EDITED.

Summary: “Either way, not a day goes by without a new killing. I have to admit though; my family is accountable for most of them.” In a city abandoned by the gods, crime is the only way to survive, and Ashlyn Rafe is no exception. Skilled thief, murderer's daughter and sister to the most powerful gang leader in Lindbergh, Ashlyn's no stranger to the dark side of her home city. On a theft gone wrong she's kidnapped and mistaken to be a rich aristocrat. Her family have no idea where she is, and her captors have no idea who she is. If they did whose daughter she really was, they’d have no choice but to kill her. So, Ashlyn becomes Beatrix Lewis, Lady Beatrix Lewis and for a thief, that’s not so easy.

The City of Lindbergh

Chapter One – The Rafe Family Business

Lindbergh is a beautiful city. Those who wish it burnt to the ground so as to relieve the world of a great evil could not deny that a great beauty would be destroyed too. I suppose it is the gods’ idea of irony, to let man create such a beautiful thing, and then fill it with evil. For every carved marble arch, towering steeple and gold tipped dome there is a thief, fraud and killer. For every breathtaking sunrise filtering through the maze of cobbled streets, there is a murder. A nameless fool who meddled with someone they shouldn’t have, or an innocent bystander whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, not a day goes by without a new killing. I have to admit though; my family is accountable for most of them.

Rafe’s Gang. The mixture of emotions those two words cause in people is astounding. Fear and terror in most, pride and honour in others. In me? Indifference. I could never support wholly what my father started and brother continued; yet I can’t fight against them either. To do that would mean caring about the people who are killed, and rebelling against the only family I have.

Besides, I’m hardly an angel myself. Most would call me a thief, but I prefer goods trader. I know the worth of almost any jewel you can throw at me and I know exactly where to go to get more than that worth. I’m a genius at lock picking and pick pocketing. Though I’m not meant to be proud of the last one, it being a common thief’s skill, according to my brother anyway.

But all that is nothing compared to the politics and intrigue my brother deals with. There are many gangs in Lindbergh; Rafe’s being the strongest. For that reason many owe us ‘taxes’, this tax ranges from money to brute strength, or even just a debt to be paid later. It gives the other gangs a small amount of safety, if anything happened to them, Rafe’s would be inclined to retaliate. My brother runs it all like clockwork, with a precision my father would have been proud of.

Jacob Rafe, known as Rafe by all but the closest friends, was a terrifying man. Even his own children were scared of him, and rightly so. I do not recall any beatings or even too harsh words, but there was never any love either. My childhood was spent running the streets, learning how to thieve and how to defend myself. I have no memory of a mother’s embrace, but there must have been one once. My brother would say only that she died when I was young, the brief period of my childhood where I was curious about her ended at that.

When my father died, my brother took over the gang. He was a good leader, and the short time it took for all my father’s enemies to quickly get back in line proved it. All my father’s old allies knew him as Dylan, but new recruits called him Rafe, and as time passed, the name stuck. All the old ones have joined my father in death now, and my brother is known as Rafe by all but me, as it was with my father.

Throughout all this I remained Ashlyn Rafe. I’m not part of the gang, but I definitely not out of it either. I hate what they do, my brother and his companions, but they’re my family, and in this beautiful, corrupt city, family is the only pure thing left.

My legs were prickling from the heat of the fire next to me, so I shifted them, tucking my feet under me from where I sat in the great, wooden rocking chair that my father had favoured in his old age. Facing me, a little to the left sat a gibbering bald man perched on the end of a battered kitchen stool. My brother Dylan stood to the left; occasionally he would tap his feet, or pace back and forth between the fire and the opposite wall. The bald man watched him with wide eyes.

Behind me stood Foster, my brother’s closest friend. His hands rested on the back of my chair, and I knew without looking that his expression would be one of mild interest. Scattered around the hall, with their backs to the wall and faces stony, stood various other members of Rafe’s gang.

I’d been listening to the discussion because I had nothing better to do. The sweating, bald man was a butcher, and he was having trouble with violent competitors. A word from Dylan could mean that no one would dare touch him. He would have to pay for that word, but it was worth it if he could save his business.

