Chapter 21: 23-24. Sneak // Time Flies By

Pak

(Grandmother’s House)

 

Grandmother keeps me in the abandoned wing, untouched by servants or family, at the end of the long, dusty hallway, the last door on the left. It has no lock. They only keep precious things behind locked doors. Normally, the sounds of people moving and speaking seep through layers of dirt and wood, bleeding into my dark, empty space. The house lives and breathes, though its breath is labored and raspy. I am the gurgling pit of its stomach. I am a child…

Tonight, the house is quiet. I nudge the door open.

The setting sun peeks through the high window at the corridor’s end, diffused through a layer of grime. I imagine the sun as a giant candle, illuminating the hideous purple carpet and the bleak gray walls with ancient floral embossing. I tiptoe to where the halls intersect, listening carefully for any sign of movement. Beyond this lies the house’s meat, the places I’ve never been. I’m terrified, but it’s the sort of terror that promises reward at the end. It pulls me around the corner and tempts me to the stairs, hovering panels connected by a curved metal rail. Trembling, I press on the bottom stair before stepping onto it, as if it might fly out from beneath me. It holds me up. I drop to my knees, and creep onward like a cat in an alley.

I emerge into another hall, where light pours in through clear glass. The clean cream carpet bows to my weight. A thick, sweet stench hangs in the air, turning my stomach, pressing against my head. I hold my breath.

There are seven doors, four on the left, three on the right. Each door faces another, except the last, which faces the window, and each door has a portrait of a white elf beside it, except for the last, which has a dark rectangle where a portrait should be. Metal plates affixed beneath them bear the symbols of their names. Yellow hair spills from their skulls like withering hanging plants. Paint covers the pink spider-webs around their eyes.

Grandmother’s portrait hangs beside the first door. It seems the artist had painted a doll made in her likeness, forgetting the crevice between her brows, the bags hanging from her black-saucer eyes – a crisp, uncanny duplicate. The longer I look at it, the faster my heart goes, until I feel faint. I crouch down, hug my knees, close my eyes, and rock myself until my breathing settles. I hold my gaze below the picture frames and quietly tumble along. The seventh door calls to me.

Looking at the empty space beside the door, a great weight covers my shoulders. My muscles lock up. I can’t bring myself to touch the handle. A sinister heartbeat winds into my ears…

 

ba-dum. ba-dum. ba-dum.

 

I feel sick. I can’t do it. I shiver and turn away.

I test the other doors instead. Of the ones on the left, each handle stops short, locked. Two of the ones on the right do the same, but the one closest to the stairs makes a small click, then swings open. My heart skips a beat. I am vulnerable, tramping about in dangerous terrain. I peer inside.

A paradise sparkles across the threshold. The carpet sinks beneath my feet like fine desert sand. Soft pink curtains veil each side of the lavish, pillow-topped pedestal. I’ve never had a bed before, and I long to climb into it. Different colored bottles and brushes litter the surface of a little white table. A shiny oval mounted to its back reflects the image of what it faces. It’s the first mirror I’ve ever seen.

I sense a disturbance – shuffling and bickering.

I flee to the stairs, scoot down the steps until my tailbone pulses with pain. A distant door crashes open. I sprint the last stretch of hallway and shut myself inside my room, curling up in my dark corner, twitching with the beat of my heart. A few minutes pass. The house draws its raspy breaths, its veins thrumming to the rhythm of feet on its floors.

You are reading story The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) at novel35.com

When my heart settles, I ease into a smile. That was fun…

Maybe next time, I’ll go farther.

 

Rorri

 

A dozen alleys branched from the wide center road, like the veins of a leaf, each one crammed full of squat, boxy garages. The Guard’s territory began where Barker Street split into a loop that converged with the Wall. Guardsmen patrolled the fenced-in section, but, as Bilge had predicted, the morning shift was unusually scant. Rorri could only see three guards from where he waited, but he imagined there were more inside.

He would jump where the outhouses lined the inside of the fence, so they could provide cover as he landed on the other side, and from there, it was a straight shot to the warehouse. Not knowing the inner patrol routes concerned him, but he had to trust that his friends would cause enough ruckus to draw them all out. So, he waited for the signal. He chewed his lips until they were raw, bounced on his foot until it was numb, and fidgeted with the button on Adar’s coat until it popped off, counting the steps of the outside guard’s patrol, over, and over, and over… He wasn’t sure if his perception of time was warped by the Snow, or if his friends were truly taking forever to get the heist started, but the shadow was shrinking by the second, and it seemed like they were running out of time.

In the twenty seconds or so when the patrolman was facing away, he could easily scale the fence and take cover between the outhouses. A head start could only help, he figured. Just as the guard turned their heel, and before he could change his mind, he made a silent sprint for the fence.

Rorri flung Adar’s coat onto the spikes, scrambled up the bars, and swung his legs over the top, his tender bits protected by the thick fabric collar. His movements were so fine-tuned, they seemed rehearsed, as if he’d scaled that fence a thousand times over. He dropped to the ground noiselessly and ducked in between the stinky shacks, a mad smile rippling over his lips… but it vanished as quick as it came.

Adar’s coat hung limp on the spike, casting a mocking shadow over him. The guard would be pivoting soon.

“Shit,” Rorri breathed, gripping his temples. There was no way he could retrieve the coat from his position, and as soon as the guard saw it, he was as good as caught. He couldn’t illude it away, either. There were too many variables to consider for it to look natural, from the way the light should catch on illusory fence posts, to the way the shadows should bend on the ground, and a poorly-executed illusion would stick out even more than the coat itself. He needed the guard gone, far away, not to return until he was done plundering. He needed the sort of distraction he couldn’t make on his own, the distraction his friends had already planned. He had jumped too soon. There was nothing he could do.

Rorri peeked around the corner of the outhouse. Far down the fence line, the guard was nearing the end of their path.

Each fraction of the last few seconds stretched on in slow motion. Rorri saw in clear, excruciating detail, every tiny, flickering movement that spelled out his imminent capture – the ripples in the guard’s tabard, the sun’s glitter on their chain shirt. He watched the dust kick up from their boots as their ankles swiveled. He watched their hip and stomach and shoulder follow, like a dancer’s pirouette…

Rorri squeezed his eyes shut and whispered a desperate plea for mercy to whatever god of petty thievery might be listening – then, a voice rang out over the complex:

 

“STOP! THIEF!”

You can find story with these keywords: The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet), Read The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet), The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) novel, The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) book, The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) story, The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) full, The Thief’s Folly (Book One of the Bloodlines Duet) Latest Chapter