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heard in her life.
    Cleverness, caution and plans will only get a thief so far. Then luck’s a treacherous bitch and won’t always play along, so boldness will have to take you the rest of the way. Shev raced to the window, raised her black boot and gave the shutters an almighty kick, splintering the latch, and sent them shuddering open as the woman heaved in a whooping breath.
    A square of night sky. The second storey of the buildings across the way. She caught a glimpse of a man with his head in his hands through the window directly opposite. She thought about how far down it was and made herself stop. You can’t think about the ground. The woman let blast another bladder-loosening scream. Shev heard the door wrenched wide, guards yelling. She jumped through.
    Wind tugged, flapped at her clothes, that lurching in her stomach as she started to fall. Like doing the high drop when she was tumbling with that travelling show, hands straining to catch Varini’s. The reassuring smack of her palms into his and the puff of chalk as he whisked her up to safety. Every time. Every time but that last time when he’d had a drink too many and the ground had caught her instead.
    She let it happen. Once you’re falling, you can’t fight it. There’s an urge to flail and struggle but the air won’t help you. No one will. No one ever will, in her experience.
    With a teeth-rattling thud she dropped straight into the wagon of fleeces she’d paid Jens to leave under the window. He looked suitably amazed to see her floundering out from his cargo, dragging the satchel after her and scurrying across the street, weaving between the people and into the darkness between the ale-shop and the ostler’s, the shouting fading behind her.
    She reeled against the wall, gripping at her side, growling with each breath and trying not to cry out. Rim of the cart had caught her in the ribs and from the sick pain and the way her head was spinning she reckoned at least one was broken, probably a few more.
    ‘Fucking ouch,’ she forced through gritted teeth. She glanced back towards the building as Jens shouted to his mule and the wagon rolled off, a guard leaning out of the open window, pointing wildly across the street towards her. She saw someone slip out of a side door and gently push it closed. Someone tall, and slim, a strand of blonde hair falling from a black hat and a satchel over her shoulder. Someone with a hell of a walk, hips swaying as she drifted quietly into the shadows.
    The guard roared something and Shev turned, stumbled on down the alley, squeezed through the little crack in the wall and away.
    Now she remembered why she’d wanted to stop and run a Smoke House instead.
    Most thieves don’t last long. Not even the good ones.

    ‘You’re hurt,’ said Severard.
    Shev really was hurt, but she’d learned to keep her hurts as hidden as she could. In her experience, people were like sharks, blood in the water only made them hungry. So she shook her head, tried to smile, tried to look not-hurt with her face twisted up and sweaty and her hand clamped to her ribs. ‘It’s nothing. We got customers?’
    ‘Just Berrick.’
    He nodded towards the old husk-head, sprawled out on the greasy cushions with eyes closed and mouth open, spent pipe beside him.
    ‘When did he smoke?’
    ‘Couple of hours past.’
    Shev gripped her side tight as she knelt beside him, touched him gently on the cheek. ‘Berrick? Best wake up, now.’
    His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Shev, and his lined face suddenly crushed up. ‘She’s dead,’ he whispered. ‘Keep remembering it fresh. She’s dead.’ And he closed his eyes and squeezed tears down his pale cheeks.
    ‘I know,’ said Shev. ‘I know and I’m sorry. I’d usually let you stay long as you need, and I hate to do this, but you got to get up, Berrick. Might be trouble. You can come back later. See him home, eh, Severard?’
    ‘I should stay here, I can watch your back—’
    More likely