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Chapter Text

GARRETT'S APARTMENT
SOUTH QUARTER, THE CITY

~ One night after the job at First City Bank & Trust ~

     Garrett closed his eyes and listened to the storm outside. That night was a beautiful one.

     The stars and moonlit sky shone through the lone window of his apartment - a soothing hue of deep blue that cast a pillar of moonlight against the far wall opposite of his bed, just out of range of the glow of the single candle lit by his bedside.

     Rain fell outside to the cobbled streets with its familiar soft and pleasant pitter-patter; quite lulling to the senses, if one allowed it to be... but  Garrett did not.

     The Master Thief and ex-Keeper had many unwritten rules, and one of them was to never fall into the trap of a false sense of security. For him, letting his guard down was to not just send an invitation to Misfortune, but to hold the door open for her - and Misfortune, Garrett knew, was not one to be teased.

     The City was unforgiving to such folly, and he knew better than most.

     Garrett sighed quietly and opened his eyes to watch the raindrops stream down the window's glass. He had just infiltrated the First City Bank and Trust the night before.

     The First City Bank. Not only had he survived its elaborate security - human and mechanical alike - Garrett had also managed to walk away with an impressive haul of loot... and yet, the man was frustrated. So much had been going on that he couldn't even bask in the afterglow of his success. Not entirely. Not like he had always planned to if he had ever been able to pull off a heist at the bank.

     Instead of relaxing and kicking his feet up with a good bottle of wine and counting his coin, Garrett was sitting on the edge of his bed listening to the rainstorm outside, tapping a restless finger on the recording of Sheriff Gorman Truart that he had lifted from one of the vaults.

     He was planning to use it to blackmail Truart, and the idea he had in mind would require him to pay a visit to Truart Estate.

     Blackmailing the Sheriff of the City Watch. This was what it had come to. When had things become so damn complicated?

     A flurry of obvious reasons sprouted to mind, but before he could dwell for much longer on the matter, Garrett heard a knock at his door.

     His eyes snapped to the doorway across the room, and almost without thinking he extinguished the candle's flame with a quick pinch of his fingers and stuffed the recording under his pillow.

     He did not move, nor make a sound.

     When the unknown visitor knocked again, the man stood swiftly from his bed and plucked his dagger off the bedside table in one quick, silent motion. 

     Landlord at this hour? Not likely. Truart and his men? They would not knock.

     The downpour outside grew heavier, so he took advantage of the noise to quickly glide across the floorboards of his room, the wood beneath his bare feet cold to the touch. He thought he heard the muffled call of a woman's voice just outside, but he couldn't be sure.

     He gingerly pressed himself to the wall, half expecting some vague, forgotten horror left behind by the Trickster to come crashing through, eager to sate its appetite for flesh.

     That notion was certainly not without merit.

     The knocking came again. "It's me!" a woman called in a hushed whisper. "It's Flor."

     Garrett's eyes widened with recognition. He sheathed his dagger, unlocked the door, and guardedly cracked it open to reveal a woman wearing a grey cloak over a dress, her hood hiding most of her face.

     He could tell who it was even with her hood on. It was Florence, Basso's sister.

     She broke into a wide smile. "Garrett. I'm sorry to show up like this."

     He stepped aside and hurriedly ushered her in without a word, casting a careful glance around the street outside for any onlookers before shutting the door behind them both. He swiftly strode to his window and drew the curtains shut.

     "I was worried you were out for the night," Florence said lowly, wiping rainwater from her face. She removed her hood, exposing long, brown hair that fell just past her shoulders. "Thank you."

     "For what?"

     "Letting me in. It's a hard rain tonight."

     "It's good to see you, Florence." Garrett gestured to his small desk, where a chair awaited, and the woman took a seat. "Though it's unexpected."

     She smiled ruefully. "Quite. But you know I would never show up unannounced like this unless it was serious."

     "Mm." Garrett folded his arms and leaned against the wall near the window. "That's what I'm afraid of."

     The woman sighed and brushed rogue strands of hair from her eye. "I wasn't followed. I know you're wondering."

     "You sure?"

     "You don't trust me?"

     "I don't trust anyone."

     Florence rolled her eyes. "You don't trust many," she corrected, "because you would never have let me in, otherwise. There are probably only two other people alive who have ever set foot in your apartment - your landlord and my brother - but that's not the point."

     "And how is Basso, anyway?"

     "Never better. He and Jenivere are doing exactly what they planned. Living the quiet life in the country an' all that."

     Garrett let out a low whistle. "They made it outside The City?" He shifted on his feet. "How 'bout that."

     "Indeed." Florence smiled softly. "Thank you for that. What you did at Cragscleft and Rumford Manor, I mean. Basso has a new life thanks to you."

     "I have no idea what you're referring to, Florence."

     Lightning flashed outside, and soon the rain was breaking harder on the cobbled streets outside, the droplets on the window now splotching angrily against the glass.

     "Don't call me that. You know I hate it. Just 'Flor' works." The woman cleared her throat quietly. "Look, I'll get to it. I need your help."

     Garrett didn't move. He was like a statue leaning on the wall, stoic and wordless.

     "I know that you know about me," she continued. "What I do. My line of work."

     "Flor. Don't."

     "Don't what?"

     "Whatever you're about to say," Garrett replied, "just don't."

     The woman frowned up at him. "Can you at least sit down and hear me out?"

     "I can't help, Flor. I'm sorry. It's a... bad time, and the less I know about you, the better. Trust me."

     "Come now." Flor did not avert her eyes from the man. "Don't act like Basso didn't tell you." She leaned forward. "You know that I'm a Fixer. You know that I was the one who set up almost all of Basso's jobs, and—" 

     "Flor."

     "Garrett. Please." Her counter was firm, but her eyes betrayed just a hint of quelled desperation.

     The man sprang lightly off the wall with a push of his shoulder and plopped down on the edge of his bed. "I'm not trying to be a sod. My plate is just full right now. I have a lot going on. The less you know, the better."

     Flor's gaze seemed to wander off somewhere far away for a lengthy moment. "Full plate," she echoed absently. "Me too."

     "Maybe Basso can help with whatever it is."

     "I'm not draggin' my brother back into this cesspit. And besides - he can't help. Nobody else can." She sighed. "Trust me, Garrett. You're the only one capable."

     Garrett scratched at his stubbled jaw. He bowed his head for a moment, seemingly searching the floorboards for a reply, and brought his eyes back up to meet hers. "I'm not doing it for free. And that's if I take the job."

     Flor nodded. "Of course. Trust me, there's something in it for you. It'll fetch a pretty coin."

     "Ah. You've finally decided to finish what we started that night," Garrett said cheekily. "I like it."

     "I think not."

     "Come on. We had fun, didn't we?"

     The woman rolled her eyes. "That's not happening again. I don't get attached. Neither do you."

     "You can still have a good time and not get attached. Nothing happened that night, anyway. Just shared some wine, had some laughs."

     Flor sighed heavily. "Stop. This is serious."

     "Fine." Garrett shifted on his haunches just as thunder rumbled loudly in the distance, and he gestured for her to continue.

     "Arden Manor. You know it?" asked Flor.

     "You're kidding."

     "I kid not."

     Garrett exhaled louder than he needed to. "Listen to me. Whatever you've got your eye on... it's not worth it. Not the Arden place. No way."

     "Perhaps you'll let me explain before handing me a verdict."

     "Flor." Garrett's tone softened. "It's a bad idea."

     "You haven't even heard my idea."

     "I don't need to."

     Flor scoffed at him. "What? You're the infamous Master Thief, are you not? Basso said you can break in anywhere, that you can't get caught."

     "You know what the difference is between me and anyone else picking locks in this city? I don't get caught, because I'm quite aware that I can get caught."

     Flor cocked her head at him. "You literally carried my brother out of Cragscleft."

     "And?"

     "What do ya mean, 'And?' Nobody can claim that! If you could break someone out of that forsaken place without even being seen, then you can rob an estate."

     Garrett shook his head. "I'm careful, Flor. That's why I've never been locked up. That's why my head is still attached to my neck. Careful means not taking unnecessary risks and not doing anything stupid." If I can help it, he thought to himself.

     "Garrett—"

     "This is a bad idea," he repeated. "Lady Arden has some of the heaviest security in The City. It's not to be trifled with."

     "Garrett!" Flor fumed, shooting to her feet and still taking care to keep her voice low. "Will you just hear me out? You don't like it, I'll be on my way."

     He didn't answer. Garrett looked up at her disapprovingly, his eyes searing into hers. He was still shaking his head softly, which was irritating Flor. She reached for something in a pocket beneath her cloak, but she stayed her hand for a moment. "Just want to show you something, yeah?"

     He gave her a nod, and the woman produced a scroll, neatly rolled and bound by twine. "Give me just a few more minutes of your time to go over this with you," Flor said. "You know I wouldn't ask something of you unless it was important."

     Garrett folded his arms just as more muffled thunder grumbled from overhead. The rain grew heavier still, pelting the roof, the glass of his window, and the streets and rooftops outside mercilessly.

     Flor sat back down at Garrett's desk. One of his eyes seemed to be glowing slightly in the dark, like a green ember peering out from shadow. It was unnerving, and the woman stifled a shiver. It reminded her of those strange machine-beings that the Mechanists were so fond of deploying. "Like I said, there's something in it for you, too. I wouldn't come here without incentive for you."

     "Fine, but I'm not making any promises."

Chapter Text

     Flor hastily unwound the twine binding the scroll and unfurled it across the desk. “You know about her estate, but do you know anything about Lady Arden?”

     “Mm. She’s a friend of Sherrif Truart’s. Pours a considerable amount of money into the City Watch and Hammerite coffers. Prominent art collector.”

     “That’s right.” Flor was smoothing out the scroll and grabbed a capped jar of ink to use as a paperweight. “Staunch supporter of the Hammerites. Devout believer in The Builder as well.”

     “Walks the talk, does she?”

     “She does. Even has her own Book of Tenets. Two copies, supposedly. One is on display in the entry foyer.”

     Garrett watched the rain-stained window over the woman’s shoulder. He withheld a snide comment. “I’m not stealing the Hammer Book of Tenets. Go read it at the library.”

     “You think I would waste my time with that?” she asked crossly. “Light that candle.”

     The man obliged, and soon he was looking over Flor’s shoulder, joining her in looking intently at the scroll she had laid out on the desk. Candlelight danced softly, its warm glow giving way to what was clearly an official, neatly scripted legal document.

     Garrett frowned. “This is a letter from Lady Arden to Karras.”

     “It is.” Flor traced her finger across the page as she quickly read its contents.

To Karras, respectfully ~

It is with reverence and a thorough understanding of the weight of words that I write to you this day, with intent to offer my staunch support to your cause and to The Mechanists.

The Hammerites who still cling to their Olde Ways are but dust on the anvil. It pains me to see them waste themselves in the name of The Builder. I used to ask myself: can they not see the truth? Only now do I see clearly: no, they cannot.

So focused are they on the past that they neglect their duties to the future, and more importantly the present. They forfeit the impact they could have on The City by rejecting change. Soon they will join the Pagans that they despise so; homeless, skulking about on the fringe of society, reduced to naught but dust in the wind.

I have publicly spoken against your movement in the past, it is true - but I now understand that progress should be embraced, and your Great Progression, the Advent of the Machine, is what will bring our city into a New Age. I see this now. I wish I had seen it sooner.

Your claim that the Builder appointed you to usher us all into a bright new future is something I first scoffed at. However, I hope you will find it within your wisdom and your heart to forgive this folly and allow me a chance to make amends. Let us forge a new relationship, one known officially to the Public and all of its facets.

Mayhaps we could meet soon to discuss how we may be able to assist each other as mutual friends. One can never have too many allies in The City, and I’m confident I have abundant connections and resources abound for your cause. 

Most sincerely,

Lady Gwyneth Arden

    Garrett’s eyes followed along as Flor read the letter aloud. His brow was furrowed in thought, and he gave a grunt as she finished reading. “Huh. Unexpected, considering she’s been supporting the Hammerites for years.”

     “Mm,” came Flor. “Most unexpected. The Hammerites won’t be happy.”

     “I suppose not.” Garrett carefully looked the letter over again. “Impeccable handwriting. Looks recent. I would ask how you got this letter, but—”

     “Something’s missing?” Flor finished for him.

     Garrett nodded. “Her signature is there and looks authentic enough - I wouldn’t know for sure - but it’s missing Lady Arden’s seal. That tells me this is fake.”

     “Quite right.”

     “It definitely sounds like her. Flowery speech, official in tone. Did you write this?”

     Flor shook her head. “I have my fair share of contacts, and one of them is quite good with forgery. I’ll spare you the details, but we… acquired a recent letter of correspondence from Lady Arden to Lord Bafford, and my forger referenced it for this letter.” She turned her eyes back to the parchment, thoroughly pleased. “The imitation is remarkable. Truly looks like she wrote the bloody thing herself. If you were to set this beside a real letter of hers, you could not tell the difference - even under a looking glass.”

     The rain pouring outside eased up slightly, and a flash of lightning flickered through the window as Garrett pondered the woman’s presentation.

     Flor rolled the parchment back up. “Which brings me to why I am here,” she continued, rewrapping the twine around the scroll carefully. “If this letter is to be taken as the real thing, it needs to bear Lady Arden’s seal… otherwise it will be tossed into the nearest fireplace. There’s no way in Pagan’s hell or Builder’s heaven that I can get to it myself.”

     Garrett’s face did not change. He watched the woman closely for a moment before shifting on his feet again. “You need Lady Arden’s seal.”

     “Mm. So I’m asking you to break in and stamp the wax yourself onto this letter.”

     “You want me to sneak into one of the most heavily guarded estates in The City so I can seal a fake letter for you.”

     “Yes.”

     The thief did not reply.

     Flor raised her eyebrows. “You’re not gonna ask me why?”

     “I’ll admit I’m curious.”

     She smiled, satisfied. “I’ll spare you too many details, but like I said, Basso’s jobs came from someone, didn’t they? Me. And I was able to fix those jobs because of my contacts at Wayside. I may or may not have some… vested interest in what is imported and exported down there at the docks. Which, by the way - Rampone Shipping was hit recently. Pretty badly, too. Was that you?”

     Garrett sighed impatiently. “Get to your point, Flor.”

     The woman stood with a soft grunt and paced quietly to the apartment window. She gazed out at the night, a dark world blurred by heavy rain upon the glass. “My point is, what happens at the docks provides me business. My business pays my rent, just as your business pays yours.” She faced Garrett. “Lady Arden is a week away from ruining all of it.”

     “How so?”

     “Oh, now you’re interested?”

     “If something is going to affect the flow of things at the docks, then yes, I’m interested.”

     Flor grinned. “Not a surprise, I suppose. Well - the Hammerites are growing more obsolete by the day, thanks to that Karras bloke and the Mechanists. Now I’m not sure why, but the Hammers are suddenly in negotiations to buy up half of the docks at Wayside. Lady Arden was fronting the coin for this venture. All of it.”

     Garrett frowned. “The Hammers at the docks? Odd combination.”

     “It is. But if they own half of Wayside, that’s going to kill business for me, Garrett.” Flor bit her lip softly. “They want to take over Varley Imports, Brosius & Sons, Carrington Freight Company. Word is they’re even trying to negotiate with Rampone.”

     “Hm.” Garrett was still frowning. The move by the Hammers was certainly unexpected - if what Flor was saying was true. “What does this have to do with this letter and Arden’s seal?”

     “Lady Arden, as you said, is as loyal to the Hammerite Order as they come. They are relying on her funding to make their play for the docks.”

     Garrett’s face flickered with realization. “You want her relationship with the Hammers to be ruined, which would mean no funding for the docks.”

     “Which means my contacts can keep their businesses running as usual down at Wayside, and so I can continue mine as well.” Flor shrugged. “Everyone stays working. Everyone’s happy.”

     “Everyone except the Hammers and Lady Arden.”

     “True. My plan is for this letter pledging money to the Mechanists to be discovered by… certain parties. This would lead quickly to her relationship with the Hammerites being dissolved, and at the very least she’ll be raising some eyebrows within Karras’s inner circle… if not worse.”

     Garrett scratched at his stubbled jaw again. “Impressive, I’ll admit.

     The woman feigned a curtsy. “Why thank you, Master Thief.”

     “Don’t—”

     “Call you that. Yes, I know.” Flor snickered through a crooked grin. “Can you imagine how bad that will look for her? An out of the blue proposition to Karras, without any—”

     “I try not to imagine too many things,” Garrett cut in. “I’m good with what’s in front of me.”

     Flor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

     “You’re sure this venture isn’t too lofty? It’s certainly ambitious, but if things go wrong you should be prepared for the consequences.”

     “I am sure, and yes. Naturally.”

     “Flor, if I risk my neck, there’s gotta be something in it for me.”

     “Of course.” She sat back down at the desk and stifled a yawn before continuing. “Besides all of the shiny expensive trinkets you’d find in a manor like hers, Lady Arden also recently came into possession of a certain painting. It might as well be priceless.”

     “Which painting?”

     “The Midnight Vale.”

     This stopped Garrett momentarily, though he played it off effortlessly. “Really.” It came out as a statement more than a question.

     “Yes.”

     “The Midnight Vale?”

     Flor nodded. “Painted by the one and only Ivonaci. Nobody has ever known if that’s even his—”

     “His real name, I know.” Garrett watched Flor carefully. “That painting is not at Arden Manor.”

     “It is now.” The woman’s lips parted with an ever-so-slight grin, her face looking rather wicked in the faint moonlight. “The painting has been locked away in the Baron’s archives for years… but twelve nights ago, the Lord Regent held a private auction for a select few of The City’s elite, and Lady Arden placed the winning bid.”

     Flor peered at Garrett intently through the darkness. His jaw was clenched, and he was clearly weighing her words. She prayed silently - to The Builder, The Trickster, any unnamed deity that might perhaps be listening - that the Master Thief believed her.

     After all, she was being honest. But the fact remained: nobody else could infiltrate Arden Manor, much less make it out in one piece.

     Garrett’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath and exhale. “So - if you are as connected as you say you are to the dockside operations, imports, exports - you will know that Grimworth & de Perrin would never pass up an opportunity to snag that painting and sell it for four times what they paid.”

    Flor rolled her eyes. “My contact is from G & de P.,” she said, pronouncing the initials GDP. “How the hell do you think I know about this?”

     Garrett offered a reserved grunt of approval. “Well done.”

     “I didn’t get where I am today by following shoddy leads and fixing shite jobs.”

     “I didn’t say you did.” The man stood with a sigh from the edge of his bed. “I can’t help. You’ll have to find someone else.”

     “But no one else could possibly—”

     Garrett held up a hand in protest. “Then find another way to bring Arden down.”

     “How about for Basso’s sake? We all have history. He said you’re like a brother to him.”

     “No, Flor. I trust him, but like you said: I don’t get attached.”

    “Then do it for me. I’ll owe you. I have connections. I can help cut future jobs for you.”

     “You and Basso have nothing to do with this.”

     Flor’s features softened with defeat. “Garrett… please.”

     “I’ve got a lot going on right now. I won’t go into specifics but you’ve caught me at a bad time.” He gestured gently to the front door, leaving his hand lingering politely in midair. “You have to go, Flor.”

     Her lips were pursed, and Flor did not bother hiding her disappointment. She remained sitting.

     “Flor.”

     The woman said something beneath her breath in frustration as she obediently got to her feet and trudged for the door. It was a strange sensation for her - opportunity slipping right through her fingers and not a damned thing she could do about it - and the rain outside suddenly seemed louder than before. “Ho, now. Wait,” she said quietly as she turned on her heel to face him. She pulled her hood back over her head. “My business will die. My contacts will be scattered, half of them forced to leave The City. Please reconsider.”

     Garrett replied with a subtle shake of his head.

     “The painting is real. I swear it.”

     “Even if it were, I’m telling the truth. I would risk stretching myself too thin on other matters. I’ve got too much on my plate. I can’t take—”

     “The public doesn’t know the truth about the painting,” Flor blurted quickly.

     “Don’t test my patience.”

     “It’s known as The Midnight Vale - a painting of a sacred valley beneath the midnight sky, full moon, beautiful grassy fields. It—”

     “Stop, Flor. I know what it is.”

     “No you don’t. Just listen,” Flor pleaded, her words tinged by desperation. “It’s supposed to be the painting of the Lost Vale. The one the Pagans think The Trickster resides in to this day.”

     “I know.”

     “But it’s not.” Flor put a hand to Garrett’s shoulder and pleaded with her eyes. “It’s not,” she repeated. “’Tis a lie to mislead the public and anyone looking to steal it. It’s really The Midnight Veil, like a veil a woman might wear.”

     Garrett reached up to Flor’s hand and removed it gently from her his shoulder.

     “The painting is actually of a woman dressed in black, her face hidden beneath a black veil. She’s standing at an altar, a leafy Pagan shrine at night.” Flor didn’t hide the excitement in her voice. “You see? A ruse to deter some taffer from trying to nab it. Thieves have been looking for the wrong painting for decades.”

     A lengthy rain-filled silence followed. Garrett had the sense that Flor was telling the truth even though her story could not be verified. Then again, he had braved countless jobs before with no guarantee that his efforts would be lucrative, hadn’t he?

     A condemning voice recording of Sheriff Truart was just paces away beneath his feathered pillow. He had barely come down off the adrenaline high from the bank heist the night before, and he still had to do some recon at the Truart Estate before he could actually hit the place and blackmail the Sheriff. All of this happening so soon after framing Lieutenant Hagen for robbing the City Watch evidence vault… 

     “Garrett?” Flor nearly whispered. “My man on the inside told me exactly where it is. He can leave a side gate unlocked for you to get onto the grounds.”

     The thief bit his lip gently as he weighed her words. Flor caught herself holding her breath as the man waged an internal war with himself that she could not see or hear.

     Garrett clicked his tongue after a long moment. “And all you need is Lady Arden’s  seal on that letter.” Again, a statement more than a question.

     Flor nodded. “That’s all. Take the painting, or don’t. I care not. I know you won’t go somewhere that’s not worth your time.” She stared hard at him. “Trust me. This is worth your time.”

     Rather reluctantly, Garrett turned his back on her and made his way to the bedside table. “All right, then. Let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

ARDEN MANOR, HIGHTOWNE
SERVANTS' HALL: KITCHEN

~ Three nights after Flor visited Garrett ~

     A few nights later found Ms. Beaumont, the Head Cook in charge of the kitchen staff at Arden stirring a large pot of soup and guiding her young staff as they prepped dinner. The kitchen was part of the Servants' Quarters, which made up nearly the entire basement sun-level of Arden Manor.

     "Where's that garlic?" she called over shoulder.

     Sara, the new kitchen maid, hurried to Ms. Beaumont's side and held out two cloves of garlic in her palm. "Right here, ma'am."

     A young man nearby - one of the hall boys - snickered wickedly. "Aye, just throw them both in there. That'll do it."

     Ms. Beaumont shot him a glare. "Mind your own duties, Tomas. Wasn't long ago you were the new one here. Have you finished dicin' those tomatoes?"

