It was the perfect set-up. Large, stained glass windows. Huge skylights, letting in the wash of bright sunlight that conveniently made all the artifacts and valuables on display glow with a dazzling fire. Kildare, standing with one tour group that was oohing and ahhing over a hero’s shield—that was set with far too many precious stones to be a shield actually used in battle—risked a glance over his shoulder.

Yeah, this place was practically begging for someone to come rob it.

Quickly, Kil glanced around for the rest of his team. Snitch was trailing him closely. Fir’s willowy Alfaren builds made him stand out head and shoulders above the others in the group just behind of their own. Mock had gone through earlier—he guessed she must be done by now.

He spotted a few olive-skinned Leremites, but most of the people here were the pale Ermens and dark-skinned Do’orites. And everywhere, the opaque silks and draping linens and bright colors of Do’or fashion.

Kil picked at the front of his sleeveless tunic, pulling it away from his skin with a grimace. His shirt may be linen, and the hand-cranked woven reed fans sent soft wafts of air down on him, but the hall was so closely packed and it was such a hot day that it just felt like someone breathing down his neck. Kildare shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling and refocused his attention on the tour guide, who was waving his group onward.

A flash of dark red caught his eye, and Kildare whipped his head around, searching. A man in a brilliant red tunic stood not far behind him, waving his arms as he talked to a woman with her hair upswept into the twist of a Do’or matron. He released his held breath and slumped his head back.

Snitch poked him in the ribs. “Relax. You’re making the guards nervous.”

Kildare looked up. Guards were stationed along the wall, each a few paces behind the glass cases and the red velvet ropes that kept the visitors from breathing too closely on the priceless treasures. Sure enough, one guard had stepped forward, hand grasping the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowed as he glared at Kildare.

Kildare smiled at the guard, who stepped back into his place, though his hand didn’t leave his sword hilt.

“What did you see, anyway?” Snitch whispered.

“Not now.”

The tall pickpocket shrugged and turned his attention back to the tour guide. Kildare looked up, squinting as the sun glinted down through a massive glass globe that topped the hall over the front doors. Most folks, he reckoned, would go straight to that when they tried to break in. They had to have counted on that when they built the place, knowing that it would eventually host some of the greatest treasures to be found in all of the world. And not once had thieves successfully broken into the place, not since it had opened twenty years earlier.

Oh, they’d tried. Plenty of individuals and teams had been caught trying to break in. They’d all been caught, according to the local gossip Mock had picked up last night at a bar known to be the favorite drinking spot of city guards.

Kildare snorted. His team was better than that. No one had even seen their faces until the last heist.

Their tour ended, and Snitch and Kildare walked through the entryway--divided from the hall proper by a low, waist-height wall painted a shiny red. Kildare paused in the middle of the large purple, gold, and orange mosaic that covered the entry floor and looked up. Straight above him was the enormous glass skylight dome. Something glinted in the bright sunlight. Kildare squinted, but was confused by what he saw. It almost looked like a thin netting of golden wires covered the underside of the glass.

But...why? Decoration?

Kildare shrugged and followed Snitch. He’d ask Mock and Fir.

When he stepped outside, the heat hit him like a furnace. Kildare frowned and picked at his tunic again. Shifter though he might be, he doubted even his wyvern form would find the port town’s humid, sticky heat likable.

He stared across the town. The museum had been built on the outer edge of the city, and from here, the streets fell down gentle slopes until they ended in docks jutting out into the glittering, tranquil bay. Sand-colored turrets and mosaicked domes glimmered in the sun, and pennants and flags flapped from nearly every rooftop, turning the slope of the city into an undulating mass of color.

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People whisked back on forth on foot, horseback, and in carts and carriages along the busy road, making it a bit of a dance to get across to the row of cafes that lined the other side of the street. Kildare spotted Mockingbird sitting outside the kafe house. No surprise there—Mock loved the stuff. She lounged in a cushioned chair, her sandaled feet propped on the edge of a metal table as she sipped a steaming cup of the black liquid.

Snitch dropped into the seat across the table from her, using his broad-brimmed hat to fan himself. He glanced at Kil. “Well, you finally got a warmer location for a heist. You happy now?”

Kil chuckled, not having the heart to tell him that this was a little too warm even for him. He sat down, wiping sweat off the back of his neck.

