I held the bowstring and wooden curve of wood apart like a weight in danger of crushing me. I pushed and nudged the arrow tip around the background of the target range, trying to settle in on the dark red pair of concentric circles. But the weight I had in my right hand sucked at my concentration, distracting me like trying to do two difficult tasks at once. I let fly when I thought it was aimed as best I thought, and the arrow snapped from the bow like a startled sparrow. It thunked into the wood well below even the outer circle. I cussed softly to myself and looked toward the man beside me.

He shook his head. "You're trying too hard. You're thinking about the bow like it was a chunk of machinery, that you can shove into precision. It doesn't work by alien means, the human body works more like a bow than anything the Hammer 'offer' to the faithful in the world. Don't think about what the bow is, think about what the bow does." He handed me another arrow, hand slipping gracefully into the quiver on his back and spinning it in his hands to offer me the lower shaft.

I settled into a more fluid stance, treating the bow as part of my own weight and form, not a hunk of wood I was carrying. I notched the bow and lifted it, pulling the gut-string back. I settled my cheek against it, smelling the fletch beside my nose. With my instructor's suggestion, I thought of the bow as a tightening muscle, bunching up and waiting to be released. The flint arrowhead was a pointing finger, connected right to my heart, full of the willpower I knew I needed to do this. It felt like I wasn't carrying a bow, that I was suddenly more than what I was before, tensed and focused and aiming at a bullseye that felt as if it was right up against the arrowtip, no, the fingertip I was pointing at, so steady was my aim...

*THOCK*

The arrow buried itself in the center of the target. My jaw dropped in surprise.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." The man lightly clapped his hands together. I looked at him and composed myself, trying not to smile from ear to ear. Gods, was I proud of myself, especially after hearing a master like Garret compliment me on something so new to me. He had said I had some measure of talent for the bow, but I obviously lacked the experience. It was my driving wish ever since he said that to drag a real compliment from him once I did it right.

I practiced a few more shots, now that I knew how to treat using the bow. Garret helped adjust my stance and grip so that I could hold a drawn bow more easily and for bit longer. He knew exactly how to do it, like it was something he had done for years.

"I think that's enough for tonight... Cutty's probably wondering where we are."

I nodded quickly and fumbled to gather up our gear and slip the wooden targets into Garret's pack. A chill wind blew over us, I was glad to get off this rooftop. I had felt enough cold weather in my years on the street.

We slipped down into streets below from a metal ladder on the side of the warehouse were on. Easing into the alleyway, moving back to the thinning streets. The city watch would be out soon, but Garret knew how to get around them fairly easily. Cutty's place wasn't far anyway.

It was Cutty's policy for new thieves to get some basic training from those who had experience; I would have to do the same for some new recruit someday, assuming I lived through any assignments I would eventually get. Garret vehemently didn't want "to be some damned teacher to an arrogant brat who ran away from his father's mansion", in his own words. I had overheard him and Cutty talking a couple weeks ago, when Cutty suggested the idea to Garret. They argued and argued, Garret never raising his voice, keeping it in that undertone that was quiet and hard at the same time.

Finally Garret just said "Fine, let me see him." I stepped into the room. Imagine Garret's surprise when the 'brat' turned out to be girl.

I don't know why he changed his mind so fast. It certainly wasn't because he wanted to get me into his bed, my chest was underdeveloped from my years on the streets, my legs weren't anything like the rich noble women I saw on the street that I used to envy so much, my hair was close-cropped and black, like a man's. He didn't have lust in his eyes, nothing like that. I didn't know of any female thieves, I guess he didn't either. Maybe he just appreciated that, I don't know. But he lowered his head and nodded, saying that Fine, yes, he'd spend an hour or two a week showing me the ropes. He spoke a few more words to Cutty, arranging times for meeting me, as well as some other business they had. I just stood there shaking, wondering if all the rumors about Garret were true, that he melted into shadows and crept up on people looking right at him. After he left, Cutty laughed and said, yes, they were true. "A little too damned true, if ye ask me." he added.

Garret tugged at my sleeve and I snapped out of my daydream. A city watchman was up ahead, looking into the doorways along the street. Garret pulled me into a thin alleyway, and I slid up against musty walls of ancient houses, with barely enough room to breathe. He moved through it, turning into another alleyway that seemed even narrower. Two more followed that one. I lifted my head to look at the frozen stars overhead. Clouded breath rose from my mouth like a fog, drifting over the faint lights that watched us overhead. I wondered if they approved of Cutty and Garret and I and all the other thives who plied their trade in the City, damned us, or just didn't give a damn. Moments later we emerged from the alleyways onto Cutty's street. I blinked at Garret, but he just half-smiled and went up to Cutty's door, knocking sharply.

"Who's there, pray tell?"

Garret whispered a reply back. "The Baron's bastard son."

"Which one?"

"The seventh of fouty." Garret replied. I strained to remember the nuances of the short conversation. It was based on the date and who it was, different for each person each time, even containing subtle changes if the knocker was 'accompanied' by those trying to get at Cutty. If I ever forgot the system, I might be out of a place to live, since Cutty insisted, like a good thief's pawn, that the system be used. It worked pretty well, at least as far as Cutty claimed.

I heard five or six bolts being undone, and Cutty opened the thick door. It was reinforced with steel bars on the other side. Anyone trying to arrest Cutty would have a hell of a time getting at him to begin with.

"Come in, come in, dear friends." He ushered us in, like a happy friend of the family. Garret obviously didn't like it much, never did. All business, he was. Cutty's friendliness had always felt alien, but good; I couldn't remember having family of my own.

Cutty sat us down and listened to Garret give a short report on how I was progressing. Cutty poured a few small glasses of sherry (he loved sherry, but I don't think I had ever seen him drunk), handing one to each of us. Garret spoke more practically than the compliment he had given me on the rooftop, but I still felt proud. I hoped in a week or two Cutty might have an assignment for me, instead of running errands for him. I couldn't wait for that request, no matter how small it was.

Garret and Cutty talked about some other things, news and rumors from around the City. I listened carefully, trying to keep up with the names they threw around. It was always important to keep up with politics, I knew. Someday I knew I'd be part of that politicking, with a mansion of my own and underlings I could order around. I had, long ago, swore that I would be part of this city's power structure, and not some street rat I had started out as. Sometimes it was all I could think about.

Garret stood, and I realized I had lost track of the conversation as it ended. Cutty and Garret shook hands, and Cutty leaned in close, whispering a question to Garret. Garret looked up at me, obviously thinking critically about something. He whispered something back to Cutty, and the fence nodded, neither smiling nor frowning.

Garret left, with no more than a nod to me.

I cleaned up the glasses, and extinguished the lights around Cutty's apartment as he made himself busy with letterwork and ledgers at his tiny oak desk.

Less than an hour later, my chores were finished. "I'm off to sleep," I said to Cutty as I started up the narrow pine back stairway towards my loft for the night. He glanced back and nodded in silence.

Up in my loft, I changed into my threadbare sleeping-robe and glanced out the tiny circular window that looked out at the City. Dark and complex, a myriad of stone tresses and sloped rooftops. It appeared as complicated as how it functioned, I thought, a million inter-related things happening at once. And a young girl in a fence's cold loft knew, just knew, I told myself almost sadonically, she'd someday be a player in it. I smiled to myself, maybe out of irony, or out of my own damn hubris. Either way, my hopes weren't shaken.

I slipped under the covers of the rickety cot Cutty had supplied those months ago and tried to keep my teeth from chattering as I warmed the covers. I started thinking about this last summer, when the warm air moved with prejudice through some streets and not others. My seventeenth summer, if my memory was right. Thinking about the tiny abandoned two-story house I had attempted to live in. I had found a few boxes and used them there, and even a gutted matress that was my bed. I had, miraculously, found a 4-inch cheap candle that day. I dug the sliver of flint I had once found and scraped a nail against it, trying to get a spark and light that candle. I don't know why I wanted to have a lit candle so badly, even if it was late spring and fairly warm, I guess because I wanted to have that flame, that object of light I knew rich people took for granted. Not me, not me, I would appreciate every flicker that flame would give me as night began to fall. Finally the candle sparked to life.

I reverently pressed it into a space between the boards of the floor of the second story room, my hollow face awash in that weak light. I pulled out the half-loaf of bread I had snatched from a restaurant's trash-bin, only moldy on one side. I carefully peeled away the mold, making sure I wasted none of the actual bread, and began stuffing the bread into my mouth in chunks, the first food I had had in more than a day. I was happy, despite being a street kid, my soul dancing like the flame of that little candle.

I had suddenly heard a commotion from below. Shouts. I jumped up, bread forgotten, and looked out the door. Men in red and white clothes, carrying... oh, no. Carrying hammers. I spun around, trying to think of a way out of the tiny building. I might survive the jump, but the Hammers were right there below me...