     Tomas turned his attention back to the cutting board and sunk his knife into one of the fresh tomatoes, still on the vine. "No, ma'am."

     "I know ya haven't. I suggest you hurry it up. And it'll be easier to slice them if they're off the vine, young man. Bloody 'ell." Ms. Beaumont turned to Sara and pointed to a large cutting board a pace away. "Peel those cloves. Check for sprouting before you mince."

     "Yes, ma'am."

     The kitchen was in full swing. Lady Arden was expecting company that evening, and so dinner was expected to be ready and flawless by nine o'clock that night.

     The oaken door to the kitchen creaked open loudly, and a man poked his head in. "How's it looking?"

     Ms. Beaumont snorted defiantly. "Oh, piss off, Kirth. That's how it's looking."

     The man did not flinch. "Mr. Chauncey is asking for an update."

     The cook rolled her eyes and turned to face the servant. "We'll be fine, Kirth. We're on track. Tell the good Butler he's naught to fear, dinner will be served on time."

     "Thank you, Ms. Beaumont."

     "You're welcome."

     The kitchen dance continued for another hour and a half, and just as promised, dinner was ready on time. Marinated kale salad, roast beef, pear potato soup, tomato and herb soup, and freshly-roasted chicken were marched triumphantly upstairs by Kirth and his fellow footmen and house servants. While dinner was served and enjoyed in the banquet hall upstairs by Lady Arden and her guests, Ms. Beaumont and Sara prepared an exquisite raspberry meringue pudding for dessert.

     "Do you want me to take the dessert up, ma'am?" Sara asked.

     Ms. Beaumont shook her head. "Not yet. They'll let us know when to send it up. Both of you come with me to take a quick break outside. You've earned it."

     Sara and Tomas beamed with pride and followed the cook out the side door, which led to a shadowy garden peppered with patches of moonlight that broke through silver clouds overhead. The trio took a few minutes to catch their breath and take in the smell of the garden with some hot tea.

     And so in taking a break outside, none of them saw Kirth poke his head into the kitchen once again, this time quite carefully and quietly. He could hear Ms. Beaumont's hearty voice from outside the side entrance, followed by a laugh from Sara and a retort of sorts by Tomas.

     Just as planned: a quick break after preparing dessert. 

     The footman smoothed his tunic and tiptoed into the kitchen quickly with practiced haste, silently thanking Ms. Beaumont for being so predictable.

     He halted in front of the dessert pudding and reached a hand into one of his pockets, casting a quick glance to his left and right. Confident he was alone, the man produced a small glass vial of a clear, nameless liquid.

     He had waited a long time for this moment, and he tried to quell his anxiously beating heart as he twisted off the small cap.

     "Halt."

     The footman jumped with such fright that the entire vial fell into the raspberry meringue pudding, its contents spilling into the dish. Kirth whirled around to see a woman in armor step from the shadows.

     "M-Mara! By the Builder - you s-scared the hell out of me! Why are you—"

    "Shut it." The woman strode forward menacingly. She was almost as tall as Kirth, but she was stronger and infinitely more dangerous. She wore chainmail under the black and green surcoat of Lady Arden's estate guard.

     She came to a stop just inches from the footman and leered dangerously at him. The way she was drumming her gloved fingers on the hilt of her sword irked his nerves.

     "Mara?" Kirth managed weakly. "What, um... what brings you here this night?"

     Steel rasped loudly as the guard drew her sword, and with a flick of her wrist she had the point leveled just under the man's rib cage. Kirth flinched away from her blade, planting both hands firmly behind his back on the counter to steady himself.

     One of his hands sloshed straight into the pudding wrist-deep, but he dared not move.

     "You have a choice here, Kirth. Consider your options very carefully."

     Having heard the commotion, Ms. Beaumont filed back into the kitchen with Tomas and Sara, who let the door slam shut behind them. All three froze almost immediately at the sight of Mara holding Kirth at swordpoint.

     Mara and Kirth did not take their eyes off of each other.

     "P-pardon me?" asked Ms. Beaumont. "What in blazes is goin' on here? My pudding! What have you done?!"

     "Ms. Beaumont," Mara murmured icily, "please go fetch Guard Captain Galway and the men. Tell them that Kirth here has been caught red-handed trying to poison this lovely dessert you and your staff prepared."

     Wide-eyed glances were exchanged all around.

     "I-I didn't. I would never."

     Mara leered even closer and pressed the flat of her sword to the man's throat, drawing a whimper from him like a scared dog. "That is your choice, then?" she challenged. "You shall lie and feign innocence?"

     Kirth's chin was tilted up at the ceiling, and he started to panic. "I-I-I... n-no, I... p-please Mara, I did not mean—"

     "Oh? Carrying a glass vial with you, waiting for everyone to leave, strolling up to this dish here, uncapping it... this was all an accident? I will ask again: is that the story you're going with?"

     "It-it... it's not poison. It—"

     "Then what was in the vial, Kirth? Care to prove it?" Mara gestured with a nod of her head at the ruined dessert dish. "Have a taste."

     The man cursed under his breath. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll do anything."

     "Too late, you blight." Mara turned to look at the others, still frozen in place and staring in awe at the spectacle before them. "Will one of you please hurry and go fetch the guards?" she hissed. "Tell Jasper immediately. Be discreet. Do not alarm Lady Arden's guests."

     Tomas stepped forward. "I-I'll go." He turned to face Ms. Beaumont. "Ma'am?"

     "Aye. Hurry."

     The young man obediently ran for the stone steps leading upstairs to the first floor of the manor, and the remaining foursome heard the heavy basement door open and shut with his exit.

     That was when Kirth made his move.

     He launched a strong frontal kick into Mara's gut, hoping to knock her off balance at least long enough to get free of her blade's reach.

     The woman grunted with the impact and fell back but one step. Her armor absorbed most of the kick, and Kirth was so frantic in his getaway that he did not see that his attack had been futile.

     Mara's boot caught his shin, causing him to pitch forward in a heap. His face planted into the stone floor, knocking him out cold.

     The guard was upon him immediately, sword angled down at the small of his back - but she realized quickly that he was unconscious. She was tempted to finish him off, but Mara sheathed her blade and shook her head in disapproval.

     "Taffer," she spat.

*

     Not an hour later found Mara Mosley standing in a dimly-lit second floor hallway of the manor. Blue moonlight shone through two windows at the end of the hall, and small candles on a side table and the windowsills glowed bravely.

     She had been standing outside the study for a few minutes while Jasper Galway, the estate's head of security, spoke with Lady Arden, their hushed voices passing faintly through the closed door.

     She cradled her helm between her arm and hip. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied back in a short ponytail, falling just past her neck and shoulders.

     The guard yawned mightily, taking the opportunity to do so while she was alone. 

     Jasper had quietly passed the news of the assassination attempt to Lady Arden after the dinner party had adjourned to the ballroom for an evening of music and dance. Lady Arden barely batted an eye upon hearing it; she arranged for Jasper to come back ten minutes later to her with an "urgent missive" that would force the party to meet an early end that night. In the meantime, she continued laughing and gossiping with her guests like nothing had happened.

     Ice in her veins, that one. Yet one had to have such a constitution, Mara supposed, to be at the level that Lady Arden had attained in high society. 

     Unflinching, tenacious... most dangerous.

     She heard rapid footsteps from inside the study suddenly approach, and Mara stood at attention as the door opened and Jasper peered out into the hallway momentarily. His brown hair was nearly shorn off completely, and he had sky blue eyes and a jagged scar on his cheek that curved down toward his chin.

     He was a good looking man, even with his spruce appearance and the seemingly always-angry expression on his face.

     "Mara," he whispered, beckoning her inside with a brisk tilt of his head.

     She followed him into the study. It was lit with warm torchlight and lamp fixtures on the walls, the collective light highlighting ornate paintings, tall bookshelves full of old tomes, and a beautiful desk at the center of the room, hand carved from forest spruce.

     Lady Arden stood with her arms clasped behind her at the large window behind her desk, much like a dutiful soldier might have stood before their commanding officer. Long black hair flowed out from under her headdress, and her silk dress was a deep shade of crimson that almost matched the plush carpet beneath her desk.

     Her skin was creamy white - a fairness only achieved by avoiding the day's sunlight as much as one could - and her face was luminant in the glare of the moon. She turned to face Mara and Jasper. "Well met, Ms. Mosley. I wanted to thank you for your efforts tonight. Because of your eye for detail, my lungs still draw breath. Thank you."

     Mara bowed. "Of course, m'Lady."

     Lady Arden smiled. She was quite beautiful, arrestingly so; all the more of a shock for her enemies when they learned of her devious, relentless schemes. "Jasper here tells me he would not have been able to catch that servant in the act without your help."

     Mara could not help but look to Jasper at her side, doing her best to hide surprise. "I... well, I—"

     "Felt something was off about him," finished Jasper quickly, "and lo, you were right. I was able to shadow him into the cellar and then the kitchen, where I apprehended the blight during the act."

     A stone sank in Mara's heart, which quickly gave way to a wave of anger. She felt the blood rush to her face as she stood in stunned silence at her superior's betrayal.

     "Indeed," came Lady Arden. "I just wanted to tell you personally, Mara, that I appreciate your assistance that led to an intervention."

     "O-of course," Mara stammered. "It was my... pleasure, m'Lady."

     Lady Arden was still smiling. "Excellent. Now - I have a big day tomorrow so I will be retiring to my quarters. Keep up the valiant work, both of you."

     Jasper offered a swift bow, quickly followed by Mara, though hers was stiff and rather forced, and the pair exited the Lady's study. Jasper did not wait for Mara as she eased the door shut behind them both, and the woman angrily rushed to match his pace as they both stalked through the dark hallway.

     "What in blazes was that?!" Mara hissed, just above a whisper.

     "Keep your voice down."

     "Keep my— excuse me? Stop so I can speak to you, Jasper."

     "Go rejoin Caffrey at your post."

     A hand gripped the man's shoulder, forcing him to slow his step. Mara planted herself in front of him, so red-faced with anger that Jasper could see the fire in her eyes despite the darkness. "Face me," she commanded. "You can't do something like that and just walk away."

     The head of security folded his arms across his chest and stood tall. "Can't do something like what?" he asked.

     Mara's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Y-you... you took credit for catching Kirth in the act! That was my arrest."

     "Arrest? You're not with the City Watch anymore, Mara."

     "What does that matter? I am the one who has been watching him for weeks, and you—"

     "And I what?" Jasper interrupted coldly. "You have something to say to your superior officer? You would like to tell me what I am and am not allowed to do, is that it?"

     Her jaw was clenched so hard that her teeth were beginning to hurt, and Mara scoffed at him. "I am asking for an explanation."

     "Of what?"

     "You know what."

     "I do not."

     Mara nearly exploded. "Stop being such a sod! Kirth was mine, and you ran straight to Lady Arden to tell her of your good work?"

     "Be grateful I mentioned you at all."

     "That's not the point, Jasper."

     The man lightly pushed Mara out of the way and continued walking without a reply, and she was quick to follow.

     "Look," she said as the duo rounded the corner leading to the main foyer, "I know I'm new to this post. I know you and the lads were expecting your old friend Godfrey to come back, not a newcomer. I just—"

     "Stop." Jasper stopped suddenly and turned to face Mara, turning on his heel so quickly that she almost collided with him. "Listen to me."

     The woman obliged, not bothering to mask her frustration.

     "I have been here for six years," the man whispered. "It took me four years to rise to Guard Captain of this estate. Lady Arden is not an easy person to impress."

     "I know, but—"

     "Silence!" Jasper hissed, still keeping his voice low. "You can't even keep your mouth shut!"

     Mara's teeth were gritted together in anger. "Because what you just did was underhanded and dishonest! I would never do that to a guard under my command!"

     Jasper leered dangerously close, his forehead nearly touching Mara's, and she resisted the urge to recoil from him. "But you are not in command here," he growled. "Let's get this straight, aye? I don't give a Pagan's shite who your sister is. Lieutenant of the City Watch or not, this is my post. This is our station. This is Lady Arden's House." His words were tumbling out now, yet still managed by self control. "Your sister's jurisdiction stops at the manor gates, and lest you forget, Sheriff Truart - her boss - is a close friend of Lady Arden's. I'll be damned if a new recruit, and a woman at that, swoops in here trying to outperform me and get me ousted from my post just because she's related to Lieutenant Mosley."

     Mara and Jasper faced each other, chests rising and falling heatedly, their anger venting into the air around them as they both regained their composure for a lengthy moment.

     The woman was so blindsided by Jasper's verbal assault that she uncharacteristically struggled to find words. Taking his job? Where had he got that notion? She was totally flabbergasted by how fragile the man’s ego apparently was.

     She wanted to throw the ridiculous accusation right back into his face, but decided not to stoke the fire any further.

     "Listen," Mara managed at last, taking a step back. "It is as you said: my sister and her post have nothing to do with me. Do not let that cloud your opinion of me, Jasper. I came up like everyone else. I had to work harder than most of your men did."

     "See? That pompous attitude is not going to help you around here."

     "No, sir." The woman hoped her show of respect didn't sound too obviously forced. "You misunderstand. I am not being cocky. I'm trying to tell you that I am an asset - a damned good one at that - but you have to be able to separate me from Truart's lieutenant. We are not the same person. I have the utmost respect for my sister and the Watch, but as you said... they are not here. This is not their post. It is ours." She allowed a purposeful pause. "It is yours. I am just asking for the same respect you give the rest of your men."

     Jasper's features remained hardened. He shook his head at her. "When you have put in your time here, you will reap the benefits."

     "But—"

     "Maybe I need to drag you out of here and kick you to the street like a dog. You don't like it, Mosley?" Jasper stepped toe-to-toe with her. "Find a new employer. You're lucky I don't have you flogged for insubordination."

     Mara's mouth was agape with shock. She was speechless.

     "If you ever call me a 'sod' again, or anything else unbefitting of your superior," the man growled lowly, "you'll regret it. I don't care who your sister is. Now return to your patrol."

     The familiar cadence of a guard's patrolling footsteps came into earshot, and the pair hastily regained their composure and put on a casual air.

     One of their companions, a portly guard named Caffrey, rounded the corner up ahead, his torchlight guiding his way through the corridor. "Ah!" he called. "Look who it is. Well done tonight, sir. Made proper work o' that taffer." He slowed to a stop in front of Jasper and Mara. "Can't believe that fink tried to poison Lady Arden. You should've just gutted him - if you don't mind me saying so, sir."

     Mara fought the urge to correct the man. She just shifted on her feet and kept quiet.

     "It was tempting," Jasper replied, "but Lady Arden had other plans for the lad."

     Caffrey's eyes widened. "Other plans, sir?"

     "Indeed. Let's just say Kirth will wish I had run him through when I caught him." He met Mara's gaze with his own. "He will not fare well."

     Mara's cheeks were flushed with anger, but she remained silent.

     "What an imbecile." Caffrey whistled lowly and shook his head. "Do we know why? Hasn't Lady Arden been nothin' but good to that taffer since she took him in? Why in Builder's name would he do that?"

     Jasper just shrugged. "We'll find out. Now, that's enough. Both of you get back to it. Switch off with Benny and Gilmore. I want them to get a better feel for the second floor." He sighed. "I... forgot to run one more thing by Lady Arden. I'll be back. Carry on."

     Caffrey nodded his affirmative, and Mara followed. She cast a seething glare over her shoulder at Jasper.

     He retaliated by putting a shushing finger over his lips - which made Mara's blood boil - and turned his back on them to return to the Lady's study.

     Most men would have perhaps been hesitant to bother their lord or lady so soon after a meeting, and without being summoned at that, but Jasper wasn't worried.

     He and Lady Gwyneth Arden had a... unique relationship.

Chapter Text

     Mara followed Caffrey as they traipsed through the halls and passed countless doors to rooms abound, following the red running carpet alongside marvelous paintings and precious items encased in glass displays.

     Caffrey moved at a surprisingly brisk pace for such a portly fellow, Mara thought. She had to work to keep up.

     "Think Benny's drunk tonight?" Caffrey asked over his shoulder.

     "Hope not, for his sake. That man’s more of a security risk than anything."

     The pair shared a chuckle as they headed to the main foyer. It was a grand room with marble tile and twin staircases on either side that curved upward to the second floor, both meeting at the center of the north wall on an indoor terrace overlooking the entire room. The foyer was still lit for the evening's earlier party, but two of the servants were snuffing out the candles and switching off the electric lights.

     The result was a dark, haunting anteroom sparsely lit by a few torches and tall rectangles of moonlight shining through the towering front windows at the manor's entrance.

     Caffrey stopped at the terrace railing and surveyed the foyer, taking in the luxurious scene with a sweeping gaze. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "This one room houses more riches than I'd see in five lifetimes."

     Mara continued onward down the left side staircase, stepping carefully as she looked up at the sprawl of magnificent paintings, some large enough to fit her body within the frame four times over. "I have to admit, I'm not used to it yet," she chimed. "Though I've only been here a week."

     "I'm coming up on three years, m'self." Caffrey sighed and left the terrace to follow Mara downstairs, clutching his sword and scabbard against his hip as he walked. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

     "That doesn't surprise me." Mara had to quell the urge to spout off about Jasper taking credit for her work. She came quite close to doing so; but decided that losing her job wasn't worth coming forward.

     Not yet.

     The two walked past one of the servants, who offered a polite greeting before turning into a hall leading to the west wing. Mara took a secret comfort in the folly of their armor clattering lightly with each stride, edged with their heavy steps on the polished tile; it was the sound of safety in numbers, and it echoed through the hallway before them. Windows lined one side of the corridor, casting dispersed luminescence of moonlight amidst the shadows.

     Caffrey snickered. "Can you imagine Benny on the second floor? Bloke could get lost on the porch, I swear."

     Stop," Mara scolded through a grin. "You never know. Maybe he'll get—"

     The woman trailed off mid-sentence and slowed to a stop when her steps suddenly felt soft, weightless - cushioned, even. Her steps had grown quiet, sounding as if she was walking on a plush rug or tall grass.

     Mara immediately looked down at the floor and beckoned Caffrey to her.

     "What?" asked Caffrey, lowering his torch slightly.

     Something green was splotched across the tile in patches that covered much of the floor in front of the door to their left, which led to the Leisure Room.

     "What the hell is that?" Mara breathed. She knelt for a closer look.

     Caffrey knelt with her, idling the torch so it illuminated the floor around them. "Don't touch it."

     "I'm not."

     "It looks like mold. Is it mold?"

     Mara crinkled her nose in disgust. "On tile? Would be an odd place for it."

     "But not impossible. Unless..." Caffrey stood and lifted his torch high, craning his neck upward. He swept the light carefully, inspecting the oaken ceiling and rafters.

     Mara followed his gaze. "I don't see anything on the ceiling, at least," she offered after a moment.

     Caffrey lowered the torch and shook his head with a sigh. "I think it's mold. Smell it. Does it smell like mold?"

     "Smell it?" she protested. "'Don't touch it!' he says, 'but stick your nose in it and see if it smells like death.' Piss off, Caff."

     "I didn't say to stick your nose in it, Mar," Caffrey countered. "Just close enough to smell it. See if it's... moldy."

     The woman stood with a grunt and expectantly held out an open palm. "Tell you what: give me the torch and you take a whiff."

     Caffrey snorted and strode to the nearby wall. "Be right back. Gonna light things up and then we'll have one of the servants to clean it up." He dipped the torch flame to a sconce between two of the windows, and then moved to the next.

     Mara looked again to the strange green formations scattered around the tile and gently bit her lip, her forehead creasing with thought.

     Caffrey had already begun lighting the other side of the hallway and had nearly returned. "If it is mold," he mused, "the Lady will be furious. Housekeeping staff of nearly twenty employed here, day and night, and they can't prevent mold?"

     Mara knelt again and drew a dagger from a sheath at her boot. She gingerly tested the substance with the blade before nicking some of it with the dagger's point and bringing it close to her nose. "It's not mold."

     "No? What is it, then?"

     "I think it's moss."

     "Wait - did you just smell it after you gave me shite for telling you to smell it?"

     "It is. It's moss." Mara stood and flicked most of the moss to the floor with a swish of her dagger before wiping the blade clean with her fingers.

     "How do you know for sure?"

     She would have been certain regardless, but Mara especially knew because she visited her sister often, and Lieutenant Mosley kept a garden that she cared for dearly in the backyard of her home. The sweet, earthen aroma was most familiar and it was quite obvious upon closer inspection that it was, in fact, moss.

     But she chose to skirt the subject, and instead flashed a cheeky frown at Caffrey as he neared. "When's the last time you looked at a tree? Or the fountain in the southern courtyard?"

      "Pah! A minute ago you didn't know either! What's strange is... why has it not been cleaned yet? The servants were just in the foyer."

     "That they were."

     "They would've had to walk through this mess to get there from the servant quarters downstairs."

     Mara shrugged. "Unless they came the other way. From the east wing. You know how they change things up every few nights."

     The pair stared down at the moss caking the tile for a silent moment, both equally bewildered, mulling over the odd situation.

     "I'll go fetch a servant," Caffrey muttered. "I'll meet back up with you?"

     Mara nodded and watched her companion retrace their steps back towards the foyer before turning her eyes back to the moss at her feet. She kicked at it passively before looking around again to see if perhaps they missed something... but she saw nothing.

     She mumbled something indiscernible to herself and took one more look up and down the long hallway before setting her sights on the door to her left, noticing that some of the moss was reaching under the closed doorway.

     The guard nudged the creaky door open and entered the room carefully, not entirely sure why she was being so cautious. She flipped the light switch and took a careful look around.

     The Leisure Room was used by guests during visiting hours. Lush furniture beckoned, set out evenly across a deep velvet rug that covered most of the room, leaving dark, polished spruce wood flooring exposed at the chamber's edges. Lady Arden's guests earlier had occupied it for some time before moving their festivities to the banquet hall. The servants had already cleaned up, and one would never have known there had even been a gathering that evening.

     An old handcrafted cabinet on the far wall showcased decorative dishes. A small table for cards and games of chance stood silent, its chairs long vacant. A long, low table boasted decorative jewel-encrusted vases evenly spaced out on the polished surface. A painting of The Builder that Lady Arden had commissioned years prior, bordered by other paintings in their ornate frames, gazed outward. An old suit of armor on display in the corner to her left kept silent watch over the room and its belongings, complete with a large two-handed sword in its grasp.

     Mara saw nothing out of order. She took a few steps in, her feet making a thump with each footfall on the floorboards.

     Looked for more moss; there was none. Checked for mold - because why not - none to be found.

     No shadowy figures or devious trespassers lurking about.

     She sighed and withdrew from the room to go find Caffrey, switching the lights back off before she did so.

     Now, Mara was a talented fighter, demonstrating near-unmatched prowess with the sword, the claymore, and the sword & shield during her training. She was impressively athletic, just as strong as many of the men she came up the ranks with in the City Watch before going private for Lady Arden, and had an exemplary service record.

     Strength and tenacity, however, only took a security guard so far.

