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2
The Keepers of the Gates

I can’t remember how long it took Femi to tear me away, only that I scratched at him like a wild thing, howling till I lost my voice, hoarsely begging him to bring me back to Azelma, but he never once loosened his grip.

His voice was unsteady as he murmured to me, “I am taking you to a place that you must get into. In the west wing you will find a room. Inside that room is a boy, and around his neck is something you must take or all will be lost.”

These were his instructions as emotion churned within me. Perhaps if I did as he said, I could go home.

I look up at giant iron gates, where six heads have been impaled on spikes. They are the Keepers of the Gates, ever staring. The heads have been preserved in oil so they will not rot, but the wind and rain have nevertheless turned them sour and hideous. It is a gruesome warning to all the land of what happens to those who cross the nobility.

This is the place I must get into.

A gold-wrought cage, the Palace of the Tuileries.

I feel a knot of fear in my chest.

Remember that everyone is afraid.

I close my eyes and think of Azelma’s words, the stories she wove around me.

Il était une fois … there were six mice that lived in a city of cats. They dwelt in a time of great suffering and terror. One day the mice started to speak and ask questions that no mice before them had ever dared whisper.

I open my eyes and count the heads on the spikes again, mouthing the names as I go.

And these were the names given to the mice: Robespierre the Incorruptible, Marat the Hideous, Danton of the Golden Tongue, Mirabeau the Wise, Desmoulins the Brave, and St. Juste the Beautiful, the Angel of Death.

Father has been taking me out on his burglaries for over a year, so I know well how to silently clamber and slip into small spaces. After all, I am a mere whisper of a girl, more shadow than flesh.

I am afraid to break into the palace. But I am more afraid of what will happen if I don’t. All I know is that I must get back to my sister, so the quicker I do what I’m told, the quicker I can return. Which is why I throw myself between the wheels of a moving carriage and grab the underside, letting it carry me into the grounds, past the guards. I hang there until feet in jeweled slippers step from the carriage onto bone-white gravel and the servants in leather slippers and hard boots close the doors with a resounding thud. The carriage starts to move toward the hulking building, and at last I release my grip.

I somehow manage to slip past blurs of noise—for even at this hour, there’s the clamoring of guards, carriages, and servants—and scale the wall that will lead me to the west wing.

My fingers are bleeding by the time I get to the right balcony and drag my body over the rail, collapsing in a heap.

It takes me a few minutes to look around. There’s a large shuttered door. But Father showed me how to pick a lock before I could even walk. I reach into my trouser pockets and find the pins that Azelma placed there for me. Thanking her silently, I pull them out and get to work. Father taught me well. The door opens in seconds, gliding outward, leaving me staring into a massive room cloaked in darkness. Roaring fear pulses at my throat, driving me ever forward. I take a step and let my eyes adjust.

Inside that room is a boy …

He is at the far end of the room, asleep in a mountain of a bed.

I ignore all the ornaments, the fine furniture, the baubles shining eerily in the moonlight that gently filters into the room. The curtains around the bed are not drawn. I wonder why a boy like this would want to look out into the darkness at all.

Breath catching in my throat, I pad toward him, movements fluid, forcing the panic down. I wonder who he is. Surely he’s a noble of importance, his room being the size of Father’s whole inn.

Around his neck is something you must take …

A collared nightshirt betrays an inch of pale skin. But I see nothing around his neck.

Although Father sends me up walls and down chimneys to grab whatever he instructs, I have never stolen anything from someone who was actually present for the theft. The rule is always to hide until they are gone. But that is not the rule tonight.

I rub my hands together to warm them and lean over the boy. He has long eyelashes and dark wavy hair. He looks peaceful, and by the sliver of moonlight I imagine that he is quite handsome, like a boy from one of Azelma’s stories.

I lower gentle fingers to his shirt—it’s best to move neither too slowly nor too quickly. I keep to the shirt fabric, trying to avoid his skin. There it is! A chain, long and heavy, which is why it wasn’t high about his neck. The length and weight also mean it’s loose, easy to tease out. The end of the necklace slips from under the covers, and I pause for a mere second as it glimmers in the moonlight. It’s the largest stone I’ve ever seen, a sapphire set in a gold casing thick with smaller pearls and jewels. It sits heavily against his chest. He will surely wake if I lift it, or if not then, when I try to get it over his head.

