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Description
Book 1 – Law

Chapter 4

     It was shortly before morning when Jimmy returned from his outing.  Locke was normally asleep at that hour, as well as much of the daylight, unless an operation took longer than planned, and he awakened to the sound of the door to the tenement opening.  Unconsciously his hand went to the dagger he kept on his bedside table, and he rolled out of bed silently, moving quickly beside his door.  He was in the act of peeking into the hall when Jimmy's voice sounded from downstairs.
     "Sorry, Locke!  'Twice burnt, once shy!'"  The two recognized each others' voices, of course, but to guard against ambush they arranged a password every week – there were skilled mimics to be found in Azaria.  The pair had worked out several choice escape routes in the three years they had spent there, as well as many hiding places for themselves or anything else they wished to conceal, from unwelcome visitors – including their landlord.
     Locke returned the dagger to his table and walked downstairs in his nightgown.  Jimmy had taken off his coat and was seated in his favorite chair, sipping at a glass of wine, a good vintage taken from a storehouse owned by a Red Star subsidiary.  They had five bottles left.  "I take it you managed to get word to this Omar?  You wouldn't have wasted a bottle of that on anything else."  Locke spoke as he walked to the small pantry to fetch a glass, and he poured himself some of it.
     "Word will reach him within the week," said Jimmy, "unless something goes wrong, and if I know him at all he should start the journey here immediately.  I think any fence would jump at a chance like this."
     "And you're sure he can pay us what we ask?"  Locke sipped his wine.  "I don't want to waste all this time on delay only to get short-ended again.  Marlon left a bad taste in my mouth, though this wine always helps."  He sniffed at his glass and said, approvingly, "My favorite year."
     "It depends on what we ask him," offered Jimmy, "but he has reserves.  Or, he did when I knew him.  Of course, he'll have to pay us in Trysaran currency.  He won't have that many Stars in paw's reach, unless we catch him at just the right time."
     "We should be so lucky.  That will be inconvenient."  Locke frowned and swirled his glass before emptying it and reaching for the bottle.  "Exchanging currency is hard enough in small amounts.  How can we possibly manage a large sum?"
     "We'll have to break it up over time.  Think of it as a pension, only we're not retiring."  Jimmy grinned.  "Unless you don't mind a break.  I could go for one."
     "Don't let me force you," Locke said sarcastically.  "But I can't always tell when you're joking.  Without you I'd have to go back to picking pockets in the streets.  Speaking of which, we may have to do that anyway.  What's left of Marlon's generosity won't last us a week between the rent and Alise.  Shall I lay out our street clothes?"
     "I've got something better."  Jimmy rose, yawning.  "I'll tell you about it this evening.  For now, just get some sleep.  You'll need it."

     "No.  Absolutely not.  No way, no how."  Locke shook his head wildly.  "You thought I was crazy to plan the Buford caper?  But it was nothing compared to this!  Robbing the Guild is suicide!"
     "Not if my informant is telling the truth."  Jimmy's voice was unemphatic, but insistent.  "I can't prove it to you, but I'm satisfied that the intelligence and this map," he said, tapping the piece of paper on the table with a claw, "are accurate.  Think what you want, but you know me.  Don't you?"
     Locke gave the raccoon a hard stare.  Since they had met eleven years ago, he had learned a great deal of the experienced thief's mind, but really, he knew next to nothing about his past.  Locke had kept no secrets from him, and the calm acceptance he had given to the young fox's claim to Princedom had been odd, but not unbelievable, considering how unflappable Jimmy had shown himself to be over the years.  Still, he seemed to have a remarkable network of contacts and friends, none of whom Locke had ever met.  Jimmy always shrugged it off when Locke questioned him about them, in his nonchalant manner, and Locke had accepted it as a mark of the raccoon's experience and success – despite his extensive training from a mere kit as heir to the Fox King, Jimmy had taught him so many things that he held his oldest friend in a sort of awe, despite their closeness.  But this was too much – to suppose that he had a friend so close to the inside of the Azaria Thieves' Guild as to secure a detailed map of their headquarters, underneath the mansion of Sylvestre Harconi himself!
     "I don't believe it," he said, still shaking his head.  "How on earth did you get so close to the inside as that?  The Guild doesn't blab its secrets out on the streets.  Did you use to belong yourself?"  By itself, that would not have turned Locke away from his friend.  Actually, if true it would explain a great deal, and Jimmy had shown no sign of allegiance or connection with them as long as the two had collaborated.