I turned to look at my brother and saw that he was scowling at the bald man. Anyone would think he was angry, but I knew from experience that he was only thinking things over.

“Foster? What do you think?” Dylan asked, turning to the burly man behind me.

A gruff voice replied, “The sausages would be nice.”

I smiled to myself. Foster was known for straight thinking, many believed him lacking sense, but he merely saw things as they were. He did not dither around with small details, and with that simple, crude comment, he was reminding Dylan to think of the advantages as well as the negatives, and I didn’t just mean the sausages.

Dylan frowned again, turning back and pacing the length of the room. His steps echoed around the hall and I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. Finally, when he had reached the bald man again, he came to a conclusion.

“No,” He said, and I watched the bald man begin to splutter in protest, “We are too far stretched already.”

The bald man was turning pale, “Please, I beg you, I need to support my family-“

“Enough!” Dylan suddenly thundered, “I said no.”

One of the lackeys on the edge of the room began to move towards the bald man. Upon seeing him, the man glanced around frantically. His gaze fell on me and I groaned.

He practically threw himself at me feet, “Please Miss, please! You’ve got to help me; I’ve got young children, and my wife’s sick. I’ve got to feed them!”

Why do they always plead with me?

The lackey had paused, unsure as to whether he was still meant to remove the bald man. I sighed, and glanced up at my brother. He frowned at me, and this time it was definitely from anger.

“Ashlyn…” He growled in warning. I ignored him.

“Foster is right, the sausages would be nice.” I said, pulling my skirt out of reach of the bald man and staring back at my brother defiantly. Behind me Foster grunted, obviously annoyed I had used him to defend the bald man. I turned to smile sweetly at him before glancing back at my brother. He was pacing again.

He stopped at the other side of the wall, staring up at a portrait on the wall. “Let the word out that Derus Nighy’s Butchers is a friend of Rafe’s Gang, and any who feel the need to complain about his service can answer to me.”

The bald man let out a relieved sigh, “Oh thank you, thank you.”

“Get out now Nighy, and don’t think you have to kiss my sister’s feet on your way out.” I glared at him as he turned back round to face me, “She already thinks she’s a saint, we don’t want you encouraging her.”

Foster laughed loudly, and the bald man let out a nervous chuckle. “Thank you.” He mumbled for the third time, before scurrying out the door.

I stood up angrily, “You didn’t need to embarrass me like that. I didn’t ask you to support him!”

Dylan raised a single eyebrow, and gestured at the door. “Out. Everyone.” On cue, everyone except Foster and myself left the hall.

Dylan sat down on the dark blue armchair across from the fire, and Foster moved towards the stool. Angrily, I slumped back down in to the rocking chair.

“You do realise that now the word will spread that the way to Rafe’s heart is through his sister. Dozens will come to plead with you, that independence you crave will be lost.” Dylan said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not that popular.” I muttered, despite knowing he was completely right.

Foster grinned, “Ashlyn, you’re too much of a girl.”

“Oh shut it,” I said, “Compassion does not make me girly.”

They both laughed. Sighing, I stood up, “I’m going out.”

“Don’t be so dramatic Ashlyn.” Dylan grinned, reaching for my arm to pull me back.

I stepped away from him and walked towards the door, “I can be as moody as I like. After all, you said it: I’m a girl.” They’re laughter continued as I shut the large, wooden doors.

I had a reason for going out besides getting away from my infuriating brother. A few weeks ago I had spotted a Lewis servant in the market, and realised that the uniform she wore was almost identical to a green dress I owned. It had given me an idea, and I had spent several nights watching the Lewis household picking up as much information as I could. I needed to know where the servants went, and where other important rooms in the house were located.

Garth Lewis was a trader knight made extremely rich by the fishing trade of the River Jyn, which ran right past Lindbergh. His manor was situated in an upper-class area of Old District known as Brayor Street. For him, it was perfect, as it was close to the river and yet far away from the vagrants who swarmed the docks further east along the water. He had one daughter, Beatrix, a girl of 19 or so, who until recently spent most of the year at boarding school. I knew the house would have jewels. After all, Garth Lewis would not deny his little girl anything.

