Jeff Crook - The Thieves’ Guild

“Why would I steal from myself? I already purchased the dragonflower pollen!” Jenna barked.

The Thorn Knight then turned to Master Gaeord. The master of the house flushed, then began to stammer, “Yes, there were others! I… uh… the captain of my ship… his officers… the crew might have discovered… servants… enemies… household spies!”

“Well, it is useless to speculate at this point. I must have more data,” Sir Arach said with a grim smile. It was obvious that he was enjoying his little performance. “As I was saying,” he continued, “Having procured the pollen, he then made his escape…”

“But where did he then go?” Gaeord asked.

“An excellent question, and one that will help solve this case,” Sir Arach said, as he rubbed his hands together. “Did he make his exit through the loft or the house?”

A maid appeared at the doorway and cleared her throat. As Sir Arach turned his eyes upon her, she curtsied, then said in a voice hurried by her nervousness, “M’lord said to notify him of anything out of the ordinary.”

“What is it, Mira?” Gaeord asked.

“We’ve found something at the balcony, sir,” she squeaked.

“Lead the way!” the Thorn Knight shouted in excitement. The maid fled in a swirl of cotton skirts.

Together, Sir Arach, Mistress Jenna, and Gaeord uth Wotan made their way to the balcony overlooking the main entrance to the house. The maid having long since disappeared, Gaeord led them along a circuitous route through the more fashionably decorated parts of the house, pausing occasionally to adjust the hang of a valuable painting here, running his hand lovingly along the rim a priceless vase there, using all the tricks he usually employed to impress his more frequent but less-notable visitors. However, every time his eyes met those of Mistress Jenna, he found her staring at him as though she thought him quite capable of trying to cheat her. Meanwhile, Sir Arach grew so impatient with Gaeord’s diversions that he finally shoved the wealthy merchant aside and took the lead. The Thorn Knight’s rapid, deliberate stride brought them quickly to their destination. Gaeord could barely suppress his astonishment that Sir Arach seemed to know the way, even taking a secret door that cut thirty steps from their journey.

They arrived at the balcony through the large gilded mahogany door. Two guards, still wearing their holiday ribbons, stood near the hall entrance flanked by the bronze statues. On the floor at the feet of one of these statues lay a palm-wide strip of black cloth about three feet long. It was to this that they directed Sir Arach’s attention. He lifted it carefully by one corner and held it up to the sunlight streaming through window.

“Curious material,” he noted. “I know the weaver. He shall be questioned. Hello! What’s this?” He plucked something from the hem. “The thorn of a rose. Now we are getting somewhere. The material itself has been cut by a sharp instrument. The cut is not straight, which indicates that a tailor’s scissors did not shear it. It looks rather more like the veil cut in twain by an expert swordsman.” He eyed the statues for a moment, then nodded as though his suspicions were confirmed. He then held the cloth to his nose and sniffed deeply, while his eyes wandered over the room, taking in every detail.

Suddenly, he dropped the cloth and dashed to the head of the stairs, where one of numerous marble busts stood atop its pedestal set in a deep niche along the wall. He stared at it intensely for a moment, then turned his eyes to the floor behind the pedestal.

Seeing his interest, Gaeord remarked, “That is a bust of Vinas Solumnus. It was carved by the renowned sculptor Makennen in the year-”

“Yes, I know!” Sir Arach snarled without turning. “I find its position more of interest than its quality, which is quite poor, I assure you. It’s an obvious forgery.”

“A forgery!” Gaeord fairly screeched. “Why I paid over-”

Again, Sir Arach interrupted him. “Be that as it may, you have taken such great care with the perfect placement of the thirteen other busts along this wall that I find it difficult to believe you would leave this one so carelessly out of line. Why look, he faces almost a quarter turn away.”

“Remarkable,” Mistress Jenna said with obvious disdain. “I applaud your keen observation.”

Sir Arach glared at her for a moment. “It proves that one thief, at least, entered by way of the front door.”

“Impossible,” Gaeord interjected.

“I was on guard at that door all night, sir,” one of the guards protested. “No thief got by me, I assure you!”

“Nevertheless, he did ‘get by you,’ as you so eloquently put it,” Sir Arach replied caustically. “He ascended these stairs, hid here for a moment behind the pedestal, then made his way under the arch protected by those two magical and highly illegal bronze guardians, who only managed to slice a few inches of cloth from his cloak. A most clever and resourceful adversary. I shall enjoy capturing him. Now, to the front door, where I am sure we shall find more of interest.”

With these words, like a hound upon a scent the Thorn Knight flew down the stairs, his gray robes fluttering around him in his speed. The others followed more slowly. They found Sir Arach crawling about the grass plot near the doorway. The owl, still perched on its stand by the door, eyed him sleepily.

As the others strode out into the bright morning sunlight, Sir Arach rose slowly to his feet, wrinkling his brow. He searched the ground with his eyes while his long, spatulate fingers nervously scratched his chin.

“Why, what ever is the matter?” Mistress Jenna mockingly asked.

“Most curious. Most curious indeed,” the Thorn Knight answered distractedly. “Here, as you can see, are the same foot- prints as those left in the dust behind the pedestal. They are quite unique, I assure you. There can be no mistake that they are identical. Observe the square toe and the curious oaken leaf pattern on the left heel.”

Jenna and Gaeord leaned over the spot he indicated, but they saw nothing other than a blade or two of grass that might have been bent by a heavy tread.

Shrugging, Jenna asked, “So what is the mystery?”

“They go the wrong way. They do not enter the house, they leave it,” he answered. “And there is something most strange about them. I cannot put my finger on it, something about the way…” His voice trailed off as he turned and walked slowly along the front of the house, his eyes scouring the ground at his feet, pausing occasionally to examine a blade of grass or touch an indentation only his eyes could see.

Jenna strolled along behind him, with Gaeord trailing the famous sorceress so that he wouldn’t have to feel her eyes boring into his back. As they walked, Mistress Jenna muttered angrily to herself. Gaeord stepped closer to hear.

“Waste of time. Why doesn’t he just use his magic to solve it? Over-brained fool. I could track down the thief with a spell at any time,” she grumbled.

“Why don’t you then?” Gaeord asked.

“What?” She spun round, and Gaeord was sorry he’d asked.

“That’s his job!” she spat, pointing at the Thorn Knight. “I’ll not waste my magic chasing…” She let the words die on her lips as Gaeord stared at her curiously.

Sir Arach stopped by the fountain and knelt. As Jenna and Gaeord approached, he said, “The thief paused here for a time. I wonder why, unless…” He crawled away, his nose almost to the ground.

“Here!” he announced. “The light tread of a lady’s slippers, perhaps a girl. She was dancing.”

“Dancing, you say?” Gaeord asked, the blood draining from his face.

“An accomplice?” Jenna asked.