7: The First Rule of Thievery

Half an hour later we are crouched on a rooftop, watching a market similar to the one from this morning, though it’s a richer district of the city. “First rule of thievery,” Gaxna says, holding up a finger. “You don’t steal, you don’t eat.”

I watch the marketplace, three rows of vendor’s carts around an aqueduct-fed fountain, this one low and wide with a few kids playing in it. “What does that mean?”

“It means you owe me for lunch.” I look at her, a chord of fear striking at the memory of getting caught earlier today. I was lucky to get away. She smiles. “But maybe not today. Today, let’s focus on dinner. I’m thinking… sea bass. A little lemon, garlic, some curry paste?”

My stomach rumbles at the thought of it. Lunch was good, but I’m still hungry. “That sounds amazing.”

“Great. So there are three things to think about when you go into a daylight theft like this. The first one is pockets—what are you going to do with your fish once you’ve grabbed it? Doesn’t matter how sly you are, if you don’t have someplace to put it, you’ll get caught in a hurry.”

“Okay.” The trousers I’m wearing have decent pockets. Gaxna’s are huge.

“Next one is people. You want to pick the right crowd for the job you’re doing, which means you have to think about time of day, class of people, and then gauge the shopkeeper. Basically you want them all to either be so rich they don’t care, or so bored they don’t notice. Markets like you were at in the Blackwater are good, because there aren’t many overseers around, but shopkeepers like that, they watch you like a hawk. And nobody down there likes a thief. Up here?” She shrugs. “The vendors are making too much to care, but if someone does notice, an overseer’s going to come quick. At least, they would’ve before. Now it depends on who’s paying their bribes.”

“Paying their bribes?”

She nods, still watching the market. “Policing’s been up for grabs, the last few months. If you aren’t giving the temple something extra, they might ignore your market or your guildhouse. But if you are, like the salt merchants?” She shakes her head. “Good luck getting in there with less than an army.”

I grit my teeth. My father would have never allowed this. “And the third thing?”

She smiles. “Good. The third thing is escape routes. Think about which way people are moving. Which streets you can lose them in. Where you can climb to the rooftops. Not a bad idea to leave a rope hanging so you can get up somewhere they won’t be able to follow. I’ll leave one here. But you never forget your rope, got it? A rope is a thief’s best friend.”

I nod. For being so close-mouthed before, Gaxna’s sure chatty about thieving. I get the feeling she doesn’t have many people to talk to. Still, it’s all helpful, and something about it is so different, so wrong from the temple’s perspective, that I can’t help feeling a little lightness inside. Aletheia the true heretic, learning to steal from the faithful.

Or maybe that makes me a true believer, nowadays.

We drop to the street, leaving Gaxna’s black rope hanging in a shady alley, and walk toward the market. “Just watch, this first time,” she whispers, and then we’re in the crowd.

Gaxna does a good job of browsing, fingering a bulb of onion here, squeezing an eggplant there. I hardly notice it the first time a head of garlic sticks in her hand, then disappears into her pants pocket. I don’t notice when she palms two barley rolls, only see the bulges along her leg. And then she stops in front of the fish monger, the only one in this market, arguing with him about fish varieties while the flies buzz and my hands get sweaty, just waiting for him to figure it out, for the moment we have to fight our way out of here.

It doesn’t happen. Instead, he turns his eye for a second, and Gaxna drops an entire striped bass down her culottes, then buys a small knot of mussels from him and walks off.

“You bought something?” I ask once we’re out. “Isn’t the whole point not to?”

She shrugs. “Helps take the edge off. I thought he might have seen me, but nobody suspects a paying customer of stealing things. When in doubt, throw ‘em a little money.” We head back the way we came, and Gaxna steals food like the market’s her personal kitchen, nabbing carrots and onions and lamb fat and curry leaves as we pass.

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“Uje’s Eyes,” I breathe when we get back to the alley. “You got enough to feed an army.”

“Yeah,” she grins. “Too bad none of it’s for you.”

The first rule of thieving. Right. I take a deep breath, carefully turning my anxiety to ice. It doesn’t matter that overseers are close. That there’s a witch at the fountain in the center of this square. I can do this. I have to.

“Okay.”

