Cyrus, Theodore and myself sat in our respective chairs in the exercise hall the next morning. The map had been relocated to the shallow table that sat between the three of us. Cyrus was looking apologetic, and Theo was looking concerned. Nobody had said anything for at least ten seconds.

“Could you please run that by me one more time, Cyrus?” I said, my voice fraught with skepticism. “I'm afraid that with this cold I might have some sort of problem affecting my ears this morning.”

“His mother, Milord,” repeated Cyrus, even more apologetically than the first time. “The thief apparently made off with Blackstaag's mother.”

There was another round of awkward silence.

“Well, okay. Someone's having us on,” I sniffed. “That's ridiculous. Granted, while I did once manage to steal both Lord Marcsun and his bed from the bedchamber he was sleeping in, it required considerable help to pull off. I don't quite see how the thief might have possibly concealed an entire woman from view while making good his escape. Those rags scarcely looked adequate to the task of covering one body, never mind two.”

“I know it sounds . . . well, ridiculous. That's what Randav told me, Milord,” Cyrus said. “He seemed agitated in the extreme when I spoke with him. Clearly, whatever he's talking about, it means a great deal to Blackstaag, and he's evidently been taking it out on his staff.”

“I think I know what Cyrus is talking about,” said Theo.

“Are you sure?” I gave a frustrated laugh. “From the sounds of it, Cyrus doesn't even know what Cyrus is talking about!”

“Garmuth is quite small, and its cities crowded. Space is at a premium, and you'd be considered a spendthrift maniac if you chose to inter a relative's body into something as ridiculously valuable as an eight-foot patch of ground.” Theo sat back and looked over his clasped fingers at us. “When someone dies, I believe the tradition is for bodies to be burned until nothing but ash remains, and for the ashes to be mixed with blood taken from all their living relatives, the mixture then ensconced within something meant to represent the deceased individual.”

I was beginning to grow accustomed to the awkward silences that now plagued our discussion.

“That's, err . . . awfully strange,” I said. “And strangely awful. And more than just a little macabre. Are you positive someone wasn't pulling your leg as well?”

“This is Garmuth we're talking about, Vince,” Theo said. “They're a strange, morbid, macabre sort of people. All of their plays and poetry focus on death and the futility of existence. They think laughter is a sign of mental illness. They have no word for 'cute'. The idea of a Garmuthian keeping some sort of ancestor ash paste on a shelf isn't exactly a difficult one to swallow.”

“That does sort of make sense,” Cyrus nodded. “Randav was very upset, and lapsed into his native tongue many times during our last conversation. I didn't think it polite to ask for clarification at the time, despite how little sense I thought he was making. However, if what Lord Haundsing says is true, and the thief made off with some token object meant to honor Lord Blackstaag's mother-”

“It's a little more serious than that, Cyrus,” Theo said grimly. “This fellow you were talking about probably said exactly what he was thinking. They talk to their deceased relatives . . . ask them for advice, things like that. For all intents and purposes, the object that was stolen was Blackstaag's mother. At least, to Blackstaag it was.”

Yet another lengthy pause.

“Geeze, could this get any more bizarre?” I shook my head sadly. “I'm already feeling a nostalgic longing for a time when this was simply about someone trying to frame me. Now we're chasing an impossibly elusive guy dressed like a wraith who can float down from high walls and disappear at will . . . one who's recently stolen human remains from a Lord who apparently thinks that a mixture of blood and ashes is somehow alive and capable of giving advice. Cyrus, remind me never to visit Garmuth.”

“Milord, do you think that there's a connection between what was stolen and the fact that the thief chooses to look like a wraith? I know this isn't exactly the sort of thing that a wraith does according to superstition, but it does have similarities . . .”

“Yeah, that had crossed my mind as well. 'Memories of the dead' indeed. This newest theft could fall into the same category as the previous two. Theo's sword, my book, and now Blackstaag's . . . uh, 'mother'. Very personal items with strong connections to the dead. Vaguely creepy, vaguely religious. Cyrus, do we have any idea what was stolen from the other Lords? Maybe that'll help us to understand things better.”

