Returning to the scene of the crime.

It's a trite little saying among thieves, but like all trite and cleverly annoying sayings there's a grain of truth in it, a reason it's stuck around. Simply put - it happens.

Every now and then some dunce muddles their way through a burglary and then becomes so concerned they might have left something behind that they have to go back and double-check. Either that or they're so sure of themselves that they figure they can perform the exact same trick a second time.

It's stupid.

I myself have left things - precious things - behind during a robbery and not gone back to retrieve them.

One time, I'd stolen a particularly nice candelabra from a very security-conscious Lord who disliked me, more or less just to prove to him that I could. I was already back at my keep before I realized that I had somehow left one of my favorite daggers sitting on his dining room table, having used it to pry off a couple of the ensorcelled tracking gems on the surface of my target.

I'd called myself all sorts of nasty names that night, not because the dagger itself was probably worth at least a dozen candelabra, but because it had the Tucat family crest on it.

I didn't return that night to get it, nor the night after. I suppose it didn't hurt that he knew it was me, and that may have been a factor in why I didn't go back.

Still, it's one of the most amateurish sort of assumptions you can make, believing that the hours you spent studying your target's home will be enough to see you through safely a second time. People generally don't like being robbed from. They learn.

Anyhow, I got the dagger back, though much later on. Funny story, that.

I tried to ignore any misgivings I had over returning to Grey-bridge's estate for my second visit within the span of a few days. I was a Lord who was visiting the estate of another Lord, nothing unusual about that. I certainly wasn't planning on trying to rob him again.

But it felt amateurish. Scene of the crime, all that.

Eventually I found myself standing at the front door, and I gave the large silk door chime ribbon a firm yank. My efforts were met with a loud 'Bong', followed by several other smaller bells being struck or hit, the cascade effect producing a rather pleasant melody.

I have to get me one of those.

I'd been waiting just long enough to be considered rude, when I heard the slightest trace of movement on the other side of the door. There were several odd clicking noises, some squeaking of metal on metal, and the door was slowly pried open by a tight-lipped older gentleman.

He looked across at me and frowned, door stopping after being opened just enough to allow his head to poke out. He gave me the kind of look you might give a splatter of bird crap you'd just spotted on your shoe.

“Yes?” he said tiredly.

“Lord Tucat, here to see Lord Greybridge, if you please.” I mentally started preparing myself for the encounter with Lord Greybridge, going over the opening line I'd prepared in my head.

“I'm afraid he's not seeing company at the moment. Good day,” he said tersely, beginning to close the door even before he'd finished speaking.

“Uhm,” I interrupted lamely, reaching out and keeping the door from closing in my rather surprised face. “Sorry, could you please tell him? LordTucat, here to see him regarding fairly urgent business. If you would? Thank you ever so much.”

“I'm afraid that he's not seeing company at the moment, Lord Tucat, and that mention of your name will not do anything to change that fact. Good day.” He turned his attention back to closing the door.

Once again, it didn't happen. This time, I yanked it open about half a foot, much to his sudden surprise.

“First of all,” I began, “it's evening. 'Good evening', you would say. Where were you trained when it comes to manners, cretin? A Roa'Leshi dance school?”

He scowled. Point for me. I continued just as his mouth opened to fire off a retort.

“Second of all,” I pointed at my chest, “Lord Tucat, who is taking care of your honored Lord's duel for him tomorrow, requires a word with him about a matter very close to his honor. As it were, I've half a mind to take my concerns elsewhere, let your honorable Lord suffer the consequences of hiring staff that appear to have no concept of what might be in their employers best interests. If that is the case, sir, I will require your name. Doubtless Lord Greybridge will be suitably impressed, and wish to appropriately reward the self-important, brain-dead malingerer who turned me away.”

I concluded my mini-speech with a folding of my arms, well pleased with how that had sounded.

He barely hesitated.

