Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer (6 page)

C
hazd approached the Talica Bridge through the alleyway behind Talica Park, a fence enclosedgreen across the street from the spa
n’
s southern edge. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Jaeron and Avrilla waiting for him. They were on the far side of the river, not taking any obvious precautions to stay hidden.

What in Malfekke’s flaming arse?
Then Chazd realized that there was nowhere to hide on the bridge. The walkway was well lit under the constant bask of the oil lamps in the towering structures. Uncomfortable out in the open, Chazd crossed the bridge as furtively as he was able.

His siblings were talking quietly together until Avrilla spotted his approach.

“How did it go, Chazd?” she asked in a low voice.

“Okay,” he said. “We didn’t have much there. Some extra clothes, a couple of daggers, lock picks, oils, and a few
zecca
.”

“We were worried. You took a long time.”

“You said we could be being followed and I should stay hidden.” Chazd looked around pointedly. “At least I took that seriously.”

Jaeron gave him a hard look.

“We didn’t see another way across the bridge. And Avrilla is convinced that no one was following us.”

“At least not this far,” she qualified.

“Still, standing out here doesn’t look good,” Chazd said. “You’re lucky no guard patrols came by.”

Jaeron nodded, agreeing with that. “You’re right. We need to go. Avrilla thinks we should get out of the city.”

“To where?” Chazd was frustrated by the lack of direction.

“I’m not sure, Chazd. We’ll figure it out when we get there. Can you get us past the guards?”

Chazd shook his head slightly at his siblings. He did not have a better suggestion, but he wanted to do something more direct. Knowing how the gossip on the streets spread, he figured it would be no later than morning and half the guards in Islar would be looking for them. If not for suspicion of causing the fire, at least for questioning about their leaving the scene and Jaeron’s dramatic escape through the window.

Jaeron and Avrilla had started away from the bridge. Chazd caught up with his brother and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Jaeron.”

Jaeron spun around with a grim look, exhaustion tucked behind anger and grief. Chazd backed off, hands perfunctorily giving the thief sign for ‘no challenge.’

“I just think it might be a good idea to avoid the main roads, even from here,” he said.

Jaeron’s brow furrowed even deeper but before he had a chance to respond, Avrilla intervened, interrupting their impending argument.

“Chazd’s got a point, Jaeron.”

Avrilla pointed ahead to well-maintained and more brightly lit neighborhoods. The streets of the Northgate Ward boasted affluent residences and routine patrols after dark.

“We probably don’t want to be seen leaving the city and there are always guards at Northgate.”

~

Jaeron silently berated himself for his lack of attention. He was not sure what bothered him more; his obvious misstep in attempting to leave Islar or the fact that Chazd had to point it out. He was not thinking clearly.

He let Chazd take the lead, trusting to his younger brother’s instinctual sense for which streets and alleys would provide the most cover with the least chance of encountering either guards or other thieves. They stayed in the dim patches, the spaces between bright cobblestone illuminated by oil-fueled street lamps and the shadowed darkness created by gaps between the buildings. Jaeron wondered about the illusion of protection and comfort behind the rows of darkened windows, now feeling that perhaps there were no safe places.

Jaeron halted their progress only once. He noticed Avrilla was struggling in silence with the heaviest of their loads. He gathered them briefly and shifted items between their bags and packs, taking the largest portion of the weight and bulk. Jaeron kept Chazd’s pack the lightest, compensating for a potential need for him to move quickly but remain stealthy. Then he nodded that they should continue.

D
espite Islar being a walled city, it had been decades since it had to defend itself against invasion or siege. The prior government had seen only a single attack in the last century and that had come by sea. As a result, the once prodigious budget allocation for wall maintenance, guard assignments, and detailed structural inspections near the outer walls had been pinched and trimmed over the years. Not so much that the city was obviously penetrable, but enough that the streetwise had developed and passed along a volume of knowledge on getting in and out of the city without being observed.