“I don't have an actual list, Milord. Up until Lord Haundsing's theft the only real information I was able to get was that all of the objects stolen were expensive, or important somehow. They could very well fall into a similar category as the three objects you just mentioned, but I can't say for sure.”

“Any way we can find out?”

Cyrus frowned, his eyes considering a spot on the ceiling for a moment while he thought. “I'll see what I can do, Milord. Learning the nature of the object from Randav may have been a special case. He's convinced that you're not responsible for stealing it . . . that likely influenced his decision to share information with me.”

“He knows it wasn't me? Well, huzzah!” I said, glad that there was a small speck of good news I could focus on. “Break out the booze and some ribbon-spinners - that's something at least! It should be a little easier to wander about the streets at night looking for this thief without having to worry about Blackstaag's knights coming after me.”

After yet another awkward pause, I heard Cyrus cough in an apologetic manner. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Milord, if I might suggest in the strongest possible terms that you refrain from going outside in the next little while?”

“What? Why?” I asked. “You just said Randav, Blackstaag's Knight-Captain, doesn't think-”

“Correct . . . he doesn't, Milord. I was assured that both Randav and Blackstaag know that you had nothing to do with last night's theft.”

“Well? What's the problem?”

“Traditionally, a Garmuthian Lord strikes swiftly and violently when being taken advantage of . . . to do anything less risks looking weak and timid, especially when it comes to his own knights and staff,” Cyrus sighed, shaking his head the slightest bit as he spoke. “Though there's a clear understanding that you're not involved, that particular fact is hardly well known. Since everyone about town already thinks you're behind these thefts, and since Blackstaag lacks any other convenient target to lash out at, I believe his plan is to come after you. Very publicly.”

“Despite the fact that this isn't my doing?” I asked, indignant.

“Aye Milord. I pressed Randav for information along those lines, but he was tight-lipped in the extreme, which sort of led me to believe their plans lay in that direction.”

“It does sound plausible, Vince,” Theo said. “If it's important for him to take immediate action, then going after you would at least look decisive . . . even if he knows it's complete horse manure. If he figures out who's actually responsible, he can always change targets. But for the moment, for lack of alternatives, his target is you.”

I recited a blistering curse composed of as many swears my vocabulary could string together. It felt like a nice change from the awkward silences.

“I agree, Milord,” said Cyrus, once I was done. “A fairly apt summary. Did you want some more bad news right away, or should I wait until later?”

“Oh, let's just have it all at once,” I muttered. “Noose is already around my neck, why not just give the horse a little kick while we're at it?”

“Well Milord, there's still the ongoing matter of several Lords attempting to steal from you. There was a break-in last night.”

“Yeah, of course there was.” I sighed as I massaged my forehead with my fingers, more because I felt my hand should be doing something than out of concern for the headache that was forming. I didn't know if my throbbing temple was due to stress, or if it was multiple evenings spent sitting in the rain, but neither was helping matters. “What did they manage to get?”

“Nothing Milord, but only barely.” Cyrus smiled immodestly. “It seems your rather dashing and heroic Knight-Captain had decided to stay up most the night in your study, sorting notes and some of the other information that was coming in. I heard them working the door, and decided to surprise whoever it was with my blade drawn. They seemed very surprised to see me . . . accidentally set off one of the devices they'd planted at the door while crouched next to it. It exploded, and it sounded like it hurt - they might have a bit of a limp or other injury, but nothing I can say with absolute certainty.”

“Cyrus! You're a marvel!” I smiled. “Excellent work! How you manage to perform these miracles of security and still find time to prepare hot drinks for your Lord at all hours is a mystery to baffle the gods, I swear. So, in what way is this bad news?”