“My honored Lord,” he said ironically, pointing to himself in a gesture that seemed the mirror image of the one I'd just made, “I, Travis, am well aware of your role in my Lord's affairs, as well as my Lord's wishes with respect to yourself, himself, and this lovely evening we're enjoying. I assure you that taking your 'half a mind' elsewhere will not adversely affect my employers opinion of my performance, and what's more I encourage you to carry out your threat as soon as possible. Indeed, the very prospect of bidding you farewell fills me with joy that cannot be described with mere words. Doubtless I shall have to attempt to express these feelings through Roa'Lechi interpretive dance sometime later. And so, I bid you good evening, most observant and perspicacious Lord.”

The door closed the rest of the way before I could even think to stop it.

That, I have to say, I didn't really expect. I have hopes that I didn't quite look as dumb as I felt just then, standing there at a closed door, having just been dressed down primly by the older, skinny doorman.

After taking a full second or two to compose myself, I reached out and yanked on the door chime ribbon.

Hard.

The tune from the bells rang out much more insistently this time, and a few discordant bells rang twice from the force I had used, ruining the melody completely. I scanned my memory for information regarding the interior layout of the keep, hand reaching into my pocket as I did so.

The door slowly opened in front of me for the second time, and the now-familiar aged face peeked through the opening at me in unfeigned annoyance.

“My Lord, perhaps I was not clear in my mphhb-!” he said, his tired words ending in a muffled exclamation of surprise as I shoved the white cloth soaked with cacaothane over his mouth, holding it firmly in place with my gloved hand.

His look of annoyance, which I had assumed was a permanent fixture, was immediately replaced by a look of surprise, followed by the unfocused look of a man slipping into unconsciousness. I caught him on his way down, stepping him through the threshold as he went limp, now no longer attempting to speak.

I decided that I liked him much better like that.

Dragging him behind me into Greybridge keep and gently closing the door, I confirmed there were no guards posted inside the front foyer and breathed a sigh of relief.

As I propped the dozing figure up in a nearby chair just outside the cloak room, I noticed that the grey servant's cloak that he was wearing didn't seem to fit him properly, and was practically falling off his bony shoulders. The garment had been pinched in the back so that it might be worn and appear natural from the front.

I made a mental note of it, and put that note with all the other notes that belonged in the mental category of “Odd things I didn't have a ready explanation for.”

“Focus,” I said to myself. I had done something that was probably one of the stupidest, impulsive things I could have done under the circumstances. Cacaothane, which consists of distilled fermented cocoa leaves and a host of other unpleasant ingredients, not only renders those who inhaled it unconscious for a while, but it usually made them unable to remember the events of the thirty minutes or so preceding the inhalation.

Usually being the operative word. About ninety percent of the time, by my reckoning. Some people were simply constructed differently than others.

If the doorman remembered me upon waking, I had no doubt that things would not go well for me shortly afterwards.

It was a risk. I brushed my hands against my tunic in an effort to keep myself from shaking. The paranoid part of my brain was sending urgent signals to the rest of me, the gist of which was “This is incredibly stupid. Let's get out of here, as fast as humanly possible.”

Another section of my brain, rational thought, seemed to agree, and wished to point out the fact that we'd just drugged a doorman in order to let ourselves into the keep of a very powerful Lord with little or no sense of humor. It wondered openly what I was hoping to accomplish aside from the opportunity to become some new and interesting shade of crimson, as well as much more stiff and dead-like.

I told both of those parts of my brain to shut up, and spent a few long moments with my head cocked to the side listening to the complete silence that surrounded me.

One way or another, I was going to find out something from Greybridge.

Besides, the most difficult part about a break-in is managing to get in, so I'd already done the difficult bit. Might as well take a look around since I was already here.

At the end of the main foyer there was a short hallway that turned left. I poked my head around the corner swiftly three times in order to glimpse the hall and its contents, walking swiftly around the corner during my third glance and heading for the first tier of stairs twenty feet away.

My instincts told me to avoid the rug in the middle of the hallway and I did so. He’d have to be insane to have a trap in a high-traffic area so close to the front doors, but all sorts of nasty traps can be armed using a timer, and I wasn’t taking any chances. Ditto with the stairs, which I took great pains to avoid walking on, stepping on the trim nearest the wall while clutching the bannister. The stairway had shallow steps and a rather elegant looking fabric overtop of the middle portion, like a crimson waterfall.

