Brotherhood of Thieves 1 Read online

  Caspan looked back at Floran from a neighbouring hill, testing his heart for a sense of loss: a regret that this might be the last time he would see the city of his birth. This had been the only city he had ever known. It had been his life. But all he felt was hope.

  For the first time in many months, Caspan smiled.

  The evening was steel-grey and cold.

  About fifty teenagers, resplendent in polished boots and fur-lined cloaks embroidered with the emblems of their cadet academies, had assembled in the private courtyard. Some nodded warily at Caspan as he passed through. One girl gave him an open smile, which he reciprocated with a polite nod, thankful that at least somebody had made an effort to make him feel welcome. But most looked him up and down, turned up their noses and muttered derisive comments under their breath.

  The footpad turned a deaf ear to their taunts. Having lived on the streets of Floran, he’d heard it all before. Besides, he wasn’t going to let their jibes dissuade him from joining the Brotherhood. Caspan had travelled all the way to Briston, and there was no way he was turning back now.

  He pulled the collar of his cloak tightly around his neck, partly to ward off the chilly air, but more so because he was conscious of how his scarred black doublet, bare feet and frayed knee-length pants made him stand out. He could have spent the few coins he owned on new clothes, but what he wore was suited to his craft. All he had really needed was a cloak to keep him warm throughout the cold months of winter. With the rest of his money he had purchased items that were functional and practical: a new stiletto, tucked into a leather sheath attached to the underside of his left forearm, a lantern, and tinder and flint. Still, he wouldn’t have minded one of the cadet cloaks, which he could have easily pilfered from the local academy under the cover of night. At least then he could have blended in.

  Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Caspan made his way over to a man who had introduced himself earlier to the crowd as Master Scott. He stood on an inverted crate in the centre of the courtyard. Caspan had waited for Scott to finish marking the roll of attendance before presenting him with his letter of recommendation.

  Scott regarded the paper suspiciously before reading it and glancing back at Caspan. Feeling even more self-conscious, Caspan brushed a strand of his greasy hair off his face.

  ‘Hmm, so Raven thinks you’ve got what it takes,’ Scott commented. ‘Well, her word is good enough for me. Go and join the others.’

  Caspan nodded appreciatively and did as instructed.

  ‘All right, you lot, listen up! It’s time we got started,’ Scott hollered.

  Everyone fell silent and gathered around him, Caspan remaining at the rear.

  ‘You’ve all been sent here by your cadet masters because they think you might have what it takes to join the Brotherhood.’

  Several of the teenagers straightened their shoulders proudly, and some gave their friends pats on the back.

  ‘They think you’re the cream of the crop, but I wouldn’t get too excited. We’re only taking five of you.’

  A murmur of disapproval shook through the crowd.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ someone called out.

  ‘How are you going to choose?’ demanded another voice.

  The Master raised a hand and gave the cadets a stern look, silencing any further comments. ‘Pipe down or nobody’s going to be selected!’ Once everyone was quiet, he produced a sealed piece of parchment from the bag slung over his shoulder and held it up. ‘You’re going to complete a test. You’ll each receive a sealed letter. On it are clues that will lead you to a second piece of parchment. In all, there are three sets of clues that you will need to follow. The final clue will lead you to one of the Brotherhood Masters who’s hiding somewhere in the city. The first five people to find him and hand over all three letters will be recruited into the order.’

  ‘What happens to the rest?’ a girl asked.

  ‘You’ll return to your academies with your tails between your legs,’ a boy with shoulder-length black hair retorted smugly.

  Scott planted his hands on his hips and tilted his head, an impatient look on his face. ‘That’s enough! I need you all to form in an orderly line in front of me. I’ll hand you each a letter –’ he raised a finger in warning ‘– but don’t you dare open them before everybody has one. And don’t even think about sabotaging any of the clues hidden throughout the city. Members of the Brotherhood are monitoring each location. If we catch you cheating, you’ll be kicked out of the competition so fast you won’t know what hit you. Now, hurry up and get into line. We don’t have all night.’

