Chapter 450: The Night Shift

Podge grinned as his associates took turns aiding each other to climb the walls.It wasn’t an easy thing, but not because of the height. There was magic involved somewhere. Enchantments. Runes. That’s why Two Knives Tessa was frowning more than usual as she stood on Silver Thumb Raul’s shoulders. 

But whatever made her pause, it didn’t last long enough to stop her from breaking into a smile.

It would have been even faster if they’d asked him for advice.

After all, he knew an easier way to get into the Royal Villa that didn’t involve testing whatever magic was etched into them. But why bother asking him? 

None of them knew who he was. At least not enough to bother inviting him onto the pilfering spree. He was just the carriage driver, here to whisk them away once they were done. 

And that was fine by him.

Podge counted the seconds. And then he left his post.

Without Blackpouch and his crew, he’d been given something to do other than waiting for the handful of silver crowns for his carriage skills. If ever a patrol was coming, he’d whistle like a mockingbird, ensuring that anyone jumping back down didn’t drop straight into the arms of a guard.

That was likely to earn him another handful of silver crowns.

Podge had something else in mind … especially since he couldn’t actually whistle.

He wanted a share of the spoils. As was his right. This was his territory, long before the Kingfisher and all his high friends decided to stomp their boots over it. He just needed an opportunity to claim it again. 

That was easy enough.

He just needed to be the only one left alive.

Podge skirted from shadow to shadow, knowing every tree, shrub, fence and badger den to surround the Royal Villa’s walls.

It was his literal treasure trove. Every now and then, a necklace or bracelet would rain from the sky, dropped by the magpies who stole them better than even the Kingfisher could. But it was the servants who earned him the easiest crowns he ever made. 

All it took was a threat to babble about a tender moment he’d barely seen between two people whose names he didn’t even know. Blackmail had never been so efficient.

That’d all changed the night she had practically landed on top of him. 

A princess.

Podge winced as the memory struck. 

He had no idea princesses were trained to only fight dirty.

Every now and again, he’d seize up with phantom pain as he recalled where she’d kicked him. And for it, he’d earned a night in the dungeons. 

To add insult to severe injury, he’d also lost his hunting grounds. He couldn’t return while the guards knew his face. But that was on a normal night.

Once they realised a group of thieves were in the grounds, every knight and guard would be there to meet them. And that meant fewer to get in the way of Podge’s revenge.

At last, that princess would earn her comeuppance.

He didn’t know which one she was. He didn’t care. 

All he knew was that she owed him for his face now being permanently locked in a grimace. And she could pay with whatever ransom a king was willing to offer.

Podge would help her leave the same way as she did last time.

He stopped before an ancient, gangly tree growing beside the wall, its branches high enough to touch the window of a fine tower … except that instead of reaching up and climbing, he frowned at an unexpected sight.

Oranges.

There were oranges growing from it.

An enormous amount. Bright and ripe. Enough that he had to second guess himself.

As far as he knew, there were never oranges growing from that tree. In all the seasons he’d spent hunting for bits of falling necklaces and servants to extort, it was only the whiff of apples he’d occasionally catch from somewhere behind the walls.

Even so, there was no mistaking the size and shape of the tree, nor the tower rising beside it.

His hesitation lasted only a moment.

Doing away with his uncertainty over his own memories, Podge reached up for the lowest branch, then began making his way up. 

It was an easy climb, the thick branches dipping enough for him to grab without ever needing to stand. He went slowly nonetheless, his eyes carefully watching the moonlit orchard below, pausing each time a hedgehog dashed across the grass.

“Good sir, I ask that you not step on the oranges. They are fragile and not designed to take the weight of a full grown man.”

He should have been watching for who else was climbing the tree.

Podge, his eyes blinking, slowly turned to the side.

There, almost beside him, he found a knight outfitted in full elven armour and a winged helmet balancing upon what was barely more than a twig. 

The gleam of emerald and gold contrasted with the slightly dull pair of garden cutters he held.

He used it to point at a flattened orange.

“Oh,” said Podge after several moments. “… I didn’t see it.”

“No, you were busy admiring the orchard below. Understandable, of course. It’s a truly splendid sight … but also one I hope not to litter with the husks of squished bergamots. Should they fall, then they should be whole and ripe.”

Podge stared.

“Are … Are you a gardener?” he asked blankly.