Often when I’ve encountered a particularly nasty or lethal trap, the surrounding carpet or furnishings were red, presumably because it was easier to clean up afterwards. I’m always cautious, but if I’m in an area that happens to be displaying a large amount of red, I’m doubly so.

A few minutes later I was at the top of the stairs, having traversed the entire length of them without making a sound, without stepping on a single stair, and managing to remain in one piece. I gave myself a mental pat on the back and glanced around the newest corner, down which I knew I would see a long hallway.

I yanked my head back quickly, heart suddenly in my throat. Someone was walking down the hallway about two dozen feet away.

Crap.

If they'd seen me, I was screwed. I listened carefully for a moment to try to make out footsteps, and if they were getting louder or quieter.

Nothing. There was thick carpet lining every inch of floor. Double-crap.

Cursing the fact that I hadn't brought a small mirror with me, I huddled up against the banister and behind the wall, out and away from the majority of the torchlight.

Sitting in perfect stillness, I waited for some sound or shadow to give away the position of the figure in the hallway.

Three minutes I stood there, waiting. Eventually, and with much trepidation, I looked around the corner a second time.

Nothing. I threw a look down the other end of the hallway to confirm that it was similarly unoccupied, and then I stepped swiftly and silently over the thick carpet, making no sound as I-

Actually, you know what? I'm a good and talented thief, one who relies on stealth and cunning. It might be unnecessary to use words like 'quietly' or 'silently' again and again. Let's just assume that unless I've stated otherwise, everything I do is silent.

There was a closed door on the right, which I ignored, and an open one on the left, which I didn't. With the same sort of catch-a-glimpse gesture of my head I inspected the room through the open door. A lamp was lit, and a chambermaid appeared to be folding clothes.

I swept past the door a moment later and proceeded down the hall at a fast walk. The door was only open so much, and she probably hadn't seen me. Even if she had, a young lass all alone who sees even a hint of movement outside of her door will typically freeze, even for just a moment, and try to convince herself that she was seeing things. Just as typically, if they do pensively make their way to the doorway to investigate, it would only be after enough time had elapsed for me to have made myself scarce anyways.

Besides, I only needed about ten seconds to get to the end of the hallway, to the outside balcony overlooking the garden.

True, I was already inside, and I did mention that was the difficult part. Why go to the balcony?

Well, if you keep everything of value on the third floor, very likely you've left some rather unpleasant things on the second floor stairs for whoever might wish to wander upstairs and make off with them. His main stairwell likely harbored several of the kinds of traps that my own main stairwell contained dozens of.

It's one of the reasons why I spend so much time practicing climbing up on ledges and scaling walls.

I went out onto the balcony and was greeted by the rapidly retreating red haze of dusk, which would be replaced by a comforting blue blanket of night before long. Looking over the ledge, I saw two guards chatting lazily near the front of the main garden. Guards hardly ever bother to look up, so I'd probably be fine unless they heard me make noise.

Stepping lightly onto the stone railing lining the balcony, I crouched into a turn so that I faced the building and leapt upwards, grabbing onto the the stonework of the balcony above mine, pulling myself up until my fingers were at eye level. A moment's pause later, I threw the hooked fingers of my right hand over the top of the railing above my head in a swift, sudden motion. Ridiculously dangerous thing to do, if you haven't practiced the move dozens of times every morning for years and years.

Pulling myself up the rest of the way and lifting a leg to straddle the rail, I flexed the appropriate muscles in order to roll gracefully over the railing and onto the balcony floor. At least, I presume I was graceful. I've never actually seen myself do it.

After taking the necessary precautions I peeked down the familiar cream-colored hallway and inspected the corner at the faraway end of it, the one I'd spent the better part of an hour getting to know a few days ago. Something seemed different.

The spiny plant was gone. They'd taken my plant, the dastards.

Actually, it wouldn't have served as an effective hiding spot without my thoughtcloth, which I didn't think to wear this time. Then again, I'd hardly expected to be breaking into Greybridge's keep a second time.

