They say that everyone is capable of cold-blooded murder given the right circumstances. I had a feeling I'd just found mine.

I'd been sitting there for gods knew how long, in my familiar spot on the couch in my exercise hall, and I'd just become aware of the fact that I was holding a drink in my right hand, though I couldn't honestly say whether or not I'd actually had any of it yet. Truthfully, it could have been my third such drink . . . my tongue tasted like the underside of a candlemaker's shoe.

I felt numb all over, and not from the cold. It appeared as though I were done sneezing for the moment however, which was good.

The muted sound of Cyrus's voice could be heard as he bawled out members of my staff from somewhere outside of the room, heatedly telling the various knights in his charge what it was that they'd be doing, should have been doing, and in some cases warning them what he was capable of doing if they failed to perform exactly as he wished. Ordinarily I would have gently suggested he not take it out on them, but I didn't.

My father's first journal - they could hardly have hurt me worse. There was nothing in my collection of treasures that I valued more. I'd lost track of how many times I'd read it.

I knew intellectually that my books could be stolen, of course, but it was one of those things you simply didn't do. To steal a book from someone was ridiculously poor taste to begin with, but to steal a book that was written by someone's ancestors was nearly unthinkable. Serious duels were fought over stuff like that. People ended up dead in alleyways, all sorts of unpleasant stuff done to them (before, during, or after they'd died) for attempting something as impolite as that.

Sneezing once again, I noticed that Theo was watching me from the chair across from mine, still looking glum. Possibly more so, since he'd learned what had gone missing from my study. At least there was one bright spot in all this. Before, all I could say to him about his sword was “I'm sorry” . . . now I could actually say “I know how you feel.”

Eternal freaking optimist, that's me.

“Question for you,” I said through a sniff, putting my drink down on the end table to my right, and then picking up the ornate vase that was sitting in the middle of that same table. I lightly tossed it in the air a couple of times as I considered the object. “When you found out your sword was stolen and you broke all that stuff in your study, did you feel better afterwards?”

“Honestly,” he said, looking slowly from me to the vase and then back to me, “not really.”

I sighed, putting the vase back down in the center of the table, gently.

“Well, what does help for that sort of thing, if you don't mind my asking?” I asked, brushing a lock of nearly dried hair out of my face, taking a sip of unmixed Alledesh absinthe, and then suddenly wishing I hadn't. Face puckering, I reached for a nearby pitcher of water to dilute it before my next sip, just in case I wished to actually taste anything in the next day or so.

“I'll tell you what works once I actually find something that makes me feel better. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will involve cradling my sword gently in my arms and cooing 'there there' noises at it. Hey, sounds like your man Cyrus is wrapping up his tirade,” Theo said, gesturing with his head towards the door.

Shortly after he'd spoken, I could make out the sharp click of Cyrus's boots from the hallway, the now familiar pattern of stomps and grunts as he leapt awkwardly over the many alarms and trip-wires that guarded this room. A moment later the door swung open, and Cyrus strode in, his back far too straight.

He walked briskly towards us, stopping sharply when he was six feet or so away. He clicked his heels together as he saluted crisply, standing at attention. I groaned inwardly.

“Milord, I've spoken with all the knights on duty, and they will be going over the grounds in addition to their regular duties to see if they can find any traces of the intruder that might be of import. They have instructions to report to me immediately upon finding something. Also, I've dispatched a courier to Greybridge Keep to let them know that we'll be requiring a half-dozen more knights for your security here. In addition-”

“Cyrus,” I said quietly, “please take your seat.”

“I wish to apologize, Milord, for this was my fault. I was in charge of the security in your absence, and your father's book was stolen during that time. I accept full responsibility.”

“Yes, I see. Sit down, will you?”

“Milord, I would rather not,” he said, stiffly.

“Cyrus,” I frowned at my unhappy Captain, “I have no doubt that you acted in a proper manner, and that this is no fault of yours. If you're feeling responsible, you should sit down and explain what happened. I'll listen, point out that all of your actions were perfectly reasonable, and then I'll demand that you absolve yourself of guilt immediately.”