“I’d never presume to be something so noble. I am Sir Carrius of the Orange Fountain. I’m merely a passing soul, here to leave a small gift before I depart. Judging by the look of ill-intent you wear, you intend to leave one as well.”

Podge was in trouble.

He had no idea what he was looking at.

In fact, he was so confused that he wondered if he was still blacked out in The Winking Boar. But assuming this was real, he knew this was bad. There were knights in the grounds below, but he hadn’t expected one to be waiting for him in the branches. 

Even so, a knight was still a knight. And that meant rules.

Such as not attacking first.

Without waiting, Podge swept out his dagger from behind him and lunged, hoping to send the man tumbling back in alarm. 

Clink.

The blade was caught by the garden cutters.

Then, as sweat began to fall down Podge’s face, the elven knight reached to the side and plucked a particularly ripe orange with his free hand. He offered it on his palm.

“It’s a little sour, but nutritionally excellent. I suggest you eat this. It should help with your skin. You’re more pallid than a ghost.”

Podge looked at the orange, then slowly took it.

“T-Thank you …”

“You’re most welcome.”

Sir Carrius of the Orange Fountain smiled behind his helmet.

A moment later, he did what any knight would do.

He prodded the intruder away.

***

It was the finest group of liars, scoundrels and thieves to have ever avoided the hospitality of a permanent gaoler.

They were each career rogues, willingly opting to use their talents for criminal gain when they could just as easily have become adventurers. 

Instead, the only dark places they explored were the alleyways between their favourite bars, the backrooms of gambling dens, and very occasionally, the corridors of the wealthy.

Even so, there was as little fondness between them as the blood piranhas thrashing in the lake nearby. Honour among thieves was a tale told by older thieves just before robbing their own juniors blind. But while camaraderie was scarce, pragmatism was not.

They all had their role to play. And if it was for the sake of ensuring their debts would be paid off by the end of the night, then even the most bitter of rivals were willing to put their past squabbles behind them. At least until they were safely away.

Two Knives Tessa intended to be the first one out.

After all, she’d already done her part. Even if it wasn’t pretty.

For her to use so many scrolls of rune nullification just to mute the magic enchanting the walls for a handful of seconds was an exorbitant use of crowns. But it was enough. 

Whoever the Kingfisher’s sponsor was, they were either very wealthy or very willing to bankrupt themselves in order to become wealthy. 

Luckily for them, Two Knives Tessa wasn’t fixated on the lustre of gold or jewels. 

She saw the value of things that could only be sold to a single bidder. And she knew for a fact that a mysterious curator in Ouzelia was known to purchase rare tomes at eyewatering sums. 

She’d leave the vaults and dining chambers to the others. 

Her destination was the private library of the royal family.

She betrayed a skip as she slipped her way through the courtyard. 

All around her was a garden as vast as it was beautiful. There were more flowers than she had time to admire, but she still did what she could to enjoy the scenery as she avoided the clanking steps of the guards and the idle chatter of the servants. 

It was all too easy.

Every hedge, fountain and marble bust offered another shadow for the spell thief to pass undetected.

She needed no magic for this, nor did she wish to dare. 

Her spells were for escape, not for stealth. There was a reason mages made for poor thieves. They could teleport into a vault. But they could just as easily be turned into a puddle as every defensive ward buried in the ground decided to activate. She’d seen that happen. Twice.

That was twice more than what she needed.

She moved swiftly instead, her soles making no sound as she followed the map in her head. 

There was another reason besides financial prudency which directed her to the library. Unlike the Kingfisher’s destination, the library sat on the edge of the estate. There were fewer chances to meet servants, and thus fewer chances to be delayed. 

The sooner she reached her objective, the more time she’d have to peruse at her leisure. 

A wish that was granted much sooner than she anticipated.

Two Knives Tessa came to a stop as the shadow of the library towered over her. Or at least the partial façade of one. There were stacks of stone and building material neatly arranged nearby, replacing an entire section of the courtyard.

This … was not in the layout.

The spell thief frowned at what was clearly an ongoing construction. A poor omen. It suggested the information the Kingfisher received was older than he’d been led to believe. Or that he lied. That brought into question the patrol routes and servant timetables.

But it also presented an opportunity.

Two Knives Tessa scanned the area–then proceeded as planned.

The windows hadn’t even been fitted. As a sliver of moonlight fell over her, she was revealed for only a fraction of a second before vaulting through.

A moment later, only her smile could be seen as she blended once more into the shadows.