Someone suddenly burst from the stairway from the lower floor. "Thy worthless hide is coming with me, urchin!" he howled. I started squeezing through the window to jump. He stormed over, yanking me from the windowframe, and I felt the skin of my fingertips break from scraping on the old brick. I flailed wildly, trying to get away. I saw his foot overturn the box of things I had collected and sometimes tried to sell, just junk, but more priceless to me than gold. A slightly bent sconce, a set of dirty tin silverware, a handful of glass beads... His armored boots crunched and bent the objects as he spoke. "A thief! Nothing more than a petty, stealing wench, worse even than a common harlot." His boot kicked over my struggling candle, quickly stamping it out. It must have alerted them from the window.

He dragged me down the stairs, where the other Hammers were ripping boards off the floor and taking them outside. The Hammerite carrying me dumped me on the street, he and another gripped my shoulders and held me as two others began to nail the boards they had ripped from the floor onto the doorway, sealing off what I had tried to call 'home'.

A fifth, who looked more impressive than the others, listened to what the tall one who had caught me had to say. Their holy man began reciting some prayer for me, as the two Hammers holding me gripped my hand, holding it before the priest.

"And the Builder didst say, a man's heart and a man's body is what he shall ever own, all else he shall build for himself, and didst the thief laugh, taking that of the industrious faithful and calling it his own. And the Builder did take the thief, and strike from him his grasping hand, leaving the thief with naught else but his black, black heart..."

The leader drew out a heavy, short blade. The two hammers holding me turned my arm over and exposed the underside of my wrist, holding it against the cobblestone as I flailed. The priest-judge readied the short sword. I realized there was really only one thing that blade was used for.

Somehow my leg came free. I balanced on my side as I swung it up between the tall Hammer's legs. I felt a sick thud and the Hammer managed a squeaking gasp as he crumbled to the ground, freeing me. Now with the leverage I needed, I yanked my hand free as the Priest was beginning to strike. I spun away, taking off down the street as fast as I could run, bare feet slamming against stone streets. Long after they had finished chasing me, I ran. And ran. And ran.

Hours later I was jammed into a crack between buildings, in the stinking dark. I didn't know what to do. In a few weeks, when the real heat finally started, the fevers would begin again, and most rich residents would leave the city for their summer homes. I had managed to avoid the fevers so far, but now, with no place to sleep and no shoes, I didn't stand a chance. Plus, my face would get relayed to other Hammers, I wouldn't last a week alone on the streets. Death would come, I didn't have any other way to fight it off.

A spark of hope appeared in my mind. I had heard on the street earlier that week that a fence was looking for a new recruit. He certainly wouldn't take me the way I was, he had no reason to. I had to steal something, show him I could do it.

I looked around. Hightowne, where the government officials and fat merchants lived. But if I got something expensive, like a vase or some gold chalice, the master and guards would hunt me down. I remembered a legend I heard once, about a new thief who wanted to prove himself to his crime boss, kind of in the same predicament I was. So he stole a tablecloth, just a simple print sheet with the owner's initials in the design. That way, he proved he could steal, without actually stealing.

I crept out, looking around in the streetlight-lit street. I saw a house across the street, with fancy frescos hanging from the upper wall. Someone obviously rich. I stepped slowly towards the door, trying to peek into the wide outside foyer. At least three guards stood there, looking lazy and wishing they were at the pub. Obviously I wasn't getting in that way. I crossed the street away from the streetlamps, hugging the wall of the mansion, ducking behind the tapestries. They smelled mildewy, but looked fairly strong. An idea struck me.

Bunching the fabric in my hands, I started climbing. Years of so little food left me with not much but the muscles I really needed, and I had spent a lot of time climbing up crumbling walls to get away from watchmen. The fabric made no noise and any motion just looked like wind moving the fresco. This was the easy part. Reaching the top and feeling suffocated under the blanket, I quickly moved one hand then the other to the stone wall, and hung off the side and crept along until I was out from under the fresco attached to the flat of the wall. My heart pounded like a bolting rabbit.I pulled myself up and looked along the walkway of the wall. No one, I was lucky. I shimmied over the wall and crept along its inner walk, staying low.

At one point, the inside building connected with the surrounding wall. I moved slowly up the slate roof of the inside building, and slipped over the windowsill of the main tower that rose above the roof I had crept up. The room was dark, I felt my knees caressed by a thick carpet. It was a new experience, and I let my hand stroke the floor rug as my eyes adjusted. When my head calmed down, I heard someone breathing shallowly - I had stumbled into someone's occupied room.

For a second I almost bolted. But something calmed me down, like the newly born thief inside me touched me reassuringly, reminding me that I had a job to do, and that fear would get in the way of that. And leave me to be flung back to the streets, without the nerve to try this again. Or maybe worse. I stood, trying to see in the dark. It was an ornate room, full of expensive things and expensive clothes. The main feature was a large poster bed to my right, supporting a large form, the source of the breathing. I crept closer, staying on my tiptoes and watching where I stepped to make sure I didn't kick anything that would make noise.

Whoever it was, I guessed the owner of this fancy place, was quite asleep. He lay facing away from me and on the far side of the bed. On the closer side sat a small bed pillow, embroidered designs coating it like the city streets I thought I knew so well, twisting and turning, forming designs I had to strain to figure out. It had a stylized 'K' on it, I knew that this must be something that fence would appreciate. I carefully lifted it and moved away from the bed. I started to climb out the window, but noticed a guard walking along the stone catwalk. He stopped about the midpoint - must be his station, and had slipped away for a drink or something. Damn, I wasn't getting out that way. I decided I had to get out another way, the door to the bedroom. The door on the other side of the room opened towards the bed, so the light from the outside hall wouldn't wake His Majesty or whoever the man was. My blinking eyes glanced up and down the hall. No guards. I slipped out.

Making my way through the mansion is a blur in my memory. I think the rush I felt at the time shook my brain more than anything I had felt before that time. I recall a lot of darting into doorways from a guard on patrol, moving images of peeking a tiny bit around a corner, swift movements of my head checking behind me. And I somehow found myself on the ground floor. There was a long hallway that lead to the main door, which would be guarded heavily. I didn't know where else to go.

I heard footsteps coming down the stairwell I had just left. I moved down the long hall, tugging as lightly as I could on the door handles along the way. All locked. Art rooms or drinking rooms or something, which would be off-limits until the master of the house awoke. My head darted along the hall, but there wasn't anywhere to go except the front door or back up the occupied stairwell. The interior foyer before the front door was guarded as well, two guards at a table playing cards. The main door was flanked by two thick-looking windows. I recognized my only chance.

I bolted down the hallway, naked feet thumping on the hardwood. I heard a shout behind me on the stairwell, and the guards ahead of me glanced up, surprised as hell that a street kid carrying a pillow was running down the hall they were supposed to be guarding.

They hadn't gotten beyond standing up and putting their hands on their swords before I ran into the inner doorchamber, leapt up, and flung myself at the left window.

The glass shattered, the lead framing buckled as my body slammed into it. I felt glass edges cut my right side, fortunately I remembered to put my arm over my face. I crashed onto the outside porch, struggling to my feet as quickly as I could. The stars reeled above me Surprised curses were made right beside me as the startled guards didn't know what to do. Sharp pains in my arm and side, the pillow gripped in my other hand, I bolted down the street, heart thumping a rythmical beat to my footsteps, teeth gritted to the pain and bodily strain. Some of the guards came after me, but I had always been fast. After almost a minute of full out running, I heard them stop, panting heavily. "Let her go... all she had was a damn pillow..."

And the thief didst laugh...

Hours later, crammed into a short alleyway beside the fence's apartment I had heard about, I had tried to sleep after forcing myself to keep from shaking apart and start breathing normally again. I had plucked slivers of glass out of my arm for a while, too. All the while gripping that damn pillow like it was some long-lost lover in a fairy tale.

Morning had come, daylight lighting the smelly streets. People began walking through the City again. I heard the building door open, and I pulled myself from the alley, muscles aching horribly. I spun around the corner and almost ran into him. He jumped back and stared at me, started to ask me who the hell I was. I thrust the pillow out at him.

"I don't want to b-" He stared at the design, taking the pillow in his hands as gently as a feather. "This is one of Lord Kallarch's... how did you...?"

"I stole it." I blurted out, immediately wishing I hadn't been so obvious to the people around me.

"That place is a fortress... you couldn't have..." But he just stared at the pillow, and it slowly sunk in that I wasn't some street girl trying to sell some junk, I wanted to work for him. As a thief.

As a thief. It echoed in my mind.

The fence looked at me strangely. "You just stole a bedpillow of one of the Baron's advisors."

My mouth opened and worked uselessly. If I had found it in the trash, I never would have acted so surprised, so stunned at my own actions, and he knew that. He had just verified my story with my own damn speechlessness.

Now, here I was, daydreaming in that same fence's attic. Cutty had fed me, found some salve and bandages for the nasty cuts on my arm. I guess it was chancey, I could have left as soon as I was full and healthy. But Cutty somehow knew I wouldn't. He knew thieves, he said later, and thieves don't do what I did for kicks or for a quick meal. I did it because it was... what I did.

