Clary is 14.

…………………………

Clary's eyes flew open as she heard the wood creaking by her bedroom door. She strained her eyes and, to her horror, saw a shape moving out of her bedroom and into the hall. Her da was away in Port Caynn delivering a set of beds, and that shape was far too big to be her mother or Rosalind or Klee - which meant that somebody else had been in her bedroom.

She wanted to just stay in her bed, to pull the covers over her head and pretend that nothing was wrong, but it was far better to do something rather than nothing. That person most definitely should not be in her house, and she had to get rid of them. She argued with herself over whether or not to light a candle, but decided that she'd rather be caught and be able to see than not know what was happening in the darkness. Carefully, she sat up in bed as quietly as she could and reached for the candle and matches. Her eyes widened as she heard her mother shriek. There wasn't much point in keeping quiet now, especially with the candle lit, so she hurried for the door and carefully looked out. Her mother and Rosalind were both standing at the other end of the hallway looking frightened, and there was a man standing in front of them holding a knife.

He turned and looked at Clary. "You be a good little gixie and come over here."

Clary gasped when she saw him holding Tomcat and her jewellery box under his other arm. "They're mine," she said indignantly. "Give them back!"

The thief laughed. "Make me."

"Give them back and get out of our house!"

"'Ere now, stop making all that noise." He started walking towards her. "Or I'll make you stop."

Clary's eyes widened. "Stop moving or…or I'll scream!"

"Not if I slit yer throat first." He lunged for her and Clary ran down the stairs as quickly as she could. The man stayed at the top, unsure whether to follow her or stay up there.

Clary looked at her mother and Rosalind. "Don't just stand there, get into a bedroom or sommat!"

That made the thief's mind up; he advanced on them with the knife. "Don't move. And ye, the little gixie-" he nodded his head in Clary's direction, "don't ye think of goin' anywhere. If ye do, ye'll never see these two mots breathin' again."

"I'm not little," muttered Clary as her mother gasped and Rosalind wailed. "You're not going to kill them," she told the thief, trying to sound a lot more confident than she felt. "Because that would make my da really mad and he'd kill you too."

The thief laughed. "There's no man in this house, only a little boy. I looked around."

"Da's not in the house, he's sleeping in his workshop because he has to get up early," she lied.

"I've been watchin' yer house, ye little hedgecreeper. Yer da's gone away."

"You keep telling yourself that while I fetch him," she answered, and hurried off down the hallway to Klee's door. He was there already, woken up by the voices and looking terrified. Clary pushed past him to find his candle and light it from hers. She handed it to him, ignoring her mother's orders to come back and do what the man said so that nobody was hurt. "Klee, I need you to fetch the Dogs. Go out the back door so he doesn't see you."

He gulped. "But I think I'm supposed to…do something."

Clary pushed him towards the back door. "Find the closest Dogs as quickly as you can. I'll sort something out." They were both outside now, and Klee ran out the gate to the road. Clary hoped he would find some help quickly, and ran down the path to her da's workshop. She reached the door and pushed on it frantically, and then swore when she realised he'd locked it. Of course he'd lock it; to protect his tools from the thief she needed them for. There was nothing else she could do; she'd have to settle for using the biggest knife she could find in the kitchen and hope it was big enough.

She was so busy worrying that she stumbled over the axe that her da kept by the woodpile by the back door. She looked at it and carefully picked it up. It was heavy, but surely it would be better than just a knife. At least it was bigger. She walked back into the house with it, and up the stairs. The candle was a problem – she couldn't keep on holding it. She put it down on the other side of the stairs and hoped nobody would knock it.

The thief laughed at her. "Ye planning on doin' sommat with that axe?"

"I'm going to make you give my things back and get out of my house," she snapped. "And the other things too," she added, seeing that he'd helped himself to nice things from the other bedrooms while she had been gone.

He turned to her and started walking towards her with the knife, but she was ready for him this time. She lifted the axe up and then swung it at him, and missed. The axe hit the banister and stuck in the wood, and the man was right in front of her now. Clary gulped and went to kick him in the stomach to wind him. She'd forgotten that her nightdress was much more restrictive than her usual dress, and she couldn't reach. Instead, her knee ended up between his legs and had a surprisingly good effect; he dropped his armful of their things that he had taken and doubled over, moaning and clutching at himself.

