Chapter Two. Eban
CHAPTER TWO
EBAN
No amount of sunshine can cheer the gloomy souls who wander the bleak streets of the Sleeve.
Not that I blame them. They’re all having the worst day of their lives in a long, endless string of bad ones.
Under normal circumstances I’d enjoy spending a cloudless afternoon lurking about the marketplace, as clear weather always brings out the biggest crowds, and the biggest crowds mean ample opportunity for separating a distracted merchant from his coin.
Today, however, I’ve got bigger problems than seeking the easiest mark with the fattest pockets, as thick gray clouds suddenly roll in overhead, threatening rain and ruining the fun.
“We may have to aim higher than fruit sellers or fishmongers, my friend,” I tell Vergel.
“Or we’re going to starve.” Not that we’re strangers to hunger, but in the last few years, we’ve held it at bay with successful night work.
At least, we used to be successful. Last night’s botched heist was an unexpected and disastrous failure.
We take refuge and sit beneath a rotting roof overhang on the western outskirts of the Sleeve, hiding from both the impending downpour and the growing number of miscreants who are no doubt still trawling the marketplace searching for me among the thinning horde as the sun begins to set.
Last night Vergel and I attempted to make off with chits from a gambling hall, something we do with some regularity, except we don’t hit the same gaming establishment every time.
We like to spread the wealth, as it were.
This particular one catered to a Laconian clientele.
You know the type, five gold florins to buy in, honey wine in crystal goblets.
The type the Blackcoats deliberately ignore, because different rules apply to different people, of course.
The job was supposed to go off without a hitch, but we ran into some trouble, had to dump the loot, and barely made off with our lives—and one of us wasn’t even that lucky.
And now we’re broke and starving and wanted men.
What’s new?
A lone beggar wearing a ratty straw hat and droopy brown robes shuffles down the street, following the path along the gutter. I pull my gray hood higher over my black hair to shield my face. I don’t want to be recognized.
Vergel’s not in an adventurous mood after what went down last night.
“I think I’m gonna sit the next one out, boss.
” He reaches into the folds of his cloak, then pulls out a bit of dried meat and begins chewing on it nervously.
Me and Vergel have been friends since we were street rats stealing apples from carts and running dice games by the side of the road.
If I’m the brains of the operation, Vergel’s all heart.
Half the time we don’t even keep the coin from our scores, as Vergel feeds most of the Ophir orphans around town from our purse.
Since we were those kids not too long ago.
He’s a few years younger than me at fifteen.
I throw my arm around Vergel and squeeze his shoulder playfully. “Come on, now, I need my right-hand man.”
Vergel shrugs me off. “Not after last night’s mess. We need to fix that first, not make it worse.”
I shake my head. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Come on. Don’t you trust me by now? When have I ever been unable to get us out of a bind? Never. We had a minor setback, that’s all.”
“The Blackcoats killed Angel.” Vergel spits on the ground. Angel lost his life from a Blackcoat arrow when we ran.
My cheek twitches, and my voice is low. “He was my friend, too.” And if I could, I’d avenge our lost brother. But there’s no justice for our kind.
Vergel sighs.
“Just one more big job and we’re set.”
“That’s what you said about last night,” Vergel grumbles.
I hold up my finger. “One! That’s it. Come on!
We’ll make bank!” The beggar across the street stops walking.
I clutch the dagger beneath my coat, a reflex, but the man starts moving again.
False alarm. Thunder rumbles in the distance.
An ominous cloud moves over the sun, casting the streets into half-darkness.
“Or we screw up again, we get nothing, and this time we all die,” Vergel continues.
I scoff. “Don’t insult me. Blackcoats never patrol that area.
That wasn’t a screwup, it was an unforeseen complication.
Bad luck is all. Pretty sure they were tipped off.
Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense. I spent months planning that job.
Down to the very last detail. That plan was flawless.
” So flawless I’d financed the entire thing with loans and big promises, as we’d had to disguise ourselves as rich Laconians and spend like them to get inside the place.
I took out loans with exorbitant interest. Loans I swore on my life I’d be able to pay back the day after the heist. If I don’t figure out a way to do that, fast, I’m a dead man.
“Come on, I say we hit one of those golden houses on the hill. Try stealing from those who have more, not those who barely have more than us.”