I had come pretty far. I soaked up Cutty's teachings, ran errands around the City for him like the best messengers of the Baron. Now I was getting real lessons from one who was supposedly the best in the business. I tried to apply the name 'professional' to myself, hoping that I'd get a break soon, and become something I knew would be my ticket to being a player in this heartless city. Finally.

I heard a tap tap on the  door that separated the two halves of the attic, the other one was storage space and an opening to the stairs that led up here. I jerked up in bed, wondering who it was. Cutty rarely came up here.

"Yes?"

"It's Cutty. Can I ask ya something, 'Lizabeth?"

"Sure..." I bunched the sheets around my torso, but I knew Cutty wasn't that kind of guy. Just leftover emotion from my memories, I guess.

The door creaked open and Cutty's flabby but kindly face peeked in. "Ahh... I knows you're a little green, but Garret saids he thinks you could start on your own real soonish. I, um, gots a little job that be pretty simple, but it's gotta be doing before longish. You... up to it?"

My eyes got wide. Even my brain didn't know what to think, much less my mouth know what to say. "Ye... yes. I am." I managed after a moment.

Cutty smiled. He nodded and murmured, "'Lizabeth Schuler isn't much of a name for a, well, professional... a lot of them like to sticks with nicknames. Would you wanna trys that?"

"Yeah... I think I would..." My brain swirled.

A pause hung in the chilly attic air. "Well?"

"How about... 'Candle'?"

He smiled and nodded. I remember telling my story the night after I met him, my tears restrained by sheer willpower. He started to close the door.

"Cutty..."

He paused and looked expectantly at me.

"Thanks."

He nodded again, smiling very slightly, and closed the door. He was the closest thing I would ever get to having a father.

I laid back down on the cot and rested my head against the embroidered pillow with the stylized 'K', and tried to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. I felt like I was rushing toward something, either destiny or damnnation. Maybe they were the same thing.

I felt like a child who was getting her most desired treasure at the Yuletide festivals. No, it wasn't quite that... I was getting... a chance. No more. Nothing physical, just an invisible doorway that lead to silent hallways, and star-filled skies beyond a shadowed windowsill, and rooms filled with my dreams that other people happened to have there.

As a thief...

Cutty had told me all he knew about the job. Someone had sent a messenger to him about it, so neither of us who was really backing the payment. He told me not to pry, either, that was often how things worked. The weirdest thing, Cutty said, was that the contact had haggled with him about the price of job. No one, beyond a quick exchange of similar prices, had argued with him about job cost. This messenger, Cutty said, had argued all the way to the coin as to the price. Some people were just plain strange, but in this City, we knew not to ask questions.

I was supposed to steal a notebook.

It needed to be done soon because it was being crated and shipped off to some underground storage place tomorrow. That left tonight, the night after Cutty told me about it, to get in, find it, and get out. No one would really notice, inventory had already been taken and the people weren't that careful about a bunch of old books.

It was, as the messenger has described, a ledger of the printed copies of a bunch of different books, recording when a certain copy was completed and where it got shipped to. We guessed that they wanted one of these books badly, and they could track it with the ledger book. Which one, we knew not to ask.

I cased the place earlier that day. A simple warehouse, among many. I scanned the area and the numbered warehouse as best I could behind the fence. The guard at the gate would get friends when night fell, warehouse owners made sure their goods were secure. A single person could get in easy, since they were expecting more manpower to carry enough goods to make it worth ransacking. But one thief after one object... ought to make this a quick get in and get out, just one book richer.

Night had fallen, I had decided to wait a bit beyond dusk to start, Cutty said most guards got lazy after the first hour or two. Might make it harder avoiding the curfew guard, but most of them were vagrants looking for a few coin for the pubs.

Like I expected, the front gate now had four guards, talking sullenly to themselves and looking around periodically. I had crept along the side of the road in the dark, no one had seen me.

The left side of the fenced-in set of warehouses sat at the top of a shot bank, leading down to the river docks. I snuck along this side, staying low. I heard the low drone of a barge near the docks, sounding warnings. I hoped it would drown out any noise I made.

About halfway down the fence, a dark gouge in the bank became visible. This was my choice of entry.

Here, a pipe exited the embankment and drained wastewater from the warehouse office's water systems. There had been a lot of erosion, patched up sloppily with more mud, which just dripped away again. Enough of the bank had caved down the slope toward the docks that there was a small space where I could get under the high fence instead of climbing the noisy thing.

My old shoes squelched in the mud as I squeezed underneath, smearing my buttoned coat as I went. Not much time for 'feminine' cares now, I thought. Once on the other side, I kept behind the closest warehouse, kicking and scraping the mud of my shoes and clothes. No sense in tracking the damn stuff everywhere.

Once I was set I slipped down between the fourth and fifth warehouses, the chilly grass crunching very softly under my feet. I had counted ten warehouses on a side, with the seventh on the far side being the one I needed to get into.

I peeked into the roadway between the two rows of buildings. Four streetlamps poured pools of light onto the muddy stone below. I had to be careful here. Looking down each length of roadway, two guards were approaching the middle. I paused, watching them. They passed each other without even a nod, and walked down the other's half. Just a patrol, I thought. A stupid one at that. They didn't look back as they continued on. As long as they faced the other way, my path to the opposite side was open. I waited till they finished their half and came together again, and walked away from the middle.

As soon as they were a few yards apart, I moved out. I had to be quick and silent, the distance across was almost as far as one guard's loop. My heart thumped quickly as I made my way across, head spinning either way to see if a guard was suspicious and turned to look. But I made it. I squeezed between the opposite fourth and fifth warehouses, out of the light.

I tried desperately not to grin that I had just performed my first 'evade' as Garret had called it. He once told me that grinning thieves made more noise. But I grinned anyway, and stayed still as the guards came back around.

None the wiser, they passed each other without a word. Then, one glanced down at the stone I had crossed. Damn... a muddy footprint. I should have been more careful about cleaning my shoes. The pasty-faced guard glanced around, unsure if he had seen it before. I was in the shadows, he couldn't see me from that far. He squinted back at his partner's shoes, thinking he had made them. Finally, he shrugged and kept walking. There must have been enough footprints due to mud that one more, even obvious like that, wouldn't mean much. If it had been summer, during a dry spell, a muddy footprint would probably mean a full-fledged search. I exhaled in relief, turning my head at the last second to keep my clouded breath out of the lit street. Gods, I needed to be more careful. Patience in mind as well as in action is what a real thief needs, Garret had said.

I slipped around the warehouse, moving along till I was beside the one I needed to get into. I slipped down the closer alleyway.

The warehouses had a side door for people entering, and a big front door for big loads and drawn carts. I peeked into the roadway, waiting til the guards were as far away as circumstances permitted, and I tugged very gently on the handle. It gave a soft click, and I pushed it open as I went inside. It squeaked softly.

"Julesey? That you?"

I cursed under my breath. There was someone in here. My eyes darted around. The warehouse was pretty full, crates stacked to the ceiling. I spotted a dark crevice between crates against the big main door. I closed the door as quickly and quietly as I could, eyes wide with fear. I really didn't expect this.

I practically leaped between the boxes, curling up and away from the weak light that came from a single lantern in the middle of the building, fortunately obscured by a tall stack of crates.

I heard footsteps, and someone came down the aisle that ran along the side of the warehouse I had came in on.He glanced around hesitantly. He looked young, maybe a student working nights here. By the gods, I could have reached out from my hiding place, around the crate, and grabbed his ankle. I wondered if he could hear my pulse, cause I sure as hell could.

He checked the door, making sure it was shut, and gave a quiet "Hmmph." and walked back to where he had been. Wind, I tried to nudge into his brain. Rats, or something like that. Certainly no thief after what he was guarding.

I eased out of my spot and checked the crates. They had a painted set of numbers, and I tried to see patterns in the ones I saw with the one I was after. Like the messenger has said, it was an early bunch, and probably toward the back. Sure enough, I knew I had to get towards the back.

On the other side of the warehouse, there was enough room for someone to walk down. I leaned from my shadow and looked down the length of the building. Below the middle, there seemed to be some open space. I creeped down the path, straining to see the kid's post. Finally, I saw the simple desk where he sat. Facing away from me, piles of books around him. Working at some ledger book. I slowly walked behind him, facing him and ready to bolt as I went. I got by him, moving behind the stacks on the other side of his little desk. Whew. Another disaster averted.

The back of the warehouse was darker than the front, but finding my way around was still pretty easy. I ran my fingers along the crate numbers, and finally found mine, up against the back wall and on top of another, leaving it free to be opened and robbed. Easy money.

I dug the small tool I had brought with me. The crates in here weren't nailed yet, they did that just before tossing them in deep storage, where this set of old books were going. But the lids had wood notches so that they jammed shut, and a strip of canvas on the back that acted as a hinge. There was a special gouge on the front middle of the crate, that fit the tool easily. I pulled gently, easing the lid open. My ears tuned right to that kid's voice, waiting for the almost ineviatble query of who was making that damn noise. But the wood box opened easily and without noise.

