Gaillard crept out onto the street with Vivienne following close behind him. He let out a pattern of low whistles. Out of the inky blackness of the sleeping city street materialized a group of men and a few boys, all much older than Vivienne. She hadn’t the slightest idea where they had come from. They had simply appeared. Gaillard addressed them. His tone was gruff and orderly; he was clearly the leader of the band.

“Men, I have to take care of some- ah, private matters.” The group exchanged knowing glances and grinned at one another. Vivienne almost opened her mouth to once again reiterate that she was not, in fact, a prostitute, but decided that she was heavily outnumbered and had had her fair share of near death experiences for the night. “But please, will someone first get our honored guest some shoes? She seems to have- ah- misplaced hers,” he said with a wink and a sheepish nod at Vivienne. Vivienne glared at him.

“I’ll do it!” someone at the back of the crowd said loud enough to be heard by all in the immediate crowd.

Gaillard nodded. “Be quick about it, Maury. Everyone else, back to their business.” The men disappeared as quickly and as seamlessly as they had appeared. Gaillard turned to Vivienne and drew her to the side of the street and closer to him, putting his arm around her waist.

“What are you doing?” Vivienne asked with alarm, scrambling against his grasp. Her efforts were no use against his strength.

“Relax,” he hissed into her ear. “Like it or not, you’re dressed like a prostitute. My brothers think you’re a prostitute. I am keeping up appearances. If you want to survive the night, you should do the same.”

Vivienne did her best to act the part. She put on a coy smile, and swatted Gaillard’s arm every few exchanges.

“Well, I’m sorry, Master Gaillard, I am not so intimately acquainted with the behaviors of prostitutes as you.”

“Oh, you’re pert.” He drew her closer. “How lovely, lady. No street smarts and disdainful to boot.”

“Disdainful?” Vivienne asked, adding a quiet, girlish giggle. “Of course not. I am simply not accustomed to fraternization with the rabble.” She could see the anger flare in his eyes.

“Must I remind you the rabble is saving your life?” His lips brushed her ear. “Returning you to your own world? Must I remind you that at the slightest whim I could change my mind and turn you over to our very own night constable, abuser of rum and women alike? Must I remind you that I could keep you myself, kill you myself? Think—”

“Gaillard, Gaillard!” The man who was supposedly Maury ran up behind him. He was short and out of breath, brandishing a pair of fine, heeled slippers much like the ones Vivienne had cast into the sea. They looked about 3 sizes too big for her, but they would have to do. Gaillard accepted them and handed them to Vivienne, who donned them quickly.

“Thank you, Maury. You’ll be rewarded later on.” He turned back to Vivienne and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, darling. We have urgent matters to attend to.” She blushed

and glanced at Maury over her shoulder. It seemed to be very convincing, because Maury shook his head and ran in the opposite direction. Gaillard slipped into the side alley once more, leading Vivienne behind him. He moved the crates behind which she had hidden earlier aside, revealing a loose brick in the stones of the street. He pushed it and several others aside and pulled open a trapdoor, revealing soft, glowing light from a tunnel. He climbed down a ladder inside. She squashed the memories of the room she had been enclosed in earlier in the evening and hurried down after him. They were in a long tunnel with various branches, lit by sconces on the wall every twelve paces or so. It appeared to be one of the fabled catacombs of Ennis, though those were believed to be myths. Vivienne stared in incredulity. Gaillard was obviously amused by her surprise.

“Had no idea this was here, did you?”

“Of course not! I don’t generally live the kind of life that requires sneaking around underneath cities!”

Gaillard sighed and shrugged. “Doesn’t work for everyone.”

Vivienne glanced down at the slippers on her feet. “Did you....did you steal these?” she whispered.

Gaillard smirked at her and began walking. “I stole nothing.”

She removed the slippers from her aching feet and followed Gaillard. “Oh, you know perfectly well what I mean! Did you...did you have that man steal them?”

“You know, you ask far too many questions. It’s dreadfully annoying.” Gaillard began to whistle. She huffed and continued drudging along behind him, making a point of letting her bare feet slap on the floor of the tunnel. She examined the slippers in hand. They were red satin, embroidered with a design of the winter sun and inlaid with tiny ruby jewels. They would fetch a good price at market. Her feet were in agony. Begrudgingly, she put the slippers back on. She could practically feel Gaillard’s self-righteous smirk and the heels echoed through the tunnel. She followed him in silence for a long while.

“You know, you would be wise not to alert everyone in the city you’re one of our precious hautaines the next time you’re out among the night life.”

“Oh, you can take my word that there will be no next time.”

