The Tijervyn Chronicles
Chapter Five

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Chapter Five: “Thieves’ Race”

Markus ducked into The Hole’s main room and looked back at Gavrial. “You didn’t really do that.”

Gavrial entered behind him and shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Tell them the truth?”

Markus looked back to Kira, who had already flopped down on one of the couches. “Kira, he’s pulling my leg, right? He didn’t actually . . . did he?”

“He was wearing a dress,” Kira said. “Why not just run with it?”

Markus looked back at Gavrial, still unbelieving, and Gavrial laughed. “What, can’t imagine me in a bonnet?”

Markus sat down in a chair near the cold hearth. “Alright, fine, but where exactly were you hiding your gun?”

“Ah, well,” Gavrial said. “That was—”

He cut off as a bell lightly chimed above the fireplace. Kira looked over toward the door and reached inside her coat, and Gavrial, who was still standing near the entrance, stepped to one side so that Kira could have a clear shot and crossed his arms.

Markus looked around in confusion. “What—?”

Kira hushed him and kept her eyes on the stairs. A moment later, a round woman wearing a smock stepped down the stairs and stopped as three sets of eyes locked onto her. After a tense moment, Gavrial turned and swore, and Kira pulled an empty hand out of her coat.

“You just about got yourself shot, Nikki,” Kira said.

Nikki shrugged and walked into the room. “I gave you time to relax before I came down.”

Bryon walked in from the gang’s hall. “I heard the bell, what—? Oh, Nikki, what brings you down here?”

Nikki smiled. “Ah, good, Bryon, you’re in. I have some news for you.”

Bryon gestured for Nikki to have a seat then sat next to Kira. “And what might that be?”

Nikki sat on a different couch, far away from the other. “You’re job went south last night, right?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gavrial said.

“Well,” Nikki said. “I think I know why. I was just over by the constable’s station, and I saw your lockpick, Norin, looking about as obvious as day that he’d just done something bad and making a bee-line out of town.”

Bryon grimaced at the news. “How long ago?”

“This morning,” she said. “I’d have come straight away, but I had business of my own. I had one of my people follow him, though, and sure enough he crossed the bridge and started east. I took the liberty of asking around, and it seems that he sold you guys out on last night’s job to avoid getting the Nautilus.”

“The Nautilus?” Markus said.

Kira lifted up her sleeve and showed a nautilus shaped tattoo on her forearm. A number was inked under it. “If you break the law too many time, or just break one real bad, they mark you. The Nautilus, to show that you’re from the slums. If you’re marked, only honest job you can get is in the factories, and they’ll pay you half what they pay others and only give you the worst work.”

“Did he tell them where The Hole is?” Bryon said.

“I don’t think so,” Nikki said. “I think he was too scared Gavrial would come and hunt him down if he’d done that. Still, puts you in a bind, a man down, and your lockpick at that. Going to make the race hard.”

“We’ll have to bow out,” Bryon said. “As much as I hate to.”

“We’re actually two men down,” Gavrial said. “Jak died because of what Norin did. If I ever see that purple-bellied louse, he’s going to wish he’d just honestly stabbed me in the back instead of selling us out. He has a lot more to answer for than making us drop out of the race.”

“What’s this race?” Markus said.

Nikki looked at Markus for the first time. “New recruit, Bryon?”

Bryon hesitated. “After a fashion. Markus, this is Nikki the Bird. She runs the Aviary, a band of thieves that operates mostly in Uptown.”

Markus nodded to Nikki. “So, what’s this race you’re talking about?”

“Every year, some crackpot noble we only know as Lord Shadow holds a race for thieves,” Kira said. “Only four bands get to run, and he picks them. This year was going to be the first time The Hole got to compete, and now Norin just ruined that for us.”

“Because you need a lockpick?” Markus said.

Kira smiled and shook her head. “No Markus.”

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “New boy’s a lockpick, is he? That seems down right fortuitous.”

“Markus, thanks for the offer,” Kira said. “But I don’t think you should run in the thieves’ race.”

“I don’t need protected, Kira,” Markus said.

“This isn’t about protecting you,” Kira said. “The thieves’ race isn’t a joke, and it definitely isn’t something a rookie should be in.”