Vergel won’t look directly at me. “No licensed Guild thief would dare target one of the estates. They know the consequences. So, if a palace is raided, even—no, especially—if it’s raided successfully, they’ll know exactly who to look for.
Street thieves. Specifically, the only street thieves who would dare target an estate.
Us. If we were the only ones who would pay for it, I might feel different, but you know the Blackcoats will take it out on every single one of us they can get their hands on, simply because they can.
Not to mention, if you piss off the Thieves’ Guild, then they’ll come for us, too. Last thing we need is more enemies.”
“You act like we Ophir get many options, Vergel. You’d rather be like him?” I motion toward the ragged man shuffling through the dirt. “Hopeless, helpless, unable to do anything about anything?” I snort.
“At least no one’s on his tail,” Vergel argues.
“I’d rather starve than beg,” I say.
As if he heard, the beggar turns abruptly to face us.
I look away, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him start to cross the road, inching closer and closer to us.
I try to speak quietly enough that Vergel can hear me but the beggar can’t.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper. Maybe one of my spurned benefactors sent someone after me already.
“What?” Vergel asks loudly.
“I said, let’s get—”
“I beg your pardon,” the beggar calls out as he approaches.
I curse under my breath.
“Eban Sadreal?” the beggar asks, flashing his best salesman smile, then turns his head left and right to check whether anyone else is around.
Not good. I know something’s up. I reach for the dagger again. “Sorry, but you’re mistaken, old man. No Eban here.”
The man keeps coming. Vergel’s on alert now, too, ready to pull his blade. “What is this?” he mutters. “Guild?”
I shrug, then shout, “We haven’t any coin, or food,” partly as a warning. Don’t bother coming any closer. Or else.
It doesn’t deter him. The man waves his hand, as if to say none of that is a concern.
Both of us are on our feet now. The beggar’s only a few steps away.
I take note of the clean hands peeking out from the tattered robes.
One of those hands wears a thick silver ring featuring an obsidian stone.
Then I realize: The rags are a costume, this whole scene a farce.
To what end, I’m not sure. But a Blackcoat would never lower themselves to even pretend they’re destitute, and a Guild thief wouldn’t be so obvious. So who is this stranger?
Once he’s beneath our shade, the beggar stops shuffling and straightens up. “I hear you’re in a tight spot, Eban Sadreal. Luckily, I may have the solution to all your problems.”
I stare him down. “Funny, you don’t look like a fairy godmother.”
Vergel snorts.
The beggar ignores the quip. He pulls his hood back over his shoulders.
He isn’t a beggar, of course—nor is he a Blackcoat.
It’s been a while, but I recognize the scar across his cheek instantly.
Zagar Aguirre, a low-level informant I’d used in the past. He was always pretty reliable, if a bit shady and opportunistic, but isn’t that all of us thieves.
“Well, now it’s getting interesting,” I say to Vergel. “You remember Zagar? He hooked us up last year.” That was a good score. We robbed the city treasury, only fair since they tax us Ophir at impossible rates.
“What do you have for me this time?” I ask.
“It’s a big job. Little risk,” he tells us.
This could very well be a trap, but Zagar has never given bad information before. Plus, I’m desperate for a quick, lucrative gig to pay my debts, and more than that, I’m curious. The worst combination for a criminal, I know, yet I can’t resist. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”
Zagar meets my steely gaze. “No more details until we cut a deal. I tell you where and how to pull off the job, and in return, you give me a cut.”
“Define ‘cut,’” I say. Last thing I need is a risky job with little payoff.
“Actually, let’s not waste anyone’s time here.
I’m not interested. I don’t partake in illegal activities,” I say loudly.
Never hurts to put on a show in case the authorities are lurking around.
I look away from Zagar to signal I’m bored of the conversation.
Zagar throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, you don’t, do you?
Cut the crap, Eban. Matter of fact, I hear you’re a wanted man after last night.
You’re no longer the so-called Shadow of the Sleeve.
Only a fool would mess with a Laconian gambling hall.
Wonder what’s the bounty on your head. Suppose I could find out.
” He gathers himself together like he’s about to walk away.
I narrow my eyes and glare at Zagar. That sounds like a threat.