Mock rolled her eyes and put her cup down. “So, what did we learn, gentlemen?”

Kildare held up his hand, enforcing the usual rule. No talking about the reconnaissance until they were all there. He hated going over things twice—not to mention, dropping the rule had led them to forget a few things before. That couldn’t happen with this job. It had to be perfect.

He sent Snitch inside to order for them, and the man came back out with two iced kafe drinks, one black, one tanned with the addition of honey and cream. He handed Kildare the sweet one and sat down beside Mock, throwing his arm over the back of her chair. Mock looked at him in annoyance and shoved his arm away. Kildare rolled his eyes as he sipped his drink. It’s gotten worse this trip. I’ll have to talk to them. He shoved the thought away. Later. right now, he needed to focus on this job.

Not that he was any better, of course. Kildare rubbed his thumb over the side of his index finger, then quickly stopped himself before he rubbed the makeup away. He carefully dabbed at the back of his neck, hoping his makeup wasn’t smearing under the heat.

After about a half hour, Fir emerged from the hall, blinking in the bright sunlight. He crossed the street and loomed over Kildare. “What, you didn’t get anything for me?”

Snitch hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get it yourself, tree lump.”

Fir whacked him on the head as he passed, and soon came back out of the shop carrying a black iced kafe and a triangular fold of waxed paper, which he opened to reveal a crisp turnover. He smirked at Snitch’s annoyed face and bit into the pastry, scattering bits of flaky crust all over the table.

Snitch sniffed at the smell of apples and spices.

“Oh, go and get three more,” Kildare said. Snitch wouldn’t be able to focus as long as there was food at hand.

Once the scrawny thief had brought back more turnovers, Kildare turned to Fir and asked, “So what did you see?”

“Locks on the windows,” he said. “And scrolling metal curtains on the inside.”

“Each display case has its own unique padlock,” Mock said.

“How could you tell?” Snitch challenged.

She sniffed. “Because each one was similar in design, so the same smithy made them, and there was a tiny little number by each latch. Probably a corresponding key. If they were all the same they’d be no need for corresponding keys. And each case is rigged to something—there were wires along the glass leadings on the corners of the cases.”

“Probably some kind of newfangled alarm system,” Snitch muttered.

“Did anyone notice the wiring on the inside of the skylight?” Kildare asked.

The other two looked blank, but Mock nodded. “Now that is definitely some kind of alarm system. Probably tied to a vinegar battery.”

Fir made a face. He’d gotten a zap from one of those during their second-to-last job and, judging by the words he’d used to call into question the maker’s ancestry, it had been a less than pleasant experience.

“Given the security, there’s bound to be night guards as well,” Snitch added. “And I wouldn’t go past them to put guards on the roof.”

Kildare picked at the front of his tunic again and finished his drink, only half-listening as the others batted ideas back and forth about how to get in, how to disable another vinegar battery, how to sneak past guards, how much time it would take to disable unique locks for every case they wanted to lift. He looked over his shoulder, even though he knew their three-story inn wouldn’t be visible over the other towering buildings.

He shrugged his shoulders, forcing himself to be patient. If Serene was in town yet, she’d let him know. And until then? He’d just have to wait. He sighed. It was going to be a long evening. And they still had the meeting with their employer to go.

“So, what do you guys say?” he asked abruptly, interrupting their bickering. “Do we take the job or not?”

The others quieted down. Snitch picked at his dessert. Fir tapped nervously on the arms of his chair.

“I think so,” Mock said suddenly.

Kil raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried?” He nodded to the stone pendant she was rubbing.

Mock shook her head, her eyes sparking with decision. “We could go to ground afterward if we need to,” she said in a low voice. “Let this whole thing blow over. Blight, with this kind of coin, we could probably even retire if we wanted to. I think we should take this job.”

Kil glanced at the other two.

Snitch shrugged. “Eh, why not.”

“Sure,” Fir said. “One more job, and then we can lay low for a while.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. Especially since Serene would be free by then. They’d have time to adjust to actually living together, apart from the team. And he could take his time introducing her to everyone. Kildare toasted with his kafe, finished it with one big swig, and set the cup back on the table. He stood. “One more job. Scatter for the afternoon—I don’t care what you do. Eras will meet us at the Broken Chair tonight.”