You’re small and you’re quick, and those, too, are weapons.

I count to three and then I move. As smooth as water, the necklace is whipped off, and there’s only a whisper of a second when the metal chain brushes his skin. When he opens his eyes, he’s looking right into mine.

You’re clever, Nina, and that is a weapon.

If he shouts for help, he will rob me of important seconds I need to escape. I might make it to the balcony, but not beyond.

This is the art of thieving … Femi’s words echo in my ears. Deaf are the distracted, and blind are the surprised. Those mesmerized by a face do not notice where the hands may creep.

I need to distract him, keep him surprised—or at least, more surprised than he currently is. His mouth opens, so I do the first thing that comes into my head: I kiss him, pressing my lips to his in a style that I’ve seen played out too many times in dark corners of Father’s inn. He tastes like chocolate. And that’s the last thought in my mind as I push away from him and start to run, leaping for the balcony.

I’m over the edge, into the freezing night, my lips still burning. I hear a strangled sound as I drop and roll onto the balcony, then start to scale the wall down to the ground.

“Wait! Please!”

I should not look up, but I do, fingers raw and wind at my back. He’s staring down at me from two floors above. He’s going to call the guards; he’s going to demand I give the necklace back; he’s going to have me arrested, and I will have failed Femi and Azelma.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I pause for only a second before I smile at him. “The Black Cat,” I say. Then I let go and drop like a shadow into the night.

Femi and I travel over rooftops in the dark, high above the noise of heaving, sleepless streets, far from the city center, over warrenous rookeries and pitch-black alleys. Femi nearly flies, moving with fearlessness and grace. Every now and again he whistles, each time a different sound, as clear as the bells of Notre-Dame. I think I hear the echo of an answer on the wind, but I can’t be sure it’s not my tumultuous mind playing tricks on me.

“Keep up, little cat!” Femi calls, his voice soft, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Don’t think, don’t hesitate, just leap when I leap.”

Every step I take is filled with terror: I never know if my foot will land solidly or if I’ll fall behind. Father taught me how to scale buildings but never how to soar, leaping like a bird from rooftop to rooftop. With every leap, I think of my sister and my stomach turns inside out.

When we pause so I can catch my breath, Femi whispers to me in urgent tones the reason for our mission, words I am to repeat, gestures I am to make. The jumble of things I must remember is terrifying. Panic rises, choking me, but I think of Azelma and bite my lip, forcing myself to concentrate. Then we are off again. And in the darkness, I repeat Femi’s words to myself over and over till I know them by heart. I will do whatever I must to get back to Azelma.

Finally, he stops, and I nearly whimper in relief, overcome by the journey, my ears ringing with the instructions he has given me. In the silvery dawn, I see that we are on the outskirts of an abandoned neighborhood, its buildings ravaged by time. We scramble down the side of a crumbling edifice, push past a half-open gate, dwarfed by the shadow of a ruined church. A pair of heavy doors awaits, our arrival upsetting a murder of crows nesting in the roof. Inside, what hasn’t decayed has long since been scavenged: the benches, altars, and stained-glass windows are dark open wounds along the crumbling walls.

“L’église de l’évêque Myriel,” Femi says, his low voice echoing into the ruin. “They say it’s haunted by the ghost of its founder, a man violently converted from a life of nefarious crime.” He reaches out to me, drawing me into the darkness after him.

“And there are others who say that l’évêque Myriel never gave up his criminal ways. Becoming a ‘man of God’ was the perfect cover for his illustrious career.”

Femi gently pulls me toward a small side door that must once have led to a vestry. We enter and step through another decomposing room and down a dark staircase. He slows a little for me, pointing out which stones are likely to shift beneath our feet. At the bottom of the staircase in the meager half-light is a monster of a door, darker even than the darkness of this lightless place. Femi places a hand on it, and I follow. It is cold beneath my touch. Iron, which does not rot, or burn, or fade …

The giant door swings open before us. A blaze of light blinds me.

“Welcome to the Guild of Thieves,” Femi murmurs.

3
The Lord of Thieves

“Fret not, little one. Thénardier is not here tonight.”

I shiver at the sound of my father’s name, but Femi nudges me gently on the shoulder.

“Look up.”

He points overhead, and I crane my neck to see. The vaulted ceiling glimmers like a net of pure shimmering light.

