‘A fool's money is easy pickings,’ muttered the first voice. This belonged to a man called Borges, an expert thief and a somewhat better fighter. He was a great bear of a man with a shaggy beard and a bulbous nose that turned red when he was angry.

‘And who is the bigger fool? The one who pretends to be a fool, or the one who falls for it?’ asked his colleague.

Borges scowled softly in the dark. ‘You saying they're just faking? Tryin’ to trick us in?’

‘I'm saying,’ said the other man, whose voice held calm and unquestioned authority, ‘that whatever appears to be to our convenience, should be distrusted. I want you to proceed as if a trap has been laid for us. Be on your toes, Borges!’

‘As you wish, m'lord.’ Across the street a curtain was lifted as someone peered out, but just as quickly it fell back and the window was latched for the night. But in that brief radiance the second speaker's face was revealed. It was a handsome, honourable face, though slightly scarred and weathered. Dark, piercing eyes shone with a deep intelligence, and the ready grin and raised eyebrow suggested an ironic humour born of old follies and an appreciation of the foibles of human beings.

‘I will leave you now,’ said Lord Verris, though strictly speaking he was only a lord when on the bridge of his pirate ship, the Proud Mary. Many a city watchman considered him no more than a prince of thieves, the emphasis being on the word thieves. Even those who sought him most ferociously, respected him. He had never killed a man except in fair fight or self-defence, and only stole from those who – by all who reckoned such things – had too much anyway.

‘You are still determined to go alone?’

Verris paused before answering. ‘I will take Vrod, to appease your worries. But the job itself can only be accomplished by one alone. And as you keep pointing out, most of the army and half the City Watch have been seconded to the war with Tolrush.’

‘Where you're going,’ said Borges unhappily, ‘that may not count for much.’

Verris laid a hand on the other man's arm. ‘You know when to strike. We will meet later. Good hunting!’

Aye, and the same to you, m'lord.’ Only after Verris had slipped away into the darkness, did Borges add in a worried whisper, ‘And may all the sorcery in hell, stay there this night… ’

It had grown dark outside the tavern. Tab patted her full stomach and for the first time in her life felt close to contentment. The worry of how she was to steal back her silver coins and where to find lodgings had plagued her from the moment she'd escaped the orphanage. The thought of being alone in Quentaris, a city she only knew from cleaning its streets of dung, made her stomach do flip-flops. But now she had Fontagu and the promise of money.

They left the tavern and headed down Soothsayers’ Lane, trying as much as possible to look like father and daughter out for an evening stroll. They needn't have bothered. The streets of Quentaris were unusually empty, due to the festivities along the river. As Fontagu had explained, that was the precise reason they must carry out the burglary tonight. Tomorrow, the festive crowds would flood back into the city, along with a platoon of City Watch that had been detailed to police the celebrations.

Fontagu suddenly dragged Tab into a dingy lane between two towering tenements. Facing them at the end of the lane was the rear wall of some large ornate building, painted a deep maroon.

Tab's eyes widened. She whirled angrily on Fontagu. ‘The Magicians’ Guild? You want me to break into the Magicians’ Guild? Are you insane?’

‘Keep your voice down!’ hissed Fontagu. All of a sudden he looked – well, frightened. It wasn't very reassuring.

‘There's no need to keep my voice down,’ said Tab, lowering her voice. ‘Because I am not, repeat not, burglarising the Magicians’ Guild.’

‘Now, now, Tab -’

‘You know what they'd do to me if they caught me? Boiling in oil would be a lot more fun!’

‘Tab, my dear girl -’ began Fontagu, whose own voice was a squeaky quaver in the gloom.

Tab stamped her foot. ‘Don't you “dear girl” me,’ she snarled. ‘You lied to me. You said it would be a walk on the pier – and I just remembered something about piers. They're dead ends!’

Fontagu suddenly straightened and it was actually quite eerie what happened next. He seemed to change. His voice deepened, even sounded different somehow. It was as if he had just put on one of his acting roles. And of course that's exactly what he had done. It was a role he had played many times before: Bassardo the Brave, from the extremely popular play, Borrowed Trouble.

As Bassardo, Fontagu tut-tutted. He now oozed confidence.

‘My dear girl,’ he began again. ‘Ordinarily I would be forced to agree. But there are three reasons why tonight that isn't so.’ And he ticked them off on his fingers. ‘First, between the war and the celebrations, most of the magicians are away… ’

‘Yeah, but some of them can fly pretty fast when they want to,’ muttered Tab.

‘Second, almost all the safeguards are designed to protect against other magicians. One like yourself, and a Dung Brigader to boot, who hasn't a speck of magic, has little to fear – you are as a flea to a dog, almost invisible to them.’

Tab's heart sank. She didn't want to be invisible if that were the case.

‘And third, you will be wearing this.’ Fontagu produced a bronze bracelet which he clipped around Tab's thin wrist. It fit snugly.

Tab eyed it suspiciously. ‘It looks like a market trinket. What is it?’

‘It is a talisman of great power, and will make you almost completely undetectable by their most powerful charms and spells.’

‘Why didn't you say that in the first place?’

‘Please, child, allow me my art. The greatest actors – the artistes – know best how to deliver an immortal line.’

Tab eyed him. ‘So you're really just a plain out-of-work actor?’

Fontagu drew himself up. ‘How dare you! There is nothing plain about my talent. I have played the greatest houses in Quentaris, I've been the talk of towns, admired by kings and queens. Plain, indeed. Why, once, I played the balcony scene in Much Ado About Everything. Besides, it's a well-known fact that actors make the best spies. Ask anyone.’ He lashed out and grabbed Tab as she headed off to do just that. ‘Some other time. Let us get back to the business at hand. Do you see that storm pipe outlet up there?’

Tab nodded. ‘The one with water trickling out?’ The pipe in question was about eighteen inches in diameter.

‘That's… erm… run-off from the roof,’ said Fontagu quickly. ‘You must climb in there. Take the first right-hand turn in the pipe and you'll come out at the kitchen. Head for the pantry. There's a lever on the inside of the door. It's disguised as a bean grinder.’

‘How do you know all this?’

Fontagu sighed. ‘The Archon's spies know the city's best-kept secrets. The Archon has known where his icefire gem has been stashed for many years. And he's decided that now is the time to reclaim it. With few people in the city there's less chance of anyone getting killed if anything goes wrong.’

‘Killed?’ Tab asked. ‘You never said anything about getting -’

Fontagu managed a nervous little laugh. His persona was slipping. ‘Did I say killed? Silly me. I meant billed. That's an acting term. It means… erm… people finding out, knowing about you. Can't have that now, can we?’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Well, come along now,’ Fontagu said quickly, shooing her towards the end of the lane and the drainpipe. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. A fake wall will slide across when you pull the lever. You'll find the icefire gem resting on a pedestal. From the moment you touch it you have five minutes to get out of the building.’

‘What happens after that?’

‘That's when the billing begins.’ Fontagu didn't meet her eyes as he said this.