Heather stood in the doorway, staring at Esther. Her younger sister lay with her head nestled in her arms, calm and still. One might’ve thought her dead if not for the faint rise and fall of her breathing, lost in a deep sleep. Heather’s gaze drifted over the tangle of limbs and onyx-black hair, then caught on the dull-silver lustre pressed tightly against Esther’s chest. Their mother’s urn, silent and unyielding, seemed heavier than ever in her sister’s grasp.
Heather’s eyes fell on the note resting on the bedside table. Her chest tightened at the sight of it, guilt coiling like a knot in her stomach. She hated herself for leaving like this, for slipping away while her sister slept, miserably unaware. But it was better this way. Sleep was one of the few places where Esther wasn’t haunted by sorrow and stress. Waking her would only make things harder. If things worked out they’d see each other again in a fortnight.
If things worked out.
Heather slung her pack over her shoulder and started to leave. She paused, her hand drifting to her side. Beneath her coat, her fingers brushed the outline of a squat, square bottle tucked into her jerkin’s pocket. The embossed lettering pressed faintly against the fabric: CHLORODYNE. Her fingers trembled at the touch, then she balled them into a fist, knuckles turning ivory-white.
Their mother had sold everything for the ‘medicine.’ A panacea promised by backstreet pharmacists claiming it would take away her pain. They lied.
It was nothing more than a highly addictive drug. A poison disguised as hope. She sold all she had, then started selling the things that had once belonged to Heather and Esther. Their childhood, their memories, their livelihoods — everything was gone. And when the money ran out, so did the ‘medicine.’ It gutted their mother. Her body convulsed with withdrawal. Each day another unbearable wave of agony. Heather could do nothing as she watched her mother wither away, a shadow of the woman she used to be, and the emptiness grew inside her like a wound that never closed.
She bit her lip, fighting back the lump in her throat as grief surged through her, a wave that threatened to drown her. She brushed the wet from her eyes, ran her fingers through her dark hair, and steadied herself. The emotions faded, leaving only a cold resolve in their wake. She stepped out of the creaky house, knowing she’d either return successful — or not at all.
Clay-coloured puddles and taupe-tinged snowmounds decorated the road, as if the weather itself was ashamed of the potholes and detritus that usually scarred the neglected street. The snow could do little to hide the sordid, soot-stained houses and blackened factory chimneys that spewed dark smoke into a gloaming sky just beyond the shabby rooftops. Of the eight gas lamps that hedged the lane, only one glowed against the shadows of waxing twilight.
She hugged herself against the cold, her threadbare cloak offering little comfort. At least it’s not too far a walk, she reassured herself bitterly. She ducked through narrow alleyways and twisting ginnels, her route taking her deeper into the dilapidated slums, eventually arriving at The Shippin. The pub lurked in a disregarded alley, dwarfed between a shuttered brothel and a rundown apartment — both adorned with crumbling concrete filigree from a time when this part of the city had been held in higher regard. It was easily the best pub in the Limhouse district, as long as you didn’t care about the quality of the drink, the civility of the staff, and the odour of the clientele.
Heather’s gaze swept the room, immediately landing on a hunched figure behind the bar. Henry, the burly owner with a nose like lumpy, molten wax, returned her nod of greeting and gestured toward a door behind him.
While she waded her way through the miasma of ale and the burgeoning tide of drunkards, Henry snatched an iron key from behind the counter and made his way to a back door. With a glance behind to ensure no one was following, they slipped through the doorway and descended into the shadowy cellar.
The raucous voices from above were gradually replaced with hushed whispers from below. With their approach Henry coughed, a polite way in these situations to inform more reclusive patrons of one’s proximity, and the utterances halted immediately. Her eyes were still adjusting to the gloom, though Heather could see five shadow pitted faces, all haloed by guttered lamp light, turning to regard the approaching duo.
“Heather? It is you, hi! Thanks for dropping her off Henry, you can go. How’ve you been? How’s little Essy, still sad ‘bout mum? Sorry I haven’t come to visit in a while, been busy collecting this lot for your little scheme,” Emma said, a familiar grin spreading across her warm face, like it always did whenever she thought about potential profit. She tucked a golden curl of hair behind a pearl studded ear, then gestured for Heather to find a seat.
