So either all three of the locks were real, none of the locks were real, or whoever had designed this was extremely clever. Unwilling to back down from a challenge, he got to work. The upper lock provided virtually no challenge whatsoever. It reminded him of the training locks that he’d learned on years ago. Not meant to be difficult, they let the guild masters know who had ability and who definitely did not. The tumblers moved into place, the bolt clicked aside, and a series of thumps from behind him indicated that the poisoned arrows had been launched—and blocked by the books he had stacked in front of the holes.
“Oh, so that’s how we’re going to play, huh?” This troubled him. If there were three locks, it suggested that there were three traps as well, not including the fire trap that was tied to the tapestry. His internal clock told him he still had plenty of time before the kobolds started going to bed, so he performed another examination of the area. It was then that he noticed the small hole at the base of the wall, directly beneath the vault entrance. “Aha!” he exclaimed. He commandeered another pillowcase and stuffed it down into the hole. “There’s number two.” He frowned. “But where’s number three?”
After twenty minutes, Chuck was unable to find signs of another trap. Shaking his head, he concluded that there really were only two. He reasoned that when you included the flame trap and the contact poison, there were four traps in total, which was pretty respectable, even for a royal vault. He began working on the second lock, and when it finally clicked, he heard a whooshing noise, and the pillowcase he had stuck into the hole in the floor began to smoke. With Jimmy’s magical dagger, which he figured was impervious to just about anything, he pulled the fabric back out and held it up. A green sludgy liquid oozed from it, sputtering and spurting as it went. He tossed the cloth aside and watched the ooze dissolve it completely, then settle in a pool on the floor. Acid traps were rarely deadly, but they could really ruin your day, especially if you didn’t get your clothes off in time.
With a silent prayer, he began to work on the third lock. It too was well beneath his skill, and it soon gave a resounding click with just a little bit of wiggling. He tensed, waiting for something to happen that would kill or maim or at least embarrass him, but nothing did. “Huh. Well, that was anticlimactic,” he said. A loud grating noise from above sent him scurrying backward to hide behind the bed. Several seconds later, the ceiling tile directly above the vault door fell to the ground, where it shattered with a loud crash. He hoped that the sound didn’t carry all the way down to the kobolds, and he sent a prayer of thanks to Mairead for the failure of the trap to spring as designed. Chuck had dismissed the prospect of a falling ceiling trap; he would have been squashed flat if it had fallen quickly and silently.
So he had gotten the three locks open, and managed to evade the traps, by guile and by luck. All that was left was to open up the door and see what was inside. Remembering the contact poison, he used the first pillowcase to pull open the door. It glided open on silent hinges, revealing a small room within. He cautiously took the cloth in his hand, which was now permanently tainted, and laid it on the stone floor away from the carpet. He then took a candle and set it on fire, burning away any poison that had rubbed onto it. That sort of attention to detail was what separated short- and long-careered rogues.
He entered the vault and let out a barking laugh. While the room wasn’t empty, it certainly wasn’t bursting with riches. Several small bags of coins were stacked in one corner, and a gorgeously wrought suit of plate armor stood on a rack in the other. The armor was built for someone of dwarven build, so there was no thought of Chuck donning it, even if he knew how to fight in such bulky gear. One thing did catch his attention almost immediately. A curved bow, built for dwarven hands, rested against the back wall. What was most interesting was that the bow was already strung, and even Chuck knew that wasn’t a good thing to do to a bow: it would eventually lose its strength if permanently bent. He tentatively picked it up and drew the string back experimentally. It felt much easier than he would have expected, confirming his suspicion that it had been ruined. On a lark, he picked up an arrow stacked nearby and nocked it to the bow. He drew the string back and released it, sending the arrow flying out of the vault and across the bedroom. To his amazement, the arrow actually lodged itself in the stone wall. It occurred to him that the bow hadn’t been ruined after all—it was magic! “Not the size he’s used to, but I bet Stu could have some fun with this.” He took the bow out and leaned it against the door that led into the hall.
Much as he had been hoping for a magic ring or a bottle with a djinn in it, he had to be satisfied with just the bow. The gems in his pouch were all the wealth he could ask for, and he had already dismissed the armor. Chuck turned back out of the vault and went to lie down on the bed. He had quite a few hours left before he needed to get moving, so he decided to catch a little shut-eye. He lay down on the bed but didn’t get under the covers. Not knowing what had happened to these people, he didn’t want to be presumptuous, or to bring any bad luck upon himself. Stealing treasures was one thing. Stealing someone’s home was different. Even if he was just borrowing it, the spirits of the dead were often irrational.
He let his mind wander for a while, thinking back through what he had seen since entering the dwarven compound. He had the sense that he was missing something, but he often had that sense, even when he wasn’t. That said, he was sure he wasn’t missing anything before the ceiling block almost brained him. Those sorts of senses were hardly reliable.
He sat bolt upright and ran back over to the vault. He looked at the bags of coins and shook his head. “No, it’s not that.” He looked back at the suit of armor and how it was mounted to the rack. It seemed permanently attached to the ground, which was an odd thing for the builders to have done, since there wouldn’t always be armor in the vault and it was a waste of otherwise valuable space. The rogue examined the base closely, then stood up and took a step back, considering the armor as a whole. When he reached out and lifted the left arm, a loud click echoed through the little room. He looked back over his shoulder to discover that a small hole had opened in the wall. Inside was a glittering amulet on a chain that looked exactly the right size for someone named Chuck. Grinning, he took it, then went back to the bed. He was asleep within moments.
CHAPTER 19
“Allison! Allison . . . wake up!” The words drifted out of the darkness, accompanied by a light slapping on one of her cheeks.
“Five more minutes, Dad,” she grumbled, halfheartedly pawing at the air in the direction of the voice. It was only after a good deal of shoulder shaking that she reluctantly opened her eyes. It was still oppressively dark, and she wasn’t lying in her bed but on a thin pile of straw covering a solid, uncomfortable floor. The events of the prior day flashed back through her mind: passing in and out of unconsciousness as she bounced back and forth against some creature’s back. Some really smelly creature’s back. She jerked straight up, her head momentarily clear. Jimmy sat next to her, his hand still on her shoulder.