《A Thief's Sacrifice》


 I - Sermon

    "Welcome, citizens of Ryk," a large, balding and robed man said from the front of the marbled hall


    Keyla quietly shut the door behind her, hoping nobody would notice that she was late. With hunched shoulders she moved silently forward and joined the last row of folk standing behind the pews. The long, pillared room stretched out before her and was packed with fellow citizens. Her pulse quickened at the thought of all those pockets begging to be picked.


    "Selah''s blessing be upon thee, one and all," the priest continued. "Let us read today from the words of our beloved Selah, who delivered us from the brutal and savage Margaan, and set before us a time of prosperity and safekeeping. Please open your books to where we left off this past moon day..."


    Keyla pushed the thieving thoughts from her mind and pulled out her own copy of The Diary. She flipped through its¡¯ worn pages, found the section they¡¯d stopped at a month ago, and began to read silently with the other folk.


    I wonder sometimes how I could ever have loved him, yet still my heart breaks at the thought. Margaan. Wicked, twisted, sinister Margaan. And yet, despite it all, despite the months we''ve held against his wrath and the weeks engaged in battle rallying our defenses against the onslaught of his demon horde - despite it all, I love him still.


    He was sweet, once. I saw a future with him at my side, to guide the people with this new gift and to found a realm of peace, of prosperity.


    I love him, and I must kill him. If I fail, we are all doomed.


    Keyla raised her head like the sea of others before her as the priest spoke again.


    "See here, dear Friends. Even as Selah sits at her desk, heartbroken and weeping, her mind stays steady and she sees the truth! She sees the destruction that would follow, should she choose her heart over her people. She is torn inside, but she acknowledges, and accepts. There is wisdom in this for us all..." The man trailed off as everybody''s eyes returned to the pages.


    How could Margaan have done this to me? To all of us? What happened that he became so consumed with hate, so focused only upon himself? We lost another thirty students today. Narn damn him! I never had the time to properly prepare them. I was so caught up in figuring out how to unravel that dark and shadowy magic that twisted all of his people into his monstrous horde, that army that pushes us ever back, that I failed to teach them the proper defenses.


    Now those poor thirty have joined his undead ranks. My circle, brave and dear friends all, are trying everything but even I can see that we will not withstand their advances much longer. By week''s end we will all be dead - or worse.


    I am so close to figuring out the right disciplines to channel what is needed, to remove Margaan, but I worry about the cost and lose hope with every passing hour. I must return to my studies and trust that the circle will hold for as long as is needed.


    Keyla''s heart ached for Selah, as it did every time she read these passages. Keyla had never been in love, but she thought she must know what it feels like, and these words never failed to introduce a longing in her chest that she couldn''t explain with words.


    "Selah, bless her, shows us such human qualities as fear, and hope!" The priest interrupted their reading once more. "Qualities that every single body present in this hallowed hall has displayed, but still she holds true to her focus, her cause. Still she quells the rage and resentment, the passion and horror. She stores them as we have all been taught and strive ourselves to store, showing the ultimate resolve and the greatest of control..."


    I''ve finally found it! Finally, I know how to ensure our people''s safety forever! But the cost. Oh, the cost.


    I care not a whit for my life. I lay it down willingly. Yet my circle, ever trusting, ever faithful... I need them as well.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Do I ask them? Can I ask them? No. No!


    I cannot ask them to submit to an eternity of torment, for all know that suicide is the greatest of Narn''s sins, that which he punishes with eternal fire.


    If I asked, they would acquiesce, and burn forever. No, I will suffer that fate alone. I must betray them, betray everything they have given me and seen in me, and take their lives from them that they may pass on to Narn''s Valley in peace.


    Narn forgive me.


    My friends, forgive me.


    Forgive me, and goodbye.


    She had read these words countless times over the years, raised on them as all in the hall had been, yet still a small tear formed as Keyla read the goodbye.


    "As you close your books, remember what followed Selah''s final entry." The priest lifted his hands as he spoke, motioning to the crowd. "She committed these sins so that her people, you people, would never have to. She took the energy of her circle, and thus their lives, and joined them with her own, hurling everything she''d stored at Margaan and banishing him from our realm, sealing him in the Elsewhere for all eternity."


    Keyla bowed her head with the other citizens as the robed man continued.


    "She burns for us now, our blessed Selah. Do not make her sacrifice for naught. Do not betray her by straying from the Path. She gave us all we have, and all we know. Life, safety, magic. Blessed Selah guide us that we may live in your image, strive for your wisdom, and know your peace in our kingdom and our families. Selah be with us always, as we are with you. Thank you all for coming. Let us retreat now to our private studies, and Selah be with you until the next moon day."


    Keyla turned on her heel, hoping to leave the hall first and avoid the temptation that always accompanied her in large crowds. Her fingers twitched at the thought of all riches to be found in the crowd''s pockets.


    "Keyla, a moment if your time, if you please?"


    Keyla startled as she looked up. How does a man as fat as him move so fast? The bald priest, who only a moment ago had been at the head of the hall preaching, was standing by the door. He motioned for her to step into a side office as others filed past her to go about their day.


    She gripped her worn copy of the Diary tightly and hunched her shoulders again, making herself seem as small as possible as she followed the man into his office. She hadn¡¯t stolen from anybody today, what could he possibly want from her?


    "Keyla, I have a job for you."


    This was unexpected. Keyla looked up at him and waited, without speaking.


    "Don''t think I haven''t noticed you outside my walls, child," the man said as he plopped down onto the padded chair behind his desk. "Don''t think for a second that I''m not aware of your... particular proclivities."


    Keyla fought the urge to deny it and remained silent. She had found as she''d grown that the easiest way to get information was simply to let the other person talk. Most folk were uncomfortable with silence, and would seek to fill it.


    The priest smiled. "I like that about you. Your head may be filled with thoughts of sin, but it isn''t filled with the impractical prattle and nonsense of other common folk." He heaved a sigh, folding his hands over his belly.


    "As I said, I have a job for you. A job that requires your skills. Depending upon how you go about it, it may require your size, and maybe even your looks. You''re a pretty little thing, you know."


    She''d been told that before, but paid it no mind. She''d seen herself in a mirror before. How anybody could describe the dirt over her face or her matted brown hair as pretty was a thought for another day.


    "I need you to retrieve a book for me."


    Keyla raised her eyebrow in question.


    He stared at her for a moment, but when it was obvious she had no intention of speaking, he exhaled quickly and continued.


    "It has recently come to our attention that the Teknar family are Margaanites. A loyal member of our flock let it slip to me that they have a copy of Margaan¡¯s Diary. I''m sure you can imagine the chaos the Teknars will sow if Margaan''s words spread throughout the city. I need you to get his Diary, and bring it to me."


    Her eyes grew wide before she could force a neutral mask over her face. Everybody knew the Teknar family. They were one of the richest families in all of Ryk. Practically nobility in every way but blood. Keyla''s heartbeat quickened.


    This wouldn¡¯t be like anything she''d ever done. A real job.


    The priest set a purse on his desk, and the thunk followed by the rattle of coins inside informed her that it was more wealth than she''d ever held at one time.


    "This will be waiting for you, when you hand me The Diary."


    The Teknar estate would be guarded. There would be advanced locking mechanisms, maybe even types of security she hadn''t encountered before. Her mouth watered at the thought of the months of food, lodging, and comfort that purse would bring her.


    Keyla gulped, and nodded.


    The priest smiled and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and signaling her that she was free to leave.


    As Keyla stepped out of the church, a crisp autumn breeze greeted her.


    She smiled for the first time in days.


    There was planning to do.

 II - Planning

    Keyla wrapped the Diary in the single scrap of white cloth she owned and lay it gently down. She replaced the floorboard over the opening, satisfied that it was barely noticeable that it had ever been pried up. What few belongings she owned were stashed in various places around the abandoned distillery she¡¯d squatted in for the past year.


    The main doors of the building had been closed off by the city when the distillery, Auldavulin¡¯s, had declared bankruptcy. The large bolts sank deep into the metal doors and the windows were barred, effectively sealing off entry to the building.


    Keyla had praised Selah the day she¡¯d stumbled upon the hatch in the ceiling of the sewer tunnel into which she¡¯d fled. It opened into the abandoned distillery. Not only had she escaped the guard that saw her steal a beef shank intended to be her dinner, but the hatch locked from the inside, granting her a feeling of safety in a space that was her own. Safety and solitude was a combination she¡¯d never experienced in her two decades of street life.


    Beggars and urchins tended to band together into gangs, or join one of the underworld guilds that permeated the dark corners of Ryk. Keyla had considered joining the thieves guild, and had been approached by them multiple times over the years. They didn¡¯t try and bully her into joining their ranks the way some of the gangs did, they simply checked in to gauge her interest, and left without another word when she expressed none. Something about becoming dependent on others didn¡¯t sit well with her. Or maybe it was that she didn¡¯t want others becoming dependent on her?


    She sat down on the pile of rags she¡¯d pushed together as a makeshift bed, and lit the gas lamp on the floor next to her. The sun wouldn¡¯t set for another couple of hours, but the few windows Auldavulin¡¯s had were caked with grime and further shadowed by the towering buildings around it, making it almost as dark as night inside.


    Keyla tore a piece off the loaf of rye she¡¯d pocketed on the way home from the sermon, and shoved it into her mouth. Grabbing a piece of chalk, she leaned forward to begin scribbling on the floorboards.


    ¡°The Teknar¡¯s live in the Upper Ward,¡± she said aloud, satisfied nobody could hear her from outside the concrete and metal building.


    The townhouses in the Upper Ward were where the richest citizens of Ryk, who did not qualify for nobility, lived.


    ¡°The guards will patrol there more regularly than here.¡± Keyla sighed. She was too unfamiliar with the district. She¡¯d been there a handful of times in the past few years but the law was more attentively enforced there, and she would attract immediate attention with her ragged clothes.


    ¡°Perhaps a runner?¡± she pondered aloud. Usually delivery runners were boys or girls much younger than Keyla, but she was small and could probably pass for one in the right clothes. Cleaner clothes, at the very least.


    She took another bite of rye and tried to sketch out what she could remember of the street layout in the Upper Ward. It wasn¡¯t much, in the end. She would wake early tomorrow and head to the runner¡¯s guild to see if she could pick up a job or two to the district in order to look around without causing too much suspicion.


    She¡¯d also need to acquire another set of clothes. With the river that ran through the city right behind the distillery, she had only kept the one set of clothes she currently wore for the past six months. Life on the streets had taught her to closely guard the possessions most dear to her, and discard those that weren¡¯t. While she looked forward to a wardrobe of her own one day, it was currently easier to just wash what she had in the river at night, when no one would see. If she ever had to abandon Audavulin¡¯s, the less she needed to carry, the better.


    For this job however, she would need an outfit that wouldn¡¯t be immediately connected to Keyla, that strange, mousy girl from the Lower Ward. Perhaps a pair of trousers and suspenders like many of the runners she watched jog through town everyday wore. She could pull her tangled hair back in a ponytail, something she did rarely, to help her appear different as well. Or hide it under a hat, if she could acquire one, and pose as a boy? She¡¯d certainly pass as one at a casual glance with her hair hidden and in the right clothing. Many of the runners wore newsboy hats, after all. She may be able to find them at Troussaud¡¯s.


    Madame Troussaud¡¯s was a lesser known clothier just on the end of the merchant quarter that hadn¡¯t quite managed to make a name for itself. It was near the runner¡¯s guild, and Keyla knew it had a back entrance that she could escape quickly through if she was caught acquiring her new outfit. The owner wasn¡¯t a madame at all, and had a nasty streak a mile wide that kept most of the street rats out of her shop, but Keyla knew how to move in ways that caused most folk to ignore her.


    Unable to sketch out any more of the district¡¯s layout beyond the grid-like system of avenues and large circle vaguely indicating the Teknar¡¯s townhouse, she set the chalk down and collapsed back onto her makeshift bedding. She pulled the canvas dust curtain she¡¯d been using as a blanked over herself and turned onto her side.


    Keyla was a light sleeper and knew she didn¡¯t get enough of it, but her nightmares regularly startled her out of her rest. The recurring feeling of burning, almost as though she were remembering it, though she¡¯d never been badly burned, would wake her more than once and ensure she would be up with the dawn.


    She reached over and turned the knob on her gas lamp, plunging the distillery into darkness, and closed her eyes.


    |||||||||||||||Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Keyla bolted upright for the third time since laying down, breathing heavily and wanting to scream out but feeling like she had no voice left. She heaved breath after breath as she tried to calm herself. It was always the third time waking from the fires in her dreams that would prevent her from falling asleep again, and so she pushed the canvas curtain off and turned to reach for the gas lamp.