Two Knives Tessa had only heard rumours. It was said that the private library of the royal family was a repository of knowledge beyond even the hidden stashes of archmages. 

As she took her first steps inside, she knew it was true. 

Even in this half-built section, the shelves had begun to fill. That was enough.

There was the musk of vellum and leather, warm and dry like the pages of tomes untouched for centuries. Of ink faded to dust, lingering as though hoping to remain written. Of oil and wax, heavy with the scent of centuries of candles.

… And also shampoo.

Lavender with a hint of rose.

Two Knives Tessa sniffed the air. 

Someone had recently taken a bath … and yet as she slowly made her way past the recently erected bookshelves, it took almost bumping into the culprit to see her.

A beautiful girl with silver hair and skin whiter than the moonlight.

Wearing what seemed to be cotton pink pyjamas, she sat at a table without even a candle to light the pages of the book she was reading. Only a faint shaft of moonlight lit the edge of her face and a steaming cup of tea.

As the girl read, she nodded several times, then scribbled on a sheet of parchment beside her.

Two Knives Tessa silently cursed to herself.

Only part of it was due to almost missing the girl. The other was needing to do the most annoying part of her job. The bit where clean and unmessy became either bloody or at least filled with drool.

She drew one of her knives. 

Both were laced with poison. But this at least was the kinder one. Had she been a guard, it would have been a different story. There was a cure for paralysis. There wasn’t for death.

Silently creeping forwards, she waited until she was directly behind the girl.

And then–

“Hush,” she said, tightly cupping the girl’s mouth with her hand. “It’s a poor time for bedtime reading. But if you don’t say a word, you might just live to enjoy the ending.”

Her knife flashed in the moonlight, digging into the girl’s neck.

***

Brambles was in a jovial mood as he made his way through the corridors.

True, he’d definitely gotten the short end of the stick.

He’d been convinced to go with Half Ear Torley, Lockjaw and Big Timmie. But all that meant was that he could argue for a bigger share afterwards. If he was going to be the only functional person, then that meant he wanted supervisor pay as well.

Fortunately, there wasn’t more he needed to do than lead.

The rest followed, silently and surely, even when all their eyes were glued onto every vase, painting, mirror and armoured display they saw.

The interior of the Royal Villa was more beautiful than he could have imagined.

Everywhere he looked, he saw a ticket to becoming the most handsome man in his hometown. It took all his discipline to not swipe as he went. No pouch was truly bottomless, despite what the trolls selling them claimed. And while he could fit several vases inside, it was clear that the question wasn’t what was worth stealing, but what was most worth stealing.

Brambles needed to be efficient. He needed to maximise profit to space. And in terms of value to weight, his first destination was always the same.

The kitchen.

Or rather, the kitchens. This place had three of them. All of which would be visited.

That his temporary underlings understood why was the only reason he accepted being put in the same group as them. Rookies would never understand. There was no location in any estate that had a better ratio of accessibility to valuables. 

The reason was simple.

Spoons.

Rich people couldn’t help themselves.

They could buy wooden spoons that were longer lasting than any of the fancy stuff engraved with golden squiggles. And yet no matter how prudent they were with crowns, when it came to cutlery, even the most frugal of lords lost their minds.

Spoons, forks and knives weren’t very exciting. But they were guaranteed profit. While a vault might offer heaps of jewellery and artifacts, few merchants had the capital to outright purchase a heap of stolen cursed necklaces. 

But cutlery? That was a different matter. 

He could fill his bottomless pouch and empty it again after a single waltz through Reitzlake’s market district. Meanwhile, people like the Kingfisher would be starving while dressed like an emperor. 

Brambles chuckled to himself, all the while signalling that a guard had passed.

There was a reason that man had been second to the Dancing Rat. He was good at what he did. But he wasn’t smart.

In the end, Dorian had been nothing more than a skilled bard. He had quick hands and knew how to speak. But when it came to the art of profit, nobody knew how to best good old Brambles.

Of course, that’s not to say he was the epitome of wisdom. 

There was a reason he kept retiring every year. What he made ended up filtering down to the commonfolk. Even if it was by accident and via every tavern in the kingdom.

But that was then. And this was now.

Brambles was sick of being a man of the people. He was also sick of the jokes.

This would be his biggest heist yet. And this time, he was going to stay retired.

That’s why–

“She’s … She’s beautiful.”

“My soulmate. I found her.”

“Wife. Right there. That’s my wife.”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuaahh …”

That’s why Brambles completely forgot what he was doing.

