Crasmere, the floating city. Circling the shattered peak of Mount Ravaet, the three rings of the city turned in time with the sun, leaving half the population in the permanent shadows. The rings floated one above the other, held up by crystal-powered engines. The dark side was the perfect place for temples to Ixla, the patron god of thieves and shadows, to flourish.
The sunny side of the upper market was bustling and busy, even for a weekend. Vendor’s voices cracked as each strove to shout louder than their neighbors. The crowd was thick with well-dressed women and handsomely-groomed men whose pockets jingled and clinked. Perfume mingled with the scent of fresh baking bread, making Maz’s empty belly grumble. His fingers wriggled; it would be a good morning to be a pickpocket.
But Zal, Maz’s older brother, had a juicer target than pockets in mind for them today. It would be even juicier if they hadn’t been forced to team up with Alcide and her team of beggars and thieves. But Zal had been forced to make the tough call; it was too big a job for the boys alone.
Zal was dressed for the occasion in a suit of deep green brocade. He had been planning this for weeks, and had acquired an outfit that was only a little threadbare and short in the cuffs. He would have looked respectable, if it wasn’t for the scar on his eyebrow and the permanent scowl that had deepened the lines on his face, making him look older than his fourteen years. But that was practically elderly compared to the crowd of children clustered around him, waiting for his command.
Alcide’s gang were tentative allies today, though tomorrow they might be rivals for the best pickpocket grounds. Zal had struck a deal with Alcide—the loot would be divided evenly amongst the children, with a bonus for Zal for coming up with the plan.
Maz was all smiles. Normally Zal made him stand lookout, but this time it was his job to cause a distraction. Zal was finally trusting him, seeing him as grown up. Maz almost couldn’t believe it. Although at nine years old he was a little younger than his fellows from Alcide’s gang, Zal was confident that he could perform his role well.
Zal motioned for everyone to gather around him in the narrow, sheltered alley between a bakery and a watch repair shop. He tugged at his too-short sleeves, a sure sign that he was nervous. Not that anyone but Maz would pick up on it. He knew his brother better than he knew himself. He also knew Zal would never let his nerves get in the way of a job.
“Alright, everyone. Y’all know your jobs, and y’all know the rules. If anyone gets caught, you acted alone, and you don’t know no names,” said Zal in his best commander voice. “Our target is just across the street.” He flung out his arm and grinned.
He pointed at a large building with polished windows and marble steps leading up to the gilded door. Altam’s Curiosities and Wonders, home to a Master Artificer and her seven apprentices. Even from the alleyway across the street the shelves glittered, heavy with trinkets. Any one of them would feed them all for a month.
Maz blanched and clutched his empty stomach like he had been punched. ‘Oh no,’ Maz thought. ’Not Madame Altam’s place! She gave me honey cakes last Procession day.’
“What about robbing that awful jeweler,” Maz suggested. Zal’s eyes flicked to him, and Maz froze.
“Who, the one who tried to call the guards on you just for standing outside?” Zal laughed coldly. “That man has enough protection runes to safeguard the entire block.”
“There’s got to be someone else.”
“We need to rob someone, Maz. Begging for scraps is below a Serphant, no matter how hungry we are. And your Madame Altam has the worst security in the Middle Ring! She’s practically begging to be robbed.”
“We don’t have to beg. She would give us food if we asked. It’s not right. She’s nice,” said Maz, head hung low in resignation.
Zal turned back to Alcide and chuckled. “Nice? Oh, well in that case . . . show’s over, this shop owner is too nice to rob.” Alcide snorted and rolled her eyes and Zal opened his arms wide. “See, Maz. No one cares. If they were really that nice, would they have that pretty shop while we sleep down in the dirt of the lowest ring of the city? No.”
Maz’s brows furrowed as he processed this information. “I guess not. . . . But she does do a lot of charity work.”
“Charity work?” Zal snorted. “More like an excuse to pay less taxes. She doesn’t care, Maz.”