Inside, books were jammed together. I started filing through them, setting them to one side as gently as I could and peering into the crevices for the right one. I finally found it about half way down. Just a big and thin red and black book, with a inky smell to it. The labels and numbers on the outside matched the ones I had memorized. My hands shook very lightly. I had finally stolen something as a thief.

Well... I still had to get out of here. I set the book aside and paused, listening to the scribbles the kid was making in his ledger. He wasn't suspicious, at least not yet. I set the books back in, arranging them as best I could, and closed the cover to the box,pressing down as quietly as I could. Any more and the notches would make some serious noise, so I left it open a small crack. Some of the other crates were like that, and I doubted anyone would notice. I took the book and tucked it within the cords on the inside of my coat, making sure it wouldn't slip out as I moved. Good, I was set.

I inched out the way I had come, creeping slowly around the student. His head was bobbing strangely, and I realized he was falling asleep. I smiled to myself. Tsk tsk, slacking off like that.

Then I decided to do something crazy.

I could see his purse was hanging off the chair at his hip, strings already inching out. It looked thick, surprisingly, and I wondered how much he had. I just couldn't resist finding out. I reached out and took the slack off the bag, holding it tight so the clinking coins wouldn't wake him. I began inching it from his belt, bit by bit. He started, once, and batted at his waist like there was a fly or moth there. But didn't do more than that. Finally the purse came free, leather strings drifting along the stone floor. Success.

I slipped the purse into my pocket, buttoning it up to muffle any clinks. And the kid didn't even know. Hey, come on, I was working harder than he was. He looked ready to fall asleep.

I kept going, moving along the front half of crates. As I was getting ready to slip around the corner and towards the door, I heard I loud thump. My heart almost flew out of my chest. My leg muscles tensed up, ready to bolt as soon as I saw the kid leap around the corner and grab me. But nothing happened. After a tense few seconds I leaned slowly back around.

The kid had fallen asleep. And was snoring. Snoring, for gods' sake. Dammit, why hadn't he done that ten minutes ago? His purse felt a lot more satisfying in my pocket now.

Getting out the door was easier now that Lord of the Nap wasn't listening for it. I peeked out the doorway into the night air, making sure the guard wasn't passing the space I was leaving the building from. I slipped out and closed the door behind me. I moved along the alleyway, thinking over and over in my mind that I had done it. I was still in the warehouse complex, but I had done it. Getting out was easier, slipping past the guards came much more naturally. Garret had said that was good, that I didn't have to think about doing what I knew I needed to do. I felt proud, there was no other word.

I squeezed under the fence again, not caring about the mud. I slipped past the main gate from the side shadows, and a minute later was on my way back to Cutty's. I opened my coat, checking to make sure the book was still there, that it hadn't slipped out unnoticed or had disappeared like some magic trick. But it was there, hard against my side. It was just a book, a ledger, but I didn't care. I had done it, I had done my job, I had stolen, I was a thief.

As I walked home in the shadows of the street, I didn't know whether my heart was pounding louder now, with pride, or when it had pounded with that mix of fear and tension among the stacks of crates.

I didn't tell Cutty about the purse. Maybe I should have. But he couldn't have blamed me... I had no money, and I knew other thieves snagged loot along their way, and kept the 'side' cash. I had to make a living... right?

Cutty's relief that I had made it back alive was obvious, but he layered it over with requests for a report and getting his hands on the ledger. I did the best I could, tripping over my own words a couple times. I felt almost bad about handing the ledger over to Cutty, almost like I wanted to keep it for myself. After picking through trash for half my life, maybe I wanted to hold onto things I had definitely earned. But that wouldn't get me anywhere, and would lose Cutty a job. The thought left my mind as Cutty took the book in his hands.

I told him what I could, details that a fence thinks is important. I skipped the purse bit, as I said. After a while, my eyelids started to droop. I realized how late it was, and Cutty did too. He poured over the ledger while I went upstairs.

I sat quietly on my bed, thinking about everything that had gone on that night... a million new experiences...

And one fat little purse.

I dug it out of my pocket and tugged the drawstrings apart, peering into it. I expected the familiar glint of coppers, or maybe even silvers, but I didn't see it... I saw gold. My mouth opened as I poured the contents into my hand. That kid had been carrying around a tiny fortune in his purse. He must have just been paid, no, probably got an allowance from his rich parents. No other way he could have gotten this much... must have been at least 200 here.

I tied the bag up again and stowed it with my other things. I needed sleep, Cutty would no doubt have me doing errands again tomorrow. I changed into my robe again, reminding myself to get my overcoat cleaned. I paused for a moment and looked down at myself. I definitely felt and looked different from a few months ago. Not desirable like the women on the street I remember envying from my damp corner of the city, but something more toned and fluid. More like a thief, I suppose one could say. For the first time in a long while, I appreciated my own body. Maybe that was more than the rich women could say.

I went to bed, content. I didn't dream.

I got my usual list of errands from the table by the door. Cutty wasn't there, as usual. I ate a bit, surprised at how hungry I was. I guess tension can really sap your energy.

Errands usually consisted of picking an item up, or retrieving a sealed envelope from someone Cutty knew. Simple stuff, dozens of other messengers did the same as I did. No one bothered me, if they stuck their nose into someone else's business, they might be getting themselves in more trouble than they bargained for - I might be the Baron's messenger, or working for one of the bosses. I knew the streets, I moved through crowds easy, I didn't ask questions about the stuff I carried. I just hoped Cutty didn't say, when I got home one day, that I might work out better as a messenger than a 'professional'.

Another typical day. But thoughts of last night swam through my head all hours, sometimes I walked right by the house I was supposed to stop at. Finally, as the sun was started to shed red tints, and I went home.

Cutty was already there, still going through books. I relayed messages and handed him two envelopes for him I had gathered that day. I stood by him, shifting from foot to foot. I couldn't resist asking.

"Did you... meet with the contact from yesterday?"

He looked at me down his cheap spectacles.

"I dids." He looked back to his notes.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What did they say?"

"They thanked me for my prompt service, paid me, tooks the book, and lefts. What more should they have done?"

Maybe I was wishing he'd be more responsive to what he must know I was after, another chance.

He looked at me again. "Thives can't be jumpy likes you. Either you wait for what comes your way, or you end up doin's before you thinks."

I hung my head a bit. I guessed he was right. Patience of mind and body.

"All right, fine, he saids they might have a follow-up for us tomorrows."

I tried not to smile too much.

Tomorrow didn't come soon enough, although I tried my best. During the morning, when I did the few errands Cutty had for me, I stopped at one of the tiny shops in New Market. I didn't know what I was after, but I had brought my coins with me, including the ones I had 'acquired'. One shop sold small weapons, small enough to be free of some laws, large enough to be free of others. The good things were rightly expensive, but my new coins weighed a little more than they did.

I spent almost an hour in the tiny room, the gaunt shopkeeper watching my every move. But I finally bought something, something I knew I wanted and probably even needed. Seconds later, I was back out on the street, the blackjack stuck deep in my pocket.

It looked so simple, a fine chainmail mesh wrapped over a metal core and a ribbed handle. Slightly flexible, but still quite heavy. I tried a few swings back in my loft, feeling the weight and balance. Garret had let me try his once or twice, in case I ever saved enough to buy one. He said it was sometimes the most valuable thing among your equipment. I wondered if I'd get a chance to use it soon. The idea of striking someone hard enough to knock them out seemed distant to me at the time.

I heard Cutty come home, door creaking as he did. I went down the stairs to deliver messages, and hopefully to ask him about any news from our 'contact'.

It took him a bit, but he admitted there was. It looked to pay a lot more, and Cutty promised a share would go toward my personal funds. But, unfortunately, it had to be done tonight. There had been less haggling this time, the contact seemed pretty desperate for some reason. It was obvious this was important for who he represented. From that comment, I hoped I might really make a name for myself.

Cutty said that 'they' had found the book they were after. The ledger showed it had been sent to the main library of the city's university, decades ago. But seeing as how no one was allowed into the main university tower, where the library was, they weren't going to get it easily. The place was lightly guarded, but big. I'd have to spend some time searching the stacks there. The worse part was that Cutty hadn't time to find maps from someone, but knew the outside building layout fairly well, having grown up near there. After that... I was on my own.

"You knows this is a lot bigger, don'tcha?" he asked me after telling me what he knew.

"More important to whoever they are, you mean?"

"No... the university. A lot goes on theres. Screw up and you might get 'held' for some of the examinations they do. They don't cares much for the outside life. Not what they... do, I guesses."

I swallowed. I had heard rumors, but assumed they weren't much more. Maybe Cutty was right.

I was used to fearing for my life, but I hadn't ever tried to go about putting myself in a situation where my life was much more precariously balanced. But I still wanted, or even needed, to do it.