“Uh,” Cyrus favored me with an odd look before giving a light shrug, “well, the bad news is that when they set off the charge, it ruined the lower right corner of the door, permanently warping the wood. The study door won't close properly, and now requires two guards standing outside of it at all times.”

“Doors can be replaced, Cyrus . . . some of the things in my study cannot. Well done. You've made arrangements for a new door?”

“I have, though it will take some time. We should be okay with just guards for the next few days though. I plan on spiking it closed, or as close to closed as it will get, for the time being. That is, once I've emptied it of everything we need, notes and such.”

“Extra patrols on that floor, Cyrus, and make sure the knights outside the door – trusted knights only - know that they're not to leave . . . even if they spy an intruder and wish to give chase. I want nobody assigned there leaving the study entrance, not for a second.”

“Yes, Milord.”

“Well, as bad news goes I'd have to say that was rather pleasant. Any additional stuff to get out of the way before we discuss our 'wraith'?” I gestured at the map sitting on the table in front of us.

“That depends Milord. How concerned are you regarding your finances at the moment?”

“Tight, but okay. The prince has been paid his share this month, and we've got enough on hand to see the staff paid through to the end of the year. That is, unless that gets stolen somehow . . .”

“Well, then there's another bit of bad news. The number of shopkeepers and tenants who have requested extensions for their tribute has nearly doubled,” Cyrus said, frowning. “That shopkeeper who claims to have purchased his own protection and simply chose not to pay us last month has opted to do the same for this month, and it appears four or five of his neighbors are following suit. People are starting to talk.”

“Right. Well, that's something we've already prepared for, to some extent. Grant extensions for everyone who asked, and then send some knights down to take some notes regarding what their shop items or belongings are worth at each place. Tell them not to bother being subtle, and if anyone asks them what they're doing make sure they let them know. We'll give the stragglers all of next month to ponder what life would be like without some of their nicer things, and we'll deal with next month's extension requests quite a bit more firmly than we've been doing. I suspect that the presence of knights who seem interested in their property might convince a few of them to be a little less tardy with my money.”

“Understood. And the merchants who are simply refusing to pay, or claim they wish to handle their own security matters?”

“You can go ahead and do that thing we discussed. Make it that particular shopkeeper, the first one who decided not to pay us. How long do you think that'll take?”

“Milord, a team has been ready to go for the past three weeks. Some of the men have indicated that they've been looking forward to the possibility. It could be done tonight.”

“Do it. I'll put on a concerned face and drop by his shop sometime tomorrow morning, say hello, let myself be seen by a few of his neighbors. That should widen a few eyes, maybe loosen a few purse-strings.”

Cyrus chuckled. So did Theo, who'd heard about my intention weeks ago. It had been ages since I'd set the entire city abuzz over something amusing I'd done, and I figured I was overdue.

I glanced at the map and its various tented pieces of paper.

Okay, so maybe the city was already abuzz, talking about things they thought I'd done. Whatever. It'd still be funny.

“So, back to the matter at hand,” I gestured at the map and sat forward in my seat. “It would appear that the thefts are happening every night now, which is utterly ridiculous. Our 'wraith' is getting cocky, but considering his rate of success he may have good reason to be. Of course, we're fairly lucky that the target of tonight's theft attempt becomes fairly obvious when we look at the map.”

Nodding, Theo said “Tudor” just as Cyrus said “Bhatt”, the two of them simultaneously pointing to two different parts of the map.

“Uh, no. Forschell.” I gave both of them a puzzled look. Theo I could understand, but how could Cyrus miss that one? “Tudor lives in an unimpressive one-story compound with shallow walls, and which looks a bit like a string of merchant buildings. Bhatt resides in a converted temple, one that could barely be considered a keep. Each theft occurred someplace within sight of the previous one, and they all involved large keeps, three stories or higher.”

“Huh?” said Theo, eyebrows coming together. “What are you talking about?”

