Best Served Cold

The group had formed two twos. Morveer and Day were one pair. Master and apprentice. They had joined together, they stayed together, they laughed together at everyone else. But now Friendly saw that Murcatto and Shivers were forming a pair of their own. They crouched next to each other at the parapet, black outlines against the dim night sky, staring across towards the bank, an immense block of thicker darkness. He had often seen that it was in the nature of people to form pairs. Everyone except him. He was left alone, in the shadows. Maybe there was something wrong with him, the way the judges had said.

Sajaam had chosen him to form a pair with, in Safety, but Friendly had no illusions. Sajaam had chosen him because he was useful. Because he was feared. As feared as anyone in the darkness. But Sajaam had not pretended any differently. He was the only honest man that Friendly knew, and so it had been an honest arrangement. It had worked so well that Sajaam had made enough money in prison to buy his freedom from the judges. But he was an honest man and so, when he was free, he had not forgotten Friendly. He had come back and bought his freedom too.

Outside the walls, where there were no rules, things were different. Sajaam had other business, and Friendly was left alone again. He did not mind, though. He was used to it, and had the dice for company. So he found himself here, in the darkness, on a roof in Westport, in the dead of winter. With these two mismatched pairs of dishonest people.

The guards came in two twos as well, four at a time, and two groups of four, following each other endlessly around the bank all night. It was raining now, a half-frozen sleet spitting down. Still they followed each other, round, and round, and round through the darkness. One party trudged along the lane beneath, well armoured, polearms shouldered.

“Here they come again,” said Shivers.

“I see that,” sneered Morveer. “Start a count.”

Day’s whisper came through the night, high and throaty. “One… two

… three… four… five…” Friendly stared open-mouthed at her lips moving, the dice forgotten by his limp hand. His own mouth moved silently along with hers. “Twenty-two… twenty-three… twenty-four…”

“How to reach the roof?” Morveer was musing. “How to reach the roof?”

“Rope and grapple?” asked Murcatto.

“Too slow, too noisy, too uncertain. The rope would be left in plain view the entire time, even supposing we could firmly set a grapple. No. We need a method that allows for no accidents.”

Friendly wished they would shut their mouths so he could listen to Day’s counting. His cock was aching hard from listening to it. “One hundred and twelve… one hundred and thirteen…” He let his eyes close, let his head fall back against the wall, one finger moving back and forth in time. “One hundred and eighty-two… one hundred and eighty-three…”

“No one could climb up there free,” came Murcatto’s voice. “Not anyone. Too smooth, too sheer. And the spikes to worry on.”

“I am in complete agreement.”

“Up from inside the bank, then.”

“Impossible. Entirely too many eyes. It must be up the walls, then in via the great windows in the roof. At least the lane is deserted during the hours of darkness. That is something in our favour.”

“What about the other sides of the building?”

“The north face is considerably busier and better lit. The east contains the primary entrance, with an additional party of four guards posted all night. The south is identical to this face, but without the advantage of our having access to an adjacent roof. No. This wall is our only option.”

Friendly saw the faint flicker of light down below in the lane. The next patrol, two times two guards, two plus two guards, four guards working their steady way around the bank.

“All night they keep this up?”

“There are two other parties of four that relieve them. They maintain their vigil uninterrupted until daybreak.”

“Two hundred and ninety-one… two hundred and ninety-two… and here comes the next set.” Day clicked her tongue. “Three hundred, give or take.”

“Three hundred,” hissed Morveer, and Friendly could see his head shaking in the darkness. “Not enough time.”

“Then how?” snapped Monza.

Friendly swept the dice up again, felt their familiar edges pressing into his palm. It hardly mattered to him how they got into the bank, or even whether they ever did. His hopes mostly involved Day starting to count again.

“There must be a way… there must be a-”

“I can do it.” They all looked round. Shivers was sitting against the parapet, white hands dangling.

“You?” sneered Morveer. “How?”

Friendly could just make out the curve of the Northman’s grin in the darkness. “Magic.”

Plans and Accidents