A Mischievous Tale of Magical Mayhem

11 | Disturbing Discoveries and Close Calls

This is insane, Ben thought, as he surveyed Grelorn Tremesian's property from the branches of a sturdy kapok tree growing just beyond the outer wall.

This whole scheme was insane; Ben knew it the moment the elf suggested it.

He'd be better off taking his chances, leaving on his own, and forgetting 'Tallon Colbert of Sagehand' and his fancy finery. The knife would fetch ten gold easily—more than enough to set him up in style.

The thought had occurred to him, yes; and yet here he was, about to get himself killed over a few papers in a dangerous man's desk.

Swearing under his breath, he adjusted his position and continued his observations.

The manor house rested at the crest of a gentle hill, surrounded by neatly maintained gardens and lawns, cared for by the many servants employed or indentured by the estate. The house itself had three stories, a wide portico supported by tall columns, and rows of high windows. Golden lamplight shone from some of these, but most were dark.

Despite appearances, Ben knew better than to think there was no one home.

As he watched, a man carrying a lantern came around the side of the house, his booted feet crunching on the gravel path as he patrolled the grounds. He wasn't alone, either, and Ben shrank back into the leafy branches as a pair of large, muscular dogs with short, dark fur and long legs came trotting after their master, noses pressed to the ground. He held his breath as they ran over, quite close to the bottom of the wall beneath his branch, and sniffed about in the fallen leaves.

"Oy! Scabber! Mangey!" the man called. "Git over 'ere and stop eatin' shit!"

The dogs ran off again, and a moment later, the trio disappeared around the side of the house.

Ben had accompanied Brixby to Grelorn's manor twice in the past: once to pay their taxes to the merchant's guild, and once to lodge a complaint after Brixby discovered he'd been overcharged twice on the same order of Ordovian Brandy. Thanks to this happenstance, Ben knew Grelorn did his usual business in a large, well lit room on the second floor of the house, and his 'other' business, in an adjacent chamber.

Getting into the main office would be easy; it was that inner room which presented the challenge. He just hoped Sprout was up to it.

For a man with secrets, Grelorn practically invited thieves; the house's elaborate facade proved perfect for climbing, and Ben was unlatching a second-floor window and stepping into the darkened interior in the space of a few breaths.

Once inside, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness before padding across the polished wood floors to the paneled inner wall.

The door to the inner chamber was almost indistinguishable from the wall itself. His knowledge of this fact was the only reason he'd agreed to this plan in the first place. It turned a suicide mission into an extremely risky, but still possible, pursuit.

"What do you think?" he whispered, as the sproutling wriggled from its favorite place behind his left ear and skittered down his arm to investigate the lock. "Can you do it?"

Sprout looked up at him and made a strange chittering squeak. Then, turning its attention to the lock, it inserted two twig-like fingers, the thorny claws of which Ben swore were three times longer than before, and felt about inside the mechanism. Ben heard a soft 'snick,' tried the nob again, and nearly laughed aloud with relief when the door opened.

Slipping inside, he found himself in total darkness and fumbled in his pocket for a match. Striking it against the wall, he blinked in the bright flare, located the nearest lamp, and lit the wick.