In confusion, there is profit.
The old man had told Robi that dozens of times and he’d never been wrong. He said it so often she’d grown tired of hearing it. Now she’d give a considerable sum to hear him say it again.
Don’t think about that, she admonished herself. Burglary was an art and, if the old man taught her anything, it was that an artist had to stay focused. He didn’t get to be the world’s greatest thief by being sloppy.
The memory of him tugged at her heartstrings again but she was ready for it. Clearing her mind, Robi closed her eyes and listened. Sounds of commotion filled the air, screams of horses, and the sound of metal being twisted. People called out, warning each other of danger. There were no sounds of injury or death—at least not yet. She tilted her head, widening her range. Similar sounds arose all around her, as if the whole city were in chaos.
Robi blessed her good fortune. If it had only been the one Tommy in the street below that had suddenly run amok, she wouldn’t have much time, but it seemed the whole town’s worth of them had gone mad. That should keep Mister Pemberton, of Pemberton’s Grain and Feed, busy for at least half an hour.
Opening her eyes, she moved from the shadows of the hotel’s billiard room out onto the sturdy, second-floor balcony. The Tommy in the street below tore the guts out of a steam cart while a Nipponic immigrant swore at it in his native tongue. A workman in a canvas boiler suit whacked at the Tommy’s knees with a wrench but the metal man ignored him. On the wooden sidewalks in front of the shops, a crowd had gathered to watch the strange sight. A barbershop patron had moved outside still with half-a-faceful of shaving cream. People of every description filled out the crowd. There were men in shoddy work clothes and fine ladies in corsets and fancy hats. Men of means in expensive suits milled about while a garishly clad prostitute went by unnoticed. All eyes riveted on the scene—which left no one to watch Robi.
It was always a costly mistake, not watching Robi.
Robirah Laryn was the only child of Hiro Laryn, the world’s greatest thief. For most of her first thirteen years Robi traveled from place to place as her father plied his trade. They lived in the best hotels, ate the best food, and Hiro taught Robi all his tricks. Everywhere they went, Robi had to hide her smile when people spoke of the Cat, the uncatchable thief.
All that ended two years ago.
With a last glance at the mayhem in the street below, Robi broke into a dead run down the length of the balcony. When she reached the end, she vaulted up onto the railing and jumped, propelling herself into empty space. The open window of Pemberton’s Grain and Feed was at least fifteen feet away. Extending her body to its full length, Robi caught the sill with her fingers. As soon as she touched it, she pulled her knees up to her chest and hit the wall of the building with her feet. Without stopping, she pushed off. Using her grip on the window as a fulcrum, she somersaulted through the open window, rolled, and came up in a crouch. No new cries of surprise or alarm erupted from the street; she’d made it.
The room beyond the open window was clearly a parlor. Four elegantly carved chairs stood round a mahogany game table, rendered in the Louis-the-Fourteenth style. A thick carpet covered the center of the floor flanked by embroidered couches accented with silk pillows. Portraits of singularly ugly people hung on the walls, relatives of Pemberton, no doubt. Despite the pedestrian subjects, Robi thought she recognized the hand of a true artist in a few of them.
She sighed. Paintings were far too large to make the jump back to the hotel.
Moving silently, Robi made her way to the parlor door. Reaching into her sleeve, she removed a small glass vial. She wore a loose-fitting shirt and pants of desert tan with a darker brown waistcoat. Most girls her age went in for corsets, but Robi’s wardrobe afforded her easy movement and convenient places to hide things.
Unscrewing the vial, she withdrew a small brush that had been attached to the inside of its cap. Carefully she brushed the oil from the vial on each of the door’s hinges, then returned the vial to her sleeve.
Satisfied that the oil had done its work, Robi pulled the door open a crack. When no discernible sound came from the space beyond she let herself out into a carpeted hallway. A quick search of the upper floor yielded two small bedrooms, a master bedroom, and an office. The rooms were sumptuous, with carved furniture and overstuffed bedding. The office, on the other hand, bore a more practical countenance. A sturdy desk with a marble top stood in the center of the room, flanked by shelves on the back wall. The one on the left held a chaotic scattering of mementos and knick-knacks covered in a thin layer of dust. The other held rows of books on every subject imaginable. Unlike its sister shelf, this one was orderly and clean.
Robi took it in with a single glance, just like the old man taught her. The knick-knacks were souvenirs of travel, some coming from as far away as Britannic Africa and the Far East. Clearly Mister Pemberton liked to travel. Though judging from the condition of the mementos, it was his wife who collected them.
It was the orderly shelf that revealed the man. The leather spines on the books were cracked from use and dark from the oils of many hands over the years. The best read subjects were on agriculture, trade law, and animal husbandry. Pemberton was a man who took his work seriously.
The desk, like the bookshelf, was neat and orderly, with a stack of papers waiting to be read on one side and a basket of outgoing mail on the other. A simple brass inkwell and blotter were the only other things there. Clearly Pemberton was a man of regular habits, who craved order, and didn’t squander his vast wealth on needless ornamentation.