“But Milord-”

“And if that's not enough, I'll go and solicit the services of an 'agony aunt' right away, and the both of you can sit down and have a good cry until you're feeling less guilty and are actually useful to me in some way,” I said matter-of-factly. “Drop the 'stiff upper lip' routine immediately, Captain . . . we don't have time for it. If you'd prefer that things go back to the way they were a half-year ago, with me leaving you in the dark about all of my plans and the motivation behind them, you be sure to let me know. If not, I suggest you start showing some traces of the Cyrus Crowfoot whose opinion I value, who has been masterfully managing his Lord's affairs and security at both of his Keeps these past several months, and who I actually consider to be a friend. One of the first things I'd point out is that that Cyrus wouldn't be standing there at attention like some silly copper soldier when he'd been offered a seat.”

Looking embarrassed, he glanced behind him before sitting down in his usual chair.

“I'm sorry, Milord, it's just . . . I know what that book meant to you.”

“Means to me, Cyrus. We're going to get it back, so no moping or feeling guilty, neh? You don't see Lord Haundsing trying to claim that he's somehow responsible for my book getting stolen, do you?”

Theodore looked even more miserable. “Vince, you know . . . it is my fault tha-”

“Shut up, Theo. You're ruining my extremely touching and well orchestrated point,” I said, waggling a finger warningly at him. The severity of my expression was ruined suddenly by an explosive sneeze that caught me by surprise, one I barely managed to cover properly.

I sniffed.

“I understand Milord,” said Cyrus, his hand pulling his wadded towel from somewhere and reapplying it to his temple, which was sporting the beginnings of a very large bruise. “I just wished for you to know that I feel awful.”

“Well speaking of feeling awful, let's discuss your head. How did that come about?” I asked, waving at his injury.

Cyrus grimaced.

“Actually, I'd prefer if we cover that part last so that I might go over the events of the evening sequentially. Plus,” he favored me with a sheepish look, “it was pretty silly, and I feel like a bit of an idiot.”

“Cyrus, I managed to slip and fall into a guard post with two of Lord Blackstaag's knights in it, in addition to everything else that I've been a complete idiot about lately. I guarantee that my idiocy can top yours rather handily. The only one among us who hasn't proven himself to be a complete idiot these past few days is our good man Theodore here,” I said, gesturing sideways at my burly friend.

“I accidentally stabbed Lord Knottail,” Theo said glumly.

Cyrus and I both looked to Theo in unison. There was silence for a good long second.

“What?” he said, regarding both of us defensively. “I said it was accidental. He was showing me his sword collection, we'd been drinking, and I was showing him a move or two . . . and I guess the 'how to parry' lesson didn't quite stick. Nicked a rib, but he said he'll be fine.”

“Okay, well . . . you see?” I said, gesturing once more to Theo while looking to my Knight-Captain with a grin. “Hearing something like that certainly makes me feel better about how silly I've been . . . how about you?”

“Could have happened to anyone,” Theo muttered.

“Alright, so we three idiots are not going to wallow in self-pity or anything else that might make us less effective. Let's get down to business. Cyrus, out with it – what happened?”

“Well Milord, I was in the study working on the map. You were right about the advantages of being able to see the information, by the way – I had only put paper tents down upon half of the locations when I started to feel like I was getting closer to understanding the logic behind these thefts. It's nearly completed, and took me less time than I thought it might.”

“Okay, so you were working on the map.”

“Right, and it was about four hours after you'd left the keep. I had been drinking tea and burning candles to stay awake, because vimroot oil has been making me twitchy as of late. I was out of tea, in addition to needing to relieve myself, and-”

“Cyrus, there is such a thing as too much information,” I said, blandly.

“Uh, right. Sorry Milord. So, I took the tea set with me and left the study, locking up the study door as I left.” He gave me a very meaningful look. “That I am quite sure of. Once everything was locked and armed, I went down to the kitchen and made myself some more tea, got a bite to eat, whatnot. I was gone not ten minutes, and when I came back I noticed something unusual about the door.”

“Disarmed?”

“Milord, all the locks and alarms seemed to be set and working perfectly, save for one . . . the particularly lethal one that is set on a timer. That had been broken completely, somehow. I thought it odd, put my tea on the floor and very carefully opened the study door after disarming all of the traps once more. Upon first viewing the room I had thought everything to be normal, but then I noticed the glass case on the wall behind your writing desk had been left open, and it was obvious that a book was missing from its proper place.”

I nodded. “You're certain that it wasn't open when you left the room?”

“Positive, Milord. I was working at your desk, and facing the glass case for most of the evening.”

“I see. So then what did you do?”