     A more experienced sentry might have noticed the single silver goblet missing from the cabinet; or that one of the platinum-coated candleholders was absent from the others clustered together on the game table; or that a large emerald was no longer set snugly in the hilt of the sword resting in the suit of armor's hands.

     Perhaps after further inspection, a veteran guard might have thought to inspect the jewel-encrusted luxury vases, which appeared to be perfectly undisturbed, except that they were anything but. If Mara had spun the vases around, she would have found that every jewel was missing from their backsides, out of view of course from anyone casually strolling by.

     Mara Mosley had previously served well as a City Watch corporal - her company answered to Lieutenant Hagen, her sister's counterpart - but estate security was a different matter than chasing thugs and cracking skulls on the streets of The City.

     And so Mara strode through the warmly-lit hallway just outside, stepping carefully around the moss on the floor as if it indeed was mold, as Caffrey feared, and made her way back to the foyer to rejoin her fellow watchman - entirely unaware that a stranger had been watching her.

*

     Garrett waited for a couple minutes before stepping out from behind the tall suit of armor in the dark corner of the Leisure Room. He was still clutching the emerald he had plucked from the display sword, for he had hid immediately upon hearing the two guards outside in the hallway and didn't dare move for some time.

     The thief had overheard much of the guards' back and forth over what exactly had sprouted in the hallway, and he was rather amused with himself as he took a big step over the floorboards and onto the center rug.

     He stuffed the jewel into one of his many pockets on the inside of his cloak. He had scores of pockets stitched under the cloak, some larger than others, all well-insulated with cotton beneath the fabric so that his loot was compartmentalized; he didn't want metal clanging against metal, coins rustling noisily against stones, or an expensive chalice bouncing repeatedly with each step he took.

     Garrett also wore a custom-fitted harness around his torso that he simply called his "rig," which housed compact pouches where he stuffed smaller items like trinkets, coins, and jewels. The rig's pouches were so tight that he could cram a valuable as thin as a coin into one of them and never have to worry about it falling out, even while running or climbing.

     Separating items while securing them snugly against his body was the best way to move noiselessly. He still had to be careful, as his system wasn't perfect, but the method had served him well.

     Too many idiots thought they could sneak into a house, fill up a sack of loot and leave. Amateurs did not consider how much noise a bag full of valuables would make, rattling noisily with every step and likely waking up everyone in the building they were robbing. They did not stop to consider that a bag full of loot was also quite heavy. Too often, amateur burglars found themselves shocked by the sheer weight of the loot they would amass, quickly discovering their haul was too heavy and cumbersome to escape with.

     Garrett essentially wore his loot, snug and secure against his body and within his cloak - taking his past Keeper training a few steps higher. He was strong and could handle heavy hauls quite well, but he still had to be wary of how much weight he encumbered himself with for a hasty getaway's sake. Since he also carried a blackjack, sword, bow, dagger, arrows, and other gear, the weight added up very quickly.

     Besides staying alive, this was why it was quite important to never get caught. As athletic as he was, Garrett could still get just as easily overloaded as anyone else.

     Being forced to sprint away from sword-waving guards while encumbered with eighty pounds of loot added to all of his gear was not ideal.

     He stood in the darkness of the Leisure Room and listened intently for any approaching footsteps. Satisfied with the silence that met his ears, Garrett eyed the jeweled vases again on the low table.

     The man had deliberately turned the vases so that the jewels that remained were facing outward to hide the empty sockets on the other side, up against the wall and not obviously seen by any prying eyes.

     But he had watched the woman enter, take a brief look around, and leave without much further thought.

     Low effort. She hadn't noticed the other missing items wither, even though they were missing in plain sight. She probably wouldn't notice if the rest of the jewels were swiped too, then, would she?

     Garrett decided there were too many jewels still left to ignore. They were there, ripe for the taking, and just a few of the stones would likely cover a month and a half's worth of rent... badly needed with how sparse his work had become as of late, thanks to Sheriff Truart's heavy-fisted City Watch.

     He loosened the remaining jewels from their settings and pocketed them before silently moving on through the darkness.

     Flor had informed him that according to her man on the inside, The Midnight Veil was on display on the second floor in a small art room that had had an observatory balcony overlooking the gardens.

     Ascension was always a risk, but there had been no safe second floor access points on the outside of the manor - not from ground level, at least.

     There was naught to do but make his way up through the inside of Arden Manor as quietly as possible... after he looked around on the ground floor, of course.

     The night was still young, after all. Garrett had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Note: Suggestive content included in this chapter that some readers might be sensitive to.

     Around the time Mara and Caffrey were poking at the strange clumps of moss that had sprouted from Builder-knew-where, Jasper was back in Lady Arden’s study, sitting in the other chair facing her from across her desk.

     Lady Arden was eyeing him curiously. “Say that again, please?”

     Jasper cleared his throat. “It was Mara Mosley who stopped Kirth. She was suspicious of him well over a week ago. I had her keep a specific watch over him since then, and she noticed certain… oddities.”

     “Oddities?”

     “Yes, m’Lady. Kirth would keep odd hours. Would visit the still room, the butler’s pantry, supplies closet - all when he had no reason to. Things got more serious five nights ago when Ms. Beaumont reported that she had caught Kirth skulking about in the kitchen during the afternoon’s dinner prep.” Jasper shifted slightly in his seat. “She could not prove anything, but she had seen him hunched over a pot of boiling fish.”

     Lady Arden’s eyes narrowed. “Really.” Her answer was a flat-yet-angry acknowledgment.

     “Yes, m’Lady. Thankfully Ms. Beaumont was of shrewd mind and had the sense to discard the fish, just in case. The entire dinner was scrapped and prepared fresh.”

     “And I am only now learning of this?”

     Jasper swallowed. “I did not want to spoil your birthday night, what with all the high profile attendees. I know how much you… despise interruptions.”

     “Yet you had no problem interrupting my banquet tonight with the Lord Regent and his entourage?”

     “It was different tonight, m’Lady. We actually caught the fiend in the act.”

     “Oh?” Lady Arden tilted her head questioningly. “Not because you were hoping for some recognition in the presence of Lord Regent Cahill?”

     Jasper balked. “Of course not. As you saw, I took great care in keeping the matter discreet, m’Lady.”

     “Come now,” the noblewoman said, her voice silky and soft, “we’re alone. You can do away with the formalities - ‘m’Lady this, m’Lady that.’ I think we’re past that, don’t you, Jas?”

     The security chief chuckled nervously. “I… it is difficult for me to get used to, m’La— ma’am.” He shook his head. “Gwyn,” he corrected.

     “After nearly - what, six, seven months?”

     He nodded.

     Gwyneth Arden smiled ever-so-slightly, but it melted as fast as it had appeared. “I want to know why that little dreg tried to poison me. What was his reason? I took him off the streets and gave him quarter, did I not? Provided food, shelter, security, a roof over his head - and a nice one, at that. And this is how he repays my kindness?”

     “Ungrateful sod.”

     “But why, Jas? What was his explanation?”

     “We don’t know yet,” Jasper answered with a shake of his head. “We’ve got him locked up in the cellar right now.”

     A wicked smile crossed the woman’s lips. “Mm. Well done. Oh, the pain I shall visit upon him… he will wish he was dead.”

     Jasper tried to hide his surprise. “What, you’re going down there?

     “Of course,” Lady Arden snapped. “That ungrateful little shite tried to kill me.”

     “What are you planning to do to the lad?”

     “He will beg for his life before I take it.”

     “Lady Gwyn,” Jasper chanced carefully, “if we kill him on—”

     “I will kill him myself.”

     “If that lad is murdered on estate property,” Jasper continued, “what are we going to tell the Watch?”

     Lady Arden chuckled coldly. “The Watch need not know, nor would they care. You and I both know that. Kirth was a homeless, desperate young man on the streets before he came to work here. There is no one who will notice he’s gone.”

     Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t quite know what to say.

     “Jasper - you took credit for foiling Kirth’s attempt to poison me.”

     “I… I did, yes.”

     “I see. So why march that girl in here and make her sit through the lie if she was the one who apprehended Kirth?”

     The man took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before straightening in his seat. “May I speak freely?”

     “For the Builder’s sake, Jas, I said do away with the formalities. Yes, speak plainly.”

     “Well - as you know, Mara Mosley is the younger sister of City Watch Lieutenant Mosley, who answers directly to Sheriff Tru—”

     “I know, as you shrewdly pointed out.” The noblewoman raised her eyebrows. “And?”

     Jasper shrugged. “I thought it would be better to… lay down the law, so to speak. To remind her that she may have done things a certain way out on the streets, but here, she answers to me. Period.”

     Lady Arden stood and rounded her desk, watching Jasper closely as she did. She walked to stand behind him, and the man shivered suddenly when he felt her hot breath against his ear.

     “Quite firm with your tone there,” she whispered. “And who do you answer to, Jasper Galway?”

     “You, of course, m’Lady.” His breath caught when the woman brushed her lips against his cheek.

     “Mm.” She gently nudged the man’s lips with her own, arresting him with her crystalline blue eyes. “How about you come to my bed in half an hour, and I will spend the night answering to you?”

     Jasper swallowed. “Y-yes, m’La— Gwyn.”

     “I would ask you to take me right here if it weren’t for the nightly patrols. Can’t have it all, I suppose.”

     Before Jasper could reply, Lady Arden turned to leave the study and stroll out into the hallway, leaving the door open behind her.

     He drew a heavy breath and remained sitting. Jasper quite enjoyed the company of women, and Lady Arden was as exquisite and charming as any woman could be.

     But things were not so simple.

     Jasper’s affair with Gwyneth Arden had started just over half a year before, shortly after Lord Kessler Arden had fallen ill. The late nobleman had been bedridden for all of twelve hours before his wife had seduced Jasper into her bed.

     At the time, Jasper had been on watch at Arden Manor for nearly four years. Everything changed the fateful night that Lady Gwyneth Arden asked him to “come and check on a “strange noise” in the Master Bedchambers.

     He was a handsome man, yes - but to be invited into a noblewoman’s bedchambers, alone? Unheard of. If anyone ever found out, the fallout would be nearly incalculable.

     Jasper was immediately enchanted by the thrill of late night trysts with the noblewoman, morality be damned. Gwyn was quite beautiful, only two years older than he - she had married Lord Hubert Arden rather young - and her lustful appetite was seemingly insatiable.

     And damn, was it was thrilling! Jasper had been a normal bloke his entire life, and suddenly one of the most wealthy and gorgeous women in The City was practically begging him to come take her in her bed, night after night, with her ailing husband one room over. It was so, so very wrong… but this only made it more thrilling.

     It was likely why he was soon promoted to the new Estate Guard Captain as well. The man he had replaced, Kristoff, was conveniently fired from his position the morning after Jasper had spent the night for the first time with Lady Arden.

     It was dangerous. Exciting. Passionate. Forbidden. 

     And it never stopped. Not even the day Lord Arden passed away in his sleep.

     That was when things took a turn; when Lady Arden revealed a certain… darkness that stirred within her.

     Something twisted.

     Upon discovering her husband had finally passed, Gwyn cried tears of sorrow and near-hysterical sobs of lament that echoed through the manor halls, causing guards and servants alike to come running to her aid.

     Every tear was fake.

     Mere hours later, Lady Arden’s body was entwined with Jasper’s on her late husband’s bed - she had vehemently insisted on this, despite Jasper’s apprehension - and only when their intimacy had begun did Jasper notice the smell.

     That’s what he remembered most about that night. The damned stench.

     Jasper, deeply disturbed by bedding a dead man’s wife in the unwashed sheets in which he had died, did his best to swallow his conscience and focus on the curves of Gwyn’s body and the sounds of ecstasy she made as they rolled together through the night.

     Lady Arden, breathless, chest still rising and falling with short breaths, sweat still glistening on her moonlit skin, had got up from bed the moment she finished and shouted for one of her servants to fetch some fruit and wine before casually sauntering into the washroom to draw a bath.

     Jasper, however, found himself paralyzed in the damp sheets, and when Gwyn went to bathe, the man rolled out of bed, ran for the terrace, and vomited over the railing with such wretched heaves that he thought he was dying.

     That had been a little over two months ago, but even now as he sat alone in Gwyn’s study, Jasper shivered at the memory. It felt like two years ago.

     He had not been quite the same since.

     That morbid night just weeks ago was when things had begun to change for him. Realization seeped into his heart. The utter failure of any moral compass he might have once had resulted in countless sleepless nights and a vague, aimless, blurry depression that had not since lifted.

     Lady Arden’s intimate… tastes, for lack of a better word, only grew more depraved. Jasper wasn’t sure if she was mentally unwell, perhaps more disturbed by Lord Arden’s passing than she realized? Maybe she had simply been taken by some unseen illness?

     One night, Lady Arden summoned Jasper to meet her in secret in the mausoleum located in the northern courtyards of the estate. ’Twas there that he found her waiting for him with a strange contraption that played sound - a Voice Machine, she called it - gifted to her from Karras of The Mechanists… which Jasper found odd, considering Lady Arden’s fierce support of the Hammerite Order and her outspoken negative opinions on Mechanist Progression.

     Blankets and sheets were draped over Lord Kessler Arden’s stone sarcophagus. Gwyneth Arden asked Jasper to take her right there on top of the sarcophagus, with her late husband’s corpse resting just beneath them.

     When Jasper refused, Lady Arden grew furious and threatened to not only release him from her employ, but to so badly ruin his reputation that nobody in The City - not the Watch, nobles or aristocrats, Hammerites or Mechanists, taverns, the Wayside Docks - would ever want anything to do with him. He would be hard-pressed to get work as a servant.

     And so Jasper gave in. As he lay upon the stone, the blankets soft on his bare back, Lady Arden flipped a switch on the Voice Machine.

     Her dead husband’s voice began speaking, his drawl echoing against the mausoleum walls, reciting passages from the Hammerite Book of Tenets. Jasper was so shocked that he found himself nearly paralyzed as the woman climbed atop him with an urn in her hands. He could only watch in confusion as Lady Arden slipped off the lid and dumped dirt out onto his chest.

     She smeared it on his shoulders, arms, chest, forehead - her eyes narrowed with intense focus as she traced patterns on Jasper’s skin with the dirt on her palms - and then, she sloughed it all over her own body, sprinkling it into her hair, shoulders, onto her breasts, her thighs.

     As Lady Arden began her rhythmic moving on top of Jasper, she leaned down to whisper into his ear that they were now making love whilst wearing her late husband’s ashes. She intended it as the ultimate insult to the dead man; that she wanted to force Kessler to “feel her with another man.”

     Why the woman would want this remained a mystery to Jasper, but something in him simply switched off that night. Perhaps his mind shut itself down as a defense mechanism of sorts, but the remainder of that night was a dark, disorienting blur, a faraway memory in a foggy mist through which he did not want to traverse.

     A part of Jasper disappeared. Died, perhaps? For all his life’s experience and as tough as the man was, he had not been prepared for such grisly, callous acts.

     Over the next few weeks, his stomach grew weak. It was hard for Jasper to keep down food. He stopped joining the men for ale, spent long hours in his room during the day without stepping outside; servants had brought him food, and returned later to find it barely touched.

     Something inside him had simply broken. He was not the same man he once was.

     And now, here on the night of Kirth’s attempted assassination of Lady Arden, Jasper was still sitting in the empty second floor study, staring into space and unwillingly reliving the recent morbid forays with the noblewoman.

     He found himself getting sick. Every night that Gwyn Arden invited him to her chambers had become a gut wrenching, anxiety-soaked affair.

     What other acts of defilement might she dream up next? Jasper never knew what was on the other side of that door until he opened it.

     He had grown to hate sleeping with her. Chills of dread washed over the man when he saw her approach him in a hallway, even when others were around. He despised the morbidity that she seemed to relish. He found her repulsive. He was angry at how she used him, be it shallow games or twisted acts. He hated her for blackmailing him into being an unwilling participant in her profane ventures.

     He felt trapped. Hopeless. Debased, marred, dirty. Lady Arden was insane. She was also untouchable and a major player in high society.

     That was why Jasper Galway had paid Kirth to attempt to poison Lady Arden.

     And it wasn’t that Kirth mucked it up, no; it was Mara Mosley and her damned tenacity and keen eye that had spoiled everything.

     Jasper cursed under his breath. He had planned it all. He had not been lying to Lady Arden when he said that Mara had been directed to shadow Kirth and keep an eye on him. He did this to play his part; what Mara did not know was that Jasper had secretly informed Kirth that she would be watching him like a hawk.

     Maybe it was bad luck. Bad timing, chance, unfavorable circumstance. Maybe the Trickster was real and felt like turning Jasper’s attempt to break free of Lady Arden’s clutches into a comedy for divine entertainment.

     Kirth had done everything according to plan. Mara Mosley, though, had taken it upon herself to deviate from her patrol with Caffrey and sneak downstairs into the kitchen that night, and so she caught Kirth in the act.

     Her good work ruined Jasper’s plan.

     He sighed heavily and got up from his seat with a tired grunt, stretching mightily before leaving the study and closing the door behind him. He needed to head downstairs to the Servants’ Quarters and holding cell.

     Lady Arden herself intended to question Kirth? Not if Jasper could help it. He didn’t imagine the lad would hold up under whatever evils the Lady had planned for him.

     No, Jasper needed to get to Kirth first - a dead man could not speak, after all - and after he silenced him, Jasper would need to get to Kirth’s room downstairs in the Servants’ Quarter to make sure nothing there could expose him as the one who paid Kirth to kill Lady Arden.

     A simple, misplaced note or overly informative journal had been the downfall of many, after all.

     Hell, maybe the coin he had paid the lad was still there, too.

     Jasper strode through the east wing of Arden Manor and into the banquet hall, a lantern in one hand while his other rested on the pommel of the sword at his hip. 

     The hall was quite grand. A long table ran down its center, as one would expect, flanked by a total of twenty-two seats; ten lined on either side, and one seat at both heads of the table. Torches along the walls burned in their fixed sconces, casting auras of light throughout the vast shadow of the huge room.

     A servant was whistling a cheery tune in the far corner as she swept the tile with her broom dutifully. When she heard Jasper approach, she stopped and turned to face him. “Ah! Sorry, Jasper. I’m almost finished.”

     Jasper slowed his pace. “Just hurry it up, Alba. It’s past curfew.”

     “Of course. I’ll be done in five minutes.”

     “Thank you.” Jasper resumed his quick stride and the servant returned to her whistling as he exited the far end of the hall and into a small atrium. Another hallway continued forward before reaching a four-way intersection a stone’s throw ahead. A stairwell to  Jasper’s left led to the second floor. To his right was a generously wide archway that opened into another stairwell corridor leading down to the Servants’ Quarters and the kitchen in the basement. Straight ahead led to another large wing of the manor.

     Jasper trudged down the steps towards the Servants’ Quarters, guided by his lantern’s light. He found an odd comfort in the sounds of his boots scraping against the stone steps, and the quiet, slight rattle of his lantern that echoed ahead of him with each stride.

     As he neared the foot of the stairwell, Jasper slowed his pace and stepped gingerly when he heard two men conversing just around the bend. He knew it was Gilmore and Benny, two of his sentries posted at the Servants’ Quarters entryway.

     The security chief gave the valve on his lantern a quick twist. The light fizzled out, and shadowy darkness overcame him.

     He trusted Gilmore and Benny, just like the rest of his men - however, the simple yet effective act of eavesdropping had served him very well over the years, and so he listened to his men talk as their voices gradually crept into earshot.

Chapter Text

     Gilmore stood on one side of the stone archway leading to the ascending staircase. His mouth was full with a concerning amount of coffee beans, and he gnashed them with his teeth noisily. The guard closed his eyes for a moment of respite from the night's boredom. Benny stood on the other side of the archway, paces away.

     Both guards had been at their post for nearly three hours. Gilmore especially disliked stationary posts. He much preferred being on patrol; at least then he was moving, able to stretch his legs, perhaps chat with some of the house staff here and there.

     It did not help that Benny was more drunk than usual. It was going to be a long night.

     "I w-work... and hic - better when I drunk. When - hic - when I drrr... drink, I mean."

     "Benny," Gilmore said, "are you ever not drunk? You need to slow it down."

     "I... I'm fine! Why - hic - why err you... alllllways giving mmmee grief?"

     "You're having trouble standing."

     Benny hiccuped again, a bit harder this time. He clasped a hand to his mouth and let out a mighty belch that echoed through the Servants' Quarters hallway. "I think... I think I threw u-up - hic - in my mouth a li'll."

     Gilmore cringed and cast a sideways glance at his companion. "Maybe go to the washroom, mate."

     "It's... but what if I can't make it there in time?"

     "It's right there." Gilmore pointed at a door across the hall twenty paces away.

     "Oh. I - hic - but wuttiff I can't m-make it?" Benny leaned back against the wall. "What if e'ryone laughs at me?"

     "There's no one else here."

     "But what if... what if... what if you laugh at me?"

     Gilmore rolled his eyes. "Just go, Benny, before I knock your arse out just so I can have some peace an' quiet."

     "I'd... like to s-see you tr-tr... try. Ha. Ha! Ah, haha!" The guard drunkenly stumbled to the washroom, lowly humming some nonsensical tune amidst a steady torrent of hiccups. He stopped at the door and and jiggled the handle with great difficulty, tugging with all of his might. "It... it's lo- hic - locked!" Benny announced in dismay.

     "No it's not, Benny."

     "Summun's - hic - someone's been taffin' around down here!" Benny used both hands to pull the washroom door open, grunting mightily through gritted teeth. When it still did not open, he let out an exasperated sigh.

     "Benny."

     Benny looked back at Gilmore with wide eyes. "Who would do th-that? Why would summun l-lock the washroom?!"

     Gilmore couldn't help but grin. "You have to push the door open, mate."

     "I am."

     "No you're not. Push it open. Don't pull it."

     "N-no - hic - why would I do that when the door does... does... doooesn't swing outward?"

     "Benny," Gilmore snapped impatiently, "push the damned door open. Stop pulling!"

    The drunken guard flashed Gilmore what was probably supposed to be an obscene gesture, and he turned the handle of the washroom door again and gave it a shove with his shoulder. The door swung open with a loud creak of the hinges, and Benny stood in the open doorway for a long moment with an incredulous look on his face. "It w- hic - worked!" he proclaimed gleefully. "Now it's n-not locked!"

     Gilmore just stared at him, unimpressed.

     "I didn't even need a k-key, Gil. Didja see that?"

     "I... yes, Benny. Yes I did. Good work."

     Benny crowed triumphantly and shut the door behind him. He started humming a tune obnoxiously, his resumed humming his tone, his voice muffled by the door.

     Gilmore sighed and allowed himself a few precious moments of shut-eye. Only a few seconds passed before he heard footsteps approaching from down the hall. He forced his eyes open with a grumble and recognized the new young kitchen maid as she approached.

     "'Ello," Sara offered quietly.

     Gilmore gave a nod. "Good evening, Miss." The girl couldn't have been more than fourteen years of age - and maybe it was the dim torchlight, but she reminded the man of his daughter around the same age.