“I’m not a rookie to this kind of work,” Markus said. “Nor to having people wanting you dead for doing it.”

“If we drop out, who knows the next time Lord Shadow will let us run,” Gavrial said. “I think we should let him.”

“We’ll still be a man down,” Kira said.

“We’ll just have to be a little more careful,” Gavrial said. “What do you say, boss? If we don’t run, Shadow’s likely to never let us run again.”

Bryon rubbed his beard then stood. “I want to talk to you in private, Markus. Come to my office.”

Kira gave Bryon a dark look that he seemed to ignore. When Markus tired to smile at her, she only turned her scowl to him. He followed Bryon down to his office, which was a room only slightly larger than a normal bedroom, but that had somehow had a desk and a few chairs crammed into it.

In one corner, a small mechanical contraption whizzed and purred. After a moment, Markus realized it was a clockwork cat. Bryon sat behind his desk and patted the table, and the cat uncurled itself and jumped to where Bryon could rub the articulated plates that made up its body.

“What is that?” Markus said.

Bryon looked at the cat and smiled. “Oh, this is Ada. But, I didn’t bring you here to talk about my cat. I want to warn you about the thieves’ race. Kira is quite right. It’s not something meant for beginners to our trade, and Lord Shadow ensures it isn’t easy in several ways.”

“Would it be more dangerous than sneaking into enemy encampments and stealing their battle plans and troop movements?”

Bryon nodded. “I see your point. I still want to make sure you understand what you are getting into. The operation on the Dunny Manor will seem like peanuts compared to this. We need to break into three houses, and while killing between the bands is highly frowned upon, it isn’t out of the question.”

Markus leaned forward. “Did I pass my test run last night? Am I part of The Hole?”

Bryon wet his lips. “On a provisional basis, old chap. I won’t welcome you with open arms after a day and one job and act of heroics. But, yes, you are part of us.”

“Then I want to do this,” Markus said. “Head held high, right?”

“Very well,” Bryon said. “Let’s go tell the others. But I warn you, Kira won’t be happy.”

“I don’t need her protection,” Markus said.

“This isn’t about her protecting you, my boy,” Bryon said. “She’s borne the Nautilus for some time now, and the race is everything to her. She may have brought you here, but that you are running the race a couple of days after coming into town isn’t going to ingratiate you to her. If you do well and we win, it will rub salt in a wound, and if we don’t win, she will blame you.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Markus said.

“Life is such,” Bryon said. “Still sure you want to do this?”

Markus took a deep breath. “Yes.”

* * *

Wynfeld looked over his reports and sighed. His station was horribly understaffed, so he knew he should not feel personally at fault that one of Salteen’s men had managed to walk out without giving up anything more than the location of an anticipated job. It still rankled him. The warrant from Count Jaeger was filed away in his desk, appearing to be nothing more than the usual sting operation authorization, and Norin had walked before it had even been posted. Just a near miss, that was all.

“Sir?”

Wynfeld looked up to see Andrew Dryden, one of the newer patrolmen, standing in the door with a thick dossier in his hands. Joss Snette, another junior patrolman, stood behind him. “Yes, patrolmen?”

“I have something you might want to see,” Andrew said. “We were just hit with a large number of tips on jobs, all set to happen on the same day. Four bands of thieves, nine manors of lesser nobles in the Garden District, details to times . . . sir, this is huge!”

Wynfeld furrowed his brow and looked over at a calendar. Was it that late in the year already? “Just put it on my desk. I’ll see to it in a little bit.”

“Sir!” Joss said. “This is huge. We could take out four of the most notorious gangs in the Slums in one day! Shouldn’t we be acting on this immediately?”

Wynfeld gave Joss a glare that forced the man back a step. “You’re both new, so I’d imagine you don’t know about Lord Shadow’s Race. We do try and keep its existence rather quiet, as it’s a blemish on the Constabulary in general, but it isn’t exactly ground breaking. We’ll dispatch men and warn the targets. Honestly, this is more of a prank; the thieves never steal anything.”

Andrew opened the dossier. “But, sir—”

“They know we’ll be there. To them, we’re just an obstacle in their crazed race. All they’re after are clues that this Lord Shadow person has hidden in the manors.” Wynfeld sighed and reached for his mug of coffee. “But since you have it open, which bands are competing this year?”