“I’m sure. Still, it’s valuable advice. Use a fake name. Definitely don’t show anyone that brand. You were very stupid tonight.” Gaillard’s pace had slowed so that now Vivienne was nearly caught up to him. “The constable, well, he’s not really a constable. He stole the coat. He’s at best a glorified gangster, who kept everyone good and terrorized in his day through sheer brute force. Now he’s a joke, but we let him carry on so long as he doesn’t harm anyone. He has got quite a temper, though,” he added with a knowing glance at Vivienne. “Don’t worry, he won’t remember you tomorrow.”

“You mentioned- an agreement. I overheard you when I was hiding. Well, what’s your agreement?”

A shadow fell over Gaillard’s face. “Someone as respectable as yourself must know that it is rude to inquire about a gentleman’s business.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re a thief and not a gentleman,” retorted Vivienne haughtily.

Gaillard, now in stride with Vivienne, considered her statement. “You should know the only reason my knife isn’t at your throat right now is because you are a valuable contact.” A glance at his face confirmed that Gaillard was quite serious. She supposed she could have treated him better for saving her life, but she would not apologize to a thief.

“And,” Gaillard continued, “I would advise you not to presume that you are intimately acquainted with the way the world works. There are rules and people and codes even you do not know about.”

Vivienne opened her mouth to respond. Before the words had formed, Gaillard was leading her up a ladder attached to the wall identical to the one they had entered the catacomb by. They emerged in an alley which led to the street directly across from the Artistry. The sun was creeping up above the looming building. Vivienne had trouble suppressing her joy at the clean, wide and empty street. She squealed and grasped Gaillard’s hand. If he was taken aback, she did not notice it. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She began to run across the street, but he caught her by the wrist. Towering over her, he stared down and reminded her sternly, “You will remember what I did for you tonight. And you will reimburse me when you are asked.”

Vivienne nodded gravely. “I will.”

He released her, and she ran as fast as she could across the street. She practically leapt up the steps to the Artistry and pounded heavily on the door. It creaked open and she entered without so much as a backward glance, to see that Gaillard had been joined by another silhouette in the creeping dawn’s light.

He turned to his new companion. “You’re never going to believe who I just met.”

—

As the heavy doors of the Artistry closed behind her, Vivienne slumped against them and sighed in relief. She breathed in the musty scent of the paintings surrounding her, basking in the sense of safety in the only place she knew enough to trust in Ennis. The unfamiliar voice of a woman interrupted her internal jubilee.

“Good. You have returned.” Vivienne whipped her head up sharply. A very tall man and woman, equally intimidating in their stature, were at the center of the Artistry’s front room. Their hands were clasped together. Both had hair like silver. The woman was gaunt, with sunken cheekbones and foreboding eyes. The man was more classically chiseled. His eyes were a bright grey. They were both draped in long robes in the style of the clergy, but these were the midnight blue colors traditionally worn by educators. If Vivienne had to choose one word to describe them accurately, it would be cold. Fanned in a half circle around them stood several of the classmates Vivienne had been introduced to earlier. She recognized Dasha and Piper on the man’s left, and the ebony skinned girl on the woman’s right, along with other girls whose names she did not recall. Including Vivienne, there totaled eight of them. She could not seem to

locate Penny, who had admired Vivienne’s dress so endearingly. The woman extended an arm to Vivienne, who still stood at the doors of the Artistry. “Come join us, Miss Archer.”

Beguiled at how this woman knew her name, Vivienne approached reluctantly. She made brief eye contact with Dasha, who nodded at her subtly. Vivienne relaxed slightly and picked up her pace. She fell into place at the head, completing the circle. The woman then released the man’s hand and stepped forward into the center. She surveyed each girl slowly. With no warmth in her voice, she raised her chin and articulated slowly and carefully, “I am very proud of all of you. You have all successfully passed your first test, and subsequently learned your first lesson, ensuring your place at the Artistry for the remaining two years, until you will be tested again. Two of your classmates have failed. You will not see them again.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Headmistress Temple, and this is my husband, Headmaster Temple. We are to be your guardians and educators. I can see how many of you will be distrustful of us in the beginning, but it is a necessary test. The Artistry is not for those faint of heart, or those who fail to be resourceful. Can anybody tell me what the lesson you learned tonight was?”

