Viera had produced three wine bottles full of a viscous black stuff, which she’d promised would take fire instantly, even on a damp surface, and not only burn hot enough to ignite wood but give off copious black smoke. Once everyone was clear—Hayver managed to nearly tumble on the slippery mud, soaking his pants to the knees—Uhlan pushed the boat back into the river, and his men unshipped the oars. They made their way slowly upstream, against the current, toward the lights of the Patriot Guard boat.

The rest of them stood in an alley between warehouse 192 and one of its neighbors, illuminated by nothing stronger than moonlight. Marcus had a bull’s-eye lantern, which he opened a crack, enough to send a spot of brilliance onto the wall of the building. It was plaster over a brick wall, gray with age and rotting where rain had gotten through the whitewash.

“The door is closer to the river side,” Marcus said in a whisper. “About fifty paces along.”

Andy nodded and drew a long fighting knife from her belt. She walked to the corner of the building and started pacing, counting under her breath. When she got to forty, she began sinking the knife into the plaster, listening to the tip scrape on the bricks underneath. At fifty-two, the knife hit wood with a thunk.

“That’s it,” Marcus said, waving the Mierantai forward. “See how much of the plaster you can get off, but stay quiet.”

Raesinia stood with Hayver, watching the end of the alley for any movement amid the shadows, while the soldiers attacked the wall with their knives. Great chunks of plaster peeled away, and white dust covered everyone’s clothes and cascaded across the ground. In a minute or so they were able to reveal the rough shape of a doorway, lined top to bottom with wooden boards, as well as a bit of the brickwork around the edges.

Two of the men produced crowbars and stood ready. Marcus held up his hand and stared upward, listening.

The signal, when it came, was unmistakable. A soft whoosh echoed across the water, followed a moment later by a much louder crunch. Flames leapt into the sky, visible over the roof of the warehouse and reflected on the surface of the river. A moment later, the stars began to flicker and dim, outlining a rising column of black smoke. Men’s voices raised in alarm rang through the alleys.

“Go!” Marcus said. “Get it open!”

The two Mierantai attacked the door with vigor, wrenching the boards away with a series of cracks and crunches that would have been as audible as musket shots if not for the roar of the burning riverboat. Once they had the old door clear, Marcus grabbed one of the bars and, glancing at Raesinia, worked it under the doorframe right beside the latch.

“Polite thieves?” she said.