     She smiled good-naturedly before looking over at the washroom door. Upon hearing a man inside belting out a slurred, garbled torrent of words that she suspected was supposed to have been a song, Sara turned back to Gilmore with wide eyes. "Is he okay?" she asked in a hushed voice.

     "Aye, Miss. He's just, um... having a rough night."

     She nodded shyly and stood a few paces from the door, casting uncomfortable glances about the basement landing.

     Gilmore folded his arms across his chest, resting them on the crossbow that hung idly from a sturdy leather harness over his shoulder. "Need the washroom?"

     Sara nodded again.

     The guard chuckled. "Sorry. Dumb question."

     "That's all right, sir."

     "Oh - no need to 'Sir' me, lass. I'm sure my partner will be out of there, um... soon."

     The young woman forced an awkward laugh, and the odd pair stood together for a minute, silent except for Benny's muffled performance beyond the door.

     Gilmore sighed and flashed a rueful smile to Sara as he trudged up to the washroom door and rapped on it with a gloved hand. "Benny. You all right in there?"

     "I-I... what is the meaning - hic - why are y-you rushing old Benny?"

     "There's a lass out here waiting for you to finish up, you taffer." Gilmore looked over his shoulder at the kitchen maid and flashed her a wink. "There's a line forming out here, Benny. Four people are waiting for you to finish your business."

     Sara clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling laughter.

     "Wh-what?" thundered Benny. "I n-need my piracy!"

     Gilmore slapped a palm playfully against the door. "What's this? You're a pirate now, mate?"

      "No, you t-taffer! I... I...."

     Benny fell silent, causing Gilmore and Sara to look at each other with wide eyes, eyebrows raised.

     "I said I need - hic - my piracy!"

     Sara nearly doubled over with laughter, her guffaws bouncing down the corridor.

     "Oi! Youuu - you lessen tuh me, out there!" Benny shouted. "Laugh at m-me and you'll be surrey, who'er you are!"

     "I can't be 'Surrey,' Benny. I'm Gilmore, remember?"

     "Quit... quit taffin' around! I just - his - need privatsy."

     This only made Sara crack up harder, and Gilmore snorted with laughter as he returned to his post near the entryway. "He's harmless," Gilmore said quietly. "He won't remember this tomorrow. Or an hour from now, really."

     Sara still had her hand clamped over her mouth. "I see," she said between giggles.

     Gilmore recomposed himself. "How are you faring so far? Here at the manor, I mean. I know you're new, yes?"

     "Yes. I think I'm getting better with my duties. There's so much to learn in the kitchen, though. Thankfully Ms. Beaumont has been very kind." She has me helping with food prep."

     "Is that so? Kitchen maids don't usually help with the food."

     "Yes, that's what she told me. But she said I was catching on quickly, so why not help her with some of the easier tasks? Like dicing, paring, peeling, stirring."

     Gilmore smiled encouragingly. "Well done."

     Sara beamed. "My thanks. I think maybe I'll be a cook like Ms. Beaumont one day. Have my own kitchen and whatnot."

     "I'm sure you will."

     Benny had resumed singing, his words laced with dizzying stupor.

     The girl rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall a few paces away from Gilmore. "My name is Sara, by the way."

     "Well met. I'm Gilmore. You can call me Gil. If you ever need help finding your way around, let me know."

     "Thank you." The girl cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "Can I ask you something?"

     The guard looked at her curiously. "Mm?"

     Sara stepped closer and spoke quietly, even though Benny's singing was echoing obnoxiously all around them. "Are there other guards here? Different guards, I mean."

     "Other guards? There's lots of us."

     "I mean... different guards." Sara looked down at the floor. "Like, wearing red?"

     Gilmore tilted his head in question and peered closely at the girl. "Not sure what you mean, lass."

     "I saw a man in red the other night."

     "A man in red?"

     "Aye. He wore a red hood over his head.

     "Sorry? A man with a red hood? Where, down here?"

     "Mm. And a red cloak, or... surcoat, maybe? And armor underneath."

     Gilmore frowned. "Like a Hammerite?"

     Before Sara could answer, loud footsteps from the stairwell jolted them both, and the glow of a bright lantern washed through the entryway revealing Jasper Galway. "What's this about a Hammerite?" the security chief demanded.

     "Hoy, sir." Gilmore looked at the kitchen maid for a moment. "Sara here says she... well. Tell the captain here what you saw."

     Sara paled and her eyes went wide. "Captain?" she echoed weakly.

     Jasper reached the bottom of the stairwell and stood before them. "Yes, lass. Tell me."

     The girl swallowed hard, and she looked nervously to Gilmore, then back to Jasper. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to, um..."

     "What are you sorry about, miss?"

     "Da-dum, da-da-ta, da-di-ta, da-dah," Benny sang. "I'll... I'll find you! J-just you wait til I'm alllll done here, you... you cowards!" 

     Gilmore and Sara both snorted while attempting to stifle laughter.

     "Focus," Jasper snapped at them both. He looked at Sara. "You've nothing to be sorry about. Just tell me what you saw."

     "I-I... well, I saw a man the other night - I think I did, I mean - wearing a cloak and hood over armor," she replied timidly. "A red cloak. And he looked like he was carrying something like a hammer, or a large club? But it was quite dark."

     Jasper exchanged glances with Gilmor before turning back to Sara. "Where did you see this man?"

    "Down here." The girl turned and pointed further down the dark hall, in the direction leading from the Servants' Quarters. "Ms. Beaumont had asked me to fetch her something from the still room, near the kitchen. I did, but when I came back out into the hall the man in red was standing in the shadows near the dumbwaiter lift."

     "He was just standing there?" Jasper asked. "Did he say anything?"

     "No, sir."

     "Did he approach you?"

     "No, sir."

     Jasper's jaw was clenched. "Then what happened?"

     Sara gulped. "I got scared and I dropped the tray that Ms. Beaumont had me fetch. And I thought I was going to be in trouble because they were rolls that she and Tomas had prepared in the morning, and I ruined them because they all spilled onto the floor. Thankfully Ms. Beaumont was kind. She even helped me clean up the mess, and—"

     "Did Ms. Beaumont or anyone else see this man dressed in red?" Jasper cut in impatiently.

     Sara shook her head. "The noise of the platter I dropped was so loud that Ms. Beaumont and Tomas came running to see if I was okay. They started helping me pick up the mess. I was going to show them the man in red, but when I looked back, he wasn't there anymore."

     "So this man in red saw you as well?"

     "I... well, yes. He was looking at me."

     Jasper sniffed loudly to clear his nose. "He said nothing? Didn't approach you? Nothing at all?"

    "No, sir."

     "And did you tell anyone else about what you saw?"

     "No, sir."

     "You're quite certain?"

     "Aye." The kitchen maid looked down at the floor guiltily. "I'm new to the staff, and... well, I didn't want to ruin things by sounding crazy. I didn't want Ms. Beaumont to think she hired some girl who sees things that aren't there."

     Gilmore had remained dutifully silent during Jasper's questioning, but he was having a hard time discerning whether his captain was taking Sara seriously or not. Jasper almost sounded worried, like seeing a man in red - or a Hammerite - in the basement of Arden Manor was a possibility, which of course it wasn't... but the crossbowman could not put a finger on it.

     Jasper nodded. "I see. Well, miss...."

     "Sara, sir."

     "Sara. Thank you for reporting this to us." Jasper smiled warmly at her. "I can assure you that there are no "Red Men" here, but we will look into it."

     "P-please don't tell Ms. Beaumont," the maid pleaded. "I can't lose my job."

     "Your secret's safe with us. Right, Gilmore?"

     "Quite right, sir."

     Benny wretched loudly, the closed washroom door unable to contain the sounds of his sputtering. "Ah!" he was yelling between coughs. "Ah, ha! I m-made it - hic - made it into the bowl."

     Jasper cursed under his breath. "Gilmore, take young Sara here to the other washroom, since clearly this imbecile can't be expected to finish up any time soon." He slammed a closed fist against the washroom door. "Benny, hurry the hell up and return to your post - if you can walk straight."

     As Benny chortled a slurred response, Gilmore voiced his affirmative to Jasper and lifted one of the lit torches from its sconce, leaving the other burning at the entryway to the stairwell upward. He beckoned for Sara to follow. "We'll go past the kitchen, past the lift, take a left, then your first right, past the still room. On through the long hall, which will eventually end at an intersection...."

     Jasper watched them head off through the winding basement corridors, and the man drew a deep breath before letting it out with a huff.

     Lady Arden was upstairs in her bedchambers and would be expecting him soon, but Jasper had a stop to make first.

*

     Minutes later Jasper had discreetly passed through a secret corridor hidden behind an enormous banner in a hallway near the one that Gilmore had escorted Sara down. The heavy green and black banner draped down from the ceiling did cover the hidden entrance, but simply pushing the banner aside was not enough to reveal it.

     One had to push against two bricks in the wall  in a certain order. If done correctly, the pressure plates emitted a quiet click, and part of the wall would ease open enough to allow a single person through.

     And now Jasper descended another stairwell, a secret path to a secret chamber beneath the basement - one that only he and Lady Arden were aware of. Nobody else in the House knew of it, and for good reason.

     The staircase wound its way downward, a gradually twisting descent that might have felt like the gaping maw of Hell itself,  if not for his lantern and torches on the walls lighting the way,

     A small room with a single locked door waited at the foot of the hidden stairwell. Jasper produced his key ring and sifted through the many keys of the estate, their clinking sounding louder than it actually was as he searched for the appropriate key.

     Upon finding it, he wasted no time in slipping it into the lock and opening the door.

     He stepped into the chamber. Yellow-brown stone walls circled around an elevated platform, not quite taller than Jasper - a square pedestal with steps leading up on all of its sides.

     On top of the pedestal was a large cylindrical pillar with two other pillars - slightly smaller - flanking it, all made of stone. The three columns reached high enough over Jasper's head  to where their tops were shrouded in darkness. It might have looked like they stretched on forever, if not for the knowledge that there was a ground floor of a manor house above it all.

     The central, largest pillar had a doorless entryway, too dark to see very far inside of it.

     The Chamber, as Lady Arden called it, was enveloped in darkness: a neatly-built dungeon whose walls were mostly shadows at the edge of one's vision, only revealed by torches spaced out around the chamber walls and lanterns lighting the small tower and its ornately chiseled portico.

     In front of either column at the temple's entrance stood two Hammerite Guards. One was tall and had a blonde beard. The other had a black beard and a scar on his cheek. Both were quite strong.

     Jasper strode swiftly for them. It took nearly ten seconds of speed-walking just to reach the base of the pedestal, and then he climbed the steps and marched straight toward the two Hammerites posted at the tower's entryway. He walked with purpose, his swagger confident and edged with anger.

     "Hail, Jasper," called one of them.

     "Don't 'hail' me," Jasper replied, red-faced. "What in the world are you thinking, coming upstairs?"

     The Hammerites looked at each other, confused, before turning back to their visitor. "What, pray tell, does thy tongue infer?" the taller one said.

     Jasper glared at him, incensed. "Vargas, 'doth thine ears not work?'" he fired, mocking their dialect. "Art thou senses of hearing utter shite? Why would either of you ever think you are welcome in the manor house?"

     "Dare thou mock our words?" the dark-haired Hammer said in a low voice. "And spoketh incorrectly, at that."

     "I fear he does, Brother Cassius." Brother Vargas shifted on his feet and hefted his large hammer over his shoulder in a show of menace. "Surely, Guard Captain Galway, thou meant not to insult us, for an insult to us marks an affront to The Builder Himself."

     Brother Cassius was nodding. "Which would be a fool's folly, most grave - would it not?"

     Brother Vargas eyes gleamed dangerously. "Indeed it would."

     Jasper stared at them incredulously. It irritated  him how they spoke with such a strange, practiced cadence... almost like they finished each other's sentences, even though that was not the case. "Listen to me. A girl up there saw one of you the other night in the basement. In the Servants' Quarters. What in blazes were you doing up there?"

     Vargas and Cassius exchanged long glances again before Vargas lowered his hammer passively. "Apologies, Guard Captain, but she was most mistaken."

     "Indeed. We would venture not into the House of Lady Arden - as was agreed upon when she graciously invited our Church to her Chamber."

     Jasper sucked on his teeth in annoyance. "A kitchen maid does not simply imagine seeing a man wearing a red cloak and hood over armor, carrying a hammer, waiting in the shadows of the basement." He spat sideways at his feet. "Perhaps it was one of your companions," he said, nodding his head towards the tower door.

     Cassius shook his head. "I think not. A covenant broken is The Builder's wrath invited."

     "And no reason have we to venture into House Arden," added Vargas again. "Quite content we are to stayeth here, as ordered."

     "I fear 'tis the truth. Lady Arden's maid conjures imaginings that tease fragile minds, unguarded."

     Jasper's angry gaze flashed between both men for a lengthy, wordless moment. He growled something indiscernible and turned his back on them to stalk back the way he had came.

     "Fare thee well, Captain Galway."

     "Blessed tidings be upon thee, and thy evening."

     The security chief whirled about to face them from afar. "The agreement was that you and your Order stay out of sight and conduct your business down here in secret. This is unquestionably required by Lady Arden. If,  or any of my men, see any of you Hammers above ground I will have you hung and bled out like a pig. Mark my words."

    With that, Jasper turned again and made his way out of the Chamber, returning to the stairwell leading upward.

     Neither Hammerite react to Jasper's threat, and they stayed quiet until he left.

     Brother Vargas sniffed. "A troublesome turn, for none of us hath defied the Lady's wishes."

     "Quite right." Brother Cassius stroked his dark beard thoughtfully. "So now I do wonder: what doth this lass thinketh she saw in the shadows?"

     "Troublesome, indeed."

Chapter Text

     Mara Mosley chewed absently on some coffee beans as she watched one of the housekeepers clean up the moss on the floor in the west wing. The housekeeper was frowning as she scraped up the growth with a hand trowel.

     "You ever seen anything like this here in the manor before?" Mara asked, her words hindered by her mouth being full.

     The housekeeper shook her head. "No, miss. 'Tis quite odd." She looked up at the guard. "You say it just... appeared? How long ago?"

     "Dunno. We came across it just twenty minutes ago or so."

     "Very odd indeed." The housekeeper wrung out the soaked rag over a bucket. "Servants - the hall boys, the footmen, the butler, we housekeepers - we're in these halls constantly. Dusting, sweeping, scrubbing. There's always something to be done. You would think someone woulda seen this earlier. Makes me wonder what on earth..." the maid trailed off with a shake of her head and continued cleaning the mess.

     Mara popped another pinch of coffee beans into her mouth, and shrugged. "Indeed. Oi - Caffrey went to fetch you, but do you know where he went?"

     The maid didn't look up from her task, and she began to scrub at what was left of the moss. "Said he had to use the washroom, near the banquet hall."

     "Thank you." Mara offered a pinch of coffee beans to the servant, who accepted them in her open palm with a grateful nod and smile before returning to cleaning.

     Mara walked back into the foyer and towards the opposite wing leading to Kessler Hall. She gnashed her coffee beans with a sigh, the crunching between her teeth going at the same cadence as her steps, and she very much wished she had a hot cup of the real thing.

     The sound of a woman whistling reached her ears as Mara neared the banquet hall, and she entered to see one of the servants walking dutifully toward her with a broom and pail in tow.

     The servant offered a nod in passing, and Mara returned it, but held up a palm in greeting. "Have you seen Caffrey? He's with me tonight. One of the housekeepers said she saw him go to the washroom here."

     "Caffrey?" the servant echoed. "Yes, he headed that way. Maybe ten minutes ago, methinks - 'twas right after the Guard Captain came through here. Jasper was on his way down to the Servants' Quarters, but... aye, haven't seen Caffrey since."

     Mara cringed inwardly at the mention of Jasper. "Right, then. Thank you."

     "Yes, miss. Have a good night."

     "You as well."

     Mara continued out of the banquet hall and into the atrium. She would have continued straight on ahead to the next wing of Arden Manor, but at that moment Jasper was coming up the steps from the Servant's Quarters after his secret stop at the Hammerite Chamber.

     She heard his footfalls and saw his lantern light grow brighter from around the corner, and so Mara slowed her step to avoid colliding with the Guard Captain.

     Jasper reached the intersection and rounded the corner quickly. "Why are you alone?" he asked in passing, not bothering to even look at her as he glided back towards the banquet hall. "Why are you not with Caffrey?"

     Mara stopped and watched the man stalk away. "He's in the washroom." She resolved inwardly to push her anger aside the best she could. "Captain, can you hold a moment?"

     The man did, but did not hide his annoyance as he turned to face her, the lantern's light casting part of his face in shadow. "Quickly."

     "You haven't happened to see any strange... patches of moss anywhere tonight?"

     "Moss?"

     "Caff and I found some in the hall outside the Leisure Room. There was a lot of it, just mucked about all over the floor." Mara drew a large circle on the floor with her foot. "We thought it was mold at first, but it's moss. Makes no sense. There was so much of it, too."

     She had expected Jasper to berate her for wasting his time with moss overgrowth, but the security chief cocked his head in question. "How long ago?"

     "Fifteen, twenty minutes?"

     Jasper's eyes were narrowed as he mulled it over. "Not mold? Mildew?"

     "No sir. I inspected a small sample. It's just... moss." The guard shrugged haplessly. "Even smelled sweet, leafy. Just odd, is all - especially such a large bunch of it. Thought I would ask."

     He was still frowning in thought, and Jasper rubbed his chin. "If you find more, let me know. We could have some sort of overgrowth problem, or... I don't know. If there's more we should have it inspected. Aye?"

     Mara nodded. "Will do."

     Jasper turned on his heel to continue his trek back to Kessler Hall and upstairs for his late night rendezvous with Lady Arden. "Carry on," he called over his shoulder.

     Mara watched him go. She struggled with waves of anger that rose and fell within her chest, threatening to break the surface of her self control.

     Jasper Galway behaved as if nothing had happened, as if he had not betrayed her and dragged her worth through the mud not a half hour earlier.

     "Sod," she whispered to herself, and with that she turned to walk the opposite way into the western expanse of the mansion.

     Known as Kessler Hall - named after the late Lord Kessler Arden - it was as grand as the manor's main foyer. The hall was a large, lengthy entryway to the hedgerow gardens outside, with ornate tile and a long red carpet rolled through its entirety. Sitting areas with obscenely expensive furniture were scattered here and there, complete with some decorative plant arrangements, a large telescope aimed out at the night so that guests could entertain themselves with stargazing if so inclined...  and as could be expected in Lady Gwyneth Arden's home, more beautiful paintings adorned the entire run of the wall to Mara's right.

     Tall cathedral-like windows on her left ushered in the moon and sent columns of glowing moonlight piercing through the hall, creating scattered, pitch shadows that somehow made Kessler Hall appear even larger than it already was.

     Thunder rolled over clouds somewhere afar, sounding like a nameless god waking from a long slumber. Lightning speared across the night, lighting up every grand window with such fervor that Mara had to blink away spots from the bright flash.

     Rain began pouring as she moved through the hall, humming a soft improvised tune to herself. Mara actually had an astounding singing voice, though there was no way in hell she would ever reveal it to anyone. Not even her sister. She swept the torch with a practiced, careful cadence, dutifully glancing about for anything odd as she made her way towards the washroom just outside the far end of Kessler Hall.

     The guard sensed something was off before she even exited the great hall, but she stopped in her tracks as she rounded the corner into yet another outlying corridor.

     The hallway looked as it always did; red carpet running down its center, tiled marble beneath, low tables against the walls showcasing pleasant assorted ornaments.

     All normal... except it was cloaked in darkness. Only two sconces kept the hall lit, but both torches were out.

     "Huh." Her only remark. Mara could see the washroom on the right, not ten paces ahead, and the doors to two supply closets on either side.

     She trudged forward and reached to her belt for a tinderbox to relight the first torch. The fire whispered its low, windy growl as the torch came back to life and cast its bright glow around her.

     It was then that Mara saw something quite peculiar.

     The wall around the sconce was wet. Water seemed to have been splashed unceremoniously across it, leaving a wet, imperfect stain around it.

     She narrowed her eyes and peered closer. Droplets of water still glistened on the wall. A damp trail trickled down to the floor, though most of it seemed to have dried.

     At least, she assumed it was water.

     Mara whispered to herself in confusion. She looked both ways down the hall as if to make sure no one was watching, and tilted her nose precariously close to the liquid to take a sniff.

     Nothing. Odorless. It had to have been water.

     Feeling a little silly, Mara withdrew her face from the wall and craned her neck towards the washroom on the opposite side of the hallway. "Caffrey?" she called. "You in there?"

     If he was, he didn't answer.

     Mara rolled her eyes and looked up at the roof just as she had earlier upon discovering the moss, looking for a leak of sorts. She saw none and walked further down the corridor to inspect the other torch in its sconce.

     It had met the same fate, looking as if someone had taken a large pitcher of water and splashed it against the wall to douse the flame.

     She mumbled something inaudible to herself and stared in bewilderment for a few moments before turning to continue down the hall, which turned a corner nearby.

     Mara peered around the corner curiously, into the next part of the hallway and saw that it was brightly lit - as it should have been - and two guards were walking away from her in the distance, continuing on their own patrol route. She recognized both of them: Henry, a red-haired bloke, and Terri, the only other female guard on watch at the estate, with hair black as the night.

     "Hoy!" Mara called, walking briskly for them. "Hold a moment?"

     Henry and Terri both turned at the sudden call, the light from a nearby wall-mounted lantern glinting off their steel helmets.

     "Look who it is," Terri greeted with a grin. "Bored, Mara?"

     "Not quite," the other woman replied as she slowed to a stop in front of the other guards.

     "Where's Caffrey?" came Henry.

     "I was going to ask you."

     "Oh?"

     "We came across something strange in the west wing from the main foyer. He went to fetch a servant to clean it up."

     Terri raised her eyebrows. "Clean it up? What was it, a mess?"

     Henry snorted. "Did Benny piss himself again?"

     The pair laughed, and Mara could not resist a hearty chuckle. "'Twas actually, um... moss."

     "Moss?"

     "Aye. A weird patch of overgrowth on the tile. We thought it was mold or something at first."

     "Moss?" echoed Terri again, glancing sideways at her partner. "Growing on the floor?"

     Mara nodded. "Very odd indeed. But anyway, one of the housekeepers came to clean it up, but I haven't seen Caffrey since. Went to fetch a servant to clean the mess, didn't come back, so I went looking for him."

     Henry absently tapped the pommel of his sheathed sword with his gloved fingers. "Well, if we come across Caff we'll let him know to rejoin you. You'll just be on your assigned route, yes?"

     "Yes. Thank you both." Mara shifted on her feet and pointed behind her. "Have you two been been that way, back to Kessler Hall?"

     Terri shook her head. "No, why?"

     "I want to show you both something."

     And so Mara led the way back from which she came, turning the corner to the hallway with the recently doused torches. She showed the oddities to Henry and Terri, who were both as bewildered as she was.

     "The hell?" Terri voiced quietly after inspecting the second torch. "I don't understand."

     Henry was shaking his head. "Some fool trying to have a laugh, perhaps?"