“Some Lords were completely passed over, Theo. Look, back here . . . you see this paper marker here? Rhoscrown Keep. It's right in the path of a string of thefts that occurred two weeks ago, but it was left alone. Though he has considerable wealth, you could easily walk past his keep without noticing it, mostly because the bulk of it is underground. So our thief instead robs his neighbor, who lives in an impressive manor, and continues along his path-”

“-leaving Lord Rhoscrown unmolested!” Cyrus finished, smiling at Theo as he did. Not very polite of him to interrupt, but then again he'd been the one to think of it in the first place. Maybe I'd actually been the rude one, spoiling the surprise like that.

“You've confirmed this? Tall, important-looking keeps only?” Theo looked impressed. “Now why in Hades would that be a factor?”

“Right now I'm satisfied just by knowing it's a factor, even if I don't truly understand why. Maybe it's showing off . . . or that he needs to be high up off the ground for whatever reason. He did jump off of a wall that was easily fifty feet high so he could float down to the street below, so maybe that's how he gives people the slip when he's spotted.”

“Speaking of that, Milord,” said Cyrus, “I made those inquiries you'd asked about before meeting with Randav. You're absolutely positive – he floated to the ground?”

“Cyrus, he did everything but sprout feathers and begin flapping his wings. I thought I saw a gust of wind change the direction he was falling in, but I may have imagined it. It was too slow for rope, and besides that he didn't go straight down. He fell at an angle.”

“Well, nobody I talked to has any item that behaves anything like what you've described, at any price. I was shown some very nice emergency climbing devices, or ones to prevent someone from falling to their death. Some were damnably clever, but nothing that could actually cause someone to float or fly. 'Impossible' was a word I heard bandied around a few times.”

“If you have a chance later today, see if you can ask a few more merchants who deal in tools of the trade . . . some of the high-end shops outside of our territory. If nobody knows anything about how to make people levitate, see if you can find out how my door alarms were temporarily disabled the night my book got stolen. Disarming traps and whatnot I can understand, but you'd indicated that nine of the alarms were still armed and looked to be working fine when you'd come back and found I'd been burgled, which means they must have been fiddled with instead of actually disarmed. That sounds like some very fancy stuff, the sort of thing that would cost a pretty copper. It might even point us in the direction of someone smart enough to dream up a way to fly.”

“Indeed. I'll look into it Milord.”

“Once you're done that, you've got to oversee that event at the shopkeeper's place tonight, right Cyrus?”

“Right.” Cyrus nodded. “I'll make certain the guards in front of your study door receive proper instruction before I go, and I'll check in with them again as soon as I return.”

“Well, that's my Knight-Captain's evening spoken for it seems. Looks like it's just you and me again Theo . . . standing about in the rain. What fun, neh?”

“Uhm, I'm actually on tolerable terms with Forschell, Vince. If you're convinced he's next, I could arrange to watch things much closer than you'd be able to . . . get inside his keep and maybe even lay in wait.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a tad disappointed. Theo's company, though brief and irregular, had made things more enjoyable the previous night than the one I'd spent alone. “Well, just be certain you don't drink too much and stab someone, will you? Or, if you do stab someone, make sure they're dressed like a wraith.”

“One time,” he muttered ruefully. “Accidentally stab a guy one time and suddenly nobody lets you forget it. Did you want me to do anything else while I was there, maybe talk to Lord Forschell about what's going on, something like that?”

“Well, maybe find out how well disposed he is to his neighbor, Blackstaag. If he doesn't seem like the sort of fellow who would put up with unfriendly knights wandering about his territory, by all means encourage him to do something about them. I have a strong feeling I'll be encountering a few tonight, despite the fact I won't be on Blackstaag's territory.”

“Good point, I'll bring it up,” Theo nodded.

“And you, Milord? Are you doing anything different this time?”

“Well,” I rubbed my stubbled chin and vowed to shave before I left the keep that night, “I won't need forty gold coins considering what we know now, so I'll leave my purse this time. I'll also be without tea tonight, unless I can find another canteen or something to carry it in. Might need to bring an assortment of oils with me, or something else to keep me awake.”

