Keyla exited the sewer beneath the distillery, where it emptied into the river that snaked through Ryk. Looking both ways and seeing no lights in the darkness, she knelt on the stone ledge and began to scrub her clothes in the water.

She would need to be as clean as possible to avoid leaving any scent in the house, especially with the dog there. The dog would probably recognize her scent regardless, but she’d never visited him while she was clean before. Washing the scent of the city off of her skin and clothes might help, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

In addition, Keyla’s face was always streaked with dirt or grime of some kind. Tonight, if she were seen, she wouldn’t be as easily identified if she looked like a normal girl.

She set her clothes aside to dry and lowered herself into the river, keeping a watch out for lights and an ear open for footsteps or chatter.

Auldavulin’s plumbing had been cut off when it went out of business. Part of why she so rarely bathed was that she had no real privacy, and doing anything outside the safety of the distillery at night brought its own dangers even when she was fully clothed. The other part was her pale skin. She didn’t care much for her face, the few times she’d seen it in a mirror. She didn’t agree with the priest saying she was pretty. She was plain.

Keyla had just climbed out of the river to collect her clothing when she heard the sounds of bickering. It grew steadily louder as the source approached the river.

Probably some kids from one of the gangs, she thought as she slipped into her shoes. She snatched up her shirt and trousers and slipped into the sewer entrance before she could be seen, and moved as quietly as she could back to the ladder that led up to the distillery’s floor.

Inside she took her time dressing and preparing everything she would need. She laid out the lamb shank she’d stolen that afternoon, and her leather folder of lock-picks before her.

Sighing at the limited scope of the gear she’d use on her first real heist, she folded the leather around the lock picks and shoved it into her pocket. She picked up the meat and lantern and walked over to the hatch that led to the sewer.

It would be pitch black in the distillery when she snuffed out the lamp’s flame, and so she made sure it would be within reach to her right after she crawled up through the opening upon her return, along with three fresh matches. Keyla had spent her copper tip from the fake delivery to buy fresh matches, and was trying to make them last as long as possible. It wasn’t often she could come by possessions legitimately, and she enjoyed striking each match that she’d purchased with real coin.

She also didn’t want to risk using magick to light the flames. Most commoners were allowed to learn the bare basics of magick, such as creating enough spark to light a lamp. However, when Keyla tried to perform it, bad things happened. She’d almost burned down the last place she’d called home when instead of a spark, a gout of flame erupted from her hands, and vowed not to make that mistake again. It was illegal for commoners to have too much magick power, and while she didn’t have a gauge on what too much was, she’d never seen anybody else make flames like she had.

Taking a breath, she opened the hatch and climbed down.

The air was crisp and cool, but her pace through the city and apprehension over what was to come kept any potential shivers at bay. Tonight she would break into a home of a richer man than she’d ever even spoken to, to steal from him a book that the church believed posed a threat to all of Ryk.

The thought of doing something meaningful excited Keyla. She almost grinned as she darted between the shadows of the city, trying to avoid notice.

She silently thanked Selah for her natural gift to go unseen when she tried hard enough. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was evoking some form of magick when she stepped into the shadows, or hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself small and unworthy of attention. If she was, she’d be executed if ever she were caught employing it.

Maybe that was part of why the church couldn’t let Margaan’s Diary be in the hands of the citizens? If other townsfolk had access to the same magick that the church and nobility did, Ryk would become a very different place. There’d be a civil war, for sure.

Shadow’s head perked up when she approached the fence from the alley behind the Teknar townhouse, and he opened his mouth to let his tongue hang down.

Keyla hopped the fence and dropped the meat in front of the dog. She turned and took the two steps up to the back door swiftly while pulling the tools from her pocket. She knelt and began counting as she heard the sounds of Shadow devouring the shank behind her.

Almost there, come on! With a quiet click, the last tumbler fell into place and she was able to turn the handle. She glanced back at Shadow and her heart almost stopped as she found him looking at her, nothing but bone left on the ground.

Good dog… she whispered to herself silently, afraid to speak up.