Chazd, more so than either Jaeron or Avrilla, had the advantage of that underground education. He would never admit it, and he knew that Henri would not have either, but his father had played favorites with his three adoptees. He demonstrated it in different ways. He trusted Jaeron the most and spent more one-on-one time with him than either Avrilla or Chazd. It was so obvious now. Father had always planned on Jaeron taking over for him.

Henri protected Avrilla the most and he spent more money on her. Her training and equipment were expensive, but she often saw the benefit of less practical expenditures. With Chazd, Henri’s feelings were demonstrated with leniency. He let Chazd get away with more than either Avrilla or Jaeron, especially Jaeron. Chazd considered that he may have been too young to remember either Jaeron or Avrilla’s rebellious ages, but he could not remember a single time Henri needed to show either of them similar forgiveness. His siblings always seemed to do what was expected of them.

Their adherence to the rules meant that they had missed the opportunities to learn the mysteries of their city. Chazd wasted hours making friends with the street people, gambling in alleys, taunting troublemakers, and running from the guards. His explorations of Islar occasionally got him punished. But in return, Chazd gained a wealth of knowledge that was not found in training lessons. Such as ways to get in and out of the city.

The northern wall now loomed in front of them. Chazd slipped between a dilapidated smithy and a set of apartments into what was more of a crawl space than an alley. The new tenement hid a rickety three-story staircase, tacked to the side of the building as an afterthought but providing the occupants a secondary means to get to the street or the building’s roof. Chazd began his climb, motioning for his siblings to follow. On the second landing from the top Chazd stopped. He pulled a board from the building wall and slid it out from the stairs, wedging it in place against a crevice in the city wall.

He checked that his brother and sister were paying attention and then nimbly stepped across the gap and grasped the wall ledge on the other side. He pulled himself up to peer over the battlement checking left and right for guard patrols. No one was in sight. Chazd finished his climb and then turned around to help Avrilla. He boosted her up over the wall. It was difficult on the small shelf of stone, but Avrilla was agile. Jaeron’s trip proved more difficult. He was athletic enough, but both young men recognized Jaeron’s problem with heights.

“Just focus on me, Jaeron,” Chazd whispered across the gap.

Jaeron nodded and stepped out on the thick plank. A second step and he reached out to grip Chazd’s arm in a double clasp. Chazd felt the perspiration in the grasp. He heaved his brother the rest of the way over in a rough scramble over the battlement ledge. He rubbed his wrist.
That may bruise.

Chazd looked back down at the streets three stories below and the dark winding passageways that led back home. He had never been comfortable outside the city walls. He had a sudden fear that he may not ever come back. He took a moment to close his eyes and let the stonework press into his hips.
I’ll be back – we will all be back.

He turned around and crouched down, motioning for Jaeron and Avrilla to join him.

“We’re good so far,” he said. “There shouldn’t be a patrol this late. We just need to get to that tower.”

He pointed eastward toward the structural tower where the city wall angled south toward the harbor. Years before, an enterprising guild had taken advantage of the tower’s state of disrepair. Over the course of several weeks, they had modified the cracking stone and the natural crease where the straight wall abutted to the curved wall of the tower. Using carved handholds and the addition of short, iron rods, the now forgotten thieves had built a serviceable, concealed ladder. It was now one of those city secrets that everyone in certain circles knew, but rarely talked about. Bringing someone to the hidden ladder was the way young rogues impressed even younger associates or perhaps a romantic interest to spark some late night fondling. Chazd had not had the chance to use the secret for either purpose.

Staying as low as possible, he broke into a light run toward the tower. Chazd felt trepidation mix with the thrill of breaking the rules. He was on that knife edge of silence, speed, and stealth that made being a thief so exhilarating. But the charge Chazd had gotten earlier from their exploration of the Dockpads lair was gone.

Will this be what it’s going to be like now? Without Father, will nothing be fun again?

