Page 45 of The Hood and his Thief

By the time Rhosyn’s boots hit the packed dirt of the alleyway, she was beginning to perspire, her shirt clinging to the small of her back and curls tightening in the humidity.

“I hope you can scale a wall faster than that,” Ansel said, quietly enough that she could barely make out his words over the din of the street at the front of the building. While the middle and upper city would be quieting down at this point in the night, action in the lower city was just picking up.

“We’ll need to be quick if we are to make it over the back wall to the palace between rounds of the King’s Guard,” Ansel worried out loud.

Rhosyn paused. She should have thought about how Ansel planned to get into the palace grounds, but she had spent her time worrying about her choice to go with him instead.

There was a way to get into the palace grounds without risking getting caught climbing the wall, though. Using it would require putting even more trust in Ansel.

They had come this far.

“Lucky for you, we don’t have to scale the back wall.”

Ansel raised a brow.

“Follow me.” It was all the further instruction she gave him before trotting off down the alley to towards the slightly better lit main streets. As she emerged, she looked both ways, taking stock of where they were, although trying not to be too obvious in plotting out the exact location of the Foxes hideout in their mind.

“Graham Street,” Ansel supplied.

When she looked at him curiously, he just shrugged.

“You were going to figure it out anyways. No point in forcing you to struggle to get your bearings at this point.”

Rhosyn nodded sharply, turning left and weaving deftly through the milling crowds of dirty urchins and rowdy gamblers. She walked these streets every day on her assigned beat, but tonight, it felt different. While the residents of the lower city recognized her—even trusted her, as much as they could an officer of the Royal Police after the terrifying reign of the Inquiries—Rhosyn hadn’t realized how other the navy wool and gold buttons of her uniform made her. When she patrolled, she rarely brushed shoulders with pedestrians or had to jump out of the way of an ambling cart. Everybody gave her a respectful berth.

Now though, she weaved and dodged like the Lion’s runners, whom she had trained to carry messages quickly and secretly between safehouses. Nobody spared her a glance or averted their eyes, as if afraid of being accused of causing trouble.

Tonight, she was one of them. Just another citizen going about their business—perhaps legal, perhaps not.

Rhosyn quickly steered them towards the Lion’s old territory. Now it was split between a few gangs, the worst of the skirmishes over the territory in the past with the fall of the Wolves. The particular building she was looking for was currently in Rattlesnake territory, but she didn’t fear them anymore.

In a matter of minutes, Rhosyn led Ansel to the front of a butcher shop. She paused outside, plotting her strategy.

“Are we in need of meat for whatever your secret plan is?” Ansel asked as she considered.

“It’s not what’s in the store. It’s what’s underneath,” Rhosyn explained. She headed for a gap between buildings, planning on entering through the side door. She gestured for Ansel to follow, but paused when she realized he was no longer right behind her.

He hesitated, hovering under the darkened shop’s awning. His right hand gripped his opposite forearm, a gesture Rhosyn recognized as him palming a hidden weapon through his clothes, as if considering drawing it.

“You could be leading me into a trap,” he pointed out.

Rhosyn stepped back towards him, propping one had on her him. “And when would I have had time to set up a trap? You’ve had me watched nearly every minute, day and night.”

His mouth twisted ruefully. “It’s turning out that you have many skills I don’t know about.”

“Well, telepathy is not one of them. No hidden Talents here,” Rhosyn assured.

Ansel took a single step forward. “And how will a butcher shop help us get into the palace? Unless you prefer a meat cleaver to a proper dagger.”

“Do you trust me?” Rhosyn asked.

“I shouldn’t.”

Rhosyn shook her head. “That wasn’t an answer.”

Ansel sighed heavily, a sound that held more meaning and feeling than a spoken answer might have. “Lead the way.”

She turned back towards the door, popping the cheap lock easily. The screech of breaking metal couldn’t even be heard against the din of the tavern across the street. Rhosyn said a silent apology and made a mental note to replace it for the shop owners. This was no longer a Lions’ safe house, but the shop owners were former gang members.