So yeah, of course it had to rain . . .

Rain isn't good. The danger the rain posed to risky activities, such as climbing walls and running on rooftops, was substantial. Also, there was the inconvenience of not being able to wear my best skulking garments. (my color-changing thoughtcloth doesn't work all that well in the rain, and it's murder to try to get dry) As well, there was the poor visibility – the thief I was looking for could very well be on the same roof as me and I might not see him.

In addition to all these factors, well . . . rain just sort of sucks in general. Five hours spent in the rain is really only fun if you're a flower, and I'm pretty certain that even flowers get sick of it after a while.

Still, I suppose it suited my mood. It had been late morning when I'd sat down and talked with Talia, and I'd seen her on many occasions the rest of the day. Each time we had encountered each other since our talk, her behavior was startlingly reminiscent of a jeweler who strongly suspects that you're wasting their time and not really interested in buying anything from them, but who decides to be pleasant and ingratiating anyways. I asked her several times if anything was the matter, and she'd cheerfully informed me each time that there wasn't, smiling in a manner that was so upbeat and friendly that I'd have to be an utter moron to believe her.

I suspected she wasn't entirely convinced of the rationale I used for gently discouraging her romantic notions - that she doubted my sincerity and presumed I had simply rejected her. I detected undercurrents of anger and smoldering resentment whenever I was near her, producing a feeling in me that seemed equal parts sad, wistful, and distressed.

Once evening fell, I was able to slink downstairs to the exercise hall and take refuge in my private meeting with Cyrus and Theo, discussing the details of what we would each be doing that evening. Things very quickly soured there as well, Cyrus revealing that someone had actually attempted a daytime robbery just that afternoon, bringing the total number of robbery attempts to three in the span of the past day alone.

Theo immediately insisted that I abandon the notion of focusing on the culprit who had made off with his sword, telling me that tracking the scoundrel down could wait, that three burglary attempts in a single day was absolutely ridiculous, and that I was a fool if I didn't stay and attempt to lock my keep up tighter than a lute string.

I advised my friend once more to shut up . . . louder this time.

As it turns out, Theo is nearly as protective of me as I am of him, and the debate regarding my security raged on for at least an hour, ending with Theo glumly promising he'd visit with his neighboring Lord as planned, but only because Cyrus had assured him he'd be working on the map while in my study, which was where all of my unwelcome visitors were attempting to break into in the first place. Clearly, the stresses of our various situations were beginning to wear on us, and everyone was feeling kind of miserable.

However, I noted bitterly, I was the only one of us who had to spend all night in the rain.

I felt a slight ticking sensation coming from the band wrapped around my wrist, which I'd almost missed for all the light taps of raindrops that peppered the dark cloak I'd kept wrapped tightly around my body. I grunted slightly, folding up my spyglass (which was pretty useless and blurry at the moment, now that the glass lens had gotten wet) and began stretching a little in order to ready myself for the now-familiar trip from my current perch at Tudor's place back to the one I'd found at Blackstaag Keep.

A few moments later I was on my way.

Although I dislike taking the same route more than once when sneaking about, there were only so many ways you could get from Tudor to Blackstaag efficiently. The path I'd settled on the past few times involved creeping atop the string of warehouse buildings that lined a fairly dark alley, and then dropping behind a fence protecting some industrious shopkeeper's attempt at a vegetable garden. From there it was a hop over another fence to a small chapel built near Blackstaag's retaining wall, which had some very climbable eves, and that also did a fair job of hiding a knotted rope that I'd left tied up to the outer wall after my first visit.

None of his guards actually roamed the tops of the walls if walkways weren't built onto them, so it was unlikely that anyone would see me, even as I climbed up. I did so quickly.

Once atop the wall I carefully skirted the perimeter of the lush, tree-filled garden that it encircled, following it until I encountered the second wall, where his real security was. The wall itself was about three stories high, surrounded his keep, had walkways built onto the top of it, and had guard posts that resembled small houses, one in each of the corners and with several knights roaming between them. They looked about as happy to be in the rain as I was.