     "No."  Now the raccoon shook his head.  "I've told you a thousand times, my past is mine, but I will say that much."  He met Locke's stare head on, his eyes flickering from behind their black mask.  "Let's say this: a certain beast close to the Guild's councils has an agenda of his own, and through certain shared contacts he found me.  He wants this job done, and I say we want to do it.  It will be hard, but not harder than your mad scheme, and it will pay in more practical loot.  Not to mention," he added, smirking, "you could hardly find a better way to strike at your nemesis.  That money, or some of it, will certainly find its way into his paws if we leave it where it is.  And he'll suspect Harconi of holding back.  How could you refuse?"
     Locke considered for a moment.  The job, as Jimmy had outlined it, relied very heavily on the accuracy of his informant's word.  Sylvestre Harconi, known by day as the first nobleman to turn on the Fox King's government and side with the rebellion, reportedly in hopes of securing a favorable position when Barran rose to power, lived a second, darker life, known only to the criminal underworld, as the undisputed master of the Azaria Thieves' Guild.  His mansion in the northwest quarter was modest compared to Councilman Buford's, but it held a secret, according to Jimmy's informant: it was built over the access to an abandoned system of emergency tunnels that now housed the headquarters of most of the organized crime in the City.
     There was no possible doubt about the next relevant fact, for it had been printed in newsletters a full week before Locke and Jimmy's exploits had overshadowed all other news: the Guild had robbed a shipment of freshly minted Stars en route to the Second City Bank.  It had been a neat operation, though not to the two independents' taste – a group of about twenty strong-paws had surrounded the coach, killing the horses and drivers long before the City Watch could be summoned, and before two minutes had passed they had broken the armored vehicle, taken the contents, which consisted of two-thousand Stars' worth of currency, and vanished in ten different directions.  The few witnesses, from the windows of surrounding buildings, gave only confused and conflicting testimony as to the appearances of the attackers, and, thanks to their numbers and the speed with which they worked, could not help determine where the money had gone.  The City Watch had vowed to provide an escort to all future shipments, but there had seemed no hope of recovering the amount lost in the incident.
     According to Jimmy's insider, the money had arrived, by various routes, to the Guild Headquarters, and would soon be used to fund certain illegal ventures.  The informant had refused to elaborate, but for his own reasons he did not wish them to succeed.  Normally such a job would be impossible, but there was to be a meeting of the District Wardens, the crime lords who answered directly to Harconi, six nights from then, and each would be bringing an escort of his personal toughs for protection – trust came at a high premium for beasts in their position.  That would thin the guard within the complex considerably, and the best route to the strongbox, which had been marked in red ink on the map, along with guard locations, was fairly straightforward.  Locke had to admit, the information was detailed and complete.
     "But," he added, "if any part of it turns out false, it could mean death.  Just who is this informant?"  He frowned.  "I trust you, but how can I trust him?"
     "You can't," said Jimmy.  "His name would mean nothing to you, so there's no point in my endangering him by saying it.  As for trust, you can trust my judgment.  Or not.  If it's any help, he wants a cut of five-hundred Stars for his own purposes.  I don't expect you to believe the offer was pure goodwill."
     "No," said Locke, "that would be unreasonable.  But," he added, stretching a paw across the table to get at the map, "you trusted my judgment for three months preparing for the Buford caper, against your better instincts, and you never complained more than six times an hour."  Suddenly he grinned widely.  "I guess I owe you something for that."
     "Hmph."  Jimmy waved the jibe away.  "If you call common-sense complaining, then I'd better not hear a peep from you about this.  Anyway, we haven't time if we're going to plan this out.  We need plans and contingencies for every step of this job.  It will be delicate, and there's no room for error.  We can't simply glide away the way we could with the Buford job; if any beast raises the alarm, we're as good as dead."
     "You don't need to tell me."  Locke pointed at a spot on the map.  "Here and several other places the underground tunnels seem to connect to a larger system.  Are these possible access points or getaway routes?"
     Jimmy shook his head.  "Not as far as I know.  Or our little sneak.  The only other way out is in a gambling den three blocks away, and we have no hope of escaping through that.  It will be busy and full of Guild Enforcers.  The compound is walled off from the rest of the old tunnels, and nobody knows where else it might connect to the surface.  If anywhere.  You understand," he said grimly, "this is a criminal hideout.  Look here."  He indicated several lines connecting different passages.  "These are secret passages.  The Wardens and their seconds know them – they're for escape in case of a mutiny or raid – but there's no telling who else might.  If we plan to use them, we have to be just as careful in them as in an open hallway."
