Within These Wicked Walls(52)

The candlelight didn’t have much range, but it illuminated enough that I could see the stone walls and low ceiling of the tomb. The echo of our footsteps told me it was most likely multiple rooms, and my ears were proven right when Jember led us through two more doorways.

Jember handed me the candle and leaned his staff against the stone wall, and I followed his lead as he sat in front of a stone coffin.

“Hold it close.”

Already, with the candle close to a carved line, I could see something glint. He took out a needle and stuck it down into the small slit, prying up a small glimpse of the thread. He repeated the action a few times, until there was enough of a loop sticking out from the slit to pinch with my fingers.

“No,” Jember said, when I tried.

I sighed and settled down to watch him loosen a little more. “Can I help you?”

“Just hold the candle steady.”

It was another few minutes of silence before I said, “How much of this do I need?”

“A meter.”

“The candle won’t last that long, at the rate you’re going. Let me help you.”

“If the thread breaks it’ll be useless to you. Don’t be in such a rush to die.”

“I’m not going to die.” He scoffed, and I bit back the urge to drip hot wax on him. “What do you care, anyway?”

“I’ve invested fourteen years of my life in keeping you alive. I don’t like to see my investments wasted— Ah.” The end of the thread revealed itself and he wound it around two fingers. “Won’t be much longer now.”

It was work-related, and so I knew I could trust his word. And sure enough, the rest of the thread came up more easily, as if guided by the end he was winding. The candle was barely half used by the time he cut the end of the thread with his knife.

“That’s a little bit more than a meter,” he said, handing it to me. “Enough to knot the end.”

I tucked it into my pocket. “Thanks, Jember.”

“And when we get home—”

“I work on my amulet.” I grinned and shrugged. “No rest for the weary.”

“Or for any debtera, for that matter,” he said, and I almost thought I saw him grin too. “Get used to it.”

Our gazes shot to each other’s at the shuffle and tap of footsteps on the stair, and the quiet voices with them. Immediately I blew out the candle and we held still, quietly watching as a lantern’s light illuminated the main gateway—though my back was facing the door, so I only saw an edge of light from the corner of my eye. I prayed to God that it was people coming to visit their dead loved ones, or even priests.

But Jember’s quiet swear sent my heart into my throat. “Grave robbers.”

We were grave robbers, but it seemed the least important detail at the moment. “Maybe we can sneak out when they’re in a further room,” I whispered, knowing my words were simply wishful thinking. If it were a parade involving the entire city in the middle of a sandstorm, you would still hear Jember’s peg leg in the midst of it.

“The one with the lantern is smaller.”

Smaller. Meaning I would be the one to have to kill him while Jember took the other. Kill, because doling out threats and injuries only created reasons to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life.

I took out my knife, my palm feeling sweaty around the handle. Killing wasn’t on my list of favorite activities. I’d only done it once, and only because I would’ve been violated otherwise. But I’d cried for days afterward, thoughts of my panicked aim solidifying in my memory along with the haunting image of having to stab my attacker three times to finally kill him. Jember usually handled the killing, and rarely in front of me. And since moving into the cellar of the church, we hadn’t dealt with that issue as much.

When it came to physical confrontation, I would much prefer to hit and run. But, because of his injury, Jember wasn’t as fast as I was. If he was going to hit anyone, he had to make sure they couldn’t get up again and come after him.

I froze at a heavy slam and a panicked shout. A shatter. A cry of pain.

Jember swore again, and I felt the brush of cloth as he stood, heard him step around me. My heart raced with adrenaline. I was ready to jump up for whatever came after us—if only I could hear what was coming, my pulse sounded so loud to my own ears.

The robbers’ lantern approached, but it was held by the tall, athletic figure of a woman, with the familiar face of an angel.

I gaped. “Saba!” I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her solid waist and she rocked me, her head against my hair. “Am I glad you showed up.”

“You … followed us?” Jember’s voice was tight, and when I looked at him he was gripping his staff enough to make his knuckles white, even in the lantern light.

Her embrace faltered, and then she stepped toward Jember. He held up his staff to keep space between them.

“Spying for your master?” he demanded.

She shook her head quickly.

“Jember,” I said, taking my friend’s hand, “Saba’s on our side.”

He scoffed. “That would require thinking of others. Is that a trait you developed after death?”

I shoved his staff out of the way. “Jember. Stop.”

“Don’t follow us again.” And he rushed past her and up the stairs.