  Chatting excitedly, everyone did as instructed. Caspan joined the end of the line and waited patiently to receive his piece of paper. Because this was his first time in Briston, he feared that those who went to the local cadet academy would have an unfair advantage over him. He had identified seven of them, recognisable by the emblem on their cloaks, symbolic of the royal capital: an eagle holding a diadem. No doubt these cadets would find it a lot easier navigating their way through the familiar streets, but what Caspan lacked in local ­knowledge, he hoped he could make up for in instinct.

  Having distributed the letters, Scott returned to the centre of the courtyard. ‘Remember, the first five people to present all three letters to the Brotherhood Master will join the order.’ He paused, the faint trace of a smile forming at the edge of his lips. ‘Best of luck. You may open your first clue.’

  Everyone broke the seals on their letters. His heart pounding with excitement, Caspan hurriedly read the message – Where the desert crown reaches for the stars – and scratched his head in confusion. He had no idea what this was referring to.

  ‘It’s the Royal Needle!’ one of the boys to Caspan’s left exclaimed, much to the annoyance of his fellow cadets, one of whom punched him on the shoulder and called him a boofhead.

  The comment was picked up by eager ears and spread quickly throughout the courtyard. Then, like a stampeding herd of cattle, everyone ran for the only laneway leading from the square. Caught in the bottleneck, Caspan pushed his way forward, forcing his way closer to the exit. But soon it became impossible to move. Over the heads of those in front he caught glimpses of other cadets lucky to have escaped the blockage sprinting away into the gathering darkness. That’s where he needed to be – up front, keeping pace with the leaders, and most certainly not stuck back here.

  Cursing, he spotted a porch that ran along the building over to his right, towards the end of the laneway. He shoved aside a few cadets and headed directly for the building. Once there, he sprang off a windowsill and reached for a lower rung of the porch balustrade. He caught it, swung himself up dexterously and sprinted down the porch.

  A thud and footsteps from behind him alerted Caspan that someone had copied his tactic. He glanced over his shoulder to find the black-haired boy from earlier racing only a few yards away. Returning his attention to the street below, Caspan waited for a gap in the flow of cadets before jumping from the porch. He rolled instinctively, breaking his fall, and sprang lithely to his feet before shooting off down the street, hot on the heels of the people directly in front of him.

  Several of the cadets turned up a steep hill at the first T-intersection, but an equal number turned right. Knowing that his only chance of finding the Royal Needle lay in following the cadets, he turned right, favouring the flat terrain. Again, footsteps from behind caught Caspan’s attention, but the black-haired cadet streaked past him before he could even turn around. Caspan was a fast runner, and he was surprised by the boy’s speed. He gritted his teeth and put on a sudden spurt of energy, racing past everyone else. But he could not catch the other boy. The best he could do was match his speed, and Caspan chased him through the streets, determined not to lose sight of him.

  Eventually they ran into a park, where a small group of panting cadets had already gathered around a towering obelisk. They were reaching into a box at its base and ripping open the sealed envelopes they’d found w
ithin.

  The second clue!

  Losing track of the black-haired boy in the mass of green-cloaked cadets, Caspan collected one of the envelopes. He moved off to the side of the Royal Needle, took some deep breaths and broke the seal.

  His heart sank. The second clue was written in Ancient Tongue, the language of the Dray. He’d never, not in a million years, be able to read it. Instead, he employed a tactic he often used when choosing which target he would rob: he studied and observed the crowd, selecting his mark.

  By now, even more people had raced up to the monolith. Some ran off the instant they collected their next clue. Caspan couldn’t understand the logic in this, for there was no possible way they could have already translated the passage on the parchment. Other cadets formed small groups and huddled around their letters, whispering conspiratorially. A few sat alone in silence studying their parchments.