As with the many times before, I simply had to scale the wall near one of the corners and wait at the very top until the two knights stationed there performed their portion of the patrol. At that point I would scramble on top of the very guard post that sheltered them, making myself at home on its roof. It was the safest place to be spending long periods of time – after all, who in their right mind would hide from a Lord's knights on the roof of their own guard post?

I crouched in a patch of shadow at the bottom of the incline where it met the wall I stood on, and waited for them to depart for the approximately thirty or so seconds their patrol of the area would take. It happened about every ten minutes, but I had to keep a close eye on them the entire time. Thirty seconds was almost precisely the amount of time it took for me to climb the wall, grab the lip of the roof, pull myself up upon it without making a sound, and then lie flat so that I couldn't be seen by the knights as they returned to their post.

I wondered how annoyed they'd be if they knew that the very person they were keeping a watchful eye out for had been perched over their heads for a good portion of the evening. Of course, in point of fact, I'd been helping them do their job this whole time, but they likely wouldn't care about that. Especially if they actually spied me wandering around their Lord's estate.

This would be the last trip of the night, I decided, and this the last half-hour I'd be spending on top of the guard post. Dawn would be sneaking up on the city in an hour or so, and hiding places that worked wonderfully at night became laughably obvious once the sun was up. I'd return to my Keep, wet and miserable after another thirty minutes or so of watching, likely forced to call the evening a dismal failure. I'd gotten up too early that morning to deal with Freyla, and although I'd promised myself a nap that afternoon, it had never actually materialized, a few urgent matters popping up and demanding my personal attention. (Everything seems to demand your attention when you haven't gotten enough sleep.)

There was some conversation coming from the guard tower that I could hear if not actually understand, the speakers choosing to talk in the tongue of their native Garmuth. One of the knights was saying something that sounded a bit like 'Ack ack, duck-freeze' followed by several words that sounded as though they were inspired by a badger trying to rid itself of some phlegm. The second knight laughed a bit once the first knight was done speaking, and then said something equally phlegmy in return.

Being paranoid by nature, I've always hated it when people speak in languages other than Haraelian. What I heard could have been a joke of some sort, friendly camaraderie, or it could just as easily have been Garmuthian for “Hey, look at that shape down there in the shadows. I think I'll fire a few arrows at it, just for fun.”

Both knights emerged from the wood and stone structure at the same time, hoods pulled over their heads to greet the rain. I prepared myself for yet another climb up the patch of wall I'd been making friends with, waiting for the moment when both guards' backs were turned and they were walking away from me. A few moments later I saw what I'd been waiting for, scrambled up the wall, leapt upwards and grabbed on to the roof edge of the guard post.

Now, you might mistakenly believe all sorts of unkind lies about what actually happened next. I'm only human, after all, and it was raining a bitterly cold sort of spring rain that made everything slick and slippery. I could feel my fingers curling themselves into claw-like shapes even as I'd been climbing, and I'd had very little sleep that day. It could even be suggested that I'd become somewhat overconfident in my abilities, having performed this series of moves flawlessly over a half-dozen times that evening, and that I simply wasn't paying attention.

None of this is true. That roof tile was loose, damn it.

I will admit to letting out a truly surprised “Yerg!”, my fingers clawing uselessly at the air as I fell, attempting to grab on to the roof or anything else handy. I let out an equally surprised “Ooomph!” when my back slapped against the stone floor, my swinging momentum actually carrying me inside the guard post, via the open window.

I took two agonizing seconds to lay there, coughing painfully, and I was momentarily convinced that I'd never be able to breathe again. One second later I was forced to revise that theory, noisily gasping my chest full of air, now equally convinced that I'd never be able to breathe without excruciating pain ever again.

And, of course, a second after that I found myself staring up at the faces of two knights, who were looking down at me with very startled, unfriendly expressions.

“Hi,” I coughed, giving them a feeble wave.

Before giving them a chance to react, I flipped from my back over into a crouch and leapt towards the unoccupied exit, opposite the two astonished knights, cloak fluttering behind me, running like a bastard.