I take a different entrance into the market, wandering through the cobbler’s section, palms sweaty but keeping my mind cool, waterblind up though there’s no one to read it. We get to the first of the produce stands and I steal a pear. Just like that. I just grab it while we’re walking, hardly looking at the stand, and drop it into my pocket. I keep going, waiting for a cry, waiting for a hand on my shoulder.

It doesn’t come. And when I realize it’s not going to, a giant grin splits my face. I just stole something, and I got away with it.

I mutter an apology to Uje, but honestly? It feels good. Like landing a punch on a trainer. Like breaking the basic laws of the universe. And like I’m one step closer to my goals. It’s just a damn pear, after all. The temple taxes the guilds who tax individual peddlers like this, and that’s how I’ve eaten my whole life, so in the end it balances out, right?

Probably not, but here I am.

So I nab a carrot, too, and a twist of salt. The salt vendor looks at me funny, but I make a point of walking slow and carefree, of stopping at the very next stand to discuss the fig harvest, to show that I’ve done nothing wrong. I’d buy a fig from the woman if I could, but I still don’t have any money.

And then it’s time for the fish stand. Gaxna hangs back on this one, but I choke a little on my grab-and-walk routine, stopping long enough that the vendor looks at me. I smile, and sort of drift over to the next stand, a salt-cure jerky stand, then reach back and snag a tilefish.

A hand closes on my wrist before it’s even off the table. “I knew it,” the merchant snarls. “I knew there was something wrong about you.”

I water-read him through our skin and see that his next move is to drag me to the fountain and call an overseer.

“No!” I cry without thinking, and use a reverse Current’s Kiss, rolling him onto the table and spilling fish everywhere.

The vendor cries out in pain—I’ve forgotten how people who aren’t trained in fighting would react to a bind like this—and suddenly everyone around me is shouting. I release the vendor’s arm, blocking a club that swings at me painfully, and drop into Sleeting Rain stance. This, at least, I know. I might not be able to steal a fish, but I can fight my way out of this market, dry ground or not.

“Theia!” Gaxna hisses from behind me, but I’m blocking a wild punch, cracking a skull, slipping sideways between carts to put a heavy woman between me and a young man with a pair of knives. An old man whacks me with his cane—it’s hard to stay aware of everyone without watersight—and I spin and weave, trying not to hurt anyone as I work closer to the street.

“Theia!” Gaxna calls again, but I don’t know where she is. I can’t stop to think about it—the crowd is thickening around me. None of them are good fighters, but their sheer numbers are a problem. I can’t read them, can’t predict their moves—and without that the men’s strength starts to make a difference. I don’t want to hurt anyone permanently, but an overseer could be here any second.

“Theia!” Gaxna barks, and I see a black rope drop right in front of me. I counter a grab, Surf Breaking someone over my shoulder, and decide the rope’s probably the best option.

I clamber up—awkwardly scraping across some awnings and kicking off a guy who tries to follow me—to the rooftop, and roll up panting.

“Come on,” Gaxna snarls, and I run after her, sprinting from gabled eave to garden wall to a glazed-tile peak so slippery I almost think she wants me to fall. She stops when we’re four or five streets away, in the shadow of a stone-and-ivory guild hall.

“What the floods was that?” she snaps.

“I know,” I say, still catching my breath. “I shouldn’t have tried for the fish. It was too obvious.”

“Not the fish, stupid. The fighting.”

I look up. “He grabbed my arm. What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to run. First rule of thievery, remember? Know your exits.”

I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the first rule, but I let it go. “There were no exits. I was surrounded.”

“You made yourself surrounded. You know what? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I can’t use you.”

She stands and I shoot up. “Gaxna wait! I’m sorry. I just—in the temple, you never run. That’s how they trained us. It’s going to take me some time to learn.”

“You’re not in the temple anymore, Aletheia. You don’t have time.” Her face is red, and I realize she’s actually mad. “There’s a witch down there. And when an overseer comes, they’re going to read everyone’s memories and know you were here. Know I was with you. None of which would have happened if you’d just run when you were supposed to.”

Floods. I hadn’t thought of any of that. I just—when someone grabs you, you fight. That’s been my whole life. If you don’t fight, you will be beaten. Water. I need to be water.

“Right. I should have run. I’ll run next time.”

Her eye narrows. “You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

She glares a minute longer, then nods. “And now you probably want some of my fish, too.”

“I’ve got carrots to trade?”