“Oh, um, Nikki’s Aviary, Carlone’s Den, Virgil’s Abode, and Salteen’s Hole.”

Wynfeld nearly spat his coffee out. “Salteen? Are you certain?”

Andrew only nodded and Joss looked over his shoulder at the dossier. “Salteen? Who’s that? I’ve heard of the other three.”

“We just received a warrant from Sunset House for Salteen and his gang,” Wynfeld said. “I’m surprised they’re running, though Lord Shadow does seem to like to have an underdog in the race.” He stood and walked to a map of Tijervyn that was on his wall. “Read me the target manors.”

Andrew did, and Wynfeld marked them with pins on the map. They formed an ‘X’ that was about three miles across. He rubbed his chin and looked at the map.

“The tips don’t say which band is targeting which houses.” It was not a question. He had been reading race dossiers for years. “But they each will hit three: two on one leg and then they all are aiming for the middle. We’ll want to focus on that house.”

“But, if it’s a race,” Joss said. “What happens if Salteen’s band doesn’t win? I’m guessing that’s who we’re targeting?”

“We’ll make sure he wins,” Wynfeld said. “We’ll have men at all the houses and distribute descriptions of his band to all of them. If they see Salteen’s men, they are to stand down and let them pass. We’ll slow the other bands down, maybe even capture some of them on their legs, but Salteen’s men will face the brunt of our force at the last manor.”

“We’re just going to let them steal from the first two houses?” Andrew said.

“Like I said, patrolman, they won’t steal anything but the clue to their next target. And so, we can let them think they are having an easy time of it, and then, once they are in the last house, we spring our trap.” Wynfeld smiled. “And then we’ll have him.”

“Salteen, sir?” Joss said.

“No,” Wynfeld said. “Someone better.”

* * *

Markus took a sip of his coffee and looked out over the street. It was a half hour until the race would begin, and he was having serious doubts about whether or not he was ready. Everyone in The Hole had spent the rest of the day after Nikki had left drilling Markus on the rules of the race, and he was honestly surprised at how few there were.

The teams were not allowed to interfere with each other, but there would be other bands of thieves that would, not to mention tipped off constables. The objectives in each house were off-limits for any interference, and regular theft was as well. Murder of a constable or civilian would instantly disqualify a band, but not killing other thieves, although that was frowned upon. And, of course, no one could start the race until eight in the morning, but they could be within one block of their first target. Other than that, it was no holds barred.

Thus, here he sat with Kira and Gavrial. Margot and Gust were further down the street, scouting out to try and find where the constables or other thieves might be. Vlad was sitting a block away at another café. His job, as Markus understood it, was to be a distraction.

Gavrial patted him on the back and smiled. “You’ll be fine, Markus. Just need to get us through locked doors, is all. Not like you have crack a safe. I don’t know how Shadow gets the clues in there, but he at least only leaves them behind paintings or the like.”

“I’m not worried,” Markus said. “Just anxious. I didn’t know this took place in broad daylight when I agreed.”

“It’s too late now,” Kira said. “So just calm down already.”

“Snapping at him isn’t going to help him or us, Kira,” Gavrial said. “Why don’t you calm down?”

Kira narrowed her eyes but did not respond, instead turning her attention to her coffee. Markus nodded to Gavrial in appreciation, and then tried to calm down as he finished his drink. The pastry he left mostly untouched, though. He had eaten a bowl of porridge at The Hole and honestly thought that would do him better than the sugary thing in front of him. Anyway, they had only ordered to maintain the appearance that they were lazy nobles having their breakfast out.

At the other café, Vlad stood up and walked a small ways further down the street. In the distance, a clock tower tolled the hour, and a small explosion filled Vlad’s café with smoke. People screamed and ran, some towards the commotion and some away. Gavrial, Kira, and Markus stood and joined the crowd running away, towards their first target.

“You’ll be fine,” Gavrial said over the din. “Just stay with us and do your job, right?”

Markus nodded. “Right.”

* * *

Markus felt the tumblers catch in the lock, and he pulled his tools out and opened the door to the art gallery. Kira slipped past without making as much as a whisper, and Markus stood up and waited.

