Alexey Pehov - Chasers of the Wind

“Damn. It. All,” hissed Layen through clenched teeth when we got to the door. Then she turned to me. “Do what you want, but I’m not crawling back. I’m staying with you.”

I nodded reluctantly. I hadn’t thought Joch would have enough brains to hang a second lock worked by Morassian masters on his barn. But that’s what he did! The dog’s jaws with the sharp teeth and the keyhole in its throat grinned warningly at us.

“I’ll have to work a bit longer.” Harold was not at all dejected by what he saw. “You still chasing the wind?”

“Yes.”

“As you will. They’re your lives,” he said indifferently, and once again took his picks from his bag.

“What are you talking about?” Layen half whispered to me. “What wind?”

“Later, okay?” Now there was neither time nor need to explain it to her. All my thoughts were occupied with the lock. “Harold, what if there’s a dead bolt on the other side of the door?”

“Is your Joch an idiot or a coward?”

“No,” I replied, not knowing what he was driving at.

“Then there won’t be any dead bolt. Only a complete fool would place something else on a door with a Morassian Cur. The dog’s jaws are reliable all by themselves. And here there are two of them—one on the inside and one on the outside. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

My heart beat painfully.

“How do you know that it’s double?” Layen asked, surprised. “Can you see through the wood?”

“No. I can just feel it.” He smiled thinly. “Also, sane people usually put a lock on the outside of such places, not on the inside.”

“Sane people don’t usually put Morassian playthings on barns,” my sun argued with him.

“It makes no difference to us right now, whether your friend is sane or insane. I just have to open the first one without knocking aside any pins, and then I’ll tackle the second, though they probably have some bits in common. It’s going to take some time.”

“I hope you’ll get it done before dawn.”

“Sure,” said the thief, and then he got to work.

He managed it in less than twenty minutes. When the lock clicked, there wasn’t a drop of sweat on Harold’s forehead.

“I’m impressed.”

“It’s cats who thrive on flattery.” Harold grinned. “Now it’s your turn to show what you can do.”

“You’re staying?”

He thought about it. Then he chuckled, and the miniature crossbow appeared in his hand.

“Are we going to tug the storm’s beard? Perhaps I’ll join your team, after all. It’s too hospitable a home to leave it so quickly.”

“All right.” Layen and I donned black half-masks. “Follow us and don’t get into any fights. Do you have something to cover your face?”

“No. I have no need for it. Just watch out for dogs. Right now dogs are our biggest threat.”

Well, if he didn’t want to cover his face, that was his right. I didn’t care.

I opened the door and looked around. I saw no one. We slipped through and, clinging to the wall, crept from the moonlight to thick shadow. Now I could really have a look around.

The barn from which we’d successfully escaped was neighbored by two identical structures. There were also mismatched sheds, a chicken coop, a pigsty, a small silo, and a few other buildings whose purpose I couldn’t guess. Twenty yards away there were some low, squat stables. Beyond it was a narrow strip of orchards, consisting of large shadowy apple, apricot, and mulberry trees.

We swung wide around the stables and plunged into the orchard. Harold plucked an apple from a nearby tree, rubbed it on his jacket, and sank his teeth into it. He immediately grimaced and tossed the unpleasant fruit aside. We approached the house from the rear.

The Viceroy himself could very well live in this four-storied palace. The large lancet windows were dark, and the only lights burning brightly were in the far wing of the ground and fourth floors.

“That’s the kitchen.” Layen pointed at the lighted windows on the ground floor. “Going through there would be faster, but more dangerous. There’s always someone there. And that’s Joch’s bedroom.” She pointed to the fourth floor.

“Not sleeping at such an hour. Obviously his conscience is not clear,” muttered Harold. “I suggest we go through that door there.”

“It’s lit by torches,” I objected.

“Does light frighten you? Never mind,” the thief dismissed me carelessly.

“We’d just need to get through the greenhouse, and we’d be in the right wing,” Layen supported him. “Otherwise we’ll have to walk through the entire house, and we’re bound to get an unwelcoming reception then and—”

“Look at the balcony,” I interrupted her softly.

A man with a crossbow on his knees was sitting there.

“He’s sleeping,” objected Harold. “Some guard.”

“He could wake up. Also, we don’t know how much security there is around the house.”

“Most of it should be at the gate and the front door. No one expects uninvited guests to crawl out of the barn.”

“Okay,” I decided. “We’ll do as you say. I’ll cover you.”

As two shadows they slipped out from under the cover of the trees. Trampling the flowerbeds, they broke out into the open and appeared near the door. Harold busied himself with the lock, and Layen peered intently at the corner of the house, from which someone could appear at any moment. The guard with the crossbow didn’t even move. Truly, the deep sleep of fools is our best ally. It came my turn to run. The thief had just finished with the door.

We were in a dimly lit gallery on the ground floor, where every fifth oil lamp on the walls was lit. Their flames wavered timidly, thickening the gloom. The floor was covered by a plush carpet. To the right were a series of closed doors, and to the left, tall windows.

I went first, behind me came the thief, listening intently and for once serious. No more jokes or strangeness. Cool and collected, just like us. Layen brought up the rear, glancing behind as she walked.

The gallery led us to the greenhouse.

Joch loved flowers, especially rare ones. It was one of his many passions, and he purchased rare plants from distant lands for astronomical sums.

I passed by some kind of mangy palm, suspiciously rustling vines, a miniature tree, and an enormous flower that reeked of rotten flesh; the leaves of one furry plant were burning with a dim light like fireflies. I really wanted to sneeze from all the unusual smells. Layen was staring at the glowing bush and almost overturned a pot holding some kind of thorny plant that bore a distorted resemblance to a rotten cucumber. Harold grabbed the tilting pot in time and put it back in place, looking at us reproachfully.

“Watch where you’re walking,” he whispered.

We left the greenhouse and came out into a small room with a fading fireplace and pictures on the walls. Right opposite the exit was a staircase lined with white marble, which led upward. Like all the floors in the house, it was covered with carpet.

“Beyond there is the kitchen. We need to go up,” said Layen quietly.

“I’ll go first. You two follow.”

Holding my bow at the ready, I left the room and began slowly walking up the stairs. I stopped on the second floor and looked around. I waited for my companions. I walked up to the third floor. Then the fourth. In all this time, we didn’t encounter a single soul. I’ve already mentioned sleep. It’s a great ally. It was the hour when it was too late not to sleep and too early to wake up. There was minimal risk.

“Joch’s bedroom is there.” Layen pointed in the direction we needed. “Down the hall, through two rooms and a parlor.”

“You still with us, thief?” I asked.