"Not good enough by 'erself," Rif insisted, sliding out of her songbook-bag and cloak. "They got their guards up on the roof, and Jane knows where else, lookin' out fer fires."
"So, that many on the roof means less inside the house."
"Less is still too many. We ought ter have a diversion er two. Lemme think on 'er."
"Don't think too long, or the Megs'll discover those cut bolts and we'll lose our chance."
"Ney, not too long." Rif paused a moment, considering. "By work-time t'morrer night, I'll have 'er."
"Him, you mean," Rattail smirked. "You planning to get your friend in on this deal, or just get info out of him?"
Rif glared at her partner. "Not a word, Rat. Not one word about him, ter anyone. I mean it."
"Not a word," Rat agreed. "Hell and Retribution, don't you think I know where my bread's buttered by now?"
Easy it was, in the normal course of daylight business, to drop word here and there along the canals. Easy to answer hails and heltos from customers who knew them from Hoh's, with bits of gossip about Megary's. Easy to stir already-troubled waters.
"Hey, d'ye know Megary's short on boats? Losin' another hurt 'em good. Oh, aye, they're watchin' their roof fer fires ternight, but they ain't watching their boat-dock so well, ney? No moon ternight, is she? Ye knows where Megary's boat-dock is. Ye knows how well chugger burns. Ye knows how easy clay bottles break. Now s'pose 'er cork's made o' rag, and the rag's burnin' when the bottle breaks... Fine fun, hey?"
The word spread fast and well through the canals, until Rif and Rat could guarantee everything but exact numbers and timing. It would be a night full of distractions for Megary's, but the particular distraction they wanted the partners would have to manufacture for themselves.
By dinnertime they'd collected about five liters worth of that.
Black Cal stared up at the plastered ceiling, green eyes unfocused and dreamy, contemplating the feel of heat-stirred air moving on his skin, pulse beating slower now but still so heavy he could feel it all the way to his toes, gentle fingers meandering up to his jawline and down to navel in an ever-varying pattern. Ah, Rif...
He couldn't believe how she made him feel.
. . . So of course I have to keep trying... A smile crinkled the corners of his mouth.
Rif trailed a fingertip over the shy laugh-lines. "Ye look so different when ye smile," she murmured. "Like sunlight on the water..."
He glanced at her, touched, and noted that in fact her eyes were elsewhere, abstracted. Only part of her thought was on him. He felt absurdly jealous. "What's troubling you?"
Rif looked back, startled. Oh, he was quick, Black Cal. No sense lying to him, either. "Yer job and mine," she said. "Ye know I do other things than sing."
"How well do the Janes pay?" he asked, eyes wandering back to the ceiling.
"Fine when they got 'er," Rif said quickly, wondering if she should deflect him from this train of thought or not. "O' course, that's not too often."
Black Cal said nothing, sorry he'd gotten Rif off onto the subject of money.
She misread his silence. "Ye know I don't work fer 'em only fer the money! But, dammit, I've gotter make a livm' too."
"I know that." He paused, looking for the words to describe the whole difficult balance of personal honor where love had taken him. He wasn't used to explaining himself, and the pause stretched long.
"Look..." Rif propped herself up on her elbows and finger-combed her hair out of her eyes. ."I won't ask ye ter go 'gainst the law fer me. I try ter keep my... games outter yer sight, so's ye won't hafter choose."
"I know that!" Damn, she'd laid it out so clearly, so simply, and he was still struggling with words. She had the advantage, being a singer, a poet, words her common tools.
Rif looked off into some indefinable distance, chewing over a possibility. "I'll even warn ye when not ter look."
"Better I shouldn't know."
Rif thought on that awhile. "What if... what if I tell ye about other things goin' on, things that don't do nobody good, folk that really need bustin', for everybody's safety. Will that balance 'er out?"
Black Cal shut his eyes in relief. Balance: yes, she understood. "Yes," he said.
"You know, none better, there's lots worse nor squeezin' around dumb regulations an' trimmin' a little fat off the rich."
"I know that."
