Unbound (52 page)

“Guess it depends whether your life’s enjoyable or not.”

“Mine is,” she said, prancing around the place like it was hers and Shev was a valued guest. “What do you think of Talins?”

“Never liked it,” muttered Shev.

“I’ve got a job there.”

“Always loved the place.”

“I need a partner.” The prayer bells weren’t all that low down. Even so, Carcolf bent over to get a good look at them. Entirely innocently, it would appear. But Shev doubted Carcolf ever did an innocent thing in her life. Especially bend over. “I need someone I can trust. Someone to watch my arse.”

Shev’s voice came hoarse. “If that’s what you want you’ve come to the right girl, but . . .” And she tore her eyes away as her mind came knocking like an unwelcome visitor. “That’s not all you’re after, is it? I daresay it wouldn’t hurt if this partner of yours could pick a lock or a pocket either.”

Carcolf grinned as if the idea had only just come to her. “It wouldn’t
hurt.
Be good if she could keep her mouth shut too.” And she drifted over to Shev, looking down at her, since she was a good few inches taller. Most people were. “Except when I wanted her mouth open, of course . . .”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“You’d be no use to me if you were.”

“I go with you I’ll likely end up abandoned in some alley with nothing but the clothes I’m standing in.”

Carcolf leaned even closer to whisper, Shev’s head full of the scent of her, which was a far stretch more appealing than rotten onions or sweaty redhead. “I’m thinking of you lying down. And without your clothes.”

Shev made a squeak like a rusty hinge. But she forced herself not to grab hold of Carcolf like a drowning girl to a beautiful, beautiful log. She’d been thinking between her legs too long. Time to think between her ears.

“I don’t do that kind of work anymore. I’ve got this place to worry about. And Severard to look after, I guess . . .”

“Still trying to set the world to rights, eh?”

“Not all of it. Just the bit at my elbow.”

“You can’t make every stray your problem, Shevedieh.”

“Not every stray. Just this one.” She thought of the great big woman in her bed. “Just a couple of ’em . . .”

“You know he’s in love with you.”

“All I did was help him out.”

“That’s why he’s in love with you. No one else has.” Carcolf reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair out of Shev’s face with a fingertip, and gave a sigh. “Is that boy knocking at the wrong gate, poor thing.”

Shev caught her wrist and guided it away. Being small didn’t mean you could let folk just walk all over you. “He’s not the only one.” She held Carcolf’s eye, made her voice calm and level. “I enjoy the act. God knows I enjoy it, but I’d rather you stopped. If you want me just for me, my door’s always open and my legs shortly after. If you want me so you can squeeze me out like a lemon and toss my empty skin aside in Talins, well, no offence but I’d rather not.”

Carcolf winced down at the floor. Not so pretty as the smile, but a lot more honest. “Not sure you’d like me without the act.”

“Why don’t we try it and see?”

“Too much to lose,” muttered Carcolf, and she twisted her hand free, and when she looked up the act was on again. “Well. If you change your mind . . . it’ll be too late.” And with a smile over her shoulder deadly as a knife blade, Carcolf walked out. God, that walk she had. Flowing like syrup on a warm day. How did she get it? Did she practice in front of a mirror? Hours every day, more than likely.

The door shut, and the spell was broken, and Shev let go that weary sigh again.

“Was that Carcolf?” asked Severard.

“It was,” murmured Shev, all wistful, a trace of that heavenly scent still battling the mould in her nostrils.

“I don’t trust that bitch.”

Shev snorted. “Fuck no.”

“How do you know her?”

“From around.” From all around Shev’s bed and never quite in it.

“The two o’ you seem close,” said Severard.

“Not half as close as I’d like to be,” she muttered. “You clean the pipes?”

“Aye.”

Shev heard the door again, turned with a smile stuck half way between carpet seller and needy lover. Maybe it was Carcolf come back, decided she wanted Shev just for Shev—

“Oh, God,” she muttered, face falling. Usually took her at least a little longer than that to regret a decision.

