Read an Excerpt
Chapter 1
Rhia looked up, and listened. Distant chanting drifted in through the study window but the house itself was silent. Probably just one of the cats, knocking something over downstairs.
She pulled the lamp closer and bent over her workbench again. The second lens was a tight fit but she mustn’t force it. A smear on the inner surface of the glass now would be damned hard to clean off later. Her motions slow and careful, she eased the lens into the cradle of leather straps.
The lens dropped into place, and there it was: her sightglass, complete. The tube of dowelling and waxed paper was only the length of her forearm, but it was the culmination of many years’ work.
Time to test her invention. Smiling to herself, she straightened and looked over at the wooden ladder leading up to the observation platform. One advantage of the drought: the sky would be clear. Both Moons were up, so she could start with them. She unclipped the sightglass from the vice.
A sound outside: heavy footsteps thundering up the wooden stairs. Her head snapped round. Surely the servants were not back yet–
“This way!”
Not the servants. And coming closer. She grabbed the sightglass and ducked down behind her workbench.
The study door flew open.
Peering through the workbench’s legs, Rhia saw a heavy build and stained street-clothes; from here only the lower half of the man’s face was visible. A stranger. A stranger in her house. “In here,” he called over his shoulder. The light from his horn-fronted lantern showed a crooked nose, no doubt broken in a fight.
Rhia’s breathing deafened her. Surely he must hear that. She must stay calm. Stay calm, and hide until help comes. But no help would come. Everyone was at the rain-vigil.
A second man entered. He was shorter, so Rhia had a full view of him from her hiding place. His long face reminded her of a horse – no, with those close-together eyes more like a donkey. Both men had large packs on their backs. Thieves! Lower city thieves, taking advantage of noble houses left empty by the extended restday devotions.
The two men looked around, getting their bearings. Broken-nose swept papers off a shelf near the door – Rhia winced as the stack of celestial tables cascaded to the floor – and put his lantern down.
Why come this far up the hill, why risk robbing a house so close to the palace? Rhia had a ridiculous vision of shadowy hordes of ne’er-do-wells creeping through the upper city, targeting every townhouse.
“You sure no one’s here?” said the donkey-faced man. He gestured towards the workbench. Rhia’s heart jumped. “They’ve left a lamp lit.”
Broken-nose shrugged. “For the vigil?” He scratched his chin. “Or maybe she just does that. Meant to be pretty kooky, this Countess Harlyn.”
This was no random criminality. They knew whose house they had invaded. This was about Etyan, and the girl. About what her foolish brother had done. Might have done.
This, after three months of uncertainty, was retribution.
No. Stay calm. Stay hidden. Remember to breathe. Quietly.
“Let’s see what we’ve got then,” said Broken-nose.
He ambled over to her sandclock on its little table, staring at it like he’d never seen one before. Which he probably hadn’t. Seeing him in profile Rhia realised the pack on his back already had something in it, a small but heavy item. Stolen from downstairs, no doubt.
Donkey-face wandered over to her desk, and began picking up papers. Rhia hoped his hands were cleaner than they looked.
Broken-nose called to his companion. “Any luck?”
“Nah.” Donkey-face stabbed the papers with a bony finger. “We need to start looking in drawers and cupboards.”
So, they were here for something specific. Maybe this wasn’t about Etyan after all. The thought raised her spirits, and anger challenged the fear.
Broken-nose was surveying the cabinets and shelves around the walls. “There’re books and shit like that all over the place.”
“It won’t be books.”
What won’t be? What are you after, damn you?!
Donkey-face turned and joined his companion in a silent appraisal of the packed study. Then he paused. “Aha,” he said.
Rhia followed his gaze. No! No no no no no. Not that.
Donkey-face strode over to the heavy ironwood chest beside the door.
Even as Rhia straightened, her mind was screaming at her to Stay calm! Stay hidden! Striding out, lamp in one hand, sightglass in the other, she remembered the moment she had turned on the worst of the childhood bullies. He’d been amazed and run off. Same thing now. Show them you mean business.
“Get. Out. Of. My. House.”