"Would ye agree," Rif smiled grimly, "that slavin' is worse?"
Black Cal snapped his eyes open, seeing bits and pieces fall into a pattern. "Oh, yes."
Rif paused for a moment, calculating fast. "Ternight," she said, "right about three bells,, do ye stroll past Megary's, ye might see some good evidence ter bust Megarys for slavin'. Ye game fer it?"
A slow, wide smile spread across Black Cal's face as he saw the pattern unfold. Lord, what a team we make! "Fair game," he said.
"Will you quit checking that timepiece?" Rattail whispered, easing her way up the thick bracing-timber. "Pay out the rope."
"Aye." Rif reeled out another yard of line. No more words now, they were close to the target. She counted timbers once more, making absolutely sure this was the window Denny meant. Then she inched after her partner in total and elaborate silence.
Most of their caution was wasted; the shouting, cursing and crackle of flames down by the boat-dock would have covered the noise of a dozen burglars. There lay all three of Megary's boats, burning merrily down to the waterline in bluish flames that smelled strongly of alcohol. Other burning splashes crawled up the dock and the nearest wall, showing where bad aim or enthusiasm had scored other targets.
Megary retainers, a good two dozen of them, were running back and forth to the water, filling buckets and flinging their contents on the flames. They made headway slowly; fuel alcohol burned even when diluted, and there was an impressive amount of it soaking the wood.
Boats, dock and walls were spotted with black char marks, some still wet and steaming, showing that this was by no means the first fire of the night.
Farther up the narrow water, hidden from the light of the troublesome fires, canalers watched and laughed. This wouldn't be the last fire of the night, either.
Rattail paused, just under the window, to study the scene a moment longer while Rif climbed up beside her. "Blacklegs?" she whispered.
"Bought off," Rif whispered back. "Canalers. Didn't take much."
Rattail chuckled, understanding. Megarys paid the blacklegs regularly to not investigate rumors of slave-dealing, but this current rash of raids had eaten into the budget a good bit. House Megary had not thought to pay the blacklegs extra to come and guard the house, or else had chosen not to spend the money. It didn't cost much at all to persuade the blacklegs to keep on keeping away from Megary's, especially at night.
All blacklegs but one, anyway.
Rif suppressed an urge to check the time again. Not now: just get in, do the work, let the "evidence" loose at just the right time... Sweet Jane, but this was going to take precision, and she didn't yet know exactly what they'd find inside.
Rattail reached the window, staying carefully below the ledge, and eased a listening-tube over the sill, through the bars, against the glass. Now patience: listen for a good five minutes at least, make damn sure there was nobody awake and waiting on the other side of the glass.
Rif crouched in the shadows on the timber, waiting for her partner's report and keeping an eye toward the water below.
Five minutes passed, no boats came by, and no sound came from behind the glass. Below and off-starboard, the boats still burned and the house-guards still labored. Rattail nodded, and Rif passed up one end of a short, heavy-hauling line. Rattail quick-tied the end to the nearest of the window bolts while Rif ran the other end through a pulley on a hook and strong-tied the hook to the timber. Another quick glance around for witnesses, and Rif handed up her end of the line. Rattail took it, hauled in the slack, looped the excess over her shoulder, put slow but serious muscle into the line. The pulley tuned sile
ntly, the hook's anchoring tie stretched taut, and the bolt on the window began to bend.
Slowly, quietly, the aged metal bent outward, then down. When it pointed so near to straight down that the line was in danger of slipping off, Rat slacked off the pressure. "Easy," she whispered, untying the line and reaching for the next bolt.
"Shh," Rif warned, reaching up to put a cautious ear to the listening-tube. A moment's checking revealed no sound. Rif signaled go-ahead.
Rattail tied the line to the next bolt and applied pressure again.
It took almost exactly a quarter of an hour to get the screen down. By that time most of the boat-fires had been put out, but the Megarys staff was busy examining the boats—and dock, and wans—for damage and leftover embers. They'd stay busy for awhile. Rif made some more silent calculations, then sent a note-perfect birdcall toward the nearest rooftop across the canal. Denny's whistle came back: ready and waiting for orders. Good.
