Daud said nothing. Norcross frowned, clearly annoyed by the apparent lack of interest and cleared his throat before continuing.
“Yes, well. Morgengaard Castle, I would have you know, is the historical seat of power of the old kings of Gristol, before the unification of the empire after the War of the Four Crowns,” said Norcross. “At the conclusion of that conflict, the last king of Gristol, Finlay Morgengaard the Sixth, had himself crowned as the first Emperor of the Isles and became Finlay Morgengaard the First. That was in the year 1626.”
Daud grunted and looked out the window as Norcross twittered on about the Morgengaard dynasty, how the first emperor made Dunwall his capital and established a parliament there the same year he was crowned, abandoning his ancestral home. Norcross seemed to know his history, and as Daud listened he wondered how much of that history the Outsider had a hand in.
The electric coach had reached the bridge linking the road to the castle. Leaning forward, Daud looked up at the large building and frowned.
“Looks almost new.”
Norcross grinned. “Remarkable, isn’t it? It was a ruin when I found it, much farther north, in point of fact, past even Poolwick, near a place called Gracht. I don’t suppose you have heard of that, either?”
“I don’t suppose I have.”
Norcross’s grin vanished. “Well, I found it. It took years of research, of course. When old Finlay left for Dunwall he let his ancestral pile fall into ruin, and it was soon forgotten. Do you know, there aren’t many interested in Gristol’s pre-imperial period? It’s almost as though theworld didn’t exist before the War of the Four Crowns. It’s a travesty.” Norcross sighed and sank back into his seat.
“So what, you built a replica here?”
Norcross laughed. “You misunderstand. This is Morgengaard Castle. I found it, verified it, claimed it, and moved it. Brick by brick, stone by stone, the most important historic building in Gristol’s history was relocated, right here. Rebuilt, reconstructed, repaired. Oh, and modernized, of course. The home of my personal collection. Ten years of work, but well worth it, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
Daud wasn’t quite sure what it was he had agreed to, except to accompany a very strange man back to his house. He wondered if he’d even met the real collector yet—oh, he didn’t doubt that the man sitting opposite him in the coach was Maximilian Norcross, but everything leading up to this point had been strange. The way he had played the part of his own agent in the pub in Porterfell, the way he had pretended to be a cowardly citizen being attacked in the alleyway before becoming the seasoned aristocratic soldier, wielding his swordstick with skill, and summoning guards from some kind of private army. And now, Norcross the historian, the public benefactor, the savior of Gristol’s forgotten past.
An eccentric collector? A businessman entertaining a potentially profitable client?
Or was he something else?
Daud didn’t know if he was worrying too much, or not enough. He decided on the former. All that mattered was the mission. And if Norcross had the Twin-bladed Knife inside his private kingdom, then all he had to do was take it.
Which meant he had to start making a plan. As the coach drove through the castle’s arched gatehouseand into the inner courtyard, Daud began by making a tally of Norcross’s men. There had been six of them in the alleyway in Porterfell, plus the two driving their electric carriage.
Eight.
Eight was easy.
The coach stopped, the sudden absence of the electric motor’s whine after two hours of travel leaving a dull ringing in Daud’s ears. A moment later, the door to the coach’s passenger compartment was opened from the outside. Norcross gestured to him.
“Please, after you.”
Daud stepped down into the courtyard and looked around. Norcross’s castle was indeed huge, the high walls now enclosing them on all sides, and he could see more uniformed men moving within. Of course, a place this size, Norcross would have a large staff, although not all of them would be armed guards like the men in the long blue coats. Glancing around, Daud saw several people inside, but only one dressed like the coach attendants who stood waiting for their master’s instruction.
Nine.
Parked ahead of them was another coach, the passenger compartment open, the engine cover steaming in the night air—the carriage that had brought Norcross’s six bodyguards, and the female bandit, as well as the body of her companion. Daud wasn’t sure what Norcross was going to do with her, and he wasn’t going to ask. It was none of his business.
As Daud stood in the courtyard, he felt the Mark of the Outsider flare. He hissed between his teeth, and lifted his hand, flexing his fingers. The burning sensation faded.
Then he looked up, and saw Norcross was looking at him through his monocle again.
Norcross nodded, then dropped the eyepiece.
“Follow me. I have a lot to show you.”
* * *
The interior of the castle was as impressive as the exterior, but clearly little of it was original to the time of Finlay Morgengaard. Instead, Daud found himself in a modern mansion, the double-wide corridors lit with gently humming electric lighting, the floors laid with plush red carpet, making their footfalls silent as Norcross led Daud on a tour of his collection.
And it was, Daud had to admit, impressive. Morgengaard Castle was huge, and Norcross had managed to fill just about every available space with objects, art, and treasure. The collector led Daud through five long galleries of arms and armor, explaining how his collection included artifacts from every part of the Empire. As they walked, Daud looked over strange, twisted spears and highly decorated shields from far-flung islands, articulated suits of armor from Morley and Gristol, heavy, all-weather gear fit for the tundra of Tyvia, lightweight boiled-leather armor from Karnaca. The armory galleries were arranged chronologically, and as they approached