I stood hidden just inside the hallway, remembering that this floor was patrolled by a guard, one who showed up every ten minutes or so. I waited for his appearance.

And waited.

For fully twenty minutes I stood there waiting for someone to appear before concluding that I had to do something. My time was limited, the doorman would likely be waking up soon, and even if he didn't remember me he might become suspicious upon waking up in a chair, unable to remember how he got there. I didn't have the luxury of standing around all night.

Twenty minutes. I should have seen a guard pass at least once.

Not liking it but realizing I had to do it anyways, I did a quick check down the length of the hallway and stepped into it. Something else had changed, though I wasn’t quite able to put my finger on what.

Quickly, I walked toward the corner I had made friends with a few nights ago, alert for any sort of noise.

I reminded myself how amateurish this was. No plan except for some fuzzy notion that I had to speak to Lord Greybridge, no route planned to get to where he was, no escape route once I'd done that, or if I found myself having to leave in a hurry.

What exactly did I think I was going to do once I found him? Did I apologize for breaking into his keep – a second time – as well as drugging his doorman, and then just casually ask “Hey, how about that duel tomorrow?” Not bloody likely.

I kept walking though. Sometimes you have to focus on what you're doing, and not allow yourself to get distracted by how stupid what you're doing actually is.

Soon I arrived where I'd hidden myself a few nights earlier, stopping with my back sidled up against the wall. I tossed a brief glance around the corner, down the hall where the vault doorway was.

Nobody. The hallway was empty. I pulled out one of my small bejeweled rods that I used to detect magical energy. At the very least, for kicks, I'd take a quick look at how many more additional precautions his security staff had added to the door of the vault. May as well, if I was suicidally risking my neck anyways.

With nobody in the empty hallway, I whipped around the corner and walked up to the door.

At first I thought that the entire color of the door had been changed, which I thought was an odd and superstitious way of dealing with a break-in. Once I got closer, I realized that I was not looking at the door at all, but at the shadowy interior of the room on the other side of the door. The door was wide open, much to my enormous surprise.

Then, to my even greater surprise, I realized that I was completely wrong.

The door was gone.

Missing. Simply removed, with no trace of where it might have been moved to. In fact, there was no trace that there had even been a door there in the first place. I stood there, jeweled rod held up uselessly, staring into the empty void where I had expected smooth planed wood to be.

A ridiculously long time later, I walked through the threshold and into the formerly secure room, which I had formerly broken into for the purposes of stealing a goblet.

Empty. Not just the door. Everything that had been in the room was gone.

I have a hard time thinking of words to describe how puzzled I was at this development. Plinths and some other features of the room had remained unchanged, and I could see small things that assured me that I was, in fact, in the correct room. This was the very same room I had stood in days ago, but it had changed completely, dramatically. Even the stylish trim that had contained the circuit of silver had been removed, its absence not even leaving a blemish on the wall it had once been a part of.

Standing there stupidly, I wondered if stealing Greybridge's goblet had made him go completely mental.

And then it hit me, the thing that had struck me as different about the hallways I'd been wandering through. It wasn't just the plant that had been taken, wasn't just the door. The paintings, the elegant chairs positioned in the hallways I'd roamed through, the brass standalone torch lamps, the gold-leaf bordered mirrors...

Everything had been removed.

My head swam like I'd had too much to drink. Yet another thing that made very little sense. What this meant, I had no idea.

That seemed to be the norm lately.

Standing there in the still darkness, I became aware of two things more or less simultaneously.

First was the realization that standing in the middle of a room that used to house valuable items belonging to a rich and powerful Lord might be a spectacularly bad idea.

The second was that there was a trace of a conversation, barely audible, coming from somewhere outside of the room.

I was torn between finding the source of the voices and re-moving myself from this place as quickly as possible. I opted for the former, though I told my legs that the latter might be required at a moment's notice, and crept out of the empty room. Once in the empty hallway, I tried to get a fix on the voices.

They seemed to be coming from where my sketches indicated Greybridge's study was. I headed in that direction, listening to the two separate, distinct voices. In short order, I came to a door. It was opened a crack, spilling a fountain of light into the hallway just ahead of me. The voices appeared to be coming from within that room.