Rattail took out a suction cup and pressed it tight to the glass. A light tug proved it was firm. Rif took up the glass cutter and ran it slowly, carefully, over the glass as close as possible to the frame. Twice around she went, making sure the cuts were deep.
They stopped again to listen, making sure the Megary folk were busy, and noisy. Rif tapped experimentally at the glass.
Tink.
No, too loud. Too much noise to tap the pane free.
Rif sighed, then whistled again to the other building. A different bird-call acknowledged. The partners waited, motionless.
Across the canal, a stone dropped to the water. A soft splash, then a laugh. A small flame winked briefly.
Out of nowhere a bottle came flying across the canal, its neck trailing a flaming wick, tumbling end over end, smack toward the front of Megary's Island.
Howls of outrage followed its course, and guns began firing into the dark even before the bottle hit, but there was no further sign of the unknown arsonist. The bottle, a good-sized jug, smashed gloriously on the wall above Megary's front door, splashing its contents far and wide. An instant later, the splash caught fire.
An irregular star of blue flame spread across the wall, lighting up the building front, the docks and the water below. The Megary staff shouted, swore, and ran for the buckets.
On the other side of the tall isle, Rif broke the glass free and scaled it away across the water. It struck and sank somewhere in the dark, unnoticed in the noise about the fire. Thirty seconds later, both partners were through the open window and inside.
For long moments they sat still, eyes shut, listening for any sign of another presence. Hearing none, they took out two small dark-lanterns and lit them, using the flare of the matches to look at the room around them.
"Sweet Jane," Rif breathed, even as her hands closed down the shutter of the dark-lantern. "It's their record-room!"
Paper: boxes, shelves, cupboards and file cabinets stuffed with papers filled the room from floor to ceiling. There was scarcely room to walk between the piles.
"Years' worth," Rat agreed. "Retribution, what dirt we could dig up here!"
"No time. Maybe we could move it out, look at it later .
No, Rat didn't need to answer that. Clearly, there was too much paper here to shift. A moment's thought showed that they couldn't just pitch it out the window, either. The splashing would be noticeable. The partners looked at each other, sighed in regret, fetched their gear in through the window, then got up and pulled out their bottles of chugger.
Setting the fire properly took up nearly all their fuel, leaving barely enough for the leader-trail running out the door. Rif took point-position this time, spying out the corridor and checking rooms on either side.
Most of them were locked, the only open one revealing a spartan, rumpled bedroom—probably used by the house guards between shifts. A key-ring hung from a hook near the door. Rif grabbed the keys, listened a moment for approaching footsteps, heard none, and unlocked the nearest closed door.
Inside were four women, wearing plain coarse shirts and trousers, huddled in sleep on the floor. Rif smiled, left the door open, and padded silently away.
In the next room lay a burly man, bruised about the face and clearly unconscious. Rif left him lying, and the door open, and went to the last room.
This one was full of children, maybe a dozen of them, curled together like puppies. One, a girl of maybe twelve at most, stirred and looked up. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
Rif smiled and held a warning finger to her lips. The little girl shut her mouth and watched. "Wait," Rif whispered, and backed out the open door. She ran on tiptoe back down the corridor, knowing her admonition wouldn't hold the child for long. Back to the room with the women, signaling fast to Rattail in passing, inside and down beside the nearest sleeper: Rif pressed a hand over the woman's mouth and added a quick shake to waken her. The woman didn't move, but her eyes snapped open.
"Get the others up quick and quiet," Rif whispered. "Get the man next door, and the kids beyond 'im. When we tell ye, everybody run, scatter and get out. Ye got that?"
The woman nodded quickly, staring. Rif left her, looked down the corridor once more, then hurried back to Rattail. Already she could hear small feet pattering about in the last room.
"Check out the corridor," she said. "I'll light 'er."
Rat nodded, got up and hurried down the hall, eased around the left corner and disappeared in the dark. Rif checked the time again, made a few calculations, took a sliver of wood to the dark-lantern and lit off the trail of chugger.