~

By the timeJaeron reached the bottom of the city wall he was ready to admit defeat. The emotional excursions that began when Chazd sprung the trap door at the Dockpa
d’
s warehouse and concluded with his holding the hand of his dying father had taken their toll. Jaeron never considered himself an emotional person. His mind was comfortable dealing with issues in terms of facts, what he saw and felt and heard. Even his belief in Teichmar did not seem to have an emotional basis. But he was never more aware of that weakness with his personality than he was right now. Yes, he was physically tired. They had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. They had fought dogs and fire and spent half the night running back and forth across the city. It had made him sloppy and indecisive. However, it should not have made him want to quit. That was caused by the emotion coursing through him.

Overhead, thick black and gray clouds were backlit by the moons. Through the night, a blanket of stratiform clouds had flowed down over the Guradilup Mountains while another bank of clouds thickened to the east, rolling in over Islar Bay. They were on course to collide over the city in angry and confused preparation to wrestle for control of the space above.

Teichmar, help me.

Try as he might, Jaeron could not figure out what to do next. Flee my home? Henri had told him that much.
But what now?
He looked to Avrilla, who walked closely beside him. She returned his gaze with a slightly puzzled expression.

“It’s okay, Jaeron,” she whispered. “We made it and I’m sure no one followed us.”

He nodded, focusing on her words and willing himself to understand them. “We need to rest.”

Chazd turned around from his position in the lead, his features barely visible in the dim, cloud-filtered moonlight. “The closest beds are back inside the city,” he said.

“No,” Avrilla said. “That’s not completely true.”

“What–” Chazd began, but she cut him off.

“The farms.” She pointed all around them. At the crest of the field covered hills that rolled north out of Islar and away from the bay, Jaeron followed her extended finger. Scattered barns and farmhouses surrounded them, the homes of the freemen and indentured servants who kept Islar fed.

“Come on,” Avrilla said. “I have an idea.”

I
’m in hell.
Chazd tugged the coarse woolen blanket more tightly around his body. He twisted around on the hay, trying to do so without making so much noise it would wake either of his siblings. Worse yet, were they already awake, it would let them know that he was awake too. He could not imagine how anyone could sleep. A cacophony of barnyard birds announced the sunrise. And the hay, though soft, pricked in sensitive places and was spread too thin to really make the wooden floorboards anything but uncomfortable.

Finding shelter in one of the farmyard barns had been Avrilla’s idea. She had picked one, seemingly at random and they had gotten inside just before the rain started. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm that had shaken the barn as soon as they had broken in was now retreating south along the coastline. Between thunderclaps, lightning flashes, and the drumming of rain on the roof, Chazd had not found sleep easily. Eventually exhaustion took over.

Despite still being tired this morning, Chazd could not quiet his thoughts. He turned the night’s events over and over in his head. He kept imagining the worst experiences of being burned alive. Even as he anguished over it, he knew his brother would not have left their father to that fate. Father must have been dead or dying when Jaeron found him.

Who could have known about the job last night?
As Chazd asked himself the question, he wondered if that were the reason their father had been killed. Jaeron’s explanation was too confusing. He clenched his fists into the blanket. He was so angry with his brother for that. But how could he blame Jaeron for being too upset to put together a coherent story. Whatever information Jaeron had obtained from their father had certainly scared him.
What else would have driven him to flee from the city?

He wanted answers to more questions than it seemed like Jaeron was asking. His brother was not that naïve. He knew that his father could have made enemies over the years. Chazd understood they could not be thieves in Islar and remain on good terms with everyone. Particularly among the Guilds. Father may have avoided embroiling their family in Bormeer guild politics, but that did not mean they were immune from them.

~

Coatie Shaels had only taken a single bite of his spiced turnip porridge when he saw the signal from the Westbend Tavern’s proprietor. It was a summons from Ortelli, which meant he would not be able to finish his coffee, let alone his breakfast. Still he raised the fired pottery mug and blew across the top of the dark brown liquid, hoping to cool it enough to take another bitter swig. Thinking it was too early for work, Shaels pulled a few
zecca
from his coin purse, dropped them on the table, and sipped one more mouthful of the hearty drink. Then he rose and left the tavern.