    She fumbled as she tried to open the small metal drawer at its base where she stored her matches. There was only one left. Another thing she¡¯d have to steal today. At least the gas cannister below the drawer was a recent acquisition and would last her another month.


    She held the match as long as she could after lighting the lamp, watching the flame burn down the stick toward her fingers, thinking about it engulfing her entire body and screaming out in pain, the way she did in her nightmares.


    ¡°Ouch!¡±


    She dropped the matchstick and slapped it with a rag, snuffing out the flame. She¡¯d never been able to hold it long enough for the fire to actually touch her skin, so why were her dreams so vivid? Why did they feel like memories?


    She blew on her fingers as she reached for the remaining loaf of bread that had been her dinner the night before. It was harder now, but it would do. Soon she would have the coin to purchase a real meal. Many meals, at that! She just needed to make a plan, and execute it. She crunched through another bite. Sooner, rather than later.


    ¡°Alright Keyla, today¡¯s plan. Let¡¯s figure this out.¡±


    She picked up her chalk and leaned over to begin writing next to her sketch of the Upper Ward.


    ¡°First, Madam Toussaud¡¯s. Trousers, shirt, suspenders, newsboy¡¯s cap. Then the runner¡¯s guild. Run the Upper Ward, check the paths. Find Teknar¡¯s. Easy enough.¡±


    Keyla clapped the chalk dust off her hands, then shoved the last piece of rye into her mouth as she rose. She patted her left pocket, ensuring her leather folder of lock-picks was present, then walked over to the back corner.


    She unclasped the mechanism sealing the hatch to the sewer and lifted it. The distillery had been abandoned long enough that the tunnel simply smelled of the river it opened into, and old stone. The other factories around either used other, newer piping, or simply weren¡¯t connected to her tunnel.


    She made her way to the river ledge-way and up the ladder to the alley between Auldavulin¡¯s and the paper mill next to it. It wasn¡¯t quite dawn yet, so no workers were around.


    She wove through the factories of the industrial district without encountering a guard patrol or any of the local gangs, which was odd. She¡¯d never had much of a problem sticking to the shadows and avoiding the guards, but to not see any of the other street rats, even at this hour, was uncommon.


    While her nerves had calmed with the physical activity, her pulse began to quicken again as she approached Madame Toussaud¡¯s. She slipped into a back alley and crouched between sets of stacked, empty crates, and waited for the city to come alive.


    Despite the lack of sleep, Keyla was as attentive and focused as ever. It wasn¡¯t just the thought of the purse atop the priest¡¯s desk that invigorated her, but the purpose and adventure. She always felt so sure of her place in the world when she had a goal. Margaan¡¯s Diary was banned throughout all of Ryk. The impact that she was hired to acquire it gave her a sense of importance, as though she mattered.


    She knew she didn¡¯t. Street rats didn¡¯t matter to anybody. Nevertheless, she felt like more than she was knowing she¡¯d soon have her hands on something that could upend society. If she did a good enough job, she may even be able to squeeze the fat priest for more money. He certainly had enough of it.


    She watched as citizens began their morning routines. Street-sweepers and lamplighters were replaced by shoppers as the day took hold in full.


    It took longer than Keyla had hoped, but eventually an elderly couple who had been window shopping a few doors down made their way toward Madame Toussaud¡¯s. This would be her chance!


    Hunching her shoulders, lowering her head, and otherwise telling the world not to notice her, she moved from the alley to walk closely behind the couple, sticking to the woman¡¯s shadow and matching their pace. Her fingers twitched at the thought of reaching for the older man¡¯s pocket, but she clamped down on the idea and reminder herself: stick to the plan!


    A bell chimed when the door to Madame Toussaud¡¯s hit it. She crouched and moved behind a row of mannequins as the shopkeeper mid the couple a good morning.


    Success! In and unnoticed, as planned.


    Keyla weaved through aisles of shelving as she heard the other¡¯s asking about a new suit for the gentleman. She tried not to let it go to her head, but everything was coming together smoothly as she nabbed item after item. A newsboy¡¯s cap, a black and gray checkered shirt, and gray trousers.


    She almost knocked a vase off the top shelf as she reached up for a pair of suspenders.


    Stupid! You¡¯re not out of here yet.


    She was just through the door behind the counter when she heard the shopkeeper approaching


    ¡°Of course, you wait right there. I¡¯ve just what you¡¯re looking for in the back, I¡¯ll be but a moment.¡±


    Narn damn her!


    Keyla¡¯s eyes darted from side to side as she looked for a place to hide. None of the tables had any room under them due to all the boxes of fabric stored underneath. There were no other doors except the back door, but she was sure she¡¯d be noticed if she tried to make a run for it.


    There!


    She stepped between a group of mannequins in various stages of dress and hugged the clothing she¡¯d stolen to her chest, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible.


    Don¡¯t see me, don¡¯t see me, don¡¯t see me! Keyla squeezed her eyelids shut and clenched her fists, repeating the plea over and over in her mind.


    She heard Toussaud walk past her and she listened without risking the movement opening her eyes would require as the shopkeep rummaged through fabric and with a click of her tongue, apparently found what she was looking for.


    Keyla waited and counted twenty heartbeats before she risked opening one eye. The room was empty. She exhaled slowly, ignoring the burning in her chest, and stepped out from between the mannequins. Silently thanking them for helping shroud her from sight she stepped over to the back door.


    She¡¯d acquired her current outfit from this store, and was familiar with the lock. Turning it, she slipped silently into the back alley. She set her spoils down on a crate next to the door and pulled out her leather lock-pick folder. She grabbed the torsion wrench and a medium hook and set to work resetting the lock from outside. It took her about thirty seconds to lock the door, theoretically eliminating the last piece of evidence that she¡¯d been there beyond the missing inventory. Hopefully the old bat wouldn¡¯t notice for a few days.


    Once she¡¯d put away the lock picks and picked up her new clothes, she found a discarded burlap sack in the alley¡¯s trash heap that was a relatively recent addition and didn¡¯t yet carry much scent, and pushed the clothing into it. The trip had taken longer than she¡¯d hoped, and there likely wouldn¡¯t be any pick-up work at the runner¡¯s guild by this hour.


    She¡¯d have to try something different. Throwing the sack over her shoulder, Keyla began the long trek to the neighborhood just outside the Upper Ward.

 III - Gathering

    The Upper Ward was the nicest area of Ryk that citizens without noble blood could live in. Brick and stone townhouses lined the streets to form a square u-shape around a well tended walking park. Workers kept the bushes trimmed and the leaves cleared.


    Keyla knew that the townhouses would have small walled-off back yard spaces with an alley between the backs of  the townhouses, as the Upper Ward consisted of two main u-shaped streets, one inside the other.


    The trees were the most beautiful Keyla had ever seen. Never having been to the Noble¡¯s quarter, she couldn¡¯t think of anywhere more green than the Upper Ward. A group of constables strolled along the sidewalk bordering the park, conversing quietly with one another. There were only a handful of other folk about, but nobody paid her any attention


    Keyla had ducked into a side alley on her way over to change into the new runner¡¯s clothes she¡¯d acquired from Madame Toussaud¡¯s, and stashed her other clothes in the sack beneath a pile of trash that wasn¡¯t going anywhere soon. She hoped she¡¯d be able to gather them on the way back, but if not these new clothes would do for a time.


    She squatted in a small opening between hedges lining one of the streets into the Upper Ward and waited, confident that nobody would notice her unless they specifically tried to look in the bushes. While she waited, she plotted silently.


    A runner would be bound to come through this entrance at some point today. She¡¯d try to pickpocket him or her for a letter so that she could pose as a runner herself. If that didn¡¯t work she¡¯d have to think fast, perhaps barter with them if she were caught, or find a way to fake a letter herself.


    Hours passed and her mind had long wandered to other things when a young boy no more than eight years old came jogging by.


    Keyla remained crouched but moved swiftly to match his pace behind him. She¡¯d learned early on that matching the footsteps of her targets helped her avoid notice.


    Fortunately for her, the boy¡¯s pockets had multiple missives jutting out from them, and she was easily able to pinch the corner of one, pulling it free as she slowed down to a walk behind him.


    He hadn¡¯t noticed her. Excellent!


    She glanced down at the wax seal. She didn¡¯t recognize the symbol there, but that wasn¡¯t surprising. She was as familiar as any other citizen with a handful of prominent names in Ryk, but largely didn¡¯t give much thought to the upper class. The name on the front read ¡°Alcorn¡±.


    It would have to do.


    She turned to her right and approached the first townhouse she saw. It was mostly a red brick color, contrasted by gray stone and a more tan brick from the townhouses to either side.


    She walked up the three steps to the front door and smacked the knocker ball three times against it¡¯s brass disk.


    The door opened a crack and she saw the weathered face of a thin, unpleasant looking man in a suit. He didn¡¯t speak, but stared at her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve a letter for the Teknar house, sir,¡± Keyla said, doing her best to sound young.


    ¡°Wrong house, wretch,¡± the man said with a snarl and slammed the door.


    Red brick, fourth house in on the right, bit of an arse. Noted.


    She skipped the next house and approached a gray stone facade with a much darker wood door. As she knocked, she could hear the squeals of children inside.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    A plump but jolly maid opened the door, and beyond her were a boy and girl wrestling over a doll. It looked like the girl was fighting fiercely to take it back from the boy. They stopped when Keyla spoke to look at her with curious eyes.


    ¡°A missive for the Teknar house, miss,¡± Keyla said.


    ¡°Oh deary, you¡¯ve the wrong address. They¡¯re three more houses down, just there,¡± the maid responded, leaning out the door to point at a home with mixed bricks of brown and tan.


    ¡°Nuh-uh,¡± she heard the boy say in response to whatever the little girl had said while the maid was talking. She glanced past the older woman to see the young girl pointing at her.


    They both looked away when they noticed her gaze.


    ¡°Thank you ma¡¯am¡±, Keyla said, turning to head down the steps.


    ¡°You have a pleasant day now, dear.¡±


    ¡°Yes huh! She looks just like her!¡± She heard the little girl say as the door closed.


    Shaking her head Keyla tried to refocus as she walked. Knowing which house belonged to the Teknar family made her job more real than it had seemed the previous day. Her hands began to tremble slightly as she approached the front door.


    She didn¡¯t knock right away. Instead she paused for a moment at the front of the walkway and counted the windows.


    A window on either side of the front entry. So, probably like most of these homes, there is probably a central walkway with stairs, and rooms to either side.


    There were sets of three windows on each of the two stories above the first.


    They probably don¡¯t lock the second and third story windows, but could I even reach them? I¡¯ll have to swing around back on my way out of here if I can, and see what the back entrance looks like.


    As she walked up the steps to the front door, she was pleased to see that the lock was similar to the one at Madame Toussaud¡¯s. She¡¯d probably be able to work it open in roughly the same amount of time, but there was no way she wouldn¡¯t be noticed. There were gas lamps coming out of the brick on either side of the door, and at the front gate to the walkway. She¡¯d be illuminated and the patrol would notice her before she¡¯d be able to open the lock.Stolen story; please report.


    She listened from outside the door but didn¡¯t hear any sounds. Either the family was out, or they may not have any children. Keyla knocked.


    The door opened and an impossibly thin, gaunt man with graying hair glanced down at her with a small smile.


    ¡°Yes, child?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, um,¡± Keyla stammered, using her nervousness to let her eyes dart around in the house behind the man before turning to his. A staircase was behind him to the right, proving her theory on the layout correct. ¡°Sorry, yes, I was looking for the Alcorn house but I seem to have been mixed up.¡±


    The man pushed his lips out in thought and then frowned. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know any Alcorn family. They certainly don¡¯t live in this street, but it¡¯s likely they don¡¯t even live here in the Upper Ward.¡±


    Keyla¡¯s heart was beating loud enough she wondered if he could hear it. She forced her shoulders to drop in what she hoped looked like disappointment.


    ¡°I see, I¡¯m sorry sir, the runner boy who gave me the letter said they were on this street,¡± she said, taking one more glance behind him as she let her eyes fall to the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll be on my way, then.¡±


    ¡°Not without this, you won¡¯t,¡± he said, holding out his hand and dropping a copper into hers.


    She looked up, surprised.


    ¡°If the Alcorn¡¯s aren¡¯t in the Upper Ward, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve been had. You probably have quite the run ahead of you, and may miss out on another delivery. Keep that tip to make up for it.¡±


    ¡°I, th-thank you,¡± Keyla stammered. She¡¯d never been given money out of kindness before.


    The man smiled. ¡°Good luck to you, child.¡± He closed the door.


    Keyla stood for a moment, stunned at the coin in her hand. It would buy her a muffin or something small, wouldn¡¯t it?