“-exaggeration at best. Your reputation is the thing, the only thing you need really. I've said it before, I'll say it again.” I recognized Greybridge's voice, now that I was within earshot.

“Indeed,” said a voice I didn't recognize, “you've said so a dozen times at least, if memory serves. By the way - you've had enough, I think.”

“Bah,” Greybridge said in the manner of a man who's clearly had enough to drink. “I'm aware of my limits, sir. I need not be lectured by the likes of you.” There was the noisy sound of someone consuming a drink, almost spitefully.

“Really, as minor as your involvement might be tomorrow, I think you could perhaps lay off the cups long enough to ensure you can actually do it. You've two days, oh most revered and noble Lord,” the voice mocked, “at which point you can finish moving to your new estate, and leave political affairs entirely. Why, you could drink yourself into oblivion if you wish.”

“How touching,” Greybridge said bitterly.

“Lord Greybridge, I assure you that I care not a whit what you might do three days hence. Or beyond,” the voice said. “I care a great deal what happens tomorrow, and the day after. And I assure you that my Lord cares a great deal as well. So much so that I'm afraid I must insist that you-” the voice paused mid-sentence, as though considering how to either phrase something diplomatically, or how to make it more insulting. “That you've had enough to drink this evening. Most honored Lord.”

The ironic tone was not lost on Greybridge. A full minute passed before he replied.

“You ... you need not be so, so-”

“Blunt?” The voice said, amused. “Come, my Lord. It is played out, and you've seen the most desirable option available to you. There is no shame in that, is there? A nice country estate, away from the troubles and strife of those who dwell in the city. You're being paid handsomely, I might remind you, for your efforts.”

“Yes, it's all about the money, isn't it,” Greybridge half snarled.

Nothing was said for a good half minute.

“Well, yes,” Greybridge said softly, the sound of a glass smashing against brick acting as punctuation for his soft words. “There, look! Done. I assure you I'll be fine for tomorrow's performance, young man.”

Performance?

“And the next day?” said the unidentified man, his voice full of laughter. “You'll be able to stand upright on that day as well? We need not send a carriage full of burly lads to escort you to-”

“Damn you! I've already done it, haven't I? It's been arranged, all the details taken care of and ironed out, so you need not rub it in my face you arrogant son of-”

“Lord Greybridge, please sit back down. I fear you might injure yourself.”

This time, the pause that followed was almost dangerous.

“What more do you want?” Greybridge asked, his voice plaintive and desperate. My recollection of Greybridge's legendary temper was completely at odds with the cowed, pleading voice I now heard.

“Want? My Lord, I assure you that I do not desire anything from your noble self, outside of ensuring that you retire this evening in a condition that suggests that your participation in tomorrow's activities goes as planned. Did I not say that this was my intent earlier? I could have sworn that I had.”

“I ... indeed. Very well. I believe I shall retire then. That is, unless you have any objections to me doing that.”

“Retire? Why, my Lord, the evening has barely begun!” Again, the voice gave a hint of mocking laughter that it seemed unable to contain. “Surely you're not that tired, so soon? If you wished to go out this evening and have a spot of something to eat, I'm sure I could loan you some coin.”

Loan some coin. Greybridge, borrowing from-

Oh my.

His exclamation about money, the talk of moving estates, the quiet certainty that oozed from the voice of the unknown speaker as he smoothly handled a man who, until just moments ago, I had assumed was one of the most financially stable and powerful Lords in all of Harael.

The keep was being emptied, he was moving elsewhere. Or being moved. Or-

That cussed doorman who had dressed me down earlier – the servants clothing he was wearing didn't fit him, which might suggest that he was planted there, playing a part! Possibly not a doorman at all, and probably not even Greybridge's employee. The empty hallways, the chambermaid packing clothing.

It all pointed to Greybridge selling his estate. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I focused once again on what the voices were saying.

