treated for just this sort of thing and his ship’s mage had traced them here.
His little-magics were an itch behind his ribs, just a tickle as yet. A honed instinct that some mainlanders had, and Van Gast’s ran one way—they told him of trouble. But the itch was no more than usual, the anticipation of a little smash and grab, the warning it could go tits up. Not enough to worry him unduly, and anyway, being stupid for the excitement was what he lived for. If his little-magics weren’t tickling just a little, he wasn’t living, and they’d not tickled for weeks. Now it was time for some fun, and to show Holden just what being a rack was all about.
The merchanters glanced around before they entered the house, but not too closely, not so they saw Holden and Van Gast lurking in the shadows. Fools, to be so complacent, but maybe that was what made Bilsen so perfect. So small and out of the way, they expected no trouble.
“All right, lesson number one,” Van Gast said. “If it all goes tits-up, run like fuck.”
“You’re not inspiring me with confidence. We should go back to the ship, back to—”
“Lesson number two,” Van Gast interrupted. He wasn’t about to let the staid Holden ruin his fun. “Be quiet and quick. You wait for me to get in the back. As soon as you hear anything, you go in the front. Those men are doing a trade deal or I’m an elephant, and where there’s trade there’s cash. Grab what you can, don’t get caught and we meet back at the ship.”
It’d be a hard slog—at his insistence they’d left the Glass Dagger a safe distance away from the tiny harbor here, over a rocky ridge and hiding in a cove fringed with thick jungle.
“Van, I’m not—”
Van Gast didn’t give him time to finish but ghosted round the side of the house, relishing a return to what he knew—thieving, scamming, maybe some light skullduggery. Stupid but thrilling, what he lived for.
For cruddy little Bilsen, it was a fair house. For anywhere else it was one step up from a slum, which at least meant it’d be easier to break into. For all his talk, it had been a while since burglary had been on Van Gast’s agenda and he took his time checking the lay of the land.
The back of the house tumbled into a small hill which formed part of the back wall, with an outhouse propped against it as an afterthought. The all-over stink of Bilsen had numbed his nose so the extra smell barely registered. He got himself on the hill level with the second floor window, where the lights were brightest through sacking curtains. His heart stuttered—this wasn’t just stupid-but-exciting. With only him and Holden, it was past stupid and into idiotic. He didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was trying to recapture who he was, get back the fun in being a racketeer, in not caring about rules, not even knowing what the rules were. He wanted to feel the fear/joy thud his heart till it burst, he wanted to run, to chase and be chased and laugh at it, to feel alive.
Fuck it, he had to do this, had to get back to who he was. He pasted a grin on and slid his knife along the lock. He was rewarded with the softest of clicks and pushed the window open as slow as he could. Gently, gently.
“—so we thought we’d best contact you,” a voice was saying. “We hear you’re collecting them.”
The lamp was just by the curtain. If he took that out, he had a chance. Van Gast, against four men, maybe more? No problem. He was Van Gast, scourge of the western coast, the rack to beware of, the one they all wanted to beat. He shut his eyes to prepare them for the darkness he intended to make.
“Only a hundred golden sharks,” the voice said. “That’s all we’re asking.”
Excellent—maybe a bonus was in the offing.
With his eyes shut, sound became sharper, clearer. The muted slap of the sea along the shingle beach. A hum of activity down by the inn. The lonely call of a night bird. Someone else outside with him, an indrawn breath quick and sharp, surprised perhaps.
He kept his eyes shut but listened again. No sounds close except the men in the room. The man with the ring was on the right, from his voice. Aim for him