Burning Bright (3 page)

Pechal shivered beside him. "Looks too much like blood to me; gives me the creeps. Why would anyone give a jewel such an awful name?"

"Who knows why nobles do half the things they do," Raz replied. "Not my problem. My problem is to steal it, which I've done, and then deliver it, which we're doing. He said to meet him at the Sword & Sorcerer at twelfth bell."

"I wish we could be in bed by twelfth bell for once."

Raz laughed and tucked the necklace away again. Tugging at the brim of his hat, he said, "That will never happen and you know it. Come on, then. We deliver the necklace, get our payment, and we won't need to take another job for weeks. A few more like this and we'll have enough money to make honest citizens of ourselves."

"Right, you honest," Pechal said with a laugh and gave him a playful shove. "You won't last a week, even with your garden."

"I'd go at least a month," Raz retorted, shoving back. "We'll see who's laughing when it's my garden making all of our honest food." Just thinking about it sped his heart up even as he tried to convince himself to calm down and not get his hopes up. However much they might want to be honest citizens, it was still far more a dream than a reality.

Even if it did someday happen, he still was not entirely certain he knew what ordinary meant, precisely, or how to be it. If he had ever been anything but a street rat, he could not remember. "Hurry up, then." He darted off, not quite running as he left behind the relative safety of the cathedral.

Another ten minutes or so of walking saw them to the designated meeting point: a pub that, during the day, was a favorite location for exchanging and arranging all manner of interesting things. At night … everything just got more interesting.

Raz looped around to the back and knocked three times on the door. A panel in the upper portion of the door slid open and a gruff voice said, "We're closed and it's after curfew. Go home."

"Don't be damp firewood, Misha," Raz retorted. "The only thing less closed than your pub is your mother's legs."

Laughter came from the other side of the door and the panel closed with a thunk. A moment later, the door swung open and a large, burly man beckoned them inside. "Warmth to you," he greeted and embraced them both briefly. "Haven't seen you little sparks in a bit. What trouble you been hired to act out now, Raz? Pechal, ain't you found someone better to run around with?"

"No one as easy to boss around," Pechal said lightly. "I smell stew—any of it left?"

"Plenty," Misha replied. "I'll get you both some. Beer, too. What are you doing here so late?"

Raz smiled briefly in thanks and said, "Meeting a client. Tall, quiet, spooky sort."

"Half dozen of them, you'll have to pick out which one is yours," Misha said dryly and nodded his head toward the door that led to the front room. "Go on, then."

"Thanks." Raz led the way down the narrow hallway and out into the main portion of the pub, skimming the dim, smoky room. There were ten occupants, three serving girls, and a large man tending the bar. He wondered what Misha was up to that he had four people working such a small crowd.

But the first rule of the Sword & Sorcerer was:  mind your own business. He skimmed the room again, but did not see anyone who looked like the man they were supposed to be meeting. Shrugging, he found an empty table in the very back and settled down. Pechal ran off to fetch their promised food from Misha and returned a couple of minutes later with a tray.

He sat down and set out two bowls of stew, a bowl filled with hunks of black bread, and two tankards of beer. Raz took his portion eagerly, snatching up chunks of bread to sop up broth, and washing it all down with the thin, but still appreciated, beer.

Misha had only just brought them a second round of beer when their client showed up, a deep hood hiding his face. He was tall and thin and moved with a sinuous grace that reminded Raz of the sorts of criminals even he preferred to avoid.  The man pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning back in a way that seemed casual, but Raz knew was anything but—the bastard was a snake waiting to strike. He had a dagger strapped to one thigh, a sword at one hip, and a bull whip at the other. Raz had heard rumors about all the things he could do with that whip when he was pushed. "Was starting to wonder where you were, Sasha," Raz said.

"Do you have it, then?" Sasha asked and held out one gloved hand.

"Payment," Raz countered.

Sasha chuckled and dropped his hand to pull something from within his cloak. He threw a small bag on the table, the coins inside chinking when it landed. Pechal snatched the bag up and tipped the contents out. "Payment is good."