“Gotcha!”

Markus turned to see a seedy looking man running at him with a club. His first thought was to reach for his gun, but he stopped himself. The man was only a thief, but Markus did not want to make the social misstep of killing.

His hesitation made him slow to raise his arm in defense, but fortunately the blow never landed. Gavrial appeared from the intersecting hall and grabbed the tough by the wrist. He twisted, and there was a small, audible pop as the thief’s wrist broke. Before he could scream out in pain, Gavrial head butted him, knocking him out cold.

“Something’s wrong,” Gavrial said. “This is too easy.”

“Too easy?” Markus said. “That man about decorated the wall with my brains.”

“Phaw,” Gavrial said. “Old Sheb here wouldn’t have killed you, only knocked you out.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah,” Gavrial said. “I used to run with his band, before I joined up with Bryon’s. Still seems too easy. Where’re the constables? I haven’t seen a single one of them since we started. It’s not right.”

Kira came out of the gallery with a folded envelope in her hand. “Stop your moaning, Gavrial. Maybe we’re just too smooth for them.”

“The best thieves in Tijervyn run into trouble with the constables on the race, Kira,” Gavrial said. “Shadow tips the constables off, you know that. So why haven’t they been at either of our houses?”

Kira bit her lip. “I don’t know, but there isn’t much we can do. Shall we see where the last manor is?”

Gavrial nodded, and she opened the envelope and pulled out the instruction sheet. When she looked at the page, her face went pale.

Markus looked over her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Kira?”

“What? Oh, nothing,” she said. “Our last target is the Tidor manor, second story, west wing library. It will be tucked into a book on a lectern.”

“Tidor manor it is then,” Gavrial said. “Let’s get out of here and collect the others.”

“And hope no one else has beaten us to it,” Markus said.

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Gavrial said. “They’re probably still just beginning on their second targets, how fast we’ve been moving.”

“Unless the constables aren’t at any of the houses,” Markus said. “Maybe they’ll be waiting for all of us at the last house.”

“Maybe,” Gavrial said. “We’ll just have to be careful. Now come on.”

* * *

Vlad’s first explosion caused just as much of a ruckus as it had at the prior two houses, and Kira, Gavrial, and Markus ran down the alley to Tidor Manor. As far as they could tell, they were indeed the first band here. When they reached the back entrance, Kira came up short.

“I don’t like this,” she said. “Maybe you’re right and this is a trap.”

“It’s the thieves’ race,” Gavrial said. “Of course it’s a trap.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Are you really going belly up on me now, Kira?” Gavrial said. “Pull it together. One last, quick job. Knock out some house guards, maybe finally a constable or two, pick a few locks, and we’re done. Alright?”

“What if it’s more than just a few constables?” she said.

“Are you alright, Kira?” Markus said. “You’ve been acting funny since you saw that Tidor Manor was the last house.”

She blinked and shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you very much. I just want to make sure we aren’t about to tie a noose around our necks.”

“We’ll be careful,” Markus said. “Alright?”

She crossed her arms and huffed.

“Kira,” Gavrial said. “You ready?”

“Fine, sure, let’s do this.”

Gavrial smiled then nodded to Markus, who had already taken his glove off and was at the lock in a moment. The lock came free fairly easily, and Kira slipped through the door while he put his tools away.

Markus turned to Gavrial while they waited. “Something’s bothering her.”

“Praedin knows what,” Gavrial said. “She’s been looking forward to running this race ever since we found out we were one of the teams a month ago. Now she’s getting cold feet at the last moment? Doesn’t make sense.”

Markus started to say something else, but Kira reappeared in the doorway, a wet rag in her hand and a bottle of chloroform in the other. Gavrial gave Markus a look that said “another time” and headed in, and Markus had no choice but to follow.

Past the door, they had to step over the unconscious body of a guard. Kira looked down at him in disgust for a moment then signaled for them to follow her. The small, back garden was otherwise empty, and they quickly made their way to a side entrance which was, of course, locked. Markus made short work of it, and they entered the manor’s expansive pantry.

“Alright,” Gavrial said. “Now to get to the library. If anyone is waiting for us, they’ll probably be expecting us to try and get upstairs first, then make our way to the west wing. So, I say we do the exact opposite. From the looks of the place outside, there’s a stairwell not too far from where the library is. Let’s get there first.”

