The Flux Engine Read Free Page B

with his mother’s crystal. The only sound he could make, however, was a ragged wheezing noise coming from the gaping wound in his chest. Before John could wonder why he couldn’t speak, darkness rose up and claimed him.

Chapter 2
    Heir of the Cat
    In confusion, there is profit.
    The old man had told Robi that dozens of times and he’d never been wrong. He said it so often she’d grown tired of hearing it. Now she’d give a considerable sum to hear him say it again.
    Don’t think about that, she admonished herself. Burglary was an art and, if the old man taught her anything, it was that an artist had to stay focused. He didn’t get to be the world’s greatest thief by being sloppy.
    The memory of him tugged at her heartstrings again but she was ready for it. Clearing her mind, Robi closed her eyes and listened. Sounds of commotion filled the air, screams of horses, and the sound of metal being twisted. People called out, warning each other of danger. There were no sounds of injury or death—at least not yet. She tilted her head, widening her range. Similar sounds arose all around her, as if the whole city were in chaos.
    Robi blessed her good fortune. If it had only been the one Tommy in the street below that had suddenly run amok, she wouldn’t have much time, but it seemed the whole town’s worth of them had gone mad. That should keep Mister Pemberton, of Pemberton’s Grain and Feed, busy for at least half an hour.
    Opening her eyes, she moved from the shadows of the hotel’s billiard room out onto the sturdy, second-floor balcony. The Tommy in the street below tore the guts out of a steam cart while a Nipponic immigrant swore at it in his native tongue. A workman in a canvas boiler suit whacked at the Tommy’s knees with a wrench but the metal man ignored him. On the wooden sidewalks in front of the shops, a crowd had gathered to watch the strange sight. A barbershop patron had moved outside still with half-a-faceful of shaving cream. People of every description filled out the crowd. There were men in shoddy work clothes and fine ladies in corsets and fancy hats. Men of means in expensive suits milled about while a garishly clad prostitute went by unnoticed. All eyes riveted on the scene—which left no one to watch Robi.
    It was always a costly mistake, not watching Robi.
    Robirah Laryn was the only child of Hiro Laryn, the world’s greatest thief. For most of her first thirteen years Robi traveled from place to place as her father plied his trade. They lived in the best hotels, ate the best food, and Hiro taught Robi all his tricks. Everywhere they went, Robi had to hide her smile when people spoke of the Cat, the uncatchable thief.
    All that ended two years ago.
    With a last glance at the mayhem in the street below, Robi broke into a dead run down the length of the balcony. When she reached the end, she vaulted up onto the railing and jumped, propelling herself into empty space. The open window of Pemberton’s Grain and Feed was at least fifteen feet away. Extending her body to its full length, Robi caught the sill with her fingers. As soon as she touched it, she pulled her knees up to her chest and hit the wall of the building with her feet. Without stopping, she pushed off. Using her grip on the window as a fulcrum, she somersaulted through the open window, rolled, and came up in a crouch. No new cries of surprise or alarm erupted from the street; she’d made it.
    The room beyond the open window was clearly a parlor. Four elegantly carved chairs stood round a mahogany game table, rendered in the Louis-the-Fourteenth style. A thick carpet covered the center of the floor flanked by embroidered couches accented with silk pillows. Portraits of singularly ugly people hung on the walls, relatives of Pemberton, no doubt. Despite the pedestrian subjects, Robi thought she recognized the hand of a true artist in a few of them.
    She sighed. Paintings were far too large to make the jump back to the hotel.
    Moving