“Esther’s still struggling, but I’m sure a visit from you would lift her spirits. She turned nine-and-ten last month. Better have something nice as an apology,” Heather replied, fighting the emotions from her voice and feeling more than a little upset and awkward about discussing something so personal in front of these people.
A woman’s voice, full and sweet and thick like honey said, “My my, how tragic. Death is such an unfortunate business. Regardless though, these things happen and we’d be remiss to dwell on them. Everyone is here and the clock is ticking.”
Heather’s jaw clenched as she felt her anger flare, but Emma quickly interjected in a diplomatic tone, “right, well. Guess we can begin with introductions then. You all know me, Emma.” She gestured to herself and made a flourishing bow in the cramped quarters – always the eccentric. “I’m the handler of this delightful little operation, but I can’t take all the credit because the brunt of this plan comes from…” Emma made a drumroll with her fingers on the table before shouting, “Heather!”
At the mention of her name, heat crept up Heather’s neck and into her cheeks. “Oh, uhm, hi everyone. I’m Heather, and I’ll be your lockpicker,” she stammered, her voice faltering slightly. “As Emma mentioned, I came up with the plan. It’s nice to formally meet all of you.” She lowered herself stiffly onto the last vacant stool between a finely dressed, dark haired man and a petite, mousy woman whose features were all equally dainty with the exception of her almost comically large spectacles.
The man to her right chortled, clearly amused at her discomfort. He took a swig from his ale, then, in speech slightly slurred from drink began, “yes, good, I’m Gedeon. Gedeon Fermier. And this,” he gestured to the woman who spoke earlier, “is my wonderful sister, Renard. Though you can just call us Ged and Ren. You’ve all likely heard of us, we run Fermier Apothecary.” He grinned to himself like a cat savouring cream. When he noticed that no one was particularly impressed with this information his lip curled into a sneer and he sat back, adjusting the cuffs of his royal blue coat.
“Excuse my twin, he sometimes wears his emotions on his sleeve,” Ren said in a dry tone. Now that Heather had a good chance to look at them, with the exception of their contrasting hair there was a strong resemblance between the two finely dressed siblings. “We have been tasked with supplying the tranquilliser. We’ve modified our usual cocktail and feel confident that it should incapacitate her long enough for the rest of you to see the task done.”
The next woman to speak made Heather’s eyes widen. Her sleeveless top revealed dazzling arms of imbricated bronze from shoulders to fingertips. Between the small gaps in the strange plated armour Heather could see gears spinning and clicking with each movement. She tipped her rancher hat in greeting before she spoke.
“Hello hello, name’s Mabel. And this shy gal here is Adelaide. Don’t let her quiet fool ya, she’s got a wicked tongue on her.” Mabel threw a metallic arm around the woman next to Heather, and gave a cheeky wink. “We’ve recently come from Pereh and found ourselves lacking in funds. We used to be in the army and thought we’d be able to get some posts here in Alryon, but it turns out countries aren’t keen on hiring military personnel from their aggressive neighbours. Who’d have thought, eh?”
Heather didn’t know too much about the island nation of Pereh, but what she did know was that it was by far the safest country, for humans at least, in the region. Their powerful and advanced military was a key component to that, and as a result the soldiers were paid exceedingly well. Why they’d rather come to Alryon of all places was beyond her.
“And your roles in our quaint party?” Ged said, clearly still annoyed.
“Oh, right! I’m the strongwoman. Cracking the vault is one thing, but opening it is another. Not to mention the various supplies needin’ to be carried. Adelaide’s been working on these girls for almost five years now and there ain’t nothing I haven’t been able to lift. So we figure opening one big door won’t be much too different.” She said proudly while flexing her glinting arms.
“You’re an engineer then?” Heather asked Adelaide, impressed.
The mouse-like woman flinched slightly, as if startled, before turning to Heather. She rubbed her arms absentmindedly, the woollen sweater she wore almost as fluffy as her hair. “N-no, I mean, y-yes, or at least I… I was,” Adelaide stammered in a small, diffident voice. “When we were, uhm… in Pereh. B-but I’m, you see, I’m training to be a sorceress, and uhm, that’s why we need this. So Mabel and I can travel to the elves, and then I can…” She trailed off, lowering her gaze. “S-sorry, I’m rambling.”