“The true beauty of the Thieves Guild lies there,” Femi says. “Once a year, during the feast of l’évêque Myriel, patron saint of Thieves, each member of the Guild offers a stone, a crystal, or a shining gold coin. Each Cat of the Guild is given a share, and they race up the walls and climb ropes thrown from high windows. The Cat that reaches the top first has the honor of embedding the gift in the ceiling.”

Our mother the City is draped in a coat of fog and smoke so thick that I have never seen the stars in the night sky—but I imagine that this is what they look like. Something inside my chest thrills to the beauty of it. But there’s not much time to admire before Femi is steering me away. I blink and take in the noisy chaos of the hall.

It’s like a palace, if a palace had no organization and great treasures were left all over the place. It’s a chaos of graceful statues of white marble and ancient blackened gargoyles that must have come from Notre-Dame herself. The floors are covered with overlapping carpets of thick colored silks no doubt taken from the best houses in the city. Every inch of wall is hung with gilt-framed paintings large and small, depicting battles, ships at sea, landscapes, romantic images of myths, religious icons, and portraits.

The hall shimmers and buzzes with wine, heat, and ribald conversation. Beneath it all, a strange current of danger pulses. The place is alive—teeming with people of all ages, shapes, and sizes, of all skin colors and dress. I see sharp-eyed faces, old women swathed in layers, and merchant-class men in stiff cloaks, as well as the odd priest.

“There are no family names in the Miracle Court. There is no race or religion,” Femi says to me. “Faith, caste, blood—these are not bonds that tie the Wretched together, for that is how the world sees us, as wretched. And thus, Wretched is the name given to all children of the Miracle Court. What binds us is our Guild. It is a bond stronger than family, thicker than blood. All you see here are brothers and sisters of the Thieves Guild.”

Femi indicates a horde of ragged, barefoot boys and girls only a few years older than me.

“Those are the Dogs: Thieves who conduct their business at street level. There are also Horses—highwaymen—though there are only two left in the entire Guild, since the Gentleman no longer rides.”

For any of the Wretched who appear to be everyday persons from the city streets, there are ten others wearing impossibly bright clothing, jewels that glimmer and shine. Men and women with diamonds and rubies dripping from their necks, noses, wrists, ears, fingers, and toes, every knuckle coated in shining stones.

“Those are the Cats,” Femi mutters, indicating the brightly clad figures. “Burglars that prefer to sneak along rooftops and slip through windows and chimneys.”

His eyes narrow at a particularly rotund gentleman garbed in purple, gold, and pink. Every part of him is shining with jewels so weighty it must be impossible for him to lift his hands.

“Cats are always showing off.”

Along one side of the hall is a long, crooked line of people. Femi gestures toward them.

“All Thieves hand their take to the People of the Pen—clerks, on rent from the Guild of Letters. They serve as accountants, lawyers, and auditors to all nine Guilds of the Miracle Court.”

I squint at the row of pale, expressionless men and women seated behind a long table, wearing robes of indistinct color. Their heads are bent; they are all taking copious notes, barely saying a word.

“The People of the Pen are obsessive with information,” Femi whispers. “Their devotion to order and detail is stronger than their will to be corrupted. They’re both feared and respected by all the Wretched, for there’s nothing about us they don’t know. The location of each Guild House is a strictly kept secret, except to myself, as Messenger to all the Guilds, and to the Guild of Letters. When the People of the Pen come knocking at the door for an audit, even the most fearsome of Guild Lords lets them enter.”

Once the takes are noted and signed for, they are handed to clerks with magnifying glasses and monocles that give them the strange appearance of owls. They inspect each item, testing silver and gold, setting things alight, striking them with hammers, even biting them before announcing their findings, which are sometimes met with laughter at the Thieves’ expense, or murmurs of jealousy at some of their better takes.

In the center of the room is an intricately carved black chair. Hanging from its high, pointed back are piles of sparkling necklaces, a glittering diadem or two, and several fine embroidered tapestries. Sitting in the thronelike chair is a man a little older than my father. He has the same copper-brown skin and cunning golden eyes as Femi.

They must be kin, I think.

He is dressed more modestly than many of the Thieves around him, in a well-cut coat and shirt of unexceptional color. In fact, nothing about him is exceptional except for two chains of varying lengths that encircle his neck: one a shimmering rope of pure diamonds, another a collar of rubies gleaming in the light of a hundred burning candelabras.