Vivienne exchanged nervous and confused glances with her fellow pupils. The woman was saying that she had tied them up and left them for dead? There was no captor? As the girls began to work it out in their minds, she could see a mix of anger, fear, and betrayal settle onto each of their faces, including her own. There was no captor. The drugs had been in the desserts they had all wolfed down. Vivienne began to feel increasingly stupid. She had been kidnapped and unleashed into the wilderness of Ennis at night, all the while begging, making promises to bring her back here, when they were the ones who had done this in the first place!This was all some hellish test simply so the Artistry could deem them worthy. She began to long for the comfort of her bedroom in Mim and Papa’s house, tucked safely in between crisp white sheets, the aroma of Mim’s perfume next to her as she tucked her daughter in.

“No one?” The question lingered in the air. “Very well,” Headmistress Temple continued. “The objective of your first test, and your first lesson, was this: stay alive. It pleases me that you have all succeeded. Your classmates Penny and Miri clearly did not learn this lesson. You —“ she looked pointedly at Vivienne — “barely made it. The parameters of the test were to escape from your bondage and return to the Artistry by sun up. I wish to be entirely direct. If you should see Penny or Miri again, if they miraculously survive the night and should knock on the Artistry doors, you are not to so much as acknowledge their existence. Am I clear?”

The girls nodded. “You shall respond to me with ‘Yes, Headmistress Temple.” “Yes, Headmistress Temple,” they chanted in near perfect unison. The headmistress nodded her approval and swept her dark robes aside as she began to pace the circumference of the circle. “Now, I think it is time you all should learn what, exactly, we are here to teach you.”

The girls exchanged wary glances. She tried to kill us, and now she’s going to teach us? How unlikely, came the nudging voice in the back of Vivienne’s head. She and Dasha locked eyes. All the light and mischief was gone from Dasha’s face. I supposed there is no search anymore. A sudden seriousness settled over the room. Headmistress Temple continued to sweep about. “The Artistry,” the statuesque woman began, “is an institution of great renown, as I am sure you all know. It is also an institution of much secrecy, and for good reason. Its infamousness spans many countries and continents. It is a great honor to be selected to attend the Artistry. You should all take this honor very seriously.” She fixed Vivienne with a gaze so cold it could have frozen over the hottest summer day. Vivienne was rather offended. “You will have heard rumors of graduates of the Artistry. None of them are true. Our graduates are well concealed due to their particular line of work. I cannot be so careless as to betray their identities simply to satisfy your curiosity. You may trust me when I tell you that many go on to wield great

power and influence. All remain fiercely loyal to us. I, myself, am a graduate of the Artistry, and I am likely to be the only one you will ever meet in your lifetime, save the girls you stand among at this very instant.

What you choose to do with your education here is ultimately up to you. We do hope you will choose to remain very close with us even after your time here has finished. But now, on to the question, what exactly will you do? Yes, it is very pressing indeed. Well, quite simply, children, we will train you to be thieves.”

Thieves? No. It’s not possible. Gasps and murmurs danced through the small crowd. Alarm surfaced in each of their eyes. This can’t possibly be what the Artistry teaches. This cannot possibly be their prestige! A few girls down from Vivienne, the ebony-skinned girl was in visible distress. “I will shame my family! I’ll disgrace the Trémani royal line!” Rosita shed silent tears. Dasha stood as tall as possible with a steely resolve in her eyes. Vivienne felt utterly betrayed. She hoped it did not show on her face. She did not want her educators to think her weak. Of course, there was no way her parents could have known if Headmistress Temple’s claims were real. The offer to attend the Artistry had been quite clandestine, and her family had made terrible efforts to conceal Vivienne’s higher education. Vivienne had simply presumed they would make a grand reveal as soon as Vivienne was gone, as was customary in her world. The endless competition of whose dress was more expensive, who had more money, who attended the most balls, whose child went to the most prestigious school. Ridiculous, the lot of them. I would trade them all the prestige in the world to be back home, she lamented. Now she could see how it had all factored into this terrible, shocking news.

Headmistress Temple waited for the several outbursts to settle down some before she spoke again. “I can imagine how this news may be disheartening to some of you. As you can tell, the pupils among you were selected from a mix of privilege and poverty. Some,” she gestured to Alia, “are royalty, where some,” she glanced at Piper, “are quite frankly, the less tasteful members of our society. None of this will matter upon graduation. You were all selected because you display great potential. You have been watched for some time, unbeknownst to you all. We invited you who showed the greatest potential to the Artistry, and upon the arrival of the last of you, gave you your first test. You who survived proved worthy.