    She pocketed the copper and resumed her walk along the street until it turned and the row of townhouses came to a stop. The gap between them led to the back alley, and Keyla pretended to look at the letter while she glanced to make sure the constables weren¡¯t looking. When she saw their backs to her, she darted into the alley and made her way around the townhouses.


    She counted until she saw the familiar brown and tan brick that marked the Teknar house. A low fence that came up to her shoulders enclosed a small backyard.


    There were potted bushes and a small tree to the right side. Then se saw the dog.


    It looked up at her from where it lay beside the back steps and began to growl softly.


    Narn damn it! How would she get past the mutt?


    She glanced up at the door and saw it had the same locking mechanism as the front door, but that hope was quickly snuffed out when the dog began to bark.


    She startled back a step, and turned to run.


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    Keyla returned to the Upper Ward that night. She¡¯d stolen a mutton chop earlier and, after eating half of it for her dinner, decided to try and buy herself into the dog¡¯s good graces with an offering of meat.


    She had never been inside a townhouse before, and while she suspected a family as rich as this would have a room dedicated only to books, she wasn¡¯t sure where the library would be.


    Or would the Teknar man keep the Diary on his person, by his bed, or locked away in a safe somewhere? She would have to be in the house for an indeterminate amount of time, a thought which made her stomach clench.


    There was no easy way to see the layout of the house until she was inside. She wasn¡¯t worried about the lock on the back door, but the dog was an unfortunate obstacle.


    She waited until the street watchers on patrol turned the far corner of the park before she darted from shadow to shadow. The gas street lamps were bright but their light didn¡¯t pierce far before it diminished significantly.


    Keyla had a natural talent for moving through shadows. She figured it was her forgettable body language and simply the strong desire not to be seen that made it easier at night.


    She considered the townhouse as she walked down the alley toward it. She stayed crouched near the fences, shrouded in shadow from the sconces near the doors, and other light coming out of the windows.


    Hopefully there wouldn¡¯t be a basement. Three floors was plenty enough to search.


    Potted bushes, trimmed hedges, and small trees adorned each of the back yard areas she passed, similar to the Teknar yard.


    When she arrived, she stood slowly. The lights to either side of the back door were light, but the first floor windows were dark. Light came from the second floor window on the right, and all of the third floor windows.


    The black hound noticed her immediately and lifted his head, letting out a low, quiet growl.


    ¡°Nice dog, who¡¯s a a good boy?¡± she asked softly.


    He bared his teeth.


    ¡°Not you, apparently,¡± she mumbled. Keyla tossed the mutton over the fence, watching it tumble over the cobblestone a few feet from the dog.


    The growling stopped and he regarded it, then her, suspiciously.


    ¡°Eat up, dog. I ate some, it was good,¡± she said as casually as she could. She knew dogs didn¡¯t understand humans, but the few strays she¡¯d interacted with over the years taught her that calm sounds usually worked better. They seemed to sense fear.


    She watched as the dog cast its gaze upon the meet once more, and smiled when she saw him lick his lips.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± she continued.


    The dog rose up and walked forward slowly, and growled softly again when he reached the meat. He regarded her one more time and must have accepted what he saw because he sat down and tore into the meat.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you again tomorrow night, you be a good boy,¡± Keyla said softly to him.


    He ignored her.


    She backed up to the fence across the alley and sat down, resting her back against it, to watch for when each of the lights dimmed in the windows above.


    If they go out around the same time each night, she¡¯d know when the best time to enter was.


    Each of her nights for the next week were spent in this way. She would steal meat for dinner, eat some of it, and then bring the rest to Shadow. She¡¯d named the dog Shadow for his black coat, and the fact that she really only saw him at night.


    During the day she would practice on the makeshift lock she¡¯d created to mimic the lock on the Teknar¡¯s back door. It was similar to the one at Madame Toussaud¡¯s, and she had recreated that mechanism over a year ago. She stored it near the front entrance to Auldavulin¡¯s, inside an empty copper still. Each day after waking she would take it out and practice until she could consistently open it within half a minute. Hopefully she could get even faster before attempting her break-in.


    At night she would count the seconds for Shadow to eat the meat. She couldn¡¯t guarantee the same size chunk each night as she was simply grabbing whatever she could get away with, and was visiting a different butcher each time. He never took longer than a minute to finish, but often was quicker.


    By the fifth night the dog had caught on to her pattern. He perked up and no longer growled when she arrived. He even would let her hop the fence and toss the meat nearby, but would start growling if she got much closer.


    On the seventh night, Shadow didn¡¯t growl at all. She approached him and placed the meat at his feet. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and it looked like he smiled before he lowered his head and dug into the meat shank. He¡¯d devoured it in half a minute.


    When the time came, she hoped she¡¯d be able to pick the lock and slip in before he finished.


    The morning of the eighth day Keyla was surprised when a runner approached her while she was out walking.


    She¡¯d memorized three different routes she could take to and from the Upper Ward, and walked a different one each day to time them.


    The boy handed her the letter, then ran off before she could ask him who it was from.


    It was the priest¡¯s handwriting. He was becoming nervous about the Diary being in the city, and had heard rumors of secret nighttime meetings between individuals who didn¡¯t normally associate with one another.


    Keyla wasn¡¯t sure what that had to do with anything, but the next line was clear. She had until tomorrow to deliver Margaan¡¯s Diary if she wanted the full amount in the coinpurse.


    Keyla sighed and stuffed the missive into her pocket. Looking at the city before her, she took a deep breath to steel herself.


    Tonight would be the night.

 IV - Executing

    Keyla exited the sewer beneath the distillery, where it emptied into the river that snaked through Ryk. Looking both ways and seeing no lights in the darkness, she knelt on the stone ledge and began to scrub her clothes in the water.


    She would need to be as clean as possible to avoid leaving any scent in the house, especially with the dog there. The dog would probably recognize her scent regardless, but she¡¯d never visited him while she was clean before. Washing the scent of the city off of her skin and clothes might help, and it certainly wouldn¡¯t hurt.


    In addition, Keyla¡¯s face was always streaked with dirt or grime of some kind. Tonight, if she were seen, she wouldn¡¯t be as easily identified if she looked like a normal girl.


    She set her clothes aside to dry and lowered herself into the river, keeping a watch out for lights and an ear open for footsteps or chatter.


    Auldavulin¡¯s plumbing had been cut off when it went out of business. Part of why she so rarely bathed was that she had no real privacy, and doing anything outside the safety of the distillery at night brought its own dangers even when she was fully clothed. The other part was her pale skin. She didn¡¯t care much for her face, the few times she¡¯d seen it in a mirror. She didn¡¯t agree with the priest saying she was pretty. She was plain.


    Keyla had just climbed out of the river to collect her clothing when she heard the sounds of bickering. It grew steadily louder as the source approached the river.


    Probably some kids from one of the gangs, she thought as she slipped into her shoes. She snatched up her shirt and trousers and slipped into the sewer entrance before she could be seen, and moved as quietly as she could back to the ladder that led up to the distillery¡¯s floor.


    Inside she took her time dressing and preparing everything she would need. She laid out the lamb shank she¡¯d stolen that afternoon, and her leather folder of lock-picks before her.


    Sighing at the limited scope of the gear she¡¯d use on her first real heist, she folded the leather around the lock picks and shoved it into her pocket. She picked up the meat and lantern and walked over to the hatch that led to the sewer.


    It would be pitch black in the distillery when she snuffed out the lamp¡¯s flame, and so she made sure it would be within reach to her right after she crawled up through the opening upon her return, along with three fresh matches. Keyla had spent her copper tip from the fake delivery to buy fresh matches, and was trying to make them last as long as possible. It wasn¡¯t often she could come by possessions legitimately, and she enjoyed striking each match that she¡¯d purchased with real coin.


    She also didn¡¯t want to risk using magick to light the flames. Most commoners were allowed to learn the bare basics of magick, such as creating enough spark to light a lamp. However, when Keyla tried to perform it, bad things happened. She¡¯d almost burned down the last place she¡¯d called home when instead of a spark, a gout of flame erupted from her hands, and vowed not to make that mistake again. It was illegal for commoners to have too much magick power, and while she didn¡¯t have a gauge on what too much was, she¡¯d never seen anybody else make flames like she had.


    Taking a breath, she opened the hatch and climbed down.


    The air was crisp and cool, but her pace through the city and apprehension over what was to come kept any potential shivers at bay. Tonight she would break into a home of a richer man than she¡¯d ever even spoken to, to steal from him a book that the church believed posed a threat to all of Ryk.


    The thought of doing something meaningful excited Keyla. She almost grinned as she darted between the shadows of the city, trying to avoid notice.


    She silently thanked Selah for her natural gift to go unseen when she tried hard enough. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was evoking some form of magick when she stepped into the shadows, or hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself small and unworthy of attention. If she was, she¡¯d be executed if ever she were caught employing it.


    Maybe that was part of why the church couldn¡¯t let Margaan¡¯s Diary be in the hands of the citizens? If other townsfolk had access to the same magick that the church and nobility did, Ryk would become a very different place. There¡¯d be a civil war, for sure.


    Shadow¡¯s head perked up when she approached the fence from the alley behind the Teknar townhouse, and he opened his mouth to let his tongue hang down.


    Keyla hopped the fence and dropped the meat in front of the dog. She turned and took the two steps up to the back door swiftly while pulling the tools from her pocket. She knelt and began counting as she heard the sounds of Shadow devouring the shank behind her.


    Almost there, come on! With a quiet click, the last tumbler fell into place and she was able to turn the handle. She glanced back at Shadow and her heart almost stopped as she found him looking at her, nothing but bone left on the ground.


    Good dog¡­ she whispered to herself silently, afraid to speak up.


    Instead of growling, the dog licked his chops and sat, cocking his head at her.


    Keyla breathed a sigh of relief, and slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her


    She found herself looking at the back of the staircase she¡¯d seen through the front door when pretending to be a delivery runner. Had it already been a week?


    The lights in the main hall were dimmed, but not completely out. From where she crouched, the front sitting room to the left of the front entry was dark. She hadn¡¯t seen much of the room, but didn¡¯t recall any bookshelves.


    A clatter sounded to her right, and she saw light peeking under the gap between the door and the floor. She inched forward, and listened at the door. It sounded like someone was stacking dishes. The kitchen, then?


    That would make the middle room a dinning room, most likely.


    Keyla didn¡¯t want to remain on the first floor any longer than necessary if a servant was awake. Should she come back later? She didn¡¯t have any meat to bribe Shadow with, and the priest wanted the book tomorrow. No, she could sneak up the stairs, surely? A servant wouldn¡¯t have any reason to move as quietly as she, so she would probably hear if they came up after her.


    With a breath to steel herself, Keyla moved away from the kitchen, keeping her knees bent and walking on the balls of her feet. When she reached the stairs, she stopped, worried they would creak and give away her presence.


    Against the wall¡­


    Her heart almost leapt out from her chest as a voice seemed to whisper to her. She spun on her heels, turning her head left and right, seeking the source of the voice. She was alone in the front hall.


    It had sounded so much like a man, but far away. Had she imagined it? She flattened herself as best she could against the wall, doing her best to keep her feet in contact with it as she stepped up onto the first stair.


    No creak. She held her breath, afraid to make a sound, and stepped up once more. Again, there were no sounds from the wood. Either the staircase was well maintained, or she was right to listen to the voice, and hug the wall as she was.


    She moved slowly but steadily up the remaining steps to the second floor. While she could no longer hear any noise from the kitchen, the silence of the house helped assure her the tenants were still unaware of her presence.


    Keyla stayed pressed against the wall when she stepped onto the landing. Directly opposite the stairwell a buffet table was set against the back wall. On it was set a silver candelabra. Her fingers tingled as she considered how much it would be worth. Next to it was a flacon, half-filled.


    Mrs. Teknar¡¯s perfume, perhaps? Keyla reached out and pulled the stopper, inhaling the aroma of jasmine and cloves. Envy struck her to the core as she imagined the lifestyle that could afford such a luxury. On her best day, Keyla smelled like Ryk¡¯s river water. If guards were called, they may bring a hound. Perhaps smelling of Mrs. Teknar would help? She risked the time to release a couple droplets onto her palm, and brushed it through her hair. She dabbed again, and ran her hand along her shirt, allowing herself a small, mischievous smile.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The gas sconces along the wall of the hallway that wrapped back past the stairway were dim, providing just enough light to navigate by. There were three doors along the wall, before she would have to turn and follow the staircase to the third floor.


    The first door was closed, though she could make out light through the keyhole. Quietly Keyla crept toward the door. One of the floorboards groaned under her weight, and a creak cut through the silence.