“Tomasis, the Lord of Thieves,” Femi says, nodding toward the man.

Standing beside the Lord’s chair is an older gentleman. His face is a map of heavily powdered wrinkles, his hair is hidden under a wig, and he is shod in the worn, gilt-edged finery of a noble gone to seed.

Femi inclines his head toward the powdered man. “There are only three Merveilles—Wonders—still living in the Court. They are criminals of such fame and notoriety they’ve become living legends. The most any child of the Court can hope for after their death is that their songs will be sung, their stories told over and over again. But the Merveilles—their exploits are recounted to every child of the Court while they still draw breath. The three remaining Merveilles are le Maire, the Fisherman, and the Gentleman. Le Maire is a member of the Guild of Letters, and he’s been missing for more than a decade. The Fisherman is Nihuang, the Lady of the Smugglers Guild. The last Merveille is the man standing beside the Lord of Thieves. ‘Gentleman’ George, infamous highwayman. And if you earn his favor, there is much that he can teach you.”

The Gentleman spots us and inclines his head to whisper something in the ear of Tomasis, the Lord of Thieves, who turns to glance lazily in our direction. Femi squeezes my arm.

“It is time, Nina. Remember all I have told you. There is no going back.”

Femi marches me toward the men. People move away to let us pass, looking at me with a hungry interest that I can’t quite like.

We reach the throne and Femi drops to one knee, pulling me with him. “Monseigneur. Vano, Lord of the stolen, Father of thievery and plunder …”

“I’m listening, mon frère,” Tomasis says.

I find myself pulled back to my feet as Femi rises.

Tomasis glances at the powdered gentleman, who nods at Femi.

“Messenger,” the man says in a honeyed voice.

“Gentleman,” Femi replies with a slight incline of his head; then he turns back to Tomasis.

“I have a new child for you, Monseigneur.”

I immediately lower my eyes to the intricate silken rugs that cover the floor. Femi has told me that I must be prepared to watch much of the proceedings from beneath lowered lashes, but I risk a glance up.

Tomasis smiles a leathery smile, taking a sip of wine from a jewel-studded goblet.

“A child?” he asks, placing the goblet on a delicate mother-of-pearl table beside him before pinioning me with his eyes.

Had I thought his eyes lazy before? They positively eat me whole now. Beside him, the Gentleman tilts his head at me like a bird, considering my potential.

“She is a Cat, Monseigneur,” Femi says.

Tomasis considers Femi, and I can’t help but see the clear resemblance between them: they must be brothers.

“Isn’t recruiting kittens the role of the Master of Beasts? Last I checked, you were still Aves, the Elanion—Messenger to the Miracle Court. Strange, then, that one who carries messages should suddenly take on this new responsibility, especially when you have never shown particular interest in the Cats of this Guild.”

Tomasis is famously suspicious, Femi told me as we crept along the rooftops. You have to be suspicious to become a Guild Lord, and you have to continue to be suspicious if you want to remain one.

Tomasis focuses on me, and when he speaks, his words are deceptively gentle.

“And who are you, little one, that the Messenger of the Miracle Court himself pleads for you?”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Despite the swarming buzz of conversation around me, I feel the burning of hundreds of eyes on my back.

“My name is Eponine Thénardier,” I say.

Around us, surprise makes the volume of conversation raise.

Tomasis narrows his eyes at this, taking in the lines of my face, reading me as if to see a resemblance.

“Thénardier is the Master of Beasts of this Guild. He rules beneath me and manages all my children, Dogs, Cats, and Horses. He knows all my business and holds tremendous power within the Shining Hall.”

Power he won after several other Masters died in frequent and mysterious succession, Femi told me. Thénardier has never been shy of slitting a throat or two when needs must.

“Explain what reason I might have to take his own kin from him behind his back?” Tomasis turns to Femi, his gaze burning bright.

Femi doesn’t flinch. “Thénardier has been using his own flesh and blood to perform his best takes—perhaps all of his takes—for the last two years now. The offerings he presented to you were not his to give.”

“A thief, then? Is that what you accuse him of? Thievery is quite a common practice between these walls.”

The hall comes alive with laughter at that. Tomasis smiles pleasantly, but there’s no denying the hardness to his eye and the grim line of his lips.