Instead of growling, the dog licked his chops and sat, cocking his head at her.

Keyla breathed a sigh of relief, and slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her

She found herself looking at the back of the staircase she’d seen through the front door when pretending to be a delivery runner. Had it already been a week?

The lights in the main hall were dimmed, but not completely out. From where she crouched, the front sitting room to the left of the front entry was dark. She hadn’t seen much of the room, but didn’t recall any bookshelves.

A clatter sounded to her right, and she saw light peeking under the gap between the door and the floor. She inched forward, and listened at the door. It sounded like someone was stacking dishes. The kitchen, then?

That would make the middle room a dinning room, most likely.

Keyla didn’t want to remain on the first floor any longer than necessary if a servant was awake. Should she come back later? She didn’t have any meat to bribe Shadow with, and the priest wanted the book tomorrow. No, she could sneak up the stairs, surely? A servant wouldn’t have any reason to move as quietly as she, so she would probably hear if they came up after her.

With a breath to steel herself, Keyla moved away from the kitchen, keeping her knees bent and walking on the balls of her feet. When she reached the stairs, she stopped, worried they would creak and give away her presence.

Against the wall…

Her heart almost leapt out from her chest as a voice seemed to whisper to her. She spun on her heels, turning her head left and right, seeking the source of the voice. She was alone in the front hall.

It had sounded so much like a man, but far away. Had she imagined it? She flattened herself as best she could against the wall, doing her best to keep her feet in contact with it as she stepped up onto the first stair.

No creak. She held her breath, afraid to make a sound, and stepped up once more. Again, there were no sounds from the wood. Either the staircase was well maintained, or she was right to listen to the voice, and hug the wall as she was.

She moved slowly but steadily up the remaining steps to the second floor. While she could no longer hear any noise from the kitchen, the silence of the house helped assure her the tenants were still unaware of her presence.

Keyla stayed pressed against the wall when she stepped onto the landing. Directly opposite the stairwell a buffet table was set against the back wall. On it was set a silver candelabra. Her fingers tingled as she considered how much it would be worth. Next to it was a flacon, half-filled.

Mrs. Teknar’s perfume, perhaps? Keyla reached out and pulled the stopper, inhaling the aroma of jasmine and cloves. Envy struck her to the core as she imagined the lifestyle that could afford such a luxury. On her best day, Keyla smelled like Ryk’s river water. If guards were called, they may bring a hound. Perhaps smelling of Mrs. Teknar would help? She risked the time to release a couple droplets onto her palm, and brushed it through her hair. She dabbed again, and ran her hand along her shirt, allowing herself a small, mischievous smile.

The gas sconces along the wall of the hallway that wrapped back past the stairway were dim, providing just enough light to navigate by. There were three doors along the wall, before she would have to turn and follow the staircase to the third floor.

The first door was closed, though she could make out light through the keyhole. Quietly Keyla crept toward the door. One of the floorboards groaned under her weight, and a creak cut through the silence.

She froze, holding her breath as her chest tightened in terror. With someone below her, she may not be able to make it down the stairs and out the door before being seen. Why did she agree to this? The Teknar’s may not be nobility, but they were influential enough that even she had heard their name. She’d be executed for sure, if she were caught.

Focus! You have everything you need to accomplish your task.

There was that voice again. Male, and slightly raspy. It sounded familiar and yet she was positive she didn’t recognize it. How could she imagine a voice she’d never heard?

Shaking her head, Keyla released the breath she’d been holding and forced herself to calm down. Nobody was coming, her sound had gone unnoticed. She released her weight slowly from the weak floorboard and moved forward to the closed door.

Quietly kneeling, she brought her eye down level with the keyhole. Peering through it, Keyla saw the silhouette of a man hunched over a desk as the far end of the room. A wall mounted lamp above the desk illuminated the area in front of him, making his features hard to discern from her position behind him. He seemed deeply engrossed in whatever he was reading, and she could hear him muttering softly to himself.