If you should try to replicate your success in an attempt at escape, you will find Ennis a most dangerous place. We have friends and allies in the most unlikely of places. I suspect at least two of you shall try despite my warning. I would advise you to believe me when I say you will be both much safer and happier inside these walls. Now, you will not be the sort of petty thieves you are thinking of. No, you will be connoisseurs. You will find use for the skills you already posses, and gain a wealth of new ones to boot. We will train you in every etiquette and accent. You shall steal hearts and secrets, and no one will ever think to question why they are giving you such valuable information. You will operate in the crevices of every aspect of society. Even the Church shall be no rival for the prying eyes and ears of my pupils. You shall conquer the world, and no one will know how, but they will all love you for it.” Headmistress Temple was practically beaming. “In a word, you will be artists.”

—

Gaillard DeFource rapped three sharp, light taps followed by two rhythmic beats on a back door in a shabby tavern located in the Lower Precinct of Ennis. The sun had peeked over the top of the distant belltower not fifteen short minutes beforehand. The evidence that remained of the previous night’s revelry manifested itself in a few sleeping patrons and a young couple, drunk off of each other and unaware that the world was moving, sitting much too close together for decency in the darkest corner of the institution.

Gaillard nodded briefly at the barkeep. The door opened to reveal a back room populated by roughly twenty men, most at least twice his age, assembled around a large, round table. The various leaders of the lower class sat before him. “Gentlemen,” he greeted them. As he walked into the room the door shut behind him as if by magic. He turned to face his silent companion from the surreal moments in which he had watched Vivienne Archer’s curls bob as she ran up the stairs of the Artistry. He bowed from the waist down, a show of respect in front of their equals. His companion pushed back a heavy black hood in order to reveal a pale, thin face framed by spectacles. “Sebastian,” Gaillard said.

“A pleasure as always, Gaillard. Now, if you would take your place at the table, we can properly begin to discuss what must be done.”

—

“You have had quite the busy day, and shocking news besides. You will have two days to sleep and adjust before your lessons begin. I promise you that your food will not be drugged again. Your tests shall be entirely written until two years’ time has been completed. You will grow more comfortable with your education as time wears on and you begin to see the benefits of the Artistry. Upon your beds you will find five sets of your daytime uniform in your size, and three sets of sleepwear. If you brought trunks with you, two of your garments from before have been kept for you and placed in the trunk underneath your bed. You shall only wear them when you are told. Now, children, it is time for you to sleep. I suggest that you do just that. There will be much time to converse tomorrow. Mrs. Quiln!”

The portly woman hurried in from the side of the room. “Yes, Headmistress?” “Please escort the girls to their bedrooms. They have had a long day and will need their rest. Breakfast will not be served tomorrow. Have a basket of sweet rolls sent to the rooms.”

Mrs. Quiln nodded. “Follow me, girls.” Vivienne’s classmates, still reeling with shock, fell into their single file line once again. As they marched up the grandiose staircase, the Headmaster called the first words he had spoken all night. His voice cut through the echoing hall and into Vivienne like a knife. “Sleep well, my darlings.”

—

Gaillard removed his coat and took his seat at the table. Across from him, the bearded Hugo Pierce grunted, “All right then. Let’s get on with it. I have money waiting to be collected.”

“Of course,” Sebastian responded gently. “Gentlemen, this is, if I am correct, the first time we have all gathered together. Gaillard and I have been in correspondence for quite some time. I would like to thank you all for putting aside your differences and appearing here today.” Sebastian looked particularly nervously at Lord Leon and Saint Serge, neither of whom was a true lord or saint, but shared the true enmity between the two. “You are all leaders of your own private kingdoms within the underbelly of Ennis. This is more than enough for you at the moment. You are kings within your private world. Girls and money and power flock to you.” Boorish grins broke out on a few of the less refined men in company.

“But I propose that we set our sights upon something more than fleeting power at a capped ceiling. Gentlemen, have you ever taken a moment and truly mused upon the injustice we face here in Ennis, indeed, in all of Fairewolle? The clergymen and nobility live lives of decadence and opulence, where you and I are left to the devils. Politically, we are nothing. Though Parliament exists, the true power, as always, lies in the hands of the Church. The two

gods gaze down upon us, but they feel nothing for us. Even the richest of Ennis, say, Luc Archer, for example, has no real political influence.”

“Why are you telling us the shit we already know?” asked Lord Leon. “Born a beggar, might as well be the king of your own little fecked up kingdom. What are you on about, boy?”

