The woman thrust out the letter again. “Nijk sh?st,” she said. “Please, Master Kell.”
He tried to focus, to think. He’d promised Rhy … but it was only a letter. And technically, under the laws set out by the crowns of all three Londons, letters were a necessary exemption from the rule of no transference. Sure, they only meant letters between the crowns themselves, but still …
“I can pay you in advance,” she pressed. “You needn’t come back to close the deal. This is the last and only letter. Please.” She dug in her pocket and retrieved a small parcel wrapped in cloth, and before Kell could say yes or no, she pushed the note and payment both into his hands. A strange feeling shot through him as the fabric of the parcel met his skin. And then the woman was pulling away.
Kell looked down at the letter, an address penned onto the envelope, and then to the parcel. He went to unwrap it, and the woman shot forward and caught his hand.
“Don’t be a fool,” she whispered, glancing around the alley. “They’ll cut you for a coin in these parts.” She folded his fingers over the package. “Not here,” she warned. “But it’s enough, I swear. It must be.” Her hands slipped away. “It’s all I can give.”
Kell frowned down at the object. The mystery of it was tempting, but there were too many questions, too many pieces that didn’t make sense, and he looked up and started to refuse.…
But there was no one to refuse.
The woman was gone.
Kell stood there, at the mouth of the Scorched Bone, feeling dazed. What had just happened? He’d finally mustered the resolve to make no deals, and the deal had come to him. He stared down at the letter and the payment, whatever it was. And then, in the distance, someone screamed, and the sound jarred Kell back to the darkness and the danger. He shoved the letter and parcel both into the pocket of his coat, and drew his knife across his arm, trying to ignore the dread that welled with his blood as he summoned the door home.
FIVE
BLACK STONE
I
The silver jingled in Lila’s pocket as she made her way back to the Stone’s Throw.
The sun had barely set on the city, but she’d already managed a fair take that day. It was risky, picking pockets by anything but night—especially with her particular disguise, which required a blurred eye or low light—but Lila had to shoulder the risk if she was going to rebuild. A map and a silver watch did not a ship buy or a fortune make.
Besides, she liked the weight of coins in her pocket. They sang like a promise. Added swagger to her step. A pirate without a ship, that’s what she was, through and through. And one day, she’d have the ship, and then she’d sail away and be done with this wretched city once and for all.
As Lila strolled down the cobblestones, she began making a mental list (as she often did) of all the things she’d need to be a proper privateer. A pair of good leather sea boots, for one. And a sword and scabbard, of course. She had the pistol, Caster—beauty that it was—and her knives, all sharp enough to cut, but every pirate had a sword and scabbard. At least the ones she’d met … and the ones she’d read about in books. Lila had never had much time for reading, but she could read—it was a good skill for a thief, and she turned out to be a quick study—and on the occasion that she nicked books, she nicked only the ones about pirates and adventures.
So, a pair of good boots, a sword, and scabbard. Oh, and a hat. Lila had the black, broad-brim one, but it wasn’t very flashy. Didn’t even have a feather, or a ribbon, or—
Lila passed a boy perched on a stoop a few doors shy of the Stone’s Throw, and slowed, her thoughts trailing off. The boy was ragged and thin, half her age and as dirty as a chimney broom. He was holding out his hands, palms skyward, and Lila reached into her pocket. She didn’t know what made her do it—good spirits, maybe, or the fact that the night was young—but she dropped a few coppers into the kid’s cupped hands as she walked by. She didn’t stop, didn’t talk, and didn’t acknowledge his thanks, but she did it all the same.
“Careful now,” said Barron when she reached the tavern steps. She hadn’t heard him come out. “Someone might think you’ve got a heart under all that brass.”
“No heart,” said Lila, pulling aside her cloak to reveal the holstered pistol and one of her knives. “Just these.”
Barron sighed and shook his head, but she caught the edge of a smile, and behind it, something like pride. It made her squirm.