Disappointed to find the room occupied, Keyla pulled back from the door and stood. She turned and crept along the wall to the middle door, which looked open from afar because it had no actual door. After looking over her shoulder to verify the stairwell was still empty, she stepped through the opening.

There were no windows in this room, as it shared a wall with the townhouse next door. Thankfully enough light from the dim sconces in the hallway penetrated the entry to let her know she was in a small library.

There were more books than Keyla had ever seen in one place. Shelving lined all the walls from floor to ceiling. Each had a railing along the top with a ladder suspended from it that could be moved alongside the shelves. Two large and cracked leather chairs sat opposite one another in the center of the room with a small table between them. There was even a pile of books atop the table.

She would never be able to search through all these tomes in time!

Closing her eyes, Keyla paused and made the decision to return to this room at the end of her search if she hadn’t managed to find the Diary elsewhere before then.

She stayed on the balls of her feet as she exited the library, then turned right to continue toward the final door near the front of the house.

It was ajar and looking in she found what appeared to be a music room. A cello was leaned up against a Lyrian straight-backed chair in the center of the room, and Keyla was able to make out a harpsichord in the far corner.

As this was a street facing room, the windows were large, and floor to ceiling drapes hung on either side of the three tall glass panes. They were parted and the moon’s glow allowed Keyla to navigate the room with ease.

She passed two rows of chairs as she entered, and while there was no stage, it was clear that the room was designed for entertaining. Perhaps Mrs. Teknar was a musician? Keyla knew it was common for affluent women to learn various instruments, and while she knew the names of many of them, she did not know how to play any herself.

She stopped in the center of the room and turned in a circle, scanning the far walls. There didn’t appear to be any books, though there were plenty of loose papers filled with the pictographs that she understood to be music, though how anybody could translate them was beyond her.

Keyla frowned, suspecting that what she needed was in the first room where, presumably Mr. Teknar, was currently occupied.

The third floor would likely be bedrooms. She silently prayed to Selah that the diary was not on a bedside table. She knew she was quiet, and had a talent for going unnoticed, but sneaking past a sleeping person was not something she had any experience with.

A glint of moonlight on metal caught her eye, and she looked atop the harpsichord to find a golden pocket watch. Almost without thinking Keyla’s hand shot out to snatch it up. Pressing the clasp to release the face, she found an inscription inside: For my husband.

This may be worth something! A bonus for the risk she was taking. Keyla pocketed the watch and turned to make her way back out into the hallway.

She stopped short as she heard the door to the office open, then close.

Hide.

Keyla turned and bolted across the room, narrowly avoiding one of the chairs in the process, then slipped behind one of the long satin drapes.

She heard footsteps pass by the room, pause, then continue up the stairs to the floor above.

Risking a quick peek, Keyla found herself alone once more. She felt her pockets to ensure nothing had fallen out, then walked back out into the hall.

When she reached the office door by the stairs, it was locked. Keyla pulled out her lock pick folder and knelt, then retrieved the two tools she would need.

This was an unfamiliar mechanism and she took a few minutes to get a feel for the intricate movements required to set the tumblers. Her blood went cold when she heard footsteps as the servant began their ascent on the stairs below her.

Frantically, Keyla repeated the motions she’d only just discovered to flip the lock. Any moment now the servant’s head would clear the floor line and she’d been seen. She swiftly turned the handle and slipped into the room, shutting it quickly but gently behind her.

She winced as she turned the lock, but it’s click was so soft she barely heard it over the pounding of her heart.

The footsteps stopped for a moment after the last stair, then continued past the door.

Keyla leaned against the door and slumped to the floor, relief flooding her veins as the footsteps receded.

Looking up from where she sat, the room was dark. There was a gap in the curtains, but the moon had passed over the top of the house and was shining street-side.

She stood slowly, sliding her hand up along the wall next to the door until she felt a copper knob at shoulder height. She turned the knob and a warm glow emanated from the gas lamp on the wall above the desk.

A Lyrian sofa lay beneath the windows that looked out into the alley. In fact, she noticed as she looked around the room that all the furniture was Lyrian. Were the Teknars from Lyr?