Blue flames leaped to life on the floor, grew, and wandered off into the soaked and waiting record-room.
Rif ran back down the corridor, stopped for a moment at the roomful of now-awake women, and told them: "Now. Every'body, up and Out. Let loose every other slavey y'can find here." She tossed them the guard's key-ring, then followed Rattail around the corner.
"Shh!" Rat whipped out a hand to stop her. "Watch feet."
Rif looked down and saw a pair of feet sticking out of a doorway.
"Help me haul him the rest of the way in," Rat explained. "I caught him coming out, but he'd heavy."
"Aye." Rif took the feet, which turned out to be attached to a burly lout with a beltful of weapons. Rat took the arms, and they toted the massive body back into the room that was clearly the man's own, to judge by the clutter.
Back down the corridor and around the corner came sounds of running and dragging feet—and the smell of burning.
Rat lugged the body to the bed, removed the weapons-belt and settled it around her own waist.
"Find the cuffs and keys," Rif whispered, searching the man's pockets, turning up coins, assorted keys, dice and a penknife.
"Here." Rat found a sturdy set of cuffs on the belt and handed them over. Rif, smiling unprettily, handcuffed the man to his bedstead and resumed her search of his pockets.
"Just leave him here?" Rat asked, casting a worried look toward the door.
"Aye. Let's go." "Which way?"
"Upstairs. Everyone else'll be runnin' down." "Ah."
They took their usual care examining the rest of this hallway and its rooms, finding no more than empty cells and servants' quarters, before proceeding upstairs. Now they eased along the walls, listening constantly, keeping track of the shoutings and thumpings both above and far below. With altitude came the wealthier apartments, better loot but more chance of meeting guards. At the first sound of close voices, they pulled their weapons out.
Ah, voices right behind the wall, here: two men, arguing.
"Hell and bad water, this is your fault! It started with that grab of yours, and I've had nothing but trouble since. Damn it, Magruder, you owe me!"
The reply was unintelligible, but sounded like a grumbling snarl.
Rat and Rif looked at each other. "Who?" Rat mouthed.
Magruder. Rif remembered the name. A wicked smile spread slowly across her face. She reached into a seldom-used pocket and brought out a particular to
ol, held it up where Rat could see. Rat looked at the odd-shaped tool, looked at the door, shrugged and grinned. Rif bent to the lock and got busy.
It took less than ten seconds' work to jam the lock solid.
As the partners ran away on tiptoe, giggling silently, the first sounds of alarm came echoing up from the floor directly below. So did a new, strong smell of smoke. Rat and Rif took to feeling the walls and doors for telltale heat, as well as listening for voices and watching for approaching staff in the hallways.
Once a woman who looked like a clerk came hurrying out of a door right ahead of them. Rif and Rat, gear carefully hidden under their loose shirts, put on respectable, preoccupied expressions and marched past her as if on their way to important tasks. The woman didn't bother looking at them as she passed. Rat and Rif turned back to check the room the clerk had just exited, but heard voices behind the door and turned away from it.
At the end of the hall they found a locked room with neither heat nor voices behind the door, got into it quickly and found a nicely-appointed luxury suite. Fine pickings here: Rat and Rif loaded their bags with assorted jewelry (some of it cut roughly off collars and cuffs), decorative gewgaws in fine metal and crystal, fistfuls of cash found in a drawer and a few expensive items of clothing. It was quite sufficient pay for the night's work.
Howls of dismay and alarm grew louder in the corridor outside. Rif looked again at the time. "Let's go," she whispered.
Rat nodded, tied up her stash-bag and headed for the window.
Getting out was much easier than getting in, since the window-grills on this level unlatched on the inside. Projecting beams below the window on the outside made ropes and pulleys unnecessary. The only possible problem lay in their position; this window was on the side of the building and near the front. Rat and Rif prudently kept in the shadows under the beams as they worked their way downward.
A puff of offshore wind brought heavy smoke, sounds of firefighting and evacuation gloriously muddled, and the ominous crackling of flames.