     "A prankster?" asked Terri. "Don't think they'd dare. And what'd be the point, taffin' around like that?"

     Mara looked to the washroom door again just paces away. "Caff?" she tried again. "Are you about done in there or what?"

     No answer,

     "Thought you said you didn't know where he was?" Henry pointed out.

     "The girl tidying up the banquet hall said she saw him head this way to use the washroom." Mara stepped to the door. "Caffrey. If you don't answer, I'm comin' in - and neither of us want that, my friend."

     "He's probably not in there," chimed Terri.

     Henry grinned crookedly. "What if ole Caff is the prankster?"

     Mara snorted her disapproval and knocked on the door. "Anyone in there? I'm coming in if you do not answer."

     Terri yawned obnoxiously loud before stepping closer to Mara. "Just open it and be done with it, Mosley."

     Mara obliged, and her companions stepped back so she could pull the door open.

     She froze.

     Guardsman Caffrey was lying on the floor, his back propped up awkwardly against the wall, and his upper body had slid to one side resulting in his head resting on the rim of the waste basin.

     Mara was at his side before anyone could blink, kneeling next to the man's body for a quick inspection.

     "He been drinking or what?" Terri joked, peering over Henry's shoulder at the doorway. "Caff! Wake up, you oaf."

     Caffrey did not stir, and Mara clapped her hand gently on the man's cheek, which she noticed was bruised, along with his nose.. "Caff. Can you hear me?" She put her hand to his chest and felt it rising and falling with his breathing. "He's unconscious. Can't be sure what happened but looks like he fell forward on his face."

     "What a taffer," Henry muttered, kneeling beside Mara. "Caffrey, mate. Wake up."

     "He falling victim to the drink like our boy Benny?" asked Terri.

     "No," Mara said defensively. "Caff's not lik that."

     "Does he smell like ale?"

     "No, Terri, he does not smell like ale."

     Henry took a step into the small washroom to peer down over Mara's shoulder and take a closer look at Caffrey. "Builder's hell," he remarked with a low whistle. "Look at his face. He fall face down or what?"

     Mara slipped the unconscious man's helmet off as gently as she could, and her eyes widened at the sight of a large welt on the top of Caffrey's bald head. “Damn. Look at the size of that bump!”

     Henry cursed. "He's been knocked out." He looked back at Terri, incredulous. "Someone hit 'im right over the head."

     Terri's eyes widened. "What? Do we have an intruder?"

     "I don't know," answered Mara tersely, "but whoever did it is probably still around. Caff, my friend. Wake up, aye?"

     Terri frowned. "What if he just fell and hit his head really hard?"

     "You weren't close enough to see it," Henry assured her, rejoining her in the hallway. "Size of that bump on his head? Lot of force had to be used to make a welt that size on a bloke wearin' a helm." The shrill ring of steel sounded off the walls as Henry and Terri both unsheathed their swords and immediately cast alarmed glances up and down the hallway.

     "We'll do a sweep," Henry said softly. "Terri - lights up, eyes up."

     "And blades out," the woman added. "You don't think it was that Kirth fellow?"

     "No way. Jasper said Lady Arden's got him locked up."

     The guards fanned out to begin their search while Mara tended to her patrol mate. "We need to let the others know," she called softly.

     "Will do," Henry replied from afar.

     "Oi, Mar?" came Terri. "Don't dawdle and stay alone too long. Stay sharp."

     Mara voiced her affirmative as her eyes flickered about in search for any clues as to what had happened.

     Caffrey still had his weapon. There didn't seem to be any blood, on his person or on the floor or wall. As she reached to check his duty belt, the man suddenly snorted so loudly that Mara fell back on her haunches, startled by the sudden noise.

     He began snoring - raspy, labored snores of a man in deep sleep.

     Whoever struck Caffrey had hit him damned hard.

     Mara sat up and knelt again next to the man to resume her assessment. It was only then that she realized the man's belt was undone. His pisser was exposed for all to see, and he had urinated on his trousers.

     “Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered. Mara hesitated for a moment, not quite sure what to do; she soon removed one of her gloves and placed it on Caffrey so it covered his nether region, cringing and craning her neck to look the other way as she did so, making damned sure she didn’t look at the man’s privates any more than she already had.

     She shuddered. That was not a sight she ever would have imagined she would be exposed to, and one that she hoped her mind would somehow forget.

     It was then that Mara thought to check Caffrey's belt for his key ring, as all guards carried one - though most guards only carried one or two keys. Jasper and Mr. Chauncey, Lady Arden's Butler and Head of Staff, were the only ones who carried more keys to more niche areas of the manor.

     Mara blinked at what she was seeing, and then blinked again.

     The key ring was still looped on Caffrey's belt, but the keys themselves appeared to have been taken.

     Shite.

     She stood and unsheathed her sword, suddenly feeling like she was being watched. "Oi!" she called to the others. "Caff's keys are missing!"

Chapter Text

     Down the same corridor, just a couple left turns away from Mara, Henry, and Terri, Garrett was kneeling on one knee and testing a locked door. He had one ear tilted to the lock, listening intently to the click-click-clicking his lock picks made while he delicately twisted and prodded.

     A soft click sounded. Then another. The sound was more than music to the man's ears - it was an addiction.

     A woman's voice in the not-so-faraway distance cried out in alarm. Garrett's hooded head whipped around to face the direction of the shout, and as he did he heard others join in.

     He frowned in disbelief. He had put out a couple torches, sure - but that didn't warrant screaming Hell's Bells, did it?

     The thief turned back to the lock, concerned. His newly-alerted adversaries were still a couple turns of the hall away, but that could change very quickly.

     To his left, a small open archway led into a shadowy tower where a steadily winding staircase ascended out of view, and Garrett could tell from where he was kneeling that it would offer plentiful darkness should the need to flee arrive.

     Click.

     No greater sound. Truly.

     He carefully probed for what he figured was the final pin. It did no good to jostle a pick in a lock blindly and hope for the best, especially if one was in a bind. Even now as distant voices grew stronger and warned Garrett of approaching adversaries, he kept his wits about him and took a steady, deep breath.

    "—get down there an' find out." came a man's deep voice, bouncing off the walls from afar. Other men voiced their acknowledgement.

     Garrett looked to his left at the shadowy stairwell where the voices had come from and realized that at least three more guards were on their way from above, in addition to the shouts he already heard in the nearby corridor. He could hear their rapid steps scrambling as they descended the stairs, the clinking folly of their chainmail bouncing against their armor as they rushed.

     "Ready up, lads," advised a gruff voice.

     Another man snorted and laughed. "Hope someone is taffin' around. Been waitin' months to gut somebody, aye? Been too long."

     Garrett clenched his jaw as he turned his focus back to the lock, silently berating himself for risking such exposure for a locked door.

     "Oi!" came a woman's voice from Garrett's right, somewhere down the hall. "We've got a man knocked out! Eyes up!"

     The rapidly descending footsteps in the tower stairwell were getting louder.

     The guards on the opposite side who had found the body were nearing.

     Garrett had seconds. "Come on," he whispered softly. "C'mon, c'mon."

     The glow of a lantern from within the dark stairwell washed into view on the edge of his vision, and Garrett slipped the final spring aside with his triangle pick while using his square pick to delicately nudge the last remaining pin downward with his square pick.

     The familiar, satisfying metallic rasp of a lock's defeat sent a wave of relief over the thief as he hastily opened the door and stole through it, into what appeared to be a vacant bedroom.

     Thankfully. Garrett did not rush through new doorways unless he absolutely had to. He lucked out.

     As he stepped inside and quickly eased the door shut, he could hear the approaching guards reach the corridor. A volley of jogging footsteps echoed throughout the hall as they ran past the closed door towards the cry of alarm they had heard earlier, but then they stopped right outside.

     "What's happened?" Garrett heard a man ask.

     "Someone's prowlin' about."

     "Aye," another voice chimed. "Henry and Terri found poor Caffrey out cold. Someone hit 'im o'er the head."

     "No, it was Mosley who found him. She sent Henry and Terri for help."

     Mosley? Had Garrett heard the name correctly?

     He was just on the other side of the door from the gathering in the hallway. He had pressed himself flat in the shadows, but he prayed the guards didn't enter.

     There would be nowhere to run.

     And why on earth would City Watch Lieutenant Mosley be in Lady Arden's Manor? Especially at this hour?

     "What do you mean? Someone attacked him?"

     "Found him knocked out in the washroom back that way. They stole his keys, too."

     "What?"

     "You lads go spread the word upstairs. We have enough coverage down here."

     "And the Captain?"

     "Mosley already sent someone after 'im."

     "All right. We'll head up and alert the second floor."

     "Lads, start a sweep of the first floor. Cap'n Galway will be here soon so stay alert. Meet back up in the main foyer. Move your arses."

     Heavy footsteps sounded through the hall as an unknown number of guards split into two groups and dispersed.

     Guards at most of Garrett's previous jobs had been embarrassingly inefficient compared to this lot. If he wasn't careful, this could be a long night at best.

     At worst, he would not live through it.

     Garrett stayed there, back pressed up against the wall, brow furrowed in confusion. He had doused the two torches in the hall with water arrows, yes.

     He had not knocked anyone out.

     He had not stolen any keys.

     What the hell was going on?

     The thief remained still, waiting to be sure that the guards outside had left. He finally focused on the dark, vacant bedroom he had gained access to.

     A single bed was tucked away in a shadowy corner, and a simple nightstand accompanied it. A small desk with a rickety old chair sat vacant, with more unlit candles on its mantle, wax collected at their bases. Different documents and parchments were all over the desk, yet neatly organized. He saw two brooms leaning against the wall near the door to a small closet, and a large double-door wardrobe in the far corner.

     The desk had drawers. The nightstand had a drawer. The closet probably held only clothes.

     The man sighed softly. He'd nearly been caught picking the lock. Had the risk even been worth anything?

     Garrett checked the documents on the desk first. It was difficult to see the writing scrawled on the pages and parchments in the darkness, and so he blinked his right eye gently while also looking upward; this action activated his Mechanical Eye, and he did not use it to zoom in, but rather provide "Dark Sight" as he called it - in substantial darkness, his vision was able to be slightly illuminated to where he could see better in the dark.

     He was certainly no cat, nor owl. The darkness was still dark, still dangerous, and demanded respect and caution. But in this way, Garrett was able to read the documents on the desk in a windowless, pitch dark room without the aid of a candle's flame.

     A quick glance showed supply lists, an inventory ledger, a list of house staff, a list of "items for discussion." Garrett soon realized he was in the butler's bedroom - a man named Declan Chauncey, who signed his name as simply Mr. Chauncey on everything.

     "Chauncey. House Butler," Garrett whispered to himself. He had a habit of doing so when he came across a new name during a job. It helped him remember who it was, just in case the info proved useful... which did happen occasionally.

     Even though a butler was in charge of all house staff, including servants, housekeeping, and the kitchen staff, a butler was still a servant. Garrett would be lucky to find much of anything of value here.

     The man opened the first desk drawer, which held nothing but odd writing and office supplies. He tried the next drawer, which yielded the same result.

     A series of small storage cubbies lined the mantle on top of the desk, and Garrett searched each one swiftly, yet thoroughly.

     Rolled up scroll. Two jars of ink, one of them uncapped, which had resulted in the ink drying out. A letter opener. 

     The last compartment housed a small coin pouch, which Garrett pocketed quickly. Judging by its weight, it was probably ten, maybe fifteen pieces.

     Worth getting caught in the hallway? No. But he would take what he could get.

     The bedside nightstand was next. Garrett slid the drawer open and found a large coin purse next to another letter opener.

     Why did this Mr. Chauncey fellow need so many letter openers?

     After stowing the purse, he surveyed the room to ensure he hadn't missed anything else before he went to check the closet and wardrobe.

     He didn't get far.

     Rapid footsteps in the outside hallway reached his ears. They were approaching quickly.

     Garrett eased the nightstand drawer shut and swiftly glided across the room for the wardrobe. The pocket of shadow between it and the corner where the walls met provided a safe haven in the dark, in the event that someone suddenly entered the room.

     Sure enough, the steps slowed to a stop right outside the door.

     Garrett heard the sound of a key being jiggled in the lock, and then a confused grunt as whoever it was discovered that the door was already unlocked. The door swung open, briefly letting the hallway torchlight in before being closed and locked hastily.

     The thief took a deep, quiet breath, inhaling through the nose, exhaling silently through the mouth. He reached for his blackjack at his belt and tightened his grip on the handle.

     He was trapped in a locked room with someone else; likely Declan Chauncey - there was a very good chance this would end with an assault.

     A man with dark brown hair slicked back and a neatly trimmed goatee - probably in his mid-to-late forties - stomped into view and threw a key onto his desk. He was shaking, clearly anxious. He planted both his palms on the desktop and leaned onto it, the wood creaking beneath his weight, and tried to catch his breath.

     Garrett averted his eyes to the floorboards near the man's feet. He knew that a person's "sixth sense" was quite real; he had learned years before that one could feel when they were being watched.

     It bodes well to not watch a person directly of one was trying to remain hidden.

     The man drew a sharp breath and seemed to recover. He straightened and whirled to face the door. "Bloody hell," he uttered to himself. "Shite, shite, shite." He looked down at his hands, which were trembling. "Oh, you've gone and done it now, Declan. You've gone and done it, aye?"

     Declan Chauncey, Butler of Arden Manor, struck a tinderbox and lit the candles on his desk and nightstand.

     Thankfully, the candle glow fell well short of Garrett's hiding spot. The thief remained cloaked in the wardrobe's shadow.

     Declan returned to his desk. He swiped the letter opener from one of the small drawers and sank to his knees, shouldering his chair out of the way with such force that it clattered roughly across the floor and tipped over with a loud thud.

     Garrett raised his eyebrows when he saw the man stick the letter opener into the floor, wedge it roughly between a couple of the boards, and wrench one of the planks loose. 

     Declan shakily reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a shiny trinket. He held it in his open palm and allowed himself to be enchanted by it for a long moment as the candlelight flickered off of the polished gold. He soon stowed the trinket beneath the floorboards, along with something else that Garrett could not quite make out, before quickly setting the loose plank back in place.

     Declan wiped sweat from his brow and uprighted his desk chair before taking a seat. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, looking like he was trying to find solace in the oak beneath his shoes.

     Garrett kept his breathing steady and his fingers tight on the blackjack's handle. All it took for things to go awry was one quick, harmless glance from the unsuspecting butler to that corner of the room for the thief to be discovered.

     He was careful to keep his eyes focused on the floor, and Garrett watched Declan from his peripheral vision.

     A knock sounded at the door, startling Declan as much as it did Garrett, and the butler shot to his feet and practically flew across the room to answer it. 

     Garrett could not see who it was from his hiding place, but he heard Declan speaking with a woman in terse whispers before the door closed again. 

      Declan reappeared with a blonde-haired woman - one of the servants - and they embraced each other tightly before the butler sat back down in his chair and the housemaid sat on the edge of his bed.

     Neither, of course, even suspected they were being watched.

     "Declan, what is going on?" the woman asked. "What is happening?"

     "It'll be fine, dear. I just—"

     "They're saying one of the guards was attacked!"

     "I know."

     The woman stared at him. "You don't seem all that shocked."

     That's what I'm trying to tell you, Elise." Declan bowed his head and said something under his breath before straightening to face her again. "It was me."

     Elise blinked. Her face was a portrait of disbelief, and she shook her head slowly. "What was you?"

     "It was me who did it. I knocked out one o' the guards," Declan whispered shakily. "Caffrey, the heavy one. Poor fellow. Wasn't personal, he just happened to—"

     "W-why would—"

     "Let me explain."

     "Declan, by the gods - what were you thinking?"

     The man swallowed hard. "I took his keys."

     Elise was now nodding very slowly, trying to wrap her head around what Declan was telling her. "You... you attacked one of Lady Arden's guards so you could... so y-you could steal his keys?"

     "Let me explain," he repeated.

     "Are you mad?" the housemaid nearly exclaimed.

     "Sshh! Keep your voice down!"

     "Are you bloody insane? You assaulted a guard? What in Trickster's Hell are you playing at?!"

     The butler stood and rushed to the bedside. He knelt before the woman and took her hand in his. "Just let me explain. Please keep your voice down."

     She stared down at him, wide-eyed. "You've lost the plot. You're mad if you think—"

     "Elise. Please."

     "—sit here and listen to you when you've clearly got a death wish."

     Declan grabbed her other hand. "M'dear, please. Listen. I have something to tell you."

     "You've told me enough!"

     "Hush, please! Just for a moment!"

     Elise pulled her hands away from his. "If they find me with you, they'll think... that I-I helped, and—-"

     "My dear Elise," Declan urged in a smooth voice, "please relax. Please listen. We're getting out o' here."

     The woman said nothing.

     To be fair, Garrett thought to himself, the woman probably did not even know what to say at that point.

     "You and I can finally leave this place. Leave The City, just like we've talked about for two years now!"

     The woman frowned. "I don't follow."

     Declan gently reached for her hands again. "I took the keys to get to the Gallery. Only the guards have keys to open it, aye? That's why I did what I did."

     Elise was shaking her head. "Where did you do it?"

     "Just down the hall," Declan replied hushedly. "The corridor leading to Kessler Hall. In the washroom."

     "Declan, what in blazes are you going to do when he wakes up and tells everyone who attacked him?"

     "He didn't see me, love. The torches were out in the hall, so it was quite dark." Declan got up from his knees with a grunt and sat next to Elise on the bed. "He didn't even close the door all the way."

     "Why were the torches out?"

     "I... don't know, Elise. But that's never happened before and it'll probably never happen again. It was total darkness, so I took my chance."

     "So you just walked up to the man and attacked him while he was literally taking the piss? Are you crazy?"

     Declan snorted and rolled his eyes. "Will you stop saying I 'attacked' the fellow? I just gave him a good bonk on the head. Enough to knock 'im out. He'll be fine."

     Elise opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. She was beside herself; now she was the one trembling, and Declan put a consoling arm around her.

     "Elise," he whispered. "I took my shot. It was dark enough. He was alone, and the guards are never alone. No idea why the torches were out, but they were, aye? So I took my chance. I used the spare lever for the dumbwaiter, the iron one we keep in the store room. I already had it on me since I was on my way to replace the one that's grown faulty." Declan threw his hands up expectantly. "Everything lined up perfectly. I would never get a chance like that again, aye? So I gave him a bonk on the head. Got a key to the Gallery."

     The housemaid brushed strands of blonde hair from her eyes. "Yeah? And what are you going to do now, hm? Sneak past all these pissed off guards, steal a painting, is that it? You're going to figure out how to stuff an original D'Fehr in your coat?"

     "Elise—"

     "You going to lift one of those big Sebach paintings off the wall, and... what, fold it up and put it in your pocket?"

     "No. That's not what I intend to do."

     "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think Lady Arden or her guards are going to let us walk out of here with one of those priceless paintings," Elise hissed. "All of 'em are as tall as we are, anyway. And—"

     "Elise!" Declan snapped in a whisper. "Enough!" He got to his feet and looked down at her. "Come, now. Do you really think that little of me? Do you think I'm that stupid?"

     She lowered her gaze to the floor. "No, Declan, not stupid. Reckless. Impulsive. Assaulting one of Lady Arden's guards is not what I would call 'smart' necessarily. I just don't know what you were thinking! You'll get yourself killed!"

     "What I was thinking," Declan murmured softly. He shook his head and turned to walk back to his hiding spot in the floor. He knelt, reopened it, and set the loose floorboard aside before fishing the shiny trinket out again.

     Elise's eyes went wide. "Is that..."

     "Kirill's Compass?" Declan finished. "Yes it is." He offered it to her. "Hold it. Go on."

     She obliged, and her mouth dropped open as she felt the weight of the compass in her hands. "This... this is solid gold."

     "Damned right." Declan beamed triumphantly. "Solid gold, ornately chiseled design around the edges. See that diamond embedded in it, where it points north? That alone is enough to get us anywhere we'll ever need to go."

     The housemaid was still agape in wonder, and her gaze found his. "I-I can't believe it."

     "You can't sneak a painting out of here, but this lil’ treasure fits in my pocket, aye? Art isn't the only thing on display in the Gallery after all." Declan beckoned for her to hand it back, and she did. "Still think I'm a fool, Elise?"

Chapter Text

    
     Elise stood, wrapped her arms around Declan, and gave him a long, lingering kiss before pulling away and brushing his cheek with her hand. "I suppose not. Though you're reckless as all hell, and that I won't budge on."

     Declan smiled and gave her another kiss before kneeling and hurriedly hiding the compass beneath the floor again. "We'll leave tonight. By sunrise at the latest. I don't know how long it'll take them to notice it's missing, but I don't want to stay here an' find out."

     "Where will we go?"

     "Remember when I told you about my brother and his family? We can head to the farmstead." The man produced an iron bar from his belt - clearly the one he had used on the guard - and hid it with the compass under the floorboards. "It's a long carriage ride from The City, but once we're there... freedom, my love. Free at last."

    Elise squealed softly with delight and cupped her hands around the man's face. "I love you, Mr. Chauncey."

     "And I love you, Ms. Rhodes."

     They kissed again, and Declan pulled away after a moment, his nose crinkled in question. "What is that smell? What is that on your hand?"

     "Hm?" Elise looked down at her hands and then chuckled. "Sorry. It's moss."

     "Moss?"

     "Yes. Found some growing inside the manor tonight. Was all over the floor in front of the Leisure Room." She twiddled her fingers playfully in front of Declan's face. "Guess who got to clean it up?"

     Declan squirmed away from her with a laugh. "Well, you won't be cleaning up messes for much longer. I promise you that."

     They embraced each other again.

     Garrett rolled his eyes impatiently.

     He had done everything by the book on his mission so far that night. He had remained undetected, save for his moss arrow's yield outside of the Leisure Room, and he had successfully avoided a single confrontation with anyone, security or house staff.

     Declan Chauncey, as fate had it, had picked that very night to decide he'd had enough of the Butler's Life and decided to risk everything on attacking a guard so he could commit a life-changing theft in the name of love.

     All because two lights went out in the hallway; torches that Garrett, ironically, had put out.

     Now the thief had to navigate a manor full of angry, alert guards for the rest of the night. He had to deal with the consequences of getting caught even though he had not actually been caught.

     Garrett glared disapprovingly, though he was careful to still keep his gaze averted to the couple's feet.

     As much as he would have loved to give Mr. Chauncey a good crack over the head with his blackjack, Garrett remained silent and patiently waited for the man and woman to wrap up their little rainbows n' roses session so he could get back to work.

     Garrett knew exactly how he would make the butler pay for making his job ten times more difficult.

     Declan and Elise shared a final kiss when heavy footfalls were suddenly heard from the hallway outside, jolting the couple from their dreamy stupor.

     Garrett could tell just from the weight of the steps that they were approaching guards, much less the armor jostling about with each stride.

     Someone rapped loudly on the door. "Mr. Chauncey?" came a man's voice. "Are you present?"

     "Present?" Declan echoed, looking to Elise in alarm. "Y-yes. I'm here with Elise. Come in."

