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live. The man was a weasel, but weasels were usually interested in self-preservation. In any case, he had to concentrate on getting the papers out of this house and to the Zodiac, where they would be safe. He noticed the sky lightening in the east. He would stay only long enough to learn the layout of the house. One circuit around, and then he’d vanish.
    * * * *
    Up in her room, Cordelia stood at her window in the cool hour before dawn. She had dreamed of the
Andraste
again. Unlike her early dreams of it, in which the sides shone silver like a knight’s armor, in this dream the ship was the blue black of a folded blade. The sea it sailed over was dark, the waves tinged red by sunset. The sails were filthy with salt and grime, and the shouts of men—sailors? soldiers?—echoed over the water. She stood gazing at the ship from a headland, watching in despair as her beautiful creation, the bright ship
Andraste
, became blood-stained in battle.
    At the window, Cordelia bowed her head. What had she been thinking? She thought her design would save lives, not help destroy them. She’d been a child when she first dreamed up the
Andraste
, with a child’s naiveté.
    Something caught her eye outside. Cordelia watched a shape drift over the lawn. Something—someone—was on her property. The bulk of the shape was scarcely noticeable in the dim light, and she stared hard for a minute to make sure she was not mistaken. But then it moved again. Yes, it was a man. A man watching the house.
    She knew she should pull the bell to summon help. Jem could try to chase the man down again. But something held her in place. She tried to see the outline of the man on the lawn. Was he old? Young? Fat? Was he the same man who had broken in before? Cordelia kept to the side of her window, hoping that she was invisible to the watcher. Who was he?
    Suddenly, the shape moved again. Walking parallel to the edge of the lawn, the man made his way to the gravel drive, where he halted for a moment. Then he turned and disappeared. But right before he did, Cordelia caught the shape of his silhouette against the white gravel. She had no reason to believe that she had seen this man before, but the impression was seared onto her overactive brain. The shape of the head, the set of the broad shoulders. Even under the greatcoat that covered his frame, she knew who it was. It was the man who had kissed her.
    She could not forget the shape of him.
    She trembled, remembering how close he had gotten to her…but why had he followed her in the gardens, if not to force her to give him the papers? 
    Blinking, she realized his kiss must have been part of a cold-hearted seduction plan. Did he really think seduction would work? Hadn’t it, almost? She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t been extremely affected by his attention. She ruefully noted that he’d been quite sure of his effect on her. But even worse was that little pull in her heart. She had
liked
him, even before he kissed her. He seemed…fascinating. Part of her wondered what it would be like to have someone like him at her side. If they could be allies.
    Shivering, Cordelia turned away from the window. “I know what you want,” she whispered to the air. “But I’ll never let you get it.”

Chapter 8
    The morning dawned bright and glorious, but no one in the house on Quince Street was in a mood to appreciate it. A few servants, led by Stiles, paced around the yard, discussing the house in a very professional manner.
    “Those windows are so low to the ground, you can practically call them doors,” Jem noted critically. He’d been a pickpocket in a former life and, as a member of a gang, had also stolen from several houses of the gentry. “We can’t keep watch all night, every night, so we’ll have to secure them somehow.”
    “And locks alone won’t do,” Bond added. “Any decent thief knows how to muffle the sound of broken glass.”
    “Towel.” Jem nodded.
    “Or cut a pane out with a