    She froze, holding her breath as her chest tightened in terror. With someone below her, she may not be able to make it down the stairs and out the door before being seen. Why did she agree to this? The Teknar¡¯s may not be nobility, but they were influential enough that even she had heard their name. She¡¯d be executed for sure, if she were caught.


    Focus! You have everything you need to accomplish your task.


    There was that voice again. Male, and slightly raspy. It sounded familiar and yet she was positive she didn¡¯t recognize it. How could she imagine a voice she¡¯d never heard?


    Shaking her head, Keyla released the breath she¡¯d been holding and forced herself to calm down. Nobody was coming, her sound had gone unnoticed. She released her weight slowly from the weak floorboard and moved forward to the closed door.


    Quietly kneeling, she brought her eye down level with the keyhole. Peering through it, Keyla saw the silhouette of a man hunched over a desk as the far end of the room. A wall mounted lamp above the desk illuminated the area in front of him, making his features hard to discern from her position behind him. He seemed deeply engrossed in whatever he was reading, and she could hear him muttering softly to himself.


    Disappointed to find the room occupied, Keyla pulled back from the door and stood. She turned and crept along the wall to the middle door, which looked open from afar because it had no actual door. After looking over her shoulder to verify the stairwell was still empty, she stepped through the opening.


    There were no windows in this room, as it shared a wall with the townhouse next door. Thankfully enough light from the dim sconces in the hallway penetrated the entry to let her know she was in a small library.


    There were more books than Keyla had ever seen in one place. Shelving lined all the walls from floor to ceiling. Each had a railing along the top with a ladder suspended from it that could be moved alongside the shelves. Two large and cracked leather chairs sat opposite one another in the center of the room with a small table between them. There was even a pile of books atop the table.


    She would never be able to search through all these tomes in time!


    Closing her eyes, Keyla paused and made the decision to return to this room at the end of her search if she hadn¡¯t managed to find the Diary elsewhere before then.


    She stayed on the balls of her feet as she exited the library, then turned right to continue toward the final door near the front of the house.


    It was ajar and looking in she found what appeared to be a music room. A cello was leaned up against a Lyrian straight-backed chair in the center of the room, and Keyla was able to make out a harpsichord in the far corner.


    As this was a street facing room, the windows were large, and floor to ceiling drapes hung on either side of the three tall glass panes. They were parted and the moon¡¯s glow allowed Keyla to navigate the room with ease.


    She passed two rows of chairs as she entered, and while there was no stage, it was clear that the room was designed for entertaining. Perhaps Mrs. Teknar was a musician? Keyla knew it was common for affluent women to learn various instruments, and while she knew the names of many of them, she did not know how to play any herself.


    She stopped in the center of the room and turned in a circle, scanning the far walls. There didn¡¯t appear to be any books, though there were plenty of loose papers filled with the pictographs that she understood to be music, though how anybody could translate them was beyond her.


    Keyla frowned, suspecting that what she needed was in the first room where, presumably Mr. Teknar, was currently occupied.


    The third floor would likely be bedrooms. She silently prayed to Selah that the diary was not on a bedside table. She knew she was quiet, and had a talent for going unnoticed, but sneaking past a sleeping person was not something she had any experience with.


    A glint of moonlight on metal caught her eye, and she looked atop the harpsichord to find a golden pocket watch. Almost without thinking Keyla¡¯s hand shot out to snatch it up. Pressing the clasp to release the face, she found an inscription inside: For my husband.


    This may be worth something! A bonus for the risk she was taking. Keyla pocketed the watch and turned to make her way back out into the hallway.


    She stopped short as she heard the door to the office open, then close.


    Hide.


    Keyla turned and bolted across the room, narrowly avoiding one of the chairs in the process, then slipped behind one of the long satin drapes.


    She heard footsteps pass by the room, pause, then continue up the stairs to the floor above.


    Risking a quick peek, Keyla found herself alone once more. She felt her pockets to ensure nothing had fallen out, then walked back out into the hall.


    When she reached the office door by the stairs, it was locked. Keyla pulled out her lock pick folder and knelt, then retrieved the two tools she would need.


    This was an unfamiliar mechanism and she took a few minutes to get a feel for the intricate movements required to set the tumblers. Her blood went cold when she heard footsteps as the servant began their ascent on the stairs below her.


    Frantically, Keyla repeated the motions she¡¯d only just discovered to flip the lock. Any moment now the servant¡¯s head would clear the floor line and she¡¯d been seen. She swiftly turned the handle and slipped into the room, shutting it quickly but gently behind her.


    She winced as she turned the lock, but it¡¯s click was so soft she barely heard it over the pounding of her heart.


    The footsteps stopped for a moment after the last stair, then continued past the door.


    Keyla leaned against the door and slumped to the floor, relief flooding her veins as the footsteps receded.


    Looking up from where she sat, the room was dark. There was a gap in the curtains, but the moon had passed over the top of the house and was shining street-side.


    She stood slowly, sliding her hand up along the wall next to the door until she felt a copper knob at shoulder height. She turned the knob and a warm glow emanated from the gas lamp on the wall above the desk.


    A Lyrian sofa lay beneath the windows that looked out into the alley. In fact, she noticed as she looked around the room that all the furniture was Lyrian. Were the Teknars from Lyr?


    She strode across the room to the desk. Papers, ink blotters, used and fresh quills, and a thin metal ruler lay strewn upon its surface. There was an empty space in the center where the man had hunched above it, whatever he was studying now gone. He had either stored it, or taken it with him.


    Keyla pulled open the drawers one by one. They were filled with what she expected a desk to be filled with and she quickly moved to the next set below.


    There she found two small, leather-bound journals and her pulse quickened as she grabbed them. She set one atop the desk and began leafing through one of them, then the other, sighing as she found them both empty. One was obviously new. THe other seemed to be at least a few years old, and was creased as though used, but the pages were blank.


    Shrugging, she knelt again and pulled on the last drawer. It was locked.


    Please let this have what I need, Selah. Keyla prayed silently to herself.


    The lock mechanism was strange, unlike any she had seen before. Perhaps Lyrian, as the furniture was? She frowned and focused, doing her best to move her fingers deftly but failing to find the right pattern and pressure with her movements.


    A loud snap almost caused Keyla to curse aloud, as her lock pick broke.


    ¡°Nine hells!¡± she muttered softly, frustrated at her misfortune. Glancing back up to the desk she found the ruler and grabbed it. ¡°It¡¯s metal, so maybe¡­¡±


    Keyla slipped one end into the thin opening between the drawer and the wood of the desk and used it as a lever, trying to break open the lock.


    CRACK!


    The wood splintered as the drawer pulled free of the mechanism.


    She was elated and barely registered the sound as she dropped the ruler onto the rug below.


    Inside the drawer was a very old, worn and weathered book. She seemed to feel a vibration and hum in her mind as she looked at it. It seemed to call out to her and instill a sense of longing she didn¡¯t understand. She reached in and grabbed the book, raising it to the light above.


    Yes¡­ The voice whispered in her mind again as she focused on the cover. It read simply: Margaan.


    Flashes of a handsome man she had never seen before, but whom she felt she knew intimately, played through her mind in quick succession. Jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail, replaced by a flash forward to find it loose at the shoulders, and completely white.


    As the images flashed before her of him both young and old, he sat at a desk she had never seen before despite a nagging suspicion that she had written atop it once herself. He set down his pen and looked up at her. One eye was a striking blue, the other a piercing green.


    The images fled from Keyla¡¯s mind as swiftly as they¡¯d arrived, and she trembled with sudden fatigue. Shaking her head, Keyla pocketed the book and shut the drawer. As a last minute decision, she also pocketed the two blank journals as well.


    A knock sounded at the door.


    ¡°Mrs. Teknar, is that you in there? I heard a noise, is everything alright?¡±


    Keyla covered the distance in two quick leaps and turned the brass knob, plunging the room into darkness.


    ¡°Hello?¡± came the voice from outside the door again. The servant, perhaps?


    The doorknob rattled, and then Keyla heard the sound of jangling metal as the servant obviously began fumbling with a keyring.


    With nowhere to flee, Keyla ran to the back wall and opened the window, looking down into the small fenced yard before the alley below.


    Shadow was laying in his usual spot, though he looked up at her when the window opened.


    Keyla turned back toward the door and heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock.


    Flee now! You¡¯ve come too far to lose it all!


    Keyla heeded the voice and turned back to the window, climbing out of it and gripping the windowsill with both hands.


    She let go, silently hoping to land safely on the cobblestone below.


    An intense heat formed in her pocket where the Diary was as the ground grew ever closer, and somehow she slowed down just before she landed. The heat immediately abated.


    Shadow looked up at her and wagged his tail, letting his tongue hang free.


    Keyla flattened herself against the brick wall, praying she wouldn¡¯t be seen if the servant looked out the window.


    It¡¯s just the dog out here, it¡¯s just the dog, it¡¯s just the dog¡­ Keyla clenched her eyelids tight and repeated the mantra to herself over and over, losing track of time. Then she heard a soft voice through the window above her.


    ¡°¡­would be barking, but why would the master leave this open? And the door was locked. I¡¯d better go wake him.¡±


    She waited two breaths more, then opened her eyes.


    Shadow had apparently lost interest in her, and had laid back down. Keyla looked up and found the window above still open, but the room within dark.


    She fled into the night, her heart beating harder than it ever had.

 V - Collecting

    As Keyla traversed the back alleys and side streets on the way back to Auldavulin¡¯s, her thoughts kept returning to the burning sensation that had emanated from her pocket earlier.


    What, exactly, had happened: Had that heat been related to her slowing down as she plummeted from the second story window toward the cobblestone yard below? That would mean magick was involved, and magick meant danger to a street rat.


    She gulped, and her hand went to her pocket to ensure the Diary was still there. She didn¡¯t dare remove it until she was safe within the walls of Auldavulin¡¯s, but her paranoia pushed her to keep confirming its presence.


    What of the mans¡¯ voice she had heard while inside? It had sounded distant, though not like a shout. Keyla knew beyond a doubt that she¡¯d never heard that tone of voice before, but couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was somehow familiar to her.


    She warred with her inner self as she darted from shadow to shadow, taking notice of guard patrols but little else. Why had she trusted the voice? True, it had been right, but that was only obvious after the fact. Was it tied somehow to the magick of the book? Whose voice was it?


    Her hand clutched the book through the fabric of her pants again. It seemed to be calling to her.


    The scent of jasmine and clove reached her nose as she brought her hand up to scratch it. Right, the perfume! The servant had called out to Mrs. Teknar when he¡¯d approached the office, even though it had been a man who was studying there before. It was likely due to the scent hanging freshly in the air.


    Keyla knew a part of her had simply wanted to enjoy the luxury of smelling like a real lady, but she¡¯d been concerned about Shadow. If he was a tracking dog, she didn¡¯t want to leave a trail back to her. By wearing the perfume, any trail out the back window of the house would smell like Mrs. Teknar. As much as she wanted to secure the book inside Auldavulin¡¯s as she arrived, she stopped short of her sewer entrance and emptied her pockets onto the stone ledge next to it.


    She would need to risk a few minutes to wash herself and her clothes free of the scent before she entered the pipe to return home. That way, the trail would end cold at Ryk River.


    Hesitation froze her in place as she began to step away from the book. Surely, she shouldn¡¯t risk separating herself from it, not when she was so close to completing her task.


    Keyla pushed the doubt away. It would be a few feet from her as she soaked, and she would maintain a grip to the stone ledge, ready to heave herself out of the water and grab the books if anyone approached.


    Keyla kept her eyes on the stack next to her lock-pick folder as she lowered herself into the water. She floated there a time, alternating hands on the stone ledge to ensure both could wash the scent away. The book almost sang in her head, begging her to climb out of the river and read it.


    Almost unwilling to look away, she forced herself to close her eyes and dunk her head beneath the river¡¯s surface, running her free hand through her hair to let the water¡¯s scent permeate it. Keyla used the motion as she popped her head back up to lift herself up and over the ledge and paused there to listen for unexpected sounds.


    She waited, listening, until she was able to shake her hands relatively dry, then picked up the stack of diaries and lock-picks and ducked into the sewer pipe.


    Keyla sighed with relief as she locked the hatch in place, sealing her safely inside Auldavulin¡¯s. She reached for the lamp and matches next to it, grateful that she¡¯d remembered to leave them there. It would be a number of hours before the sun came up, and longer still before any of its rays penetrated the dirty windows of the distillery.


    She turned the valve to release some of the gas and lit the small pipe above the cannister before replacing the glass cover. She stripped out of her wet clothing and hung it over a pipe jutting out of a copper still beside her bed and sat down, eager to look at her treasures.


