The Thief Who Pulled on Trouble's Braids by Michael McClung Page B

was going to do it from the relative safety of the deserted villa next door to his. That was the plan, anyway.
    The night was dark, but not as dark as I might have wished. Here on the outskirts of the city, manmade light was scarce. No street lamps, no lanterns or candles from windows close on either side of the street. There were just the stars and the moon. But the moon was almost full, and cast a bright silver light down through a cloudless sky. I have excellent night vision; that advantage would be whittled down.
    I spent the next half-hour scuttling through the weed-choked ditch that ran alongside the Jacos Road, moving as quickly and quietly as I could toward the villa. It was dry as a bone, which was a blessing, but I startled the occasional creature. An opossum, a snake. A couple other things I didn’t get a good look at. I am a city dweller, and had been almost all my life. I distrusted nature. It was an uncomfortable, nerve-rasping journey.
    I wore a dark, dark grey cotton tunic and trousers, and a pair of black, thin-soled boots. In one pocket I had a black silk vizard, for when it came time to cover my face. Otherwise it was a distraction. Any article of clothing you don’t wear on a daily basis can be distracting, and in my line of business, distraction can be fatal.
    On my back was a pack chock full of various implements and instruments of the trade, all carefully stowed so as not to shift or make noise. It was far more than I usually took to a job, but I planned to make the deserted villa next to Heirus’s my base, so I wouldn’t have to lug everything around the entire time. My blades were lamp-blacked, so as not to cast a stray glint at an inopportune moment. I was as prepared as I could be.
    The deserted villa was nowhere near as well-put-together as Heirus’s. It had a wall, but it was low and made of wood and dilapidated, sagging badly in some spots. It had been hardly more than decorative when it was new. Now, honeysuckle and morning glory and creeping laver were slowly tearing it down. When I finally reached it, I crept along the side opposite Heirus’s until I found a gap wide enough to squirm through. I did, dragging my pack after me. Once inside the grounds, I crouched, and listened for a hundred heartbeats. Nothing but the occasional call of a night gull, and the whisper of a breeze in the riotous growth that had once been a smallish formal garden. I watched the darkened, paint-peeling house for any sign of movement. Nothing. In the strong moonlight, the villa looked diseased.
    And just as I had decided it truly was deserted, I heard feet crunching on a gravel path somewhere off to my left. I froze, knife in hand. I couldn’t see anything; the foliage was too thick. I listened to whoever it was cross from my extreme left to almost level with my position, then heard the footsteps recede.
    If I had to guess, it was a sentry, making a circuit of the yard. But I didn’t have to guess. I had all night. I pushed forward, slowly and silently through the dense shrubbery until I had a clear view of the villa. It was a two story affair. I could tell by the layout there was an interior courtyard. There were very few windows on the outside, all of them too small to fit through. All the focus would be in, toward the courtyard, which would likely be tiled, with a fountain in the center. Hallways on both floors would run along the outer walls. The question was, did the builder break from the traditional villa layout to take in the sea view from the cliffs? I couldn’t tell from where I was, but thought it probable.
    If the grounds were being patrolled here, they were undoubtedly being patrolled by Heirus’s men. Whoever was in charge of his security was no idiot. Anyone interested in gaining access to the Elamner’s villa would almost certainly make use of the abandoned dwelling next door. Gran Ophir, the deserted villa’s northern neighbor, wouldn’t bother with such security measures. His villa was