She strode across the room to the desk. Papers, ink blotters, used and fresh quills, and a thin metal ruler lay strewn upon its surface. There was an empty space in the center where the man had hunched above it, whatever he was studying now gone. He had either stored it, or taken it with him.

Keyla pulled open the drawers one by one. They were filled with what she expected a desk to be filled with and she quickly moved to the next set below.

There she found two small, leather-bound journals and her pulse quickened as she grabbed them. She set one atop the desk and began leafing through one of them, then the other, sighing as she found them both empty. One was obviously new. THe other seemed to be at least a few years old, and was creased as though used, but the pages were blank.

Shrugging, she knelt again and pulled on the last drawer. It was locked.

Please let this have what I need, Selah. Keyla prayed silently to herself.

The lock mechanism was strange, unlike any she had seen before. Perhaps Lyrian, as the furniture was? She frowned and focused, doing her best to move her fingers deftly but failing to find the right pattern and pressure with her movements.

A loud snap almost caused Keyla to curse aloud, as her lock pick broke.

“Nine hells!” she muttered softly, frustrated at her misfortune. Glancing back up to the desk she found the ruler and grabbed it. “It’s metal, so maybe…”

Keyla slipped one end into the thin opening between the drawer and the wood of the desk and used it as a lever, trying to break open the lock.

CRACK!

The wood splintered as the drawer pulled free of the mechanism.

She was elated and barely registered the sound as she dropped the ruler onto the rug below.

Inside the drawer was a very old, worn and weathered book. She seemed to feel a vibration and hum in her mind as she looked at it. It seemed to call out to her and instill a sense of longing she didn’t understand. She reached in and grabbed the book, raising it to the light above.

Yes… The voice whispered in her mind again as she focused on the cover. It read simply: Margaan.

Flashes of a handsome man she had never seen before, but whom she felt she knew intimately, played through her mind in quick succession. Jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail, replaced by a flash forward to find it loose at the shoulders, and completely white.

As the images flashed before her of him both young and old, he sat at a desk she had never seen before despite a nagging suspicion that she had written atop it once herself. He set down his pen and looked up at her. One eye was a striking blue, the other a piercing green.

The images fled from Keyla’s mind as swiftly as they’d arrived, and she trembled with sudden fatigue. Shaking her head, Keyla pocketed the book and shut the drawer. As a last minute decision, she also pocketed the two blank journals as well.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Mrs. Teknar, is that you in there? I heard a noise, is everything alright?”

Keyla covered the distance in two quick leaps and turned the brass knob, plunging the room into darkness.

“Hello?” came the voice from outside the door again. The servant, perhaps?

The doorknob rattled, and then Keyla heard the sound of jangling metal as the servant obviously began fumbling with a keyring.

With nowhere to flee, Keyla ran to the back wall and opened the window, looking down into the small fenced yard before the alley below.

Shadow was laying in his usual spot, though he looked up at her when the window opened.

Keyla turned back toward the door and heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

Flee now! You’ve come too far to lose it all!

Keyla heeded the voice and turned back to the window, climbing out of it and gripping the windowsill with both hands.

She let go, silently hoping to land safely on the cobblestone below.

An intense heat formed in her pocket where the Diary was as the ground grew ever closer, and somehow she slowed down just before she landed. The heat immediately abated.

Shadow looked up at her and wagged his tail, letting his tongue hang free.

Keyla flattened herself against the brick wall, praying she wouldn’t be seen if the servant looked out the window.

It’s just the dog out here, it’s just the dog, it’s just the dog… Keyla clenched her eyelids tight and repeated the mantra to herself over and over, losing track of time. Then she heard a soft voice through the window above her.

“…would be barking, but why would the master leave this open? And the door was locked. I’d better go wake him.”

She waited two breaths more, then opened her eyes.

Shadow had apparently lost interest in her, and had laid back down. Keyla looked up and found the window above still open, but the room within dark.

She fled into the night, her heart beating harder than it ever had.