     "Since it's all underground, there will be ample shadow,"  Locke said.  "They won't want to use up all the air with oil lamps and torches.  We can douse them where necessary."
     "But not too many," objected Jimmy.  "We can't afford to arouse suspicion.  The same goes for knocking out guards.  We should both take some of the Professor's darts, but we can't use them freely.  Any sign of intrusion, and some beast will sound the alarm.  There's a system of pulley bells running through the whole complex, with ropes here, here, and..."
     The planning continued far into that night, and for most of the next four.

     The night of the heist was chilly, as a cold wind swept from the mountains in the north.  Locke shivered a little as he stared through his spyglass at Harconi's backyard.  The two guards had made their rounds twice, and he had his entrance over the tall iron fence timed, but he was waiting for the light in the second window from the left on the third floor to go dark.  That was the master's room, and it would signal the beginning of the meeting, which would be held somewhere in the southeast, on neutral ground.  The trusting bonds of crime lords, Locke thought wryly, and grinned until another blast of wind found its way inside his shirt.  At least the tunnels would be safe from that.
     The bells had just sounded one when the light went out.  Locke waited for two more rounds, then emerged from his concealment across the street.  With a running vault he had practiced a hundred times on a fence in the Palace gardens as a kit, he cleared the fence and landed quietly in the grass on all fours, scurrying behind a bush just as the second guard rounded the corner of the house.  His round took him nowhere near Locke, and there was little danger of discovery, but the same little thrill ran through his chest as it did every time he kept hidden from unfriendly eyes.  There was something in it of the master craftsman's pleasure in a job well done, and something of the trickster's joy in fooling the unwary, and even some of the kit's excitement in playing hide-and-seek.  The guard passed by without an inkling of the bright slotted eyes watching his every move, and when he had gone Locke hurried to the back door, which he and Jimmy had chosen as their point of entry.
     Unless one of the guards decided to jog, he had two minutes to pick the lock.  It was not a complicated one – a Red Star Manufactory plant produced them by the hundreds across the river – but there seemed to be a sticky tumbler, and Locke fought the urge to curse as he struggled with it.  Finally it gave, and he heard the always-satisfying click as it surrendered.  He had just time enough to wave his signal to Jimmy before diving back behind his bush.  The sound of the guard's footsteps on the gravel path came just a few seconds later.
     Locke and Jimmy were to take separate paths in this job, as with the Buford, but they were together until the tunnels.  As soon as the path was clear Jimmy crossed the street as Locke had, vaulting over the fence, and the two entered the back door, closing it noiselessly behind them.  They had studied the map of the mansion carefully, and knew exactly where to turn.  No servants would be awake at that hour, and there would be no guards posted in that part of the house.  The hallway was silent and dark as the two thieves passed the kitchens and pantries, and the stairwell leading to the basement was pitch black.  Afraid to light their dark lanterns so early, they felt their way down, paws against the wall, and welcomed the candlelight flickering at the entrance to the basement.  This was the first obstacle, and they went about their work without pause.  Jimmy took his place at the disguised door, which looked like the stone wall of the basement and was visible only by a faint outline where the mortar was absent.  Locke walked two paces down to the switch, disguised as a torch holder, and turned it.  A mechanism sounded behind the wall, and Jimmy pushed on the door, which pushed open with a grating sound.  From the lighted chamber beyond it the sound came of some beast pushing a chair back.  A few seconds later a scraggly weasel poked his head through.
     "Hey, there weren't nobeast supposed to come through now!  What's the pass-"
     He never finished his routine question, because Jimmy grabbed his head from the side and slammed it against the doorway with a resounding thwack.  The weasel dropped like a stone, twitching, and the two thieves worked quickly, binding him paw and foot and gagging him, careful to make sure he could still breathe.
     Jimmy spoke in a whisper.  "This is the last chance we will have to talk now until we're out.  Are you clear on your job?"
     "Yes," Locke whispered back.  "You estimated half an hour for your part.  Remember I can't wait in front of that room forever."
     "I'll keep to my schedule," replied Jimmy.  "You just keep to yours."  With that, the two entered the small, lit room, passed the small table and chair at which the weasel had apparently been eating something that smelled like pickled garlic out of a bowl, and opened the trap door in the floor.