“Oils aren't a bad idea, given how you've been sounding these past couple of days.” Cyrus looked puzzled. “Why a canteen though, Milord? What's wrong with the silver one?”

“It got nicked last night, Cyrus, right from where I'd been sitting. I was with Theo when our 'wraith' disappeared, and he apparently decided it would be great fun to tweak my nose a little . . . disarm the snares I'd rigged around my perch, steal some silver from me for good measure.” I snorted. “Silver, yet again. Could it be that this guy actually believes he's a wraith or something? No gold has gone missing, but he appears to have a knack for sniffing out other metals or things of value.”

“Milord, I saw your silver tea container before I came down here,” said Cyrus, looking puzzled.

“Eh?”

“It was sitting with your cloak and other garments that had been cleaned and pressed. Why you insist on getting your cloak pressed every day when you're simply going to wear it out in the rain is something of a mystery, I will admit.”

“Talia does that . . . I've given up asking her not to.” I frowned. “You're positive? Silver, blue banding at the top?”

“That's the one, Milord . . . the one with the clever top you can open one-handed.”

“Huh. Is it the same one?”

“As to that, I have no idea Milord. Did it come as one of a set?”

“I don't believe so,” I sighed lightly. “I must have put it in my pack without thinking.”

“Or maybe you stowed them in those impressive looking bags under your eyes,” said Theo, a brief look of concern touching his face. “Get some rest, Vince. Tired people make mistakes, forget things. With everything going on, that's something you can ill afford right now. How much sleep have you gotten lately?”

I made a dismissive “pfffft” noise.

“Vince . . .”

“Okay, you may have a point,” I admitted, sighing. Two to four hours seemed to be the standard lately, and I'd probably have a hard time keeping it up for much longer. “I don't want to start making mistakes. More mistakes, that is. Cyrus, the same goes for you . . . once you've got everything sorted out regarding what you and the other knights are doing tonight, get some rest. You've been running on candle fumes these past few days, and I don't want you dropping from exhaustion like a few months ago.”

“What hour should I have you roused, Milord?” he asked, carefully avoiding any indication he'd heard my instructions. For all that I endure, there were times where I felt even worse for my Captain and what he puts himself through.

“Six bells aught to . . . no, wait. Five bells,” I said, standing up from my chair and rubbing my eyes. “Wake me at five bells. Let's all meet back here at six, to make sure there's no new developments or anything that needs going over.”

There wasn't much to say after that. Theo returned to his keep, and I left Cyrus to ponder the map, lifting his violet bits of paper to inspect the names beneath from time to time.

Upon leaving the room I realized just what kind of poor shape I was in. I wondered if the reason Theo had commented on my need for sleep was because I looked as terrible as I felt. Scarcely in my thoughts a moment ago, it now seemed that my only concern was getting into bed, and how wonderful that would be. I headed up the basement stairs to my bedchamber.

On the way, I remembered to take a detour through the front room. My cloak and other wet garments had been dried, cleaned, and pressed, and now lay on the chair where I'd left them. Bless Talia's heart.

Sitting on top of the pile of outerwear was a silver tea canister. My silver tea canister. Same dent, same small scratch right beside the slight blemish shaped a bit like a hat. There was no doubt, it was the same one I'd taken with me last night.

Snorting softly, I shook my head as I headed to the stairwell. I'd stowed it in my bag without realizing it after all. I was lucky that I had both Cyrus and Theo looking out for me . . . pushing too hard while not getting enough sleep made a man a little soft in the skull. I couldn't afford to get sloppy, not with everything else I'd loused up through carelessness, or by overlooking some detail or other.

I walked up the topmost flight of stairs and crept into my dimly lit bedroom. As my head hit my pillow, I issued a silent prayer to the god of dreams in the hopes that I would sleep soundly, wake up refreshed and energized, and that I would not be haunted by visions of wraiths as I slept.

He must have heard me.