The School for Thieves, page 23
Tom almost scoffed. He’d climbed narrower flues when he’d done shifts as a chimney sweep back in London and had contended with loose bricks in the walls, hardly any light, and soot that blinded and choked him. This would be like climbing a ladder in comparison.
Featherstone went first. Modiba heaved up the heavy backpack and then followed her, with Tom climbing up soon after. To Featherstone and Modiba’s clear relief, Tom moved as easily and silently as a spider.
* * *
Climbing like silent spiders was also a skill honed fervently at the Assassins School and was, at that very same moment, being demonstrated exquisitely by Jemima Dahlia and Kazuki Horie.
The two Assassin Apprentices were in the chimney flues of the bedrooms of the French diplomat and the Prussian foreign minister, listening intently to the conversations taking place between the delegates and their valets. In pouches attached to their belts, they carried vials of poison that could induce a heart attack or bring on a stroke. They had six different primary plans for how to administer the poisons and a dozen contingency plans—such as drowning their victim in the bath or pushing them down the stairs—although these contingencies were more likely to invite suspicion about third-party involvement and so were last-resort options only.
Meanwhile, Sara Mallory, the Spy student, was dusting the mantelpiece in an adjoining room to the French foreign minister, listening—via a stethoscope—to the conversation on the other side of the wall. It seemed that the Frenchman suspected that the Prussian foreign minister had anarchist leanings and might try to deliberately derail the agreement. Mallory wondered how she could encourage the Prussian to do just that.
Down in the kitchens, Politico Apprentices Elton Bramble and Nolann Wardwell were helping unload boxes of vegetables while loudly speculating on the rumored allegiances of the French delegates just as the valet for the Prussian diplomat was passing by on his way to press his master’s dress shirt.
All these little moves were being made around the castle like a complicated board game, and all without the slightest knowledge of the host, the staff, the guests, or anyone else in the castle—save for the Shadow assessors studiously observing the students’ every action.
* * *
Tom tried to calm his breathing. The adrenaline was making it fast and sharp, and he could feel the sweat on the back of his neck sticking his hair to his skin. They needed to be as stealthy and silent as cats, but his nerves were making him loud and clumsy. He had to get a grip on himself. The way Modiba and Featherstone kept shooting him icy glances, he knew they felt the same.
They were in the east wing, having wriggled through a grate in the courtyard and scaled a wall to get inside. A dumbwaiter at the end of the corridor would take them straight down three floors to the basement. From there, they were only a short run from the library and their target. They just had to hope that the information they had about the safe reportedly hidden there was accurate.
The descent in the dumbwaiter gave Tom time to realize exactly how afraid he was.
He shook himself, irritated. He’d spent his whole life in danger, and survived it all. When Morris died, he’d rebuilt a life for himself in the warehouse. When the snatchers had taken his friends and burned the warehouse to the ground, he’d rebuilt his life again. He was smart and he was resilient and he just had to stay sharp, as Morris had always taught him.
“You can do this,” he told himself under his breath. “You can do this.”
He allowed himself a small smile as a realization struck him. If he was able to break into a mountainside castle filled with troops on high alert, then one day he would be able to break into the Guttknot to save his friends.
He just had to survive this mission first.
Reaching the basement, they emerged into a darkened hallway, their slippered feet dancing lightly past oil portraits and mahogany dressers and tables and cabinets. Modiba led his makeshift team to a heavy wooden door. He checked it briefly to ensure it was neither locked nor alarmed and, with the use of a small, telescopic mirror slid beneath the door, checked that there were no guards lying in wait beyond.
The Thieves now found themselves in the long, narrow library. Had it been daylight and the weather clear, they would have been able to see right across the valley from the wide windows to the high ridges and peaks of the mountain range beyond. But with the blizzard blocking out both moon and stars, the room was pitch-dark.
The sound of the wind battering the glass was broken momentarily by the click of Modiba’s flashlight. Its beam scanned the room until it alighted upon a huge portrait of the old French emperor Napoleon II riding a powerful-looking horse as it reared on a battlefield.
