Spring Street wasn’t in the High District, but it aspired to be. It was in a neighborhood where the wealthier merchants and tradesmen made their homes, just a little ways from the High District and far from the rabble near the walls. Garon didn’t know what it was about the walls, but with the exception of the Market, all districts alongside the wall were unsavory neighborhoods. The Market was an exception to everything anyway, being the only place in the city where the classes mixed freely. At least, it had been. Garon didn’t doubt that the Market would be rebuilt, but he wondered whether it would be the same place it used to be.

Garon knew that the token around his neck might well get him into Neal’s house, if he could figure out which one it was. But he also knew it wouldn’t get him any farther than that. He didn’t know how exactly Neal would react to him showing up, but he probably wouldn’t be welcome him in. If Tagg and Neal hadn’t wanted Garon to show up trying to rescue Kiri, they should have killed him in the tunnel. Maybe they did expect him to try, and just didn’t take him seriously enough to care.

The criminals might be right not to worry about him. Garon stood in the middle of Spring Street, looking up and down at the well-appointed gardens behind their low stone walls, and the looming facades of the houses beyond. How was he supposed to figure out which home was Neal’s without knocking on all the front doors?

A few houses down from where Garon stood there was a building lower and wider than the houses with an awning that jutted out into the street. Tables and chairs were crowded under the awning, unoccupied, but it wasn’t the peak time of day to visit a coffee shop. Garon narrowly avoided a man driving an overloaded handcart down the street and hurried to the shop. The proprietor of a neighborhood spot like that would know all the local residents.

“Hail, my lord!” an aproned man called from within the shop as soon as Garon came under the awning. Garon almost looked behind him to see who the man might be talking to, but then remembered that he was still wearing Mala’s suit and managed a stiff nod.

There were only a few other people sipping coffee in the shop, but Garon had no desire for them to hear him. He strode right up to the aproned man and stood close. The other man tipped his head back to look up at him. Garon was not tall, but the man was very short.

“Can I help you, my lord,?” he asked nervously, dropping his voice low.

Garon pulled the thieves’ token up just enough that it could be clearly seen above his collar. “Do you know whom I seek?”

The short man nodded nervously and made a small but urgent gesture for Garon to put away the token. Garon quickly complied, tucking away the token and smoothing down the cloth of his shirt over it..

“Top of the street,” he said softly. “Gold gateposts.” And then more loudly, with a bright smile, he said. “Will the coffee be all you’re wanting, my lord?”

Garon let out a small startled huff of laughter. He supposed the man had earned a sale. “I might as well have a biscuit, too,” he said. “Since I’m having coffee.”

“Excellent choice,” the man said. He hustled forward and pulled a chair from a table. It squeaked against the stone floor. “Sit here, my lord. Best seat in the house.”

~

This wasn’t a good place to loiter. Garon leaned on a stone wall on a corner where he could see the gold-gated house and rubbed his stomach. The biscuit had woken him up to the fact that it was all he had eaten all day, and his stomach was now grumbling to let him know it wanted more. He considered his options. He’d already walked the street in front of the house. He’d seen as much as could be seen from that direction, and it wasn’t much. The wall was higher than most on the street, though not so high as to look out of place or forbidding, and the golden gate posts set off a very sturdy gate that, unlike many on the street, looked to be actually locked. The house itself was tall: three full stories rose above its neighbors along with a smaller turret perched in one corner. Garon couldn’t see any hint of a way in. The windows of the lowest story were obscured by thick-leaved trees that could easily have been planted for that express purpose, though if Garon had not had reason to suspect it, that would not have occurred to him. On the upper stories the windows had patterned metal screens that threw back the sunlight prettily but gave nothing away about what might be inside. And there was clearly no getting through them. Garon had no idea how to even find out if Kiri was inside and the sun was going to be setting soon. The neighborhood was not the sort where the guards would tolerate lurkers after dark. Even as nicely dressed as Garon was, they would probably send him on his way. Politely.

Garon wished he knew someone who could help him. He had no ideas, and no skills for a job like this. Colin would probably be happy to help, but he would never ask the boy. Kiri wouldn’t thank him for putting the kid in danger. His stomach growled again, and he decided he might as well feed it. Haste might be advisable in many cases, but it was also a good idea not to rush in without a plan. Maybe something would occur to him while he was eating dinner. And he should check back home and see if the Lord Commander had any information in any case. Maybe Kiri was already free, and planning his own rescue mission was unnecessary. Probably not, but it would still be a good idea to take some time to figure out his next move. And he could get out of this suit.

