Chương 13: Chapter 12 – Practice Run

Bracken hauled himself onto the rooftop, struggling up over the lip and wriggling along on his belly. He let out a deep sigh, resolving to start exercising properly once they got to the other side of their heist. He was nimble and quick-footed but pulling himself up left him panting and his arms shaking. Of course, some of that shaking might just be nerves.

"You good?" Torvin asked, effortlessly pulling himself up after. Bastard made it look so easy. Torvin shuffled up beside him and the pair looked out over the half-sunken townhouse. No lanterns burned in the windows and no sound carried through the mist.

"Yeah," Bracken panted. His breath misted, the evening chill carrying a promise that winter was near. Fog drifted through the canals, spilling onto the cobbles. It was treacherous to walk the streets of the Gutters after dark at the best of times. Worse during the autumn and winter months, too easy to accidentally step into a canal. Already, it was only the sound of water lapping at the boards beneath the piers that hinted at how high the tide had risen.

"You remember the signal?" Torvin gave him a droll look. The signal was always the same – if Torvin squawked like a seagull, Bracken would run. If he squawked twice, he'd hide. Hardly a code to stump the Inspectors, but it was practical and efficient. Bracken was just stalling, the plan seeming a little less foolproof than it had back at the bar now that they were actually there, staring at the half-sunken townhouse Cinder and Pike called home. The pair shouldn't be returning for a few hours yet.

At least, based on how they'd behaved the last few days. Two and a half days, really. Which again, seemed a little flimsier without a belly full of wine. Torvin must have been feeling the nerves as well because he produced a flask and took a swig before offering it to Bracken. He took it gratefully, swallowing a burning mouthful of bitter spirits and hoping it would drown the butterflies fluttering madly in his belly. It didn't, but at least it made him feel a little warmer.

"Remember, in and out, don't touch anything," Torvin said. Silk's pierced nipples, the plan must have been dodgy if Torvin felt the need to preach caution. Bracken gave a nod, trying to look more confident than he felt, and rose into a crouch. Many of the rooftops at this end of the city were mostly flat. The buildings were tall and narrow, pressing against one another at crooked angles like teeth in an overcrowded mouth.

The Thulbridge, the outermost of the seven, often disappeared at least partway underwater with how deeply this part of the city had sunken. A backup, Silk's Bridge, had been built a few years back, though it was more a bridge in name than in truth. A set of pontoons strung together to rise and fall with the tides. Torvin kept watch on the Fisher's side of the canal, to the north. Bracken crept across the rooftops, taking his time to work his way around to the edge of the block.

He paused on each new building, taking stock of the sight lines and glancing north to where the redlight district's trade was in full swing. People flitted between bars, huddling close to buildings to avoid missteps or accidental swims, and laughter rippled through the mist with every opening of a door. But south of the bridge, the city was a darker place. Proper gang territory, precious few businesses operated there, and no law protected the inhabitants, least of all from one another.

Sable and Passage ought to have been returning from their supply run just about then. He hoped it had gone well or else he was doing reconnaissance for nothing. Muttering a prayer to Sael, Silk, and any other Aldaryn listening, Bracken carefully climbed back down to street level. He clung tight to a drainpipe, bracing himself against windowsills and planter boxes, awkwardly shuffling between breaks. Aerwyn. He'd definitely be trying for an Aerwyn Stain when the time came.

Oh, for the power to simply step from the rooftop and land on the street, light as a falling feather and twice as graceful. He finally got his boots back on the ground, fog stirring and rippling around his feet. He wiped his hands on his cloak then took it off and hung it folded over the edge of a planter box. Best to have something dry for later. He kept moving, trying to feel like a cat prowling instead of a rat skulking, but mostly just feeling like a fool in over his head.

Every darkened window and open shutter felt like a set of eyes watching as he slipped across Silk's bridge, feeling out each step carefully so accidentally stumble into the Stillwake. When he finally reached the other side, he shuffled carefully towards one of the nearest buildings to crouch in its shadow, out of the moon's pale glow. The water rose to his knees on this side of the canal, despite it being the highest and driest point in the outermost block.

Tucking his pants into his boots did precious little to keep the water out of them. The cold set Bracken's teeth chattering as he sloshed towards Cinder and Pike's den, glancing up at the opposing rooftop where he knew Torvin lay on his belly watching. Even knowing he was there, he could see no trace of him in the dark. That was good, less risk of him being noticed. The objective for the night was simple. A quick spot of recon, checking the entrances and exits to the half-sunken townhouse. Figure out the way in.

Figure out the way out. Once they had that, everything would be in place for tomorrow. Bracken clung to that conviction as the water rose around his waist and he added borrowing a gondola or canoe to the plan. His foot brushed against something hidden beneath the inky black water, and he suppressed a shudder, trying not to think of every horror story he'd ever heard told of the creatures that called the Stillwake home. Then again, at least if he pissed himself, he might be warm for a few seconds.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. The townhouse in question was cramped between two others, the least rotten of the three. Four-story tall, the ground floor's windows had been bricked over to keep out the rising waters. The path towards it was long sunken, the narrow ledge submerged under six feet of water with the tide so high. Bracken paused at the top of an algae slicked set of stone steps, feeling out the drop with his foot.

