False Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) Read Online Free Page A

“bash-bangs”—flintlocks with stocks of brass rather than wood, weighted to function as brutal head-breakers just as efficiently as they did pistols.
    And they were carried exclusively by the City Guard.
    Well, if nothing else, it explained why those people were so bad at actually serving food, didn't it?
    It made sense, too, after Widdershins thought about it for a moment. If the thieves could figure out that Rittier's party made for the most tempting target in months, it wasn't that surprising that the Guard could come up with the same idea.
    It also left the young thief in something of an ugly quandary.
    “Yeah,” she said absently as Olgun resumed encouraging her to depart with some vague semblance of haste. “But Squirrel and the guys know that I showed up here. If I vanish and they get nabbed by the Guard, who do you think they'll suspect of selling them out? Give you three guesses. What? No, they don't have to prove it was me! Just the suspicion would be enough to make my life…Oh, rats.” She winced at the thunder of a brass flintlock, watched as the first of the thieves fell, his left shoulder shattered by the ball.
    “All right, Olgun,” she sighed. “Hold on. I don't know, whatever it is you normally hold on to!” Then, unwilling to waste any further time in argument, she burst into motion.
    One hand yanked her own hood up over her head; not as good as a mask, but hopefully sufficient to hide her features in the chaos of what was to come. An elbow shattered the glass of the expensive window (Olgun scrambling to keep the shards from drawing blood), and then she was inside.
    Two of the Guardsmen—those who hadn't already discharged their pistols—fired at the dark figure that suddenly appeared before them, but Widdershins was already dropping to the floor. The two balls sailed high over her head, missing even without Olgun's extra nudge. She landed in a crouch atop the heavy table and leapt again, once more clearing a height impossible for any mortal athlete, let alone a girl of her size. At the apex of her abbreviated flight, her fingers closed around a thick cloth of darkest green. The banner boasting the red petals of Ruvelle went taut, and then ripped free from its anchor, unable to support even Widdershins's slight weight.
    But then, she'd never intended it to.
    “Olgun…” It was the lightest whisper as she dropped, coming down on one knee, both palms pressed flat on the floor. She hadn't time to explain what she wanted, but then, she didn't need to. She felt the familiar tingle of the god exercising what power he had, and the enormous hanging twisted as it fell.
    Twisted so that, impossible as it seemed, it landed atop all four of the disguised Guardsmen. It wouldn't hurt them—though the bruises on their pride wouldn't fade for quite some time—but they were effectively blind and helpless, if only briefly.
    “Run!” she hissed at her fellow Finders. “Get out!”
    “But…but our score!” one of them protested—whined, really.
    “You think these are the only constables here, you idiot? They were waiting for you!” She pointed imperiously at the injured man. “Get him and get !”
    They got, hauling their companion upright and vanishing through the doorway to the front hall.
    And, as though in answer to Widdershins's prediction, another door—this one across the ballroom and leading deeper into the house—flew open as though shot. Through it marched another pair of Guardsmen, these two in full uniform: black tabards emblazoned with the silver fleur-de-lis, equally black plumed hat, and medallions showing the silver face of Demas, patron god of the Guard.
    One, blond with a goatee, was a stranger to her. But the other, with hair and mustache of rich brown, she recognized all too well.
    “Oh, no…” She was sprinting, despite an ankle made slightly wobbly by the earlier drop, before she might be recognized in turn.
    There were few in the city, and none in the Guard, who knew her