and then jam my elbow into his temple before he condescended to quiet down.
I swung round toward Kli-Kli.
“What kind of trick was that you pulled?”
“I had to keep him busy while you were descending on him like the demon of vengeance.”
“I mean, why didn’t you whistle?”
“I can’t whistle. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen!” the goblin explained lamely.
There was a clank behind me. I drew my knife and swung round sharply, but it was only Ell. He was just wiping his dagger on the guard’s clothes.
The dead guard’s clothes. No one lives after he’s had the best part of a yard of steel run through his heart.
“He won’t shout now.” The elf’s yellow eyes glinted disapprovingly. “You always need to finish the job, Harold.”
“Get it over with quickly, thief. There’s no time,” Alistan Markauz put in from out of the darkness. “Kli-Kli, I’ll have a word with you later. Come with us. Ell, take the body’s arms.”
“Stop!” I told them. “The goblin’s bound to get you into trouble. He’s just one big headache.”
“I won’t get them into trouble!” Kli-Kli was offended. “If not for me, this dead man here would have spotted you for sure.”
“Listen, fool, do you see those bushes over there? They’re exactly opposite the window of the count’s bedroom. You hide in there until I call you. I’ll throw you the Key, and then you clear out just as fast as you can. Ell, you help him get over the wall.”
“All right.”
I jumped up, grabbed hold of the end of the rope, and the whole business started all over again. When I threw my leg over the railings and found myself on the balcony, there was no one below me any longer—no elf, no count, no Kli-Kli, no dead body. The spider web nestled back snugly into its usual place on my belt.
It was a small balcony that had been built for decoration, hardly even big enough for two people. The door, with glass panes set in a fancy wooden grille, looked like a rather frail, defenseless barrier for lads of my kind. But first impressions are deceptive—always expect some kind of dirty trick from such naked defenselessness. Fortunately I didn’t even have to guess, or waste precious vials of spells, in order to expose any magic. Miralissa had said there were defensive spells on all the windows on the second floor.
I didn’t know how they worked, but anyone who tried to climb into the house at night was in for a hot reception. The elfess had offered to create a runic charm so I could break through the defense, but I had politely refused. I’d been feeling very negative about runic magic just recently—ever since I read out an old scroll that I found lying about and drove all the demons into the darkness. (Well, almost all, Vukhdjaaz was an exception.)
And apart from that, I didn’t want to experience the clash of shamanism with human magic at close quarters. And I couldn’t count on Kli-Kli’s medallion, either—it only neutralized shamanism, not the magic of men and light elves. I would have to dip into my own reserves in order to get into the house.
I opened the small green bag on my belt and took out a vial containing a powder as black as the night around me. The cork came out with a pop and I kept hold of it in my teeth.
I scattered a generous sprinkling of the powder straight onto the door, put the cork back in the vial, and put the precious little item back in my bag. In the meantime nothing had happened to the balcony door, and I was already beginning to think that this time the elfess was wrong. But no, blotches appeared where the black powder had landed. They spread out, merged together, and then disappeared with a flash.
That’s done.
As I expected, the door was locked. For some reason people are never desperately eager to see me in their homes. What did I ever do to them?
I opened the lock in a few seconds. Actually, the thing on that door had no right to call itself by the proud name of “lock.” I pushed the door slightly open, parted the light, airy curtains with my hands, and slipped inside Count Balistan Pargaid’s house.
It’s pitch-dark in here. Where am I? I hope it’s not some old maid’s bedroom, or there’ll be shouting and screaming.
The floor in the room was covered with a carpet, so I didn’t make much noise. There was a thin strip of light under the door leading into the corridor. My eyes had already got used to the darkness now, and I could see pretty well.
I was in a large room with shelves lining the walls.
A library.
If I’d been there at a different time on different business, I would definitely have checked out a couple of the bookcases. The count was keen on antiquity, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there were books here from the early Dream Age, or even the Era of Achievements. On my way across the unlighted room I had to walk round a desk that stood out as a black patch against the dark gray background.
The heavy double doors of the library opened easily and I went out into the corridor.
It was empty.
That’s right, you respectable people, at this time of night the best thing to be doing is sleeping.
Unfortunately for me, some diligent swine had lit the oil lamps, and the little tongues of flame were trembling under their glass covers.
Now came the most difficult part, walking the full length of the corridor in this wing and slipping through a room or two to end up in the corridor beside the balcony overlooking the reception hall, then walking down the corridor with the portraits to reach Balistan Pargaid’s bedroom. Then I had to do what I’d come for, and go back the same way.
I tried to cover the dangerous stretch as quickly as possible. The thick pile of the carpet deadened my footsteps, and I didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing me. The doors on my right and my left were closed, and there wasn’t a sound from any of the rooms. I walked past one intersection where two corridors crossed. As far as I recalled, one of them led to the servants’ wing and the basement.
Aha, here’s the door I need.
I pressed down on the bronze handle, but it didn’t give. I had to take out my lock picks and fiddle with the lock, feeling for the spring. To say I felt uncomfortable would be putting it very mildly. Fiddling with a lock when there are lanterns burning on every side and any lunatic can see you from the far end of the corridor is nervous kind of work.
“Ah! Don’t talk n-nonsense, you stup-pid f-fool! I think what I s-said, was … hic! Yes…” I heard someone say behind the door opposite me.
“You’re drunk, O’Lack, where are you off to?”
“F-for a leak, you stup-pid f-fool! Or do you prefer … hic! P-pref … pah! Do you want me to d-do it right here?”
The lock clicked and I tumbled into the room and closed the door behind me, before the drunk could open his. I listened to what was going on the corridor. A man came out of the other room and walked away unsteadily. I stopped hearing his steps almost immediately—the carpet deadened every sound.
I was in one of the numerous guest rooms in this wing. And, to my roguish thief’s delight, it was empty. All I had to do was go over to the other door and open it to find myself on the balcony, so that’s what I did.
One glance was enough to make me jump back quickly into the shelter of the darkness. As the plan had shown, the balcony overlooked the inner courtyard of the count’s mansion.
For those who haven’t realized yet, the count’s mansion was built in the form of a square, with a little inner courtyard that was entered through a door on the first floor. There was a fountain murmuring gently in the yard, and a few feeble apple trees, with branches that barely reached as high as the second floor. A man was sitting under one of the trees, smoking a paper pipe stuffed with tobacco. The flickering of the little light was the only reason I spotted him.
Until that moment my plan had been very simple. Climb down the spider web into the courtyard, run to the wall of the opposite wing, and climb up the rope onto a balcony—and I would be close to the Key.
But thanks to this damned guard, all my efforts had been a total waste of time. He was looking straight in my direction, and if I climbed down the rope, he was bound to see me, even on a dark night like this. And running back through the corridors was pointless and dangerous; I could be spotted at any moment.
