The Phoenix Thief

FOUR

THEY HAULED THE flying machine to the ceiling vent that was Kilter's private entrance to Warehouse One just as the sun faded behind the crisp silhouettes of the mountains. As usual, the vent was locked from the inside. But the hinges were located on the outside, and Kilter had long before replaced the hinges with lengths of thick wire which he now unwound to open the vent using the lock as a hinge. It was quite dark now. The rally long since dispersed, Kilter risked pulling out the little piece of jointed metal and flicked it to illuminate the vent opening and a bit of the warehouse inside. He might know his way along the catwalks in this section of Warehouse One by touch alone, but between Dmal and the bulkiness of the flying machine, the light was necessary.

Kilter clambered down the little ladder leading to the catwalk, holding the light in one hand, and then Dmal lowered the flying machine to him.

"What about the Watchmen?" Dmal looked all around him with narrowed eyes as he slowly descended the ladder. "There sure to be a guard in here."

"I know when they come." Kilter bent to pick up his end of the flying machine. "They come at the same times every night."

"When they coming next?"

"Not for a while."

Unlike most of the warehouses, which contained stack after stack of wooden crates and barrels, Warehouse One was more like Kilter's workrooms. It was filled with long tables, piles and shelves of metal, and large stone or metal structures that held fire. All these forges, engines, and machines were off, now, but the heat built up in them over the day hadn't fully died yet. The rising warmth was welcome after the cold outside.

"You chose a good spot for you workroom!" Dmal said as they crossed the main room of the warehouse using the catwalk, each holding on to the flying machine with one hand and the guard rail with the other. "Nice and comfy in here, warmer than the tower."

"It's not so warm in the clock tower, but I can keep watch up there."

Kilter pressed his lips together, remembering Ikiel and Dvaltri, but his thoughts were interrupted by a low chuckle. He glanced over his shoulder at Dmal, who was little more than a silhouette in the faint light of the piece of jointed metal and the reddish glow from the coals in the machines below. He frowned.

"What's irony?"

"Why... why, the Chancellor built the clock tower to keep an eye on everything around Istravol through his Watchmen, but you use it to keep an eye out for any Watchmen of his in the city. That's irony."

Kilter looked down at the tall gears, wide belts, and bulks of machinery below him, and remembered how frightened the old woman had been when the man in the big coat came and told her to bring Kilter to that exact place.

"Dmal..." He paused when they reached the end of the metal catwalk and stepped onto the wooden platform leading to the stairs of the clock tower. "Why is the Chancellor looking for me?"

Dmal tightened his grip on the flying machine, drawing it a little closer to his chest like women on the streets did with their small bags when it began growing dark. "You sure the Watchmen won't be near for a while?"

"The clock's bell will clang this many times before they come here again." Kilter held up all of the fingers on his left hand twice.

He glanced back repeatedly at Dmal as they climbed the tower stairs, Kilter pointing out the individual steps that squeaked and should be avoided. At last, Dmal sighed and spoke.

"I can't tell you, little boy."

Kilter frowned. "Do you mean that the right way?"

"How you mean, little boy?"