A pontoon had been secured to the first-floor balcony, a rope ladder hanging lazily from it, the lower rungs floating in the water. Bracken braced himself for the cold. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. The water rose up to his shoulders, and he gasped despite his best efforts not to, every muscle in his chest seizing with the chill, his lungs shrinking to the size of a thimble.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he swore to himself with every breath, shivering through a doggy-paddle over to the balcony. His fingers nearly numb with cold, he climbed his way up, struggling with the weight of his sopping clothes dragging half the Stillwake with him. Should've worn something different, he noted. Should've planned the whole thing better. He hadn't expected the water to be quite so deep, but a king tide had made it worse, that was an oversight. Definitely bringing a boat next time, he resolved.

Water running off him in streams, Bracken dragged himself to the door and tried the handle. Locked. He wasn't surprised, just disappointed. People with precious little worth protecting tended to be either carelessly indifferent or jealously territorial. He'd been hoping for the former.

"Shit," he muttered through chattering teeth. He took a step back, looking up at the building and cataloguing the entrances. A rusted trellis adorned the wall to his right, a treacherous iron ladder leading to the second-story window. A chimney jutted from the rooftop, but Bracken instantly dismissed it, fending off visions of becoming trapped inside it.

He glanced at the waters, wondering whether he could get the ground floor door to open and swim in, but the water was too dark, and he'd have nothing to push against for leverage even assuming it wasn't locked. Swearing to himself, Bracken put the window idea in his back pocket and climbed back down into the water. He didn't necessarily need to get inside tonight, just figure out his options. The water was no more forgiving on a second dip. Bracken swam over to the townhouse next door.

Built from wooden boards long since given to rot, the paint had flecked and peeled away, and it groaned with every shift in the evening breeze. A planter box had tipped lazily into the water, forming an unsteady ramp to the first-floor window. The glass had been shattered long ago, the window frames staring out like the hollow eyes of a corpse that the city had forgotten to bury.

Bracken tested his weight against the planter, satisfying himself that the half still secured to the wall wasn't about to break off at the slightest provocation, and climbed up to the window. He shuffled inside, careful not to cut himself on the remaining glass, and was relieved to find the floorboards within hadn't rotted as badly as he'd feared.

The moon outside was full and a little of its light spilled in behind him, showing watermarks along the walls where the tide sometimes rose even higher or the place flooded after heavy rains. He thanked Sael for the spot of luck and asked for just a little more. Canal houses tended to be independent. The only way into each was through the front door at street level. Usually. Sometimes, however, people had reason to build passageways or cut doors in shared walls. Smuggling routes. Hideaways.

The merging of two properties into one. Bracken picked his way up the stairs, nose full of dust and rot and damp, and looked carefully for a sign of some way into the building next door. He nearly tripped on the steps, stumbling and catching himself only to earn a palm full of splinters on the rotting wood. Maybe Caleth would be an alright Stain as well, power over Light. At the very least, he'd never have to blunder around in the dark again. Bracken reached the top floor with a muttered curse.

There was no door leading into Cinder's lair. No cloth curtain billowing through a hole in the wall. Just a wall. A sturdy, not even rotten, wall. Shit. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and ran fingers through his still sopping hair. Maybe he should try the building on the other side. The window out front was still an option but if he warped or broke the trellis it would be obvious someone had tried to break in, and the windows were in full view of Silk's bridge and anyone approaching across it.

Cinder and Pike shouldn't be back for another hour or two, at least. He had time. He shivered, second guessing that. All the reconnaissance in the world wouldn't help if he caught his death from the chill. He blinked slowly, swallowing his frustration, and spotted a patch of darkness blacker than the rest in the ceiling of the room. He squinted, the darkness slowly resolving into a hole in the roof, leading to an attic. It was worth a shot. A chest of drawers stood against the far wall.

It made a racket as Bracken dragged it, panting, to the centre of the room and climbed atop it. His fingers were just barely able to reach over the lip of the hatch, and he winced at the dull sensation of splinters digging deeper into his abused palms. He grunted with the strain, legs kicking as he dragged himself up. A muscle in his side cramped, spasming painfully, protesting being worked while he was so brutally cold. He pushed through.

Bracken threw one elbow up over the ledge, then the other, and hauled himself wheezing into the dusty attic. He coughed and spluttered, hugging his tired arms to his chest and rested a moment. Finally, he rolled over and looked about, a slow smile forming on his lips.

Moonlight speared through a hole in the ceiling, shafts of pale light revealing a few barrels and small chests smuggled away for safe keeping, the nest of a bird long since abandoned, and a tiny square tunnel, just large enough to crawl through that led straight towards the townhouse next door.