  It wasn’t long before Caspan noticed a girl lower her clue, cast a furtive glance at those around her and slip inconspicuously away from the obelisk. He went after her, applying the instinctive arts of his craft: keeping to the shadows, wrapped in the folds of his cloak. The girl paused at the edge of the park and peered over her shoulder to check she wasn’t being followed. Unable to spot Caspan, who had ducked behind a tree, she smiled triumphantly, kissed her letter and ran down a nearby street.

  Caspan gave a satisfied nod and gave chase, certain that she would lead him to the second location. He followed her for almost half an hour, passing through market squares that had closed for the day and over bridges that crossed the canals, which flowed through the city like black veins. Every so often the girl paused and glanced over her shoulder, but Caspan kept back at a safe distance, favouring building facades that offered easy hiding spots in doorway recesses.

  The horizon was the colour of a deep purplish bruise when the girl eventually stopped in the middle of a public square. She stared up at the statue that towered before her. It was of a warrior, donned in the panoply of war, his sword raised triumphantly above his head. Combined with the pedestal upon which it stood, the statue must have been almost fifty feet tall. Caspan was alarmed to see that three cadets had beaten them to the second location. They were pushing and shoving one another as they tried to climb the front of the statue.

  The girl ran a hand through her hair. ‘Oh, come on! How am I supposed to reach that?’ Caspan heard her mutter.

  Following her line of sight, he stared upwards and spotted a large leather bag slung around the statue’s neck. Caspan’s skin tingled with excitement. The bag must contain the final clue.

  He moved from his place of concealment and joined the girl. Only now did he realise that she was the cadet who had smiled at him back in the courtyard.

  ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ he said.

  She was close to tears. ‘I might as well give up. I’ll never be able to reach that.’

  But Caspan wasn’t discouraged. Knowing that it would be impossible to scale the front of the statue with the three cadets blocking his way, he went around to the rear. He peered up at the stone warrior’s broad back, mentally mapping a route to the bag. Then he unfastened his cloak, placed it on the ground and powdered his fingers with ground chalk, which he kept in a pouch attached to his belt. Caspan scaled the statue. Carved from a single granite block, it offered plenty of hand-and footholds, and it wasn’t long before he was straddling the warrior’s neck. Caspan peered down at the frustrated cadets, who still hadn’t climbed more than halfway up. He reached inside the bag, took two sealed letters and tucked them under his belt.

  When he reached the ground, he collected his cloak, grabbed the girl by the hand and led her away from the statue. Caspan gestured with a flick of his eyes at the letters he had collected. ‘How about we make an alliance?’ he whispered. ‘I can’t read Ancient Tongue, and you can’t climb.’

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you follow me here?’

  Caspan noted the eagle and diadem emblem of the Briston cadet academy on her cloak. ‘It was either that or never complete the second trial.’ He extended a hand in friendship. ‘I’m Caspan.’

  The girl considered his hand for a moment before shaking it. ‘Sara.’

  ‘Well, Sara, how about a partnership? We’ll help each other and hopefully be the first to finish the test.’

  Caspan normally worked alone, and surprised himself at how quickly he was prepared to compromise the basic creed that had governed his thieving for the past seven years. But the first two clues had been a warning to him. What if the final clue required him to find a city landmark, or was written in an archaic language that needed translating? He’d never stand a chance. He needed someone with local knowledge and who could read Ancient Tongue. Sara seemed to offer both. And by the looks of it, she would be in equal need of his stealth and climbing skills. Together, they would make a great team. Besides, he was in debt to Sara for leading him to the second location, and he wanted to repay her.

  ‘It’s not like we’re getting married or anything,’ he added.

  Sara smiled and nodded. ‘It’s a deal.’ She motioned with a jerk of her chin at the letters. ‘So what’s our next clue?’

  Caspan fastened his cloak around his neck and glanced warily back at the statue. A cadet had almost reached the bag, and two more had gathered at the base of the colossus. One of them stared at him and Sara, trying to overhear their discussion.

  ‘Not here,’ Caspan said, and led Sara into a dark laneway.