This is where you can spot the difference between a good thief and a great one, so I've been told. Even wracked with pain, breath knocked out of me, limbs suddenly heavy with shock, cold and damp and unexpectedly running atop a thin parapet connecting one guard post to the next . . . I wasn't worried. I knew the two knights behind me would recover and begin running after me – that's what people on guard duty did. I calmly looked at my surroundings, eyes taking in the quality of the stonework and the small gargoyle statue crouched on the ledge up ahead. I registered without panic the two new cloaked figures that I spied running towards me from the other guard post, even as I was running towards them. I very coolly noted the fact that they'd both pulled very dangerous looking swords from their belts, and that both knew the proper way to run while holding razor-sharp steel.

Okay, so I was a little worried.

Running towards the gargoyle, my hand scrambled into my right inside pocket and pulled out my coil of break-rope, fingers quickly determining the location of the loop at the very end of it. I stretched this loop open wide, wrapping it around the statue's neck like a noose and yanking on it experimentally before throwing myself from the roof in a clumsy-looking dive, frantic and unintelligible yelling erupting on either side of me as I did so.

Whatever my dive lacked in grace and beauty, it made up for in excruciating, bone-jarring pain. Each of the hundreds of strands making up the break-rope began snapping at their respective lengths, slowing my fall fractionally with a reedy 'twang' each time they did. Having sustained a fresh injury to about the same area where my harness was attached, the sensation was more or less like falling from a tree and having every branch hit you in the ribs all the way down. By the time I'd landed safely but heavily upon the grass at the bottom of the three-story wall, my arms had reflexively wrapped themselves around my torso, and I was coughing mightily, broken and unbroken web-like strands of rope still clinging to me as I lay there.

I pulled out a knife and quickly cut the collection of threads nearest where it met my chest as I unsteadily got to my feet, looking up at the faces of the guards who were looking down at me. One rather daring fellow was already attempting to climb down the thread-like remains of the break-rope I'd left hanging around the gargoyle's neck, presumably to pursue me. I allowed myself to chuckle at the surprise that the unfortunate guardsman had in store for him. The string I use for break-ropes is made especially for me, the very center of each strand treated with something that causes the threads to smolder and burn when broken and exposed to the air. In moments there would be nothing left of the rope itself but the faint, musty smell of flitleaf, leaving the unsuspecting guard's ash-covered hands clutching the outside of the wall he'd begun climbing down, a rather precarious situation I would imagine. Why even now, the ends of the rope I held were-

. . . doing nothing. I inspected the end I was holding closely. It was warm in addition to being wet, which-

Rain. Crap.

I saw a second guard follow the first one down the dismayingly functional repelling rope I'd left for them, and it took me very little time to decide that I needed to vacate the premises quickly. More guards were being rallied by the shouts of alarm and surprise I heard from above me, and I had no doubt that the ones on the ground would be able to figure out what was going on and coordinate their efforts rather quickly.

My first instinct was to run East, towards my keep, and I ignored it. I'd been spotted at close range by at least two guardsmen, which meant that they'd seen my face. If they'd been specifically told to watch for me, and then they actually saw me skulking around their territory, the guards would probably figure that I'd head straight for my own territory upon being discovered.

If you're interested in getting caught, the best way to accomplish it is by doing exactly what your pursuers believe you'll do.

I turned North and sprinted back towards the chapel yard, in the direction of Tudor's territory.

The closest any of them got was within about thirty yards or so. I ran down a street that had a food-shop at the end, at which point I cornered sharply around the shop to my right and ran East a half-dozen steps before tearing away in a Northerly direction once more.

The sound of rain covered up the relatively quiet sounds of my soft-bottomed boots flying over the street cobbles as I attempted to put as much distance between Blackstaag's knights and myself as I could. They'd probably lost sight of me at a three-way corner the shop was at. If I was very lucky they'd believe I'd continued heading East once I'd cornered the building, assuming I wished to get back to my own Keep via the shortest route possible.