~

The meowing brought Kiri awake slowly. At first, it integrated into her dream. It was a familiar dream. She ran along a rooftop, jumped to the next and then nearly stumbled into the Untouchable’s smug face. Then he laughed at her, and asked her where she was going, and then she turned and ran again, and there he was. Again and again. Every rooftop, the Untouchable was waiting. It seemed to go on forever. She jumped onto a roof, and there was the Untouchable, smug as ever, and then he opened his mouth. And meowed.

Kiri’s eyes popped open and she blinked into the eerily glowing eyes of Tango the cat. She petted his head and scratched his chin so that he wouldn’t be insulted before moving him off her chest and onto the bed beside her. As she pushed herself up and looked around, he gave a protest meow anyway, so she gave him another chin and neck scratch.

“Are you my guard now?” Kiri asked when she found the room, surprisingly, empty.

Tango just purred.

Kiri kept scratching Tango with her left hand and studied the metal trap her captors had chained on her right. It was even more uncomfortable than the glove had been. There was a small curved metal plate between each of her fingers, punctured at each end and held with looped links of chain to wide flat plates on her palm and on the back of her hand. The clasps she had noticed earlier had been fused shut. One was at each side of her wrist and one lay in the webbing of her thumb. She didn’t have any burns beside the melted metal, and she was fairly certain that her captors had done it. Any excess fire from her own hand wouldn’t have melted it so precisely. Either they had been very careful or her hand was resistant to more heat than its own. If she escaped she’d have to figure a way to get this thing off after; there was no way to do it without any tools. She didn’t even bother to take her other hand away from the cat to pick at the metal. She could tell without trying that it was too tough for her to rip off.

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The wise move would be to just go back to sleep. The best chance of escape would be tomorrow when they let her out to try and convince her they were super nice kidnappers. Supposedly they had taken her because they wanted her to join their side. No matter how many times she said no. They probably would drop the nice act for a while if they caught her trying to escape tonight. Yep, she thought, as she scratched the cat’s ears, that would be the wise move.

It wasn’t two minutes later that she was by the window, scratching at the edges of the screen looking for any weak spot to their fitting in the window. And it wasn’t two minutes after that that she’d established that the screen was actually laid over a series of close-spaced bars that weren’t so much affixed onto the stones of the wall as they were sunk into them. No weak spots there.

Tango meowed at Kiri and pawed her ankle. He was getting bored of all the not-petting she was doing. Kiri bent down, scooped up the cat, and held him against her with her left arm. The metal around her right hand would probably be uncomfortable. She made one last circuit of the room to see if there was anything she might use as a weapon or to help her escape. It didn’t take long to search; the room was mostly empty. She stopped last in front of the clock and chewed her lower lip. The bell on the clock had, suspended beside it, two small but heavy hammers. If she could secret one of those on her person it might come in handy. Awkwardly, using only her chained hand so as not to disturb the cat, she pulled open the door on the clock. She gripped the little hammer with the tips of her fingers, since her palm couldn’t bend to grab, and tugged it as hard as she could. It came free with a jerk, and she drew in a breath as the clock clanged dully but softly at being moved. The noise was almost enough to keep her from noticing the small surge of heat that had come to her palm. Kiri quickly turned her hand over so she could see her palm. The metal there was glowing, faintly but unmistakably. The chains were tight, and she couldn’t get it off, but the metal trap didn’t shut down her power completely. Neal had made a mistake.

“Come on, Tango.” Kiri nuzzled the cat and pushed the clock door shut with her hip. She tucked the hammer into her waistband and climbed back into the bed. She set the cat at her feet but thought she wouldn’t mind if he found his way back to her face by morning. “See you in the daytime, cat.”

~

Garon was back at his own boarding house, gobbling a dinner he barely tasted in the common room. The Lord Commander hadn’t even let him in this time. The guards at the gate told him the matter was being looked into and he should go about his business. He was on his own again, and unlikely to find a plan at the bottom of this bowl of stew.

“They go in yer boots.”

“What?” Garon whirled around to see Ulrick standing behind him with one naked knife in each hand, holding them up as if they were candies he was presenting to a child. Garon hadn’t seen any of the men on his crew at his boarding house before today, and here he was, interrupting Garon’s admittedly broody and unpleasant supper.

“Boot knives!” Ulrick exclaimed, impatient. “Best thing in the world for a fight. Everybody’s got ‘em, but no one expects ‘em! They knock yer weapon out ‘cher hand, and then there y’are. Shlick! Shocks ‘em every time!” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Um,” Garon looked at the knives. They did look small enough to slip into his boots, but… “How do I keep from cutting up my ankles?”