Coatie squinted into the misty morning outside. The weather had taken an unpleasant turn during the night and a thick gray fog floated through the Pineal Ward, remnants of the first storm of the season. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and then headed toward Ortelli’s city residence and office.
Only a week from my thirty-fifth birthday, and look how my life has turned out.
He had never intended to become a thief. Certainly his family had higher aspirations for him.

Years before he had come to know Victor Ortelli, Coatie's father, Lamar Shaels, was a prominent navigator, holding a seat on the Navigator's College and made a good living despite making only a few voyages each year. He trained the more exceptional graduating students and his signature on a new guildsman navigator’s credentials was a measure of prestige and highly sought by those aspiring to please the Bormeeran trading companies.

Coatie was nine years old when his brother, Roark, finished his apprenticeship and signed on with his father onboard
The Clemency
for his induction voyage. No one was surprised when Roark completed his study at age fourteen, a year younger than most other navigators. Amongst the guilds, they said he was his father's son. Coatie supposed that many would have expected the same show of talent from him. He never got the opportunity.

The Clemency
never returned to Dun Lercos. The trading company eventually claimed the ship and all those aboard lost at sea. Since weather reports had not been unusually bad and there were no recent news of pirate or sea elf attacks, the blame for the loss was placed on the navigators, which allowed the trading company to make a case for paying a fraction of the normal widow’s fees. Taxes on the house increased yearly and by the time Coatie came of age, his mother was forced to sell their house for a modest apartment.

When Coatie was not admitted to the Navigator's College, his mother must have felt she was out of options. She turned to her brother for help. Coatie’s uncle responded by introducing Coatie to Victor Ortelli, explaining that he needed accounting work for his complex business organization.

Coatie found that in comparison to the mathematics required for navigation by sand clock and astrolabe, the accounting bookwork required by Ortelli was simple. He also found that Ortelli was the leader of a criminal organization involved in everything from smuggling to blackmail.

As it turned out, Coatie had the skills and personality for quick advancement within Ortelli’s guild. Within two years, Coatie had become Victor’s personal assistant and had remained so ever since. He never told his mother, but he made sure her bills were paid, her apartments were maintained, and a monthly stipend of
dozecs
were delivered to her accounts.

The job certainly had its rewards, but was thankless in some ways as well. Victor expected a lot from Shaels, perhaps because he trusted him or perhaps it was because he needed an assistant without the normal thief’s propensity toward greed and advancement. Victor demonstrated special favors to Shaels privately, but publicly made his hours long and inconvenient. Coatie suspected that Victor’s main goal was to avoid unnecessary internal competition for the position. Early morning summons were one of the ways in which Coatie was protected.

~

The guild master’s in-town residence consisted of three apartments on the second floor of a bakery that had been owned by Ortelli’s sister. Surprisingly, Victor had sold it to a civilian when she passed away, and the new owner was not involved in the Guild business at all. Coatie enjoyed his visits to the Ortelli’s apartments as the scents of fresh bread and pastries were intoxicating. As he made his way up the stairs that ran alongside the bakery, Coatie made the decision to drop into the shop after the meeting and buy a pie or two for his trip home.

As soon as Coatie knocked on the door, he knew Ortelli was in a bad mood.

“My office, Shaels!”

Coatie followed his guildmaster’s voice and found Ortelli pacing behind his tamarind desk. Ortelli was a wiry man of medium height. His silver-gray hair was cut short and blended into a finely trimmed beard that accented his shallow cheeks and narrow chin. As usual, Ortelli was impeccably dressed in polished leather boots, woolen socks, and embroidered cotton pants and shirt. Today it was a rust ensemble with a touch of gray that matched the color of Ortelli’s eyes. Despite his age, Victor Ortelli was strong and vibrant. This morning he also seemed to be suffused with a deadly energy.

Shaels knew better than to interrupt and waited patiently for his guildmaster to lead the conversation. Ortelli made one more pass behind the broad desk and then stopped behind the matching wood chair, placing his palms on the backrest.

“Sit down, Coatie,” he instructed.

Coatie complied.
Teichmar’s balls. The old man is pissed.

