The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (41 page)

Not that any of this mattered to Lucius or any of his fellow thieves, of course. Politics was not their strength, and they shied away from murky entanglements. Their interest was in fleecing de Lille in as efficient a manner as possible.

This meant that, rather than target de Lille’s very well protected warehouses and stores of goods he transferred from one nation to another, they ran an extortion racket among the Pontaine man’s lieutenants and officers. Insurance, of a type. In return for regular – and not insubstantial – payments, the thieves’ guild guaranteed not only that none of their operatives would steal from de Lille’s property, but that they would also ensure no independent thieves made the attempt either.

On the whole, a merchant like de Lille was probably better off with an arrangement like this. The guild made sure it operated in a very low key fashion, and the losses paid to them were likely far less than if thieves had free range over his property, without factoring in the reputation a merchant can lose by having his warehouses constantly plundered. However, a man like de Lille never got to be as rich as he was without an over-developed sense of greed, and he had gradually grown tired of paying the thieves for, as he saw it, nothing.

That was when the hired mercenaries were brought in. Well-armed, they protected de Lille’s belongings like an iron wall, and were more than capable of seeing off any of the guild’s collectors. Revenue from de Lille dried up overnight, and that made certain members of the thieves’ guild anxious.

Including Lucius. The entire thieves’ guild ran on a franchise system where senior thieves would create missions and ongoing enterprises, and gain a permanent income from them (minus the guild’s own take, of course). They would effectively employ lower ranking thieves, and split their share in ever decreasing amounts. The longest serving thieves might have dozens of such operations, all providing a flow of cash, while younger members might only have part shares in one or two. Indeed, with so much of Turnitia sewn up by enterprising members of the guild, it was difficult for a young thief to create a brand new franchise, and as a result many were passed on from one thief to the next in the event of death or retirement.

De Lille had been Lucius’ franchise, passed on to him after the war between the original Night Hands thieves and the Guild of Coin and Enterprise. The war had shattered both guilds utterly and the new thieves’ guild was an amalgamation of members from both sides. When de Lille had employed his mercenaries and refused to pay the guild its rightful share, he had deprived Lucius, and many other thieves, of a lucrative income. More to the point, if word got out that de Lille was able to poke the thieves’ guild in the eye without retribution, then many other merchants might get the same idea.

So, this evening was about retribution, and a lesson to be taught. Maintaining a healthy relationship with the beggars’ guild – the spies of the city – Lucius had learned that de Lille had recently brought a large haul into the city from Andon, planning to sell it to Vos nobility. Lucius’ interest was in a particular item known as the Torc of Vocator Majoris, an old Pontaine artefact said to protect the wearer from assassination. He doubted its powers were real, but the torc was worth a great deal of money and having it stolen would lose de Lille a great deal of face among his wealthiest customers. That alone would serve as a potent reminder that no one, no matter who they were, ever crossed the thieves’ guild.

Lucius had already begun moving from his perch when he saw Grayling shimmy up the rope and distract the merchant’s dogs. De Lille’s mansion was said to be very well protected, both by guards and traps designed to catch unwary thieves, and so he had decided to take two teams on this mission. More thieves meant a smaller percentage for him at the end of the night, true, but this job was about more than just the money.

Swinging down from a rope he had tied around the chimney stack, Lucius dropped spryly into a shadowy alley between the chapel and a small residence. Taking a quick look out of the alley to ensure the main thoroughfare remained deserted, Lucius sprinted across the road on the balls of his feet, making little noise. In the opposite alley, running straight past the wall of de Lille’s grounds, he nodded a silent greeting to Swinherd, his own team mate.

Lucius watched as Swinherd grabbed a pole ladder from the shadows, and laid it against the wall.

Swinherd was on top of the wall in seconds, and he held a hand out as he scanned the surrounding gardens, holding Lucius in check until he was sure the coast was clear.

Had he taken only one team to de Lille’s mansion, Lucius might have instead chosen Ambrose to accompany him, the man who had first inducted him into the guild and taught him so much. Or perhaps Grayling, a woman he had fought side-by-side with during an escape from the Vos Citadel. He had not worked with Swinherd a great deal, and the man had a reputation for impetuousness, but Ambrose had suggested Lucius take him on this mission. Swinherd had, of late, started to learn the locksmith’s trade and, as useful as that alone might have been inside the mansion, it seemed as though he was also starting to learn patience.

A waved signal from Swinherd saw Lucius scampering up the ladder, and he too perched on the wall, studying the gardens while his partner drew the pole ladder up from the alley, and carefully wedged it between the top of the wall and the side of the mansion. Seconds ticked away as he made sure the metal claws were firmly gripped. While Lucius wished Swinherd would hurry so they could quickly gain entry into the mansion, he also knew that if the pole ladder was positioned incorrectly, it would slip and collapse as soon as either of them put any weight upon it.

Finally satisfied, Swinherd cast a quick glance at Lucius, who nodded in assent, and then carefully climbed the ladder to the roof. As soon as his foot left the last rung of the ladder, Lucius sprang onto it, and proceeded to follow.

“Larken? Where the dogs got to?”

The voice from the other end of the path caught Lucius with alarm, and he instantly went rigid, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. Another voice sounded to Lucius’ left, coming from somewhere near a coach house a few dozen yards away.

“They’re round here,” it said. “Acting crazy.”

“For the love of God...” protested the first voice and heavy footsteps, accompanied by the unmistakable chink of mail armour, grew louder as a mercenary came down the path. As he came into view Lucius recalled the old thief adage: if you can see them, they can see you.

Taking a quick breath, Lucius reached within his mind’s eye to find the threads of magical energies running through his consciousness. He had been able to tap this sorcerous power for many years now, but his recent training allowed him to gather the threads he needed and wield them almost as a reflex.

