Chapter 2 #2
His thin gray eyebrows jumped up. “I’ve told you before Gil, hunters can’t put out bounties of their own and the Employer won’t pay—”
“I know, I know. You said that when I first joined. But it’s different now. I have the money.”
“I still won’t issue any bounty without the Employer’s approval. And what would you be willing to offer?”
“A thousand gold shillings,” I said promptly. “Plus reimbursement for travel expenses if anyone can find a man named Tavrek Holloway. He’s about fifty-five years old and was sold to a work camp outside Ebora fifteen or sixteen years ago.”
“I’d still have to get the Employer’s approval…” Ambrose said slowly but recorded the information all the same. “Anything else to put in the file if it’s approved? A sketch of what he looks like, any additional information?”
“He was taken by Silas Grimbeard and separated from his wife and two daughters. That’s all I know. I might be able to provide a rough sketch to Elvin, but it would be very rough.”
He gave a low whistle. “That isn’t much information.”
“Which is why I’m offering a thousand gold coins plus travel reimbursement. They also have to deliver him alive and unharmed to me. Can you get this information to Ebora?”
“I still need to process the request through the Employer but if approved, then yes.” For a moment, he kept his mouth open, as if he was about to ask why, then wisely snapped it shut.
“Thanks, Ambrose.” I faked an immense yawn. “I’m tired. I’m headed home for the night.”
“Come back in a few days, then. Do you need anything out of your account?”
“Nope,” I told him, already striding out the door. “I have enough for now, and I’m saving up everything else.”
Ambrose chuckled and waved me out the door. “Saving up to set more bounties of your own, it would seem. Do you plan to replace the Employer one day?”
“No, no,” I said as I left. “I just want to be rich.”
I crouched on a rooftop several buildings over and across the road as the night dragged on. I’d already counted four people leave from the Syndicate’s safehouse, and there had been six when I had spoken with Ambrose, not including myself, unless the Employer was hidden somewhere inside.
A tiny squeak came from the rusty door hinges, followed by the faint crunch of boots on gravel as the Syndicate door opened and someone stepped out.
I squinted through the darkness and recognized Elvin’s reedy profile, silhouetted against the warm light spilling out of the interior.
He was talking to Ambrose, who leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his eyes.
With a final nod, Elvin left and Ambrose closed the door again.
Elvin strode off down the street, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
The arrogant prat. He was probably eating another of his stupid pomegranates and planning to take all the newer, easier bounties.
Brent and I were convinced that Ambrose saved the quickest and most profitable bounties for him.
It wouldn’t surprise me if we found out that Elvin had more than a hundred thousand coins credited to his account, even though he’d only been with the Syndicate for about a year.
I watched him until he faded from sight, then went back to watching the Syndicate’s base, staying on the rooftop long after the last light winked out.
After sundown, the shop beneath the roof I occupied was always empty and provided a perfect vantage point.
Several streets over, one of the Nightsworn patrolled.
I kept an eye on the feathers on his helmet that moved down the street, pausing from time to time.
The Nightsworn were smart enough to vary their patrol routes, but I’d picked up on their seemingly random pattern nonetheless.
Minutes continued to drag by. I heard a distant door slamming and some drunk laughing a little too loudly.
A few dogs barked, but on the whole, the night was almost perfectly still and silent.
I kept my eyes fixed on the safehouse and counted the seconds between each small sound, all while eyeing which route would make my shadows least visible.
Ambrose, thankfully, had a predictable routine.
He would tidy his desk first, stack the papers, align the inkwell, then check all the locks twice.
Then he would retire to his back bedroom and read until his low candle was snuffed out.
People wouldn’t even need a perfect memory like mine in order to know the cadence of his habits.
A faint light flickered briefly in the back window, the telltale glow of a candle being snuffed.
Then darkness settled fully over the safehouse, thick and undisturbed.
Still, I waited, even long after Ambrose’s window lost its glow. The first stretch of sleep was the lightest. His mind would still likely be half-aware, so something as simple as a door opening or a board creaking could pull him back to wakefulness.