Clary used this opportunity to pull the axe out of the banister. It took her a lot of effort, but she managed to get it out, although the force of her pulling caused it to go back over her head and make a dent in the wall. Her mother scolded her from the doorway for destroying the house, and Clary rolled her eyes. What was the sense in having a perfect house if they were all dead? At least they'd both had the sense to stand in one of the bedrooms rather than staying in the hallway.

She frowned in concentration and swung the axe again. This time she hit him on the head with the blunt part of the axe as he straightened. He stumbled and dropped the knife, his eyes unfocussed and rolling. Clary wished she'd hit him a bit harder and knocked him unconscious. Still, this dizziness wasn't bad either. She kicked the knife behind her so he couldn't pick it up again, and used the axe to push him backwards to the end of the hallway where her mother and Rosalind had been. She lifted the axe and pushed it against his throat. "Don't move, or I'll push harder and slit your throat," she told him. He didn't answer but he didn't move either, so Clary resigned herself to waiting for the Dogs.

It wasn't long before she heard footsteps arriving at the back door and a pair of Dogs strode down the hallway. She had never been so thankful to see that black uniform! Both of them slowed down a little and blinked when they saw her, and then the mot Dog grinned. "We expected things to be much worse than this. I'm impressed."

The other Dog's eyes were fixed on the thief. "Let's get this Rat properly hobbled first."

Clary stepped aside but didn't lower the axe until she was sure he wouldn't try and escape; there was no way she was going to let him get away now. Klee sidled up to her as the Dogs finished tying the thief up and searching him. "Are you alright, Clary?"

"Of course," she said, and elbowed him gently. "I told you I'd sort him out."

The mot Dog was watching her. "You managed that all by yourself?" she asked. Her eyes flicked to Clary's mother and Rosalind, who were coming out of the bedroom with blankets and shawls.

Clary nodded, and her mother huffed. "You should've done what you were told. You could've been hurt!"

"We all could've been killed if we'd done as he said," Clary snapped.

The Dog nodded in agreement. "She's right." She eyed the axe that Clary was still holding. "And that looks heavy, too. I am impressed." Clary set the axe down against the wall; she wouldn't be needing it anymore. Her mother wrapped a shawl around her, and Clary shoved it aside. "Mother. I'm fine."

Her mother tucked it around her again. "It's not decent, with you wearing just a thin nightdress."

"Mother!" Clary snapped in exasperation. "He-" she gestured to the thief, "is lying face down on the floor, and the Guardsman is wearing a wedding band. I'm sure he's seen a lot more than a nightgown," she pointed out tartly.

Both Dogs grinned at her as her mother spluttered in outrage and Rosalind sniffed indignantly. "You're brave and feisty, and you've got a good memory to boot," observed the man. "That is impressive, you should think about joining the Provost's Guard."

"I'm sure we're very honoured at your suggestion, Guardsman," said her mother. "But that sort of life is not –"

"Actually," interrupted Clary, "I have been thinking about it."

The mot Dog smiled at her warmly. "Well, that's wonderful to hear, honey."

Clary's mother didn't seem to think it was a wonderful idea at all. "Really, Clara. It's not appropriate at all, we raised you to be a fine young woman."

Clary crossed her arms. "There's no job more honourable, Mother. We'd have been dead if the Guardsman and Guardswoman hadn't arrived."

"I don't know," said the mot. "You seemed to be holding your own pretty well." She smiled at her and held out her hand. "Clara, is it? Guardswoman Helena Woodrow."

Clary nodded, deciding she could put up with the use of her full name this once, for formality. "Clara Wright," she said as she shook her hand.

"Senior Guardsman Nyler Jewel." The other Dog held his hand out too, and Clary shook it, feeling very grown up. "Let's get this Rat back to the kennels," he said.

"Thank you very much," Clary told them both sincerely.

"You saved us!" added Klee. He'd watched the whole conversation with awe, and Rosalind with jealousy.

Guardswoman Woodrow chuckled. "Your sister saved you all more than we did, thank her." She turned to Clary. "I hope you do join the Provost's Guard, we could use more young ones like you."

Clary beamed as they left, and then caught the look on her mother's face. "That was exhausting," she said hastily. "I'd best get back to bed." She gathered up her jewellery box and Tomcat and retreated to her bedroom, but it was hours before her excitement wore off enough for her to go back to sleep. She knew it for sure now: Clary Wright was going to be a Dog.