Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [14]
She considered making her way to the meeting immediately; it wasn’t an easy place to reach, and required some time to navigate its approach.
But no. She’d been out for half the day, anticipating and preparing just the right place to fleece her target, then get away clean among the hanging earthmotes crowded with city architecture. She could use some down time. Besides, maybe today was the day Carmenere would return …
Riltana rolled the scarf into a ball. Her slim leather gloves tingled, and the bundle fell into the pocket dimension the gloves were keyed to. They were the perfect tool for keeping things safe. And, of course, the perfect tool for a thief as accomplished as herself.
She pulled off her mask, reached into the nothing again, and switched the mask for the signature blue and white robe of the Airsteppers Guild. She’d discovered long ago that city dwellers mostly ignored the scores of messengers bounding up and down Airspur’s cliff levels, whereas her stylish black bodysuit and mask would draw attention in full light. It’s easier to be invisible by blending in than by trying to physically hide.
Riltana pulled on the robe. Then she leaped into empty air, arms and legs wide as she plunged toward the bay that lay between the cliffs far below. Her left hand caught the pliant support wire of a suspension bridge that hung between two earthmotes, and her trajectory snapped outward, away from the cliff. She spun through the air, and came down easily on a roof of the next lower mass of drifting city, already running.
She dashed across rooftops, leaped gaps between buildings with impunity, and swung between motes, disdaining the city streets and bridges. She finally came to rest on a spire overlooking the Plaza of Leaping Fountains.
The open square hosted a dozen fancifully carved sculptures spouting water into the night air, which caught the light of hundreds of surrounding lamps that spiraled away from the square along the surrounding walkways. Revelers drifted along the cobbles touring the glittering theaters, cafés, shops, taverns, and other entertainments lining the streets. Many were singing, laughing, and sipping spirits shipped from exotic locales north and west of the Sea of Fallen Stars.
The Plaza of Leaping Fountains occupied a massive citymote that served as the central causeway between the facing cliffs. If something of note happened in the city, it frequently occurred at the Plaza. Which was why Riltana spent so much every month to secure her dwelling on it.
She jumped. Touching down only on the tops of iron lamp enclosures and roof tiles, Riltana traversed a quarter of the length of the citymote in a dozen heartbeats. Her path ended on the slanting roof of Barnard’s Tomes and Charms. A ladder ascended the side of the building from street level, but Riltana couldn’t even remember the last time she’d used it.
Her loft, which she rented from Barnard, was a large renovated attic that once stored a mishmash of moldering tomes. Riltana convinced Barnard a far better use of the space would be as an apartment, once it was cleaned up and refurbished with proper amenities. Barnard agreed, and spent some serious coin making the loft into a modern and comfortable dwelling.
Then he’d happily charged her an arm and a leg for the rent. Of course, he probably could have charged some noble’s son double what he asked her. After all, wasn’t the place perfect?
Riltana unlocked the oak panel door and entered her home.
Tiny wisplights woke to her presence, revealing a living space of hardwood floors, high ceilings, and overstuffed chairs scattered around a fireplace. It was perfect, save for one glaring absence.
Carmenere wasn’t there.
Riltana walked to the tiled table that rested along one wall of the modest “great” room. The message she’d scrawled for Carmenere remained as she’d left it eight hours earlier. As had all the messages she’d penned for Carmenere over the last three months. All unread, and tossed into a drawer.
It was