     So far, everything in the map and notes Jimmy's informant had provided had been accurate.  Of course, Locke thought grimly, if it were a trap, that would be exactly the right way to draw them into it.  During the past four days, when it had only been a discussion of plans over a drawing, he had been able to put his distrust behind him, but now that he was in, really in, things felt different.  He glanced at Jimmy, now starting to descend the ladder into the tunnels proper, and wondered if he felt as calm as he looked.  Unconsciously his paw went to the dagger at his side, and as he touched it he shuddered a little; witnessing the execution of his parents and the death of everyone he had ever known at the hands of Barran's army had soured him on killing – even killing other criminals.  He hoped he would not have to use it.
     There were to be two complications in the heist.  The first was the safe where Harconi was holding the money.  Harconi had two assistants, both loyal to him but not fond of one another.  Each had an office in the compound.  The safe was in Hauser's office on the west end, and the key was in Marko's on the north end.  Locke had to admire it in theory: they were unlikely to collaborate against Harconi, and each would so mistrust the other that he would guard his charge as jealously as if it were his alone.  Of course, Locke and Jimmy would take advantage of that as well.  If all went smoothly, each would be so suspicious of the other that they would never find the real trail, and Harconi would be suspicious of both.  Also, as Jimmy had pointed out the first night, Barran would suspect Harconi.  It would be bad blood all around.  In more senses than one, perhaps even.  Locke had smiled at the prospect.  While not fond of violence himself, the thought of the traitors killing each other was quite amusing.
     Of course, the difficulty would be to break into both offices.  Both were well-guarded, and while each had a hidden exit, they were not connected by any secret passage, and that led to the second complication: the main concourse.  The part of the old tunnels which the Guild had occupied centered around a long, wide stretch, almost like an underground gallery.  That was were most of the Guild toughs who were not sleeping or away would be, drinking and gambling and fighting over loot, and it was impossible to get from the north branch of the tunnels to the west without crossing through it.  It would be the most brightly lit of all the areas of the compound, and the chances of successfully sneaking through it were next to null.  One of the two would have to create a distraction without endangering himself or alarming the criminals so much they would sound the alarm.  Jimmy had thought of the method and volunteered.  It would be the riskiest part of the entire job.
     Locke knew the history of these abandoned tunnels quite well, actually.  One of his ancestors had built them centuries ago, and they ran through much of the City west of the River.  That was during the Great Siege of Makav, when Azaria had not been a part of Trysar long, and the rival empire sought to claim it for itself.  They had been made to provide escape for citizens in case of a breach, and to provide a chance for sabotage if the City should fall under enemy control.  But, the shape of the City had changed much since then, and most of the entrances were lost or destroyed.  There were several in the old Palace, where the young prince had spent his childhood, but they were blocked off underneath the Palace grounds, and were now used for dry storage.  The rest of them were presumed to survive only on old parchment maps of the city, a few of which had survived the long years and could be found moldering in attics here and there.  Locke had been surprised to learn Harconi knew of one, but if anyone might it would be him.  The ex-Chancellor never passed up a hidden ace, even before he had betrayed Locke's father.  The main concourse of the Thieves' Guild hideout would have been a meeting place where spies and saboteurs would share intelligence, receive orders, and rest if the City had ever fallen – which it had not.  The walls had never been breached.
     Locke followed Jimmy down the ladder, not sliding for fear of creating a noise at the bottom.  While there were places where they would know to expect security, the hell of it was they might encounter a stray thug almost anywhere in the tunnels.  It would require quick thinking and expert sneaking to get through without being seen, and they needed to be prepared for unexpected encounters.  Jimmy had advised Locke to abandon his scruples if necessary, but Locke had been inflexible, and they had procured more of the Professor's knockout toxin.  If they had to use it, there would be no chance to tie up the victims; but that would only trumpet their presence even more.
     At the bottom of the ladder the vertical shaft ended in a small chamber similar to the one above it, lit also with a single torch but without any other furniture.  Moisture dripped down the walls, and there was a musky, moldy odor which would accompany the two thieves throughout the tunnels, except where a more powerful stench overwhelmed it.  According to the map, this room was near the northeast corner of the compound.  Locke and Jimmy were to part ways now; Jimmy would head south to prepare his diversion, while Locke headed west to Hauzer's office to secure the key.  Jimmy gave Locke a thumbs-up with a paw before disappearing through one of the two doors to the chamber.  Locke took a deep breath.  A great deal could go wrong with this job, but they were the best in the business.  He opened the west door a crack and peeked out.  The stretch of tunnel before him was empty.  Without looking back, he stepped through and closed the door silently behind him.  It had begun.