“Well, I sounded the alarm. I intentionally triggered the floor mat so that any knights nearby would know there was a break-in, and then I bolted out of your study and locked things up as tightly as I could before scouring the perimeter. Given how long the door must have taken, I judged the thief to have perhaps a minute or two up on me. I coordinated searches whenever I encountered other knights in the hallways. They were actually able to sweep the second floor quite effectively.”

“Be sure you mention that to them, Cyrus. Nobody likes it when something like this happens on their watch. All your knights are probably feeling pretty terrible right now, especially having been yelled at by their Captain and all.”

He winced. “I shall remedy that as soon as possible, Milord.”

“So, you swept the grounds, and I can only assume that there was no trace of the thief, or thieves.”

“Correct. Assuming that they may have gained access to the outside grounds, I ordered the knights to expand their search to include the outside garden area and surrounding lawn, while I continued to investigate the hallways with a few of the remaining knights. We split up to cover more ground, I found signs that indicated I might have been right behind the culprit, and about a minute later,” he frowned mightily, “I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Yes Milord. Down the stairs, north end of the main hallway on the second floor.”

“So, your feet got a little too excited?”

“No Milord,” Cyrus said unhappily. “I didn't exactly trip. I thought . . . that is, I-”

“You were pushed?”

“Not at all, Milord.” He pursed his lips together in a frown.

“Cyrus, out with it,” I said, perplexed by his apprehensiveness.

“Milord, I saw a wraith,” he said, clearly not pleased with the words that were coming out of his mouth.

As the seconds dragged on in silence he began to look more and more uncomfortable.

“Cyrus. Do you, uh-” I said, not quite sure how I was going to put it. “Are you, shall we say, religious in that way?”

“Not at all Milord,” he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head, as if disgusted with himself. “I tend to sneer at religious zealots in general, and Efandists in particular. And yet I cannot lie - that's what I saw! I was running down the first flight of stairs facing the window, and there it was, floating against the opposite wall-”

“Floating?” I said disbelievingly.

“Floating, Milord. I swear to you, it was just like in pictures and stories. A translucent specter, just floating there, dressed in rags that twisted away from it like hair in a windstorm, despite the fact that it was inside the stairwell with me, with not so much as a breeze present.”

“Well, it could have been shadows. Or perhaps a bird that had wandered in here by accident. Bats are no stranger to our keep, as you're surely aware.”

“Milord,” Cyrus said even more morosely, “it had eyes.”

“Eyes?”

“Glowing eyes.”

I digested that piece of news in silence.

“You know,” Theo sat up in his chair and cleared his throat, “I have this rather charming metal plate at home. All you have to do is squeeze the center, toss it on the floor, and the illusion of a dog will appear directly over it. See-through, but realistic as all Hades. Given Captain Cyrus's own admission to not believing in such things, what he might have seen could have been something that was staged for his benefit, or intended as a distraction.”

“An image of a wraith, though? Why a wraith?” asked Cyrus.

“You fell down the stairs upon seeing it? As far as distractions go, I'd say that one worked just fine.”

Cyrus grunted his assent reluctantly, and then he drew his brows together. “It moved. From what I'm given to understand of things such as your plate, the illusion remains very still.”

“And it's a very old plate,” Theo nodded. “Doubtless there have been improvements and advances since the time mine was crafted. I think the notion that something like that might have been used to distract you is what we should assume – a rather theatrical diversion used by a Lord who has lots of clever tricks for disarming traps and a penchant for the dramatic. That is, unless you wish to suggest your Lord Tucat was perhaps robbed by a vengeful spirit, one that feasts on memories of the dead while the owner of those memories sleeps?”

“No, I don't wish to suggest that.”

“Well? It's too much of a coincidence anyways, really. The night Vincent gets robbed, you go looking for the thief whom you believe to be moments ahead of you, and you just happen to spy a wraith in a stairwell?”

“Yes, I suppose I would agree,” Cyrus said, looking to me. “A diversion of some sort then, to get away cleanly. I truly wish I hadn't been so surprised, falling as I did. From what Lord Haundsing has suggested, I may have been right behind him.”

“Well,” I said, glad that some sort of corporeal explanation had been found, “I suppose it's more information than we had before. It brings us no closer to finding the person responsible for framing me though. I need to know who is behind it in order to get my book back.”