I had guessed they would be kept in the girl’s room; all I had to do was sneak in dressed as a servant, find them, and then sneak out again. Easy. I would make a nice little profit, and have the satisfaction of seeing Dylan’s face when he saw what I had commandeered, and then found out where they had come from. He had always frowned upon associating with nobles, especially rich and powerful ones like Lewis, but if I pulled off this heist without them even realising, -and I would- then he would have nothing to worry about.

The trouble was Lewis was no fool. He knew his wealth, and knew what threats there were. Guards were posted all over the manor, but by watching over the past few weeks I had discovered that they guarded the people, not the rooms. As long as Beatrix was out of her room, I should be safe. They would assume I was merely cleaning, and no one would notice a slight bulge under my dress.

The cold night air hit my face as I descended the steps of the house. I began walking down Lerwick Road in the direction of the Old District and the Lewis household. I was fairly safe. I needed only to show my father’s ring for people to understand it would mean trouble to attack me, and if there was some simpleton who still tried, I knew how to fight.

Despite this, I kept to the main road, travelling in the dim light of the lamp posts. They were freshly lit, with a lot of oil left; I could make it there and back in the safety of their light. Shivering, I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders more tightly and pressed on.

I smeared a thick layer of preserve onto my toast and bit into it, munching happily. I was starved and aching, having spent the whole of the night before sat in a tree outside the Lewis’ grounds.

Foster threw himself down on the bench across from me. I blinked up at him blearily, “Morning.” I received a grunt in reply.

When he had successfully stolen and eaten my second slice of toast he began to look more alive, unfortunately for me, this meant he started to remember things.

“You came in late last night Ashlyn.” He said, staring at me unnervingly.

“Hmm…” I mumbled, taking a large bite so I didn’t have to answer him.

“Where’d you go?”

“Out.” I said, gulping down my tea.

“Where’s out?”

I glared at him, “Around the river.”

“Doing what?”

I sighed. “Walking Foster, just walking.”

He was silent for a long time, I could feel his gaze on me, but I kept my eyes lowered and drank my tea quietly.

All of a sudden, he spoke. “You got a gentleman friend Ashlyn?”

I choked, spluttering on the tea that had gone straight up my nose. “What?” I gasped.

“You know Rafe wont be happy with you sneaking around like this, he’ll start to think there’s something wrong with the guy.” He grimaced, “Oh Ash, it aint' one of Fell’s men is it?”

Fell was my brother’s rival, there was no outright war, but Dylan made his distaste of the man known. I took a breath, mopping at the table where I’d spilled the tea. So they thought I was with someone, or at least Foster did, I hadn’t considered that was what it would seem like. It was definitely a good excuse.

“He’s not one of Fell’s,” I said carefully, thinking over my words, “He’s from over the river, no one you’d know.” Foster eyed me suspiciously.

“A southerner?”

“Yes, but he’s been coming across the river every year since he was five.” I lied, “Besides,” I said hurriedly, “It’s just a bit of fun. I’m not marrying the guy so Dylan doesn’t need to know about him.”

Foster stared at me and I thought that he could see through every word. I bit my lip and smiled sheepishly at him; it seemed to work. “You just be careful Ash, don’t get in too deep.”

I grinned at him, “Can you seriously see me settling down as a fisherman’s wife?”

He chuckled, “Aye, with five kiddies running around your feet, and you waiting anxiously for your husband to return home.” He snorted.

“You won’t tell Dylan, will you Foster?” It was suddenly imperative that Dylan didn’t hear my lie; he’d know instantly.

“Of course I won’t, mind you, you’ve got to let him know sometime.”

“I will.” I said, smiling, “Sometime.”

I hovered behind my now familiar tree, waiting patiently. As far as I could tell the servants just walked right through and were not questioned at the gate. I frowned, watching as one woman walked past the guards without a word. I had seen no friendly conversation between the guards and servants, so I could only assume they did not know each other.

This was it. This was the night. I’d donned my green dress, and ferreted out a white apron close to that of the other maids. I looked the part; all I needed now was some confidence. I straightened my back and smoothed down my skirt. With a deep breath I marched towards the entrance of the grounds. The guards turned to watch me, but I ignored them. I thought for a moment they would spot me out instantly but I passed by without comment. Within moments I was at the servant’s entrance of the Lewis manor, and there wasn’t a guard in sight.