“But it’s not right! Oarae says that kindness—”
“Oh, not that god of yours again. The god of justice doesn’t care for thieves like us. You better forget her.” Zal shook his head in disgust. “Anything else to add?”
Maz shook his head and looked at the scuffed toes of his ragged boots.
“Alcide, are your lookouts giving the all clear?” said Zal, smiling like nothing had happened.
Alcide leaned out of the alley, her messy curls swaying, and flashed a hand symbol of three raised fingers. A shadow detached itself from the chimney of the artificer’s shop and signed back. Alcide nodded. “We’re ready.”
Zal straightened his satchel on his shoulder. “Remember, give me a count of sixty to get into place in the shop, then you start your distractions.”
Maz took a deep breath and resisted the urge to bounce on his toes. The excitement of the other children was infectious. He tried to match his brother’s life-or-death glare, but an anticipatory smile kept creeping out. Like a racing dog at the gate, he panted anxiously, waiting for his cue. He may not like that they were targeting Madame Altam’s place, but he would do the job as well as he could. He was a Serphant after all, there was family pride to consider. Images of Oarae’s stern face floated through his mind, her marble bow aimed at the unjust, but he pushed them aside. Maz was a Serphant. He would do the job. He had to.
Zal took one last look at them, drawing out the moment. He raised his hand, painfully slow. Maz quivered, eyes dancing from his brother to the bursting street. Maz could do this. His stomach twisted from both anticipation and suppressed horror at what he was about to do. He felt at the fragile treasures in his pockets: one, two, three, four. Yes, all there. Even Zal didn’t know about them, his secret weapon. Worth a few nights with an empty belly. Wine wasn’t cheap, but eventually he had gotten the secret from a drunk, out-of-work artificer for the god of shadows.
Maz caught his breath. His mind was wandering again. Zal’s eyes were upon him, burning with impatience. He gave a tiny nod to show he was ready, and Zal dropped his hand. Alcide counted under her breath as Zal strolled out of the alley and was lost in the crowd. Maz vibrated with the need to move, but he stayed still, listening to Alcide count.
Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. He shot out of the alley like an arrow, followed by whooping children. They split off into two groups—one headed towards the square, where people were doing their laundry in the large fountain, and the second, which included Maz, headed towards Fruit Seller’s Lane.
The eggs in his pocket clacked, threatening to break against each other as he pushed his way into the crowd. He pulled one out; the dark runes on the egg’s alabaster surface absorbed the light and emitted a tiny shroud of darkness. It cracked pleasingly when hurled under a cart selling bright red apples, and the egg’s contents spilled out like an overturned inkwell, black and viscous. The goo reacted to the sun and bubbled, sending up hissing clouds of stinking smoke. The owner of the cart shrieked and backed away as the cloud of darkness rose to hide his cart from view.
Heads turned at the sound, and Maz fled down the street. A cart of pears overturned to his left; he recognized one of Alcide’s girls as she ducked into an alley. Unaffiliated street urchins scrambled to pick up fruit before it could be trampled.
Shouts rose for the city guard, and Maz’s smile grew. He lobbed another of the shadow eggs at a food cart to add to the chaos, and continued on his way.
Making progress was becoming more difficult as onlookers craned their necks and shoved at each other to see what the commotion was. Maz slowed and did his best to blend with the crowd. The next egg burned to be used, but guards were already arriving, pikes gleaming in the morning sun, the royal crest of Crasmere proud on their breasts. Best not to draw their attention.
He didn’t have to feign curiosity as he looked back over his shoulder, where the egg spells were visible now as light-eating pillars of darkness that towered over the street. Maz’s step lightened. People were definitely distracted. Zal had probably cleared the whole shop out. He winced at the thought. The woman always had a kind word for kids like him. But by now his brother should be halfway to the rendezvous point with the loot. He sighed and turned away from the damage he had caused, and began to mentally plan how to join him.