Each word was loaded with righteous fury. Donkey-face turned. He did look amazed, Rhia was pleased to note. The fact that she wore men’s clothing and didn’t have her mask on probably helped here.
“Now!” she added, in case he hadn’t got the message.
Movement off to one side. Oh yes: there were two of them.
But she had the fury now. When the man lunged at her from the left she lashed out without looking, without thought.
The blow connected; she’d hit him with the object held in that hand. The sightglass! Dowling snapped, leather flapped. The lens flew free.
Broken-nose staggered back with an oath. The crash as he hit the table hurt her ears. Sandclock, table and intruder went down. Broken-nose’s cry of surprise became one of pain.
Rhia didn’t see him fall. She was concentrating on holding Donkey-face’s gaze, trying to drive him off by force of will. She had started this. She had to finish it.
Donkey-face’s left eye was watery, a little red. Even from here she could smell him: fresh ale and stale sweat. He broke her gaze, his attention flicking to the lamp in her hand. She’d grabbed it half thinking to use it as a weapon, but doubted it would be much use against such types.
Rhia glanced down. Yes, the man had a knife on his belt. Yes, his hand was creeping towards it. She must be mad. These men were criminals. But she couldn’t back down. Speaking with slow care she said, “If you lay so much as a finger on me, my cousin the duke will hunt you down and have you skinned alive.”
Donkey-face said nothing, but his hand paused. His gaze twitched between her hand and her face. To her left, Broken-nose groaned and began to move. “I mean it,” added Rhia when the silence stretched. Donkey-face’s odour gave way to a new and more pleasant smell, a sharp-sweet scent she knew but couldn’t place.
Donkey-face looked across at his companion and shook his head, No.
That’s No as in Don’t attack her, Rhia decided. But logic said they would. Why not, two armed men against one woman? Sometimes she hated logic.
Out the corner of her eye, Rhia saw Broken-nose climbing to his feet. Blood dripped from his torn cheek.
She went back to staring down Donkey-face. Run away, damn you! She wasn’t sure how much longer her nerve, or her legs, would hold out.
Then she realised what the smell was.
Risking breaking Donkey-face’s gaze, she looked over at Broken-nose. His filthy breeches had new stains on them. His backpack hung flaccid, and dripped into the redolent puddle he now stood in.
Rhia dropped the tangle of doweling, leather and waxed paper in her left hand, trying not to wince as the remains of her sightglass hit the floor. Her gaze flicked between the two intruders.
They met her eyes. No one spoke.
Still staring at the two men, she transferred the lamp from her right hand to her left, the side next to Broken-nose. Then she smiled. At least she hoped the expression she pulled her face into would pass for a smile.
The three of them stood there, frozen. Rhia’s guts had gone watery and her knees wanted to knock together. She ordered her body to tense up, to not move, not show weakness. Except for breathing. She had to keep doing that.
Finally, Donkey-face nodded at his companion. Rhia tensed. Donkey-face said, “Not worth the risk.”
“But–”
“No.” Donkey-face cut him off. “Not worth it.” He gestured at Rhia’s left hand.
Broken-nose grunted as realisation dawned. He was soaked in lamp-oil and the crazy noblewoman held a naked flame. The man paled under the blood and grime. He looked to his friend, then lurched into motion, and limped over to him.
“Go now,” said Rhia. The command came out as a whisper. She tried to find the anger, hoping the pair believed her sanity had cracked. Because if she did throw the lamp at Broken-nose, none of them would get out of here unscathed. “Go!”
Donkey-face turned, pulling at Broken-nose’s arm.
“Go on!” she cried, louder now. “Get out!”
Broken-nose turned and staggered after his companion.
Rhia stood, unmoving, lamp still raised. Two sets of footsteps sounded on the stairs: one swift and light, the other heavier, slower. Both going away.
When silence returned she placed the lamp on the workbench. Her stomach was trying to claw its way up her throat. She swallowed hard once, twice, until the urge to vomit passed.
Then she walked across her study, leaned out the window and shouted for the militia at the top of her voice.