    Keyla smiled. She¡¯d managed to break into a house of a wealthy merchant in the Upper Ward, locate and steal what the fat priest had commissioned her to acquire, and come away with a golden pocket watch on top of it. The rags that formed her bed soaked up the remaining water that still clung to her skin as she sat down and crossed her legs. She dragged the lamp closer, then picked up Margaan¡¯s Diary.


    The book seemed to sigh with relief as she opened it to the first page.


    I¡¯m not sure I agree with her plan, but I can¡¯t yet bring myself to oppose her. My wife has always been strong willed and confident, and it is true that she is often right. But this time, I can¡¯t shake a nagging suspicion that her desired end does not justify the means.


    Keyla¡¯s eyes widened. The text had not been produced by a printing press, as all the copies of Selah¡¯s Diary were- it was hand written, and the ink was faded with age. Was she holding Margaan¡¯s actual diary? She flipped the cover closed and looked more closely at it. The leather was cracked and worn, suggesting its age. She opened it again, fanning through the pages. They were yellowed from time, and seemed to be a different material than the pages of the few books she¡¯d read. She turned back to the first page.


    She won¡¯t hear me, however. Why would she seek to deny all people access to this magick we¡¯ve discovered? It should be available for all. It¡¯s a part of nature, a part of us. Why should only people voted responsible enough be taught its secrets? Who are we to decide those people? I am conflicted. I am vexed.


    This was not the voice of Margaan the way the church portrayed him. He was evil incarnate, set on the destruction of society! She turned the page.


    We are one under the sun and moon, however. We must stay united. I will continue to support her, as she has always supported me. She is the senator, after all. I may be a philosopher and a teacher, but it is she who holds the respect of the city and power with the laws of our lands.


    A wave of emotion surged through Keyla¡¯s chest, startling her. Did the church have it all wrong, about Margaan? Is that why the book was banned?


    Keyla closed the book and dropped it to the floor, then moved herself over to rags that were dry and curled up on her side. She needed to sleep, wake, and deliver the book so she could collect her pay. These thoughts would not put food in her belly, but the priest¡¯s coin would.


    She closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind, but soon found her attention longing for the book once more. No! Simple is Survival.


    Minutes passed and Keyla tossed and turned. With a growl of frustration she leaned up and picked up the Diary again, flipping to the last few pages.


    I have not the words to elucidate the rage Selah fuels in me. What she preaches as order and structure for society is nothing but a forced hierarchy from poverty to wealth, of societal slavery! To limit magick in such a way, to make its use legally punishable by law for the poor and downtrodden, or at-risk citizens, is a cruelty against nature. This magick is part of us, but she would refuse people access to it based on their place in society. Narn damn her!


    And so it comes to this. This divide, this chasm between us yawning ever wider these past months, which fills now with the fires of disgust and revulsion. I love her, I can never deny that, but she would deny people what should be theirs by virtue of life itself, for the ease of maintaining order in the kingdom. Even writing this I want to scream.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Keyla¡¯s mouth had gone dry. She felt nervous as she read, as if she would be caught at any moment for learning something she shouldn¡¯t.


    Day after day she sends soldiers against my fellows, her former friends, we who have built a resistance against her tyranny. We who are so few, now. They call me a monster, but who made me this way? Who slaughtered our friends for wanting what is rightfully theirs, and forced me to dig deep into these magicks to fuel their lifeless bodies such that they may continue to serve the cause?


    Who betrayed the sacred bond between us when she pushed her twisted, demented plan for the organization of this magick into law?


    Yet I am the monster. I, who fight for the right of all peoples to harness the magick that exists in us all.


    So be it. If that is what it takes, I will pay that price. I will be this monster. Selah must be forced to see reason; to see what she is doing to society. She can still right this wrong, I have to believe that. I have to¡­


    Keyla sat for a long time, just staring at the last page of Margaan¡¯s diary. Emotions roiled within her that she didn¡¯t understand. She felt for Margaan, but Selah had saved them all, hadn¡¯t she? She had committed sins so that Keyla and her fellow citizens wouldn¡¯t have to, and banished a monster from the realm. This is what everybody in Ryk had been taught for generations. Selah burned in Narn¡¯s ninth hell even now, for them all. For her.


    Keyla shivered and blinked, realizing that while her lamp had gone at some point, the room was no longer dark. The sun was up. It was time to get dressed, and collect her payment.


    |||||||||||||||


    The church loomed before her as Keyla looked up at its¡¯ spires. As one of the tallest buildings outside the noble district in Ryk, it was hard not to be impressed. The stone was thick and white, though not shiny like the marble inside.


    Keyla walked up the steps, pressing a hand to the pocket that contained the Margaan¡¯s Diary. She wished she had more time. She wanted to read more of it, to understand what really happened. She had always taken what was written in Selah¡¯s Diary as the truth of what had happened - always looked up to Selah and praised her for her sacrifice.


    Yet last night, all of that had been thrown into question. Her stomach was in knots as she entered the church and turned toward the priest¡¯s office. She knocked on the thick oaken door.


    ¡°Enter¡±, she heard the large man say from inside.


    Opening the door she saw him seated behind his desk as a servant girl, who had been kneeling next to him, stood. The woman quickly excused herself and Keyla approached the priest.


    ¡°I have the Diary you wanted,¡± she said simply, pulling it from her pocket. She didn¡¯t want to give it to him.


    The priest¡¯s eyes lit up and he smiled, holding out his hand across the desk.


    ¡°What about my payment?¡± she asked, holding the book to her chest. The urge to keep the book, to turn around and leave with it, was powerful. The diary seemed to hum in her mind.


    ¡°Ah, yes, of course, child.¡±


    The fat priest reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out the same coinpurse Keyla had seen a week before. He set it on the desk and patted the top.


    ¡°As promised. Now, if you please?¡± He held out his hand once more.


    Keyla pushed back her emotions as though swallowing bile down her throat, placed the book in his hands and then quickly reached for the sack of coins. She pulled it to her and clutched it tightly.


    The priest didn¡¯t take notice as his eyes were fixed on the diary.


    ¡°You¡¯ve no idea, child, what disaster this would have wrought, had it remained in the hands of the citizens,¡± he said distractedly, leafing through the pages.


    Keyla remained silent, unsure of what to say. Would Selah be proud of her for turning this over? She desperately wanted to read the rest of the diary, and compare it with Selah¡¯s.


    Biting her lip to help focus her thoughts, she turned to leave. The priest didn¡¯t acknowledge her. As she reached his door, she glanced back at him overt her shoulder.


    He placed the diary on a shelf in a cabinet behind his desk, then locked it.


    Keyla left before he turned back around.


    She stared at the pavement as she walked back to Auldavulin¡¯s with her hands stuffed in her pockets. The hum she kept hearing from the book seemed to turn sad and became faint the further away she got from it. She was imagining it, of course, but she longed to hold the diary again, as though it were a precious memento of a loved one, the memory of whom had begun to fade.


    ¡°You have returned!¡±


    What? Keyla stopped and looked over to see a blind beggar sitting against the walls of an empty factory building. She¡¯d walked all the way back to her neighborhood.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± she asked.


    The old man smiled. ¡°You have returned to us. Thank you,¡± he said.


    ¡°I think you have me confused with somebody else, I¡¯ve never met you before.¡±


    ¡°Of course you haven¡¯t,¡± the thin, ragged man said with a laugh. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t make any sense at all. I wasn¡¯t there, after all. I¡¯ve only ever been here! But you¡¯re here now, too, and I¡¯m grateful. Everybody will be, when word spreads.¡±


    ¡°Um. Alright then, mister. You have a good day, now.¡±


    Keyla shook her head as she walked away. The poor man was both homeless and blind. Surely anybody would eventually lose their minds having to live that way. Something about his enthusiasm and conviction made her uncomfortable.


    Back at Auldavulin¡¯s she split her coins up into nine separate piles of nine coins each. She kept the pile of silver coins out to spend on food and whatever else she would want in the coming days. The remaining gold coins she hid in various spots throughout the distillery.


    It helped calm her mind to focus on the task, but when she was done her thoughts returned to Margaan.


    While Keyla had never smoked dream-leaf, but she had seen the effects it had on those who did, when it was denied them. She felt that way as she considered how much she wanted to finish reading the diary. Her body almost seemed to itch with desire, and she hugged her arms to herself to try and shake the feeling.


    Perhaps she could steal it back? She¡¯d seen where he locked it away in his office, after all.


    The priest would immediately know it was her, though. She was the only one, other than him, who knew about the book.


    That wasn¡¯t true, though! Mr. Teknar knew about it, and the priest had found out it was in his possession, so why couldn¡¯t he find out the priest had taken it?


    Keyla ran over to the loose floorboard beside her bed and pried it open. She set the board aside and reached in to pull out the golden pocket watch.


    She would have to hold on to this for a long time before she¡¯d safely be able to fence it. Perhaps it could be of better use to her in another way, and sooner?


    If she could sneak into the priest¡¯s office at night when he and the other church staff were away, she could leave this behind - perhaps on the floor, as if dropped when fleeing the scene. It would throw suspicion off of her, and onto Mr. Teknar.


    It could work, and it would put the book back in her hands. She could use one of the empty journals she¡¯d taken and copy it all down. Maybe she could even get hired to re-steal the Diary further down the road, since she¡¯d done it once before?


    |||||||||||||||


    Night couldn¡¯t arrive quickly enough for Keyla. Despite not sleeping the night before, she spent most of the day planning, practially bouncing around the distillery as she tried to think through every scenario.


    The church was in a much more populated district than the Upper Ward, and even at night, the guards would be patrolling it far more regularly. The main doors, however, remained unlocked. There were always a couple of nuns who took confession late into the evening, and remained to clean the and polish the marble until dawn. It was a habit to leave the doors open, should any other citizen wish for a late night confession.


    She¡¯d have to stick to the shadows and slip in without the guards noticing her, but it would help that the main doors should be unlocked.


    The challenge, then, would be breaking into the priest¡¯s office without being seen by the nuns. There was no easy way to note the schedule of the women inside, the way she had watched the Teknar house night after night to decide on the best time to break in. She would be noticed, and remembered, if she tried spending entire nights in the church watching the nuns.


    There was also the risk that the Father Chantol would move the book from the cabinet he¡¯d placed it in that morning. If that happened, she feared she¡¯d never find it. That thought made her chest ache and she hugged herself again.


    She would do it tonight. She would adjust to whatever transpired in the moment, and make quick decisions. She¡¯d done well with her close encounters these past couple of days. She could do it again. Not without rest, however.


    Keyla couldn¡¯t remember laying down to sleep, excited, as many times as she had this past week. She smiled as she closed her eyes.


    When she jerked awake for the third time with the memory of smelling burning flesh still fresh in her mind, it was dark. She shuddered a final time, forcing the fires of her dreams from her mind, and felt around for the loose floorboard. Prying it open, she pulled out the pocket watch and stood.


    As her lamp had burned through the remaining gas in it¡¯s cannister the night before, she felt her way over to the still where she¡¯d hung her clothes to dry. The were cool and still a little bit damp, but they would do. She shivered as she dressed. She also gathered up her hair and put on the runner¡¯s cap. It wouldn¡¯t hurt to be mistaken as a boy in the darkness.


    Shoving the watch into her pocket she moved back over to her bed, and felt around until she was able to grab her lock-pick folder. She knocked over the pile of silver coins, having forgotten that it was sitting next to her bed.


    Nine hells.


    Keyla sighed. She¡¯d deal with it in the morning. She made her way over to the hatch in the floor, climbed down into the sewer, then walked out into the night.

 VI - Stealing

    Keyla hesitated at the alley¡¯s exit, flattening herself against the wall and keeping herself hidden from the street lamp¡¯s light. The market district opened to the forecourt in front of the church in this direction. Once there, the columns of the peristyle would give her ample opportunities for cover, but reaching them unseen was cause for concern.


    The shops were all long closed at this hour, but the lamps were lit and guards were patrolling the area at regular intervals.


    She knew she couldn¡¯t take too long studying patrol patterns or the early rising priests would begin to wake and prepare for their day inside the church. More bodies meant more chances to be discovered while she was inside.


    Keyla frowned, and turned back to the alley to think. On the opposite wall a copper drainage pipe led up to the roof of a two story clockmaker¡¯s shop. Perhaps she could climb, and move over the rooftops to get closer to the church?


    She pressed herself flat against the wall again as she heard a patrol approaching along the avenue. She clenched her eyes shut and imagined herself as nothing, invisible, not worthy of notice.


    ¡°You won¡¯t believe what happened next, I tell you what,¡± she heard a gruff voice say as it passed by the alley.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably right, I won¡¯t,¡± another voice responded. This one was higher, and sounded very bored with the conversation.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s just say they won¡¯t be comin¡¯ back for her apple pie any time soon!¡± The first man guffawed as the other one sighed.