He tucked the coins away, and Raz withdrew the velvet bag in his own jacket, holding it out. Sasha took it and pulled out the rubi necklace, admiring it much the same way Raz had earlier. "Perfect. I was told you were the best thieves in the business."

"None better, by the Fires I vow it," Raz replied.

Sasha rose. "Fire warm and guide you." He was gone before Raz could reply.

"He's as creepy as they say," Pechal commented.

Raz shrugged. "Who cares? He pays well and isn't playing games. I wouldn't mind more jobs this easy. Finish your beer and let's go home."

Obediently finishing his beer, Pechal rose and led the way back through the mostly empty pub, pressing coins into Misha's hand as they passed him and slipped out the way they had come.

The cathedral bells were just chiming half past twelve when they reached the back yards of the cathedral again. Raz overtook the lead, walking right up the back of the cathedral itself, and slipping into a small courtyard that contained a long-neglected and no-longer working fountain. He suspected the rest of it had been a garden at one point, back when the cathedral had maintained its own foodstuffs, but like so much else in the Heart of Zhar Ptitsa, generally just called the Heart, that practice had faded out.

He leapt neatly up the wall, grabbing the first set of handholds even as his feet felt for grooves to rest on. Assured of his grip, Raz began to climb, up and up the cathedral wall until he reached the cracked window near the top of the west wing. Pushing the broken window open, he climbed over the edge and all but toppled inside.  He regained his feet just as Pechal climbed in behind him, hit the floor smoothly, and turned to close the window and pull an old blanket across it.

Raz moved easily through the dark, fumbled briefly with their lantern, and then the pungent scent of sulfur filled the room when he struck a match to light it. Warm orange-yellow light filled their little space, a disused corner of the upper attic that none of the priests seemed to remember existed.

It wasn't much, but it was home:  two piles of discarded blankets and pillows that comprised their beds, and still more pillows were piled on the other side to serve as chairs. They shared one small trunk that they had snuck in through the cathedral itself and which contained all their clothes and other worldly possessions:  bits and baubles they had clung to while making their way as thieves for hire.

They got settled in, tucking away purses and tools of the trade, wiping off dirt and brushing more away from where they had climbed up. Raz exchanged a smile with Pechal, reached out to ruffle his hair.  Not much at all, but they were all the home they'd ever really need.

"I'm going down," Raz said, slipping away before Pechal could make fun of him.  Leaving their little room by way of the small crawlspace that was the closest they had to a door, he picked his way across the half-rotted floor of the upper attic, ignoring the rodents and birds that shared the space with them. Halfway across, he slipped down through the open trapdoor to the main attic which was much better maintained. Weak moonlight slipped in through cracks and a few small windows to provide paltry guidance. At the far end, he opened another trapdoor and climbed down the steep stairwell to the uppermost floor of the cathedral, where most of the bedrooms and various workrooms were located.

Everything was so silent every breath he drew was audible. Moving as silently as possible, Raz headed down the hallway to the narrow staircase that eventually turned into the great stair that led down to the cathedral proper.

He stopped just short of going all the way down, keeping to the mezzanine level and all but pressed up against the back wall as he walked closer to the front of the sanctuary. He sank down to sit on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, and closed his eyes while he listened to the priests singing the midnight vigil below.

Raz didn't understand the words; he'd never learned to read and never received any sort of formal education, so he only knew the hymns by listening to them. But he had listened to them so many times he at least knew what to say, even if he did not understand what he was saying.

Eyes still closed, Raz began to sing along softly with priests, absorbed by the song, lost in the singing. It made him a calm sort of happy,  in opposition to the hot thrill of a theft gone well. He remained there and sang until the bells finally rang out the first hour and the singing tapered off. Reluctantly standing, Raz slipped away again and returned to their little attic room.

Pechal already lay in his bed, paging through a little book of blank pages in which he liked to doodle. Their little trunk had half a dozen of the books, every last scrap of paper filled with drawings in charcoal, pencil, ink—whatever Pechal was able to find. "How was the singing?" he asked.