  He unhooked the lantern from his belt, set it on the ground and lit it. Kneeling on the cobblestones, they opened their letters and studied them in the flickering light. The letters contained identical passages of text describing a fountain located in a part of the city called King’s Court.

  Caspan folded up his letter, tucked it under his belt and rose. ‘It looks pretty straightforward to me. All we have to do is find the fountain. I’m hoping you know where it is?’

  Sara remained studying her letter. ‘It’s too easy,’ she warned, and glanced up at Caspan. ‘We’re missing ­something.’

  Caspan knelt beside her. The passage on the paper looked plain enough to him. ‘Like what?’

  Sara shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But anybody who can read would be able to follow this clue to King’s Court.’ She brought the letter closer to the light and examined it more carefully. ‘It can’t be that simple.’ Finding nothing, she held it up against the lantern and took a sharp breath. ‘Look!’

  A series of barely visible numbers appeared at the bottom of the page. They were preceded by an arrow pointing to the left.

  Caspan’s pulse quickened. ‘It’s a code!’

  ‘Written in lemon juice.’ Sara waited for the heat of the lantern to bring the numbers out clearly before laying the piece of parchment back on the ground. She licked her lips excitedly. ‘Maybe the numbers correspond to words in the passage.’

  He leaned in close. ‘Or possibly letters.’

  Try as they may, they could not make any sense of the series of words and letters. Caspan gave a frustrated sigh. ‘This is harder than it looks.’ He glanced back to the square and was alarmed to find that three of the cadets had now collected their final clue and were huddled around the lantern at the base of the statue. Another four cadets were climbing the stone warrior, and three more were standing by, eagerly awaiting their ascent.

  Sara chuckled softly to herself and shook her head.

  Caspan turned to face her. ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so blind.’ She stabbed a finger at the arrow at the front of the code. ‘The numbers do refer to words in the text, but only when you read it in reverse. That’s what the arrow indicates.’

  ‘So what’s it say?’ His skin tingled with excitement.

  ‘Just give me a minute.’ Sara studied the text again, picking out the words. She gave Caspan a confused look. ‘It’s a riddle: Where the beginning is the end, and the end is the beginning.’

  Caspan whispe
red the words, playing them over and over in his mind. Sara nudged him, drawing his attention to the square. Four more cadets had just arrived at the base of the statue, and a girl who had been reading her clue got up and raced off into the night.

  Time was running out.

  Caspan closed his eyes, trying to shut out all distract­ions so he could focus on the riddle. He could not fully block out the commotion at the statue, however, and it was this nagging sense of urgency that brought about a moment of clarity.

  Opening his eyes, he sprang to his feet. ‘I’ve got it!’

  Sara’s voice was a pressing whisper. ‘What?’

  ‘Follow me,’ Caspan said, paying one final glance back at the square. ‘Take us back to where we were handed our first clue.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just trust me. And don’t take the scenic route.’

  Sara drew breath as if to protest, but sighed resignedly. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she said, before leading Caspan through the sprawling city.

  It was pitch-black by the time they returned to the courtyard. They had jogged the entire distance, guided by the light from Caspan’s lantern. They were breathing heavily, and their foreheads were damp with sweat in spite of the chill. Caspan motioned with a wave of his hand for Sara to accompany him to the crate that Master Scott had stood on.

  Sara chewed her bottom lip in worry. ‘I don’t understand what we’re doing here.’

  ‘This is where our test started – the beginning – and also where it ends,’ Caspan explained. ‘It’s where our former lives end, and where we begin our new lives as members of the Brotherhood.’

  Sara nodded. ‘The riddle!’ She peered around the courtyard. ‘But there’s nobody here.’

  ‘Not yet.’ Caspan stood atop the crate, produced his three clues and held them above his head. He gestured for Sara to do likewise. There was a rustle of movement as a cloaked figure emerged from the darkness to the side of the courtyard.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Master Scott commended, coming over to shake hands with them both. ‘You’re the second and third to make it back. Welcome to the Brotherhood.’