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“Just between us—”
“What’s between us is seven feet and a whole lot of metal and rope, so don’t try anything, Opera Boy.” Thimble leered down at their captive from a bookshelf above, several hundred fairy-lengths from where he was tied to the floor. “Thjazi will be back as soon as he gets another set of lock picks.”
Neither she nor Thjazi had fucking wanted to run into Rian, one of the least respectable members of the Falconer’s Rebellion before he got into some stolen goods and decided to blow his whole troop up, but fate was a bitch. Marya had been with that troop, and she’d liked Marya. She’d given Thimble beads once when her bracelet broke, and was always happy to pour out a cap of wine. Despite being human, Marya had never pinned Thimble by the wings to make her squirm. Thimble had honestly assumed that Rian got himself killed too, which might not be wrong given his distinctly un-Rian-like fighting style and eerie masked behaviour. Still, she’d recognize those scarred ankles anywhere, and Thjazi had nearly slit his throat before realizing the “museum employee” had no recognition of them.
“I didn’t realize you were a pixie and not some trick. I shouldn’t have swatted at you.”
“Yeah, well, you say that now. Doesn’t fix my fucking wing.”
Bolaire sighed. “There’s a healing potion in the left drawer.”
“Are you trying to poison me?”
“No. You can pour a little in my mouth if you want proof.”
“Ha.” Thimble tumbled down off the bookshelf, using her wings to glide and slow her fall. She landed on the desk above Bolaire, staring at him the whole time. “Nice try. You’re a magic fucking mask. Poison probably wouldn’t work on you anyways.”
“Pour some in the potted plant, then.”
“Fine, I will.” She kicked down at the handle of the drawer, eventulaly managing to latch it around her boot and push it partially open, swinging around to sit on the ledge as she hauled the vial up. It was almost twice her height, but fairly thin, so she had little difficulty tipping it up enough to stab the cork with one of her needles and spill a few drops in. The plant, while well cared for, seemed to get a few shades brighter.
“Huh. Guess you’re not a war criminal, a violator, and a liar. Thanks.” She shimmied up the vial, taking huge gulps one drop at a time. “That’s an expensive thing to tell someone who isn’t your friend.”
Bolaire sighed. “I didn’t…I didn’t choose to wear the man I was.”
“You didn’t?” Thimble turned to him, curiously.
“I’m a mask. I can’t fly on whoever’s face I want. He…” He couldn’t help but shudder. “He grabbed me, and that was that.”
“Yeah, well…” While the disgust in her voice was the same, there was a touch more pitty in her eyes. “You and me both, Mask Man.”
“Bolaire.”
“Bolaire,” Thimble repeated. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”
“Hey, Bolaire. Where’s the goods?”
The voice was emenating from nowhere in particular, and Bolaire was momentarily grateful this body didn’t have flickering ears.
“Where are you?” he hissed, hand already moving to scrawl a map on the parchment beside him.
“Around.” There was a twinkle of light in a nearby globe, and Bolaire nodded, tilting his parchment that direction.
“Round. Good pun.”
“Thanks. I’m not as good as Thaz, but I try.”
If he had full expressions, his would have soured. “And where is he?”
“Relax. I figured if I got the goods early he wouldn’t need to come by.”
“Ah.” Bolaire dug in his coin purse and pinched, grabbing both his object of desire and some pen nibs as cover. “I appreciate it. You might like this.”
He spilled his handful on the desk, letting a small coin roll away towards the globe. “Minor enchantment. Always lands heads up. You might have use for it.”
“Aww. Thanks, Bolaire. You know you don’t have to bribe us.”
“Do I?”
“Well, you know you don’t have to bribe me.”
The words were still in his throat when he realized the light had left the orb.
“Step back from the ceramics.”
“Why? Are they your distant cousins? Worried I’ll mess with your family?” Thjazi leered, reaching his hand out over it.
“If you would like to deal with the alarms, be my guest,” Bolaire responded over his shoulder, busy keeping the wards from recognizing the interloper with illusory duplications of his credetials. Only one of them had a pass to be in this repository, after all, and the detection spells were reading two—unless he convinced them nothing was wrong, the arcane defenses would kick in and Bolaire was not in the mood for dodging magic missiles and fighting two thousand year old gargoyles.
“Oh, I’m sure I could manage a daring escape, even if you can’t. I saw that limp—are you killing an old man, this time?”
He didn’t want to rise to the bait, but he trusted Thjazi to find his own comeupance.
“That case is alarmed to—” A burst of flame erupted, and even with rogue reflexes Thjazi was singed. “—do that.”
Thjazi swore.
Thimble, who had been standing on a display case nearby and been shoved up by the burst of hot air, sighed. “Thaz, we’ve the rest. It’s just spelled jewelry here on out. Go steal a potion from Bolaire, he keeps them in the left drawer. Then he won’t have to worry about wards and we can just scoop shit and run.”
Both men shot looks at her, but she just shrugged. “What? It’s pragmatic.”
As soon as Thjazi left the room, she put her hands on her hips. “That seemed a bit out of character.”
Bolaire’s shoulders tightened as he scooped up the anti-detection amulets into his gloves, as careless as he got with artifacts of value. “Not really. I’m always an asshole around him. I’m not even that sorry about it.”
He paused and Thimble fluttered down, perching criss-cross on his shoulder.
“I am sorry, though,” Bolaire continued, “that the Archanade did not see you as a person.”
“Why are you sorry?” Thimble tilted her tiny head to show confusion. “I mean, it worked out great for us. Got right through those alarms no problem and now you can do what you want with just us in here. It would be different if I’d tried to like, buy a ticket, and they wouldn’t let me, but I can just fly over the ticket counters anyways.”
That earned her a chuckle. “It is useful, and of course I’d rather us be alone, but I’d also rather you not be a useful object.”
Thimble flew over and sat on his glove, kicking her feet up on the handcuffs. “Well, lucky me, I’m not. Don’t let Thjazi get you down.” She stuck her tongue out. “And don’t pretend it’s about me when really you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. You could just say ‘I’m upset’, you know. No need to be all dramatic.”
“I am nothing if not drama, Thimble.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re a person. Isn’t that the whole point of this conversation?” She stuck her tongue out. “Besides, don’t let Hal hear that. He’ll rope you in to one of those depressing tragedies Shadia’s experimenting with.”
Thimble could feel his hands untense as he sighed, though the veins beneath his skin still felt odd, no doubt because of lack of circulation. Bolaire looked at her, a bright green burst on black gloves that hid ashy skin, and thought of the man that had taught him he, too, was not just a black and white mask but a being of life and color. “No. No, Hal won’t…Hal doesn’t get to know.”
“Doesn’t get to, or you don’t want him to?”
“That’s an awfully personal question to ask at my workplace,” Bolaire pointed out.
“Ha. As if a jewelry theft is work. All fun and games, yeah?” Thimble poked him gently with her needle for emphasis, though it didn’t scratch his ceramic face.
“I don’t find it fun to know your presence is the only thing keeping your friend from locking me in here with the rest of these artifacts,” Bolaire muttered.
“Yeah, well, if he did I’d make sure to leave you a needle. You’ve certainly smuggled me enough botany pins.” Thimble leaped forward off of his shoulder and flipped in the air. “What else are friends for?”