Description
Book 1 – Law

Chapter 4

     It was shortly before morning when Jimmy returned from his outing.  Locke was normally asleep at that hour, as well as much of the daylight, unless an operation took longer than planned, and he awakened to the sound of the door to the tenement opening.  Unconsciously his hand went to the dagger he kept on his bedside table, and he rolled out of bed silently, moving quickly beside his door.  He was in the act of peeking into the hall when Jimmy's voice sounded from downstairs.
     "Sorry, Locke!  'Twice burnt, once shy!'"  The two recognized each others' voices, of course, but to guard against ambush they arranged a password every week – there were skilled mimics to be found in Azaria.  The pair had worked out several choice escape routes in the three years they had spent there, as well as many hiding places for themselves or anything else they wished to conceal, from unwelcome visitors – including their landlord.
     Locke returned the dagger to his table and walked downstairs in his nightgown.  Jimmy had taken off his coat and was seated in his favorite chair, sipping at a glass of wine, a good vintage taken from a storehouse owned by a Red Star subsidiary.  They had five bottles left.  "I take it you managed to get word to this Omar?  You wouldn't have wasted a bottle of that on anything else."  Locke spoke as he walked to the small pantry to fetch a glass, and he poured himself some of it.
     "Word will reach him within the week," said Jimmy, "unless something goes wrong, and if I know him at all he should start the journey here immediately.  I think any fence would jump at a chance like this."
     "And you're sure he can pay us what we ask?"  Locke sipped his wine.  "I don't want to waste all this time on delay only to get short-ended again.  Marlon left a bad taste in my mouth, though this wine always helps."  He sniffed at his glass and said, approvingly, "My favorite year."
     "It depends on what we ask him," offered Jimmy, "but he has reserves.  Or, he did when I knew him.  Of course, he'll have to pay us in Trysaran currency.  He won't have that many Stars in paw's reach, unless we catch him at just the right time."
     "We should be so lucky.  That will be inconvenient."  Locke frowned and swirled his glass before emptying it and reaching for the bottle.  "Exchanging currency is hard enough in small amounts.  How can we possibly manage a large sum?"
     "We'll have to break it up over time.  Think of it as a pension, only we're not retiring."  Jimmy grinned.  "Unless you don't mind a break.  I could go for one."
     "Don't let me force you," Locke said sarcastically.  "But I can't always tell when you're joking.  Without you I'd have to go back to picking pockets in the streets.  Speaking of which, we may have to do that anyway.  What's left of Marlon's generosity won't last us a week between the rent and Alise.  Shall I lay out our street clothes?"
     "I've got something better."  Jimmy rose, yawning.  "I'll tell you about it this evening.  For now, just get some sleep.  You'll need it."

     "No.  Absolutely not.  No way, no how."  Locke shook his head wildly.  "You thought I was crazy to plan the Buford caper?  But it was nothing compared to this!  Robbing the Guild is suicide!"
     "Not if my informant is telling the truth."  Jimmy's voice was unemphatic, but insistent.  "I can't prove it to you, but I'm satisfied that the intelligence and this map," he said, tapping the piece of paper on the table with a claw, "are accurate.  Think what you want, but you know me.  Don't you?"
     Locke gave the raccoon a hard stare.  Since they had met eleven years ago, he had learned a great deal of the experienced thief's mind, but really, he knew next to nothing about his past.  Locke had kept no secrets from him, and the calm acceptance he had given to the young fox's claim to Princedom had been odd, but not unbelievable, considering how unflappable Jimmy had shown himself to be over the years.  Still, he seemed to have a remarkable network of contacts and friends, none of whom Locke had ever met.  Jimmy always shrugged it off when Locke questioned him about them, in his nonchalant manner, and Locke had accepted it as a mark of the raccoon's experience and success – despite his extensive training from a mere kit as heir to the Fox King, Jimmy had taught him so many things that he held his oldest friend in a sort of awe, despite their closeness.  But this was too much – to suppose that he had a friend so close to the inside of the Azaria Thieves' Guild as to secure a detailed map of their headquarters, underneath the mansion of Sylvestre Harconi himself!
     "I don't believe it," he said, still shaking his head.  "How on earth did you get so close to the inside as that?  The Guild doesn't blab its secrets out on the streets.  Did you use to belong yourself?"  By itself, that would not have turned Locke away from his friend.  Actually, if true it would explain a great deal, and Jimmy had shown no sign of allegiance or connection with them as long as the two had collaborated.
