Rat the Thief, vol 1, Book 1

at woke through the layered noises of vermin in the walls, Aunt Milly making breakfast one floor below, a dog somewhere down the street. She twisted an arm out from under her blankets, and nudged the window shutter open a crack. Sunlight just fingered out over the chimney-peaks. A couple hours past dawn, then, and not much more sleep than that. The wood was still furred with frost, this early. She shivered, and tucked the outstretched arm back against her sleep-warm torso.

Last night had been rough going, and she'd come back later than she'd intended, with less to show for it than she'd intended.

Shifting a little, she remembered a clumsy blow to the hip that she'd taken, stumbling against something in the dark. Lucky no one had heard that.


Thinking about last night's job was enough to get her out of bed and dressed - pulling a pair of grey wool stockings up under her tunic, and another pair over those, for more warmth. Uncle Linus would be out in the streets by now, sifting amongst his contacts for somebody who'd sell what she'd taken in last night (fancy pewter tableware, mostly, and some exotic spices). He might have told Aunt Milly what he expected to get, on his way out, but usually he didn't know until he spoke to a few sellers. She'd ask anyway.

The kitchen was right underneath Rat's tiny room: through a trapdoor, and down a ladder. It wasn't a house, really, but what had once been the space between two houses, walled in, and no wider than the length of Rat's arms outspread. Old enough now, though, that it had sunk into the street - deep in the poorest district of the city - and had been marked with the same dark patina of many years left run-down by residents who could do no better for it. In this part of town, Rat's family was lucky to have a space, even one that small, all to themselves.

In the kitchen, Aunt Milly was kneading a stiff armful of brown dough and Rat didn't bother her then, knowing that intent and not-quite-intimidated look. As usual, there was porridge still warming in the big cauldron, and she helped herself to several ladles of that, sitting down on a stool near the fire to wait until Aunt Milly had finished with the kneading.

Rat could see her aunt was tired, and worried about more than whether or not the bread would rise. She wished again that she'd brought home better gleanings - stayed a little longer, perhaps, even at the risk of being caught. Uncle Linus had fallen from a rooftop last spring, outrunning a guard. His broken leg had never healed straight, and now it was just Rat going out alone at night, and returning alone. Even then, things shouldn't be this tight, except that the defenses on every warehouse in the city had double, tripled - quadrupled, even - since then.

"There."

Aunt Milly set aside her well-pummeled round of dough, and gave Rat a tired smile.


"Tea, love?" Her hands were already making the familiar gesture towards the kettle, as she asked.

Rat nodded, getting up to fetch two heavy clay mugs from the dish rack. She hovered nearby, as her aunt poured hot water into the pot, and added the leaves to steep. "What did Uncle Linus say?"

Aunt Milly didn't respond immediately, and her look of weariness deepened. She busied herself straining the tea, and at length she replied, "He thinks that Mr. Gravely might be able to find a buyer. The spices will be more difficult. Don't worry about it, dear. Drink your tea."