     From the shadows wedged in the corner behind the wardrobe, Garrett could not see the newcomer, but he could hear the folly of armor and chainmail quite clearly.

     "Mr. Chauncey, Ms. Rhodes - please report to the main foye immediately.”

     "W-what's this about?" asked Elise.

     "A guard's been assaulted tonight. We still don't know who did it, and there could still be an intruder on the estate grounds."

     "What?" echoed Declan in shock. "What do you mean 'assaulted' a guard? When?"

     "Where?" chimed Elise. "Was it nearby? I-I don't want to leave this room if there's still someone sneaking around, Henry."

     Garrett had to admit that they feigned their surprise at the news quite well. It wasn't too forced, too obvious, too subtle, too flat.

     Not bad.

     The guard named Henry did not budge. "Let's go. Captain Galway's orders. All house staff are to convene immediately."

     A second guard entered the room, judging by the heavy footsteps on the floorboards. "Oi," came a woman's voice, "what's the holdup?"

     "We're afraid to leave Mr. Chauncey's quarters," Elise replied. "What if there's still someone out there, Terri? What if—"

    "Elise," the guard named Terri snapped, "both of you are to get your arses down to the foyer immediately, or by the Builder I swear the intruder will be the least of your problems."

     "She's right," Henry added. "Hurry up. Jasper's orders. Let's go."

     Garrett could hear both Declan and Elise sullenly oblige and hurry out of the room into the hallway with the guards. The door slammed shut, and he could hear someone lock it behind them.

     That had been an uncomfortably close call.

     Garrett carefully emerged from the shadowy corner by the wardrobe. The room had been cloaked with darkness before, but Declan had left the candles burning.

     The thief wasted no time.

     He was at the secret floorboard hiding place in the blink of an eye. As he knelt, he grabbed Declan's letter opener from the desk and wedged the plank loose.

     There it was: Kirill's Compass, as Elise had voiced. Garret lifted it from its hiding place and it gleamed brilliantly in the candlelight. 

     He admired it for a moment. It sure looked to be pure gold; he had come across enough fake gold and jewels in his time to be able to spot one easily, but still... he was not a jeweler. His fence would need to appraise it.

     He had never heard of a 'Kirill' or a compass owned by such... but it sure looked valuable.

     Garrett pocketed it securely in one of the many leather pouches on the rig he wore beneath his cloak, and took another look in Declan's hidden stash.

     Two keys were there, next to a small pouch.

     Excellent. One of the keys must have been the key to get into the Gallery on the second floor, where The Midnight Veil waited. Garrett swiped them both and slid them into tiny compartments on his leather gauntlets, small enough and secure enough to hold keys, lockpicks, and the like until they were needed.

     He scooped the pouch out from beneath the floor and undid the string binding it closed, and it revealed a shiny silver  pendant on a gleaming silver necklace.

     Upon closer inspection, it might have been white gold, not silver; and there was a ring embedded in the pendant with a small diamond set in its center.

     It could have been a keepsake or memento with some personal meaning. Maybe it was a gift, a necklace with a wedding ring for Elise that Declan was saving for a later date?

     It didn't matter. They were Garrett's now.

     He set the plank back into its place in the floorboards and stood, allowing a slight grin of satisfaction as he strode across the room to search the closet and the wardrobe he had hidden behind.

     Neither the wardrobe nor the closet held anything of value. Garrett took a final look around the room, and his gaze settled on the floorboards near the desk, where Declan's hidden stash had been located.

     Satisfied that everything looked untouched and undisturbed, the thief turned to carefully make his way back out into the hallway.

     Because of Declan's bold attack on the guard, things would be far riskier for the rest of the night. Garrett decided it would be best to move upstairs sooner than he had originally planned. The signet that Flor needed Garrett to stamp her forged letter with to Father Karras would be in Lady Arden's study, and that was on the second floor - as was the painting.

     The coin that the painting could fetch would more than make this foray worth it... if he could get out alive.

*

WAYSIDE DOCK DISTRICT

RAMPONE DOCKSIDE SHIPPING

1369 Winston Ave ~ Building B

     As Garrett prepared to leave Butler Chauncey's room at Lady Arden's Manor, Flor was across the The City, on the second floor of Rampone Dockside Shipping's Building B sitting across from James Osterlind, the warehouse supervisor.

     Flor listened to the rain pelting the windows and the roof overhead as she watched James on the other side of his desk. She was studying every shifty movement, every telltale furrow of his brow, any sign of any tells or nervous ticks as he mulled over the information she had brought him.

     James Osterlind was staring down at the parchment Flor had handed him. He might have been trying to hide his apprehension, but if so, he was failing miserably.

     He finally sighed heavily and looked up at the woman, smoothing back his black hair with one hand. "This is madness," he said lowly. "The Mechanists already rent out the whole damned building. How in blazes do the Hammerites intend to muscle them out?"

     "Lady Arden."

     "No. I'll believe it when I see it."

     Flor leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. She stared at the man pointedly. "That would be at your peril, James - believe it. It's happening." She pointed at the parchment. "Lady Arden has more sway in Hightowne than people know. Karras is already underestimating her. She has connections in the courts, connections to the Lord Regent." The woman sat back in her seat. "Hell, she was good friends with the Baron himself before he rode off to war."

     The docks supervisor sighed again. "But... that's impossible. The Hammerites are dwindling. They don't have the influence or the muscle, Flor. There's no way they can move in and take the docks from the Mechanists. It'd be inviting a sound thrashing."

     "The Hammerites don't have the influence, but they will - if Lady Arden has her way. They'll have the muscle, too. Money talks. She'll find a way. Mark my words."

     "Why haven't we heard about this?" James cocked his head at her. "You're supposed to let us know before shite like this comes knocking."

     "What exactly do you think I'm doing right now?" Flor challenged with an angry flash of her eyes. "Don't talk to me like I'm not sitting here right in front of you warning of what's coming. That's what you pay me for."

     "Sure."

     "Yes. You pay me to do a job, so here I am." The woman's gaze seemed to be piercing through his very skull. "Here I am... doing my job. Are you doing yours?"

     "What's that supposed to mean?"

     Flor leered at James from across the desk. "Don't taff with me. You think I don't know you and every other tenant here on the docks was robbed recently? I suggest you get your own affairs in order before questioning mine."

     The man sat forward in his chair. "Captain Davidson and I are having a tough enough time as it is," he whispered. "Mechanists are getting more attentive to what's going on here. It's getting harder to move that spice around."

     Flor said nothing. She just watched James closely. It usually helped to let a stubborn man keep talking until he realized he was getting nowhere - in rare cases, they picked up the hint and got to the point.

     "If the Hammers start trying to take a piece of the action around here, it'll be soddin' chaos. Think about it. Mechanists will double, maybe triple their security. The Hammers will respond as best they can." James shook his head. "We'll be lucky to move a pinch o' product with that kind of action on the docks, Flor. This is bad."

     The woman offered a nod, but kept quiet.

     James sniffed, visibly uncomfortable. "We weren't the only ones robbed. Almost everyone was hit. Gilver's done. He was already hurting, with his shipments being lost or damaged so often recently. But this last one was the final brick in the rubble for him."

     Flor watched him.

     He cleared his throat and awkwardly shifted on his elbows. "You don't seem surprised."

     "I'm not, James. Anyone with half a mind could've seen the writing on the wall. But I did know before everyone else - which is what you pay me for. I feel like you're not paying attention to the bloody words comin' out of my mouth."

     The man pursed his lips. "Sorry. I know. I, uh... well, in light of recent events, I'm... we—"

     "Won't be able to pay me this month," the woman finished impatiently. "Gods, man. Waster of time, you are. I'm here with a proposition."

     James's mouth was still open mid-sentence, and he swallowed whatever words were coming next. "I... and what would that be?"

     Flor brushed brown hair aside from her eyes. "I'm here because I know you can't cover my pay this month, so I have a proposition."

     "I thought you were here to tell me about Lady Arden and her Hammerites?"

     "That is part of why I'm here. That's what you and Captain Davidson pay me for. That's what Captain Carr pays me for. That's what Grimworth & de Perrin pay me for. Blackheart. Selentura. You see the pattern, I trust?"

     James snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yes. I get it."

     "Oi. Listen to me." Flor's eyes were narrowed, her face hard. "My job is to know things. That is my currency. That is what I have to offer and you best not take it for granted. I am here to help you. I could have not said a word about the coming taffstorm and let your operation go to shite."

     "You're right." James slumped back in his seat and held up an open palm. "Sorry, Flor. And I apologize about the money. We just don't have it. We will next month." He sighed. "We hope we will, I mean."

     "Don't worry about it this month. Or the next."

     "Eh?"

     "You were robbed. Like you said, everyone got hit. Bad luck, fate, whatever you wanna call it." Flor folded her arms. "I can let this month and the next slide, and handle the Hammers - if you and Captain Davidson cut me in on another five percent of the spice profits going forward."

     "Ah. There it is. I was looking for the catch to all of this. How in the hell are you going to 'handle' the Hammerites?"

     "Or don't take my offer. I'll let it go, but then I wouldn't be able to guarantee the 'safety' of your spice operation here from now on."

     James eyed her sternly. "What does that mean?"

     "It means cut me in on five percent of all incoming spice profits from here on out, in exchange for my protection from the Hammers during their little war party they're planning with the Mechanists." Flor watched the shadows on the dock supervisor's face flicker with the candlelight. "I wouldn't harm your spice operation if you refuse, but I also wouldn't be looking out for you anymore. You understand?"

     "You're serious?" James asked with a laugh. "Cut you in on the spice op?"

     "Is that amusing to you?"

     "Correct me if I'm wrong, Flor, but neither you or the Mechanists were able to protect us - or anyone else - from getting cleaned out the other week by some robber or band o' scallywags, whoever it was. How do you plan on protecting us from Hammerites during a turf war?"

     Flor kept a straight face, but cursed inwardly. That was because whoever had robbed the docks had struck quickly and masterfully. Nobody had seen that coming. She suspected a single thief, not a group, because she had a good idea of who had hit the docks earlier that month... though she could not prove it, as Garrett had dodged her inquiry a few nights before.

     "Nobody saw that coming," she replied coolly. "The Mechanists and the Watch sure didn't, aye?"

     James shrugged a sullen agreement.

     "Difference between me and them is I will help you, and my other associates here at the docks, recover from the robbery." Flor stood and nudged her chair aside, and it creaked noisily on the floorboards. "The point of all o' this is that the Hammers are coming. If you want my help, I can let a couple months’ payments slide."

     "For a cut of the spice profits," James protested.

     "Yes." Flor stared evenly at him. "That is correct. Five percent isn't an arm and a leg I'm asking for, and trust me when I say I could bloody ask for more. We could go ten percent instead?"

     "Gods, Flor. Come on."

     "Fifteen percent?"

     "Okay, okay. Five percent." The man inhaled deeply. "I'll talk to Captain Davidson."

     Flor nodded. "Excellent, because if you don't, I will, and I'm not too fond of the man." She turned to leave the supervisor's office. "I'll be in touch by the week's end," she called over her shoulder.

     James Osterlind watched her go, fretfully biting his lip. He shook his head slowly as he tried to wrap his mind around everything, returning to his work with the warehouse invoices on his desk.

     As Flor walked out into the night, she drew the hood of her cloak over her head to protect from the rain as she strode back to the inner city from the Wayside Docks.

     She was playing a dangerous game, attempting to bring down Lady Arden by forging a fake secret alliance between the noblewoman and the Mechanists. There was no guarantee that Garrett would accomplish his mission at Arden Manor, after all, and so she tended to business as usual: informing her partners at Rampone about the secret move by the Hammerites, funded by Lady Arden.

     If anything, this would add to the damage that the noblewoman's reputation would suffer when the fake letter to Karras was made public.

     Nothing was guaranteed, but Flor was known as a Fixer for a reason. Yes, she set up jobs, deals, operations... but she also fixed problems, and she was damned good at it. Whatever happened - even if Garrett were to fail - she would fix things.

     That's what she told herself, at least, and she wondered how the Master Thief was faring up in Hightowne.

Chapter Text

     Lady Gwyneth Arden was laying naked in her large, luxurious canopy bed. The sheets were wrapped strategically around her body to barely cover certain areas, and she looked at the window across the room.

     The moon was so bright that some of it still shone through the storm clouds. The outdoor terrace beyond the half-open window glistened with rainwater and the sheen of moonlight.

     Where was Jasper? What in Pagan's Hell was taking him so long?

     Her annoyance slowly turned into feeling foolish. She was one of the most influential, powerful players in The City - the Queen of Hightowne, some called her.

     What was she doing waiting on him? What was Jasper playing at?

     Foolishness turned to anger.

     Who the hell did he think he was? She offered her bed and her body to him... and what? He left her waiting there like a servant waiting on their master?

     She could snuff his entire life out like a candle if she desired. 

     And maybe I will, Gwyn thought. How dare he. What a show of crass insolence.

     Anger started bubbling over into something else - a dark corner of Gwyn's mind that sometimes made itself known to her in moments such as these.

     Once these thoughts started, it was difficult for her to come back from them.

     She could snuff him out and his entire family. Better yet, she could make him watch while she made an example of his wife and two children.

     Yes. That would be quite fitting. Even better; she could make the children watch as she slit their mother's throat. Jasper would of course seethe with rage. The children would scream, cry, shout.

     Wait... how many children did Jasper have? Two or three? Lady Arden couldn't remember.

     She thought about starkly evil things she could do to the children while he watched.

     She thought of one thing in particular... a horror she had visited upon two fortunate souls many moons prior.

     But wait - first, she could have one of the children strewn up in a noose, or perhaps impaled on a pole or meat hook or the like while their mother was still alive. That way Jasper and his wife would have to witness atrocities on their little ones first.

     The Mommy Mask could come later.

     Gods dammit, Jasper. The nerve. How dare he insult her like this. 'Insult' wasn't a strong enough word. She had murdered people for less. 

     Any man - and possibly many women, too - across The City would have killed for a night with her, and Jasper chose to throw it in her face? Had he forgotten who he worked for? Had he become too comfortable with his place in the manor, with his place in the world? Clearly sharing her bed meant muck-all to the man.

     And now Gwyn's mind ran to a few years prior, when Lady Dunham of North Quarter and her son suffered their cruel fates at her hands in the Chamber beneath the manor - a fitting end, Gwyn Arden thought, for Lady Danika Dunham's connivery.

     Danika had defied Gwyn in a political scheme, promising results but delivering something else entirely at the last possible minute during one of Lord Regent Cahill's grand parties.

     Lady Dunham had even possessed the nerve to fire a taunting wink at her from across the ballroom. Months of Lady Arden's string-pulling and scheming to reverse The City's new worker protection laws had vanished in a moment, all for naught.

     Gwyn was staring absently into the dark shadows at her bedchamber's edges. She did not realize she was softly grinning as she relived the revolting, murderous scene out in her mind.

     Quaking in a fit of anger and barely able to control herself from snapping in front of scores of Hightowne's finest, Lady Arden had confronted Lady Dunham in a quiet corner of the ballroom.

     She could remember how Lady Dunham stiffened at her approach before trying to swiftly pretend that she was not intimidated.

     While The City's leaders, politicians, nobility, socialites, and key figures danced and drank and ate their night away, basking in the evening's merriment, Lady Arden delivered her threat with a pointed whisper.

     Gwyn replayed the exchange in her head. She could remember it as clearly as she could see the moonlight bathing her bedchamber's window.

     "Evening, Lady Dunham."

     "Good evening, Lady Arden. Enjoying the party?"

     "As much as one can when the knife is still stuck in her back."

     Lady Dunham had tilted her head slightly. "Come now, Gwyneth. Ours is an ever-changing field of play, is it not?"

     "You betrayed me, Danika."

     "Betrayed you?" the noblewoman had echoed, eyes wide with shock. "Rather strong word. I merely changed my mind at the last moment."

     "Why? Who paid you?"

     "Who paid me?"

     Lady Arden had stepped closer, nearly toe-to-toe with Lady Dunham. "I did not stutter. Answer the question," she ordered in a whisper.

     Lady Dunham's eyes were cold. Unfazed. She lowered her voice to match Lady Arden's. "You're suggesting I would take a bribe to influence the outcome of a judicial review?"

     "You already accepted mine," Lady Arden had snapped.

     "Mm. So I did."

     "Do you realize who you're talking to at this moment? You do understand what you're saying to me, yes?"

     "Yes, Gwyneth. Now, let me help you understand something: you're cruel. Vile. Sick. Gods know how you got the Lord Regent to reverse the child labor laws and get six year olds back out there working the mines, streets, and chimneys. You imposed higher taxes on businesses. Lengthier prison times for sex workers."

     "Prostitutes," Lady Arden corrected. "Whores and nothing more."

     "You're still railing on the homeless. Public flogging and prison time for being without a home, living on the street? Really? Punishing them for being down on their luck? Life hasn't been cruel enough to them?"

     "For begging. For being a stain on The City and well-to-do folk, and for being a drain on my coffers. And yours, I might add."

     "Oh," Lady Dunham had scoffed. "Right. Pardon me. How dare they ask others for help. You're a heartless wretch."

     "You overstep, Danika."

     "No. I'm tired of your black-hearted stain on this city's affairs, and I'm not the only one." Lady Dunham had squared herself. "Mark my words, Lady Arden: you watch your step. You have enough power already. Why reach for more? Put your hand too close to the cutting knife and you might lose it... or at least your fingers."

     That was the moment Lady Arden nearly exploded. She almost gouged Lady Dunham's eyes out on the spot, right there in their private corner of the ballroom.

     Nobody in The City had ever had the gall to speak to her like that.

     Her heart pounded. She could feel angry blood rushing to her cheeks. She was practically quaking.

     She was furious.

     Then Lady Dunham smiled smugly at her. "As I thought. You're not used to anyone standing up to you, or your weightless threats."

     "Do you know how many people I have killed? How many I have put down like dogs in the street?" Lady Arden had hissed. "You are a sodding fool."

     "Are you verbally confessing to multiple murders, Gwyneth?" Lady Dunham challenged. "Maybe we should say it louder for all to hear, yes?"

     'Twas then that Lady Arden leaned close to whisper in the other woman's ear. "I want you to go home after the ball tonight. I want you to spend a ravishing night with your husband. I want you to look upon your little one as he sleeps. You won't have the opportunity to do so much longer. How old is your son now? Ten? Eleven years?"

     Lady Dunham had put on a confident show thus far, but her stoic stance faltered. "Are you threatening me, Lady Arden?"

     "Lady Dunham," Gwyn answered in a deathly murmur, "I shall carve your face from your head and wear it like a mask at a ball. I will make your son watch me dance with it on. I will pare off his eyelids so that he is forced to witness it. You mark my words, Lady Dunham: no one will save you. The Lord Regent himself can't protect you from me. You're finished."

     Lady Arden was mouthing her own past words to herself as she replayed the confrontation in her mind. She would always find great pleasure in the disturbed, fearful look that clouded Lady Dunham's face as the grim threats seeped in; the face of someone realizing they had, indeed, gone too far.

     And she had done it. Lady Arden had made good on her wicked words.

     The Chamber beneath the manor had been the perfect place to spill Lady Dunham's blood - though it had not gone as she had originally threatened.

     Lady Arden had a salacious idea at the last moment. To wear Danika's face as a mask had been quite enjoyable to threaten her with in the heat of her angry moment, but in retrospect, Gwyn realized that would be quite messy.

     She was no stranger to murder, or torture and mutilation... but to wear someone else's face? That would be difficult to clean up, wouldn't it? She did not mind getting her hands dirty or bloody for theatrics... but the thought of someone's flayed, bloody flesh sticking to her skin was one that didn't particularly appeal to her.

     Wearing freshly-carved flesh was a rather unpleasant prospect, even for her evil nature. She wasn't afraid to tear someone's face off with her own knife in her own hand, but the thought of a gooey, sticky, warm, bloody mess matted to her face repulsed her.

     Lady Arden spent a great deal of time and effort on her beauty, after all. She had no qualms with defiling others, but she would not defile herself in the process.

     And so, why not visit this abhorrence upon Lady Dunham and her son? How deliciously vile would it be to have them wear each other's faces?

     Nobody could hear the screams as Lady Arden worked with her knives, and thanks to a potent concoction put together by one of her Hand Mage contacts at the Mage Towers, her victims were awake for it all.

     Lady Dunham and her son screamed and wailed in horrified agony, all for naught. Not even the Builder Himself could hear their tortured cries at that depth.

     But bloody hell, it started to annoy her.

     "Stop screaming!" she had shouted at Lady Dunham's boy after she had sliced off both of his eyelids. "Shut your mouth before I remove it, you insufferable little blight!"

     Looking back on that night, Gwyn realized that had been an unrealistic expectation of hers. Yes, to witness your mother being subjected to grotesque horrors carried out with a fine blade did warrant at least some hollering. 

     Damn, was it irritating. The screams from both mother and son echoed incessantly off the Chamber's walls, so loud and unrelenting that Gwyn began to have trouble enjoying herself and her bloody work. It was ridiculous.

     Cutting out their tongues helped. The guttural moans of pain and terror never stopped, but at least they weren't deafening.

     Danika Dunham perished first. The sight of her boy wearing her face was the last thing she saw before death.

     Her son died soon after, with the twisted vision of his own face being worn by his dead mother as a mask.

     She had told the boy to "Hold still so you can put on your Mommy Mask."

     Mommy Mask. 

     Gwyneth Arden nearly snorted with laughter at the thought. Here she was years later, and she still found it hilarious. Every moment of her horrifying act of revenge that night still tickled her fancy.

     Even now in her bed waiting for Jasper Galway to show, staring absently out at the moon and rain beyond her window, the woman took immense pleasure in reliving the Dunhams' awful demise

     Lady Arden had their bodies discreetly carted back to Lord Dunham's Manor in the North Quarter. She was not there to witness Lord Tally Dunham's reaction at the defiled corpses of his wife and son, both wearing the face of the other; but Gwyn had heard that the man screamed and moaned with such sorrow that he fainted right there outside of the manor house.

     She had carved STAY OUT OF HIGHTOWNE into Lady Danika's gut.

     Gwyneth Arden always knew she was abnormal. Even at a very young age, Gwyn had been fascinated by death and its many dealers. Her parents had forced her to hide it. Her father called her a... what was it?

     Ah, yes. Murderous, psychotic abomination. 

     To be fair, she - at nine years old - had tried to kill one of the housekeeping maids while her parents were out at a ball. Little Gwyn had not succeeded, but the maid was so badly injured that her father was forced to have her killed to prevent word of Gwyn's attempted murder from ever reaching authorities.

     When she was eleven years of age, her mother visited her late at night, sat on the edge of Gwyn's bed, and in a voice disguised as gentle and loving, tried to encourage the girl to run away and never come back.

     "You'll be fine out there, my dear," her mother had cooed. "Take a bag with whatever food you might need. I hear the South Quarter and Old Quarter are hiring lots of little boys and girls for different jobs. You could sweep chimneys, or be a mail courier, or... maybe you could join a ship's crew down at Wayside?"

