Take A Thief

drainpipe from the gutters. Once on the roof, he was as good as inside.

Right enough, if Londer knew anything, Skif would have it out of him. But he needed a suitably convincing story for his black-clad terrorist to ask the questions he needed the answers to. I’ll say I'm lookin' for m'sister, he decided. That's a good story, an' Londer'll probably believe it.

Now, getting from here to there.

He'd be able to get out of his room easily enough; no one checked beds to see that people were in them around here. The trouble was, how was he to get out of — and more importantly, back inside — the Palace walls?

:Me, of course,: Cymry replied in his head. He jumped; then smiled sheepishly. :Nobody is going to stop a Companion and her Chosen.:

:You don't mind?: he asked, hesitantly. After all, this wasn't precisely going to be a sanctioned excursion.

: Mind?: he felt her scorn. :You Just try and do it without me! You wouldn't have a chance.:

Well, she was probably right.

:But what do I do with you while I'm sneakin' around?: he asked.

She chuckled. :I’ll take care of that. Trust me, lean always insinuate myself into someone's nearby stable. But I'm not having you so far away that I can't come to your rescue if I have to.:

He was both touched and a trifle irritated. Did she think he couldn't take care of himself? He'd been taking care of himself for the past year and more! She hadn't been around then!

Now she sounded contrite. :Of course you can take care of yourself, I never doubted that. But your uncle might have guards — :

He laughed, silently. :Londer? Old cheap Londer? Not a chance. What he has got is dogs — but he's too cheap to get trained ones, so he just gets nasty ones and keeps 'em hungry to keep 'em mean. Which means — ?:

Cymry knew; bless her, she got it at once. :They'll eat anything you throw in front of them.:

He grinned. :And I know where to get plenty of poppy syrup. Put 'em right to sleep inside a candlemark, then I slip inside and give old uncle a surprise.:

:Then what will you do?: she asked soberly. :When you leave? You aren't — :

:I'm gonna make him drink poppy hisself,: Skif reassured her. :No way I'm taking a chance on hitting him hard enough to make sure he stays knocked out. Besides, with that thick head of his — I'd probably break what I hit him with before I knocked him out.:

He felt her sigh gustily. :Good. Then this will all work. And what then?:

:Then — : he closed his eyes, but couldn't yet see a direction for himself. :It's early days to make any plans. I'll figure on what to do after I hear what old Londer has to say.:

And that would have to do, for now.

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SKIF looked down on the silent, darkened oblong that was his uncle's yard from the roof of his uncle's house. The roof-tree was not the most comfortable place he'd ever had to perch, but better to rest here than inside the house. Down there somewhere in the shadows were five lumps of sleeping canine that had been completely unable to resist juicy patties of chopped meat mixed with bread crumbs soaked in poppy syrup. Poor miserable animals, Uncle Londer would probably be even harsher with them after their failure to stop him.

This was the halfway point, and Skif paused for a breather while he could take one. He'd gotten out of the Collegium through his window, out of the Complex openly on Cymry's back, as if he was going out into the city for any perfectly ordinary reason.

Well, perhaps not ordinary, since Trainees as young as he was generally didn't go out to the city after dark.