by Eric Ugland
There was a room that had a smaller dining table with a scant six chairs around it. Then, there was a room that looked like it might have been a den, or a spot to have a drink before or after dinner. Or whenever. It had spots to sit and a selection of crystal decanters on a trolley. Then, there was the actual dining room that was twice the size of the other rooms, with a long table, long enough that I didn't even bother to count the chairs. It was almost comically big, the kind where if you sat at the head of the table, you wouldn't be able to hear anyone on the other end. I was right above the kitchen, so it made sense that all these rooms there were focused on eating.
When I got to the southern portion of the western wing, I found the entertaining rooms. There was one with a piano in the middle, and stacks of chairs against the wall. Another sitting room, you know, with fireplaces and big stuffed chairs and crystal decanters. I was noticing a theme. And then a massive open room that had what I assumed was an orchestra set-up. A bunch of chairs around a conductor's platform, and a music stand in front of each chair.
I came to my first intersection, the entrance to the house, which was properly grand and posh. Two staircases swept up as a massive glowstone crystal chandelier dropped towards the floor. It was stunning and ridiculous. I couldn’t see any reason for such a grandiose display of wealth.
It was also a seriously wide-open space, and having to go through it made me nervous. I could either head over to the east wing and investigate the rooms there, or go upstairs. I waited by the opening to the entryway, tucked in the tiny sliver of shadow that was there. And I just watched to see what might happen.
The two sets of staircases curved up, one to the east and one to the west, with a seating area set up in between the two. Just as I was thinking about heading out into the open and picking a set of stairs, I heard soft footsteps. Correction, I heard footsteps on a soft surface. Boots on a carpet, I guessed.
A man in armor walked out of the western hallway on the second floor. He wore the blue tabard that marked him as one of Valamir's, but his armor seemed different than what I'd come to recognize in Glaton. The guard made his way to the central point and examined the foyer. Then, he pulled out a small notebook from what looked like a purpose-built pouch on his belt, and made a note in it.
Then he calmly walked through to the hallway on the eastern wing. There was a sort of swagger to him. His gear looked well-maintained, and he seemed remarkably at ease in his armor. And, to an extent, bored.
After a second, though, another guard came from the eastern hallway, and moved to the center. He did the same thing as the first guard, checking around the foyer, making a note in his notebook, and then leaving through the opposite hallway. Two guards that overlapped.
That spelled trouble. There were probably several guards about. But why hadn't I seen any on the ground floor? Just luck? That made zero sense.
I started looking around for a better place to hide, because I heard another set of footsteps coming. I darted back down the hall, and jumped through the first door I got to. The piano room. For lack of a better name. Long drapes flanked the windows, the kind that had enough volume to spread all the way across the room. Probably there for soundproofing, but they were also excellent for hiding wily rogues. Like me.
I slipped behind the drapes, which were blue, naturally, and made sure they covered me in a way that looked natural. Then I double checked to make sure my feet weren't poking out.
The door to the room opened, and someone with hard-soled boots walked inside. Whoever it was walked around the room, and couldn't help but tickle the ivories. The piano sounded a bit out of tune. Then the footsteps got closer. And closer.
Then I saw a woman standing at the window, looking out into the rainy night. You could tell she had been pretty at one point, but a lifetime of service in a military or military adjacent job had left her with some serious scars. Not that she was unattractive, but not too many people can really pull off a slice down the side of their face.
I froze. I wasn't even breathing, just standing there hoping she didn't turn to the left. If she did, there was no way she'd miss me. Any movement of my body would make the drapes move, and if the drapes moved, she'd look left. If I made the slightest noise, she'd look left. I really didn't want to get in a fight with her.
She turned right, and walked back into the room.
A second later, she reappeared, and threw the drape wide open..
The drape on the other side of the window, that is.
"Huh," she said.
She shook her head, and walked away.
I heard the footsteps retreat, and then she left the room.
I didn't want to take chances, not after such a close call, so I just stood there. Still. Trying not to breathe.
I wasn't sure how long I waited. But after I figured there was no chance a guard was willing to wait any longer, I slowly and quietly slipped out from behind the curtain.
The room was empty. I mean, the piano was still there, but nothing else.
It was pure luck I hadn't run into one of the roving guards, and that sort of luck wasn't going to keep going. I needed to find another way around.
I looked out the window, standing exactly where the woman had been. It was difficult to actually look out, being in the bright inside looking at the dark being outside. I was more looking at my own reflection and anything else, and I wished there was a way to turn the lights out. That was something I hadn't expected to deal with: lights always being on. I opened up the window, and looked out. I was facing the wall, and the street beyond. It was a large empty yard spread out in front of me. Landscaped to within an inch if its life, for sure, but no people. And, because of the big ol' wall, there wasn't a danger of being seen from the street.
