Twilight's End

Part 3 - The Job

Vessa snorted and approached the wall, running her hands over the vines to make sure there weren't any hidden thorns. "And how will you feel if you're wrong, and I explode into flame?"

"Mildly guilty."

"Mildly guilty," she repeated under her breath as she pulled herself up. She hesitated at the top, pushing aside the thought of what might become of her if Del hadn't succeeded in fully unraveling the ward, then swung herself over and dropped down.

Vessa didn't combust when she landed in the long grass, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The garden on this side was more sculpted, with tiled paths wending between low hedges and tidy beds of faintly glowing moonblossoms. She put two fingers to her lips and trilled a rough approximation of the songbird she had heard earlier, and a few moments later an even worse rendition echoed back.

While Del scaled the wall, Vessa crept closer to the manse, alert for any sign of movement. There were no guards that she could see, which seemed a trifle odd given the value of what the Night Brotherhood had stolen. Perhaps they placed all their faith on the wards woven into the garden wall – Vessa had found that those who were not sorcerers themselves sometimes put too much trust in the efficacy of spells.

Del completed his awkward-sounding descent with a thump and a pained grunt, and Vessa held up her fist for quiet. Moments later he came up beside her, limping.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

"Ah, I suppose so. Twisted my ankle when I fell – I thought there would be vines on this side of the wall as well to hold on to."

"No vines. No guards, either. How about more wards?"

Del paused for a moment and cocked his head, as if listening intently. "Not that I can sense. There's an odd resonance coming from the manse, but it doesn't feel protective in nature."

"Might be the Eye. Can you tell where it's located?"

"It's a bit muddled but I think it's coming from the second story."

"Then let's start there."

They skirted the manse, keeping to the deeper shadows pooled by the garden's hedgerows. Vessa watched the windows carefully, but she saw no flicker of light or any other indication that someone was inside. Vessa nudged Del and pointed at a balcony hanging over an arched portico. After he gave her arm an answering squeeze, she dashed across the grass and pressed herself flat against the wall. 

With a grace honed from countless similar escapades, she pulled herself up the wall and slipped over the balcony. She peered through a pair of open wooden doors into the manse's shadowed interior, and although darker shapes hinted at various bits of furniture – a few high-backed chairs, a large chest, perhaps – she couldn't with any confidence say what lay within. Vessa uncoiled the rope she had brought and dangled it down to where Del waited below, bracing herself.

Soon he joined her on the balcony. She had a suspicion, despite his heavy breathing, that most of the effort of pulling him up had come from her own back and arms. City life had certainly softened him – when Vessa had first met Del, he had been but a scrawny boy, winnowed to bone and muscle by a decade of hauling water up steep mountain paths for the Weavers. Not anymore.

Vessa began moving towards the open doorway, but Del laid a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. She knew why: almost certainly another set of wards infested the interior of the manse, and for that reason Del brushed past her, creeping forward with what little stealth he could muster. A floorboard creaked before he had gone more than a half dozen steps into the room; Vessa winced, and Del froze at the sound.