NOWERK JAIL COLLAPSES
The jail, set into the cliffside behind the Keep, has collapsed during the tidewind. The prisoners, some two hundred, all perished. The building, constructed of limestone, was at capacity at the time and will not be rebuilt. Instead, the Warden of Strength has promised incarceration reforms which will see fewer Dusters and Ghostings jailed and trials expedited. The change has been welcomed by Nowerks around the empire.
—Article from The People’s Gazette, year 275
For a disorientating second Sylah woke and reached for her satchel. She thought she was back in the Duster Quarter, and her finger lurched for the pocket where she kept her joba seeds. They met air.
“Morning.”
The voice was bright and chipper. Sylah groaned and rolled over, jamming her face into the soft cotton of her pillow. It smelled like sandalwood.
“I went for a run already and did three meditative sessions in battle wrath.”
That had Sylah opening her eyes. “Already?”
The mind trial was the third test in the Aktibar, so Sylah had Anoor meditating more often than usual. The fact that she’d done so without Sylah’s prompt was a triumph.
Anoor’s proud face looked down at her, curls matted with sweat twirled around her temples.
Sylah sat up and looked outside. It was well past dawn.
“I let you sleep for longer because of last night. I’m sure you were tired.”
“Thank you.” A yawn carried her words away. “What time is it?”
“Eighth strike.”
“Urgh.” Sylah swung her legs out of the pallet bed and into the velvet slippers she had “borrowed” from Anoor. Her feet didn’t quite fit, so she’d jammed the back of them down with her heel. They were very comfy.
“A letter came for you,” Anoor said, and Sylah’s head snapped to the paper in her hand.
“For me?”
“Unless you know someone else named Sylah who lives in our chambers?” Anoor’s smile was crooked.
Ourchambers. The thought sparked something in Sylah.
“Here you go.” She handed it over reluctantly, and Sylah could tell she was waiting for her to open it. Sylah’s thumb ran over the wax seal: a cross in a circle. Her heartbeat quickened. It was the emblem of the guild of crime.
“Do you mind? I’d like to read this in private.”
Anoor’s smile drooped.
“All right, I’ll just go wash up…”
Sylah turned away from her and opened the letter. The wax broke with a satisfying crunch.
The instructions were simple.
Sylah,
Someone has hired my services and I require you to deliver their purchase. Pickup is at noon on the morrow from Maiden Turin. Drop-off is at the arena one strike before the Aktibar of knowledge begins on the second week of the mooncycle. The client will be wearing a black silk scarf around their neck.
Yours,
Loot, Warden of Crime
He’d known where to find her. The ink shook from the tremors in her hands. How much did Loot know? Had Sylah let something slip, just like she had with Hassa?