I climb out the window to avoid meeting St. Juste again and drop to the ground, creeping into an alley at the back of the house. There I pause, slowing my breathing till I’m completely still. The noises of the night and the darkness of the street swell around me. I listen. The boys’ voices are raised inside. St. Juste is sternly telling someone off. I tilt my head, focusing. I can make out their laughter, recognize each voice. Nobody knows I am gone.

I’m the Black Cat of the Thieves Guild, and this is my hunting.

I’m ready.

29

Of Paper and Rats

The meeting place is a warehouse, filled as far as the eye can see with barrels of Japanese sake. I try to stay calm and not dwell on what is about to happen. I sigh and stretch my arms; it will be some time before they come. So I get to work. I uncork the first few barrels, taking care not to breathe in, and I pull the syringe and water pouch from my jacket.

The Bats appear first: Corday, Montparnasse, Col-Blanche, all arriving in silence. One moment they’re not there; the next they are. They stand in the shadows watching, saying nothing. I keep quiet too, waiting for the others.

The Dead Lord and Loup appear next, the familiar smell of the Ghosts announcing them minutes before they enter, covered in their layers of gray dust. Orso nods to me and Loup bows.

Then comes Adlen Yelles, Lord of the Guild of Dreamers, which surprises no one, since this is one of his warehouses, where the Smugglers deliver him the drugs that he in turn sells to Those Who Walk by Day. He gives me a small bow, and I see Corday’s eyebrow twitch at the sight.

There’s chittering and scrabbling overhead. I raise my head and respond in kind to the call of the Rats of the Smugglers Guild. Tamar l’Aure enters first, leading an elderly woman who’s bent almost double. Both are swathed in cloaks of matted brown fur, with thick oilskin aprons and boots made to withstand long voyages at sea. Both move with a strange mixture of sleekness and caution. Their hair, where it peeks out from under their furred caps, is a mess of coils and braids, and their skin is burned and leathery with exposure to salt and sun. The old woman is being led; her eyes are wide and milky white, for she is blind. This is Nihuang, the Fisherman, Merveille of the Miracle Court and Lady of the Smugglers Guild.

Tamar is jittery and ill-tempered. Like all the Rats of the Smugglers Guild, she would rather be sailing on the open sea than be here on land. Her gaze meets mine, and she does not smile.

There’s a sound like the fluttering of wings, and Femi appears—Aves, the Elanion, the one who summoned them all for me. He slips through a window and smiles weakly at me. Someone coughs behind him, and a small figure emerges from the same window after him.