    Their footsteps faded and Keyla opened her eyes. It was now or never!


    She darted across the alley, risking a few moments in the lamp¡¯s light as she leapt and grabbed hold of the pipe. She didn¡¯t weigh much and constantly climbing the ladder in and out of Auldavulin¡¯s, as well as up the stone walls of the river when she came out the sewer, had left her strong enough to shimmy up the pipe without fuss.


    Curved terracotta shingles lay interspersed with one another, sloping up so steeply that Keyla began to doubt her decision. She looked down over her shoulder and immediately regretted it. This was much higher than the window had been the other night!


    She stayed there, half on the roof and half hanging over the side, for a moment to let her heart settle. Rather than be gripped by the fear of falling, she focused on her breathing. She was already up here. She could go back down, and she knew what lay below, or she could go up.


    Margaan¡¯s Diary, and her answers, were waiting for her. Her heart ached at the thought of never reading the book again.


    Keyla brought her knee up for leverage and hoisted the rest of her body up and onto the roof.  She stayed in a crawling position, keeping her belly low to the shingles, and began to move up the steep incline.


    Fortunately, the clay tiles held firm and were much sturdier than she¡¯d expected when she first reached up to feel them. Her confidence increased as she arrived at the top saw that there was a flat section about two feet wide stretching the entire length of the building. Multiple shops were housed within, and she¡¯d be able to bypass most of the market district this way. She stayed crouched and moved as quietly as she could to the far end of the structure.


    The moon was half full and provided enough light to see the silhouette of the city sprawling out in all directions. Ryk wasn¡¯t just large, it was enormous. Even though the government was based out of Lyr, Ryk dwarfed it in sheer size and population. Built onto the side of a very steep hill, half of the city¡¯s buildings seemed to stretch up toward the sky, though in truth they were not more than four or five stories tall.


    As Keyla reached the end of the building, a new problem presented itself: getting safely down. The rooftop sloped down just as steeply as it had on the other side, and then dropped into the darkness of the alley below.


    She sat down on the edge of the flat portion of the roof, letting her legs lay down along the shingles. If she inched herself slowly down, she should be able control her descent without sliding off. But what would she do when she reached the ledge?


    That was a question for when she arrived. Adjust to the moment and make quick decisions, right? Wasn¡¯t that the plan? What a stupid plan. She shook her head and sighed.


    Keyla scooted her butt along the slope, alternating with her hands and feet to slowly but steadily descend. When she neared the edge, she looked to the street as the flame of the lamp closest to the alley went out.


    What would cause that? Had she been seen? There were no guards around that she could see. Perhaps the gas had been turned off? The other lamps across the street were still lit, though. She looked around it but didn¡¯t see anybody. She did notice, however, that the lamp was almost as high as the base of the roof.


    A crazy idea began to form and despite her nerves, she couldn¡¯t see any other way down. Without letting herself think it through, Keyla reversed her direction and moved halfway back up the roof.  There, she crouched, angling herself toward the street lamp, and began to run.


    She was moving far faster than she ever had before due to the angle, but when she neared the ledge she remembered to plant her foot and launch herself hard toward the street lamp.


    For a moment Keyla¡¯s mind was empty. She was weightless, flying through the night. The next she was slamming hard into the metal iron of the street lamp. All of the air in her lungs whooshed out of her as her chest smashed against the metal.


    With the wind knocked out of her she almost missed as she wrapped an arm around the pole and slid the rest of the way down.


    She tried to breath as she stumbled a couple of steps away from the lamp, but the shock of the impact hadn¡¯t worked its way free of her chest yet. Just as she managed to inhale again, the street lamp¡¯s flame reignited.


    Nine hells! Keyla darted into the alley and ducked behind a crate to catch her breath.  She waited there, another guard patrol having come and gone, before she felt ready to proceed. She would likely have a bruise across her entire torso tomorrow. For now, however, she was still energized from the excitement and ready to move again.


    She jogged to the first of the pillars that made up the peristyle in front of the church. It was easy to dash between them as all of the gas lamps were on the periphery. Only moonlight lit the forecourt.


    As she arrived the last pillar, she noticed that two guards had stopped for a chat near the front entrance to the church. Frowning, Keyla waited, but it seemed as though they were going to converse for some time. She looked around for other avenues of approach, then sighed and glanced down at her feet.


    A few loose rocks lay atop the cobblestone, and she bent to pick them up. Turning back toward the guards, Keyla reviewed her options.


    She wouldn¡¯t be able to knock out the guards with rocks, and she¡¯d never been much of a fighter. Besides, they were well trained and carried truncheons. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    She would need to create a distraction instead, and draw the two officers away from the steps leading up to the main doors.


    Keyla threw her first rock as hard as she could at the alley to the left of the church.


    One of the guards glanced that way, but neither made a move to investigate. Hells. On any other night she¡¯d love to have lazy watchmen, but right now their nonchalance was preventing her from getting the book!


    She drew her arm back, whispered a quiet apology to Selah, and hurled the other rock at a crinoline shop. She winced as it shattered one of the windows, but smiled when the guards noticed.


    ¡°What in Narn¡¯s name is going on over there!¡± One shouted, and the two of them ran toward the shop.


    Keyla didn¡¯t waste a second as she bolted over to the large oaken doors of the church. Without risking the time to look behind her at the guards, she slipped inside.


    As the door slid silently closed behind her, Keyla¡¯s eyes darted around the massive marble interior of the church. She could spot two nuns sweeping between the pews down toward the pulpit. She hunched her shoulders and turned toward Father Chantol¡¯s office.


    The front entrance wasn¡¯t particularly well lit. Unlike most of the other structures in Ryk, the church still used candles and torches. Keyla realized she didn¡¯t even know if it was piped for gas. This worked to her advantage, creating deep shadows along the walls that she was able to step into and move through without notice.


    The lock on the priest¡¯s office door was simple, and Keyla smiled to herself as she bumped the final tumbler into place and lifted the latch.


    She pushed the door shut behind her as she stepped onto the rug that took up the majority of floor space in the office.


    Nothing had changed since she¡¯d been here earlier. A scant bit of moonlight through the tall stained glass window illuminated just enough of the shapes of the desk and chairs for her to creep over to where the priest had been sitting, and locate the locked cabinet. He¡¯d placed the diary in there.


    Kneeling, she began to work on the lock. It was more complicated than the door had been, and she lost track of time as she dexterously wiggled the thin metal rods to maneuver the tumblers where they needed to go.


    Finally the familiar and welcome click sounded, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She opened the cabinet door, but it was too dark to see inside. Reaching in with a hand she felt the leather cover of a book, and smiled again as she felt it¡¯s familiar hum in her mind. This book belonged with her, or at the very least, not with the church.


    Keyla¡¯s breath caught in her throat as she heard a sound outside the office door.


    ¡°I swear to you I locked it,¡± a woman, one of the nun¡¯s said.


    ¡°Well it¡¯s open now," another whispered. "I¡¯ll call the guards in. Stay here and watch the door."


    She looked back toward the door. It hadn¡¯t closed all the way, and torchlight could be seen flickering through the gap.


    It was all going to be over, soon. It wasn¡¯t far from the office door to the main entrance, only a handful of strides, but with the nun¡¯s between her and freedom and guards on the way, she would be caught for sure.


    Think!


    Her eyes moved frantically throughout the room. She could only make out dark shapes as the staining on the glass of the window prevented much of the moon¡¯s light from piercing the darkness.


    The window!


    She glanced up at it. It was a tall, artistic portrayal of Selah. Keyla had never cared for these images of her beloved Selah. True, she had no idea what the woman had looked like in life, but she felt uncomfortable about Selah¡¯s beauty in these depictions.


    Keyla put Margaan¡¯s Diary in her pocket and moved to the other side of the desk to grip one of the wooden chairs. She reached into her other pocket and pulled out Teknar¡¯s gold pocket watch. It would have fed her for a month. Frowning but holding in her sigh, she dropped it onto the rug below.


    "Selah, please forgive me." She voiced a quiet prayer.


    The front door to the church had opened and she heard whispered voices informing the guards that the office had been broken into. Time was up.


    Shoving all doubt out of her mind, Keyla picked up the chair and ran toward the window, then pushed forward and heaved the chair up and through the window.


    Glass shattered and as she heard the door opening she jumped, launching herself through opening between the remaining shards.


    ¡°He¡¯s out the window! Let¡¯s go!¡±


    The chase was on. Keyla landed solidly on the cobblestone outside and began to run.


    |||||||||||||||


    Streets and alleys swiftly became a blur of light and dark as she ran, but she was unable to lose her pursuers. Keyla had taken so many twists and turns that she was no longer confident of exactly where she was.


    ¡°Narn damn them!¡± She swore under her breath as she turned down another alley and slammed into the metal pipes of scaffolding that had been set up there.


    The air left her lungs with a whoosh and the blow to her already tender chest sent jolts of pain through her body. She bounced backwards, landing hard on the cobblestone. With a grimace she pushed herself up, trying to ignore the pain. The guards footsteps were fast approaching. Back to the rooftops it is, then! Let¡¯s see them follow me up there.


    Keyla reached up to lift herself onto the first pipe, then began to climb.


    ¡°Stop right there, boy!¡±


    She felt fingers almost close around her foot as she climbed another step, but they failed to grab hold. She held back a scream and tried to climb faster, but the scaffolding began to shake as the guards grabbed hold and hefted themselves up after her. She bit her lip and focused on her grip. One hand after the other, one foot on the pipe above the last.


    The guards were focusing just as much as Keyla, as they didn¡¯t close the short gap between them. The metal rods groaned under the weight of all three of them, but held as Keyla pulled herself up and over onto the wooden plank on top of the frame. From there she was able to hop up onto a roof topped with familiar shingles, the same as she¡¯d seen in the market.


    She looked left and right briefly and smiled. She was indeed back in the market! She didn¡¯t want to lead them back to the industrial district where Auldavulin¡¯s awaited her, so she sprinted across the length of the rooftop in the direction of the Upper Ward.


    Keyla heard a scream behind her but didn¡¯t turn back.


    ¡°Gods be damned, you clumsy bastard! He¡¯s running toward the Upper Ward. Head that way!¡±


    Perhaps the second guard had fallen during her climb? That would mean only one had managed to clear the rooftop to chase her. Keyla sucked in a deep breath and pushed herself harder, far more confident in her footing on the terracotta tiles than she had been earlier that night.


    Her chest burned as she ran. Her breaths were becoming ragged, and the blows she¡¯d taken upon hitting the lamp post and then the scaffolding were beginning to demand attention. Every struggled exhalation left her chest sore and fatigue began to set in.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got nowhere to run, boy!¡± a ragged but gruff voice yelled from behind her. ¡°There¡¯s no more construction ahead, and these buildings don¡¯t stay connected much longer. Stop now and we¡¯ll go easy on ya!¡±


    Easy my arse, Keyla thought as she leapt over an alleyway onto the next rooftop. The guard was right, however. This would be her last building before a large, two lane avenue crossed her path and signaled the end of the market district.


    She looked to her right. A one lane street ran parallel to the building. Perhaps, if she slid down the shingles swiftly enough, she could make the jump?


    There was no time to plan. She turned sharply and hopped down from the top, flat portion of the roof and back onto the tiles. Her speed did indeed let her skid down them, though as she neared the ledge she again took a few large steps to launch herself across the street below.


    Forcing her eyes to stay open despite her desperate desire to clench them shut, she leapt.


    For a moment everything went still. She flew through the air, and everything was right with the world.


    Then she began plummeting down toward the street. The gap had been too far to jump. Terror gripped her as the cobblestones swiftly approached. Was this how it would all end? All of the hunger, the fear, the loneliness? Keyla closed her eyes.


    Then the book in her pocket began to heat up, the way it had the first time she¡¯d stolen it, and her descent slowed - not as much as it had the first time, but enough.


    She landed on her feet but the impact was too fast and she rolled onto her side, slamming her shoulder onto the uneven stone and letting out a grunt as her vision swam, then went black.


    You¡¯re welcome, acushla. Now run!


    Keyla blinked a few times, her sight returning. She rose, lightheaded, and ran into an alley across the way. She heard the guard curse from the rooftop behind her.


    She held her arm as she stumbled from shadow to shadow, never pausing to fully catch her breath as she took a circuitous route back to Auldavulin¡¯s. A distance that could be traversed in fifteen minutes took her almost an hour as she moved randomly, constantly looking over her shoulder.


    By the time she reached the sewer¡¯s entrance, Keyla knew she was alone. She¡¯d managed to steal back Margaan¡¯s Diary, and then lose her pursuers. She may even start to rival some of the known and named thieves of the city, one day. She smiled as she grabbed hold of the ladder, then winced as her shoulder protested the motion. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she climbed back up to her home. The book was hers, once more. The knowledge comforted her, as if she¡¯d found something she¡¯d lost long ago. Now, she could rest.