“Morning, Shevedieh,” said Crandall. He was trouble of an altogether less pleasant variety. A rat-faced little nothing, thin at the shoulders and slender in the wits, pink at the eyes and runny at the nose, but he was Horald the Finger’s son, and that made him a whole lot of something in this town. A rat-faced little nothing with power he hadn’t had to earn, which made him tetchy brutal, and prickly spiteful, and jealous of anything anyone had that he didn’t. And everyone had something he didn’t, even if it was just talent, or looks, or a shred of self-respect.

Shev hitched that professional smile back up, though it was hard to think of anyone she wanted less in her place. “Morning, Crandall. Morning, Mason.”

Mason ducked in just behind his boss. Or his boss’s son, anyway. He was one of Horald’s boys from way back, broad face criss-crossed with scars, ears all cauliflowered up, and a nose so often broken it was shapeless as a turnip. He was as hard a bastard as you’d find anywhere in Westport, where hard bastards were in plentiful supply. He looked over at Shev, still stooping on account of his towering frame and the low ceiling, and gave an apologetic twitch of the mouth. As if to say,
Sorry, but none of this is up to me. It’s up to this fool.

The fool in question was peering at Shev’s prayer bells, and without bending down, mouth all twisted with contempt. “What’s these? Bells?”

“Prayer bells,” said Shev. “From Thond.” She tried to keep her voice calm as three more men crowded past Mason into her place, trying to look dangerous but finding the room too tight for anything but uncomfortable. One had a face all pocked from old boils and eyes bulging right out, one had a leather coat far too big for him, got tangled with a curtain and near tore it down thrashing it away, the last had his hands shoved deep in his pockets and a look that said he had knives in there. No doubt he did.

Shev doubted she’d ever had so many folk in her place at once. Sadly, they weren’t paying. She glanced at Severard, saw him shifting nervously, licking his lips, held out her palm to say,
calm, calm
, though she had to admit she wasn’t feeling too calm herself.

“Didn’t think you’d be much for prayer,” said Crandall, wrinkling his nose at the bells.

“I’m not,” said Shev. “I just like the bells. They lend the place a spiritual quality. You want a smoke?”

“No, and if I did I wouldn’t come to a shit-hole like this.”

There was a silence, then the pock-faced one leaned towards her. “He said it’s a shit-hole!”

“I heard him,” said Shev. “Sound carries in a room small as this one. And I’m well aware it’s a shit-hole. I’ve got plans to improve it.”

Crandall smiled. “You’ve always got plans, Shev. They never come to nothing.”

True enough, and mostly on account of bastards like this. “Maybe my luck’ll change,” said Shev. “What do you want?”

“I want something stolen. Why else would I come to a thief?”

“I’m not a thief anymore.”

“Course you are. You’re just a thief playing at running a shit-hole Smoke House. And you owe me.”

“What do I owe you for?”

Crandall’s face twisted in a vicious grin. “For every day you don’t have a pair o’ broken legs.” Shev swallowed. Seemed he’d somehow managed to become more of a bastard than ever.

Mason’s deep voice rumbled out, soft and calming. “It’s just a waste is what it is. Westport has lost a hell of a thief and gained a very average husk-seller. How old are you? Nineteen?”

“Twenty-one.” Though she sometimes felt a hundred. “I’m blessed with a youthful glow.”

“Still far too young to retire.”

“I’m about the right age,” said Shev. “Still alive.”

“That could change,” said Crandall, stepping close. As close to Shev as Carcolf had been and a very great deal less welcome.

“Give the lady some room,” said Severard, with his lip stuck out defiantly.

Crandall snorted. “Lady? Are you fucking serious, boy?”

Shev saw Severard had that stick of hers behind his back. Nice length of wood it was, just the right weight for knocking someone on the head. But the very last thing she needed was him swinging that stick at Crandall. He’d be carrying it up his arse by the time Mason was through with him.

“Why don’t you go out back and sweep the yard?” said Shev.

Severard looked at her, jaw all set for action, the fool. God, maybe he was in love with her. “I don’t want—”

“Go out back. I’ll be fine.”

