Conscious of Rattle’s muted and bizarre laughter in the backpack, Skate crept noiselessly across the room, out through the barely open front door, and into the cold afternoon light.
Chapter 4
In which a destination is reached, a trap is bypassed, and a man is kicked in the groin.
Skate hurried away from Belamy’s door and across the street, trying her best to stay out of sight of any interested parties. Her breath formed temporary clouds in front of her eyes as she jogged, and the ground was intermittently patched with piles of snow that had not yet melted or been shoveled away. The residual warmth of the old man’s house was keeping some of the chill away, but she could feel it dissipating as she darted around pedestrians to cross the busy road.
When she was safely out of sight of the general population, Skate began to slap her hands together and breathe into them. “Where do I go, eyeball?” she said, knowing Rattle could hear her. She felt a light tap on the right side of her back. “Does that mean I need to go right?”
In response, Rattle clicked and tapped twice more, a little harder, on the right side of her back.
“Okay, then, right it is.”
Rattle clicked again but did no more tapping, so Skate set off in the direction the odd thing had indicated.
In this way, she was able to find Laribel Ossertine’s home easily. Rattle tapped and jabbed to move her left, right, or straight, sometimes forcing Skate to hiss “Too hard!” over her shoulder, earning confused looks from passersby. Caribolians, though, were used to a certain level of eccentricity in people walking their streets, and no one paid her any mind beyond initial irritation or confusion. Skate, in return, ignored their stares and went on her way, secretly guided by the strangest thing she’d ever met.
After several more avenues and alleyways, Skate stood across the street from a row of tall and narrow homes. The one directly in front of her was the one Rattle was prodding her toward. “You sure that’s it?” she muttered into the alleyway behind her, not caring if anyone else saw her talking to no one.
Rattle clicked once and nudged her forward in the center of her back.
“All right, hold on,” Skate said, taking stock of what was ahead of her.
Ossertine’s home was part of a set of houses connected to one another. They look like books on a shelf, she thought; the thin faces of the homes jutted out like a row of book spines. Most of the street block was effectively one wide, squat structure divided up into smaller living spaces. There was some variation—one house might have an awning while the next did not, and some of the houses rose to a third or even a fourth landing—but these minor instances of individualization did little to set any particular house apart from another. The overall effect was rather the opposite: the small fluctuations in cosmetic choice served to highlight their similarities.
Skate sighed at Ossertine’s place. Although there were no lights on within it, nothing else she saw of the house made her think the job of breaking in without attracting attention would be an easy one.
There was, as far as she could tell, one door to the place. There was only one window at the ground floor, and it was blocked by a large piece of furniture on the inside. She would have to go in through the front door, or else climb up to the roof and try to break in through the second-story window. The first option was terrible, since there were people milling around, one of whom was bound to spot her and give a description to the Guard. But clambering into a second-story window was just as likely to attract unwanted attention.
Skate knew the area somewhat, and she thought that there were more houses behind this row, facing the other direction—which meant there would be no back door.
She had never been atop the buildings. There could be some sort of roof access. She muttered over her shoulder, “I’m going to try to get to the roof to see if there’s a way in.”
“Bully for you,” a soft, reedy voice responded. She whipped around to see Kite standing there, using his knife to clean his fingernails. He was not looking at her as he worked. He leaned against the alleyway wall with contemptuous ease. “Why you trying to get in, love?”
She tried to stay calm, but her nervousness projected as petulance. “None of your business, Kite.”
“The Ink’s business is my business. Is this Ink’s business?” His voice was disinterested, and he still wasn’t looking at her, but she could sense an icy chill in his words. Violence danced just underneath the surface with Kite, always.
Skate grimaced at him. “Yeah, Kite, but you’re not a Boss or a lieutenant. I don’t have to tell you anything.” She turned away from him and moved toward one of the houses that had a ladder up against it.
Kite was a nuisance. He probably thought Skate was on the trail of a big score and was attempting to horn in on the haul. She wasn’t going to let him get to her, though. Her mother had taught her that bullies feed off the misery of others, so she’d starve him.
To Skate’s annoyance, when she looked back, she saw him occupying the space she had vacated, watching her. He fancies himself a detective, she thought, sticking her tongue out at him and beginning to climb up the ladder.
The flat roofs that greeted her were not particularly promising—nothing but straw thatching. She moved over to Ossertine’s roof and was pleasantly surprised. There was a wooden trapdoor under some loose straw. It was latched but unlocked. She pulled at it, and the creak was painfully loud. She tried and failed to keep the door from crashing as it opened. It was heavier than she’d expected.
Skate swore as the rumble from the door rolled under her feet. She almost bounded through the hole in the roof due to sheer nerves, but she paused when she saw something dangerous on the lip of the frame.
It was small, and by design very easy to miss: a glyph painted onto the lip. Twitch had taught her to look for such things when entering unfamiliar nice houses, and her wariness had saved her. If she had crossed the boundary made by the trapdoor’s frame without first speaking the proper password, the symbol would have released whatever murderous energy it contained. Some such runes would trigger if even seen, though this one wasn’t blasting her with any arcane energies. It was probably activated by passing through without a password.
Skate wondered whether Ossertine was capable of making such a trap herself, or if she had hired someone to create the magical deterrent.
Regardless, Twitch had taught Skate how to disarm it. She pulled a metal wire from her clothes. There were two points that she had to touch with perfect accuracy and at precisely the same time. Success would mean the magic within would fizzle out, and she would be able to pass without harm. Failure would trigger it.
Wire in hand, Skate stood up and began to jog in place. Neighbors might hear her, but that bang from the door had dispensed with that concern.
Rattle clicked indignantly in the backpack.
“Shush,” she said between heavy breaths. “I need…to get…warmer.” Rattle clicked twice within, and then fell to silence, apparently ready to wait and be jostled by her aerobics.
When she felt confident in the warmth she had started to radiate, Skate lay near the wooden frame of the door and bent the wire into position. She took a deep breath, and let it out. She took another, and let it out too. She took several more, steadying her nerves for the task at hand. She took a final deep breath, and she released it. When her lungs were empty, she double-checked the positioning of her hands and pushed both forward to their respective targets. When she felt the wire make contact, she closed her eyes.