Babel

by R.F. Kuang

‘Anyhow,’ Griffin said when Robin emerged. ‘How would you like to steal for us?’ ‘Steal?’ They were strolling at an absurd pace again. ‘You mean from Babel?’ ‘Obviously, yes. Keep up.’ ‘But why do you need me?’ ‘Because you’re a part of the institution and we’re not. Your blood’s in the tower, which means there are doors you can open that we can’t.’ ‘But why . . .’ Robin’s tongue kept tripping over a flood of questions. ‘What for? What do you do with what you steal?’ ‘Just what I told you. We redistribute it. We’re Robin Hood. Ha, ha. Robin. No? All right. We send bars and silver-working materials all over the world to people who need them – people who don’t have the luxury of being rich and British. People like your mother. See, Babel’s a dazzling place, but it’s only dazzling because it sells its match-pairs to a very limited customer base.’ Griffin glanced over his shoulder. There was no one around them save a washerwoman lugging a basket down the other end of the street, but he quickened his pace regardless. ‘So are you in?’