“How do you mean?” Theo looked puzzled. “A neighboring Lord finally managed to break into your keep – at worst you should get a card delivered sometime tomorrow requesting your presence at a lovely function so that it can be returned to you in a very public and humiliating fashion. If that's the case, it may not be the most pleasant experience in the world, but at least you'll have your book back.”

“Theo, I suspect this will be very different than the usual way things are done. These other Lords have had precious property stolen from them, irreplaceable in many cases from what we've heard. I suspect that any little note I might receive tomorrow could instead be to inform me that a certain Lord or Lady wishes their property back, and wants to trade. And, of course, since I don't have the property they're missing, they might assume that I'm being coy when I don't return it, threaten to do something unfortunate to the book if I don't agree to their demands.”

“Well, once you find out what the thieves want in exchange for returning the book, you'll at least know who has it, right?”

“And they're probably aware of that as well, Theo.” I sighed, taking another sip of watered down absinthe and scowling as I did. “So whoever has it is probably not even going to let me know what it is that they wish returned, for that very reason. I'd know who had my book – I'd simply break into their keep and take it back from them. They may keep quiet for a few days, figuring out how to play their hand.”

“Ah, true,” admitted Theo grudgingly. I saw Cyrus nodding as he listened to us speak.

“Of course, they could threaten to destroy it in the event that I attempt to steal it back, or rig it to become damaged if I made off with it. Damn,” I said, clenching my teeth in frustration, “they could hardly have picked a better thing to steal if they'd wanted me over a barrel, even with everything else that's been going on. Dad's book probably means as much to me as your father's sword must mean to you, Theo.”

I raised my glass for a more substantial sip of my drink.

“Baal's frilly feather boa!” Theo cried at a volume that caused me to choke on my mouthful of the bitter, licorice-flavored liquor.

Coughing, I attempted to put my glass back down on the table without spilling too much of my drink. Then, to top things off, I felt the beginnings of another sneeze. I barely managed a panicked swallow of the remaining mouthful of absinthe, averting a fiery licorice-flavored catastrophe by the narrowest of margins, and then began coughing violently.

“Gods above and below, Vincent - we're idiots!” he continued, eyes wide with revelation.

“What?” I asked a moment later, my voice raspy from coughing. “I mean, yes we're idiots . . . we've established that, but-”

“Vince, when you'd found out my sword had been stolen, what was the first thing you said?”

“The first thing? Errr . . . wasn't it something about making its recovery our first priority, and then telling you to shut up multiple times?”

“Okay then, after that part, Vince. You said we needed to look at this fresh, without assumptions. We forgot to get rid of our biggest one!”

“Which is?”

“Why are we assuming that whoever's stealing these things is trying to frame you for the thefts?”

“Well,” I said, rubbing my chin, “I suppose that one of the biggest clues is the fact that I'm the only suspect for these thefts at this point. Since that's what everyone's thinking, I figure that's what our culprit's intended.”

“But to be clear, nobody's actually found proof that these thefts were your doing. None of your property or other evidence was found at the scene. No Lords have actually been led to believe it was you, it's just a conclusion that they've come to. What facts have been presented to suggest that you did it?”

“No facts per say but . . . Theo, if their intention wasn't to frame me, then I have to say they're doing a rather piss-poor job. Right now there's probably more people in town who wish to see me dead than who might wish to bid me good day.”

“Right, but what if that's not important?”

“Huh? I consider it to be pretty damned important, actually!”

“No, I mean, what if framing you is just a completely secondary consequence? What if it's not their objective at all, but rather something that has simply happened? Something that doesn't hurt any, but which is completely irrelevant to what they're after?”

“Irrelevant?”

“Vince, think!” Theo said with unexpected exuberance. “What if these thefts aren't meant to implicate you, what if they're occurring for a completely different set of reasons? Your book was just stolen from you, something that means more to you than anything. What if you're a victim, like the rest of us? Doesn't the theft of your book sound exactly like one of the many thefts that have been going on lately? What if you weren't robbed by one of your neighbors seeking retribution, but were simply the most recent of this unknown thief's targets? How would you know?”

I opened my mouth to explain how ridiculous the whole thing sounded, and then I closed it. That was actually a damned good point, I realized.

“Milord,” Cyrus said, eyes wide as he stared at the far wall in an unfocused manner. “Forgive me . . . I shall be right back. I need to fetch something that may facilitate this discussion.”

