Midnight Jewel
Page 51

   “Do you know the others?” Four other names were listed multiple times, presumably other couriers who’d transported the cargo Miller helped steal for the traitors. Madisin, Bush, Skarbrow, and Cortmansh.
   “Bush. Not the others—at least I don’t think so. I know a Madison with on, not in; Miller might just be a terrible speller. Regardless, men rarely keep honest records hidden under their mattresses. It’s not the bed’s purpose.”
   “You mean sleep?”
   “Oh, Mirabel. You’re such an innocent.” Grant took out pen and paper from inside his coat and began copying the records. “It’s like you don’t even understand men sometimes.”
   “I understand them well enough. There was this one I met on a ship. I got him to do a big favor for me.”
   “Not that big. And you know, I’ve been thinking about that time.”
   “Oh, have you?” I asked archly.
   He paused and looked up, a rueful expression obvious even in the candlelight. “The falling sleeve. Real or faked?”
   “Real.”
   “No.”
   “Yes.”
   He returned to his work with a sigh. “That makes it even worse.”
   “What?”
   “Forget it.”
   When he finished, he returned the ledger to its original hiding spot, and we planned the complicated task of making our exit. We didn’t want to leave any sign of our visit, so we couldn’t just climb down the rope and leave the window open.
   “I’ll go down,” Grant explained. “You’ll untie the rope, step down onto that ledge, close the window, and jump.”
   He said it so reasonably, so easily, that I had to replay it in my mind several times, just to make sure I hadn’t missed the part where it actually made sense. I peered out the window. “Ledge” was a bit of stretch. It was really a type of ornamental molding that wrapped all around the building between the two floors. There was a flat surface on top of it, probably just wide enough for my feet to fit. Certainly not his.
   “That’s a big jump,” I said at last.
   “Not really. These stories aren’t that tall—not like the place you’re staying. Besides, I’ll catch you. If you’re okay with that.”
   “As opposed to you missing?”
   “You’ve been in men’s arms all night. I figured you might be tired of that.”
   “I can handle one more set—assuming I land in them. I’ll probably knock you over.”
   “Then I’ll break your fall. The risk is on me. Now, come on.”
   I was skeptical of who was really taking the greater risk, especially as I watched him easily climb down the rope and then beckon for me to follow. He was right that this was a much shorter building. It was classy but not meant to impress the way Wisteria Hollow did with its vaulted ceilings and gables. And the ground, at least, was packed dirt. I had to imagine cobblestone would hurt more.
   Come on, Mira, I told myself. Father would do this. Lonzo would do this.
   I untied the rope and let it fall. Gingerly, I stepped onto the narrow molding one foot at a time. It seemed almost laughable now, thinking the climb out of Wisteria Hollow’s back window was dangerous. The sill jutted out, and I held on to it firmly with one hand while using my other to slide the window shut. With that complete, I painstakingly turned myself around so that I now faced Grant and not the building. The ground seemed a lot farther away than it had the last time I looked.
   Grant held out his arms. “Would it make you feel better to know Aiana’s going to kill me if anything happens to you?”
   “Not really.”
   But I tensed, ignoring the pain in my calf, and then launched myself up. In the split second that my feet lifted from the ledge, a shout sounded from far down the alley. “Oy! What do you think you’re doing?”
   The watchman. It threw both of us off. My jump was clumsy, and I completely forgot about aiming at Grant. He too was startled and looked away for a moment toward the sound, just as I plummeted toward him. The result was that he did, in fact, break my fall, and we both tumbled into the ground.
   Grant made it to his feet first and jerked me up. “Run,” he said, steering me in the opposite direction of the rapidly approaching watchman. “We’re younger and in better shape. He can’t catch us.”
   The watchman’s whistle pierced the night. “Thieves! Thieves! Help!”
   “Let’s hope whoever he summons isn’t younger and in better shape than us,” I grunted as we cleared the alley. I was keeping pace with Grant so far, but pain shot through my leg with each step.
   “Which way did they go?” a new voice barked.
   “There—down that alley!” yelled the watchman. The sounds of boots—more than one set—pounded on the ground, one street over at most.
   “By the governor’s authority, stop and surrender!”
   “Of all the damned luck, the militia would be out tonight,” growled Grant. “This way. We’ll lose them downtown.”
   We rounded a corner and found ourselves back on the edge of Cape Triumph’s nightlife. A giant tavern and inn took up almost the entire block in front of us. Music spilled out of it, and the golden windows revealed crowds of people inside. Other clusters lingered out on the porch, men smoking and women strutting in scanty dresses, despite the cold. Glancing back at the direction we’d come from, I could hear shouts and just barely see silhouettes of running men about three blocks away.
   “Take off the wig,” Grant ordered as he began tearing at his own and the beard. I pulled mine off, wincing as hairpins snagged at my real hair. He stuffed both wigs into yet another pocket of his giant coat and then grabbed my hand, leading us toward the establishment’s door.