     "No."  Now the raccoon shook his head.  "I've told you a thousand times, my past is mine, but I will say that much."  He met Locke's stare head on, his eyes flickering from behind their black mask.  "Let's say this: a certain beast close to the Guild's councils has an agenda of his own, and through certain shared contacts he found me.  He wants this job done, and I say we want to do it.  It will be hard, but not harder than your mad scheme, and it will pay in more practical loot.  Not to mention," he added, smirking, "you could hardly find a better way to strike at your nemesis.  That money, or some of it, will certainly find its way into his paws if we leave it where it is.  And he'll suspect Harconi of holding back.  How could you refuse?"
     Locke considered for a moment.  The job, as Jimmy had outlined it, relied very heavily on the accuracy of his informant's word.  Sylvestre Harconi, known by day as the first nobleman to turn on the Fox King's government and side with the rebellion, reportedly in hopes of securing a favorable position when Barran rose to power, lived a second, darker life, known only to the criminal underworld, as the undisputed master of the Azaria Thieves' Guild.  His mansion in the northwest quarter was modest compared to Councilman Buford's, but it held a secret, according to Jimmy's informant: it was built over the access to an abandoned system of emergency tunnels that now housed the headquarters of most of the organized crime in the City.
     There was no possible doubt about the next relevant fact, for it had been printed in newsletters a full week before Locke and Jimmy's exploits had overshadowed all other news: the Guild had robbed a shipment of freshly minted Stars en route to the Second City Bank.  It had been a neat operation, though not to the two independents' taste – a group of about twenty strong-paws had surrounded the coach, killing the horses and drivers long before the City Watch could be summoned, and before two minutes had passed they had broken the armored vehicle, taken the contents, which consisted of two-thousand Stars' worth of currency, and vanished in ten different directions.  The few witnesses, from the windows of surrounding buildings, gave only confused and conflicting testimony as to the appearances of the attackers, and, thanks to their numbers and the speed with which they worked, could not help determine where the money had gone.  The City Watch had vowed to provide an escort to all future shipments, but there had seemed no hope of recovering the amount lost in the incident.
     According to Jimmy's insider, the money had arrived, by various routes, to the Guild Headquarters, and would soon be used to fund certain illegal ventures.  The informant had refused to elaborate, but for his own reasons he did not wish them to succeed.  Normally such a job would be impossible, but there was to be a meeting of the District Wardens, the crime lords who answered directly to Harconi, six nights from then, and each would be bringing an escort of his personal toughs for protection – trust came at a high premium for beasts in their position.  That would thin the guard within the complex considerably, and the best route to the strongbox, which had been marked in red ink on the map, along with guard locations, was fairly straightforward.  Locke had to admit, the information was detailed and complete.
     "But," he added, "if any part of it turns out false, it could mean death.  Just who is this informant?"  He frowned.  "I trust you, but how can I trust him?"
     "You can't," said Jimmy.  "His name would mean nothing to you, so there's no point in my endangering him by saying it.  As for trust, you can trust my judgment.  Or not.  If it's any help, he wants a cut of five-hundred Stars for his own purposes.  I don't expect you to believe the offer was pure goodwill."
     "No," said Locke, "that would be unreasonable.  But," he added, stretching a paw across the table to get at the map, "you trusted my judgment for three months preparing for the Buford caper, against your better instincts, and you never complained more than six times an hour."  Suddenly he grinned widely.  "I guess I owe you something for that."
     "Hmph."  Jimmy waved the jibe away.  "If you call common-sense complaining, then I'd better not hear a peep from you about this.  Anyway, we haven't time if we're going to plan this out.  We need plans and contingencies for every step of this job.  It will be delicate, and there's no room for error.  We can't simply glide away the way we could with the Buford job; if any beast raises the alarm, we're as good as dead."
     "You don't need to tell me."  Locke pointed at a spot on the map.  "Here and several other places the underground tunnels seem to connect to a larger system.  Are these possible access points or getaway routes?"
     Jimmy shook his head.  "Not as far as I know.  Or our little sneak.  The only other way out is in a gambling den three blocks away, and we have no hope of escaping through that.  It will be busy and full of Guild Enforcers.  The compound is walled off from the rest of the old tunnels, and nobody knows where else it might connect to the surface.  If anywhere.  You understand," he said grimly, "this is a criminal hideout.  Look here."  He indicated several lines connecting different passages.  "These are secret passages.  The Wardens and their seconds know them – they're for escape in case of a mutiny or raid – but there's no telling who else might.  If we plan to use them, we have to be just as careful in them as in an open hallway."