With a little finagling, I managed to get myself on the outside. I used my foot to close the window just about all the way, just in case I’d need to come back in there. Then I did my best to ignore the rain, and scrambled up the side of the mansion. One thing I'll say for Glatonese architecture, the architectural flourishes are really handy for climbing purposes. There were plenty of handholds, enough that I managed to get to the second floor in half a heartbeat.
I peeked into a window and saw an empty bedroom.
The window was open. People rarely lock their second-floor windows, for obvious reasons. But I wasn't about to not take advantage of that.
The room was dominated by a large four poster bed with drapes tied back. I ducked down and slid under the bed.
It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps around me. Or I thought I did. I had a feeling it was my imagination, but still. Better safe.
I waited under the bed for a few minutes, until I heard the tread of boots on the carpet outside. The guard just kept on going though. So unlike on the first floor, guards didn’t peek into every room up here.
I crawled out from under the bed and knelt down at the door. I watched the guard head down the hall through the keyhole. He made the turn to go to the entry foyer, which meant it was the best time for my exit. I opened the door slowly, hoping it wasn't about to squeak.
The hinges were well-oiled. I appreciated the rich man's well taken care of house. Much easier to sneak around in.
My main goal was to find Valamir's office. I figured that was the best place for me to find some form of evidence. The carpeting up here was deep and soft, and I imagined it had taken someone half-a-lifetime to weave it.
I crept along, peeking through each keyhole.
Bedroom.
Bedroom.
Bedroom.
Bathroom.
Drawing room? Something like that.
Finally, something that looked like it might be an office. Lots of books, a fireplace, and a wide desk with a few stacks of paper on it. Bingo.
I did my best to get a good look inside, but it was impossible to tell if anything was amiss through a keyhole. Still, it was where I needed to go, and I couldn’t hear anything inside.
I pushed at the doo
r.
Locked.
Lovely.
Out came the lock-picks, and I started in. I loved picking locks. It was such a delightful puzzle, and rarely did I feel as accomplished as when I managed to open a stubborn lock.
It popped after a few twists and turns. I opened up the door, pushing it very slowly, doing my impression of an errant gust of wind. Then, keeping low, I crouch-walked into the room. It was bigger than it had seemed, and had a fire roaring in the fireplace. There was a globe over to one side, and a map framed above the fire. Books lined the shelves. There wasn't much furniture in the place — mostly just the huge desk and its chair. There were two chairs in front of the desk, and I had visions of Doctor Weedon's office, where I got yelled at by the impotent, rage-filled vice principal for doing things like climbing on top of lockers in middle school. It just had that vice-principal vibe, you know?
Interestingly, it was one of the few rooms I’d been to in the mansion, hell, the city, that was not lit by glowstones. Some candles sat on the windowsill, and a few more were stuck in an old-fashioned candelabra. Those, paired with the fire, bathed the whole room in a deep amber glow.
A glass of amber liquid sat on the desk, next to a stack of of loose papers. Beyond that, I saw an open notebook with a pen laying across it.
Jackpot.
I darted over to the desk to read over the papers.
The one on top referenced the numbers of soldiers available to certain nobles. House guards, standing armies, mercenaries hired, that sort of thing. It looked like Valamir was in the middle of the pack, and someone, likely Valamir himself, was making notes about the effectiveness and quality of the troops he had managed to get.
The next piece of paper listed off Legions. Where they were, what their strength was at, who was leading it, what their current assignment was. There were also notes on some of the commanders, about where their loyalties might lie. The rest of the papers were focused on the city. There was a crime report, which showed a serious spike in missing children, and a minor rise in missing, um, grownups. There were plenty of murders and thefts, but not much in the way of solved crimes. It made me feel better about being a criminal in Glaton, but on the other hand, I felt worse about being a citizen there.
I read over statistics about other aspects of the city, like how many portals to the plane of water there were in the city, how much food was stored, the number of Mancers who had the ability to conjure food, and the growth rates of the gardens in The Greens. If I had to guess, and I did because no one was telling me, this was all Valamir trying to figure out how long the city could last under a siege. But who would be coming to lay siege to Glaton?
I put the papers back in the manner I’d found them, and turned my attention to the notebook.
It was made of really nice paper, soft and smooth and surprisingly white. It wasn’t a paired journal, since everything was written in the same hand. The handwriting was neat and small, almost like an engineer’s, or an architect’s. And it was all, well, just notes. About what I’d just been reading on the papers.
As I flipped further back, I found notes on who would likely assassinate the Emperor. Who would serve to gain from it, and what Valamir could do to prevent it. There were a ton of notes about a guy named Benedict Coggeshall, about how important it was to provide a safe house for the man. To allow for a happy medium between luxury and security. Valamir seemed to think this Coggeshall dude was instrumental to the Emperor’s survival. Which was a little weird to see, written by Valamir. Why would Valamir care about his brother’s survival? There was something off about everything I was reading. Because, well, Valamir didn’t seem to be angling for his brother’s death at all.