A gauntleted hand clapped down on his shoulder, just barely preventing Maz from walking face first into a city guard. The eagle and the fishing spear of the royal crest hung inches from his nose, picked out in deep blue and yellow thread. The guard even bore the godmark of Falwin, the god of protection on his forehead. He blanched at the sight of it. A godmark meant powers, and for Falwin, that meant increased stamina and the ability to see footprints of a marked target. He could chase Maz up and down the three rings if he wanted to. A guard was bad enough, but a guard personally chosen to serve by Falwin himself? Maz’s heart fluttered with trepidation.
“Whoa there, streetling. Enjoying the show?” said the guard. He looked Maz up and down, taking in his long, knotted hair and the shirt that was more patches than fabric. The man’s hand tightened, but his face softened. “Don’t suppose you know anything about this mess, do ya? You streetlings always have the best gossip.”
Maz didn’t see the kindness in the guard’s face. He saw the pike, taller than he was, and its tip sharper than a needle. He saw the cudgel and the handcuffs at the man’s hip.
He saw an endless parade of shouts and curses and dodged blows from the other guards. An entire lifetime’s worth.
Maz panicked.
Before he could think, the third egg was in his hand. The next moment he smashed it into the pretty embroidery of the royal crest. Black smoke blossomed under his palm, and he used the moment to duck out of the stunned guard’s grip. The man shouted something as Maz darted away, but it was lost in the surprised cries from the crowd. People surged away from the guard like a rising tide, bearing Maz up and out of danger.
The eggy goo clung to his hand, and he did his best to wipe the evidence on the coats of those he passed. Their pockets jingled with coin under his touch, but he was so distracted that pickpocketing the panicking crowd never even crossed his mind.
By the time he reached the rendezvous spot, all that remained of his secret weapon were some faint trailing vapours. He attempted to get control of his breathing as he approached the shattered remains of a temple. The white marble columns stuck up like bones from the ground, barely enough to hold the weight of the remaining frescoed roof. Maz didn’t know who the temple belonged to, it was a remnant of a god that was killed in the last war. There were gaps in the walls from pillars falling in, and the sunlight fed a thick carpet of cheerful green weeds on the rubble-strewn floor.
Alcide perched on a pillar that leaned drunkenly on its neighbor, while a pair of golden-haired girls chatted at her feet. Zal held court in the center of the room, laughing at something one of Alcide’s boys had said. His satchel bulged with their loot, and the tension in Maz’s shoulders lessened.
Zal’s eyes flicked to Maz as he entered. He cut off his audience with a gesture and strode over to Maz. The concern in his eyes faded to all-too-familiar annoyance, and he grabbed Maz’s shoulder’s with hard hands and a tight smile.
“Tell me, Mazrael. What was that trick you pulled back there?”
Maz grinned and pulled the last egg from his pocket. “Smoke eggs! I got the recipe from Olmeg, behind Sam’s Pub. Pretty awesome, right? The crowd didn’t know what hit them!”
Zal’s hand tightened, and Maz squirmed in his grip. “And tell me, little brother, do you know what the word ‘subtle’ means? You brought an entire squad of guards down on the shop. There will be questions.”
Maz shook his head. “But we got away! I ran so fast no one even saw me.”
Zal sighed. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You are a disappointment to the Serphant name. You’ll never be a thief at this rate.”
Maz squared his shoulders and ducked out from his brother’s grip. “I am a Serphant! You said to cause a distraction. They were distracted! And it looks like you got plenty from the shop.”
Tension drained from Zal and he ran his hand through his dark, dirty hair. “I need you to use your head, alright? Terat hasn’t come back yet. What if he got caught by a guard? What if you got caught? You could have blown this whole thing for us.”
“Uncle Ratham would protect us.”
The dangerous glint returned to Zal’s eye and he raised a hand, cutting Maz off. “Do not mention that name to me, not today.”
“He’s our uncle, Zal, he—”
“No! He’s the worst kind of thief. If he knew we were doing this, he would take his ‘cut’ and we would be left with nothing, just like last time!”
Maz wrung his hands. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t know he was home when I asked if Eagle had paid you.”
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