     Gwyn simply shook her head no. "I don't want to."

     Her toxic ploy defeated, her mother retreated from Gwyn's bedchamber that night, and not an hour later her door creaked open softly.

     A very sleepy and alarmed Gwyn sat up in her bed to see the Arden House Guard Captain, Redoric Halsey, standing in her room near the soft candle burning nearby.

     Gwyn's father had ordered Captain Halsey to take the girl out back, kill her, and bury her on the estate grounds.

     Redoric, quite shocked by the request, asked for an explanation. He was rebuked for doing so and ordered to carry out killing immediately, lest he lose his own life as consequence.

     That had not sat well with Redoric, nor had the order to kill a young girl, and so while he did visit young Gwyn Arden in her room, there of course had not been a murder.

     Instead, the man pulled her desk chair over near the bedside and sat quietly, candlelight glowing on his face while he informed the girl of the troublesome order he had just received.

     Redoric told Gwyn that she had no choice but to flee, as her father would be expecting her death shortly.

     Gwyn, still wiping the sleep from her eyes, suggested that perhaps her father and mother both be killed instead. 

     Not a tear. No whining. No distress.

     Redoric, though ahocked, asked what would happen after. Her parents were both powerful players in The City's politics, after all. People would ask questions.

     And so at eleven years of age, Gwyneth Arden conspired with a Guard Captain to have her parents murdered and disappeared before sunrise. Gwyn's parents had never drafted a will, since they so despised their daughter, and so... why not just forge one, leaving the estate and all of its assets to her?

     Redoric said he would do so for a small cut of the ensuing profits. Gwyn agreed.

     In the glow of the moonlit night and clouds, the silver light streaming through the master bedchamber windows, Redoric Halsey snuck in and cut the throats of both Lord Rupert and Lady Anna Arden while they slept.

     The attack was blamed on a midnight robbery attempt gone wrong. Gwyn even helped Redoric arrange things to frame it properly. Missing trinkets and riches, shards of glass, drawers and cupboards turned out and emptied.

     It worked.

     It was not easy. It took years of navigating the unforgiving political and socialite arena of The City for the 'New' Lady Arden to become the untouchable noblewoman she now was. It was years of warding off predators and scavengers circling her and the estate, looking for signs of weakness that they could exploit to take everything from her.

     Every one of those dismal sods failed. Some met rather grisly ends. Others found their loves in total ruin after trying to cross her.

     A story for another time, perhaps.

     Lady Arden blinked, finally emerging from her trip down Memory Lane.

     She was now thirty-eight years of age. This night was just like that fateful night 27 years earlier. As she looked at the moonlit window, she could still see Redoric breaking the glass from the other side, shards sprinkling across the floor.

     "You have to make sure you do it from the outside," he had said. "Do it from the inside and the Watch will know right away you're full of shite."

     She missed him. Redoric Halsey was a good man. He had stayed on as House Captain for many years before moving away to retire in the country.

     Lady Arden looked down at her body, promiscuously wrapped in bedsheets while she waited for Jasper Galway to show up as ordered.

     She scoffed at herself, and at her patience with Jasper. To stand her up on an invitation to her bedchambers?

     "Insolent slag," she whispered angrily as she tore the sheets away. She got dressed in her nightwear, slipped into a slim tunic, and then pulled a silken robe over herself.

     Unforgivable, the nerve of this man. If Jasper had the slightest idea of who he was insulting, he would never—

     There was a knock at her door.

     Lady Arden whirled about and resisted the urge to call out Jasper's name and ask where the hell he had been. Instead, she made her way towards the door and stopped a couple paces from it. "Who is it at this hour?"

     "Forgive me, M'lady," came a woman's voice. "It's Mosley. Jasper sent me."

     "Did he, now?" Lady Arden recognized Mara's voice but still took a look through the peephole before opening the door. "What is it? It'd better be good."

     Mara Mosley offered a brief bow, her armor shining in the hallway torchlight. "Not exactly, M'Lady. Someone's attacked a guard within the manor walls. We think we have an intruder."

     Gwyn Arden raised her eyebrows. "Oh? And how, pray tell, is that bloody possible?"

     "Apologies, M'Lady." Mara bowed again. "We're not sure. We think it's someone on the inside. Jasper has rounded up the entire house staff in the main foyer for questioning. He sent me to inform you."

     Lady Arden stood in her doorway facing Mosley. Neither spoke for a long moment. The only sounds to be heard was the rain outside and the crackling of the hallway torches.

     "Very well, Mosley. I trust the lot of you will do what needs to be done." Lady Arden closed the door, but a gloved hand stopped it.

     "Please forgive me, Madame," Mara blurted hastily, seeing the angry flash of the noblewoman's eyes. "Jasper ordered me to stay with you until we have this matter sorted out."

     "Is that so?"

     "Yes, M'Lady. For your protection."

     "He didn't feel the need to come up here himself?"

     Mara opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated briefly. "I... well, he has rounded up the—"

     "Rest of the house staff, yes. You said that already."

     "Right, M'Lady. I just mean... he is leading the questioning, as Guard Captain, and he mentioned that it should be either me or Terri watching out for you."

     Lady Arden stared at her.

     Mara shifted uncomfortably. "Because... it may not look right to have one of the men alone with you in your—"

     "I understand, Mosley." Gwyn Arden squared herself. "However, I think it prudent that the Guard Captain should be the one protecting me in the case of a home invasion. He is the Captain, is he not?"

     "Y-yes. Yes he is, M'Lady."

     "I will not accept less. Send Jasper up. Find whoever attacked the guard and deal with them. Kill them, send them to Cragscleft, feed them to the street dogs. I care not."

     With that, Lady Arden shut the door with an abrupt rasp of the hinges, and the locks could be heard clicking into place.

     Mara Mosley stood alone in the third floor hallway for a time and stared blankly at the closed door before turning to go downstairs to the foyer and fetch Jasper as ordered.

Chapter Text

     Down in the Servants' Quarters, Gilmore was faithfully standing watch again at the arched entryway leading to the staircase ascending to the ground floor.

     He had escorted Sara down the halls to another washroom, since Benny had been occupying the other. Gilmore had swept his torch about to assure the kitchen maid that there was no Men in Red lurking about.

     She had, rather sheepishly, asked Gilmore to wait outside in the hall while she conducted her business, so that he could escort her back. Gilmore had done just that, and soon the pair arrived back at the stairs near the main servants' washroom. Gilmore resumed his post, Sara bade him a goodnight and returned to her quarters, and all was well.

     Even Benny had finally left the washroom and returned to his post... if leaning against the wall and nodding off to sleep counted as such.

     Gilmore had decided to let Benny sleep it off, and so the duo stood guard at the foot of the stairwell with muffled thunder and crackling torch flames to keep them company.

     The quiet was glorious. Though he much preferred patrol, Gilmore still found a way to pass the time as a stationary sentry. He loved storybooks, and so sometimes he would write his own tales - in his mind, of course, not with actual paper and quill - and found it to be a blissful way to pass the time.

     Benny was snoring as Gilmore conjured a story about a giant red dragon trying to ward off a prince and his warriors, and he was just about to imagine the dragon using its terrifying breath of flames against the prince's calvary when Benny suddenly jolted awake.

     "They're in the c-cake!" Benny declared dizzily.

     The outburst startled Gilmore so much that his heart skipped a beat. "Gods! What?"

     Benny looked around and seemed to remember where he was. He put a hand gingerly to his temple and groaned. "Sorry. I was dreaming. Oi - m-my head hurts."

     "You were dreaming about cake?"

     "What's wrong with cake, Gil?"

     Gilmore shook his head. "I didn't... never mind."

     "It had chocolate frosting and was taller than me," whispered Benny, still rubbing his temples. "My wife made it."

     "Your wife?"

     "Aye. Baked it herself." Benny sighed longingly. "I watched her bake it."

     "What the hell, Benny?!"

     "What?"

     "You've never told me you're married!"

     "I'm not, but in the dream I was."

     "Oh." Gilmore straightened and looked up and down the halls for the hundredth time that night. "You should go get some water, mate. Have one of the servants make some tea."

     "Why... why would I do that?"

     "Because you're hung over."

     Benny frowned and waved Gilmore off dismissively. "I'm f-fine. Besides, hangovers are in... in the mornings."

     "Sometimes I wonder how you're still alive, Benny."

    "Ha! The gods favor... favor me. Always have."

     Gilmore chuckled. "Right. Maybe you can put in a good word for me next time you talk to them."

     "I-I... don't talk to gods, Gil."

     "Oh?" 

     "That would be ricidulous. Ha. Ah, ha! Haha! Cannn you i-imagine - hic - me, talking to gods? You crazy taffer. Hahaha!

     Gilmore grinned crookedly. "Yes. That's right. I'm the crazy one." His eyes wandered to the washroom. "Did you clean up after yourself this time?"

      "Eh?"

     "The latrine. Last time you made a taffin' mess and that poor servant woman had to clean it up."

     "It's their job to clean. Poor ollll... ole Benny can't clean worth a damn, anyway."

     Gilmore was about to threaten Benny into cleaning up whatever awaited in the washroom when calls of alarm came from upstairs. 

     "Gil!" a man's voice bellowed, echoing down the stairs to the Servants' Quarters. "You and Benny down there?"

     "Aye," Gilmore shouted, recognizing the voice of his fellow guardsman, Henry. He listened to his own voice's echo as it bounced up the turning staircase. "Where else would we be?"

     "Eyes up, boys. Intruder alert. All stations are doubled. Help is coming soon for you lads down there."

     Gilmore blinked. He looked at Benny in surprise, then ventured a couple steps into the shadowy stairwell. "The devil is goin' on?" he called upward.

     "Just keep your eyes open, mates. We're sending some help down there for you as well."

     Benny yawned mightily. "S-sounds like... like sum'mun is ta... taffin' around up there."

     "Or down here," Gilmore answered, gripping his crossbow a bit tighter. He dropped one hand to feel for the hilt of his short sword, making sure it was still in its scabbard at his hip. "You know what we say, eh Benny?"

     "Aye. Blades up, eyes - hic - eyes out, Gilly. Let them try. Ole Benny will teach 'em a ring or thoo. Thing er too, I mean." He paused. "I'll teach th-them... a thing. Not a ring."

     "What have I told you about calling me 'Gilly?'"

     "I know you don't like it. It's j-just... do you know what? Can I tell yer somethin' Gil?"

     "And it's 'eyes up, blades out' you oaf. Let's just keep quiet. Stay alert. And make sure to—"

     Benny stumbled forward and clapped his hand to his comrade's shoulder. "I juss wanna say, I l-like 'Gilly' better. I theen youshud ch-change it."

     Gilmore shrugged away from the man with a grunt. "Gods, you smell like ale poured into an arsehole. Get away."

     "I-I was juss tryin' to... to... to tell you—"

     "Just stay on your side of the door, mate. Bloody hell."

     "—seersly consider changin' it. 'Gilly'  has a nice ding to it. Ring." Benny narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Is it ring or ding?"

     Rapidy descending footfalls on the stone steps above them reached their ears, accompanied by the familiar sounds of armor and gear shifting about with each step.

     Benny whirled about. "Oi! Who... who's that?" he challenged, unsheathing his sword wildly. The blade clanged against the stone wall next to him and bounced into the iron sconce of the nearby torch, sending a shrill report bounding through the Servants' Quarters.

     Gilmore had a hand up to his ear in protest, and he motioned for Benny to calm himself. "Gods, you're a menace!" he scolded. "Watch where you swing that!"

     "Gil? Ben?" came a man's voice. "You all right down there?"

     "Yes, Barlow," came Gilmore. "Benny decided to attack the wall. All's well otherwise."

     Seconds later a man with a ginger-colored goatee appeared. Barlow had joined Arden Manor's House Guard the same week Gilmore had some years prior. The two were firm friends.

     Barlow was accompanied by another man, a tall, brawny lad named Rodrigo, who went by 'Rigo.' He was only nineteen years of age, but he had enough muscle for two men.

     "Fear not, lads," Rigo teased. "The professionals are here."

     "Rigo, normally I would fight you on that, but Benny is in rare form t'night." Gilmore rolled his eyes. "What's going on? What happened?"

     Barlow cast a look down both ways of the long hallway, surveying the dimly-lit floor of the Servants' Quarters. "There was an attack. Someone assaulted a guard."

     "It was Caffrey," chimed Rigo. "He was takin' a piss and wham. Someone laid him out good."

     Benny’s jaw dropped. “Mid-piss?!”

     “What?” came Gilmore. “When? Is he okay?"

     "Caff will be fine. He's in the infirmary. We don't know when exactly, but it was recent. Happened in the last twenty minutes." Rigo shrugged. "It was Mara who found him. Henry and Terri were nearby. Word spread fast."

     Barlow was nodding. "Captain Galway's ordered the guard be doubled. Day crew had to wake their arses up. No one's sleeping tonight."

     "S-sounds... that sounds dangerous." Benny still had his sword out and he lifted it shakily above him in a gallant gesture. "We'll find whoe'er is prowling - hic - prowling around."

     Gilmore was shaking his head. "Put the sword away, mate. Please."

     "Ya hear me?!" Benny thundered. "We'll f-find you! Just you wait!"

     Barlow flashed Benny a disapproving glance, and he turned to walk quickly to the right, towards the servants' rooms down the hall. "Jasper has ordered that the house staff all be rounded up in the main foyer."

     "Questioning the villagers, is he?" asked Gilmore. "Seeing if anyone has been recently sharpening some pitchforks, so to speak?"

     "I assume so, Gil. I'm fetching the servants down here and bringing them up to the foyer, then I'll come back down and rejoin you lot."

     Benny cleared his throat. "Barlow h-how - hic - how do you keep your hair so.. so red?"

     Barlow rolled his eyes. "Years of practice, you taffer."

     "T-taff? Taff?" Benny protested, thumping his chest. "Arrr yew calling me a taffer?!"

     "You don't own the word, mate," replied Barlow with a grin as he turned to stalk down the hall to the right, where the servants' rooms lined both sides.

     "Wassat s'posed to mean?" called Benny after the man. He turned to Gilmore. "He m-makes no sense. You can't - hic - own a word."

     Gilmore looked at his companion and shook his head. "That's what he was saying."

     "Well w-why say it whennn erryone knows?"

     "Oi!" Barlow's voice echoed as he knocked on the first door. "Everyone up! You are all summoned to the main foyer immediately per orders of Captain Galway."

     "Are we going upstairs too?" Benny asked Gilmore. "They always keep us down here."

     "Yes," Gilmore said patiently. "This is our post. We don't move."

     "But he juss said erry-one needs to go - hic - go upstairs."

     "The servants, Benny. Not us. Gods, mate. Please go chug some water."

     Benny waved him off. "Pah! I'm f-fine."

     "No, you aren't. Kitchen's down that way, where you made that poor lass from earlier go to use the washroom. Go get some water. Splash some on your face." Gilmore clapped Benny hard on the shoulder. "Sober up, m'friend. Something's afoot and I don't want you to get whacked over the head like poor Caffrey."

     "Let's go!" called Barlow from afar, moving down the hall and rapping loudly on the doors to the servants' rooms. "Now! Get up and report to the main foyer! Up!"

     Gilmore watched Benny retreat sullenly towards the kitchen washroom before looking the other way down the hall, where various members of house staff were trudging sleepily out into the hallway, most of them wearing their nightwear.

     "What's this?" asked Ms. Beaumont, the cook. "We just finished cleanin' and have an early morning!"

     One of the housekeepers yawned loudly as she stumbled out into the hallway. "Come now, is this really necessary?"

     Barlow turned and cocked his head at her. "Necessary?" he repeated with eyebrows raised. "Is this necessary, Edwina? When's the last time we woke you all up at midnight 'cause Captain Galway called an emergency meeting?"

     "Well... never, but—"

     "Quite right. Get your arses moving upstairs. Now." The guard turned and slammed his fist on another door. "Let's go, Tomas! You waitin' for the stone to turn to dust, lad?"

     The other servants were emerging from their quarters now. Over a dozen of them were milling about, leaning against the wall, stretching, whispering, yawning and scratching their heads in sleepy confusion. Rodrigo was rushing them along the best he could.

     Gilmore, still watching from his post, cleared his throat. "Hoy!" he shouted, his booming voice commanding the staff's attention. "You heard the man! Get moving! We're trying to keep everyone safe!"

     The servants - kitchen staff, housekeepers, gardeners, two chimney sweeps, and the maintenance man all obeyed. They moved towards Gilmore's archway to the stairs leading above.

     A man suddenly whispered in his ear. "Oi, Gil."

     Gilmore was so startled that he jumped in fright, cursing loudly when he spun around, leveling his crossbow mid-motion for a quick shot. "Oh come on. Pagan's Hell, Benny! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

     Benny yawned obnoxiously. "I didn't sneak, you taffer."

     "How the hell were you so quiet?!" Gilmore scolded, lowering his crossbow. "I almost shot you!"

     "But you did not shoot me. Like I said earlier Gil: the gods favor me."

     "Why aren't you wearing boots? Why are you in bare feet?!"

     "Alas, poor ole Benny's boots had vom— hic - vomit on them. I can't walk around in this fine castle with dirt boots, now, can I?" Benny paused thoughtfully. "Dirty boots, I meant."

     "Where's your armor?" asked Gilmore incredulously. Benny was only wearing his armored greaves and pants beneath; his surcoat was missing, his chainmail was nowhere to be found. The man still wore his helmet, and a long-sleeved tunic with an undershirt beneath it. "Benny, where—"

     "It's fine mate. I left it all in the washroom so the serpents can wash it all up for me."

     "Serpents?"

     "Servants." Benny yawned again. "I left the armor with the... for the servants I mean."

     Gilmore gawked at the man. "Benny, you can't leave your shite laying around an' expect housekeeping to take care of it."

     Benny snorted defiantly. "That's nonsense, Gilly. Why would they call it a washroom if it's not for washing?"

     "You're impossible."

     One of the housekeepers walking by them to climb the stairs glared at them. "I'm not washing your armor that you wretched all over, Benny."

     Ms. Beaumont was right behind her. "You left vomit-stained armor in the kitchen washroom?!" she asked crossly. "In my washroom?"

     Benny opened his mouth to retort, but after a pause he just rubbed the back of his sheepishly. "Sorry, Mizz Beaumont."

     Gilmore popped a few coffee beans into his mouth. "Smartest thing you've said all night. Chew some coffee. We need to be alert."

     "Gettin' sick of... coffee beans," Benny grumbled. "I'd rather drink it."

     "So would I, but we can't right now, can we?" Gilmore held up a palm of coffee beans for Benny to see before throwing back into his open mouth. "Come on, Benny," he said with his mouth full. "Load up. Gonna be a long night."

     Down the hall, Barlow was still waiting outside the last door. "Oi! Tomas!" he called, slamming his fist against the door repeatedly. "If you don't get out here in ten seconds, I'll—"

     The door creaked open. Tomas, the hall boy who had been helping in the kitchen during Kirth's attempt to poison Lady Arden earlier that night, opened it slightly and peeked out. "I'm coming! I need to get dressed, aye?"

     "Get dressed faster."

     Tomas shut the door in a huff, and Barlow turned to catch Gilmore's gaze from afar down the hall. He rolled his eyes and tapped the side of his helm with an open palm.

     Gilmore grinned. "Having some trouble, is he?" he called.

     "Apparently," Barlow answered. He gave the door another heavy-handed smack with his gloved knuckles, hard enough to rattle it on its hinges. "We've got a possible criminal on the loose, lad. Out. I won't say it again."

     The door swung open again, and Tomas emerged, stumbling out with his shirt half-pulled on, nearly walking straight into Barlow since the shirt was covering his head.

     Barlow raised in hands in feigned wonder. "Lo, praise the gods. He emerges. Get your arse upstairs."

     Following close behind was Sara, her cheeks red from embarrassment. She kept her gaze down at the floor as she hurried past Barlow and followed Tomas.

     Barlow watched them jog down the hall and just held his arms out to his sides in exasperation. "If you lot are going to break curfew and be sneakin' around for a midnight snuggle, be feckin' quicker about it!" he thundered.

     Gilmore watched, wide-eyed, as Tomas and Sara scurried by. “Midnight snuggle?” he echoed, glaring at the pair as the dashed upstairs. “Better only be snuggling and nothing more, aye?”

     Rodrigo snorted. “Why you give a shite, Gil? She your daughter or something?”

     “No, but she reminds me of my own - and don’t you ever talk about my daughter.”

      Rigo held up an open palm. “Ho, now. Sorry, Gil. Was just a jest, mate. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

     “Rigo!” hollered Barlow from up the steps.

     "Be right there, mate.” Rigo turned back to Gilmore and gave him an easy clap on the shoulder. “Seriously. Sorry, mate.”

     “Worry not.”

     “I need to use the latrine.” Rigo took one step towards the washroom across the hall before Gilmore held out a hand to stop him. "Not that one."

     Rodrigo looked at Benny, then at Gilmore, then back at Benny. "You mucked it up, didn't you?"

     Benny just shrugged.

     "Upstairs, then." Rigo turned on his heel and walked briskly to catch up with Barlow and the house staff. “See you lads later.”

     "Gil, I was thinking - hic - about something."

     Gilmore swept his gaze about the hallway before relaxing and leaning his back against the wall. "Should I be worried?"

     "Why doesn't Lady Arden just  buy some of those mechani— ... mecha... mechanical eyes for this place?"

     "Oi," Gilmore hissed lowly, "watch your tongue. Don't let anyone hear you talk about the Mechanists in here. You'll lose your job faster than you can blink."

     Benny's eyes widened. "Why?"

     "What?"

     "Why would poor B-Benny... lose his job?"

     "Why?" repeated Gilmore incredulously. "Have you not noticed— never mind." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Lady Arden is a Hammerite supporter, mate. She believes in The Builder - truly and sincerely. Understand?"

     "Oh." Benny hiccuped for a hundredth time and stared off into space for a moment. "So she hates the Mechana-nists."

     "Mechanists," Gilmore corrected. "Just don't talk about them."

     "But... we're talking about them right now."

     "Will you... Benny, just stand watch. Pay attention."

*

     The entire house staff was gathered together up in the main foyer, at the foot of the twin ascending stairways. At their forefront was Butler Declan Chauncey; behind him, the kitchen, hall, gardening, and housekeeping staff all spoke in excited, hushed whispers. Armed guards were posted at the front doors and at the entrances to both the east wing and west wing, where Mara and Caffrey had discovered the moss earlier that evening.

     Guard Captain Jasper Galway was standing a few steps up the western stairwell. "Is that everyone?" he asked loudly.

     Guardsman Henry nodded to Terri, who looked upward and flashed Jasper a thumbs-up. "Aye, sir."

     Jasper nodded, satisfied. "Everyone, quiet!" he commanded, his voice echoing sharply through the foyer. "Let us not waste time: a guard was found unconscious tonight. He was attacked."

     Low murmurs rippled through the small crowd. Thunder rumbled overhead and the rainfall outside started hitting the windows and roof harder, seemingly spurred on by Jasper's words.

