The Thief King

40 | Hidden Coin

Chase placed the key on Ivan's desk, waiting for the inn keep to analyse it. Ivan looked from the key to Chase a few times before he set aside his quill and parchment, and reached for the key. Momentarily lost within the big, beefy hand, Ivan brought the key closer to his nose for inspection. The chair squeaked as Ivan leaned back, his belly a perch of for his arms.

"I expect a question to come with this key." Ivan sighed. "A room number I suppose, but I can do nothing without a name."

"The Cyllindalean ambassador." Chase hooked his foot in a chair leg and dragged it towards him. He sat and rested his elbows on his knees. "And yes, a room number if you will."

"No," Ivan said. "You cannot expect me to hand over a valued guest's possessions just because you demand it. I shall not encourage thievery on my own turf. You were foolish to come here, Lord Chestwick."

Chase sighed. "Perhaps." There were times even Chase stooped to reckless behaviour, but stupidity was a far different crime, however, taking offence would not help his case, nor spur Ivan into giving him the keys. He didn't have time to scour the entire inn, trying out each lock to match his key. He needed a number, a floor, and if Ivan would not give it to him willingly, he was prepared to pull it from him using what ever methods necessary.

"There is no possibility here, it is fact. You were an idiot to bring me the key and expect answers to aid you with your crimes. I permit your crimes because it sheds no shadow upon my establishment, but this" —he spread his hand so that the bronze key shone in the candlelight— "I shall not allow."

Chase inhaled slowly, he leaned back, extended his legs onto the desk, and crossed them at the ankles. Leaning back further, the front legs of the chair lifted and with a flick of his wrist, a dagger was in his hand. He twirled it, flipping it in the air and spinning it on its hilt in the centre of his palm.

"Some say idiocy leads men down foolish paths, others say circumstance." He looked to the wall behind Ivan's head, countless scrolls lay stacked on plain shelves, years' worth of accounts, records, and statements. "I cannot tell you what my reasons are for demanding such a boon from you, but be assured, I am leaving this office—one way or the other—with a room number and a floor. The manner in which I achieve possession of such information rests solely in your hands." He allowed the corners of his lips to flick up ever so slightly. "Choose wisely, Ivan. I would hate to ruin our friendship."

"Don't threaten me, boy."

"Or what?" Chase asked. "Ivan, I'm not a man to be underestimated. The last man to do so, well...it didn't end well for him. I'd hate to have to leave this office in a worse state than it's already in."

Ivan slammed his fists on the desk. "I do not need to hear your preachings. My answer is final. I call your bluff, pretty boy. I do not know what game you think–" his words were cut short as Chase's dagger flew past his left ear. Ivan winced, his hand covering the thin red line that extended from his cheek to his ear.

The chair Chase sat on landed on all four legs with a thud, and in the same movement Chase was standing, leaning over the table, his nose inches from Ivan's. "The next one's in that gut of yours if the next words out of your mouth aren't a set of numbers, and trust me, it's a slow death bleeding from your gut. A cruel death. Painful. I have dealt such a death to men who have annoyed me far less than you. I have watched them bleed, moan in their blood and shit as they lose control of their bowels. Something about death and pain makes men piss and shit themselves, you see?" Chase allowed the words to sink in, watched as Ivan's eyes went from wide saucers to acorns. "A room number, Ivan, and we can continue our business as if this night never happened."

Ivan swallowed, lifting his red fingers from his bleeding cheek. "I'll be ruined," he hissed, but reached for a ledger.

"Trust me," Chase said, sitting down again. "The ambassador will never know I was there. You have my word. As for the story about the key, you can expect the lord to return with a resounding headache. Spin whatever tale you wish, I can guarantee his problems won't start with a wayward key."