Page 36 of Savannah Royals
Abe glides, phantomlike, across the west lawn. When we reach the stone chimney, he locks his fingers together to give me a boost. Unnecessary but kind. As I establish my grip, I wonder if our quarry—that beautiful gold ballerina—is perhaps just on the other side of the stone walls beneath my fingers. My mouth drips with molten honey, tasting her nearness.
As Abe melts back into the cover of darkness, I scamper upward.
It’s a very slim flue, but toeholds are easy to find in the grooves between rough-hewn stones. I’m a vertical trapeze artist—stretching, pulling, flying. I reach the roof in about sixty seconds. The breeze lifts the end of my ponytail as I peer at the carriage house. A ground-level light is on near the guards’ quarters, but I can’t see inside. I have no way of knowing if the three watchmen are still locked, safe and snug, in their office, bartering responsibilities for patrols with throws of their dice. No way of knowing if Paul and Tony have moved to disable them. No way of knowing if an alarm has been sounded.
Anxious, I glance at my watch. It’s 10:18, the precise minute Paul planned to breach. I exhale slowly, blowing down my concern.
I have to trust him—them—to get their job done. Same as they’re trusting me to do mine.
I creep along the roof’s edge, keeping as close to the gutter as I can to avoid slipping on sloped tile. I’m a tightrope walker now, arms out and legs steady as I traverse all the way to the eastern perimeter of the house. The side where the scullery and delivery truck are.
There’s another chimney over here, this time a double-wide flue for the main kitchen. After another quick glimpse at my watch, I cup my gloved hands around my lips and let out a melodic bird whistle, designed tomimic the three-part coo of Savannah’s ever-present mourning doves. This is Abe’s ten-minute warning. The only one I’ll give before disappearing into the belly of the beast.
Arms trembling with adrenaline, I haul myself atop the flue. Before I start my descent, I pause for a steadying breath.
Chimneys are death traps. There are a dozen different ways to get stuck inside. They’ve been the downfall of hundreds of thieves throughout history. But I’m no ordinary thief. And the flue of this chimney is bigger than most because it ends at the massive hearth of the ground floor kitchen. It’s nearly two feet all around.
Slowly, slowly, slowly I lower myself. I keep my body straight and tall, flexing my feet, locking in stability with my toes on the wall. My core is tight as a spring. The real work, however, falls to my arms. I bend them at a ninety-degree angle so my hands are near my ears. I press my gloved palms against the wall, ensuring I won’t slip. Then, little by little, like an inchworm, I begin to descend.
It’s excruciating work. I’m panting at the halfway point; I’m sooty and sweaty near the bottom. The interior stones of the flue radiate heat at me, every breath tinged with woodsmoke. And all the while, my watch ticks away beside my ear, clocking every second like the pound of a funeral drum.
When the concrete base of the hearth is in sight, my body nearly spasms with relief. At this height, I could safely drop and relieve the terrible ache in my shoulders and arms, but I pause, listening closely. I need to be sure.
I grin when I hear it, the sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses.
At first, we couldn’t figure out why the delivery truck loitered outside the manor on Thursday evenings. Two weeks ago, Tony “borrowed” a uniform from one of the delivery men and slipped aboard the truck in his stead. That’s when we learned about the gambling.
On Thursdays, after all the food is unloaded, the delivery workers and kitchen staff run a weekly card game in the servants’ hall. Chores staylargely unfinished until morning, limiting after-hours foot traffic through the kitchen and manor.
Satisfied with the recon, I take a deep breath and let go. I land in a crouch on the balls of my feet and pull a cloth from my pocket to wipe soot from my gloves and shoes. Then I crawl out of the fireplace and around the corner, scampering like a rat. I check my watch again. Sixty-seven seconds until I’m due to meet Abe.
The house is silent and dark as I sneak to the back terrace. When I arrive, I unlock multiple deadbolts on the glass-paneled garden door.
“Long time no see, Kitty-Kat.” Smirking, Abe slides out from behind a column and strides into the manor.
“Abe.” I quickly turn all three locks on the door.Just as you were.“Any news on Paul and Tony?”
“About three minutes ago, they flicked the carriage house lights in the five-beat signal we practiced.”
I sigh with relief, lowering my eyes. As Abe checks his timepiece, my nimble, sticky fingers drift idly to a nearby table. It houses a set of tiny crystal animals. A glass menagerie. The collection must have cost a fortune.
I whistle, plucking an animal from the outer ring. “Look, Abe. Is this what I think it is?” I hold the glass wolf up.
“Ironic.” He chuckles.
“It’s beautiful.” I put the wolf down. “Ready to divide and conquer?”
“Meet you at the stairwell in five.”
We depart to hunt down the fireplaces scattered throughout the home, splitting up to check the first four; Abe takes the bottom floor while I take the middle. My heart roars in my ears, my breath swelling like a tornado in my chest as I prowl up the stairs. I slip into an interior sitting room featuring a beautiful marble fireplace. The lighting is dim, so I cross the room to check the mantel, sweeping my hand across the cool marble.
No dancer.
My second target is a few paces down the hall. This mantel is made of intricately carved mahogany. A lethal pair of crossed swords is mounted above, and two portraits of eighteenth-century gentlemen in full finery and wigs hang astride. Like sentinels, their eyes seem to follow my every step as I approach, then bore into my back as I depart, empty-handed and breathless, moments later. I shiver as I click the door shut.
Hoping Abe had better luck, I tiptoe toward our rendezvous point at the main stairwell. Every creak and groan of the house sends a dizzying wave of anxiety across my vision. I freeze before rounding the final corner, hearing a dangerous whisper of footsteps. I stuff a fist over my mouth to muffle my ragged breath, leaning my head around for a peek.
Abe.
