The Forlorn(47)

Keilin got a second's worth of a good look in an unexpected shaft of moonlight. The moon reflected off a shaved head. S'kith was no burglar, but he had three times the natural talent that Beywulf had. Keilin called softly as S'kith gathered himself to jump the last gap. The Morkth-man nearly fell off the roof, but a few moments later he came to join them.

"What in hell are you doing here, Morkthy?" Beywulf demanded roughly.

Keilin already knew. "The section below us is calling him, Bey. He probably couldn't help coming. It is dragging at me, too."

"Hell's teeth! A pair of bloody nutters. But you took a chance, S'kith! Cap'll skin you. And aren't you too far . . ."

The Morkth-man looked doubtfully at them. "They do not know I have come. And it is not too far. They are less than two hundred yards away, outside the wall. Why do you wait?"

"The lights have only just gone off. We've at least half an hour before it will be safe to move." A strange kind of understanding for S'kith came over Keilin. "Bey. I'll go in with S'kith. You cover our backs here."

"Not what the man said," muttered Beywulf.

"Bugger the man. He's not here. And face it, Bey. S'kith's a natural-born sneaker, which you're not. And if I don't take him with me he'll probably go in anyway."

He could see in the change of set in S'kith's shoulders that he'd said the right thing. He made another snap decision. "S'kith. Come and huddle in here and help me warm up. I'm cold and I don't want to sneeze and give us away." Without a word the muscular, bald-headed man slid in next to them. His arms went around Keilin and he held him, not as a lover might . . . but as a mother might hold a child. Keilin did not know why, but he felt this was something of a profound experience for the strange shaven-headed man. So he put an arm around him, too. They waited in silence for the half hour to pass.

"If you hear a noise, come running," said Keilin to Beywulf, as they slipped in through the window.

Keilin and S'kith moved as silently as shadows down the corridors of the sleeping house. No house with people in it is ever completely quiet. There are small sounds. If these stop then the burglar should know fear. Keilin's ears listened carefully to these sounds, as they moved to the master bedroom.

Motioning S'kith to wait, he slipped within. The master's little piggy face was cherubic in snoring repose. The girl sobbing in her sleep at the foot of the bed belied his angelic appearance. She must have been younger than his own daughters . . . Keilin couldn't be truly sure she was asleep as he stealthily searched the pockets of the tossed-aside trousers, and removed the keys from them. She hadn't sobbed for a while. He slipped away . . . waiting for the cry.

It didn't come. They moved downstairs, and into the echoing silence of the showroom. The safe opened with a small creak. It was too dark to see here, but his hands needed no visual guidance. Keilin cursed softly to himself. It was in some heavy gold setting. They moved to a shaft of moonlight, and there with S'kith's knife they pried the claws aside, and roughly substituted one of the black opals which Cap had bought. Suddenly, knowing it was right, Keilin gave the jewel to S'kith. "Go up," he whispered. "I'll put this back and return the key."

Piggy was still doing his whistle snore, but the girl was too quiet. Under those heavy-lidded brows, she was watching him as he dropped the key into the pocket. He knew it, but he was also unsure what to do about it. Should he just hope she'd be too scared to do anything? Or should he risk a scream by threatening her with his knife?

The decision was abruptly taken out of his hands by a terrible crash downstairs. Keilin was out of the room before she could even draw breath. He knew what that noise meant. Bloody Beywulf had come looking for them. The swearing from below told him he was right. Bey came boiling up the main stair as doors flung open all around them. Keilin ran for the window they'd come in by, as people fumbled for tinderboxes and candles. Keilin nearly ran headlong into S'kith, and the occupant of the room. The Amphirian jeweller was advancing on the frozen Morkth-man with a well-used riding crop in hand.

If he'd had a sword instead, the man would simply have died. But S'kith's fear reaction to the whip, combined with the core section he clutched, produced the only kind of refuge the Morkth-man had ever really known. Ripped from the depths of the hive, human brood-sow cell 9003 was still the same as it was the first time . . . the time he'd sneaked down there driven by feelings he simply could not understand . . . and the immense feeling of joy and . . . release that had resulted. He still clung to the memory in his new unfamiliar world, a world where he was not only not in control, but barely able to cope. The cell was the same, although the occupants were not. It now contained a new girl, and three Alpha-Morkth of an artificial insemination team.