In fact, I’m certain it is. Crap, if even Zagar knows what went down last night, I’m in real trouble.
“How about you quit playing games and get to the point? What’s the gig?
Otherwise, this conversation is over.” Another clap of thunder, closer this time. The sky grows grayer by the second.
“All you’d be doing is taking something that someone else already stole. Fair game. But if you want details, like I said, first you agree to give me a cut. Twenty-five lion.”
I wave him off. “Get outta here. Take your chances on my bounty.” I look at Vergel and snort, thumbing toward the man. “Twenty-five lion. Is he serious?”
Vergel nods. “We don’t give that much to anybody.”
“Even if the job is worth a thousand leopard?”
Vergel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head.
Even if we have to pay the man twenty-five lion, the remainder will cover my debts and set us up in an estate for life.
Or better yet, buy a boat so I can do what I really want: get out of Lacon entirely and head to the Lashing, the last hidden colony of my people.
But I maintain my poker face. I shrug. “Not worth it.”
Vergel glares at me.
“Suit yourself,” Zagar says with a raised brow. “Another thief will be interested.”
“Sure, if they can do it,” I counter. Zagar knows damn well no one else is as capable as me, or he would’ve asked them first. Last night’s failure notwithstanding, I’m still the best freelance thief in town.
I guess I should have joined the Thieves’ Guild, but I hate rules and the guy who runs it is a real jerk.
I prefer to work alone and on my own terms.
Zagar stares right back at me. But I know I’m right, and that Zagar knows it, too. “Most I can do is ten lion,” I tell him. And truthfully, I’d never even gone that high, but like I said, I’m desperate.
“Least I can do is twenty,” he counters.
“Then find someone who can do the job and will give you twenty.” I hope I sound confident, because I’m getting aggravated with Zagar’s outrageous demands.
But I want this job, especially if it’s actually worth what Zagar claims. I need this job.
I think of last night’s botched hit, and all the debts I’ve accrued. Crap.
Zagar and I stare at one another. My hand remains on the hilt of my dagger.
“I suppose twenty’s a lot to ask,” Zagar relents. He spits on the ground. “What about fifteen?”
I jump on it. “Fifteen lion it is. Deal. Now, what’s the gig?”
Zagar chews on it one last time, glancing up at the menacing sky and then back at me. “Did you hear House Dominant got hit last night? Well, I heard the thieves had to stash the loot in the Sleeve when they ran into some Blackcoats.”
Vergel and I exchange a look. House Dominant isn’t far from the gambling hall we hit the night before. No wonder we ran into Blackcoats. The nobility pays off the constabulary to leave their gambling halls alone, but they do care about losing the treasures in their estates. I’m vindicated.
Zagar continues: “They’re coming back tonight to grab it. They’ll be dressed as gong farmers. The loot will be in a barrel.”
“So, this job is to steal from other thieves?” Vergel says to me. “I don’t know about this—”
“We’re on it,” I say, cutting him off and shaking hands with Zagar.
Vergel wrings his hands. “This is even riskier than stealing from the estates.”
I grin and wrap my arm around my friend’s shoulders. “No, it’s not, because he said we’re not stealing from Guild thieves, Vergel. Just from a couple of independent mercenaries like us. Blackcoats don’t care about freelance operations. This is much, much better than an estate job!”
“Yeah, but thieves are harder to elude than the Blackcoats,” Vergel mutters, shoulders slumped. “At least the Blackcoats will just toss us in jail. Fellow thieves will kill us on sight.”
“Not if they can’t catch us.”
Vergel grimaces. “Didn’t you hear the man? He said it’s loot stolen from House Dominant. So technically we would be stealing from a Great House.”
“No, technically we would be stealing from thieves who stole from a Great House. There’s a difference. We’re, like, thieves once removed. Thieves-in-law.”
Vergel snorts.
I ignore him. Vergel’s perpetually anxious. If he weren’t so trustworthy, I wouldn’t be able to put up with it. I turn to Zagar. “We’re in. Give us the where and when.”
Zagar smiles wide. “Lucent Quay. Before sunrise. Remember the prize is in the gong barrel.”
I nod. “Meet us tomorrow morning.” I motion to the establishment across the road. “You’ll have your cut after the job is done.”
Negotiations over, as if on cue, the rain finally begins to pour.