bread shop.
Something brushed against her leg. She gasped and nearly let go of the wire. The gray-spotted cat glared up at her, then dashed behind the counter.
“Are you following me?” whispered Goldie. “What do you want?”
There was no answer, of course. She shrugged, hoping the cat would not make a nuisance of itself, and turned to inspect the door.
It was as she had thought. There was a row of alarm bells hanging above the lintel. She reached up and disconnected them. Then she unhooked the picklock, leaned against the door with her eyes closed and let her body and her mind settle into the stillness of the Third Method of Concealment.
Imitation of Nothingness was one of the most important things she had learned in her training as a thief. It didn’tmake her invisible, but it
did
make her unimportant.
So
unimportant that even the light passed over her without stopping. As long as she moved slowly, there wasn’t one person in ten thousand who could see her.
I am dust in the moonlight. I am a forgotten dream. I am nothing.…
Her mind began to drift outward, until she could sense every nearby scrap of life, big and small, awake and asleep. There was the cat, crouched beside the counter, its pulse beating with a feral hunger. There were rats and cowbeetles in the walls, and cockroaches going about their secret business. And somewhere in the rooms behind the shop, four human hearts—two adults and two children—tolled out the slow rhythms of midnight.
Goldie listened to those rhythms carefully. The children must be Bonnie and Toadspit. But who were the adults? Was Harrow here? She remembered how the bandmaster had shrunk in fear at the name, and her throat clenched. But at the same time she felt a bubble of anger. The people of Jewel used to shrink like that, whenever the Blessed Guardians passed by. Goldie had hated it then, and she hated it now.
I bet Harrow likes making people afraid
, she thought.
I bet he likes squashing people. Well, he’s not going to squash me!
She opened her eyes. The bread shop dozed around her, heavy with the smell of yeast. There were flagstones underher feet and, at the back of the shop, a small square doorway. Like a shadow, Goldie drifted toward it. The cat slipped out from behind the counter and prowled after her.
The first room she came to held an enormous brick oven. There were no windows, and it was so dark that she had to feel her way around the walls, avoiding the stacks of empty tins.
The next room was a kitchen and scullery. The heartbeats were closer now. Goldie crept toward them—then stopped, uncertain.
“Why is everyone sleeping so peacefully?” she whispered to the cat. “Shouldn’t someone be keeping watch over the prisoners? Shouldn’t Toadspit be trying to escape? Maybe he’s still unconscious!”
The cat sneered at her, as if it knew something she didn’t.
And suddenly it struck Goldie that the bread shop didn’t feel at all like a place with stolen children in it. Instead, it felt …
relieved
, as if something dangerous had happened, but now it was over and done with, and the shop’s inhabitants could relax again.
She slid into the first bedroom, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
I am nothing. I am the memory of a cooling oven.…
On one side of the iron-framed bed, a woman was snoring, her mouth open and a frayed bedcap covering her hair.Next to her, the bread-shop man, his eyebrows dusted with flour, mumbled in his dreams.
Goldie left them sleeping and stole into the next room, where the two children lay in bunks. She peered hopefully at them—
But they were strangers.
The sinking feeling grew worse. She tried to push it away; Bonnie and Toadspit must be here somewhere; they
must
be! Perhaps they were imprisoned behind a very thick door, and that was why she couldn’t feel them.…
The last three rooms were storerooms. The first and the second had no windows and were not locked. Goldie stood in the darkness,
Something brushed against her leg. She gasped and nearly let go of the wire. The gray-spotted cat glared up at her, then dashed behind the counter.
“Are you following me?” whispered Goldie. “What do you want?”
There was no answer, of course. She shrugged, hoping the cat would not make a nuisance of itself, and turned to inspect the door.
It was as she had thought. There was a row of alarm bells hanging above the lintel. She reached up and disconnected them. Then she unhooked the picklock, leaned against the door with her eyes closed and let her body and her mind settle into the stillness of the Third Method of Concealment.
Imitation of Nothingness was one of the most important things she had learned in her training as a thief. It didn’tmake her invisible, but it
did
make her unimportant.
So
unimportant that even the light passed over her without stopping. As long as she moved slowly, there wasn’t one person in ten thousand who could see her.
I am dust in the moonlight. I am a forgotten dream. I am nothing.…
Her mind began to drift outward, until she could sense every nearby scrap of life, big and small, awake and asleep. There was the cat, crouched beside the counter, its pulse beating with a feral hunger. There were rats and cowbeetles in the walls, and cockroaches going about their secret business. And somewhere in the rooms behind the shop, four human hearts—two adults and two children—tolled out the slow rhythms of midnight.
Goldie listened to those rhythms carefully. The children must be Bonnie and Toadspit. But who were the adults? Was Harrow here? She remembered how the bandmaster had shrunk in fear at the name, and her throat clenched. But at the same time she felt a bubble of anger. The people of Jewel used to shrink like that, whenever the Blessed Guardians passed by. Goldie had hated it then, and she hated it now.
I bet Harrow likes making people afraid
, she thought.
I bet he likes squashing people. Well, he’s not going to squash me!
She opened her eyes. The bread shop dozed around her, heavy with the smell of yeast. There were flagstones underher feet and, at the back of the shop, a small square doorway. Like a shadow, Goldie drifted toward it. The cat slipped out from behind the counter and prowled after her.
The first room she came to held an enormous brick oven. There were no windows, and it was so dark that she had to feel her way around the walls, avoiding the stacks of empty tins.
The next room was a kitchen and scullery. The heartbeats were closer now. Goldie crept toward them—then stopped, uncertain.
“Why is everyone sleeping so peacefully?” she whispered to the cat. “Shouldn’t someone be keeping watch over the prisoners? Shouldn’t Toadspit be trying to escape? Maybe he’s still unconscious!”
The cat sneered at her, as if it knew something she didn’t.
And suddenly it struck Goldie that the bread shop didn’t feel at all like a place with stolen children in it. Instead, it felt …
relieved
, as if something dangerous had happened, but now it was over and done with, and the shop’s inhabitants could relax again.
She slid into the first bedroom, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
I am nothing. I am the memory of a cooling oven.…
On one side of the iron-framed bed, a woman was snoring, her mouth open and a frayed bedcap covering her hair.Next to her, the bread-shop man, his eyebrows dusted with flour, mumbled in his dreams.
Goldie left them sleeping and stole into the next room, where the two children lay in bunks. She peered hopefully at them—
But they were strangers.
The sinking feeling grew worse. She tried to push it away; Bonnie and Toadspit must be here somewhere; they
must
be! Perhaps they were imprisoned behind a very thick door, and that was why she couldn’t feel them.…
The last three rooms were storerooms. The first and the second had no windows and were not locked. Goldie stood in the darkness,
Similar Books