Sebastian was unfazed at the aggression. He raised a calm hand to quiet the man. “Please, just one moment of your time. There has been many a coup with the aim of taking down our hallowed government in the Capital city of Inignia. I can point out the flaws in all these plans quite easily. Firstly, they focus on the government. Secondly, they move to put someone else into power rather than remove the power completely. Thirdly, they find their roots in the nobility. Imagine what we could do, gentlemen, if we united the masses of the poor. If we moved not to remove the government, but to remove power from the Church. If we moved, gentlemen, not to bring about a reversal of power, but to remove the power altogether. Imagine a world in which Luc Archer dined alongside you, in which his wife and daughter frolicked with yours.” Sebastian’s eyes lit up. “Imagine, gentlemen, a world in which our voices mattered, a world in which nothing stood in your way.”

The men exchanged looks. Gaillard doubted they would be enthusiastic at first. His guess was correct. These men were old, steeped in tradition, used to their positions at the top of their very small ladder. Hugo Pierce was the first to speak.

“I don’t see the point in giving up what I worked for so hard all these years. The way things are is the way they’ll always be. Take what you’re given and make the best of it. Life is good for me, and I ‘on’t have much left of it. What you’re talking about, overthrowing the Church of all things- the gods have never shown me particular favor, but I’m not about to remove them from the world. No. It’s futile.”

Sebastian considered Hugo’s argument, his eyes clearly working out how to convince this crowd of small time kings not ready to give up their treasures behind his spectacles. “I am not so much talking about overthrowing the Church as I am removing its hand in our lives. Of course, those who still feel a yearning for our Lady Synarée and our Lord Nymern would have the Church readily available. Our sacrifices and prayers will still be made regularly. However, it would be removed from our political, ethical, and business lives. There would be no more declaration of nobility or poverty. There would be no more nobility or poverty.” Sebastian began to pace. “No titles bestowed or rescinded for excessive service to the Church or a failure to pay dues. No children cast out to the streets, refused an education, a life simply because the Church has ordained that we stay where we are born.” Suddenly angered, he slammed his hands down on the table. “Where Parliament will listen to the votes we cast! Where you and I have the chance to attend government councils, where we are in all means finally equal!”

Saint Serge was the first to respond. He was a tall, dark man, and bloodthirsty at that. He rose silently and fixed Sebastian with an angry glare. “I would advise you, boy, not to waste my time again.” The man stalked out of the room, closely followed by the rest of the leaders of the lowlives among Ennis, all of whom looked at Sebastian with disgust before exiting into the early morning light. Only Gaillard remained. Sebastian threw himself dramatically into a chair at the table. He removed his spectacles and ran his hand through his brown hair.

“Well, that went quite well,” Gaillard said sardonically. “Please, don’t tease me at a time like this.” “I told you it wouldn’t work.” “Forgive me for allowing one shred of optimism into my life, Gaillard.” “What made you think the most powerful men in the least powerful part of Ennis would band together when you can’t let them know you work for the Artistry, and all you promised them was that they would lose everything they worked for?”

“I don’t know. I just...hoped.”

“Hope is for shitheads.” “I’m constantly reminded why I keep you around. To be a constant pain in my ass.” Gaillard smirked. He rose and crossed over to Sebastian, leaning over him, their faces mere inches apart. Gaillard stroked Sebastian’s clean-shaven cheek, and then his hand crept steadily downward, exploring his familiar body once more. “I would hope,” he said softly, “there is more pleasure than pain. I must go. There are boys out there who are utterly lost without me.” Sebastian opened his pale blue eyes to meet Gaillard’s dark, smoldering gaze. “Thieves, you mean. They’d be better off if you never even laid eyes on them. I’d be better off if you’d never laid eyes on me.”

“How utterly unfortunate for you.” And Gaillard’s eyes fluttered closed as his lips pressed down on Sebastian’s, hard and soft all at once. Sebastian did not open his eyes until he was sure that Gaillard had disappeared into the thin, cold air of the morning.

“You will be the death of me,” he breathed to no one in particular.

—

There were no words exchanged as Vivienne entered her room along with Piper and Rosita. They gazed at the uniforms that were indeed laid out on the newly-made beds. Five powder-blue underdresses and scarlet pinafores of simple cotton lay folded neatly next to three yellow muslin nightgowns. Vivienne was the first to undress, eager to remove her now filthy petticoat and chemise. Piper and Rosita followed suit. None of them so much as dared as look at the empty bed where Miri belonged. She put on one of the yellow garments and placed the others in the trunk underneath her bed. Two dresses from her trunk were there, a heavy emerald green ball gown and a dusty pink tea dress. She threw the uniform of the Artistry atop them haphazardly and climbed into bed, ready to succumb to sleep and forget everything contained in the past day of her life. Goodnight, Lady Synarée. Goodnight, life. Rosita’s prayers echoed against an empty sky.