"Beautiful," Raz said softly, feeling sad for no reason he could name, as he always did after the hymns.

"You're going to get us caught one of these days."

Raz rolled his eyes because he was sick of the argument. "If they catch me they'll just assume I'm one of the homeless who managed to sneak in and throw me out, at which point I'll scale the wall. I like the hymns. Can we please stop discussing this every single time I go and listen to them?"

Pechal made a face but dropped the matter, tongue between his teeth as he lost himself in drawing. Leaving him to it, Raz picked through what little food they had left. Little food, but plenty of coin, he thought happily. They would have to treat themselves to a nice breakfast and a nice lunch and a nice dinner. He couldn't remember the last time they'd been able to eat more than once a day.

Maybe he could persuade Pechal to get a better winter jacket. Raz looked surreptitiously to where Pechal was drawing, the lamp set between their beds so he could see, all but smothered in piles of blankets. Raz seldom felt the cold as sharply as Pechal; the winters were nice because he actually felt comfortable rather than too warm for once.

He frowned when he saw Pechal rub his forehead and grimace in pain. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Pechal said irritably.

"I can tell."

Flicking his fingers, Pechal said, "Douse it."

"No need to be mean," Raz chided. "Your head was bothering you when we left, but I thought it had tapered off. Not getting sick, are you?"

Sighing, Pechal set his book aside and slumped down in his blankets, not quite dragging them up over his head. "No, I'm fine. My head aches and there's a weird, I dunno, buzzing sort of noise, but I'm sure it's just from working too hard to find the Blood Tear or whatever it was called. Sleep and a good breakfast will sort me out."

"We've definitely earned a good breakfast," Raz said, making a mental note to slip away at some point and spend some coin on medicine powders.  "Go to sleep, then. I hope you feel better."

"Warm rest," Pechal muttered, and he dragged the blankets up to shut out the cold completely. Raz smiled faintly and doused the light. Removing his boots, he settled on his own bedding, stretching out with his hands behind his head and staring up at the dark ceiling he couldn't really see.

He was not surprised when Pechal began to toss and turn in his sleep. Smiling faintly, Raz began to sing again, softly. After a few minutes, Pechal stilled, quieted, and finally fell into a restful sleep. Letting his words fade away, Raz turned onto his side, facing the crawlspace door, one arm still pillowing his head while the other propped on his hip.

As much as he wanted to sleep himself, it simply would not come. It was not an uncommon problem for him, but it was tiresome. After all the work they had put into their latest job, he should have been exhausted.

Sighing, he sat up and pulled his boots back on, and then fled the room, slowly making his way back down to the sanctuary again. Instead of stopping at the mezzanine level, however, he went all the way down.

He and Pechal had taken up residence in the cathedral three years ago, shortly after moving to the Heart from the port town where they had met. Business was better in the Heart, and it was also much more difficult for the authorities to catch them. Even with the palace only minutes away, the guards were spread too thin to worry about a couple of petty thieves.

Though Raz suspected that after stealing the Tear of Blood from the Duchess of Ilarion they would no longer be considered petty. He hoped that, whatever Sasha intended to do with it, the heat would not singe him and Pechal.

Raz slowly made his way down the walkway between the dark wooden pews, admiring the paintings that adorned the walls. Murals, he thought they were called, but wasn't certain. Windows ran across the entire length of the cathedral along the top, and there were more skylights in the beautiful, winding spires far above his head. He'd heard that the royal cathedral had windows of colored glass cut to form pictures, but did not know if that was actually true.

The paintings in this cathedral told stories. There was one great painting behind the altar that had all nine of the Lost Gods in their holiest of forms. The Dragons of the Three Storms writhed and twisted along the bottom, fierce, sinuous beings of chaos. Upon them stood the Faerie Queen, the Unicorn, and the Pegasus, the gods of life, gathered around an immense, beautiful tree. Twined in its branches was a great white snake—the Basilisk. Perched atop the tree was Holy Zhar Ptitsa himself, a bird with feathers of fire, a golden beak, and eyes like burning embers. Raz shivered, looking at him.