A noise pulled Temar’s head round, nearly overbalancing him, but it was just a cat, hair fluffed to an indignant halo in the moonlight. Temar drew in a sharp breath of relief but a heavier sound beneath the light patter of paws made him hold it in. He let it go slowly, turning carefully, looking at the tall chimneystack foursquare at the angle of the stable buildings. The cats in his grandfather’s yard had always favoured chimney corners, hadn’t they? What had startled that mouser out of its cosy nook? Sliding down, Temar used the roof ridge to shield him and worked his way closer.
The thief was there, motionless in the shadow of the chimney-stack, intent on the sentry pacing the parapet of the outer wall beyond, the only thing between him and escape. Temar watched, heart in his mouth as the sentry moved slowly away and the thief bent in a cautious crouch. Was he going to try and jump the gap? No, the man lowered himself over the edge of the roof, at full stretch to drop into the black shadows below.
Even if he called him, Ryshad couldn’t get round in time. Temar scrambled as fast as he could across the roof, swinging himself over the edge as the intruder hit the ground with an involuntary grunt. The stone dug cruelly into Temar’s hands. Curse it, he couldn’t chance this, risk breaking a bone or worse. But it was too late, his own weight committed him, breaking his grip on the stone. Temar fell, landed, relaxed and rolled to break his fall, instinctive reactions learned from years in the saddle coming unexpectedly to his aid. He was on his feet with a speed that startled himself as much as the thief now crouching below the perimeter wall.
The man was on him before Temar could shout an alert, murderous purpose contorting his face. The thief threw a punch but Temar caught it in an open hand, gripping and twisting, grabbing the man’s other shoulder as he did so. The thief kicked, nearly knocking Temar’s foot out from under him. Temar stumbled and lost his hold, letting the man drive a brutal fist straight at his face. Temar knocked it aside with his forearm, the impact jarring him to the shoulder, then swung all his weight behind a punch of his own, catching the thief full under the chin and snapping his head back.
The thief hooked a fist to clout Temar’s ear but Temar raised arm and shoulder in an instinctive block. The thief grabbed his sleeve, trying to pull him off balance. Temar smacked his fist backhanded into the man’s nose and the thief let go, ducking backwards. Temar stepped in but the intruder met him with fists striking one after the other, spitting blood and fury. Temar took a blow on the ribs, another, a punishing blow to the stomach. The thief drew back his arm and Temar brought his knee up into the man’s groin. The intruder went down like a sack from a broken hoist, retching and gasping.
Ryshad and a couple of sworn men came running up as Temar rolled the thief over, twisting unresisting arms behind his back. “So we’ve got one at very least.”
“Got him in the stones,” Naer the gateward observed, seeing the man’s agonised grimace and drawn-up knees.
“Always a good trick, if you can do it.” Ryshad grinned approval at Temar.
“Those mercenaries been teaching you their trade, Esquire?” Naer asked, harsh voice not unfriendly. “Take a tip from a real warrior, eyes or knees is as good as stones and most men are slower to defend them.” He was searching the intruder as he spoke, rough hands brutally thorough. “Nothing on him but that means naught. Lock him up.”
“A good kick on the side of a knee can send a man spewing,” added one of the sworn men as they dragged the unresisting thief along the path. “We’ll show you, Esquire, if our pal here doesn’t give up his friend’s den. What do you say?”
But the thief was too sunk in his present misery to worry about any new threat, from what Temar could see. “What happens now?”
“He spends tonight in the gatehouse cell,” Ryshad replied. “He’ll face the Sieur’s justice in the morning. In the meantime, let’s find out what him and his mate were after. Naer! Me and D’Alsennin, we’ll check the shutters.” He turned to Temar. “Look for sprung hinges, loose slats, bent struts. Chances are it’ll be an upper window.”
“Halcarion be thanked for at least one good moon,” Temar murmured as Ryshad began a slow circuit of the residence.
Ryshad spat as they rounded a corner. “Shit!”
“What?”
“There.” Ryshad pointed to a louvred shutter where a strip of wood hung loose to cast an angled shadow over the rest.
Temar tried to work out what room might lie behind it. “That must be where they tried to get in.”
“You think Messire’s steward would let any shutter stay broken for Solstice, when half those bearing the Name come to stay and half the nobles in the city will be visiting?” asked Ryshad grimly. “And those two were on their way out, Temar, so chances are they didn’t just try, they got in. Come on.”
Temar followed Ryshad in through a side door, the chosen man giving his frustrations free rein as they went up a servants’ stair. “We can’t lock every door, every gate, not with so many people going in and out. It’s always the same at Festival, guests arriving right round the chimes, coaches calling to take visitors hither and yon.” He stopped suddenly as they were halfway up a flight of servants’ stairs. “And half the best men will be down at the sword school this evening, three-fifths drunk. Do you suppose that’s what the challenge was all about? Clearing the way for some theft here tonight? Curse it, I’m starting to sound like Casuel, seeing Eldritch-men conspiring in every corner. Here we are.”
Temar looked past Ryshad’s shoulder into a small room cluttered with everything the ubiquitous maids needed to keep the residence in good order. Glass from the window shone like fragments of moonlight on the shadow-striped floor and the catch on the casement had been broken clean off.
Ryshad pushed the shutter open, setting moonlight free inside the room. “We’d best set the valets and maids checking jewel cases. So, is this just theft or some new plot to discredit D’Olbriot? All these if’s and maybes could drive a man distracted!”
Mention of jewel cases turned Temar’s thoughts instantly elsewhere. “What lies beneath us here?”
He saw a reflection of his own fears spark in Ryshad’s eyes. “The library.”
Temar was out of the room, running down the stairs, Ryshad hard on his heels. They reached the library door together. Temar reached for the handle, praying it would be locked, his heart sinking as it gave way on silent hinges. “Raise some light,” he snapped.
Ryshad turned to take a lamp from a table in the corridor. The subdued glow was too feeble to reach the book-lined walls but was enough to show them an expanse of crumpled linen empty on the table, a few remaining trinkets scattered beside the gaping emptiness of the ancient coffer.
“Poldrion’s pustulent demons’ arseholes!” Temar felt entitled to echo his grandfather’s extravagant rages. “Come on.”
Ryshad moved to stop Temar storming out of the room. “Where to?”
“To see what that fellow in the gatehouse has to say!” Rage and dismay threatened to choke Temar. He’d had those artefacts, he’d held the means to restore so many people in his hands. How could this have happened?
“Justice within his own walls is a Sieur’s prerogative, Temar.” There was regret as well as reproof in Ryshad’s voice. “You can’t usurp it.”
Temar stared at him. “So what do we do?”
“The one we caught will go before the Sieur in the morning.” Ryshad looked round the library and Temar realised the man’s face was hollowed with exhaustion. “But the other man must have got away with the loot. Do you think Demoiselle Avila has any Artifice that could help us find him?”
Temar was silenced by the appalling realisation that he’d be the one telling Avila about this disaster. He swallowed hard as two hesitant maids and a footman appeared in the doorway, eyes wide and wondering.