He swallowed, gave the heavies one more glance, then slid out. Shev gave a sharp whistle, brought all the hard eyes back to her. She knew well enough what having no choice looked like. “This thing you want. If I steal it, is that the last of it?”

Crandall shrugged. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Depends whether I want something stolen again, don’t it.”

“Whether your daddy does, you mean.”

Crandall’s eye twitched. He didn’t like being reminded he was just a little prick in his daddy’s big shadow. Shev had always had a problem with saying the wrong thing. Or the right thing at the wrong time. Or the right thing at the right time to the wrong person, maybe.

“You’ll do as you’re told you little gash-licking bitch,” he spat in her face, “or I’ll get my boys to burn your shit-hole down with you in it. And your fucking prayer bells too!”

Mason gave a wince, and a disgusted sigh, scarred cheeks puffed out. As if to say,
He’s a rat-faced little nothing, but what can I do?

Shev stared at Crandall. Damn, but she wanted to butt him in the face. Wanted to with all her being. She’d had bastards like this kicking her around all her life, it’d almost be worth it to kick back just once. But she knew all she could do was smile. If she hurt Crandall, Mason would hurt her ten times as bad. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d do it. He made a living doing things he didn’t like. Didn’t they all?

Shev swallowed. Tried to make her fury look like fear. The deck was always stacked against folk like her.

“Guess I haven’t got a choice.”

Crandall blasted her with shitty breath as he smiled. “Who does?”

* * * * *

Never consider the ground, that’s the trick to it.

Shev straddled the slimy angle of the roof, broken tiles jabbing her in the groin as she inched along, thinking about how much she’d rather be straddling Carcolf. Down in the busy street to her right some drunk idiots were haw-hawing way too loud over a joke, someone else blabbering in Suljuk, of which Shev didn’t understand more than one word in thirty. Down in the empty alleyway on her left it seemed quiet though.

She inched to the chimney, keeping low, just a shadow in the darkness, slipped the loop of her rope over it. Looked solid enough but she gave a good heave to check. Varini used to tell her she weighed two-thirds of nothing but even so she’d almost dragged a chimney clean off once and would’ve taken a tumble into the street with half a ton of masonry on her head if it hadn’t been for a luckily placed windowsill.

Careful, careful, that’s the trick, but a healthy streak of good luck doesn’t hurt either.

Her heart was pounding now and she took a long breath and tried to settle it. Out of practice was all. She was the best thief in Westport, that was well known. That was why they wouldn’t let her stop. Why
she
wouldn’t let her stop. That was her blessing and her curse.

“Best thief in Westport,” she muttered to herself, and slid down the rope to the edge of the roof, peering over. She could see the two guards flanking the doorway, lamplight gleaming on their helmets.

About the right time, and she heard the whores’ voices, shrill and angry. Saw the guards’ heads turn. More shrieking, and she caught the briefest glimpse of the women struggling before they went down in the gutter. The guards were drifting down the alleyway to watch, and Shev smiled to herself. Those girls put on a hell of a show for a couple of silvers.

Seize your moment, that’s the trick to it.

In a twinkling she was over the roof, down the rope, and in through the window. It had only taken a few coppers to get the maid to leave the shutters off the latch. She pulled them shut as she dropped onto the other side. Someone was on their way down the stairs, a light tread, unhurried, but Shev was taking no chances. She nipped to the candle and pinched it out with her gloved fingers, sank the corridor into comfortable darkness.

The rope would still be dangling but there wasn’t much to do about that. Couldn’t afford a partner to hoist it back up. Had to hope she was long gone by the time they noticed.

In and out quick, that’s the trick to it.

She could still hear the whores screeching in the street, no doubt having attracted quite the crowd by now, folk betting on the outcome and everything. There’s something about women fighting that men can never seem to take their eyes away from. ’Specially if the women in question aren’t wearing much. Shev hooked a finger in her collar and dragged a bit of air in, squashing a stray instinct to go and take a peek herself, and padded softly down the corridor to the third door, already slipping out her picks.