The anger was reflected in his pacing, the set of his face. But it was undeniable in the rare use of Coatie’s first name.

Victor Ortelli waited for Coatie to take his seat and then crossed the room behind him. He spoke briefly to his butler giving instructions that they were not to be disturbed. Then he returned to his desk and sat down.

Coatie waited a few seconds and was about to ask what Ortelli wanted, but his guild leader finally broke his silence before he could enunciate the question.

“I need you to drop everything else you are doing right now,” he said. “I know that's going to cause some problems, but it can't be helped.”

“What's going on?” Shaels asked.

“Do you - did you know Henri deAlto?”

Coatie frowned. He had heard the name, but he could not remember where. He was sure he had never met the man.

He shook his head. “No, I don't think so.”

Ortelli nodded and Coatie saw a subtle change in the man. The anger seeped away, or some of it did. It was replaced by something less than sadness.
Remorse?
Coatie could not tell.

“Henri did some work for us over the years. Mostly document preparation and light leg work.”

Coatie recognized the name finally. He had arranged payment for the man’s services. He remembered him mainly because the payments were unusual. They were made out as vouchers for equipment or training.

“He was killed last night.”

Coatie watched the guildmaster more closely, sensing something about the statement was troubling his leader even more than he was displaying. His hands curled into fists. There was something more than a business relationship behind his boss’s emotion.

“There was a fire. I’ve heard the city guards are looking for Henri's children as potential arson suspects. The building is owned by Tonas Valche and Holger deLocke is in charge of the investigation.” Victor looked at him meaningfully.

Coatie nodded. “Aye, that's a bad combination.”

Valche was not a member of the Islar Thieves Guild, at least in any official sense, but he should have been. Few of the first rung guildmasters had ever been as miserly as the slumlord and some of the city's thieves would have trouble being as ruthless. Valche owned a large portion of Ninth Ward and had holdings in the Pineal and Dockside wards as well. Valche could exert influence with his wealth alone, but his power was further extended due to the businesses to which he rented, and he handled that power like a bully with a stick.

Similarly, Holger deLocke was one of the most corrupt, vice-laden, and unsophisticated guards on the city’s payroll. It was a pairing that could cause the deAlto children nothing but problems.

“Could it have been an accident?”

“I don't expect that Henri's death was at all accidental.”

“Guild work?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Who?” Coatie was at once interested and worried.

“I don’t know. Henri was more active in the guilds once. He was given reform.”

Coatie considered this. It was not unusual to have a thief blacklisted from active participation in business in the city. The Guild Assembly could 'reform' you, making it impossible to find cooperative work amongst any of the upper rung guilds, as well as restricting access to fences, black market equipment merchants, gambling halls, or any other need one might have in the Islar underworld.

“But we were giving deAlto work?” Coatie asked.

Ortelli nodded. “The complaint came from a lower rung guild over a decade ago.”

Coatie understood. Ortelli’s guild was a high second rung guild and one of the most influential and powerful in the city. Ortelli had taken liberties in violating a Guild decision, but he had some discretionary power to ignore it. The question Coatie had was why would he do so?

“You didn’t agree with the sanction?”

Victor waved his hand in the air. “It was an excuse. There was something personal behind it.”

As Victor spoke, Coatie realized that while the motives for the action against deAlto may have been personal, so too were Victor’s.

“In any event,” the guildmaster continued, “it is history.”

“But it could be a claim that would validate killing the man,” Coatie observed.

“Perhaps. But I don't think anyone will claim it. It was too minor and many of us have known Henri too long. I don’t know… That's part of what I want you to do – find out who killed Henri and why.”

“And the other?”

Victor smiled faintly. Then he looked Coatie in the eyes and told him the rest. By the time he finished, Coatie sat frozen in his chair. He did not want to give any indication of his initial reaction because he did not completely understand what that reaction was. When the old thief asked him if he understood, Coatie nodded once and then got up out of his chair and walked mechanically out of the building. He was so preoccupied with the surprising instructions that he forgot to stop at the bakery for his pastries.