 VII - Meeting

    Keyla dabbed her quill into the inkwell she¡¯d taken from a merchant¡¯s cart while he was engaged with a fruit vendor when she¡¯d gone out in search of breakfast that morning. She had started copying it from the beginning a few hours ago. She turned the page in Margaan¡¯s diary, and continued transcribing it onto the blank journal she¡¯d taken from Mr. Teknar¡¯s office.


    We are all equal, I say. We are all of two legs, two arms, two thumbs. We are all sentient. We build civilizations, and though they differ from one another across cultural foundations, they nevertheless all separate us from the kingdom of animals. Why, then, should birth matter?


    Why, indeed? Keyla wondered at this as she dipped the quill again. Order was why, she knew. Selah sought to preserve order and peace in their society. Yet despite having been taught that all her life, she found herself curious about Margaan¡¯s resistance to the idea.


    Why should the luck of having been born to noble or high ranking members of society dictate one¡¯s right to use what is, in fact, a natural part of them? Does being born to a noble family make you a better person? Some may argue that it does, but I push back that it is only due to the educational faculties made available to them, and the expectations placed upon them. Other outside factors play a role, as well. If society were to account for these factors, and apply them across the board, would not all of Ryk¡¯s citizens wield the same respect for accountability? Would not all become capable of the wisdom with which to wield our magicks?


    It was hard for Keyla to fault his words. Nevertheless, something nagged at the back of her mind, reminding her that Selah not only opposed him, but gave her life to do so. Certainly Selah must have known something she had yet to grasp.


    Days passed as Keyla poured over the diary, voraciously consuming the arguments held therein. Margaan had indeed been a philosopher. Where Selah¡¯s diary made statements, Margaan¡¯s constantly questioned, posited, and theorized.


    It became clear to her that the church would go to further, greater lengths to snuff out the flames of resistance this writing could lead to. It was a challenge to their power. Power the church used to keep the citizens in check, and in castes, all presented under a mask of peace and order. Whatever Selah had set out to do, the church that built up around her memory had further twisted to suit its own designs.


    Keyla, like Margaan in the first few pages of his diary, was conflicted. She had finished transcribing his words into the second journal, and could understand where he was coming from. At the same time, it seemed to Keyla that without order in society, chaos would take hold. Wasn¡¯t there a way that everybody could use the magick that apparently existed in them naturally, without its use being determined by the life you were born into?


    She thought on it as she closed her copy of the diary. Perhaps she should visit Mr. Teknar? He may be able to shed light on the conflict within her. He¡¯d apparently been studying the diary as well before she took it, and had attracted enough attention doing so to merit Father Chantol paying her to steal it.


    Fairly certain that she hadn¡¯t been seen by any household staff that night, she made up her mind. She would visit his townhouse tomorrow, and bring the diary as a peace offering. She had her own copy now, after all.


    How would she explain that she knew it was his? Keyla spent the evening pacing the floor of Auldavulin¡¯s forming her plan. In the end, honesty may prove the best tactic here. If Mr. Teknar was indeed a Margaanite, surely he would value honesty. He would certainly understand the church wanting the book out of his hands. Perhaps he would welcome her not as the thief who had stolen his property, but as a girl whose eyes had been opened and sought to make amends by returning it.


    The thought of parting with it sent pangs frantic worry through her chest in waves, but she closed her eyes breathed slowly and methodically through her nose until they began to fade. She still didn¡¯t understand her attachment to the diary, but she would need to master her over emotion if she was going to have any chance at finally understanding the words it held within.


    The next morning she took a few moments to bathe again. She¡¯d washed her clothes a few days prior, and while they had been scuffed in her flight from the church, they were otherwise still serviceable. She decided it would be best not to risk losing her own copy of Margaan¡¯s Diary, and so she hid it beneath the loose floorboard near her bedding. With the original securely in her pocket, Keyla left the distillery and began the trek to the Upper Ward.


    |||||||||||||||


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry but the master isn¡¯t taking visitors at this time, girl,¡± the servant who answered the door said with a slight curl of his lip.


    Keyla was used to that. It was obvious, even in clean clothes, that she was in a lowly caste. Still, there didn¡¯t seem to be any of the usual disgust behind the statement. It was as if the man didn¡¯t really mean it, but was speaking to her that way out of habit. That was new.


    She was fairly certain he was the servant in the kitchen the night she¡¯d broken in, and the one who had almost caught her.


    Without a word she reached into her pocket and pulled out the diary.


    The man stopped halfway through the process of closing the door and froze, looking down at her offering with narrowed eyes.


    ¡°Come in,¡± he said simply as he opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass. ¡°Wait here in the foyer, I will¡­speak with the master.¡±


    Keyla looked around the entryway as he walked up the stairs opposite the door. In the daylight, it was much more welcoming. The floor was a series of black and white marble tiles in a diamond pattern, which shone slightly from the light coming through the windows. It gave the area an airy feeling. She thought it was silly, spending money on something like that floor, when it could easily serve its purpose as wooden planks. Even nice, polished planks would leave much coin left over for other things like food, or more of that jasmine and clove perfume.


    She glanced up the stairs, but couldn¡¯t make out the hallway table where the flacon was, from where she stood.


    The sound of footsteps came from above and the servant appeared from the top of the stairwell.


    ¡°Come¡±, he said simply.


    Keyla clutched the diary in her hands and walked up the stairs to join him.


    The man sniffed, then turned to lead her toward the library.


    Inside were more people than Keyla had expected, and her eyes widened before she controlled her face and brought it back to a neutral expression. A quick count told her there were ten visitors, but only a handful of them were dressed as splendidly as she expected. The others were their servants, perhaps? Yet they all seemed to be standing as equals, both men and women.


    All turned to look at her as she entered, and she tried to mask her gulp. She had never liked attention.


    ¡°Goodness. Dekkar here didn¡¯t tell me how young you were, child.¡±


    The man speaking must be Mr. Teknar. His build fit the silhouette she¡¯d seen through the keyhole that night. He wasn¡¯t ugly, but she didn¡¯t find him particularly handsome either. He was relatively slim, with a thin mustache that didn¡¯t connect under the nose, and shaved chin.


    She didn¡¯t respond. The servant, Dekkar apparently, was still behind her, blocking the doorway. Her pulse quickened but she tried to breathe normally.


    ¡°Or perhaps not as young as you first appear,¡± Teknar said as he looked more closely at her. ¡°Petite to be sure, and certainly undernourished. I suppose that would have stunted your development.¡±


    The others in the room watched the two of them without comment, occasionally sipping their drinks.


    ¡°Not one for idle talk, are you? Well then, Dekkar says you¡¯ve my property with you. Are you¡­ returning it?¡±


    Keyla forced herself to raise her hands, both of which were now tightly gripping the diary, so he could see it.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Ah, yes. I was a mite upset when I found that missing. How did you come by it?¡±


    Keyla glanced at the others in the room. She could detect no malice in their eyes, but a guarded curiosity of sorts. Dekkar was still behind her, and the urge to shuffle from foot to foot was hard to suppress. She was always nervous when an exit was blocked.


    ¡°You¡¯ve nothing to fear here, girl. You obviously know who I am. Harming a young girl would tarnish my reputation in ways I care not to explore.¡±


    She swallowed and licked her lips. They¡¯d gone dry and felt cracked.


    ¡°I stole it from Father Chantol earlier this week,¡± she finally said. Her voice, despite her nerves, came out evenly. She silently thanked Selah, pleased to avoid embarrassing herself.


    ¡°Stole? You¡¯re a thief, then. A member of the guild?¡±


    Keyla shook her head. ¡°Never.¡±


    Teknar waited a moment but when it was clear she wasn¡¯t going to elaborate, he continued.


    ¡°And how did you know that this belonged to me?¡±


    ¡°Because Father Chantol paid me to steal it from you the night before,¡± she responded. Mr. Teknar seemed to be a very intelligent man. She¡¯d learned at an early age that giving up too much information freely gave power to the other person. She would be honest with him, but if he had to earn it, he would respect her more for it. If she was to get answers out of him, she needed him to see value in her.


    Amusement sparkled in his eyes.


    ¡°So you¡¯re the mysterious thief who jumped from my window that night. I¡¯m pleased you didn¡¯t hurt yourself.¡±


    She shrugged.


    Ice clinked in his glass as he set the tumbler down on the coffee table in the center of the room. He stepped toward her, opening his hands in front of him as he did so.


    ¡°Why then, after successfully breaking into my home and leaping out into the night with my possession, are you returning it?¡±


    ¡°I have questions.¡±


    A smile came to Teknar¡¯s lips to match the crinkles at his eyes. ¡°So you¡¯ve read it.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And you want to know why the church is doing everything it can to keep this knowledge off the streets.¡±


    ¡°I already know that. It¡¯s a threat to their establishment.¡±


    One of the older, well dressed gentlemen cleared his throat and looked sideways at Teknar, but her host ignored him. The woman next to him tilted her head as she looked at Keyla.


    ¡°I too, have questions,¡± Teknar said. ¡°For one, how is it that constables came to my door two days ago and brought me in for questioning on the suspicion that it was I, or someone in my employ, who stole from the church?¡±


    Time to give up some of her information as a show of her worth.


    ¡°Because I stole the pocket watch your wife gave you the night I took the diary, and I left it on the floor of Father Chantol¡¯s office as I fled the scene to cast suspicion away from me.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow, then his eyes widened in acknowledgment. ¡°Yes, from the music room! I haven¡¯t used that room in a fortnight. I forgot I¡¯d left it in there. You made yourself at home here that night, then.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t visit the third floor. Once you left the office I retrieved what I came for, and left.¡±


    Teknar nodded and Keyla took a moment to glance around the room again. They were all staring at her as if she were a curiosity they¡¯d never seen before. She shifted from foot to foot a couple of times before locking her legs in place. The scrutiny was uncomfortable and very, very unfamiliar.


    He sighed. ¡°Well, while I didn¡¯t particularly enjoy being questioned, I had an irrefutable alibi for that night. In the end it is what it is, and you¡¯re here now.¡±


    Keyla had expected him to be more upset, but his amused smile curled the corners of his mouth once more. He also still hadn¡¯t moved to take the diary from her.


    She watched as Mr. Teknar looked around the room, making eye contact with each person present. He even waited to receive nods from who she thought were servants, before turning back to her.


    ¡°Before I continue, I find myself at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I do not know yours.¡±


    Right. Simple etiquette. ¡°Keyla,¡± she replied.


    He bowed to her. ¡°Keyla, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We always welcome inquisitive minds who seek to challenge the teachings ingrained in Ryk¡¯s culture and open themselves to a broader truth.


    ¡°We,¡± he lifted his arms to motion to the others in the room, ¡°are Margaanites, and we would see the church¡¯s power diminished.¡±


    Keyla looked at the others in the room once more. Dekkar had moved in and was no longer blocking the door. Instead, he had picked up a glass of the amber liquid as well, and was sipping it as he leaned up against the back of a leather chair. That was quite unlike a servant to do.


    He looked at her again, his gaze piercing her own. ¡°You look so very familiar,¡± he said, his voice trailing off uncharacteristically. Several heads nodded in agreement. Teknar cocked his head as if listening to something only he could here, then seemed to regain his focus.


    ¡°We do not agree with all of the Ryk¡¯s laws. The caste system, for instance, limits the citizenry for incredibly stupid reasons,¡± Teknar continued. ¡°We act the part in public, but behind closed doors all present here have committed to cast aside the traditional hierarchy. Dekkar here still maintains my household, but also has his own room on the third floor. We¡¯ve converted the servant¡¯s quarters in the kitchen into a second pantry. When we are at home, he is simply my friend and employee.


    Martha here, as you may well guess by her garb, is a servant down the street. She is only a servant due to society, however. She¡¯s just as quick of intellect as I.¡±


    The woman snorted.


    ¡°Well, perhaps she is even smarter. Regardless, the system is illogical and only serves to empower the church. Do they not refer to us as their flock, whom they tend? Who holds the power in a flock? The Shepherd, for the flock are mindless animals who follow the shepherd, wherever he may go, without question. That is what they want.


    And so we maintain our respective roles in public, but meet in secret to explore ways in which we might alter society¡¯s perspective.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure this is a good idea?¡± the elderly gentleman who¡¯d cleared his throat earlier whispered to Teknar.


    ¡°Elfrad, my friend, look at her. Look closely.¡±


    The man bristled at hearing his name, but moved his eyes over Keyla. After a moment of studying her face, he sighed, and seated himself in the leather chair behind him.