Having taken the measure of Pemberton, Robi turned her attention to the only other object in the room, a large iron safe. It sat directly behind the desk and between the shelves. No effort had been made to hide it. Clearly its owner didn’t fear robbery.
Moving carefully so as not to cause the polished wood floor to creak, Robi approached the safe. Jefferson Mark Six. Four tumblers, three numbers, with one repeated.
Child’s play.
She knelt on the Siamese rug that covered the floor in front of the safe. Pressing her ear to the cold surface of the door, she spun the tumblers, listening to them click and clack as they turned.
It reminded her of the old man.
He’d made her do this hundreds of times, maybe thousands, until she could open a lock by sound alone. He always believed in being prepared.
Know your target. His voice echoed in her head as if he were present. He drilled his rules into her as she trained her fingers to manipulate the pins of a standard lock. Never go in wondering what you’re after. Always know what’s in the safe or strong box.
Click.
The first tumbler fell into place.
Robi hadn’t been the best student, but she’d learned the value of her father’s advice. After his death, she reached out to his contacts, establishing networks of her own. Networks like the one that informed her of Pemberton’s recent shipment of black pearls from Tahiti.
Click.
Don’t steal something you can’t sell. Black pearls were rare, but not so rare that she’d have trouble selling them.
Click.
Never take everything you find. When you clean a man out, he tends to take it personally.
According to her sources, Pemberton had two dozen pearls. Half that would set Robi up nicely for the next few months and there was sure to be some cash in the safe as well.
Click.
Robi sat back on her haunches and took a deep breath before opening her eyes. Hiro Laryn had been the world’s greatest thief. Stealing pearls from a wealthy merchant was too simple a job to attract his notice.
Still, a girl had to eat.
Someday I’ll make you proud, Old Man. Someday I’ll be the world’s greatest thief.
She took hold of the brass handle protruding from the safe door and turned it. The door yielded easily, swinging open without a sound.
Just as the old man taught her.
She smiled and set to work.
The inside of the safe was as orderly as the office around it. File folders stuffed with papers were stacked on a shelf above a neat pile of account books for the business. On the left were several small drawers over an open space that held a stack of cash tied with a string, and a loaded flux pistol. The strangest thing, however was a nearly empty glass of water sitting right in the middle of the space.
It must have been left there by accident, or maybe Pemberton had been drunk. After all, who locks up a water glass?
Robi picked it up and sniffed it. No odor, but it might still be alcohol. There was a faint trace of a chalky substance on the inside, like it had been used to dissolve bicarbonate of soda. The perfect remedy for a hangover.
Satisfied that she understood the glass, Robi set it aside, stuffed the cash into her bag, and turned her attention to the drawers. The first held gold coins in small envelopes, the second had several necklaces of emerald and pearl. In the last, she found a silk bag with two dozen glossy, black pearls inside. Working quickly, she counted out twelve of them into a leather pouch and returned the rest to the safe.
With the pouch safely concealed beneath her shirt, Robi rose and closed the safe. Or rather she tried to.
As she rose, she found she couldn’t move her feet. It was if they were stuck to the floor. She wobbled and squatted back down, bracing herself with her hand. The moment she touched the Siamese carpet, she knew something was wrong. It felt wet and slimy. Instinctively she pulled her hand away, but it wouldn’t come. The gooey rug held her fast.
“By the Carpenter,” she swore, pulling with all her strength.
Maybe if she could get her weight off the rug, she could just pick the whole thing up and run.
No good; the bottom of the rug was stuck to the floor.
Panic rose in Robi’s breast and she began to hyperventilate. The old man’s voice sounded in her ears. Stay calm. Take deep breaths. Think.
It had to be Pemberton. The clever bastard had laid a trap for thieves and she’d quite literally stepped in it.
Stay calm. Deep breaths. Think.
The goop must have been in the carpet all along. Maybe as a powder. It had been activated somehow when she opened the safe. The empty glass. Pemberton must have dissolved something in it that filled the safe with an invisible gas. As soon as she opened the door, it flowed out onto the carpet.
Great, she knew how he did it but not how to free herself.
Stay calm. Deep breaths. Think.
With her left hand, she unlaced her soft shoes. One at a time, she pulled her feet free, carefully putting them down well away from the sticky rug. This left her bending over at an awkward angle with her right palm still stuck.
She moved her feet into position on either side of the rug and pulled with all her strength. The rug gave a little, but her hand remained stuck fast.
Panic gripped her again and bile crept into the back of her throat. Pemberton would be back any minute. She’d heard of thieves doing a coyote in similar situations, but the thought of cutting off her own hand just to escape made her sick.
The sound of heavy feet on the stair froze the blood in Robi’s veins. Maybe if she crouched down, the desk would hide her. Before she could work herself into a better position, however, the door swung open.
A tall, dapper man with gray hair stood framed in the opening. He wore a maroon suit coat and vest with gleaming silver buttons topped off with a bowler hat. A pair of spectacles hung on a tiny chain from his topmost buttonhole and he raised them to his brown eyes as he caught sight of Robi. He looked her up and down for a moment and his thin, shrewd face split into a delighted grin.
“Well, well,” he said in an amused voice. “What have we here?”