Page 20 of The Hood and his Thief

Rhosyn regained control of her limbs a second after realizing Hood was escaping. Hastily, she scrambled to her feet, grateful that the stable now appeared to be empty of both Mr. Gower and the groom, Hamish. She raced to the door, left slightly ajar, just in time to see a dark silhouette leap from the top of the garden fence, performing a flip in the air before landing lightly on his feet and darting off into the night.

With a sigh, Rhosyn let him go. The Hood seemed to be made of smoke, and the harder she tried to grasp him, the more he slipped through her fingers with surprising agility. She couldn’t risk being caught chasing him through the streets at night and being forced to explain herself to Chief Thorne.

Rhosyn twisted and looked over her shoulder to assess the damage to her pants, finding the entire back middle seam torn open and amended her thoughts. She definitely couldn’t be caught racing through the streets at night with her entire bahookie on display.

She slipped back into the stable and made sure to set the carriage to rights before exiting and shutting the door behind her. Once she had snuck back around to the front of the grand house and onto the street, she unwrapped the black scarf from her head and used it to tie around her waist. It would be enough to keep her halfway decent on the walk home, if any late-night drinkers were still wandering the streets.

Not that it seemed to matter too terribly much anymore. Hood had quite literally caught her with her pants down tonight before slipping away, and she still didn’t know where to find Paul and Olivia.

Chapter five

The flags at the zenith of each large tent flapped lazily in the thin breeze that gained energy this short distance from the concentrated buildings of the city. Rhosyn craned her neck to look up at the green banners emblazoned with the golden bow and arrow of Archer’s Circus.

She picked her way through the main thoroughfare, boots sinking gently into the well-trodden ground of mud and hay. Even though the Circus had only been open for a day, word seemed to have spread quickly. What appeared to be half of London had turned out at the end of the workday to see the spectacle.

The air swirled with excitement and the rich, buttery aroma of popcorn, working to dispel the frustration that clung to Rhosyn’s consciousness throughout her day patrolling the lower city. Even now, Mr. Gower’s whispered conversation with Hamish replayed in her head as she tried to make sense of it and decide where she might look for Paul and Olivia next. Maybe she should turn around and spend the night scouring the rooftops for the Hood.

Instead, she trekked towards the tallest tent, standing proudly at the center of the festivities. That was where Ansel had indicated he would be when he sent her ticket with a messenger, and Rhosyn could certainly do with the distraction of some entertainment right now.

As she walked, she peeked through the entrances of some of the surrounding structures, revealing small stages occupied by brightly dressed jugglers or gaudily painted contortionists. At one point she jumped at the roar of a mighty beast somewhere nearby. She had seen posters for a lion tamer, and she hoped he was skilled enough to keep the animal in check.

Finally, she reached the grandest of the quickly erected structures, marveling that such a cathedral of green and white striped canvas could be constructed overnight. This tent seemed to be drawing the bulk of the crowds, and Rhosyn let herself drift inside with the milling tide.

The setup looked familiar: tightropes and trapezes towered above the stands, already filling with spectators. It seemed the acrobats were considered the crowning jewel of Archer’s Circus—the Merry Men, as Ansel had introduced them.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a touch at her elbow drew Rhosyn from her thoughts, where she gaped at the network of ropes above her.

“I was hoping you’d come,” Ansel said by way of greeting. He smiled magnanimously, just the barest peek of the silver stripe in his hair visible below the silk top hat he wore.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rhosyn followed in the direction he nudged her elbow, out of the thickest of the entering crowds.

“I know you’re busy.” Ansel shrugged. “Clearly you’ve been working.”

Rhosyn glanced down at her pressed, navy-blue uniform, looking dusty after a full day’s wear, and inwardly shrank. She might have changed, but she wasn’t inclined to ruin one of the dresses Contessa gifted her in the muck of the grounds, and it had become clear last night that her older clothes were no longer a safe option.

“Crime never sleeps,” Rhosyn grumbled.

And neither do I, she added silently.

“Then we’ll have to make the most of your time off. I saved the best seat in the house for you.” Ansel led them through the spectators, milling this way and that as they found their seats, and back behind a flap that appeared to separate the backstage area.

He turned right up a narrow set of wooden stairs, only slightly too deep to be called a ladder. Rhosyn took her first step upward only to find this angle gave her an extremely close view of Ansel’s backside. Immediately, she paused, letting him get a few extra steps in front of her and looking determinedly at her feet as she followed. She should be behaving professionally, especially while in uniform, Rhosyn reminded herself, not gawking crassly like the lower city street urchin she was.

Such thoughts were forgotten when Ansel pulled back the curtain at the top of the steps and revealed a small box overlooking the stage from above. From this height, she was nearly level with some of the tightropes. As Ansel beckoned her into the space, she approached the edge and looked over the railing at the other spectators below.

What would it be like to be one of the acrobats, to dangle from this height with only your balance and wits to protect you? Even as the idea made her dizzy, a thrill ran up her spine.

“I take it you like the accommodations?” Ansel asked, a brow raised.

“I think a private box might be a little grand for just me,” Rhosyn said, turning to the small number of comfortable-looking chairs crowded into the tight space.

“You did best me,” Ansel argued.

“Don’t think this will get you out of showing me your circus act.” Rhosyn jabbed a finger into his chest. It was surprisingly firm, indicating more muscle than his size would suggest. “Were you an acrobat? The strong man?”

“You don’t have much patience, do you?” Ansel deflected. “Even when you’re given entertainment fit for a king to occupy you while you wait.”

“Why is patience always the virtue people espouse?” Rhosyn grumbled. “Why can’t getting things done be the virtue?”