I just had to be careful.

I had geared up as best I could, quickly memorized the book title and rough location, and started toward the university.

The Family Fortori, Diary with Dictation and Annotation, Years 456-618. Why anyone would want a superficial old diary gathering dust in a library, I'll never know. Cutty had said the dates went back before the supposed cataclysm, and supposed that they talked about the politcal debates that were heavy in the council back then. But the name Fortori didn't ring a bell for Cutty, not even an altered version or truncated one.

It was just, as far as we could tell, some dead guy's book.

Cutty guessed it was for some collector. He told me a story about someone who had paid over ten thousand for a book that was half-burnt and in a text no one used anymore.

I chuckled softly as I turned a corner, finally in view of the University.

The main tower was one of the highest in the city, probably twenty or more stories - no one from the outside could tell because of the way it was designed. The design group each had different ideas, Cutty had said, and had attempted some weird compromise, and the building ended up being the bastard son of none of them. Complex facades wound their way around some areas and not others, so that the building looked like a bizarre peice of art and not a building at all. It was ancient, made all of stone. It reminded me of a dead giant from the old legends, sitting on the ground. I wondered how the students got used to it.

I circumvented the guarded main gate and checked Cutty's hasty map. There was a thick wall around the place, "Not so much to keeps people out, mostly to keeps students in," Cutty had said. Inside, two north-south and two east-west roads split the place up into nine sections. They were spread apart from each other, so the center area, where the tower sat, was bigger than the rest. Cutty had remembered that one building on the outside of the east wall, and students sometimes used it to sneak out. Well, I was going to use it to sneak in.

I stayed close to the wall as I made my way around to the east side. There wasn't much left of the building when I finally found it, it must have been abandoned a while ago. But it looked sturdy enough, a shed for someone's tools years ago. I jumped up and caught the edge, quickly pulling myself up. The university wall was still another 7 feet above me, not enough to keep me from doing the same thing. I hung there quietly, and inched myself up, just enough to look both ways for anyone on patrol. No one.

I pulled myself up and over, laying flat lest my silhouette show me off to anyone looking. A lot of stars were out tonight. I could hear the quiet murmur of the nearby dormitories, but no guards. Cutty was right, no one was really expecting someone to break in. As I sat up, I wondered if there was anything worth stealing in the tower... I supposed I would find out.

I ran along the wall, stooped, looking for a way down that I would eventually have to use for a way up. I finally found a stack of boxes between an inner building and the wall, just high enough that I'd be able to reach the wall when I was coming out. I carefully lowered myself and stuck in the shadows at the corner of the building, peering around it.

I could hear noises from the old dormitories around me. Students talking and laughing in muted tones. I wondered what it was like, sitting through classes and listening to professors talk away hours on things that didn't matter a whip in real life. Most of the boys here would grow up to be bankers or beauracrats, I decided. More of the underlings that ran the things that went on in this City.

I got to the edge of the dead-end street that led toward the tower. A few streetlamps were on the inner ring, fortunately none near me. Off in the distance, I saw a guard on the west side of the inner ring, walking clockwise. Just one, and he wouldn't see me unless I just sat here until he came around again. I'd have the book in my hands by that time, I thought.

I moved across the street, between the shrubs that surrounded the tower. I glanced up at it, looming overhead like a crashing wave. I really didn't understand how people here dealt with it. Most likely they kept their eyes on the ground.

The front door faced the south, where the main gate was. I followed the wall, leaning into the entryway. A pair of double doors barred the entryway. I stepped onto the cut stone walkway that lead up to them, my foot making a quiet click.

"'Ello? Someone 'ere?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that there was an alcove built into the side of the entry way, where I guard could, that is, was sitting. I hadn't seen anything like that, didn't expect it at all. I turned and bolted, praying he hadn't seen me, only heard my footsteps.

I moved quickly behind a shrub that was close to the wall. I heard the doors open quickly, with a loud squeak, and heavy footsteps follow. They stopped a second later.

My heart pounded, wondering if he'd come out and look around. Damn damn damn. I had been pretty careless.

"That's the last time I get up for rats..."

The footsteps sounded again, and the doors whined shut. I breathed deeply. I forced my hands to let go of the branches I had involuntarily grabbed so tightly. I made a mental note to stay away from all front entrances if possible. It was a pretty obvious rule, but I had to learn somehow. The hard way worked too.

I sat patiently, pondering my next move.

The building was big. There had to be another entrance. I started making my way around the side of the building, where I had come, to look for one. I hoped the guard on the patrol circle wasn't near me.

On the east side of the tower, there was a low ring of stones. I crept closer and looked in. A kind of rain gutter, and a window that must lead into the basement. Perfect.

I squeezed into the small space, a collection of rotten leaves squelching quietly under my feet. The window was a bit short, but still higher than me crouching. I pushed on the window's bottom edge. There was a clasp there on the opposite side, keeping the window from opening. Dammit again.

I leaned on the window, trying to get the clasp to break. It didn't look strong, and-

*SNAP*

The clasp gave way without warning, and I fell forward, shoving the window open. I didn't stop, falling into the dark room beyond. I crashed onto the stone floor, almost crying out. To ears used to a half-night of silence, that snap had been the crack of a cannon.

I jumped up, shoving the window shut again. I moved away from it, hoping no one was in the basement or outside that could have heard the window. I gripped the wall, trying to keep my breathing quiet. A minute passed. No one came looking, and I heard no noise.

I was in. I entered a bit messily, but I was in.

My eyes got used to the dark and the weak light showing in the window. A few wheeled tables were stationed around the room, thin pillars placed periodically. I wasn't sure where I was, what purpose this place served. An opening was on the other side of the room. I stepped across, quiet footsteps in an otherwise silent basement. My skin creeped a tiny bit, not used to such a silent room.

A short hallway led to a heavy-looking door. I leaned against the crack, listening. I heard... something. It seemed like snoring, but wasn't as periodic. But it was quiet and I didn't hear anything else, so I decided to open the door. I had the advantage of a dark corner and a heavy blackjack in my pocket if someone was there.

The door opened quietly, but I didn't see much beyond. No windows assisted my eyes. I slipped through the door, trying to hear the noise again. There it was again... low, gasping... someone moaning, very quietly. My skin creeped a bit more. Where was I, dammit...

I started down the hall, I could tell that much. Shaded alcoves were on my left and right. I heard the groan again. I stopped to look into one of the alcoves. The outlines of a black grating became visible, a tiny room beyond. A cell? This place was a jail? I didn't understand it. I moved a few cells farther.

I heard the moan again, a little louder. Someone must be in one of these cells. As I passed what seemed like the middle, someone, something, lurched at me from its cell. I gasped in surprise, slamming against the opposite cell's bars. Just staring into the dark. I couldn't see anything definite. Someone, pressed against their bars, whose body didn't look right.

"I wa... I wa... I want..."

My arm muscles were frozen. Somehow I inched my way around, teeth locked in fright. The bars didn't make the sight any less frightening. It didn't matter that we were separated, it mattered that that thing existed here.

It gasped desperately. Words slurring. "I wan... I want my arm back..."

My eyes moved the tiniest bit, and I saw its shoulder move, with nothing attached.

In a blur, I remembered Cutty's warning. About how outside vagrants didn't matter much here. About experiments.

I turned and bolted down the rest of the hall. I saw a short set of stairs leading up. I heard the groan again, it sounded sadder, wishing I hadn't left. My eyes turned toward a real door to my right. There was a small window at eye level, and I wished I hadn't looked in.

A woman's naked, greying torso swung gently on a chain and hook, beside a dozen other... parts.

I flung myself up the stairs, crashing around the corner of the stairwell and against a stone wall. I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms around them. My balled fists pressed together. My breath came fast from the fear in me.

I think I sat there for 10 or 15 minutes. Trying to regain control. My hands finally started flexing, working blood into movement. I managed to stand up again, shaking slightly. I had to get control. I had a job to do. Some part of my told me to forget it, just run, run, get out. I choked that part down, forcing my mind to imagine the book that was somewhere above me.

The top of the stairwell had a thin wooden door. It opened easily, and without noise. I slowly peeked through.

I was at the ground level, where the library was. Stacks and stacks of bookshelves surrounded me, stretched on throughout the ground floor. It was impressive, and something I could explain, better than what I had seen in the basement.

I shut the door behind me, moving into the huge room. Beside me a stairwell went upwards, I guessed it went all the way to the top of the tower. The floor was covered in a thick carpet, a concentric diamond pattern. It was dim in the room, only two of the many hanging lights in the room providing light. Enough to read book titles, fortunately.

I looked up and down the stacks of books, but I didn't see anyone. I seemed alone in the big room. I started looking through the shelves. Cutty's contact had said the book would be in a political commentary or historical section. I squinted at the lables on the sides of the stacks, trying to see any patterns. Technical publications... philosophy... religion... finance...

