'Have you ever heard that big ears get clipped?' Pinch snapped, thus ending the line of conversation before it ever was started.
Resolutely quiet, the pair plotted their course around the open fringes of the plaza. Pinch was pleased to note the cardplayers were gone. He didn't want to deal with them, especially if they got it into their heads to interfere. Honor among thieves was a joke, for there was no better target to rob than a thief himself.
By the map Therin had made, there was a corner of the temple wall that jutted across an old alley and then pulled itself back in line, like the bastion of a fortress. No doubt it had been configured at such odd angles to nestle against some other building now long gone. Pinch could remember nothing from his youth that might have forced them to build so. At just that point, the wall came close enough for a perilous leap from rooftop to guard walk and while not safe, it was their best chance. Climbing the temple wall would take too long and risk too many chances to be seen by the guards, especially with Pinch's weak knee. With a single jump, they could clear the span and be out of sight before the watchmen made their rounds.
Getting to the rooftop proved easy. The old tenement was a jumble of sills, cornices, eaves, and railings that gave the pair easy purchase. Sprite, the more nimble of the two, led, pointing out the grips and holds to Pinch as he followed.
After what seemed the time required to scale a torturous mountain face, the roof was reached. On their bellies they slithered to the top of the ridgepole, until they could peer over the edge of the wall walk just across the way. It was a gap of ten feet, maybe a little more. Pinch figured he could do it, especially since the roof sloped down and would give his run some extra momentum. Sprite, though, with his short legs would never be able to clear the distance.
Carefully Pinch unrolled the parchment he'd brought for this need. 'Stand up, but stay out of sight,' he said in a curt whisper while he fought to stretch the sheet flat. Intricate whorls of writing glowed faintly in the dark, filling the entire page. 'Hold still while I read the spell.'
'What's it do, Pinch? Make me fly?' Sprite had positioned himself behind a crumbling chimney.
'It'll make your runty self jump good. Now let me read.'
Sprite peered into the gap between the two buildings. The ground was barely there in the darkness.
'What if it don't work?'
'Then there'll be a nice explosion and we can both blame Maeve. She taught me how to read this.' Pinch mumbled over the complicated phrasings on the scroll, taking care not to say them outright until he was ready. Finally, he held up the sheet and read it aloud, looking up every few words to make sure Sprite was still in front of him. It was just reading, it should be easy, the rogue kept telling himself, but somehow saying the words was more torturous than he expected. About halfway through, it took conscious effort to shape the phrases. They wanted to escape him. When he reached a syllable he couldn't remember, Pinch tried not to show his panic and guessed, hoping he'd made the right choice. Finally, with a faint damp of perspiration on his brow, Pinch uttered the final words.
The rooftop did not shake with a fiery blast but the lettering faded from the sheet, leaving only a blank page of brittle parchment.
'See, it worked,' Pinch boasted. Maeve also said it was possible nothing might happen, but there was no point worrying the little halfling with that.
'I don't feel different,' Sprite answered with sullen suspicion. 'Maybe if I jump a little bit-'
'Don't try it. You only get one chance.' Pinch nodded toward the top of the guard wall. 'Just a light step over there.'
'I'm not-'
Pinch didn't wait for the rest of the protest but, seeing the walk was clear, heaved to his feet and sprinted down the shingled roof. His footing was poor on the mossy shakes, but the rogue let momentum carry him past all hazards. At the very edge of the eave, he sprang forward, out across the gap. He crossed the distance with ease and tumbled onto the stone walkway, risking more in tumbling off the back of the wall than he did leaping the gap. He lay flat on his belly until he was the sure the clatter of his arrival had raised no alarms.
At last he peered over the crenellations to find Sprite, certain he'd have to urge the halfling to make the leap. Just as he was scanning the rooftop, trying to spot the halfling, the little thief gave him a light poke in the side.
'Bless Maeve, it worked,' Sprite panted, his face flushed with the thrill of it. 'I ain't never jumped so far in all my born days!'
Pinch shushed his partner and motioned for them to move out. Now they were in the enemy camp. Caution, silence, and speed were their goals.
The pair hurried in leaps and starts, from the shadow of this arch to the curve of that wall, with the sure confidence of memory. Therin's map was good, even sketching out the passages closed to outsiders. Pinch wondered what priest had profited from Therin's research. It would have been fitting to reclaim that payment tonight, too.
The thieves moved through the dreary temple grounds, never once raising a suspicion. The complacent guards, convinced their fellows on the impregnable walls had done their job, made no effort to watch for intruders. Indeed their eyes only looked for superiors who might surprise them slacking at the job. It was a simple matter to elude the notice of these buffoons.
Pinch praised the Red Priests for their diligence as he pushed open the well-oiled gates to the inner cloister. No squeak revealed their entrance. After making certain no priests were muttering their devotionals in some dark corner, Pinch led the way to the tower rising in the center of the dark, silent garden. They knelt in the bushes near the base and looked up at the smooth stone column. Just below the minareted top, the polished surface was pierced by the glow from the tower's only opening. Pinch waited for a long time, watching for shadows or some other sign that the rooftop room was occupied. Finally satisfied there were none, the rogue whispered to his compatriot, 'Keep watch for trouble. I'm going up.'
The other looked at the smooth wall and shook his little head. 'You know you can't climb for a tinker's damn, Pinch. I should go.'
The look Sprite got made it clear who would climb and who would stay. It wasn't a matter of climbing-it was a matter of trust and there was only one person Pinch trusted getting these treasures. Without a word, Sprite withdrew his suggestion and set himself to watch for intruders on their plans.
From his pouch, the regulator produced another scroll, the second Maeve had prepared. Again forcing the nonsensical syllables over his tongue, barely had Pinch finished the scroll before he started to rise into the air like a cork released at the bottom of a barrel. Ten, twenty, thirty feet he rose, just a hand's reach from the wall. When he was just beneath the level of the window, he willed himself to a stop.
Pinch hung there, breathless and trembling, drifting in the air like a cottonwood fluff. The buoyancy of levitation was a ticklish sensation that threatened to unnerve his senses and disorient him for what was to come. It was more than magic, though. Pinch panted with fear, the fear of floating over nothing against the fear of threats unknown that lay beyond the windowsill. It was beyond explanation, but these were the moments he lived for, the rush of blood as he hovered in the balance of life, or maybe death. Though it lay beyond explanation, every thief knew it, lived for it, and savored that moment more than the money, the gems, and the magic that was gained. 'Gods rescue us from dull lives' was an old toast of many a black-hearted gang.
A whistle from below forced Pinch into action. Spite, barely visible in the weeds, worked a sign with his hands that foretold of trouble. Guards were coming, no doubt. With a breath, Pinch seized the sill and effortlessly swung himself over.
The tower chamber was small, no larger than a festhall crib and decorated as dramatically. It was lit by a golden fire that burned steadily from the heart of a crystal stone hung from the ceiling in an iron cage. It was a stone that would burn as brightly through all eternity until the gods grew tired of looking on it. For all its enduring power, it was hardly special, just a cheap parlor trick of holy power. The walls were hung with arras heavy enough to stifle all breezes. Each was stitched with the exploits of kings and queens, the past rulers of Ankhapur, their glories now as faded as the rugs on these walls.
At the far wall was the treasure Pinch sought, a golden cup and a glittering knife in a case of rosewood and gold. The case sat on a small shelf, unlocked, unsealed, and unprotected from thieves like himself. And Pinch didn't believe a bit of it. The Red Priests of Ankhapur were not such great fools. They knew their treasures would draw burglars like candles draw moths. Clearly, the only reason the royal regalia were before him now was that they had