Selecting the darkest of the threads, he mentally pulled, breaking it away from the others, and imagined it wrapping itself around his body, the magic twisting and writhing under his direction. To any observer, Lucius’ form would seem to shimmer and distort before growing fainter, as if he was being stretched into the nearby shadows. To the mercenary, his mind on the important matter of his employer’s dogs, Lucius was no more than an indistinct shadow at the corner of his eye. With the garden full of such shadows, he paid it no more attention than he did the rest, and carried on, oblivious to the thief’s presence.

Waiting until the guard had disappeared behind the coach house, Lucius started up the pole ladder again, letting the magical darkness slowly uncoil itself. Once on the roof, he directed Swinherd to the rear of the mansion, where they had agreed they would gain entry. He was about to follow but glanced across at Ambrose, who was still at the edge of the roof, holding the rope that trailed off the edge down to the bay window below. Lucius frowned at that, as he was sure Ambrose would have reached the roof long before he and Swinherd had. He should be inside by now.

Casting a rueful look at Swinherd as the younger man disappeared over the roofline, Lucius padded quietly to Ambrose, a knot starting to grow in his stomach at the thought of his plan unravelling so soon.

Seeing Lucius approach him, Ambrose exhaled in relief.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, and Lucius had to stifle a groan. “Got the tug from Grayling, but it’s gone all quiet now.”

Rubbing his forehead in frustration as much as thought, Lucius made a quick decision. He was determined that his plan would stay more or less intact.

“Okay, I’ll go down,” he said to Ambrose. “Once I’m in, you go over the top with Swinherd. You remember everything about the entry from the back?”

Ambrose nodded. Both teams had been briefed well on one another’s roles, in case of any last minute changes.

Following Grayling’s descent, Lucius scaled down the rope quickly as Ambrose once again braced himself against the weight. Scanning the bay as he went down, Lucius saw nothing out of the ordinary. As he drew level with the window, he peered inside and saw the black, slender form of the female thief, standing in the corridor, utterly rigid. He put his head through the open window and glanced up and down the corridor, trying to see if perhaps a squad of mercenaries held her at crossbow point. There was nothing.

“Grayling. What’s wrong?”

“Thank God it’s you. Filcher’s floor. Heard it crack as soon as I put a foot down.”

“Is the chair secure?” Lucius asked, indicating the furniture in the centre of the bay.

“I think so, yes.”

Hooking a foot inside the bay, Lucius entered the mansion, and perched himself on the chair, before tugging on the rope twice to let Ambrose know he was now free to follow Swinherd around the back of the mansion.

He glanced at Grayling, impressed with both her composure and stillness. Other thieves might have panicked at discovering they were standing on a filcher’s floor, but Grayling remained stock still. That was when the floor must have shifted, as she put her full weight on to it; the flexible floorboards designed to crush glass and ring chimes mounted underneath. They were carefully built so even a tentative footstep could trigger the trap.

They were lucky, for Grayling had frozen the moment she knew what was happening, and her quick reactions had probably saved all of them.

“Alright, you’re safe now – this will probably get a bit cold, so be ready.”

Grayling slowly and gently nodded her assent, as Lucius reached down with his right hand, his left holding the back of the chair to support his weight. Again, the threads of magic leapt to the forefront of his mind, and he twisted them around, conjuring their potency as he made their power manifest.

Eyes widening slightly in amazement, Grayling watched as a fine mist grew around her foot and then spread up and down the entire length of the corridor in seconds, forming a carpet an inch thick. Looking over her shoulder at Lucius, she saw him frown in concentration then shiver as he lowered his hand to the floor, his fingers turning pale blue as he allowed the magic to flow through him. She had witnessed his shadowmagic before, but he never used it at the guildhouse and she was awestruck every time.

As he touched the filcher’s floor, there was a tiny crackle of energy as the mist around his fingers dissipated, frozen to the wooden boards of the corridor by the extreme magical cold. This effect radiated out from Lucius, spreading down the corridor, causing Grayling to gasp at the cold as it numbed her foot. Within a few heartbeats, the mist had completely disappeared, leaving behind a fine sheen on the floor, freezing it still.

Lucius let go of the breath he had been holding and looked up at Grayling, smiling. Gingerly, he took a foot off the chair and set it down on the floor, gradually adding his full weight. The boards he rested on remained inflexible and no alarms sounded.

“It’s okay, you can move now,” he said. “Just be careful not to slip on the ice.”

Grayling was tentative in her movements at first, but quickly gained confidence in the solidity of the floor. She stooped to massage her thighs, and then straightened to stretch her back, both having suffered cramp from being held immobile for too long.

“We ready?” Grayling asked.

Lucius looked down the corridor to his right, and beckoned Grayling along. The libraries of the guildhouse had borne much fruit for this mission, including detailed plans for the entire house. The thieves’ guild had many such plans for buildings across the city, acquired with either great expense or great skill from the architects that had built them, over many years. These plans had formed the basis of many raids in the past, and were a valuable resource.

The members of both teams had memorised the mansion’s floor plans, and their methods of entry had been built around them. They could not be sure de Lille or some past resident had not changed the interior, of course, as indeed the filcher’s floor indicated, but the main structural design should have remained more or less intact. Both Lucius and Grayling already knew they were on the right floor; now they just needed to head deeper into the mansion, where a small set of windowless interior rooms suggested the prime location for both de Lille’s personal quarters and his most treasured belongings.

Counting doors as he padded down the icy corridor, Lucius finally stopped at one, and listened. He felt Grayling tap him gently on the shoulder and, turning around, saw she was indicating that she go first. His first reaction was to refuse, but he quickly reflected on her agility and the bodysuit she wore, designed purely for stealth, then nodded.