I watched my Knight-Captain get up and quickly head to the door. He disappeared from view within moments, the sound of the door closing mixing with the muted sounds of his boots once again navigating their way safely through my assorted traps.

“Well, I suppose we can challenge that assumption Theo, but it's not likely. I mean, everything I've heard about these thefts suggests they were pulled off by someone with a lot of smarts, and that a lot of effort was required. Why would someone go to all that trouble if they weren't going to take credit for it themselves, and if they weren't actually intent on framing someone else? What would they be after, exactly?”

“That is exactly what we need to be asking ourselves. You have to admit that the possibility should be considered, at the very least. My sword disappears, your book is gone the next day, our territories are side-by-side . . .”

“No, you're right, actually. Come to think of it, the fact that everyone thinks it's me may play right into the hands of whoever's doing this – keep the attention and anger focused on me. Maybe framing me is not their objective, but a convenient little something that'll allow them to carry on doing what they're doing, for whatever reason they're doing it. That's the mystifying part.” I frowned slightly. “Do you think that someone might be attempting to host the mother of all banquets, where the whole point is to humiliate everyone in attendance?”

“And in one masterful stroke make mortal enemies with a couple dozen powerful Lords, in all likelihood not even making it out of their own banquet room alive? I seriously doubt it.”

“I hate it when I'm forced to resort to guesswork regarding things going on around me,” I sighed. “Especially when those things involve me. Well, would you say it's too late for another drink? Or perhaps even too early?” I gestured at his mostly empty glass.

“Please,” he said, handing it over. “I've been working some crazy hours lately, so I'm likely not going to bed for another four or five hours yet . . . another wouldn't hurt.”

I'd almost finished putting the crystal stopper back on the scotch decanter when I heard Cyrus approach the door. It took him a little longer to open it than usual, and a few moments later I was able to see it was because of what he carried.

Quickly making our way back to the table, Theo and I hurriedly removed a couple of candlesticks and small paper notes, making room for the map Cyrus was bearing in his outstretched arms. He nodded gratefully to us as he set the collection of cards and vellum down upon the table, knocking a few of his tented pieces of paper over in the process. Cursing, he went about setting each of the tents back in what I presumed was their proper place, a process that lasted no more than a few minutes.

“Okay,” Cyrus stood back and inspected his work, then looked to the two of us to ensure he had our attention, “these are all of the ones that I've learned of, grouped and colored by date. These five yellow bits of paper represent the thefts that happened two weeks ago. They appear to form something of an arc.”

“They do,” I nodded, startled. It had been a random notion I'd had, attempting to track these events on something as strange and abstract as a map, but a notion that appeared to have some merit. The paper tents did seem to arrange themselves into a pattern of sorts.

“Now here's the interesting part, if I may say so, something that I hadn't really noticed until a few hours ago. This is the order they would appear to have occurred in.” He pointed his finger at one end of the arc he'd referred to and slowly moved it to the other, touching briefly on each of the yellow markers as he did so. They followed the line perfectly, from left to right.

Both Theo and I leaned in very close. I was suddenly extremely interested.

“And, if that weren't enough . . . excuse me Lord Haundsing.” Cyrus reached underneath where Theo was leaning in order to grab a small pad of blue paper, tearing off a square and putting it on the map.

“Lady Coral,” he announced, already tearing off a second piece and slapping it down elsewhere on the map. “Lord Feriwine.”

Nodding with understanding, Theo reached up and gently tugged a piece of blue paper from Cyrus's pad, placing it over where his Keep resided on the map before him.

“Haundsing Keep,” Theo added.

“And then, most recently, Milord Tucat.” Cyrus pulled a final tab of paper from the pad and lay it upon a very familiar portion of the map.

Theo and I continued to sit there, staring at the map. Cyrus just stood there, looking pleased with himself.

I looked at both of them, and pointed my index finger to the piece of paper that covered Lady Coral's keep. My finger followed the path of the paper trail covering the surface of the city, touching each marker much in the same way that Cyrus had done, going from Feriwine to Theo's to mine. Then, I allowed my finger to continue following the imaginary line it was drawing. It ended up over a very significant spot, one laying a reasonable distance from the path I'd been tracing with my finger. It too was a familiar section of map.

I'd recently become very familiar with that section, actually.

“Blackstaag,” I said with a sigh, closing my eyes as I spoke. “Blackstaag Keep is next.”

“Gee, I wonder who he'll end up blaming,” Theo said, voice filled with irony.