     "Now, listen to me well." Jasper surveyed the house staff below him. "Our guards are searching the manor for an intruder. However, if the culprit stands here among us, pray you step forward now and take responsibility for your actions. Your punishment will not be as severe if you admit your crime."

     The rumblings and murmurs of the staff were even quieter now. 

     Ms. Beaumont was looking about the room uneasily, and whether she was conscious of doing so or not, she had placed herself protectively in front of young Tomas and Sara. Some of the housekeepers were whispering amongst themselves, and one of the gardeners joined in on their musings.

     Elise was biting her lip fretfully, trying not to make eye contact with Declan as he swept his eyes over the staff members.

     Jasper folded his arms and shifted his weight. "This will be the last time I say it, therefore your last chance to come clean and confess - so, pray you hear my ultimatum with open ears and a sound mind." He drew his sword suddenly, and the loud rasping of steel against scabbard caused the gathered servantfolk to jump. "If you confess now, then you will be relieved of your duty here at Arden Manor, and serve out a prison term deemed fit for your offense by the City Courts."

     The night's rain continued beyond the windows and walls of the manor house, and a flash of distant lightning lit the windows of the main foyer brilliantly.

     No one answered.

     "Confess now, and I won't even send you to Cragscleft. You'll go to Precinct 12 in South Quarter." Jasper squared himself and pointed his sword purposefully down at the gathering. "Weigh my offer carefully, for Pavelock is a far cry from what you'd experience at Cragscleft... and if you do not confess now and force me to spend our time and resources to investigate - and by extension, costing Lady Arden's time and resources - you will pay with your life when we catch you. And we will."

     Declan cleared his throat and took a step forward. "Captain Galway... if I may, can I please address my staff?"

     Jasper nodded. "Only if it is to say something sensible, Mr. Chauncey."

     "Thank you, sir." Declan turned to face the small crowd. "I implore you to do as Captain Galway suggests. Turn yourself in and receive the lesser of two outcomes. I, as Butler of House Arden, cannot abide a violent vagabond in our midst. Do the right thing."

     Elise the Housekeeper was careful to keep a straight face, but inwardly she was thrilled by Declan's performance.

     "Please," Declan continued, expertly projecting an innocent facade. "I've worked with you lot for a long time. I am having trouble understanding why one of you would do something so heinous as to attack a house guard, but I don't want to see any of you die because of this. I urge you to come forward."

     As Declan finished his address, Mara Mosley emerged at the top of the twin staircase and quietly made her way down to Jasper's side. She whispered something discreetly, and Jasper looked at her for a moment before turning back to the gathering.

     "Sara Pearsall?" he called. "Are you present?"

     The young kitchen maid exchanged glances with Tomas and Ms. Beaumont before nervously stepping forward and raising her hand. "Aye, sir. I-I'm here."

     "Come. You've been summoned by Lady Arden."

     Sara gulped. "Me?"

     "Now, Ms. Pearsall. Do not make our Lady wait."

     The rest of the house staff looked on, wide-eyed, as the girl made her way through their ranks and up the steps.

     Both Jasper and Mara were staring down at her. They were much taller than Sara, and their steely gaze from beneath their helms frightened her.

     Sara gulped again. "Why does she want to see me?" she asked quietly.

     Mara shook her head. "Not for me to know, Sara. Sorry."

     The kitchen maid could feel everyone watch her. She even felt as if the many paintings in the grand room were staring at her too.

     At least she was with Mara. Sara felt safe with her after Mara's apprehension of Kirth earlier that evening.

     Jasper turned to ascend the steps. "Follow me, lass. We're both going to Lady Arden's chambers. Stay close. Do not dawdle."

     Sara's heart fell. She cast a forlorn glance at Mara, who offered an encouraging nod. "Go on," Mara encouraged. "Stay close with the captain."

     The maid obeyed, and Sara followed Jasper into a grand, carpeted hallway that led to a central waiting room that branched into multiple directions of the manor.

     "Sir?" Sara asked timidly, watching Jasper's sword bounce with the cadence of his steps. "Why would Lady Arden summon me? I'm just a kitchen maid. I-I've barely been here a few weeks."

     Your guess is as good as mine, Jasper thought. An odd request of summons... if not a bit concerning.

     "I cannot speak for m'Lady, miss," was what he actually replied. "Just stay close. The closer you are to me, the safer you'll be, aye? Her chambers are just down this way."

     And so they walked on, Sara having to step quicker than she was used to because of Jasper's brisk pace. They strode through the second floor halls with purpose, their shadows following close behind in the sporadic torchlight.

Chapter Text

     Garrett had never been particularly fond of stairs. The uneven nature of their steps made it tough for a swift getaway in the event of an all-out muck-up, much less a quiet one. When it was an option, he avoided them entirely.

     Right now, he had the option - and with the guards so riled up because of Declan Chauncey's attack on one of them, the manor seemed to be newly abuzz with patrols, not unlike a provoked beehive.

     Garrett had decided against venturing up the winding staircase in the tower near the butler's room, not wanting to chance being caught in an enclosed space when guards were on high alert. Instead, he waited for a gap in patrols and weaved his way back to Kessler Hall and its many displays and adornments.

     Kessler Hall's towering windows lining the west side of the grand room gave way to moonlight and the gardens and hedgerows outside. Garrett could tell it was a celebratory hall, complete with a polished marble dance floor near the windowed wall. Empty tables and their empty chairs sat quietly, clustered together to serve as the dining area for large events. Enormous oaken double doors, ornately chiseled with beautiful, intricate designs and flourishes, stood watch over the grand hall like two silent sentinels guarding untold secrets.

     An impressive number of valuables, some encased in glass, were placed on display throughout the hall for all to gaze upon. Items boasting various levels of luxury were everywhere.

     A jeweled goblet. An ornamental dagger sheathed in a jade scabbard. A silver crown with sapphires set in its center, two of its many pointed pinnacles chipped off entirely. A collection of otherwise ordinary-looking stones, placed in a shallow pool encased in glass. Particularly eye-catching was a full Hammerite uniform on display, donned by a faceless mannequin and complete with the hefty hammer that those of the order favored.

     Having made his way to the butler's room from the eastern side of the manor, Garrett had not yet seen Kessler Hall and its many riches.

     The man was almost beside himself. Caution fought excitement in his mind.

     He couldn't remember the last time he had seen so much treasure in one room. He couldn't take it all even if he had wanted to.

     Lightning flashed outside and threw large columns of bright light across the dark hall. Garrett instinctively melted into the shadows of the far corner, safe from further light flashes exposing his position.

     Caution won over quickly.

     So many riches on display, left untended? Sure, the House Guard was on high alert and searching for a possible intruder... but what, that meant they abandoned patrol formation? They left this entire hall unguarded?

     Lady Arden's reputation preceded her. Clearly she was not worried about being robbed, with all these trinkets and treasures laid out for the world to gaze upon. Nobody would dare.

     What was unsettling was not one guard was in sight.

     Garrett's jaw clenched. He waited for a long moment, scouring the darkest edges of the grand hall very slowly, his mechanical eye clicking every few moments as he adjusted.

     Lady Arden openly condemned Karras and his Mechanist movement, and as such Garrett had determined by now that there were likely no mechanical devices in Arden Manor... but he knew damned well there were plenty of ways to maim or kill an intruder using conventional methods.

     One did not need a machine to punish an inattentive trespasser.

     Footsteps drew near, accompanied by low voices that were too faint to understand. Soon a torch's glow floated into view from the top floor, casting its light over the upper balcony railing.

     Garrett looked up at two guards as they sauntered into view. Both had their swords drawn - even the one leading with the torch - though they were rather relaxed with their poise.

     One was a woman, and she was dutifully casting glances here and there, no doubt on the lookout for possible intruders.

     "— if one of them really did it," the man with the torch was saying. "Hard to believe."

     "It is," came the woman. "But you never know. Gotta consider all options. Could've even been one of us. Who knows?"

     "Careful now, Mosley. Your 'City Watch' is showing. Ha! You all must love the 'who-dunnits.'"

     "Pah. You can take the 'who-dunnit' and cram it right up your arse, Wade. You never know. Trust me. Even the—"

     Their voices faded as they marched on along the upstairs balcony, silhouettes with shining armor against the torch the man carried.

     Garrett frowned upward. There it was again.

     Mosley? City Watch? Did she work private security now for Lady Arden?

     Impossible. He would have heard about Lieutenant Mosley leaving the Watch, or any other changing of the guard under Sheriff Truart. Hell, Flor would have mentioned it at the very least.

     The two guards stopped in the distance, at a corner of the balcony that wound out of view deeper into the manor. They were both talking in low voices, their words lost to the unwavering downpour of the storm outside.

     Garrett watched them as they talked, and zoomed in to try to catch a glimpse of the woman's face. She did seem to have strawberry blonde hair, as a few strands fell from her helm and trickled down her forehead like golden streams.

     He could not imagine Lieutenant Mosley would give up her post as a ranking officer in the City Watch to join the House Guard of a noble.

     Mosley was "one of the good ones." Even the criminal underworld of The City had some respect for the woman, even if much of it wanted her dead. She was unflinching in character and her integrity was a standing stone. She could not be bought.

     Then again, this was Lady Arden - not just any noblewoman. If anyone could poach Lieutenant Mosley from the City Watch, it would have been Gwyneth Arden.

     If that was Lieutenant Mosley, Garrett knew he had to be even more careful than usual. She was known to be sharp as an investigator, shrewd and infallible with her cunning.

     Garrett sighed through his nose softly and took stock of the hall again. There were so many marks of opportunity to consider. Many of them were too large to properly stow and transport safely out. 

     He needed to get upstairs, but perhaps he could snag one or two of Lady Arden's precious relics before he went.

     The thief scanned the floors carefully, focusing intently on the marble tile in an attempt to pick out any waiting pressure plates or tripwires. The tall series of bookcases provided ample cover, but they also could become a difficult perch to get stuck in if patrols happened to box him in.

     Garrett eyed the jade dagger. At the very least he could tuck that away with no trouble.

     He waited patiently for the guards upstairs to continue on their way out of sight and earshot before quietly pulling a moss arrow from his quiver and nocking it to his bow.

     Lightning flashed again, and thunder erupted overhead. Garrett seized the noisy moment and loosed the arrow. The storm masked the snap of his bow and the quiet - but still audible - thwock of the moss arrow as the tip found its mark on the floor.

     Green patches of moss sprouted on impact, covering much of the tile and providing a soft-padded surface for Garrett to move across and reach the jade dagger in near silence.

     But he barely had a chance to shoulder his bow when the sounds of more approaching footsteps reached his ears - this time from the ground floor, not far away from where he stood - and sure enough, he could see the warning glow of torchlight on the stone walls of the hallway where they had apparently discovered the unconscious guard earlier in a washroom.

     A warm glow suddenly faded in to sight at the other corner of his vision, gradually emerging from the stormy darkness outside the nearest window. It was a lantern making way for an outdoor patrol, and he could hear the voices of the guards outside muffled by the storm.

     There might have been more than two.

     And not two seconds later, the woman guard and her partner on patrol seemed to have doubled back towards the hall up above him. They would soon be at the indoor balcony again overlooking his position and the entire grand hall. Garrett could hear Mosley's voice faintly, and a jeering laugh from the other man.

     Guards were converging on his position from three different directions.A less experienced intruder likely would have panicked.

     Garrett took a deep breath and surveyed his options while also taking note of the darkest parts of the hall. He might have been able to stay cloaked in the shadows and wait for them all to pass, but they would likely see the moss on the floor.

     Maybe it would simply baffle whoever found it. Maybe they'd scratch their heads and move on without incident... or, it would lead to his capture. They were already antagonized enough, and with the guards having found moss earlier outside the Leisure Room, they would likely be quite vigilant in checking every nook and cranny of Kessler Hall.

     His Keeper mentors had taught him long ago that instinct was not to be ignored.

     Garrett made a snap decision.

     He stepped forward from his hiding place and brandished his bow mid-stride, taking care to still remain outside of the moonlight shining through the windows. He hurriedly nocked a rope arrow to the string.

     It was risky, but not as risky as staying put.

     He aimed straight up, past the second story balcony overhang and all the way to the wooden rafters above, and loosed his arrow.

     The rope arrow bit into the wooden ceiling, and Garrett was already reaching for a noisemaker.

     He would need to be quick.

*

     Upstairs, Mara and her new patrol partner, Wade, had decided to double back on their planned route just to change things up, on the off chance that a prowler was counting on them to continue as scheduled.

     "So Caffrey was just laid out cold?" Wade was asking. "While he was takin' the literal piss? Bloody hell."

     Mara nodded. "Nasty welt on his head. It was Henry, Terri and I who found him." She sighed. "I feel like it's my fault."

     "Why?"

     "Dunno. We're supposed to stay together. Jasper's orders, aye? But we split up." Mara sighed. "I shouldn't have let him go alone."

     Wade swept his torch about slowly, keeping his eyes on their surroundings as they walked. "Ah, come now. You're being too hard on yourself."

     "Am I?"

     "Caff had to take a leak. He's a big boy, is he not? You were checking out the scene around that... that moss shite. What were you gonna do, tell Caff to piss his trousers?"

     "I should have accompanied him on the stroll to the washroom at least."

     "And leave those weird moss patches for the next guard or servant?" came Wade. "You never know what it could be. Could be Pagan trickery for all we know. I would've stayed too, Mara."

     Mara sighed. "Which I still don't understand. It's really taffin' with me. How the hell do whole patches of moss suddenly appear on the floor of a well-kept house?"

     Wade shrugged. "I'll give you that. But regarding Caffrey - it was a night just like any other. He just had to use the latrine. How could you have known?"

     "Suppose you're right. Ho now, listen to you, Wade. No smart-arse comment? Actually being  civil to me for once?" Mara turned on her heel mid-step to take a cautionary look at the hallway behind them, walking backwards as she did so. Satisfied that all was well she turned back to follow Wade as he guided the way.

     Wade snorted with a grin. "Pah. Don't get too excited. You're still new. I'm obligated to continue to give you shite. Them's the rules, see. But in this case, there was naught to do. Jasper himself couldn't have predicted it, let alone you."

     They made one more turn, and the corridor ahead opened up into Kessler Hall. Mara could see the smooth stone railing of the lengthy balcony that overlooked the ceremonial hall below.

     "There's either an intruder sneaking around in here somewhere, or one of the house staff is lying through their teeth," Mara said in a low voice.

     "Been here eight years. Never seen the likes of that before." Wade slowed to a stop at the mouth of the entryway to the second floor overlook of the great hall. "No one's ever been assaulted. We've never had a theft, an intruder. No mischievous folly."

     "That you know of."

     Wade rolled his eyes. "Sure. They would have to be a damned fool to try to rob this place. Lady Arden would have them skinned alive if caught, and then kept alive just to suffer for awhile. Plus it's hard enough to get in, but to get out too?"

     "I dunno, Wade." Mars shrugged. "Look at First City Bank. Nobody can rob that place. Yet it just happened a few nights back, didn't it? Or what about Lord Bafford's scepter some years ago? The Opera House in the Old Quarter? And the Wayside Docks just got hit recently, too."

     "Lord Bafford's Manor and the shipping district don't hold a candle to this place," the man dismissed. "Their security is bollocks."

     "And what about the bank?"

     Wade sighed. "I don't know. Someone fell asleep on duty? One of those Mechanist machines lost power? Who knows."

     "That's my point. I bet all of those blokes thought the same thing. Thought they had nothing to worry about, that there's no way some taffer would try and rob them." Mara folded her arms. "Then it happens, and suddenly they're not feeling so invincible."

     "Wait." Wade turned and cocked his head at Mara questioningly. "What you mean about the Opera House? When did that happen?"

     Mara hoped her cheeks didn't turn red. "Few years back, 'round the same time Lord Bafford was robbed."

     "I... I've never heard o' that. How have I never heard of that?!"

     "Well," the woman answered truthfully, "Lady Valerius didn't want word getting out. Wanted to preserve her reputation and all that, so we - the Watch, rather - kept it from the public."

     Wade nodded knowingly. "Ah. You must've heard through the family grapevine, so to speak."

     Mara shrugged. "I sometimes do."

     "Must be interesting having Lieutenant Mosley for a sister."

     "Can be."

     "You two get along?"

     "Aye."

     "What's she like?"

     "Let's not talk about that."

     As the pair neared the indoor balcony overlooking Kessler Hall, they heard a sharp thump of an impact that made them both halt mid-step. It almost sounded like a small axe or hatchet striking a tree.

     "Devil was that?" Wade asked, holding his torch high.

     Mara readied her sword. "Sounded like an arrow hitting wood."

     "You sound certain."

     "Had my fair share of blokes who tried to kill me with arrows and bolts when I was on the Watch," Mara whispered tersely. "'Twas an arrow."

     "And not a bolt, then?" Wade asked with a wry smile.

     "Arrow, mate. No doubt about it."

     Wade's face grew serious, and he nodded and cleared his throat. "Oi! We heard you, taffer!" he bellowed. "Turn yourself in, or meet your death!"

     The duo jogged forward, and just as they were about to get to the railing with a clear view of the entire hall on the ground level - including where Garrett had shot the rope arrow upward - the faint, quick thrum of a bowstring sounded from somewhere below.

     A strange rattling noise sounded behind and below them, from a place unseen on the ground level. It was a foreign, incessant ticking and clacking call that caused both guards to stop in their tracks and whirl about in bewilderment.

     "What the hell is that?"

     "Don't know." Wade held his torch high and looked about frantically before rushing to the balcony railing. "It's down here."

     A shrill whistle called from below, and a familiar voice punctured the air. "Oi! Who's that above?"

     "Me and Wade!" Mara replied with a shout. "Henry, you hearing that noise?"

     "Aye." The glow of a lantern faded into view beneath them before they actually saw Henry come into view, sword drawn. Terri was at his side, and she was focused intently on the strange noises punching the air.

     Henry craned his neck upward to Mara and Wade. "Stay up there, just in case." He lowered his gaze and lantern. "Terri - shall we?"

     The woman nodded and gripped her sword tighter. "Whoever's playin' games, come out at once! We're not taffin' around!"

     A lantern's glow outside the tall windows reached the large double doors. They opened, creaking loudly in protest, and revealed four more guards coming in from the gardens outside.

     "What's going on?" called one of them.

     "Dunno, Alex. We're looking."

     The newcomer guard stepped inside, rainwater glistening on the cloak he wore over his armor. "Randall, with me," he called over his shoulder. "You lads continue on your perimeter patrol."

     Two of the guards outside nodded their affirmatives, while another - Randall - jogged in to join the search.

     "Thanks, mates." Henry jerked his helmed head towards the noise. "Far end of the hall. We'll go left."

     Alex nodded. "Randall and I will go right.

     Above them, Wade held his torch over the railing as far as he safely could in an effort to provide extra light for their four companions on the ground floor.

     Mara was dutifully watching Wade's back. "What in gods' names is happening tonight?" she whispered. "You ever had a night like this here?"

     "No," Wade replied. "Like I said, never any incidents. A man would be crazy to...."

     He trailed off, for the strange sounds emanating from below their perch suddenly stopped. The silence was so abrupt that the four guards converging on the noises below faltered in their steps.

     Henry exchanged glances with Terri before looking across the hall to catch Alex's gaze. He signaled to Alex with a gloved hand to move forward, and the other guard nodded.

     "Hey!" Randall called to all present. "Look at this stuff!" He tilted his head up to face Wade and Mara on the overhanging balcony. "Is this like what you and Caffrey found in the front hallway near the main foyer, Mosley? It's mossy... growth. It's all over the floor. Patches o' the shite."

     Mara turned to venture a look over the railing when suddenly she heard what sounded like a rope tensing underweight, not unlike the sound of a criminal being hanged... a sound she knew well.

     Before Mara could turn and get her bearings on the noise, a dull, landing thud sounded from the same direction, sending a slight vibration through the tile beneath her boots.

     She and Wade whirled about quickly with their swords readied in front of them, and they wordlessly surged forward towards the racket, rushing by the elegant marble pillars of the balcony railing.

     "Look!" Mara hissed. "Rope? What in low hell?"

     They saw a long rope hanging from the rafters, softly swaying left and right like a slow, silent pendulum.

     "Look," echoed Wade, lifting his torch higher and pointing upward. "There's your feckin' arrow. You were right."

     The pair stared in confusion at the rope for a moment, and suddenly Mara spun around to survey their surroundings. "Someone climbed up. They're up here with us now, Wade. Second floor."

     "What the bloody hell were the noises we heard downstairs? What if he was up here, then climbed down?"

     "Dunno. Something to lure us out. Something to distract us from this... intruder, whoever they are." Mara's eyes flashed excitedly, and she had to make an effort to keep her voice down. "It worked, didn't it? Noises kept us all looking down that way while this blight climbed his way up."

     Wade was shaking his head. "Intruder climbs up, has to jump off. That was the thump we heard, then."

     "This bastard is nearby." Mara reached out over the railing and grabbed the dangling rope with one hand. She managed to pull the rope arrow with a taxed grunt from the rafters, and it clattered to the floor next to them. She scooped it up and looked at it for a moment.

     "He's a crafty lil' shite," she murmured, wiping splinters from the arrowhead. "Simple, but clever."

     "If he's alone."

     Mara shot the man a worried glance. "True."

     "Intruder climbed up to the second floor!" Wade announced, his words echoing loudly through Kessler Hall.

     "Climbed?" came Terri from below. "Whatchu mean?"

     "Used rope. We need to alert the rest of the guard and get word to Jasper. He'll probably want to wake the day shift lads. Lady Arden could be in danger. This sod is a professional."

     The six guards in Kessler Hall fanned out accordingly. Henry, Terri, Alex, and Randall dispersed quickly. Mara and Wade turned to continue their hunt on the second floor.

     In their haste, Henry and Terri jogged right past the spent noisemaker arrow that Garrett had loosed moments before. It was embedded in a leg of one of the dining tables near the dance floor.

     Mara and Wade moved carefully to the north end of the hall, entering a corridor that led to many more rooms, the first of which was the Drawing Room.

     They walked right past Garrett, who had pressed himself against a shadowy wall between two hefty book cases.

     Garrett averted his eyes, as was his practice, and waited for the two guards' footsteps to grow faint and safely distant before he stepped from the darkness.

     He wished he could stay. He had explored so little of the manor thus far; who knew what other treasures were kept away from prying eyes? The fact that Lady Arden had so many precious items on display for any passerby to see did give the thief cause to wonder what she kept hidden away in secret.

     The curiosity burned almost as much as the regret in knowing he would be leaving without investigating Arden Manor fully.

     Curiosity be damned. Garrett had already secured a fine collection of loot with fairly minimal interior travel. It was time to get to the Gallery, where the prize painting waited, and to get to Lady Arden's office to accomplish Flor's favor.

     Garrett listened to the guards calling out to each other as they swept through the rooms and halls nearby. This lot was clearly not to be trifled with, and they were just a small portion of the Arden House Guard.

     To stay any longer was risking his neck moreso than his usual jobs. It was time to get moving.