Deep sleep would come later, along with the best time to sneak into any building. A breeze tugged at my black cloak and I pulled it tighter and crouched low against the cool shingles, patiently blending in until the time came to move.
I shifted my weight to ease the cramp developing in my calf and glanced at the moon’s slow crawl across the sky. By my count, Ambrose had been in bed for nearly an hour. I rolled my shoulders and slowly counted the seconds as they snailed by. Nearly there.
I mentally walked through my plan, down to how many paces from each room to the next, imagining each step in the exact lockpicking process I’d need to get inside the office.
Another quarter hour passed before I finally pushed myself upright. It had been long enough.
The rooftop tiles gave a soft scrape beneath my palms as I crawled backward from the edge.
I moved carefully, keeping low until I reached the shadowy side of the building.
From there, I was easily able to lean over to grasp a tree’s branches, then shinny my way down the trunk until I landed on the ground below.
I kept my knees bent from absorbed impact and froze, listening hard.
There was nothing unusual in the night sounds, only the gentle hush of the city’s occupants all dreaming. Now the only thing I needed to watch for was the occasional Nightsworn patrol, but by my calculations, they wouldn’t be this way for more than ten minutes.
I slipped into the narrow alley behind the safehouse, carefully treading on packed earth.
The air back here always smelled rather musty and sour, even before I reached the compost heap.
I paused once more beneath the darkened windows, straining my ears to hear anything from inside the building.
It would be just my luck for Ambrose to go for a drink in the dead of night.
But still, there was nothing.
A wicked grin flickered on my face. This was always the fun part. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins so my vision sharpened and my hearing was attuned to every sleepy snuffle.
Keeping to the wall, I edged toward the back corner, where the garbage chute jutted out over the compost heap. Even in the dim light, I could make out the dark mound of scraps below it. My nose wrinkled. This was my least favorite part of the otherwise brilliant plan.
The compost heap smelled much fouler up close than it did from the top of the garbage chute, even though there were only a few feet of difference.
I inhaled as infrequently as possible as I picked my way around potato peelings, wilted cabbage leaves, and ashes from fireplaces, careful not to sink too deep into anything that would cling to my boots.
Dawn was still at least three hours away; the sky was that inky black color that always came before the sun decided to rise.
Half-buried beneath a cabbage leaf sat the rind of a pomegranate, cracked open and stripped mostly clean.
I nudged the rind free with the toe of my boot and delicately picked it up between two fingers.
A few seed pods still clung stubbornly to the white membrane, shriveled but intact.
Excellent. I tucked the rind into my pocket and turned my attention to the chute.
From the kitchen above, it had looked narrow but manageable.
From below, it looked like a coffin stood upright against the wall.
The wooden slats were damp from yesterday’s rinse, and bits of vegetable matter clung to the edges.
I wiped my hands on my breeches, flexed my fingers, and tested the sides.
It was solid enough to hold me, even if it wouldn’t be easy.
If only Ambrose weren’t so meticulous about checking all the locks, a window would have been a much more attractive option.
After a deep breath, I hauled myself upward, bracing one boot against a narrow seam in the wall.
The smell intensified immediately, trapped and concentrated within the chute’s narrow walls.
I swallowed hard and kept climbing, laboriously finding ways to wedge my body in and wriggle my way up the slanted chute.
My shoulders brushed both sides, and for a moment I wondered if I’d misjudged the width, but I exhaled slowly and wriggled upward inch by inch.
I closed my eyes, trying to fight off the claustrophobia that immediately sent warning bells ringing in my head.
This wasn’t like the trunk from my youth.
The chute was short, even if it was narrow.
It would end. Only a few more seconds, then I would be out.
I forced myself to control my breathing, slow and deliberate, and continued to work my way upward, digging my fingers into the wood and pushing with my legs until my head neared the square opening into the kitchen.
At the very top I paused again, awkwardly wedged just below the flap, and listened to make sure Ambrose wasn’t puttering around, making a late-night snack or anything.
The last thing I needed was to push my way out and find Ambrose waiting for me and whatever pathetic explanation I could cobble together.