Modiba and Featherstone set to work examining the frame of the portrait. There was a low clunk as Featherstone released a catch and the portrait swung outward. Behind it was a six-foot-high Lexington Farerra Mark IV, just as expected. It was a foreboding-looking safe with both a combination and a double-key lock with twelve-inch thick and triple-layered steel-and-concrete walls. Tom could see Modiba’s relief. The Apprentices had prepared for this. The safe had a major design flaw that meant—
There was a distant clipping of footsteps along the corridor. Several footsteps. Moving fast. Modiba and Featherstone spun around, panic in their eyes. They searched blindly for somewhere to hide, fear making them totter like startled animals.
Rather than agitating Tom’s already fraught nerves, the advancing danger made him feel oddly calm. Featherstone and Modiba had never had to improvise in a real-world situation before—at least, not one where their lives were on the line. But Tom was comfortable in such chaos. It felt like he was slipping into an old skin.
He grabbed the backpack lying by the safe, heaving it onto his shoulder as he climbed one of the high bookcases. Hissing for the others to follow, he pitched the pack into a shallow hollow that ran along the top of the bookcase, then sank down beside it, trying to force his breathing into a steady, quiet rhythm.
Three figures in French Army uniforms pushed through the door to the library. Tom recognized them from the photographs in the file. Commandant Dominique Chaudat, the head of the French foreign minister’s private security, flicked on the light. He was flanked by his colleagues, Capitaine Michel Babault and Lieutenant Luc Darie.
“… so of course I said this was impossible,” said Chaudat. “There has never been any link between von Blankenburg and an anarchist group. It is preposterous! You think I wouldn’t have investigated such allegations myself? It is slanderous to suggest such things!”
“Indeed,” said Babault. “Who would ever accuse you of such negligence?”
“Ha, exactly!” barked Chaudat, pulling a chain from around his neck from which two long keys hung. He fumbled for a few moments along the edge of the Napoleon II frame until he found the latch. Swinging the painting aside, he inserted the keys into the safe door—the chain was just the right length between the keyholes to allow him to do so. He turned them and then began to spin the combination tumbler back and forth. Tom risked raising his head to observe the combination, but Chaudat’s hands turned too quickly for him to track it.
When the safe was finally unlocked, Chaudat heaved out a briefcase—an exact replica of which was concealed within the backpack lying beside Tom.
Chaudat delicately handed the case to Babault. “Carefully does it,” he murmured. “The gas is contained in steel canisters, but if one of them were to break… it wouldn’t bear thinking about.”
“Is it really so dangerous?” asked Darie, taking a step back.
“You have seen the effects of the Crimson Flu?” asked Chaudat, turning the keys in the locks. “Imagine the very worst moment of the most hideous case you have ever seen. Imagine that tenfold. And imagine it occurring within moments of the gas permeating the lungs of an enemy soldier.”
“But that is barbaric….” Babault held the case away as if it were a cobra preparing to strike.
“It is warfare,” stated Chaudat tonelessly. He took the case. “Or perhaps the end of warfare. Who would challenge a power that has a weapon like this at their disposal?”
Babault looked very pale. “So why are we giving it to the Prussians?”
Chaudat began to lead them back through the library. “Prussians? After tonight, there will be no more kingdom of Prussia. It will simply be a province of la Grande République de France. We are giving this weapon to ourselves. And as soon as it arrives in the Prussian military headquarters, we will be requisitioning it back to Paris.”
“So what is the point of having it here at all?” questioned Darie, who looked just as pale as Babault.
“Because Albrecht and von Blankenburg want to test its capabilities,” said Chaudat. “Once the Prussians see its power, they will sign the treaty—they will have no choice. Imagine if we turned it on Prussia? Come, to the ballroom. We will be testing it up there after dinner.”
Tom closed his eyes. Was the mission over? How were they going to swap the cases now? Or did the Apprentices have a backup plan, should something like this happen?