I think I spent almost an hour looking through the stacks, stepping quietly through the carpet. There must have been dozens of shelves, maybe hundreds. I found a historical section, my fingers sliding over the spines. No Diary. I moved on.

Finally I found the political commentary section, a dark corner of bookshelves far from where I had started. I slowly moved along the carpet, m voice whispering titles as I went. One of the higher shelves was a diary collection, many famous names among them. I smiled, thinking my eyes would settle on it a second later.

But I didn't find it. A large section on political office holders began, no more family diaries left. I scanned back, thinking I had missed it. One spot was empty, the moldy grey book beside it leaning against the one on the other side. Had someone already taken it? You weren't supposed to take books from the library, were you? Well, unless you were a thief. I squinted closer at the greying book. The side that would have been against my book was still a hearty yellow, fresh from the original printing. If my book had been there, someone had taken it out just recently, probably for the first time in a while. I wondered if I had gotten here too late, that the insistence of our contact had been a day too slow in asking Cutty for the book. Dammit... all this way, failed.

I started pacing the floor, trying to think of something I could do. I didn't want to leave this place without the book... The contact would be furious, Cutty probably just as angry. He might even kick me out, failed on only my second mission. I had to find that book.

I remembered the circular oak desk that had been sitting right in the middle of the library floor. Some kind of directory area? I wondered if they kept records of who took what books... I supposed that would make sense, but I didn't know how libraries worked. But it was worth a shot, my only shot, really. I slipped through the stacks toward the middle of the room.

One of the counter's edges lifted, letting me into the inner area of the circular, polished desk. A lot of cubbyholes made up the inside of the desk, stuffed with scrolls and university material. Near the top, I found a large, bound volume. I took it out, gently setting it on the surface of the desk. My eyes looked around again. Still alone. I felt a bit untouchable, like I was an indestructable spectre, even after what I had felt in the basement.

The bound book had a scrawled title, Record of Publication Removal, and a recent date range without a second date - this must be it! I carefully opened it and flipped to the more recent pages. Lists of books and names and dates went on and on, all the way to this evening. I started backwards, scanning title after title. I found it quickly, my heart jumping. The Family Fortori, Diary with Dictation and Annotation, Years 456-618. Removed by a 'Instr. Reg. For. Hollans'... only this morning. I wondered what the middle name was short for - Fortori? Catching up on family history? But why would he take the book out now?

Now I just had to find this Instructor Hollans.

Searching the entire grounds would take forever. I wondered if the desk had any more information I could use, a directory, or a office listing...

Everything seemed to be more records, old bookkeeping notes, and such. I swore to myself, wondering when things got easier.

I finally searched through the small trashbin tucked into one cubbyhole. Half-rotted fruit peelings, old doodles of farm animals... a note near the bottom had some official writing on it. I pulled it free, scanning it quickly.

"All project members and students in the employ of Instructor and Scholar R. Hollins are required to attend the commemoration of said Instructor and Scholar. All persons should meet at his office, 18H, occuring on..."

Finally. An office number. The date listed below the announcement was soon, in only a few days. He was leaving? No wonder our contact was in a rush. Probably taking the book with him, and the contact's people knew it. Well, old farts can claw for all the books they want, as long as I get paid, it didn't matter to me.

I guessed the 18 meant to eighteenth floor. Otherwise I'd just have to search a bit. After looking through all those books, it didn't matter to me.

I replaced the contents of the desk as best I could, and slipped out.

Moving quickly to the stairwell, my eyes staying away from the basement door, I moved up the old stone stairs. On the second landing up, a heavy door led to the second floor. I had been expecting a doorway, but no door. I slowly checked the thick handle, wondering if it was locked. The handle moved halfway and stopped. Damn...

I hadn't seen a key in the directory desk. I wondered if the front guard might have one... Yes, he must. Probably locks the building up when evening falls. I moved back down the stairs and back into the library stacks. The front of the library was obscured a bit by coat racks and desks, and I had stayed away from it. Moving closer, I could see the entryway for the guard. I probably couldn't get close enough to pick his pocket, I needed another way.

I remembered the blackjack in my pocket. Perfect, I thought. I had never done it before, though. I remember Garret explaining the best spot for a whack from the little club. I knew how to do it... I hoped.

I inched closer and peeked around into the entryway that led into the small room beside the main doors, wrapping around them. Just a station checking people who entered the tower. Probably always occupied. I felt a little surprised that he had been here the whole time, but the carpet had suffocated my footsteps easily. I dug the little club out of my deep pocket. My hands were a little sweaty, I wiped them on my coat quickly.

He was facing away from me, toward the other end of the room, probably at the window that faced out at the grounds. Sitting in a chair, a book in his hands. I took my footsteps very slow, the carpet had ended within the alcove between the library and the front door. The blackjack spun uneasily in my left hand as I looked for my surest grip on the handle. I took another step, and I realized I was holding my breath.

Another step.

One more.

Close enough now...

I raised the blackjack and swung, contacting the back of his head. But too far to the left, and too softly.

He yelped and jumped askew out of his seat, hand going to his head as he turned. He stared at me. I had messed up, bad.

"Who the vulk are you?" he howled.

I spun and ran, blackjack tight in my hand. I bolted down the rows of bookshelves. The room seemed much different now, adrenaline bursting into my veins and the dim lights spinning above me. I could hear him running behind me.

"Get back 'ere, bitch!" I thought I heard a weapon being unsheathed.

I turned down one of the aisles. Escape routes rushed through my head. Maybe I could get out the front doors, but they were probably locked... getting out the basement window would take time, even if I could get over the fear I had felt down there... I felt trapped.

Vertical books flashed by me, cramming the shelves. But there was a strange discontinuity in my blurred vision. The bottom shelf of the next to farthest bookcase was empty, and I could see the carpet on the other side. The bookshelf was wide, nearly my height...

An idea flared in my mind, but I had to have perfect timing.

I spun around the corner of the aisle, glancing back at my pursuer. I had barely enough space to try this.

Rounding the corner, I intentionally fell onto my stomach as soon as I was beside the empty bookshelf. I saw the guard's boots just running past. I rolled into the small space, squeezing between the wooden planks. A whiff of musk and old wood rushed into my nose. Once through, and back onto the aisle I had just run through, I scrambled to my feet, seeing my pursuer's foot duck around the corner as well. I thanked the gods that the carpet muffled my noise. I stepped warily after him, blackjack ready.

Quickly peeking around the corner, knowing my idea might be spoiled at any second, I saw him in the aisle, pausing wondering what happened. I took my chance and rushed towards his back.

I swung the blackjack in a strong arc, connecting in a much better spot. The thunk was much more satisfying this time.

The guard gasped and jerked up, dropping the short sword he carried. His knees went slack, his other arms flailing out to grasp support. His fingers clawed at the books to his left, several falling with him. But he was out.

I stood there, shaking, amazed that I had done it.

I looked down at the little blackjack in my hand. Back at the motionless guard on the floor. Garret was right... most valuable tool indeed.

I did my best to drag the guard out of the way - he obviously liked his pastries. I checked his belt and pockets - no keys. Damn again. I remembered the front office he had been in - maybe something there.

Before I left, I picked up the guard's sword. Wide, rather cheaply made. I tried swinging it, but it just didn't feel right. I couldn't handle Garret's longsword either, just too bulky and me not having enough upper body strength. I had said I really disliked being a woman sometimes, but he had smiled and said some shops make custom weapons, rapiers and such, but usually cost more. "But then, sometimes its all the defense you have, and is often a damn good one," he had added.

I left the sword on top of the bookshelf in case the guard woke up, and hopefully wouldn't find it and come hunting for me. I quickly placed the books he had knocked off back on the shelf. My eyes caught the title of one - Origin and History of the word 'Taffer'. Some people obsess about the strangest things...

All was quiet again as I slipped back to the front office. There wasn't much, but underneath the window looking outside was a peg rack, a ring of keys prominent among the others there. I grabbed it, reading the labels on the keyhead. Floor numbers.

I wasted no time in getting back to the staircase. I made my way up, checking the corners and listening at the doors at each floor. All were locked, the guard had done his job. Laterns at each floor provided a low glare of light. I heard no noise, the building seemed dead.

But the higher I went, the more I began to hear a low whistling. Wind, I realized. Up this high, there was enough current that the openings in the level made the whistling noise that echoed through and around the floor. It almost felt like the building was slowing falling through the stars, air whistling around us.

I finally found the eighteenth floor, breathing quickly. I hadn't seen this many stairs in all my life. The landing I was on only had one staircase, this must be the top floor. I caught my breath a moment later and searched through the keys. The handle opened with a soft click, and I gently pushed the door open.

The hall beyond was silent, except for the wind, and dark, and one office window along the side. A flickering light filtered through the frosted glass, laying in a twitching pool on the hallway floor. A hardwood floor extended to the opposite tower wall, offices along each side, all of them looked similar. The only one showing any life was the one showing light. The hall was like the library, dusty and old and a tiny bit creepy.