Kira nodded and cracked the pantry door to look into the kitchen. After a moment, she gestured for them to follow her. They went to the doors that led to the dining room, and Kira looked through a crack where the doors did not quite meet. She then waved them back and shook her head.

“Constables,” she said. “And a lot of them.”

“How many is a lot?” Gavrial said.

“Too many. We aren’t going that way.” She looked at Markus. “How much do you weigh?”

“A little over twenty stone,” he said. “Why?”

She turned to Gavrial. “And that’s about how much you weigh too, right?”

Gavrial was looking at Markus in shock. “Um, yeah.”

She nodded and looked over to the other side of the kitchen. “It should be able to handle that. I hope you both can ball up well.”

Markus followed her gaze to a sliding door set into the wall above a counter. “A dumbwaiter?”

“Can it hold us?” Gavrial said. “I know kids use them from time to time, but they aren’t exactly meant to haul full-grown men.”

“What choice do we have? I’ll go first, since I’m quite a bit lighter than you bags of bricks.” She walked over and slid the door open, then pulled out two shelves that were inside it.

“Kind of large for a kitchen dumbwaiter,” Markus said. “What do they need all that room for?”

“It let’s them get any entire feast to the upstairs banquet hall in a single trip.” Kira crawled into the dumbwaiter. “Lord Tidor is not a patient man.”

“You know Tidor?” Gavrial said.

“What?” She blinked and looked up at him. “Of course not. I’ve just heard it on the street, and I can believe it from this huge dumbwaiter. Now come on, haul me up. I’ll make sure the coast is clear and then send the dumbwaiter back down.”

Gavrial grunted but closed the door and pulled on the rope that operated the lift. When it would move no further, he let go gently, and it only gave back a little bit as the upper locking mechanism engaged.

The door behind them opened, and Markus turned around to see a maid backing into the kitchen. A moment later, Gavrial pulled him down below the counter.

The maid picked up something off the counter and went back out into the dining room without a word. Markus peeked around a corner to make sure she was gone then stood back up.

“My heart’s beating fast enough that I think it’ll use up all my steam on its own,” he said.

“Well, calm down,” Gavrial said. “You need to not freeze like that. If she had been coming in face-forward, we’d be neck deep in constables right now.”

Markus took a deep breath and nodded. Behind them, the dumbwaiter started moving again. When it was back down, Gavrial opened the compartment and gestured to Markus. Markus sighed and crawled into the lift. He had to tuck his legs into his chest, and he could feel the strange edges of his metal knees through the thin fabric of his trousers.

“I don’t trust this thing,” Gavrial said. “So I’ll take you up nice and easy, alright? When you send it back down, I’ll tug on the line to let you know I’m ready.”

Markus nodded, and Gavrial closed the door, shutting Markus in complete darkness. The dumbwaiter started moving a moment later, and he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Gavrial was not lying when he said he was going to take it slow, but the lift did not seem the least bit bothered my Markus’s considerable weight. The lift stopped, and he felt the latching mechanism engage. A moment later, Kira slid the door open and helped him out.

“Everything okay?” she said.

“Peachy,” he said.

“Good, you handle the lift,” she said. “I don’t think I could manage hauling Gavrial up, even with the pulleys. I’ll keep an eye on the hallway.”

Markus nodded, and Kira went over to the other side of the banquet room. It only took Gavrial a few moments to get into the dumbwaiter once Markus had lowered it back down, and he pulled the large man up at a slightly faster clip than he had gone himself.

The dumbwaiter door opened, and Gavrial growled as he crawled out. “What was the idea, bringing me up so fast?”

“You’re here and safe, aren’t you?”

“Phaw, whatever,” he said. “How’re we looking Kira?”

“Constables in the hall,” she said.

“Damn,” Markus said. “What now?”

“We’ll sneak through the living quarters,” she said. “They’re all interconnected along the hallway, even into here.”

“How do you know that?” Gavrial said.

“Because I’m not a strong thief,” she said. “So I have to be a smart one. And I noticed this door over here that isn’t all that well concealed, and when I poked my head in, I saw one that lead to the next room as well.”