    ¡°What does looking at me have to do with anything?¡± Keyla asked.


    Teknar waved his hand, dismissing her question. ¡°Ask yourself this, miss Keyla. The priests wield powerful magick, as do the nobles. As do I, and many of us here in this room. Yet you do not. Why?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m a street rat.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m a criminal. I can¡¯t be trusted to understand the responsibility that would come with wielding that kind of power.¡± She knew as she spoke that he was leading her on, and so she gave him the answer she knew he wanted.


    Teknar nodded. ¡°And yet, you came here today and confessed your crime to me. You brought the book back. You are honest, which begs the question: are you not worthy of trust?¡±


    She shrugged and remained silent.


    ¡°We believe that the church is corrupt. They have twisted Selah¡¯s sacrifice into a tool to oppress and subdue the population of Ryk. They¡¯ve robbed the citizenry, they¡¯ve robbed you, of a magick that exists inside us all. Magick that is ready to be called upon and harnessed for all our benefit.¡±


    Everyone in the room was nodding along with his words.


    ¡°And so we find ourselves plotting behind closed doors, a hidden rebellion of sorts. We believe that Margaan may have had the right of it, at least in the beginning. Nobody here will deny that Selah sacrificed herself for the good of her people, for the good of us. But her diary only tells half the story, and given what the church has done with her sacrifice, we must question everything.¡±


    Keyla found herself nodding along with Teknar as he spoke.


    He looked toward the wall, his eyes far away, and cocked his head again. He shrugged and turned back to her.


    ¡°We¡¯re hoping to start a revolution. We¡¯re hoping,¡± he paused for emphasis, ¡°to bring Margaan back from his exile.¡±


    Keyla¡¯s eyes widened and her mouth parted in shock. Was that even possible?


    ¡°Unfortunately, we cannot decipher the second half of his Diary, as it¡¯s written in code. We haven¡¯t found a cipher for it, yet.¡±


    She scrunched her brows in confusion. ¡°I read the whole thing, though.¡±


    Only after speaking did she want to smack her forehead. She shouldn¡¯t have given away that she could read it, if they could not!


    Teknar smiled. ¡°Margaan was a very powerful magick user. Did you read to the last page?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied. There was no reason not to admit it, now.


    ¡°Did you notice in his writing, how he spaced each of his lines further apart than usual? Further apart than Selah¡¯s lines appear to be?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes, I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°May I?¡± Teknar held out a hand to her, motioning toward the book.


    Her mind screamed at her not to do it, but she held out the diary to him. She watched as he took it in one hand, and then her jaw went slack as she watched him call forth a small white ball of light in his other hand. She had never seen such casual use of magick this closely before.


    Teknar turned one of the pages halfway so it stuck up in the air, and moved his white orb of light behind it.


    ¡°Look at the space, again.¡±


    Keyla looked at the page. The empty space between the lines of his script now showed additional writing!


    I feel I¡¯m on the cusp of something dark, something we weren¡¯t meant to know. If I can uncover this, everything will change. I just need more time!


    ¡°Margaan wrote with a magickal ink that only magick light, from behind it, can reveal. You¡¯ve only read half of his story, miss Keyla.¡±


    Keyla¡¯s chest tightened at the realization that there was more to Margaan available to her. She had to get the book back, had to read what else he had to say before he was banished. She needed it with every fiber of her being.


    Her mind began to race with ideas about how she could sneak back in here at night.


    She looked up at Teknar. He¡¯d glanced away from her, his eyes far away again, but snapped back and looked at her. He handed the diary back to her. She hugged it to her chest without realizing it.


    ¡°I¡¯ve copied the book dozens of times over for all the members here, and more. You can hang onto this one,¡± he said.


    She nodded. This time, she didn¡¯t mention that she could read the words scribed in magick ink. They couldn¡¯t read it, thinking it was in some kind of code, yet it appeared clearly for her!


    Keyla¡¯s thoughts raced through her mind, almost too quickly to grasp onto. She could read the book, so she could unveil Margaan¡¯s remaining secrets and finally have the whole story. She could copy this second half into the other empty journal she¡¯d stolen. She could¡­ She could do none of those things, without magick light.


    ¡°You look disappointed. Do you not want it?¡± Teknar asked.


    ¡°No! I do! I do, I just¡­ I won¡¯t be able to help with deciphering it. I can¡¯t use magick,¡± she replied, letting her voice trail off in what she hoped was a dejected manner. Please, Selah, let this work.


    ¡°That is remedied easily enough, miss Keyla.¡±


    She looked up at him questioningly.


    ¡°Join us. I can teach you how to find the light within yourself.¡±

 VIII - Learning

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow, sir,¡± Keyla said. She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. A week of visits to the Teknar townhouse had passed, and still she was unable to create the orb of light that would let her read Margaan¡¯s words. A week of knowing there was more to his diary unread, calling to her.


    She had tried the light of the sun behind Auldavulin¡¯s. She had tried the light of her gas lamp, and of a candle. None of that revealed the magick ink he had written with. So each day she made her way to the Upper Ward and studied for a time with Mr. Teknar and Dekkar.


    ¡°I was not joking when I said the light was within you. Magick is inside all of us, miss Keyla,¡± Teknar responded. ¡°Close your eyes. Cup your hands. Yes, good, like that. Now breathe, listening only to my voice.¡±


    She did as he instructed, until the only thing in her world was the tenor of his instruction.


    ¡°Now, leave heat out of this entirely. Do not let it enter your mind. Fire makes heat, but it also makes a very different kind of light than what you will create. Fire is a natural light. This, this is magick. Leave your mind cold, void of any thoughts of heat.


    There is only white light in your palms. See it in your mind. It is weightless, you will not know it is there, so imagine it so forcefully that you have no doubts in your mind that you have succeeded.¡±


    Keyla stared at the back of her eyelids in the darkness, flashes of imagined color she knew had nothing to do with magick coming now and then, and focused. She¡¯d seen the white light appear, sphere-like, in Teknar¡¯s hand countless times now. She imagined that ball of raw magick forming between her own palms.


    ¡°You¡¯re imagining this as if watching yourself from outside your body,¡± she heard Dekkar say from the chair next to her. ¡°Stop that.¡±


    ¡°Dekkar is right,¡± Mr. Teknar said. ¡°Magick exists within you, and so do you. You are not outside your own body, are you? You need to imagine this from within, not without. Perspective matters here, miss.¡±


    Keyla still wasn¡¯t used to be treated with respect. Nobody ever called her miss. She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away, and focused again.


    She imagined seeing light through her eyelids, of it growing stronger from the direction of her hands.


    Dekkar chuckled.


    She opened her eyes, but the room plunged into darkness again. Wait! It hadn¡¯t actually been dark before she¡¯d opened her eyes. She¡¯d done it!


    Keyla closed her eyes again and brought the same imagined light to her hands. She pushed with her mind and body, as if imagining hard enough would make it happen.


    She cracked one eyelid open, and saw it. A small ball of light had formed in her cupped hands!


    She immediately shut her eyes again and focused, imagining it growing brighter and slightly larger, until it was the size of an apple.


    Keyla exhaled slowly, and opened her eyes.


    She could see Dekkar and Mr. Teknar clearly, as well as the rest of the office, despite the closed drapes over the windows.


    Mr. Teknar guffawed. ¡°Now she¡¯s got it!¡±


    ¡°And it only took a week. Not the worst we¡¯ve seen,¡± Dekkar added with a smile.


    ¡°It was so easy, in the end,¡± Keyla said, amazed at the light in her hands. ¡°How could it possibly be this simple?¡±


    ¡°We think it has something to do with bloodlines,¡± Dekkar said with a smile. ¡°Everybody can use magick to some extent, but there are those who do seem significantly stronger than others. Who were your parents?¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea,¡± Keyla replied. ¡°I never knew them. I¡¯ve been alone for as long as I can remember.¡± She half expected the admission to make her feel sad, but she felt nothing. How can someone mourn a person they¡¯ve never known?


    Then again, she sometimes mourned Selah and Margaan.


    Dekkar¡¯s face took on a look of pity, but Teknar¡¯s eyes narrowed in thought and he tapped his lip with one finger.


    Keyla ignored them, let the orb of light fade, and then summoned it into her palms again. It was so easy, requiring little conscious thought, only a focused effort of will. As an experiment she separated her palms, the ball of light staying atop her cupped left hand. She imagined it first in her mind, then made a tossing motion from one hand to the other, willing the motion as she breathed.


    The ball of light moved, as if thrown, to her other palm. She didn¡¯t feel anything as it came to rest just above her cupped hand, but it seemed to follow her will, focused through her thoughts and actions. What else would she be able to do?


    She felt like Selah and Margaan must have felt, when they first discovered the magick. Excitement raced through her as she realized the journey of discovery that lay before her. She¡¯d be able to read the rest of Margaan¡¯s diary! She had magick, something she thought would be forever outside her reach. Something, she realized as her mind sobered, that she would be killed for if ever caught. Street rats were not allowed magick.


    ¡°And now she realizes just what this means for her,¡± Dekkar said sadly. ¡°And why we seek the change we do.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think she does, not truly. I don¡¯t think we do either, at least when it comes to her,¡± Teknar said softly, his head cocked in that odd way again as he stared at her.


    ¡°Why do you do that?¡± Keyla asked.


    He raised one eyebrow.


    ¡°Cock your head to the side, as if you¡¯re listening to something we can¡¯t hear.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Just an odd habit, I suppose,¡± he replied.


    Keyla knew there was more to it. Did he hear voices, the way she sometimes did?


    ¡°This is fortuitous, in any event,¡± Teknar said, changing the subject. ¡°The Margaanites will meet here again tomorrow. Will you be joining us?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Keyla replied, her mind already on other things. She would be able to start reading Margaan¡¯s journal when she returned to the distillery tonight, and she¡¯d be able to read it after dark without wasting fuel! In fact, if she practiced enough, she may not need gas ever again. She stifled the smile that tried to come to her lips at the thought.


    ¡°An hour after sundown, then,¡± Teknar said as they rose from their chairs to walk toward the stairs. ¡°I assume reaching us will pose no trouble for you, little thief,¡± he said with a smile.


    Keyla shrugged. ¡°Not a problem.¡±


    Dekkar and Keyla descended the stairs, then he opened the door to show her out. She turned back and waved to Mr. Teknar, who returned it from the top of the stairs.


    ¡°Until tomorrow night then, miss Keyla.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow,¡± she replied, then nodded to Dekkar and stepped outside.


    ¡°Oh, Keyla,¡± Dekkar said as she reached the second step.


    She turned back to find him holding out a small pouch to her.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she asked, accepting it from him.


    ¡°A gift from Mrs. Teknar. You¡¯re spending time in her house, after all.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t even met her yet,¡± Keyla said as she began to open the small bag.


    ¡°No, but she knows of you.¡±


    Keyla¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. Inside was a small bottle of what looked like perfume, and a handful of coins. She looked up at Dekkar.


    He smiled. ¡°You may be a street rat, but Mrs. Teknar doesn¡¯t feel that it need be obvious when you¡¯re here with us. We all play our parts in public, but in private we¡¯re equals, are we not?¡±


    Keyla nodded, closing her mouth when she realized it was open.


    ¡°So play your part, street rat. But buy some fresh clothes for when you visit us, yes?¡± He smiled and shut the door.


    Keyla looked down at her scuffed clothing, and lifted an arm to smell her shirt. She didn¡¯t notice anything off-putting, but maybe they had? She¡¯d never been embarrassed about being a street rat before. Is that what she was feeling now as her face seemed to heat up?


    She pushed out a shaky breath and shook herself. After pulling the drawstrings of the pouch tight, she shoved it into her pocket and began the trek back to Auldavulin¡¯s.


    As Keyla walked she pondered over her newfound magick. She could create light, and so easily! When she lost focus it went away, and so practice was in order, but the actual act itself had felt so effortless.


    Could that be what she did when she wanted to go unnoticed, as well? Some kind of magick that let her fade into the shadows? She could create light, after all. Perhaps there was magick with darkness as well.


    Though sometimes she was in a crowd, or otherwise not near any shadows, so maybe she really was just a forgettable person, small and easy to write off for most folk.


    As she climbed the ladder in the sewer up into Auldavulin¡¯s, she began to plan the next day. She would visit Madame Toussaud¡¯s as a legitimate customer, and purchase clothing that would let her blend better in the Upper Ward.


    She would need to be careful with it though, as it would be incredibly out of place in the industrial district where Auldavulin¡¯s was. She would need to transport it and change in an alley so as not to attract the wrong kind of attention in either location.


    All worries over the clothing fled her mind as she pried up the floorboard next to her bed, and pulled out Margaan¡¯s diary. It was time to read.