“Yep, as I said, that was quality craftsmanship,” Mason said proudly.
“So, that gets you to the tower, but how did you get in? Through the chimney?” Albert inquired.
“No, it was too small, and last night there was a fire burning,” Hadrian said, “so we used Mason’s second little tool, a small saw, and cut the roof on a bevel. All in all, the night was going pretty much according to plan, until Archibald decided to visit his study. We figured he’d have to leave eventually, so we waited.”
“We should have just slipped down, cut his throat, and taken the letters,” Royce insisted.
“But we weren’t being paid for that, were we?” Hadrian reminded him. Royce rolled his eyes in response. Ignoring him, Hadrian continued. “As I was saying, we lay there waiting and the wind on the top of that tower was bitter. The bastard must have sat in that room for two hours.”
“You poor thing,” Emerald purred and nuzzled him like a cat.
“The good news was he actually looked at the letters while we were watching him through the cuts, so we knew right where the safe was. Then a carriage came into the courtyard, and you’ll never guess who it was.”
“The marquis arrived while you were on the roof?” Albert asked with his mouth full of roast beef.
“Yep—that’s when our timetable got really tricky. Archibald left the tower to meet the marquis, and we made our move.”
“So,” Emerald chanced, “you opened the roof like the top of a pumpkin.”
“Exactly. I lowered Royce into the study. He picked the safe, dumped the dummy letters, and I hauled him back up. Just as we replaced the roof section, Archibald and Victor walked in. We waited to make sure they did not hear us. Incredibly, he presented the letters right there and then. I must say, it was hilarious watching Archibald’s reaction when he discovered the blank replacements. Things got pretty loud at this point, so we decided we better take the chance and rappelled down the tower to the courtyard below.”
“That’s amazing. I was telling Alenda sometimes problems occur during a job, but I had no idea I was telling the truth. We should have charged her extra,” Albert interjected.
“It crossed my mind,” Royce replied, “but you know Hadrian. Still, we’ve made a nice profit on both sides of this one.”
“But wait, you didn’t explain how you got the rope off the side of the tower if my releases didn’t work?”
Royce sighed. “Don’t ask.”
“Why not?” The smith looked from one to the other. “Is it a secret?”
“They want to know, Royce,” Hadrian said with a wide grin.
Royce frowned. “He shot it off.”
“He did what?” Albert asked, sitting up so abruptly his feet hit the floor with a clap.
“Hadrian used another arrow to cut the rope at the roofline.”
“But, that’s impossible,” Albert declared. “No man can shoot the width of a rope at—what was it—two hundred feet maybe, in total darkness!”
“There was a moon,” Royce corrected. “Let’s not make more out of this than it already is. You forget I have to work with him. Besides, it’s not like he did it in a single shot.”
“How many arrows?” Emerald inquired.
“What’s that, sweetie?” Hadrian asked, wiping foam from his mouth with his sleeve.
“How many arrows did it take for you to cut the rope, silly?”
“Be honest,” Royce told him.
Hadrian scowled. “Four.”
“Four?” Albert said. “It was much more impressive when I imagined it as one lone shot, but still—”
“Do you think the earl will ever figure it out?” Emerald asked.
“The first time it rains I figure,” Mason said.
There was a triple tap on the door and the stocky smith pushed back his chair and crossed the room. “Who is it?” he challenged.
“Gwen.”
Sliding the deadbolt free, he opened the door, and an exotic-looking woman with long, thick black hair and dazzling green eyes entered.
“A fine thing when a woman can’t get access to her own back room.”
“Sorry, gal,” Mason said, closing the door behind her, “but Royce would skin me alive if I ever opened the door without asking first.”
Gwen DeLancy was an enigma of the Lower Quarter. A Calian immigrant, she survived in the city as a prostitute and fortune-teller. Her dark skin, almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones were uniquely foreign. Her talent for eye makeup and an eastern accent made her an alluring mystery that the nobles found irresistible. Yet Gwen was no simple whore. In three short years, she turned her fortunes around, buying up shop rights in the district. Only nobles could own land, but merchants traded the rights to operate a business. Before long, she owned or possessed an interest in a sizable section of Artisan Row and most of the Lower Quarter. Medford House, commonly known as The House, was her most lucrative establishment. Despite its back alley location, gentry from far and near frequented this expensive brothel. She had a reputation for being discrete, especially with the identities of men who could not afford to be seen frequenting a brothel.
“Royce,” Gwen said, “a potential customer visited The House earlier this evening. He was quite anxious to speak to one of you. I set up a meeting for tomorrow evening.”
“Know him?”
“I asked the girls. None of them have ever seen him before.”
“Was he serviced?”
Gwen shook her head. “No, he was just after information about thieves for hire. Funny how a man always expects prostitutes to know everything when he is looking for answers but assumes a girl will take his secrets to her grave.”
“Who talked to him?”
“Tulip. She said he was foreign, dark-skinned, and she mentioned an accent. He might be from Calis, but I didn’t bump into him so I can’t tell you for sure.”
“Was he alone?”
“Tulip didn’t mention any companions.”
“Want me to talk to him?” Albert asked.
“Na, I’ll do it,” Hadrian said. “If he’s poking around these parts, he’ll probably be looking for someone more like me than you.”
“If you like, Albert, you can be here tomorrow and watch the door for strangers,” Royce added. “I’ll keep an eye on the street. Has there been anyone new hanging around?”
“It has been pretty busy, and there are a few people I don’t recognize. There are four people right now in the main bar,” Gwen mentioned, “and there was a different party of five a few hours ago.”
“She’s right,” Emerald confirmed. “I waited on the five.”
“What were they like? Travelers?”
Gwen shook her head. “Soldiers, I think. They weren’t dressed like it, but I could tell.”
“Mercs?” Hadrian asked.
“I don’t think so. Mercenaries are usually troublesome, grabbing the girls, shouting, picking fights—you know the type. These guys were quiet, and one was a noble I think. At least some of the others referred to him as baron something—Trumbul I think it was.”
“I saw some like that up on Wayward Street yesterday,” Mason said. “Might’a been as many as twelve.”
“Anything going on in town?” Royce asked.
They looked at one another doubtfully.
“Do you think it has anything to do with those rumors about killings out near the Nidwalden River?” Hadrian asked. “Maybe the king is calling up support from other nobles.”
“Are you talking about the elves?” Mason asked. “I heard about that.”
“Me too,” Emerald said. “They say elves attacked a village or something. I heard they slaughtered everyone—some even while they slept.”
“Who said that? That doesn’t sound right,” Albert commented. “I’ve never known an elf to look a man in the eye, much less attack one.”