My luck didn't seem to be going so well lately. I kept running, not bothering to check if I was still being pursued.

Sprinting for a good minute, I didn't slow until I saw a funny little two-story building with an oddly constructed roof and low-hanging wooden sign. I risked a quick look behind me, finding no trace of anyone in the dark street.

Careful not to touch the sign itself or set it to swinging back and forth, I jumped up and took hold of the metal rod supporting it, pulling myself up. Clamoring over the strangely-crafted wood-tiled roof, I made my way to the top of the second story of the building and lay in a spot where I wouldn't be seen from the street. I couldn't make out any sound but the steady roar of raindrops frantically flinging themselves upon the surrounding buildings.

Allowing myself a few rasping gasps as I worked air in and out of my chest, I closed my eyes. For the first time that whole evening I took a moment to appreciate how cold the rain felt against my forehead.

I went through a mental checklist of things that hurt.

“Ow, ow ow, and ow,” I said quietly, hand coming to rest on my forehead. “Damn it!”

There were very few situations that were so bad that they could not somehow be made worse. For example, I suspected that in a very short while several of Blackstaag's knights would be reporting directly to the Lord himself, relaying the news that they'd observed Lord Vincent Tucat, in the flesh, attempting to gain access to the Blackstaag grounds for some nefarious purpose. I'd just provided fresh fuel to the very idea that all of these assorted thefts were my doing.

I let myself stew over that for a good twenty minutes, the rain beading on my forehead. Useless. Worse than useless – not only had I not made any headway attempting to discover anything new about my situation, but I'd even managed to unnecessarily complicate that situation by getting careless and sloppy while performing the simple act of scaling a wall.

(Yes, I said careless. The tile wasn't really all that loose, I admit it. There, are you happy?)

Carefully making my way back to the street level, and taking great pains to ensure that there was nobody around to observe me doing so, I skulked unobtrusively down a few narrow streets with my sopping wet cloak held tightly about my shoulders, the hood covering my head despite the fact that my hair was already quite thoroughly soaked.

I called myself all sorts of terrible things when it was safe to do so, taking an extremely roundabout path back to Tucat Keep so as not to be anywhere near where Blackstaag's knights may have been roaming while they were looking for me. Dawn arrived, though with the overcast sky you could have easily missed it.

Once I crossed over into my territory I was sorely tempted to spend a moment in one of the many shops that were just opening up, avail myself of some hot tea or some fragrant oil, shake off some of the cold that I could feel clear through to my bones. I had these things at home though, and I'd asked Cyrus and Theo to meet me around dawn. I didn't want either of them to worry that something might have happened to me.

Of course, I would have to share with them the unfortunate fact that I'd been spotted sneaking around Blackstaag Keep, going so far as to fall at two of his knight's feet. Dreadfully embarrassing.

I'd had four hours of sleep in the past two days, and felt like I'd been worked over with a club. I'd fallen flat on my back right in front of two knights while trying to be sneaky, I was shivering miserably in my sopping wet clothes and coughing in a way that probably wasn't good, and I was still no closer to figuring anything out. I continued to trudge along my round-about path back to Tucat Keep, scouring my memories for yet more vivid and unflattering names I could call myself. Fifteen minutes later I was walking through my front gates and into my Keep, wondering how my day could possibly get any worse.

Once inside, and before I even had a chance to take my dripping wet cloak off of my tired and aching shoulders, I found out exactly how much worse it could get.

“Milord Tucat!” Cyrus practically cried out upon seeing me, holding a compressed wad of something towel-like to the side of his head, his voice an emotional study of misery and failure. “We've been burgled!”

I stopped mid-step, looking at him warily. I blinked.

“Okay, well it probably had to happen sooner or later, I suppose. Not entirely unexpected, but not the end of the world either. We've done pretty good up to this point, but quite frankly even I'm a little surprised we managed to hold-”

“Milord,” he interrupted, his every word practically coming out as an anguished sob, “in the study, the library! They stole the first of your father's journals!”