“All right, all right,” Gavrial said. “Stop showing off and lead the way.”

Kira peeked through the door again, and then opened it wide and waved for them to follow. Markus went first, and Gavrial brought up the rear. The room was painted in a light pink and showed obvious signs of disuse, even though the staff kept it at least clean of dust.

The door to the next room was open, and Markus could see the closed door to the room after beyond that. Kira walked quickly through the pink room, making an almost pointed effort to not look at anything, and rushed into the next room without even looking.

“What?” a voice said. “Who are—? Wait!”

Kira spun to look at the unseen voice, and Markus rushed in. Before he could even get through the door, she had already darted to whoever had spoke. When he turned the corner, it was to see her holding up a barely struggling lad with a damp rag over his mouth and nose. A moment later, she gently laid him down and brushed his hair back with a gentle caress.

“So young, but so old.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“What’s that Kira?” Gavrial said. “You know this whelp?”

She stood and shook her head, then turned toward the next door and checked it. It proved to lead to an empty bedroom, and beyond that, a door opened to an empty hallway.

Kira checked the hallway and motioned for them to stay. If Markus had his guess, a patrolman was occasionally poking his head into hallway. After a tense moment, she motioned for them to move silently, and they hurried into the hallway and around the next bend, first Kira, then Markus, and finally Gavrial. Just before Gavrial reached the next hall, a shout rose up from behind them.

“Hold it!”

Gavrial snarled. “Kira, go ahead. Markus and I will hold them off.”

“The library will be locked,” she said. “I’ll hold them with you. Markus, go ahead.”

Markus hesitated. “How many are there?”

“Kira and I can handle it,” Gavrial said. “She’s right, go!”

Markus swallowed hard and ran to the end of the hallway to a set of double doors. Sure enough, the door was locked, but he did not even bother with picking it. No rules said they had to pick the locks; they only did to avoid detection. It was too late for that. So, he raised his foot up and kicked the door as hard as he could with all the strength of his mechanical leg.

The doors buckled and the lock snapped out as it swung open. Inside, two constables were standing flanking the only lectern in the room. Their guns were already out and quickly trained on Markus.

“Hold it right there,” the first one, a taller, slender man, said.

“Is that him, Andrew?” the second said.

“He isn’t any of them from the sketches, Joss,” Andrew said. “And we know Salteen’s group is here. I’d say yes, that’s the revenant.”

“We know you’re a revenant,” Joss said. “Don’t think you can trick us. Don’t come closer or we will shoot.”

“Um, Joss?” Andrew said. “Do bullets work on revenants?”

Joss spared a look for Andrew. “I, um . . . .” He tightened his grip on his gun.

Markus raised his arms slowly. “You got me, no need to get anxious. Just calm down.”

The two constables looked at him, unsure. Behind them, through a window, a motion caught Markus’s eye. The constables must have noticed his distraction, because they looked too just as a man in a black coat and clothes, wearing a mask, and with what appeared to be a sword at his side, came swinging down from the roof and through the window with a loud crash.

The constables turned their guns towards the man, but before they could even say anything, the man twisted a knob on his belt, had his shockrod out, and brushed it against the barrels of both weapons. The men screamed and fell, and the room was filled with the roar of gunfire as the bullets in the revolvers went off. Blue light arced in the room as some of the bullets almost hit the man, and Markus felt a sharp sting of half-distant pain in his right bicep.

He grabbed at his arm for a moment and realized he had been shot. But, the guns had been facing the other way. How did one hit him? He did not have time wonder as the man in black walked slowly towards him, shockrod casually held at his side.

“You’re the bastard that killed Jak, aren’t you?”

The man tilted his head to the side and gestured towards Markus’s arm with his weapon. He then tapped the back of his head with his free hand, just below where his hairline would be.

“Am I cyborg?”

The man nodded.

“What do you care?”

The man lifted up his left hand and looked at the unmarked bracer on it.

“Oh, hoping to figure out how I work?” Markus said. “Quintin himself made me. I doubt even Tesma could understand how I work.”

The man suddenly swung with the shockrod, and Markus stumbled back, barely avoiding the weapon. The man lunged again, and Markus dodged to the side. He had to restrain himself from trying to punch the man’s exposed flank. He still remembered quite clearly what had happened to Jak.