The moment he sneaked into the first of the kitchens, the door barely creaking as it opened, it wasn’t the piles of tableware and cutlery he saw, ready to be scooped into his pouch. 

No … the only thing he saw was her.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Blessing his eyes was a maid preparing a tray of tea. Something that was so mundane that it could never earn his attention, and yet even the slight movement of her wrist seemed like a small part of a dance.

With dark hair and eyes that flashed with a silver hue, there was something unworldly about her. 

She was like a vision conjured from a dream. And so it was that when she turned to look at the group of rogues now stuck in a doorway, not a single one of them wished to wake up from it.

The woman offered a mature smile.

“Gentlemen,” she said, her voice playful. “You appear to be in the kitchen. Are you searching for a midnight snack?”

She continued pouring tea as she waited for a reply.

Eventually, Brambles woke up enough to offer a smile. 

“Oh, the kitchen,” he said, slowly remembering how to use words. “Would you look at that? Seems I’m in the wrong place. Was looking for the bathroom.”

A soft laugh met him. His roguish heart fluttered.

“All of you? At the same time?”

“What can I say? We men are all alike. That includes getting lost. The Royal Villa is quite something, no? Many apologies for disturbing you, my lady.” 

“Oh, it’s quite fine. But I’m not a lady. I’m a maid.”

“Right, right … well, I dare say someone of your appearance must be regularly mistaken. Apologies again. I can see you’re very busy.”

The maid nodded without offering a reply.

For a moment, Brambles considered leaving the kitchen and quietly making his way to one of the other two to begin the important process of burglary and not being outed by a maid as trespassers.

He coughed instead.

“... By the way, might I have your name?”

“Tione.”

“Tione,” he repeated, ignoring the elbowing from behind him. “That’s quite a lovely name. I’m, well, I’m a merchant staying in the guest room. An extremely wealthy merchant, too. Quite famous. I’ve even an audience with the king tomorrow.”

“That is very unlikely.”

“Oh? Why would that be?”

“There are no guests who are dressed as though to perform a robbery. They’re far more discreet about it.”

Brambles raised his palms and smiled.

“Ah, you’re right, of course. As you can tell, the road has been quite rough on us.”

“Is that so? Then I must inform you that if you wish to wander the Royal Villa, a dress code must be followed. If you’re uncertain about what that is, then the Ashen Duke will be happy to tell you.”

“The Ashen Duke? … I’m not sure if I’m familiar with that name.”

“He is the Master of the Smouldering Cycle, Ruler of Mzerydon, Heir to the Seventh Plane of the Unyielding Flame and president of my fan club. He is also my father, and views the idea of me being alone in a kitchen with a group of brigands as unacceptable.”

Brambles could only blink, having understood nothing of that other than the end.

Even so, that was the most important. 

As beautiful as this maid was, he hadn’t come here in search of romance. He was here to pillage for cutlery. Something that would be very difficult should the maid decide to call upon the guards.

Thus, he took a step forward … only to promptly step back as a ring of flames burst into existence.

The maid continued pouring the tea.

***

Dorian the Kingfisher blinked.

He’d planned meticulously for this.

While outwardly, he was confident and relaxed, the reality was that this was no holiday cottage or baron’s estate. It was the home of the royal family. And should any of them be caught, imprisonment was generally the most optimistic thing that could happen to them.

As a result, he’d planned for every contingency. 

Perhaps not for the others, but certainly for himself. 

In the event that the alarm was sounded, he still knew where to find the nearest valuables to loot before making his escape.

Of course, the bulk of his plan revolved around successfully emptying the Royal Vault. And that was where the greatest danger was present. 

He had faith that Two Knives Tessa and Bramble’s group were experienced enough to complete their tasks without hiccup. But unlike the library and the kitchens, the Royal Vault was well guarded. There was little hope of avoiding every confrontation. 

At some point, their hand would be forced.

That was what the alchemist’s satchel and the litany of tool kits were for. 

Between Silver Thumb Raul, Ragged Quinn and himself, there were enough potions, tools and experience to meet every contingency that would prevent them at least reaching the vault.

There was, in fact, only one problem he hadn’t planned for.

“Good evening, monsieurs. Do you have an invitation?”

Dorian stared.

Silver Thumb Raul stared.

Ragged Quinn stared.

And a large, 8 foot tall, armoured troll with a fine mahogany club stared back at them.