Featherstone slowly raised her hands and began to communicate in sign language. Tom was thankful for the time Morris had spent teaching him the skill. He didn’t like Featherstone’s suggestion much, but it was a plan of sorts. Personally, he’d have abandoned the mission then and there—but he knew Featherstone and Modiba would rather die than suffer the ignominy. And that’s what worried him the most.
They waited until Chaudat, Babault, and Darie had left the library. Then they slipped to the floor. Featherstone took the pack, and she and Tom headed after the men while Modiba climbed out one of the windows at the far end of the library.
Tom and Featherstone followed the French soldiers like undulating shadows. With every movement, Tom expected the men to turn and see them. It felt like the ultimate game of hide-and-seek. If they were caught, they were dead. Adrenaline was making his hands quiver and his head feel light, but the excruciating fear sharpened the silent precision of his movements.
The soldiers paused at a flight of stairs that led to the ground floor, where a man was waiting for them—French foreign minister Monsieur André. Tom and Featherstone crept nearer to listen, sliding themselves behind a large dresser.
“Before dinner?” Babault sounded exasperated.
“The Prussians are insisting,” said André irritably. “There are rumors…”
“Well, we better have time to set up the demonstration properly. Otherwise it’ll kill us all!” cried Chaudat. “Barbarians. Do the Prussians think anyone will want to eat after seeing its effects?”
“What will it be tested on?” asked Babault uneasily as they turned off the hallway and began to climb the wide set of bare stone stairs. Noiselessly, Tom and Featherstone followed. Tom stared at Chaudat’s white knuckles around the briefcase handle.
“There’s a horse in the stables,” said André. “It will need to be brought to the ballroom.”
“Darie, bring it in through the French windows on the terrace,” said Chaudat.
“Of course, Commandant.” Darie’s disquiet was palpable.
“Capitaine Babault, go and tell those filthy Prussians they will have to give me ten minutes to set up the room safely,” continued Chaudat. “You might impress upon them what will happen if there is an error.”
“Yes, sir. I shall be explicit.”
Reaching the floor above, the three men parted. Tom’s and Featherstone’s hands flickered as they conferred. Then they nodded in agreement and slunk up the stairs, following Chaudat and the briefcase.
* * *
In the common room on Half Moon Street, the radio crackled into life.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” said Reginald Hodge smoothly. “And welcome back. I am delighted to report that Agent Goldblatt has established a new observation post in a series of secret passages behind the walls that connect the north and east wings of the castle and has set up her radio there. As Agent Goldblatt has discovered, the passages are dotted with discreetly hidden spyholes in a variety of rooms that allow for very effective snooping. It is a stroke of luck for us that she’s found them, as we will get some fascinating insights into the goings-on in the castle this evening.”
“I think we’re ready to cross to her now,” said Maso. “Agent Goldblatt, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Can you hear me?” came the breathy response from Agent Goldblatt. “There has been great excitement in the dining room—which I am currently observing through an ingeniously situated peephole behind a carriage clock on the mantelpiece. The clock has a crystal base cut at such an angle that it provides a panoramic view of the room and the frankly magnificent dinner—it’s quite wonderful.”
“And what are you seeing?” asked Maso.
“Well,” continued Goldblatt, “the Prussians have refused to eat until they are shown the weapon they have come for. There seems to be a lot of distrust between the delegates, and they just want to get on with things.”
“It seems that Sara Mallory, Elton Bramble, and Nolann Wardwell have been doing a good job of sowing doubt and mistrust—most commendable,” said Reginald Hodge. “Have you managed to see much of what our pupils are up to around the castle?”
“I have not seen any sign of the Thieves or Assassins,” confessed Goldblatt, “but I am delighted to report that Spy student Miss Mallory has successfully swapped the treaty that is to be signed later with a copy littered with spelling errors and inaccurate clauses. I imagine that as soon as the delegates check it over, they will be appalled and refuse to sign it—and even if they do sign it, it will be null and void as a legal document. I believe Miss Mallory is even now making moves to flee the castle. We may have a winner on our hands.”