He needed something wooden. Unfortunately, the tables in the library were thick, heavy things that he would not be able to rip a leg off of or throw at the man with any easy. The only other thing was the lectern. A book sat closed on it, and he threw the book without thinking at the man before picking the stand by its narrow base.

He turned around as the man knocked the book out of the air with his free hand, and then he remembered why he was even in the library in the first place. Fortunately, now that he had a weapon that could actually cause some damage, the man took a more defensive posture.

He made an awkward lunge with the lectern, and the man turned aside and grabbed it. Markus smiled then used all his strength to swing the podium around. The man let go, but not before he was thrown off balance and stumbled into a bookshelf across the room. Markus took his chance, throwing the lectern at the man and darting out. He picked up the book he had thrown on his way.

Back in the hallway, Gavrial and Kira were still fighting with the constables. Several were bloody and laying on the floor, but there were still a few standing and fighting with their nightsticks. Gavrial and Kira bore several gashes and bruises themselves, and were probably only standing because of how narrow the hallway was.

Markus rushed past them and punched the closest constable as hard as he could in the shoulder. Bone cracked and the man screamed, and Markus turned and kicked another in the knee. The last constable went wide eyed at Markus, but Gavrial quickly grabbed him and slammed him hard into the wall, knocking him senseless.

“Got it?” Gavrial said.

“Yes,” Markus said. “But that man with the shockshield is behind me. Hurry!”

Gavrial glanced back. “Where?”

Markus stopped and turned around, and the man was nowhere to be seen. Outside, there was a commotion that was too loud to be just Vlad.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. We can jump out a window. I’ll catch you as you fall.”

They fortunately did not run into any more guards or constables, and once they were at the fallback, Kira pointed at Markus’s arm.

“What happened?”

“There were constables waiting for me in the library.” Markus pulled his coat off and ripped his sleeve to look at the damage. “And not just for any thief. They knew about Bryon, and they knew I’m a cyborg.”

She gasped. “And they shot you?”

“No. I’m not quite sure how I got shot. That man with the shockshield hit their guns with his shockrod, and it made all the bullets in them go off at once. One must have just backfired into me or something.” He looked at the dented brass plate on his bicep and sighed. “Only superficial. I can fix this easily.”

She bit her lip. “What happens if you get hurt and can’t fix it?”

He looked down at the dinged brass plate. “I’ll just have to not get hurt.”

“That’s well and good,” Gavrial said. “Did you at least get the last target?”

Kira made a disgusted sound, but as Markus reached into his now discarded coat, he saw her eyes grow large. He pulled out the book and shook it until a folded envelope fell out. Inside would be the instructions to the real prize: a sizable pile of cash and rings for each member of the team. He looked up at them and smiled.

“Guess this means we won.”

* * *

Wynfeld looked in on the room where Joss and Andrew were recovering. They had yet to give a report—their minds were still fazed—but the doctor knew a shockrod injury when he saw one. Other constables had verified that Salteen’s band had been at Tidor manor, though, and that a member not in the dossiers and with extreme strength was among them. Wynfeld was not upset. The thieves’ race always was an embarrassment for the constabulary. No, this was a success. They knew the revenant was indeed with Salteen. Before, they had only been able to assume.

He walked down the hall and noticed a constable from the Garden District standing guard at a door. He nodded to the man and glanced inside, where a single man with dark skin was sitting in his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“What’s this, then?” Wynfeld said.

“A burglar that was left behind at the Dunny Manor a couple nights back,” the patrolman said. “Got hit by a shockrod pretty bad; the docs are surprised he survived. Can’t understand a thing he says, for how much he stutters. I don’t even think he’s speaking Sentatian.”

Wynfeld nodded. “May I?”

The patrolman shrugged, and Wynfeld walked into the room. The man’s eyes flicked to him, then back to the ceiling. There was not much going on behind those eyes, but the man looked familiar. Wynfeld reached down and twisted the man’s forearm around, and sure enough, there was the Nautilus, complete with a number Wynfeld recognized. He smiled.

“Well, hello there Mr. Joraz.” He spoke in Krellin, the man’s native language. “I am Constable Black, and I think you and I are going to be having some nice, long talks.”