The Republic of Thieves

Galdo cleared his throat as he fiddled with his pieces on the board, and when his twin continued he joined in. Barely a heartbeat passed before the Sanzas found their eerie, note-perfect harmony: 

“From fair old Camorr to far Godsgate Hill,
Went a duke who would not be a slave.
His Grace in his grave is lying there still,
In red soil he claimed for the brave. 

“From fair old Camorr to far Godsgate Hill,
Is a hundred hard leagues overland.
But our host slain of old is lying there still,
In soil made red by their stand!”

“Commendable playing,” muttered Chains, “wasted on a nothing of a song shat out by soft-handed fops to justify an old man’s folly.”

“Everyone sings it in the taverns,” said Calo.

“They’re supposed to. It’s artless doggerel meant to dress up the stink of a pointless slaughter. But I was briefly a part of those three thousand men, and nearly everyone I knew in those days is lying there still. Kindly sing something more cheerful.”

Calo bit the inside of his cheek, retuned his harp, and then began again:

“Said the reeve to the maid who was fresh to the farm
‘Let me show you the beasts of the yard!’
Here’s a cow that gives milk, and a pig that’s for ham
Here’s a cur and a goat and a lamb;
Here’s a horse tall and proud, and a well-trained old hawk,
But the thing you should see is this excellent cock!”

“Where could you possibly have learned that?” shouted Chains. Calo broke up in a fit of giggles, but Galdo picked up the song with a deadpan expression on his face: 

“Oh, some cocks rise early and some cocks stand tall,
But the cock now in question works hardest of all!
And they say hard’s a virtue, in a cock’s line of work
So what say you, lovely, will you give it a—”

There was the unmistakable echoing slam of the burrow’s secret entrance, in the Elderglass-lined tunnel beside the kitchen, being thrown shut by someone who didn’t care that they were overheard. Chains rolled to his feet. Calo and Galdo ran behind him, putting themselves in easy reach of the kitchen’s knives. Locke stood up on his chair, arithmetic slate held up like a shield.

The instant he saw who it was coming around the corner, the slate slipped from his fingers and clattered against the floor.

“My dear,” cried Chains, “you’ve come back to us early!”

She was, if anything, taller even than Locke remembered, and her hair was well-dyed a uniform shade of light brown. But it was her. It was undeniably Beth.

3

“YOU CAN’T be here,” said Locke. “You’re dead!”

“I certainly can be here. I live here.” Beth dropped the brown leather bag she was carrying and unbound her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders. “Who might you be?”

“I … um … you don’t know?”

“Should I?”

Locke’s astonishment merged with a sour disappointment. While the gears of his mind turned furiously to conjure a reply, she studied him. Her eyes widened.

“Oh, gods. The Lamora boy, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Chains.

“Bought him as well, have you?”

“I’ve paid more for some of my lunches, but yes, I’ve taken him from your old master.” Chains ruffled Beth’s hair with fatherly affection, and she kissed the back of his hand.

“But you were dead,” insisted Locke. “They said you’d drowned!”

“Yeah,” she said, mildly.

“But why?”

“Our Sabetha has a complicated past,” said Chains. “When I took her out of Shades’ Hill, I arranged a bit of theater to cover the trail.”

Beth. Sabetha. They’d mentioned Sabetha at least a dozen times since he’d come to live here. Locke suddenly felt like an idiot for not connecting the two names before … but then, he’d thought she was dead, hadn’t he? Beneath his astonishment, his embarrassment, his frustration, a warmth was rising in the pit of his stomach. Beth was alive … and she lived here!

“Well, where have … where did you go?” Locke asked.

“For training,” said Sabetha.

“And how was it?” asked Chains.

“Mistress Sibella said that I wasn’t as vulgar and clumsy as most of the Camorri she teaches.”

“So you … are, um—” said Locke.

“High praise, coming from that gilded prune,” said Chains, ignoring Locke. “Let’s see if she was on the mark. Galdo, take Sabetha’s side for a four-step. Complar entant.”

“Must I?”

“Good question. Must I continue feeding you?”

Galdo hurried out from behind Chains and gave Sabetha a bow so exaggerated his nose nearly brushed the floor. “Enchanted, demoiselle. May I beg the pleasure of a dance? My patron won’t feed me anymore if I don’t pretend to enjoy this crap.”

“What a bold little monkey you are,” said the girl. The two of them moved into the widest clear area of the room, between the table and the counters.

“Calo,” said Chains, “if you would.”

“Yes, yes, I have it.” Calo fiddled with his harp for a moment before he began to pluck out a fast, rhythmic tune, more complex than the ditties he’d been playing before.

Galdo and Sabetha moved in unison, slowly at first but gaining confidence and speed as the tune went on. Locke watched, baffled but fascinated, as they danced in a manner that was more controlled than anything he’d