The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cael lit a yellow candle from the coals still burning on the hearth, while Alynthia opened the library door a crack and peered out into the hall. The house was dark and silent, for everyone had long ago retired for the night, but there was a watchful feeling in the air. The master of the house was gone, and the servants lay abed listening for his return. It was a feeling Alynthia knew well, for often she had lain awake in this very house, listening for her husband’s return. Besides, both thieves had burgled enough places to know when the house was sleeping and when its occupants lay nervously awake, listening to the creaking darkness.

In the distance came the rumble of thunder. The library window looked out over the rooftops of the city district known as Purple Ridge, out across the length and breadth of the city, toward the Bay of Branchala, where a storm brewed over the iron-dark sea. Slowly the stars along the northern horizon winked out, eclipsed by the boiling clouds.

Cael silently closed the window’s shutters. Since he had broken the shutters gaining entry to the library, he used a strip of golden cloth torn from the curtain to tie them firm. Alynthia eased the library door shut, satisfied that none of the servants were up and about. She didn’t sheath her dagger. Her husband had not survived so long nor become so powerful by walking blindly into traps. She wanted a dagger ready, though she wasn’t yet sure if she could wield it against the man who had shared her bed.

Cael eased himself into one of the large comfortable chairs near the fire and warmed his boots before the coals. Alynthia had already noticed that in his every movement, the elf favored his injured right shoulder. The wound she’d given him was beginning to tell. His face looked a shade paler than before, his grip on his staff was not so firm. He looked weary, sitting there in the chair. Slowly his eyes closed and he sighed.

Alynthia was no better for her experiences earlier in the evening. She’d already nearly been drowned and exploded into bits by dragon breath, but the event that drained her the worst was learning of her husband’s treachery. Her stomach was twisted into knots, her anger burned like hot coals in her heart. She paced the floor restlessly, her booted feet swishing across the thick carpet that covered the library floor.

Cael opened one eye to observe her. The knuckles of her hand, clenched round her dagger, were pale and bloodless, her jaw muscles stood out, quivering. Her eyes seemed sunken into her dusky face, giving her a haunted look, and the bluish tinge had returned to her lips. He started to rise to go to her, but the moment of relaxation he’d allowed himself had given his shoulder time to stiffen. Instead, he stumbled as he tried to rise and caught himself painfully and noisily against the library’s mahogany desk. Both thieves froze at the sound, listening for any reaction from below. For the moment, the house remained silent.

“What are you trying to do, you fool!” Alynthia hissed. She shook her dagger at him like a long admonishing finger.

“I thought I would search his desk,” Cael responded lamely.

“Well, try to be more quiet about it. The servants are not the typical spineless, witless peasants so often found in servile positions. Many are retired thieves and adventurers. Our butler is a fiend with a short bow.”

The elf glared at her for a moment, until she spun on her heel and resumed her worried pacing. Cael turned his attention to the desk.

First and foremost, the desk was heavy and compact, marvelously compartmentalized. More than likely, it had once been the desk of the captain of a ship, for there was no wasted space either atop or beneath it. Deep wells in the corners held ink bottles and long quills. Other troughs on the desk’s surface originally must have served the purpose of holding navigational compasses and rules to keep them from sliding around in heavy seas. Now they contained an assortment of sugar candies. Cael popped a chewy orange one in his mouth and savored the flavor. Alynthia shot an annoyed look at him at the smacking noises he was making but said nothing.

Down one side of the desk were an assortment of cubbyholes, where rolled maps detailing every shore and major river of Krynn were still stowed. It was a kender’s delight. Cael turned his attention to the drawers. They were, of course, locked.

He felt along all the desk’s edges for a release, and, finding none, turned to an examination of the bottom of the desk. There he found a small throwing dagger in a leather sheath tacked to the underside, nicely placed within easy reach of anyone sitting behind the desk. He tucked the dagger into his belt and continued his search.

He couldn’t find the drawer key anywhere. Probably, Oros kept the key on his person, so Cael settled down to trying to break into the lock instead. It was a simple lock, with a simple enough poison needle trap, which made him extremely suspicious as to what he hadn’t detected. As a rather famous thief once said, “Why even bother putting such a simple lock on a door”-or a desk? He bent closer, trying to spot the real trap, but if there was one, it was beyond him to find out. He stood up, frustrated, glowering at the desk.

“What’s the matter?” Alynthia asked.

“Nothing,” the elf said.

The only other thing of interest on the desk was a fist-sized river stone onto which a simple childish picture had been painted in crude red lines. The picture was of a ship at sea. At the sterncastle wheel stood a large man, while at the prow danced what appeared to be a girl. Cael picked it up and turned it over. There, scrawled in awkward letters, were the words,

The Mary Eileen

For Captain Avaril

on his day of life-gift

from Alynthia

Cael smiled, hefting the stone and judging its weight. He was of a mind to use it to bash open the drawers, but then he noticed the scrap of yellow paper atop which the stone had rested. It was a bill of transport from the Carters’ Guild, dated this very day.

“This is curious,” Cael whispered.

Alynthia turned. “Leave that alone,” she snapped. “I made it for him when I was nine.”

“Not this,” Cael said, setting aside the stone. He lifted the bill. “This.”

“What is it?” Alynthia asked.

“A bill of transport, for stonecutting tools to be delivered to Dark Horizon tonight at Darkwatch. What use has your husband for stonecutting tools?” he asked.

Alynthia did not immediately respond. Her face grew thoughtful, and she paused in her pacing. Suddenly, she sheathed her dagger. “None,” she said. “But ‘stonecutting tools’ is an old Guild codeword for treasures. Treasures, mind you, not ordinary loot or the proceeds of everyday Guild business. Oros must be putting Guild treasures aboard his ship.”

“I think we know why,” Cael said, grimly reminded of the Guild captain’s treachery.

“I wonder which treasures,” Alynthia mused.

“Perhaps we should go see,” the elf offered with a smile.

“Perhaps we should. Perhaps that’s where he is now.”

Alynthia hurried to the window and tore aside the loose strip of curtain that Cael had used to tie the shutters. A cold gust of wind from the approaching storm blew the shutters open with a loud bang. Alynthia leaped though, the elf closely following her.

Behind them, a moment later, the library door swung open. Oros uth Jakar stood there, glowering. Behind him stood an elderly man in his nightshirt, a short bow clenched in his fist. Oros glanced quickly around the room, eyeing first the open window, then spotting the missing bill of transport. The breeze blowing through the window stirred his hair, but it also seemed to stoke the fires of anger burning in his eyes. At the same time, it snuffed out the yellow candle on the desk and sent sparks crackling up the chimney.

Oros turned to his butler. “Wake Kolav,” he growled. The man nodded and hurried away.

Behind him, a distant flash of lightning briefly illuminated a short, hunchbacked figure lurking at the window. As though sensing eyes upon him, Oros spun. The next lightning flash came soon after and showed the window empty, the shutters flapping in the rising wind.