“Let’s not be too hasty,” said Hodge sagely.
“Things really are getting quite heated now,” broke in Goldblatt. “The Prussian foreign minister has just thrown his salmon mousse to the floor. He is demanding that the demonstration take place immediately.”
“And do we know what this demonstration is?”
“No, not yet—” began Goldblatt. “Oh, one of the French soldiers is summoning the delegates from the dining room. We may be about to find out.”
Static warbled and fizzed on the radio in the Guile House common room. Hercule Wolf banged its side.
“It’ll be the weather,” someone cried from the back of the room. “There’s no point hitting it like that. Everyone’ll be getting the same signal. Just give it a minute.”
There was a lot of fidgeting and a susurrus of low conversation.
“I wonder if Tom got any insights into the Artemis plans before they set off,” whispered Enzo.
“Doubt it,” scoffed Jericho. “They won’t want to share anything with a Tenderfoot—especially not one from Guile House!”
“He’s probably had the dullest couple of days of his life,” said Maxine.
Fzzzz-crrrk-fzzz. “… moved to the ballroom,” said the crackling voice of Agent Goldblatt.
“And where are you viewing this from?” asked Reginald Hodge.
“There is a portrait in the center of the wall,” whispered Goldblatt, her voice now clear and sharp again. “There are peepholes in its eyes.”
“And what can you see?”
“Suits of armor, tapestries on the walls, and antlers everywhere—the Prussians seem quite impressed by it all. Most interestingly, there is a large glass box in the middle of the room. I have no idea where it’s come from.”
“How large is it?” asked Beatrice Maso curiously.
“I would hazard a guess at it being twenty feet wide by ten or fifteen feet deep and say, fifteen feet high. Honestly, I’m at a loss… I don’t know how its construction has escaped me. I passed through the hall just this afternoon and it wasn’t here—and there’s not been a whisper about it among the staff. It must have been built in the last few hours. But for what purpose, I have no idea….”
* * *
The high-vaulted ceiling of the ballroom was ribbed with ancient timbers that curved upward toward a glass cupola. Hidden among the shadows, on a shallow rim just beneath the glass panes of the cupola, Tom finished winding up the retractable wire he had used to climb to the cupola before replacing it in a pouch on his belt, then retrieved an extendable telescope from another. He peered down at the glass box where Commandant Chaudat was fiddling with a panel built into one of its walls. An inexplicable sense of dread was starting to creep over him.
Featherstone had slipped in behind the delegates and hidden behind a large cabinet filled with the taxidermied heads of various hunting trophies—two tigers, a lioness, a bear, and a crocodile. A suit of armor, equipped with a long pike, stood to attention beside the cabinet, and Tom could just make out the edge of Featherstone’s face in the shadows between the two.
As the delegates seated themselves at the table, there was a rap on a set of French windows. Chaudat signaled to Capitaine Babault, who opened them as wide as he could, buffeted by a swirling cloud of snowfall that gusted into the hall to dust the floor and the shoulders of half the French delegation.
Lieutenant Darie marched inside, head bent against the elements, leading a horse. It was a magnificent creature, huge and chestnut brown with white flecks on its fetlocks, muscles gliding easily beneath glossy hair as it clopped across the hardwood flooring.
Capitaine Babault pushed the French windows closed, but not before Tom saw Modiba take up an observational position by a window a little way behind the seated delegates. The Artemis Apprentice gave Tom an acknowledging salute, which he returned with a half-hearted wave. He wondered if Modiba and Featherstone could sense the impending danger.
Lieutenant Darie led the horse inside the glass box, where he tied the creature to an iron rung bolted to the floor. He then swiftly exited, ensuring the edges of the door had all sealed true behind him.
Chaudat turned to the briefcase Tom had seen him retrieve from the vault. With careful precision, a stainless-steel canister was removed and carried at arm’s length to the panel set into the glass box. There he screwed it into place, its elongated tip entering the box through a small, rubber-rimmed hole.