“And if the offerings he gives me are ample tithe,” Tomasis continues, “what is it to me how he came by them?”

“She is not of the Wretched. She is no child of the Miracle Court, bound by no Guild, bearing no mark—”

“You avoid the question. Why would I insult the Master of Beasts before the whole Guild by taking a Cat, his own flesh and blood, behind his back?”

“Ask her what she has for you.” Femi’s voice is barely a whisper, yet it resounds in the hall.

I reach into my coat and pull out the chain with trembling fingers; the heavy stone follows.

“Rennart’s balls! Is that the Talisman of Charlemagne?” The Gentleman steps forward and lifts the stone delicately from my palm. He fishes a monocle from his waistcoat pocket and inspects it, turning it over before setting it once again in my hand.

“This stone is one of the crown jewels,” he says.

“Yes,” I say, even though I had no idea.

“They are kept at the Palace of the Tuileries.”

I nod.

“Where was the stone?”

“Around the neck of a boy.” I try hard not to let my voice waver.

The Gentleman starts at that. “A boy? The Talisman is currently worn by the dauphin of France.”

So that’s who the boy was: prince of the realm. Future king, heir to the throne of France. I let out my breath heavily. I kissed the future king, and he tasted of chocolate …

Tomasis laughs, a tremendous sound bursting with warmth and humor that fills the hall and bounces off the walls and ceiling. “The Talisman of Charlemagne, stolen from the neck of the dauphin. It is worth a sight more to me than Thénardier’s pride,” he says, wiping his glittering eyes.

Femi raises his eyebrows subtly at me.

“This is the offering I bring before you,” I say quickly, reciting the words he taught me on the rooftops. “A gift from the”—I pause to recall the name—“caliph to the king of Those Who Walk by Day, containing the hair of one of their most holy saints.” I drop to one knee, head bowed. “Take this gift, Lord of Thieves. May it please you and grant me favor. And take me with it, as daughter to you. Let me dwell in your presence as one of the Wretched, a true child of the Miracle Court, and I will serve you for all my days.”

The Gentleman glances to Tomasis, who nods. The powdered man steps forward, clearing his throat.

“What is your name?” he intones.

“I have none until my Father has spoken it.”

“Who is your mother?”

“I have no mother but the City.”

“And who is your Father?”

“I have no Father but the Lord of Thieves.”

The Gentleman lifts his head and looks out at the Thieves in the hall before continuing. “Today you shed your earthen skin and are reborn in the darkness to your Guild and the Wretched—your brothers and sisters.

“Hereafter you will be called by your true name …”

He pauses, glancing at Femi, who, tilting his chin up, says, “Black Cat of the Thieves Guild, daughter of Tomasis, child of the Miracle Court. May they sing your songs forever.”

May they sing your songs forever. The words ring in my ears as a hundred voices repeat them around me.

Tomasis gestures for me to approach. I rise and bring the necklace to him. He leans forward, lowering his head, and I put the heavy chain around his neck. The stone nestles against his chest, glimmering defiantly against the rubies and diamonds beneath it.

“From this day forth I will be your Father,” Tomasis says. “You are bound to me by bone and iron. I lay my mark upon your skin, and you will recognize none but me above you.”

“Thank you, Father,” I say. From the corner of my eye, I see a thin woman dressed in silks approaching, a bottle of dark liquid and a metal quill in her hands.

“From this day forth I will protect you from all things, and you will serve me in all things and abide by the laws of the Miracle Court.”

“I will, my Lord,” I say, trying not to stiffen as the woman reaches me. She tilts my head to the side, exposing my neck, and with a swiftness that is astounding, and a biting, burning pain, she tattoos a shape into the soft skin behind my ear.

“From this day forth, the Guild of Thieves will be your family, and you will serve them, and never shall you betray them.”

I feel blood beading under the sting of the woman’s quill; smell its metallic tang as she finishes. My neck is aflame with the pain of it.

I know the mark is a diamond, because I have seen Thénardier’s mark when he was passed out on the floor after a drunken rage.

“It is not often, little Cat, that I am honored with so worthy an offering.” Tomasis holds the Talisman in his palm and tilts it so it catches the light. “I will give you a gift, if you desire it. Ask anything of me and it shall be yours.”

Beside me, Femi twitches. I sense his warning and ignore him.

“I wish for you to save my sister,” I say hurriedly. “For you to give her your protection as you have done for me.”