And why was he obsessed with Coggeshall?
Gar. More questions.
I put the notebook back. I wasn’t going to steal anything from the office, not when it would be so easily missed. So next, I pulled out a piece of string and plain gold non-magical ring. I tied the string to the ring, and cast detect secret doors.
Something on the desk lit up, which startled me. I dropped the spell. Whatever it was that lit up on the desk disappeared back into the amber darkness.
I cast the spell again.
The thing on the desk lit up. This time I left the spell going, and moved a small stack of papers out of the way. I found a big ring with an equally oversized stone on it. It looked like the mood ring I’d gotten from a carnival once. And it was glowing a brilliant blue.
Dropping the spell, the ring darkened.
Casting the spell, the ring lit up.
Neat trick. And, since I am a thief after all, that ring went into my pocket.
I replaced the papers back as best I could, and I returned to the spell.
I poured a fair amount of mana into the spell, but nothing happened to the ring or the string, so I admitted defeat. Or, rather, I admitted to myself that not every office in every mansion had a secret door leading to untold treasures. This was just an office.
I was about to start digging through the desk drawers when I felt a slight change in the air pressure. I shot a glance at the door.
Not moving.
So there was another door.
I scanned the room and noticed a portion of the bookshelf behind the desk coming outward. I wasn’t exactly overflowing with options, so I stood up against the bookshelf, behind the spot where the fake door was opening. Well, fake bookshelf. Real door, I suppose.
A man walked out with a single candle held in his hand. He balanced a large pastry in his mouth, and a mug of something steaming in his other hand. He was humming a tune, something an upbeat and with the hint of actual melody. It made sense that a man with two concert halls in his own home would have a penchant for music.
Valamir closed the bookshelf door with his foot, took the two steps to his desk, and carefully sat the mug down. Then the candle. He pulled the pastry from his mouth, and dropped it onto the desk. Finally, he sat down himself. He moved the mug a bit to his left, the pastry went back into his mouth, and he got the candle to the far edge of the desk. He set his notebook in front of himself, and wrote a few test lines with his pen. I suppose making sure the ink hadn’t dried out.
I was standing just two feet behind him, leaning against the bookshelf. Close enough to smell the man.
He smelled nice. Clean, which was probably one of the nicest smells in Glaton. Hygiene was a unique experience in the city, mostly ignored. I definitely had much more of a daily funk about myself, and I actually had my own shower. I did need to find better soap. And a laundromat. Or washerwoman. That was probably a thing here. Just one more basic tenet of life I’d neglected in order to get caught up in politics. I was a fool.
Valamir resumed looking over the figures, mumbling to himself as he read over private army numbers. I saw him doing calculations in his book, estimating troop costs, food and equipment and that sort of thing, over time. He was trying to get an idea of how long people could keep their armies. From the look of things, most of the people he was watching had the coin to go the distance.
"Hrm," he mumbled, "could get nasty. But where is the money coming from?"
I barely stopped myself in time, because I almost answered. Well, not really an answer so much as a smart-ass response.
He flipped through his notebook and stopped at a table of numbers. Leaning forward, I saw he'd borrowed a lot of gold from a wide variety of people. Mostly Tollendahl. And yet, something was off.
"You forgot to carry the one," I said.
"Ah, thanks," he replied, and redid his calculation.
What did I just do?
Chapter 172
I leaned back.
Valamir sat up straight. Then very slowly, he turned around to look at me.
I smiled.
Which, I realized too late, he couldn't actually see, since my armor covered the lower half of my face.
"Just let me get this out of the way first," I said. “I love what you've done with the house."
"Thank you?" he replied.
"But it's just you here, right? Seems a bit excessive for one guy.”
"There are certain standards one must hold when one is royalty, regardless of my own desires. Who are you?"
"I don't think who I am is as important as what I represent."
"And what is that? Are you here to kill me? Are you under the delusion that you can maintain loyalty to the Emperor even beyond death?"
"No. Not really my style. I'm not an assassin."
“I suppose that much is easily obvious. If you were an assassin, you’d either be the worst in history because you started speaking with me, or you’d have killed me while I didn’t know you were there. Perhaps you seek to rob me? I have little of actual value. If you've been reading over my shoulder, then you know where all my coin has gone lately.”
"You've been borrowing pretty heavily."
"There is reason for that."
"Do you mind if I sit down? This feels awkward."
“You break into my house, and you want to sit down with me?”
“Seems like the polite thing to do.”
“The polite thing to do would be to present your card to one of my secretaries and arrange a meeting on the books.”
“You think any of your secretaries would give me a meeting with you?”
He frowned, then looked me up and down a moment.
“Not likely, no.”
“So you see my conundrum.”
“Then sit,” he replied with a sigh, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “Better than me sitting and looking up at you, I suppose.”
