulled them to as she dropped onto the other side. Someone was on their way down the stairs, a light tread, unhurried, but Shev was taking no chances. She nipped to the candle and pinched it out with her gloved fingers, sank the corridor into comfortable darkness.
The rope would still be dangling but there wasn’t much to do about that. Couldn’t afford a partner to hoist it back up. Have to hope she was long gone by the time they noticed.
In and out quick, that’s the trick to it.
She could still hear the whores screeching in the street, no doubt having attracted quite the crowd by now, folk betting on the outcome and everything. There’s something about women fighting that men can never seem to take their eyes away from. Specially if the women in question aren’t wearing much. Shev hooked a finger in her collar and dragged a bit of air in, squashing a stray instinct to go and take a peek herself, and padded softly down the corridor to the third door, already slipping out her picks.
It was a damn good lock. Most thieves wouldn’t have even bothered with it. Would’ve moved along to something easier. But Shev wasn’t most thieves. She shut her eyes, and touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip, and slid her picks inside, and started to work the lock. It only took her a few moments to tease out the innards of it, to tickle the tumblers her way. It gave a little metal gasp as it opened up for her, and Shev slipped her tongue and her picks away, eased the knob around – though she was a lot less interested in knobs than locks, being honest – worked the door open a crack and slipped through just as she heard the boots on the stairs, and felt herself grinning in the darkness.
She hadn’t wanted to admit it, least of all to herself, but God, she’d missed this. The fear. The excitement. The stakes. The thrill of taking what wasn’t hers. The thrill of knowing how damn good she was at it.
‘Best fucking thief in Westport,’ she mouthed and eased over to the table. The satchel was where Crandall had said it’d be, and she slipped the strap over her shoulder in blissful, velvet silence. Everything just the way she’d planned.
Shev turned back towards the door and a board creaked under her heel.
A woman sat bolt upright in the bed. A woman in a pale nightdress, staring straight at her.
There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in here.
Shev raised her gloved hand. ‘This is nothing like it looks-’
The woman let go the most piercing scream Shev ever heard in her life.
Cleverness, caution and plans will only get a thief so far. Then luck’s a treacherous bitch and won’t always play along, so boldness will have to take you the rest of the way. Shev raced to the window, raised her black boot and gave the shutters an almighty kick, splintering the latch, and sent them shuddering open as the woman heaved in a whooping breath.
A square of night sky. The second storey of the buildings across the way. She caught a glimpse of a man with his head in his hands through the window directly opposite. She thought about how far down it was and made herself stop. You can’t think about the ground. The woman let blast another bladder-loosening scream. Shev heard the door wrenched wide, guards yelling. She jumped through.
Wind tugged, flapped at her clothes, that lurching in her stomach as she started to fall. Like doing the high drop when she was tumbling with that travelling show, hands straining to catch Varini’s. The reassuring smack of her palms into his and the puff of chalk as he whisked her up to safety. Every time. Every time but that last time when he’d had a drink too many and the ground had caught her instead.