Chapter 185: The Diary Job

Nix slapped a floor plan of the Laurel House across the war table, pinning its corners with buckets. The Company crowded around it in the Zero Wing common room, chewing bread and sizing up the doors.

“Dorian keeps his suite on the third floor,” she said, tapping a window, “with a single lock and a very rude ward.”

“What does the ward do?” Mara asked, her ears twitching toward the chalk circle.

“It throws any intruder back to the doorway, exactly ten seconds into the past.”

Yukine unrolled a second sheet showing the Weaver’s sigil stitched along the doorframe, thread looping back on itself. Pell traced the pattern from a palace tapestry by lantern light, sweating through three shirts while he worked.

“Every Second Chance comes with a leash,” Yukine said, pointing at a knot of stitches.

“Every Door opens any lock I touch,” Nix said, tossing a pick into the air, “but nobody ever taught it to open a clock.”

Bram carried in the last of the chairs, setting each around the table with a carpenter’s care. Nobody asked him to, yet the Company sat wherever he pointed, like furniture obeying its own kind.

“Sit,” he said, patting the last chair, “the heist goes better when people are comfortable.”

“Yes, sir,” Mara muttered, dropping into the seat with a grudging flop of her tail.

Riven studied the sketch of the corridor, the stairs and the ward line painted as a chalk circle. Ten seconds was a long time inside a trap, yet a very short time to open a lock.

‘Ten seconds forward, ten seconds back. It’s a metronome… I know how to count one of those.’

“So the ward resets every ten seconds,” he said slowly, “like a metronome with a bad temper.”

“With one hiccup in the middle where it has nothing to throw,” she said, grinning, “that is the gap.”

“And you want me to call the gap from two streets away.”

“You call it, I step through, nobody gets thrown back and everybody goes home rich.”

A thin line of light tied Riven’s wrist to Nix’s, humming as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. He felt her pulse in the line, quick as a sparrow, with a clock ticking somewhere very far beneath it.

[ Open Account: Nix | Shared line: footsteps, doorframe, ten-second pulse ]

“When do we hit the suite?” Isolde asked, setting down her teacup.

“Coup night,” Yukine replied, “every guard on that floor will be reassigned to the arena.”

“Which means the thief gets an empty hallway,” Veska said, nodding with deep approval.

Isolde unpacked a roll of sutures and a vial of smelling salts, lining them up at her elbow. She planned for every injury a heist could cause, down to the ones Nix invented purely for sympathy.

“I will stand near the east stair,” she said, “in case anyone needs a person to disapprove of them.”

The door swung open to admit Ysabel, who swept in with Petrik trotting behind her, clutching a bulky ledger. She glanced at the plan, at Nix, at the buckets, and decided that every one of them offended her.

“I shall be the distraction,” Ysabel announced, “I am the only person here with a genuine audience.”

“I’m the thief,” Nix shot back, “I know exactly where every guard in this kingdom looks.”

“Guards look at Presidents, Secretary, it is a law of nature.”

The thief snorted, “Guards look at pretty things… you are a chandelier, not a target.”

“That is a compliment, thank you,” Ysabel said, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

Petrik leaned toward her ear, “Madam President, I do not believe she meant it kindly.”

Veska rose from her chair, planted her spear, and cleared her throat for the whole room. Her expression was the solemn look of a woman about to commit a crime against hearing.

“I volunteer,” she declared, “a distraction of maximum volume.”

“Please do not explain it,” Mara said, covering both ears with her palms.

“I shall require the Company’s cooperation, a large bell, and approximately forty minutes of preparation.”

He rubbed his temples, “We’ll give you the bell, just wait for my signal before you start.”

“I can be patient for up to four minutes, perhaps five if someone holds my hand.”

Lucas lifted his good hand from the corner of the room, the other arm still strapped across his chest. Everyone turned to look at him, Mara softening her ears the way she did for people she approved of.

“I would like to witness the aftermath,” he said, “so nobody can call it a theft.”

“You get the first look at that journal,” he promised, “before anyone else touches the cover.”

The Company dispersed toward bunks and bread, leaving Nix perched on the table edge swinging her bare feet. She waited until the last footstep faded, then hooked a finger into his collar and pulled him close.

“I’d like an advance on the payout,” she murmured.

“Payouts come on delivery,” he said, leaning back, “you taught me that rule yourself.”

“Then I’m filing a late fee… and logging the waiting as foreplay, strictly for my records.”

He laughed quietly, tugging her finger loose, “Finish the job first, thief.”

—

Evening settled over the festival grounds as lamplighters crawled along the stands with their long poles.

On coup night the arena filled slowly, thirty thousand people settling under a sky the color of bruised fruit. Riven sat with Mara and Veska in the Company box, one eye on the royal canopy across the sand.

“Nix is at her post,” she whispered, her tail curling around the bench, “she sent a pigeon with a very rude note.”

“The distraction is armed and awaiting orders,” Veska said, hugging the bell in her lap.

“Keep it quiet until I whistle, and wait for my count after that,” he warned.

“Quiet is a form of volume, I am simply holding it back.”

Across the sand the royal canopy glowed softly, King Ostric slumped in his chair beside Caius’s tall empty seat. Behind the King stood Crownguard in ranks of four, facing the stands exactly as the archive order promised them.

“Is she moving?” he asked under his breath.

“She is breathing very quietly,” Mara answered, “which is how you know she is about to commit a felony.”

Mara’s ears swiveled toward the Laurel House on the far hill, tracking something only a panther could hear clearly. The pigeon note said Nix waited in the east stairwell, one floor below the suite, listening for a whistle.

He folded his arms across his chest, “Then we wait for the sun.”

Cassen and Lucas squeezed into the row behind them, Lucas cradling his sling like a sleeping cat. He kept one hand on Giltknife and his eyes on the royal canopy, jaw set tight today.

“I brought the bucket,” he whispered, lifting it, “just in case.”

“I will witness the lanterns,” Lucas added softly, “if they misbehave.”

The last sliver of sun slid behind the arena rim, leaving the royal box glowing in its lanterns. Then every lantern in the box went out at once, as if one huge breath swept across them.

Veska rose slowly from the bench, “That was not in the schedule—”

‘Everyone waited for my signal. Nobody told the lanterns.’