“Ah, there’s the real question, but I know the answer.” Ulrick leaned in close, pressing the knives into Garon’s hands at the same time. He said, in slow, intense tones. “Thick. Wool. Socks.” And then he gave Garon the most manic grin the young man had ever seen.

Garon looked down at the knives in his hands. “Oh,” he said. “Well then good thing my sister made mine.” He pushed the knives carefully into his boots.

“Here, here,” Ulrick said. He bent over and tugged the tops of Garon’s trousers over the hilts so the knives were fully concealed.

“Thanks,” Garon said. “Can I ask you, what made you think I’d be having a fight?”

Ulrick straightened up and clucked at Garon. “You have the look, boy,” he said. “Unfortunately, I have a previous engagement, or I’d be looking to join you.”

“Oh,” Garon said. “I don’t suppose…”

“I lied about the engagement, boy,” Ulrick said, and his voice lost a little of its manic joy. “I don’t tangle with the Thief Lord.”

“Right,” Garon said quietly. “Thanks for the knives, anyway.”

Ulrick nodded stiffly. “Good luck. I don’t tangle with the Thief Lord, but that don’t mean I’m on his side.” He clapped Garon on the shoulder and turned away with one last, muttered, “Good luck.”

~

There’s always another way in.

The front gate, in full view of the guard to whom Garon had just tipped his hat, was clearly not an option, but every house has another side, one that’s easy to forget about when looking at the face it presents to the city street. In his delivery work Garon had gotten used to going round the back. As soon as Garon passed the golden gate post he started counting his paces, all the way to the coffee shop at the end of the street where it intersected a narrower cobbled way. Then Garon hurried down it toward the next street, Rose Street. Unfortunately there was no alleyway between the two, which would have made the next step easier. Rose Street ran nearly parallel to Spring and was similarly lined with fine, though not quite as fine, houses and their equally fine stone walls. Garon hoped it was parallel enough. He resumed his count, now taking it backwards with each pace all the way to zero. He stood now in front of an open gate, leading to a rose bush-lined walk that led straight to a darkened house. The windows, all plainly visible, showed not a single light.

Garon had changed out of the suit. If there was going to be fighting, he wanted to be able to move freely. And it seemed careless to risk destroying something so expensive when he had other, much more serviceable clothes. So, he was not so finely dressed now that a guard would have hesitated to stop him in the most impolite manner available, should he seem to be up to no good. He was glad the gate was open. There was nothing suspicious about walking through an open gate. So he did just that, though a few paces later he pushed through the rose bushes, which scratched a hole in his last pair of work trousers, and hurried around the house on the side. No one called out, and no lights went on in the windows. He let out a breath of relief.

The stone wall in the back was much, much higher than the one in front. Apparently no one cared about looking inviting back here. The house, now behind him, remained completely dark, but Garon could see faint light coming from the one on the other side of the wall. Which of those windows might Kiri be behind? There was nothing for it but to check every one. Garon climbed the stone wall with some difficulty. There were hand- and footholds in the spaces between the rocks, but they scratched his fingers uncomfortably and his feet kept slipping. When he finally managed to get to the top he didn’t dare pause to look around because his foot was slipping again, and his hand was cramping, so it was without a pause to check that he swung over the wall and then let himself drop to the ground. The force of the fall shuddered through his legs and he fell over onto his backside in the dirt.

He jumped at a very loud crunch to his right and turned to see a man chewing casually on an apple.

“Don’t do that often, do you?” the man asked around a mouthful of food.

Garon shook his head.

“You chose the wrong house to learn on.” The man tossed aside the apple and drew a knife. “Get up.”

Garon scrambled to his feet.

“Your weapon.” The man pointed with his knife at the dagger hanging on Garon’s belt. Garon carefully drew it and set it on the ground.

“Come on,” The man jerked his head toward the house.

Garon hesitated. He thought of the boot knives. But he couldn’t just kill a man who was doing his job...even if he had any hope of the skill to win. “I’m not here to rob the house.” he said, and pulled out the Thieves’ token.

The man frowned. “Friend?” he said. “Then why aren’t you coming in the front door?”

Garon didn’t answer.

“Fine,” the man said. “I’ll let the boss sort it out. Get in the house. But leave the knife.”

“No argument,” Garon raised his hands and went where he was told. He still had the two boot knives, and he was sure, if he really needed to, he could use them. Just not yet.