I slowly stepped down, wondering if someone was here, or had perhaps left a lantern on. The wood floor squeaked softly under my footsteps, the old wood warped in ancient, almost imperceptible patterns. I touched an ear to the loose doorjam, listening. I heard nothing. A set of lettering below the window read 18H. This was my stop. Tugging gently on the handle, the door came open easily. Maybe too easily, I didn't feel the latch move away from the catch, the door hadn't been fully closed. I felt a little more worried.

The room beyond was, in a word, full. Not in floorspace or volume, just that the walls were coated with things, objects, books. Not neat, but arranged in a haphazard fashion that was confusing to the eye. I wasn't sure if the owner just didn't care about the objects, or wanted that kind of look. Careless with value, ignorant of order. I hoped the book might be among them. I took a few steps into the room, the thick rug below my feet indenting to hold my foot. The design on it reminded me of old myths, creatures that lived only at night, and fire. I didn't see a pattern... it was one huge design, used as a rug. I pondered the cost of it.

The main feature of the room was a huge teakwood desk, the reddish-brown hues moving strangely in the light. It was arrayed with more strange items, and stacks and stacks of books. They looked in danger of falling over. A leather chair was behind the desk, facing the wide window looking out at the city. I stepped farther in, gently closing the door behind me.

"Welcome, visitor..."

I froze. Someone was in that chair. I guessed it was Hollans, but why he was here so late...?

"Please, please, have a seat, have a seat, please please..."

He didn't sound good. Maybe that was why I wasn't rushing for cover. If he was planning on something, why wasn't he doing it? My hand went to my blackjack in my pocket, gripping the handle tightly. I could feel my pulse reflected along the edges.

"The City works in so many ways..."

I began stepping around the desk, less frightened and more curious. His chair began to spin towards me, and I stopped. Muscles tensed.

Hollans, if that's who he was ( I doubted he could be anyone else), looked utterly drunk, or sickly, or both. He was fat, spilling over the surface of the chair. I couldn't see any of his neck. His clothes looked expensive, silk and velvet folds over a carefully patterned shirt. He wore them as if they were the worst rags he could find in the city.

His face seemed... slow. I would be lying if there I said I could think of a better word. He just moved, and responded slowly, as if the fat of his face slowed him down, like being made of iron. His think black and grey hair clung in oily strands to his face. He had a bottle of something in his hand, and the scent of strong gin drifted past me. He was drunk, at least.

"So many ways... did you know that? Did you, visi-" he stopped to belch and heave, nearly vomiting. He breathed heavily, as if the movement used up valuable energy. I slowly shook my head no, trying to keep him distracted until... until what?

"The City works in many ways... not like a puzzle being solved... but as a..." he paused to wheeze and take a drink from the high-necked bottle. "More desires pass hands in a day than coins do. Passions ignited, lusts are quenched or sap at reserves..."

My eyes started looking over the books. I didn't see the one I was looking for.

"The many ways are not like the machines of those... Hammers... they live in the moment, they die in the moment, but they live forever... in the moment..."

He suddenly lurched to his feet. I took a quick step back, watching him carefully.

"ALL OF IT!" He spun towards the window, flinging his arms wide. He struck his chair and it tipped over, crashing to the floor. He was stronger than he looked. My eyes finished scanning one of the piles on his desk, that's where the book most likely was. Not there.

"It's all... moving, a beast, a beast with a million mouths..." He stared out the window.

A clutter of books near the middle of his desk looked quite recently disturbed. I stepped closer to examine them.

Hollans spun around, staring directly at me, eyes focused. "We did it, you know. We made it happen, we were right!" A strained pause. "I think. We thought so, at the time." His eyes went unfocused again, but he started shambling towards me, head wobbling as if it might fall off and splatter on the rug.

"Maybe gods are born, and we cannot tell... maybe that was it..." He blinked, seemingly trying to think of something he forgot. I stepped back, wondering if I would need to make a break for it soon.

"Gods aren't really gods, then, yes? If they're born, then... then..." He sucked at his bottle again. "Maybe we didn't do it... maybe they were right..." His head bobbed down, and he choked wetly. Starting to cry.

I started to step around him, but he rose up again, swinging his arms at me. A gin-soaked hand struck my cheek, and the cluttered room reeled about me. I fell against the wall, fumbling to stay upright and keep the blackjack in my hand. I scrambled back to my feet, ready to fight, but Hollans just stood there, staring blankly at the wall. I lifted the blackjack, intending to put this bastard down so I could get the damn book and get out of this damn place...

He looked at me, eyes suddenly going hard. I think it was the expression on my face, one of anger and fury at being struck, that finally got through his drunken haze. He took a shaking step back.

"Who... who are you?" His eyes were starting to go wild in their sockets. "You're from them, aren't you? Come to kill me... but you can't, you can't, you can't kill the dream!" I took a step forward, wondering how I was going to take him down.

He started to scream as he staggered backwards. "Get out! Out, out, out! GUARDS!" He crashed back one more time, reaching for something behind him. A smooth red button on the edge of the doorframe that I had missed completely.

An alarm button.

The strain must have been too much. As he slapped a bulging hand against the button, he fell backwards, unconcious. A cycling alarm started, ringing loudly in my ears. I should have eliminated him at the start, dammit...

I wondered how fast it would take the guards to get here. But I wasn't leaving, I needed that damn book...

My blackjack was stuffed back into its pocket. I jumped to the desk, reading book spines as fast as I could and flinging them over my shoulder. The alarm continued, I was taking too much time. None of the books on the desk were it. I yanked drawers free, looking for ones near the top. I thought I could hear footsteps. In the central drawer, placed carefully among lumps of chalk and battered quills, was my book. Small and thick, the words The Family Fortori, Diary with Dictation and Annotation, Years 456-618 glinted from the cover in eroded gold lettering. I shoved it between the folds of my coat as I leapt around the desk towards the door.

In the hall, I looked toward the stairwell. The footsteps were too damn loud, they were very close. I had hoped to get to the floor below and wait it out behind a locked door, thanks to my keys, but I would have no such luck tonight.

I jumped back into the room and looked around. No other doors, no real place to hide. Just that desk, and...

The window.

Aww, dammit.

But it was, as always, my only shot.

I gave the unconcious Hollans a nasty glare and raced across the room. I jumped up on the shelf below the window, scattering his knick-nacks. The window was open, a breeze freely entering. I peered out.

It looked like I was flying. Gods, was I really this high?

There was a ledge out from the window. The window was low, but gave me enough room. I carefully let my feet out first, then legs...

I felt myself dangling over nothing at all. I tried to stay calm, but my teeth wouldn't stop chattering. The wind swirled around me, thinking about yanking me off the edge. I lowered past my waist, feeling my chest flatten painfully against me. I slowly edged back with my hands, until I was almost completely off the ledge, my fingers holding on desperately.

I forced myself not to look down.

I heard the guards storm into Hollans's room.

"'Wot de 'ell?"

"I thought you checked the rooms, Vic..."

"'Ere, I did! Me an' John ain't 'llowed into 'em all, so I just look in... if you've gots a problem wi' it, tell the super'tendant, not me."

"Well, the instructor here certainly- whew! Methinks he drank half of a pub. Probably thought he was dancing with the Baron's daughter, and konked himself out. Musta fell against the alarm button, too."

"Say, Lenny, takes a look... bottle o' gin, jest goin' ta waste. Some left, too."

"Vic, you know yer going to catch hell for keepin' that..."

"Awww, ta hell wif em. I've had a rough ah-nuff night."

The alarmn shut off, timed out or shut off by someone below.

"Come on, let's go find Johnny. I don't understand why he wasn't at his post."

"Fine, fine... crimmeny, Len, lemme close the inst'ucter's window 'ere, it be freezing..."

No, no, no...

I heard the windows squeak shut. 'Vic' hadn't checked outside, thank the gods. Seconds later I heard the door slam. I waited a few precious seconds before trying to look back over the ledge. Window was shut tight, and Hollans' s light had been turned down. I got an arm to support myself on the ledge and reached toward the window to open it. It didn't budge.

I squinted at the bottom of the window. The guard had flipped the lock. I couldn't get the window open from out here. And without leverage, I couldn't break the thick glass.

And my arms were starting to get sore.

Gods, what a spot. It was like some cliche out of a legend about spies. Except the ground below looked awfully far away and my arm muscles were not used to supporting my entire body weight. I had to get down, somehow.

I looked around the sheer wall I was hanging from. The tower had been built so that it slightly shrank as it rose, so that I wasn't on a perfectly vertical surface. The original 'artists' had carved many reliefs into the wall, enough that tiny ledges were scattered around the wall.

My feet moved around, trying to find a foothold. One thin surface gave my right foot some weight, and I gently started to search lower with my left, lowering from my arms an inch at a time. Another foothold. I kept my body pressed against the dark and cold surface of the wall, clutching the carvings with all the strength I had.

I felt like a spider on a smooth marble wall I had once watched, taking each step slowly, experimentally. The carving were simply ugly this close, just warped body parts that didn't convey any meaning. I doubted anyone had been this close since the building's construction.

