Thief's covenant

scream at him. It was a masterpiece, greater than anything the city had ever seen! It might even have made me the Shrouded Lord, and that little bitch comes along and-

But it was a tirade the Shrouded Lord had heard a dozen times before-minus the bit about Lisette taking his mantle, of course-and he hadn't found it convincing then either. Perhaps new sins would build upon the old and finally tip the scales, but it hadn't happened yet.

When Lisette said nothing, the hooded form only nodded. “I see. I would hate, Taskmaster, to ever get the sense that you're abusing your position over a private vendetta. Our enforcers are to be used on guild business only, not personal. And Widdershins is to be treated like any other Finder. If she gives you a reason-a real reason-you may deal with her accordingly. Not until then.”

“I understand, my lord.” The words were more bitter than the smoke.

“Good. Write up the rest of your report, Lisette. I don't think I need to hear it just now.”

Jaw clenched, Lisette bowed once more and backed from the room.

Still, by the time she'd reached her own quarters, her fury had cooled. All right, fine. She'd deal with Widdershins “like any other Finder.” She would be very careful, very specific in her orders to Brock.

But then, she'd also remind Brock that if things got a little out of hand-well, it would be her job as taskmaster to see to his punishment….

CHAPTER FIVE

Four years ago:

“I'm not so sure about this, Pierre,” Adrienne complained to the young man who all but dragged her along, his right hand clamped firmly on her left.

“When are you ever sure of anything anymore, Adrienne?” came the gruff response. “Now pick it up, would you? We'll be late if I have to haul you the whole way.”

“Maybe we should be,” the girl muttered, though she did, finally, allow herself to be rushed.

At thirteen now, give or take, Adrienne was beginning to shed the awkwardness of childhood. She was trim rather than scrawny, though meals remained a hit-or-miss proposition at best. Various escapes from angry “patrons” and Guardsmen had made her faster, more agile, even bestowed a bit of skill with the rapier that had hung at her side for the last two years. Though she'd snatched it with the firm intention of selling it-and had viciously berated herself for not doing just that, on many a cold and hungry night-she couldn't bear to part with it. If nothing else, it was something to impress the other street thieves with (even if she'd also had to use it to fight a few of them off, from time to time).

Something else had changed in recent days, as well: She'd met Pierre Lemarche.

Pierre had experienced both sides of life, and was deeply bitter to have been stuck with the bad. His parents were dead, his father having taken his own life as creditors confiscated the family's estates after one financial gamble too many, but not before putting a flintlock ball through his wife's skull.

Pierre's soul was tightly wound around more than a little burning resentment. At the same time, he'd grown at least somewhat accustomed to his lower status, and he and his siblings had begun to make friends with others who shared their social and economic woes.

Something about Pierre, three years older than she, had won Adrienne over. Maybe it was the etiquette lingering from his days of wealth, an arsenal of charm into which he still dipped when the occasion warranted. Adrienne, accustomed to the crude advances of her peers, was rather taken by his flowery compliments and outrageous flattery. He could be kind, considerate, but also impatient, intolerant of others' failures, and filled with a burning need to somehow, someday, win back what the world had stripped from him. What he saw as his due.

Was she in love with the young man? Who could say? Love was at best an infrequent visitor to the circles in which Adrienne moved, and at her age, she scarcely had the experience to know. But she'd certainly grown quite fond of him, more so than any of the boys before. For a girl her age, it might as well have been love.

And that meant she had to deal with a whole slew of new emotions and experiences, not the least of which was worrying over him. Of late, Pierre had fallen in with…well, Adrienne couldn't say “a bad crowd,” because that more or less defined everyone she'd ever known, but at least a “different crowd.” She knew that she'd seen markedly less of him in recent weeks, and that he was constantly on about his new friends who would put him on the road “back to where I belong!” He often vanished for nights at a time and refused to speak of where he'd gone. Adrienne had finally demanded unequivocally that he take her to see what the hell he was doing.

She was more than a little startled when he agreed.

Dressed almost melodramatically in all black, he led her through the streets and alleyways of Davillon, quickly moving beyond her traditional stomping grounds. Adrienne was disturbed to see the rough stone facade of Davillon's outer wall looming between the squat buildings, illuminated at regular intervals by brightly burning lanterns. She'd never once set foot outside the walls of Davillon, and she wasn't certain that she wanted to start now.

Still she followed where Pierre led, eyes wide, ears alert for the slightest peep. The fallen aristocrat led her around a nearby structure-a warehouse, she guessed-and stopped at the back wall. It was an ungainly construction, squat in appearance even though it rose higher than the surrounding buildings. No windows marred the unbroken wooden walls, save a few tiny panes at the highest level, suggesting a foreman's suite. The alley's shadows, on this near-moonless night, draped the world in a heavy veil. It took Adrienne several moments to spot the door, high up on the wall between two of those windows, and the grill-work platform beneath it.

“There,” Pierre whispered, pointing to a rickety metal stair that hauled itself up the side of the building, switching right to left and back again several times, panting and heaving all the way. “Manager's entrance.”

“Are we going inside?” Adrienne asked dubiously, casting another glance at the wobbly ascent.

“Not exactly. Follow me.” Pierre was already on the first of the steps.

Adrienne lingered a moment more, exceedingly unhappy and wishing that she'd never gotten involved in this…this…this whatever it was she'd gotten involved in!

Grumbling, she followed.

The stair held, though it trembled like a newborn fawn beneath their weight. Pierre stood waiting, smiling, as Adrienne reached the platform, her white knuckles clenched on the guardrail.

“It's perfectly safe, Adrienne,” he said softly. “I've done this before.”

“I'll bet,” she snapped through clenched teeth.

“I'd never have let you come with me if it weren't safe, darling. I'd sooner open one of my own veins than risk allowing so much as a bruise to mar your beautiful-”

“Save it for later,” she told him, though she couldn't quite keep a shallow smile from her face. “What's next?”

“Up.” Pierre pointed a finger skyward.

“Up? Where up?” Adrienne blinked. “The roof?”

“The roof indeed.” On cue, a rope snaked downward, dangling from the edge above.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, once more strangely reluctant.

“Quite. If you want to turn back, sweetheart-”

That clinched it. “You just try and make me!” She was shimmying up the rope before Pierre could blink.

“Adrienne, wait! They're not-”

She scrambled over the edge of the roof, scarcely needing the rope at all, and looked up into a glittering array of blades.

“-expecting you,” Pierre finished somewhat flaccidly, his head appearing over the precipice.

“My friends,” he said, climbing to his feet atop the roof and dusting off his hands, “may I present to you Adrienne Satti? She'll be assisting us in the night's endeavors.”

The blades withdrew with palpable reluctance, and Adrienne could only wonder yet again what Pierre had gotten her into.