I pushed the door open and moved through the corridor, heading towards the main staircase. I didn’t know my way around, but I walked with purpose and no one stopped to question me. I headed in what I thought was the direction of the east wing, in which I knew Beatrix Lewis’ room was located. I wandered round the corridors, opening doors that looked promising and finding only guest rooms. I’d begun to worry when I finally I reached the far end of the wing; it wouldn’t be long before people turned up and realised I wasn’t supposed to be here. I sighed in frustration. I was at the last door now, the only one left to try. No one seemed to be around, so I peeked inside.

I knew instantly that I was in the right place. A gown was hanging from the wooden wardrobe, and there was the faint smell of flowery perfume in the air. Grinning in triumph, I hurried inside and shut the door securely. Once inside I paused, glancing around.

Where would a lady keep her jewels? I spied some drawers and opened them; digging around amongst the contents. There was many a silk handkerchief, but no jewellery. I frowned, spinning around slowly while surveying the room. The large bed was in the far corner, the window on the left, and the wardrobe on the back wall. I looked at it, trying the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. They’d been locked.

Something led my gaze to the top of the large cabinet. Resting there barely visible was a small, wooden chest. I smiled, reaching for it. I pulled it down and rested it on the bed. The dark wood was carved beautifully; I traced the spiralling grooves with my fingers, feeling the silk of the polish underneath my hands. There was a thin seam, barely visible, but I could see no latch. I bent down, examining it further.

There. A tiny keyhole, hidden amongst the patterns of the box. I could imagine the key that fit it, no bigger than a charm on a bracelet. I put my hands on the surface again, and felt it press down slightly under the weight. I frowned. That wasn’t right - not unless it was already unlocked. I tried opening the chest and the lid lifted up with ease. I had to bite my lip to stop the gleeful squeal coming out.

Oh, this was just too easy!

And the jewels! Dylan would be drooling when he saw these beauties. The box was lined with a deep red velvet, and dozens of bracelets, necklaces, brooches, earrings and other accessories that I could not even imagine the use of littered the inside. Smiling, I pulled out the leather pouch I’d brought, my hand reached first for the thinly woven golden chain nestled within the velvet. I pocketed it, and went next for a string of milky pearls.

There was a sudden noise, a scrambling, and then a muffled curse.

I froze. Guards!

I dropped the pearls back into the box, and scurried round to the long drapes that hung from the window. They just about hid me; anyone entering through the door would not know I was here unless they walked towards the window.

I heard the scuffling noise again, only this time it had me confused rather than panicked. It was coming from outside the window, not the door as I’d originally thought. That couldn’t be the guards. I heard another quiet curse and instantly knew who it was climbing the wall.

Furious, I flung myself at the windowsill, leaning as far over as I could; in the dark I could only see the outline of their shapes. “Dylan,” I snarled, my voice was only a whisper, but the anger was unmistakable, “I swear I’ll kill you for follow-“

I stopped short. The closest figure on the wall had just moved into the light of the window; his hair was black, his skin a dark, creamy brown and his eyes a startling green colour. I did not know him. It wasn’t my brother, and it certainly wasn’t Foster or anyone else in the gang. Shocked, I just gaped at him. The man glanced up and I saw his lips curve into a grin. His smirk brought me back to life. I leapt backwards, but by then he was at the windowsill, heaving himself up.

I scrambled towards the door. My hand was on the door knob when I realised there might be guards on the other side, and they would certainly ask questions if I came pelting out. I dithered, judging my chances with the guards and these unknown intruders. A hand snaked round my waist and I was hauled backwards, the doorknob slipped from my fingers.

Damn it!

I struggled uselessly against the body behind me. It’s hand continued to hold me though, and another was trying to pin my arms down against my sides. I resisted, wrenching my arm free and jerking it backwards. I heard a satisfying grunt as my elbow hit the stomach of the man behind me.