A sorceress-in-training explained everything. Aside from its militancy, Pereh was infamous for its suspicion and outright hostility towards all things magical. It was true that in many cases it was warranted, but the citizens of Alryon have come to warily accept that not all magic and non-human beings were dangerous. Besides, Heather knew from experience that humans were capable of being just as ruthless, if not moreso.
Emma eagerly explained, “Adelaide’s role is quite unique in all this. Even if we manage to get to the loot, there’s rumoured to be so much of it that it’s unlikely we can sneak out even a tenth of it. And considerin’ that we’re running a tight ship, we can’t exactly make multiple trips. Which brings us to the plan. The twins’ll drug the beasty; Heather and Mabel will open the safe; and Adelaide here will cast a spell to transport everything to a hideout outside the city. Additionally, before anyone asks, the hideout will be sealed with a blood enchantment, also provided by our little sorceress here. Keys and combination locks can be cracked, but this needs the blood of anyone in this room. Just a drop from one of us is enough — simple and deeply effective. As for me, I’ll keep watch. Don’t need me getting in the way when you’re doing your work, and you especially don’t want one of them showing up unannounced. We're fortunate that three have been sent out on duty, but the fourth recently returned and it’s unlikely we’ll find a better time.”
“If Adelaide can transport the gold, does that mean she can get us out as well?” Heather asked.
“N-no, I’m s-sorry. I- I only know a small handful of spells. And the… the transportation spell that I know, it- it only works on non-living things.” Despite the shy woman’s ebony complexion, Heather could almost see her face turning a shade of red from embarrassment the longer she spoke.
“Well isn’t that great,” Ged said with drawn out sarcasm, “and here you almost had me excited that we could cut our trip short in that place.” He let out a sigh as he scratched the back of his head, “fine, I guess it can’t be helped. I’m not surprised you two came here though, soldiering always seemed like such dreadful work.”
“Soldiering wasn’t so bad, at least not the infantry posts. I tried my hand at being a sapper once, it ended up taking more than a hand though.” She said with a surprising amount of mirth.
From the corner of her eye, Heather noticed Ren observing her like someone might regard an insect nestled in a corner, contemplating whether she should get a broom. The woman’s sharp features and garnet-red suede coat made her look especially vulpine.
“Can I help you?” Heather asked calmly, belying her racing pulse.
“I can’t help but find that your face seems awfully familiar. Have we met before?” Still that cold, demeaning tone.
“I… Well, perhaps you’ve seen me in passing. I work at the lombard house on Main Street. I’m sure the illustrious Fermier twins have spent a fair share of time in that area given your wealth and status?”
“Hmm, perhaps,” she replied, stroking her ermine scarf not seemingly convinced, but at the very least placated.
“Anyway,” Emma said, breaking the tension. “Now that we’ve gone over the gist of the plan and there doesn’t seem to be any complaints, I think it’s time we get down and dirty with the details. You brought the blueprints for the castle, Heather?”
Heather opened her pack and carefully rummaged for the documents. Picks and pliers, callipers and chisels: an entire assortment of tools for her illicit trade. The leafy texture of paper brushed her fingers and a moment later the blueprints emerged.
“A-are th-those, explosives?” Adelaide asked, pointing at one of the objects in the pack.
“Oh, uh, those? They’re for… uhm… well, you see, sometimes when I do a job the estate might have hounds. If I’m spotted then these make a bang loud enough to scare the mutts off and give me a chance to get away, maul-free.”
Adelaide stared at her, wide-eyed, and for the first time Heather got a good look at her, noticing a small patch of vitiligo on the woman’s cheek.
“Oh, I- I see, that was a silly qu-question, sorry.”
Heather almost felt bad for the pathetic girl, but this wasn’t the time or place to help someone with their confidence. She handed the folded paper to Emma, who elaborately opened it up on the table.
“There it is, the old fortress. Now repurposed to be a barracks for the giants. We’re lucky, these blueprints show the changes the architects made to accommodate them. And even luckier,” Emma pointed a finger in the air, “they marked the vaults on the schematic here, right next to the bathing pool.” Her finger came down on the page, on an area that resembled a courtyard with a large body of water. “Hope you’re excited, ladies and sir, in a few days from now we’ll be looting Anna’s treasure.”