Minutes later I finally found the second floor down. The ledge gave me a moment to rest and massage my arms a bit. The window here, too, was locked, and too far inset to allow me to kick it. I supposed I should stay on the wall anyhow, the guards were probably searching for me, just to be sure.

The wind had picked up a bit, and I was glad for my short hair. My coat edges snapped around my legs, but I ignored it. I kept going.

After the third floor down, there were no more windows that I could see. I bet the students loved that. Nice place. I took a bit longer, knowing I wouldn't have a chance to do this before I got down or... fell down.

I twisted my head and looked out at the city. In the dark, it almost looked like the sky, millions of tiny lights suspended around some decaying framework that was visible here and not the sky. A light went out, a light went on. I remembered what Hollans had said, a beast with a million mouths... I hadn't understood it then. Most likely it was the cocktail talking that he had been spending the evening with. I guessed the phrase 'a million mouths' made sense, but calling the city a single beast? Maybe... I closed my eyes and concentrated on the wall. Philosophize when there's dirt under your feet, Candle.

I couldn't tell how long I descended, just thought about the floors I passed. Five... then seven... I squinted down a couple times, but the view tended to make it feel like I was already falling, so I stuck with counting. I wasn't sure when I'd hit the bottom, and the carvings were my only company. Angels and demons and open books, waging some frozen war.

Ten...

At each floor were tiny portholes flush with the wall, that the rooms on that floor used for ventilation. They didn't look like they'd do much for the air in the room beyond the wall, but they helped me keep track of the floors.

Twelve...

My fingers were bleeding, I could feel a sticky wetness and sharp pains when I moved them now. My toes felt like they were going to fall off.

Thirteen...

Once I glanced up at the distance I had covered, it seemed immesurable. It looked so flat, I felt the urge to stand up and walk the rest of the way down. I concentrated harder, wondering if the exhaustion was getting to me.

My hand slipped once, a gasp of air rushing from my lungs. I hugged the wall, my feet shaking on their tiny crevices. But I stayed on, finding a better handhold and continuing down.

When there were three floors left, my feet seemingly lost themselves. I couldn't find any more holds to inch down. Must be a break in the carvings, I thought. I wondered what to do. I tried to glance down, but my vision felt fuzzy and my view of the wall right below me was obscured. There had to be more, down lower, I just had to hold on till I found them. I inched down, my full weight now on my arms. My feet scrambled as quickly as I could, finding nothing. Just a little farther, I told myself.

A minute more and my handholds ran out. I cursed with what breath I had left. I would have to find a way around, pull myself up...

I strained my arms, trying to gain ground. My arms shook with exhaustion, I couldn't do it. I didn't have any more strength. The blood under my fingertips went cold in the wind, and I could feel my finger joints ache horribly. I was losing my grip. My feet scrambled more, searching and searching and finding nothing to support myself with.

A second later, my fingers felt like they crumpled.

I was falling, but not quite. I hugged the blank wall as best I could, scraping my hands and face against the old stone. It was a free-fall slide, my eyes squeezed shut. I didn't know how to treat the landing, it almost felt like it would never come...

I felt myself hit some break in the wall, some raised edge. It shoved me away from the wall, almost as if I had ricocheted off of it. I had to be close to the ground, but I couldn't think. My head fell away from the wall, and I twisted wildly in mid-air. I didn't know what I was abount to strike, and my arms curled around me, bunching myself up into a fast-moving cocoon.

With a wild rustle and reeling of what directions my mind held onto, I hit the garden below me. The bush I struck took most of the damage, thank the gods. But my right wrist jerked suddenly against the main branch, pain blossoming behind closed eyelids.

"What in..? Who is that, who's there?!?"

A guard, the one with the patrol around the tower, had seen me. I scrambled to my feet, trying to look around through the stars that were arcing across my vision. He had come around the northern corner, on his way towards the corner I had originally crossed. I didn't have much of a head start.

My legs went into action, the feeling of liquid fire running through my viens. I held my wrist stationary as best I could as I ran through the scattered bushes towards my escape route. It felt good, even now, to feel real ground beneath my feet. The sod of the garden gave way to the stone walkway, and my footsteps echoed through the university grounds.

A shrill noise sounded from behind me. The guard must have had a whistle. The station at the gate would no doubt come running to see what was wrong.

I heard angry shouts behind me, but I concentrated on the buildings, looking for the ones I had passed. Lights began to come on in the windows of the dormitories nearby, my eyes squinting in the bright lights. Outlines of students peering out shadowed the window.

I saw two more guards coming from the south, from the main gate. I angled toward the side-road, and I noticed I had an audience. Rows of students squinted out at me from their windows, mutely wondering who I was and if I would survive.

I remembered the basement, and knew I had to.

The main wall rushed toward me, and I turned behind the building on the right. The crates were there, and my feet took them one vaulting step at a time. The guards sounded very close.

I reached the top of the boxes, not stopping. I lauched myself up, feeling the crates sway under me. My good hand shot up, grabbing the wall's edge. I heard myself scream at the pain, the burning I felt in my arm, lifting my body perhaps by pure willpower. I felt someone grab at my foot, and I kicked him away. I swung my leg up, somehow, and fumbled onto the top of the wall. The crates I had used clattered below me, falling apart. I had a few extra seconds now.

The outside world blurred in front of my eyes, seemingly not real. I practically fell the rest of the way down to the street. I heard the guards shout that 'she's on the east side', and I stumbled into the side-streets, hoarding the shadows like a starving nightmare.

I remembered the book, and it suddenly felt heavy against my chest. Still there, after all that. I had the book more than I had myself. I paused for only a few seconds, trying to breathe away the dulling pains in my limbs before moving into the alleys to escape.

Maybe an hour later of shakey movement through the shadows of the city around the university, I finally crept into the main streets. The guards had given up. The complex city had saved me again.

I went home, seeing no one, not even a watchman.

Cutty took me in, blinking at my wounds and supporting me as I limped into his house. He smelled of old paper and sherry, but I didn't care. I collapsed on his expensively patterned couch, my legs going dead. I fumbled at my coat buttons, opening it and thrusting the book out at Cutty. He looked it over in amazement, his lips mouthing the title. He set it aside, looked over my bruises one more time, and slipped into his back rooms.

He brought back a thin vial, a dull yellow liquid shining from it. I had heard about these, these healing potions. I sat up partway as he handed it to me.

"Alls at once, now, 'Lizabeth."

I tossed my head back as I swallowed the contents. It tasted strange, mix of medicinals and bitter juices from young leaves. It was a heavy lump as it went down, and I thought I might vomit it back up. But it stayed down, and I expected the liquid to hit my stomach - it never did. I felt it slide over my lower throat, easing into my system. It felt very strange. But I could feel my wounds starting to ease away, my exhaustion smoothing from a rough facade to a still, windless lake. I quickly looked down at my fingers. Tiny bloddy cracks over each one, that were slowly stiching themselves up. My jaw dropped as I watched the magic at work. I almost thought I could see gold sparks shining through the damaged flesh. I turned the hand toward Cutty so he could see, my mouth still agape. He just grinned at me, almost giggling, and handed me a blanket. My eyes felt lazy, and I rested for a bit.

After a while, I sat back up, telling Cutty I was much better.

"Well? Am I going to hears the story of Candle's successful breach of the oh-so-famous City university?"

I grinned up at him, took the small glass of watered-down sherry he was offering, and told him everything.

I didn't give him the specifics of what Hollans had said, or the fear I had felt in the basement. I didn't want to tell anyone about that. But everything else came pouring out. I even admitted I had bought a blackjack the day before. I finally finished, a bit breathless.

"My, my, my. Quite the adventure, lass. Candle, that is, 'pologies. Definitely aboves and beyond our employer's request."

I tested my wrist, it felt much better. Still sore at the bone, it felt like, but certainly no longer sprained. I reminded myself to see what one of those vials cost.

"Well, all considerin's you're pretty beat up, and it be mornin' in a few hours, you should gets to bed."

"But I feel fine, really, I wanted to ask..."

"'Lizabeth, now, go on. I stills expects you to run some errands 'morrow."

I nodded assent and walked stiffly upstairs. My joints still ached somewhat, and my head swam if I moved too fast. Maybe I was a little too proud, and a little too tired to admit I needed sleep. Cutty was right, as always.

As I slowly started up the ladder, I looked back, and saw Cutty holding the diary in his hands and shaking his head slowly in quiet amazement.

In my loft, I slipped into the cot gratefully after changing and cleaning up, and lay staring up at the joists in the cieling. I should feel more proud tonight, shouldn't I? I supposed I did, but pain and fear and exhaustion together overshadowed it to some extent. I guessed the pride was still there, but maybe I had learned something - that being a thief meant getting a lot more emotion than just pride. But I had done it, no doubt, my tired body couldn't sigh loud enough to drown that out.

One step closer, I thought.