His grip loosened slightly, and I tried to pull away, but others were on me now, holding me down. I kicked and punched, at one point I was sure I got someone in the eye, but then I lost my balance and stumbled. I fell to the ground with a thump. I tried to pull myself up, but was pinned back down. I struggled against them; biting, hitting, and kicking at the bodies that surrounded me.

Suddenly everyone was still, the only sounds became their ragged breathing and my pounding heart. I felt the cool metal of a knife at my throat.

“Not a word.” A voice said, “And you can stop fighting, or we will kill you.”

My gaze slid up the arm that pressed the knife to my throat and reached the man’s face. I wasn’t surprised to find it was him, the one with the green eyes, who had smirked when he saw me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. If I hadn’t been lying flat on my back I would have spat in his face. Unlike my brother, who would carry on fighting until the blade was stuck in him, I had learnt that when there was a knife pressed to your throat, it was time to stop struggling. There would be time later to fight. I took in a deep breath, and nodded my head slightly, wary of the blade.

“Good girl.” The man glanced towards one of his companions, a tall, broad shouldered fellow with a vibrant lock of red hair. He would have looked almost comical if his nose hadn’t so obviously been broken four times or more. As it was, he looked like a menacing, red giant. I hoped he wasn’t the one I had hit in the eye.

I watched them survey the room and spot the carved chest of jewels. The man nodded his head towards it and the red giant lumbered over, shoving all the jewels into a scabby looking pillowcase.

Anger overtook my fear, “They’re mine!” I hissed, wriggling despite the blade. Hands held me down fast and the man’s gaze was brought back to me. He was smirking again, but he didn’t say anything; just stared at me and carried on smiling. I tried to gaze back defiantly, but to my shame I weakened. I looked away, staring intently at one of the hands holding me down. It was freckled.

I stayed silent as they moved around the room, no doubt collecting all the jewels that were meant to be mine. I gritted my teeth, and instead thought about what they would do to me. I’d never heard of thieves encountering other thieves on jobs. Maybe they’d let me go? Well, they would if they had any sense. But then again, the way they’d treated me showed they didn’t have any at all. When Dylan found out about this blood would be shed for sure. So maybe they would kill me, to stop me tattling. But then if Dylan found out that they’d killed his only sister, they wouldn’t get out of that alive either.

I stared at the man; he was still knelt beside me, but he’d given the knife to the freckle handed boy on my other side. I watched him follow the movements of the others.

What was he thinking?

“Jett,” He said, and the scruffy haired man by the door stood to attention, “Stay there. Make sure no one comes and then follow us when we’ve reached the bottom.”

“Sure thing Jack.” The man by the door said, nodding once.

The man, Jack, stood up. He looked down at me and frowned. I preferred that to his smile. “Get her up.”

The red giant moved towards me, gripping my arms. The knife moved away and I was lifted upwards. His large hands stayed on my arms, and I didn’t need to struggle to know I stood no chance of escaping that grip. I was turned to face the man Jack, and he surveyed me as if I were another one of the jewels, worth only the money paid for me.

What was he thinking?

Finally his eyes moved back to my face, “Are you going to fight?” He asked.

I recalled a sudden memory: my father. The large and terrifying man that so many people had feared, and still did, as my brother carried his name. In one of his rare parental moments he’d sat me on his knee,

“Ashlyn, you listen good here gal. You never stop fighting, ya’ hear me? Never stop fighting. The instant you do that they’ve got you. It’s all over. You wonder why your Pa’s so strong? It’s cause he never stops fighting, and never will!”

He’d made me swear to him that I’d never give in to a fight, never stop resisting, never surrender. It was one of his few pieces of advice I thought worthwhile.

I lifted my chin defiantly, forcing myself to gaze straight back at the man’s green eyes. “Always.” I said.

He sucked on his lip, as if mulling over my answer. ”Very well.” He said, “Brice, if you would.”

From the corner of my eye I saw the red giant’s arm move. It was too quick to follow, and before I could turn to watch him there was a loud thud and a sharp, throbbing pain at the side of my head. My vision went foggy, and I heard someone whimper. I realised it was me, and with that final, horrifying thought my sight clouded over completely. I slumped to the ground, my mind enclosed in darkness.