     "Since it's all underground, there will be ample shadow,"  Locke said.  "They won't want to use up all the air with oil lamps and torches.  We can douse them where necessary."
     "But not too many," objected Jimmy.  "We can't afford to arouse suspicion.  The same goes for knocking out guards.  We should both take some of the Professor's darts, but we can't use them freely.  Any sign of intrusion, and some beast will sound the alarm.  There's a system of pulley bells running through the whole complex, with ropes here, here, and..."
     The planning continued far into that night, and for most of the next four.

     The night of the heist was chilly, as a cold wind swept from the mountains in the north.  Locke shivered a little as he stared through his spyglass at Harconi's backyard.  The two guards had made their rounds twice, and he had his entrance over the tall iron fence timed, but he was waiting for the light in the second window from the left on the third floor to go dark.  That was the master's room, and it would signal the beginning of the meeting, which would be held somewhere in the southeast, on neutral ground.  The trusting bonds of crime lords, Locke thought wryly, and grinned until another blast of wind found its way inside his shirt.  At least the tunnels would be safe from that.
     The bells had just sounded one when the light went out.  Locke waited for two more rounds, then emerged from his concealment across the street.  With a running vault he had practiced a hundred times on a fence in the Palace gardens as a kit, he cleared the fence and landed quietly in the grass on all fours, scurrying behind a bush just as the second guard rounded the corner of the house.  His round took him nowhere near Locke, and there was little danger of discovery, but the same little thrill ran through his chest as it did every time he kept hidden from unfriendly eyes.  There was something in it of the master craftsman's pleasure in a job well done, and something of the trickster's joy in fooling the unwary, and even some of the kit's excitement in playing hide-and-seek.  The guard passed by without an inkling of the bright slotted eyes watching his every move, and when he had gone Locke hurried to the back door, which he and Jimmy had chosen as their point of entry.
     Unless one of the guards decided to jog, he had two minutes to pick the lock.  It was not a complicated one – a Red Star Manufactory plant produced them by the hundreds across the river – but there seemed to be a sticky tumbler, and Locke fought the urge to curse as he struggled with it.  Finally it gave, and he heard the always-satisfying click as it surrendered.  He had just time enough to wave his signal to Jimmy before diving back behind his bush.  The sound of the guard's footsteps on the gravel path came just a few seconds later.
     Locke and Jimmy were to take separate paths in this job, as with the Buford, but they were together until the tunnels.  As soon as the path was clear Jimmy crossed the street as Locke had, vaulting over the fence, and the two entered the back door, closing it noiselessly behind them.  They had studied the map of the mansion carefully, and knew exactly where to turn.  No servants would be awake at that hour, and there would be no guards posted in that part of the house.  The hallway was silent and dark as the two thieves passed the kitchens and pantries, and the stairwell leading to the basement was pitch black.  Afraid to light their dark lanterns so early, they felt their way down, paws against the wall, and welcomed the candlelight flickering at the entrance to the basement.  This was the first obstacle, and they went about their work without pause.  Jimmy took his place at the disguised door, which looked like the stone wall of the basement and was visible only by a faint outline where the mortar was absent.  Locke walked two paces down to the switch, disguised as a torch holder, and turned it.  A mechanism sounded behind the wall, and Jimmy pushed on the door, which pushed open with a grating sound.  From the lighted chamber beyond it the sound came of some beast pushing a chair back.  A few seconds later a scraggly weasel poked his head through.
     "Hey, there weren't nobeast supposed to come through now!  What's the pass-"
     He never finished his routine question, because Jimmy grabbed his head from the side and slammed it against the doorway with a resounding thwack.  The weasel dropped like a stone, twitching, and the two thieves worked quickly, binding him paw and foot and gagging him, careful to make sure he could still breathe.
     Jimmy spoke in a whisper.  "This is the last chance we will have to talk now until we're out.  Are you clear on your job?"
     "Yes," Locke whispered back.  "You estimated half an hour for your part.  Remember I can't wait in front of that room forever."
     "I'll keep to my schedule," replied Jimmy.  "You just keep to yours."  With that, the two entered the small, lit room, passed the small table and chair at which the weasel had apparently been eating something that smelled like pickled garlic out of a bowl, and opened the trap door in the floor.