I hold my breath and try not to hope.

“Save her?” Tomasis asks. “From what does she need saving?”

“She has been taken, sold …,” I say, the words heavy in my mouth.

“Sold? That is indeed lamentable. And Thénardier allowed this to happen?”

I bite my lip. My father is Master of Beasts of this Guild; I dare not speak ill of him, not here.

“I see,” Tomasis says, frowning, my silence clearly explaining it all. “Thénardier always has been unnaturally fond of the coin.” He touches his necklace, considering. “Buying her back can be done. But consider this, little Cat: What if the one who bought her does not wish to sell?”

I raise my eyes fiercely to his.

“Then there is someone I wish to see dead,” I say.

Tomasis laughs, and the hall laughs with him. Only Femi shakes his head frantically, trying to get my attention.

“How very bloodthirsty of you.”

The laughter scratches at my skin. I have said the wrong thing, and it amuses them.

“You do not kill people?”

Tomasis smiles widely at me. “Not usually,” he says. “But I know others who are quite good at dealing in death. So tell me: Who is it that has taken her? Say his name and it shall be done.”

Femi makes a strangled noise.

“I heard him called Kaplan.”

The hall itself immediately goes silent. Beside me, Femi is frozen.

Tomasis rises with the dangerous grace of a jungle beast and in two strides is standing before me. The blow comes out of nowhere, sends me crashing to the ground. I try to ignore the sting of my cheek, the cold stone beneath my fingers as I struggle to my knees.

“Please!” Femi is saying, his voice urgent and shrill. “She does not know what Kaplan is.”

The whole hall stays silent.

“You would bring the Tiger’s enemies to my house?” Tomasis asks Femi, his eyes glittering darkly. “You would trick me into taking them as my own?”

“Forgive me, my Lord. She does not know what she is asking!” Femi says again sharply, his words like a blade parrying Tomasis’s rage, holding it back.

“Then why do you bring her to me?” Tomasis roars. “Why would she ask me to kill him?”

The question echoes off the walls. Everyone is listening.

I will myself not to tremble, sucking in the air around me to steady myself.

“Fath—Thénardier sold my sister to him,” I say, looking at his feet, trying to keep the fear from my voice.

Tomasis sighs and bends, putting a hand beneath my chin. When I look up, his eyes are boring into mine. “Violence is rare here in the Shining Hall. Unlike the other Guilds, we rely on our speed and our wits. It is said we Thieves are good at stealing even the outrage from a brother’s heart.” He steps back, sitting heavily on his chair. “I’ll forgive you your impudence because you’re among the youngest of my children. None would bring me what you have. And none would dare ask of me what you have just asked.”

He nods to Femi, who grabs me by the arm and yanks me to my feet.

“Lord Kaplan, the Tiger, rules the Guild of Flesh,” says Tomasis. “He sits at the high table with the eight other Lords of the Miracle Court.” He shuts his eyes and rubs a hand over his temple as if weary. “We have … agreements with the Guild of Flesh. They don’t interfere with us, and we let them be. I would not defy Lord Kaplan even for one of my own. For to attack a Lord would plunge the Court into war. It is forbidden; thus sayeth the Law.”

“Thus sayeth the Law.” The murmurs echo around me.

“We the Wretched, children of the Miracle Court, are bound by the Law,” Tomasis continues. “It binds us, it keeps us, protects us, constrains us. It is engraved on the scales of our eyes, it is written in ash on the blackened tablets of our hearts.”

“But my sister!” I cry.

“I will give you a hundred new sisters,” Tomasis says with mournful eyes. “But I cannot return to you that which has been taken. Grieve for her, but know that she is gone.”

I fight down the bitter disappointment that rises in me. I thought this man who rules so powerfully over the Guild of Thieves could help me save Azelma.

A trembling starts within me. I try to control it, making fists and holding my limbs taut, but it takes over, my body no longer able to contain everything it feels. Tomasis catches me by the arm and pulls me toward him. His voice softens and lowers so that only Femi and I can catch his words.

“Do not be afraid, little one. You are a child of this Guild; Kaplan will not touch you. And you will be safe here from Thénardier’s wrath—I know his violence when the bottle has him. Look at me now: you are no longer his kin, you are my daughter. If he raises a hand to you, it will be as if he has struck me—and even he has never been drunk enough to try such a thing.”