     So far, everything in the map and notes Jimmy's informant had provided had been accurate.  Of course, Locke thought grimly, if it were a trap, that would be exactly the right way to draw them into it.  During the past four days, when it had only been a discussion of plans over a drawing, he had been able to put his distrust behind him, but now that he was in, really in, things felt different.  He glanced at Jimmy, now starting to descend the ladder into the tunnels proper, and wondered if he felt as calm as he looked.  Unconsciously his paw went to the dagger at his side, and as he touched it he shuddered a little; witnessing the execution of his parents and the death of everyone he had ever known at the hands of Barran's army had soured him on killing – even killing other criminals.  He hoped he would not have to use it.
     There were to be two complications in the heist.  The first was the safe where Harconi was holding the money.  Harconi had two assistants, both loyal to him but not fond of one another.  Each had an office in the compound.  The safe was in Hauser's office on the west end, and the key was in Marko's on the north end.  Locke had to admire it in theory: they were unlikely to collaborate against Harconi, and each would so mistrust the other that he would guard his charge as jealously as if it were his alone.  Of course, Locke and Jimmy would take advantage of that as well.  If all went smoothly, each would be so suspicious of the other that they would never find the real trail, and Harconi would be suspicious of both.  Also, as Jimmy had pointed out the first night, Barran would suspect Harconi.  It would be bad blood all around.  In more senses than one, perhaps even.  Locke had smiled at the prospect.  While not fond of violence himself, the thought of the traitors killing each other was quite amusing.
     Of course, the difficulty would be to break into both offices.  Both were well-guarded, and while each had a hidden exit, they were not connected by any secret passage, and that led to the second complication: the main concourse.  The part of the old tunnels which the Guild had occupied centered around a long, wide stretch, almost like an underground gallery.  That was were most of the Guild toughs who were not sleeping or away would be, drinking and gambling and fighting over loot, and it was impossible to get from the north branch of the tunnels to the west without crossing through it.  It would be the most brightly lit of all the areas of the compound, and the chances of successfully sneaking through it were next to null.  One of the two would have to create a distraction without endangering himself or alarming the criminals so much they would sound the alarm.  Jimmy had thought of the method and volunteered.  It would be the riskiest part of the entire job.
     Locke knew the history of these abandoned tunnels quite well, actually.  One of his ancestors had built them centuries ago, and they ran through much of the City west of the River.  That was during the Great Siege of Makav, when Azaria had not been a part of Trysar long, and the rival empire sought to claim it for itself.  They had been made to provide escape for citizens in case of a breach, and to provide a chance for sabotage if the City should fall under enemy control.  But, the shape of the City had changed much since then, and most of the entrances were lost or destroyed.  There were several in the old Palace, where the young prince had spent his childhood, but they were blocked off underneath the Palace grounds, and were now used for dry storage.  The rest of them were presumed to survive only on old parchment maps of the city, a few of which had survived the long years and could be found moldering in attics here and there.  Locke had been surprised to learn Harconi knew of one, but if anyone might it would be him.  The ex-Chancellor never passed up a hidden ace, even before he had betrayed Locke's father.  The main concourse of the Thieves' Guild hideout would have been a meeting place where spies and saboteurs would share intelligence, receive orders, and rest if the City had ever fallen – which it had not.  The walls had never been breached.
     Locke followed Jimmy down the ladder, not sliding for fear of creating a noise at the bottom.  While there were places where they would know to expect security, the hell of it was they might encounter a stray thug almost anywhere in the tunnels.  It would require quick thinking and expert sneaking to get through without being seen, and they needed to be prepared for unexpected encounters.  Jimmy had advised Locke to abandon his scruples if necessary, but Locke had been inflexible, and they had procured more of the Professor's knockout toxin.  If they had to use it, there would be no chance to tie up the victims; but that would only trumpet their presence even more.
     At the bottom of the ladder the vertical shaft ended in a small chamber similar to the one above it, lit also with a single torch but without any other furniture.  Moisture dripped down the walls, and there was a musky, moldy odor which would accompany the two thieves throughout the tunnels, except where a more powerful stench overwhelmed it.  According to the map, this room was near the northeast corner of the compound.  Locke and Jimmy were to part ways now; Jimmy would head south to prepare his diversion, while Locke headed west to Hauzer's office to secure the key.  Jimmy gave Locke a thumbs-up with a paw before disappearing through one of the two doors to the chamber.  Locke took a deep breath.  A great deal could go wrong with this job, but they were the best in the business.  He opened the west door a crack and peeked out.  The stretch of tunnel before him was empty.  Without looking back, he stepped through and closed the door silently behind him.  It had begun.