“-sick kind of satisfaction. Your kind makes me quite happy to be taking the path I find myself on. I've little love for politics, and-”

“Politics,” the voice sneered. “Is that what you choose to call it? Watching you slick and grubby weasels in action only reinforces my contempt for the self-defeating, diseased system of government that exists today. I find no pleasure in getting my own hands dirty, rooting around in the mud as you and your fellow Lords do.”

“You certainly seem adept enough at it yourselves. I'm sure you and your Lord will do marvelously well,” Greybridge said, sounding familiarly pompous.

“Now, now,” the stranger tsk'd, “just because you yourself lacked any sort of native talent when it came to managing your affairs ... just because your life was a dismal failure doesn't mean tha-”

There was the sound of movement, like wooden legs being pushed over an expanse of carpet, followed by seconds of silence. Finally, there was a high-pitched and cruel laugh that filled the room.

“Oh, do continue what you were about to do, most gracious Lord. Ah, see ... you've stopped. Shame, that. Are you sure I can't convince you to continue? Hmmm? Perhaps if I asked nicely, or said 'please', you would-”

“I'm going to retire for the evening,” Greybridge said with a note of finality. “The night is young, it's true, but I have a sudden feeling that an hour spent being dragged backwards over carpenter nails would be preferable to spending five minutes more in the presence of your ... wit.”

“My Lord ... you have but to ask, and once this is all settled I will personally ensure that you experience the former in order to satisfy your curiosity regarding how it compares to the latter.”

There was more silence, and then more sounds of items being moved over carpet, which meant-

I turned and sprinted as quickly as I could down the hallway, ears only half-aware of the two speakers wishing each other a pleasant evening, neither meaning it. Turning the corner as rapidly as I could safely manage, I didn't stop to observe them entering the hallway I'd just fled. I didn't worry about the possibility of guards patrolling the hallways now that I knew they were devoid of valuables and things of interest. I simply continued on the carpeted path as quickly as I could, my only concern consisting of making it to the third floor balcony and leaving the premises as quickly as I could manage without being seen.

What had I just heard?

Greybridge was playing along with something, and in a manner he clearly didn't like or appreciate. Country estate? He was not fond of politics – anyone with one ear and half a brain knew that. What was happening to the estate that he governed, and how did it fit in with me and what I was doing?

What was this 'performance' that was required of him?

I arrived at the balcony and stood at the shallow railing overlooking the cobbled path below me, frozen for a time, momentarily uncertain of what I should do.

Well, I should get the hell out of there. Obviously.

Grabbing onto the decorative stone pillars of the railing, and in a manner that would have made an acrobat gape, I vaulted over the top and pulled myself back towards the keep like a swing, depositing myself lightly on the second floor balcony below.

I wanted to drop down to the main floor, the cobbled path that led to the main garden. The two guards I had first spied with their backs turned were still there, having barely moved a single inch since I'd spotted them. The sound of my boots dropping onto the hard stone of the garden path would certainly alert them to my presence.

Easy enough to take care of, I realized.

I reached into a small pocket on my left for one of the several small marble-sized spheres I kept there. I didn't have my wrist-sling on me, but that hardly mattered – they simply needed to be thrown with enough force to break, and any hard surface would do. Once I found the one that I wished, I gave a quick glance to the two guards below and threw the sphere onto the cobbles of the courtyard. Taking a deep breath, I vaulted over the railing and followed it down.

This particular marble hit the ground and ... well, appeared to do something entirely the opposite of 'erupting', dimming the area around it. It would, for about six seconds or so, remove all of the air from an area about ten feet wide from where it had struck. Handy for putting out fires and torches, disabling certain alarms and traps, or even occasionally making people unable to breathe, causing them to panic.

Almost by complete accident, I discovered a dandy side-effect of air being removed in this fashion – it completely negated sound of any kind.

I landed heavily within my sphere of silence and rolled, the ground forcibly clacking against the hard soles of my boots in a way that I could feel was loud, if not actually hear. I felt the cold pressure of nothingness against my skin, and my eyes and ears began to hurt slightly.

From there I quickly moved away from the oblivious guards and towards the side yard, which would provide me with easy access to the street. My feet padded lightly across the lawn as I made my way to the edge of the clearing.

Sprinting that forty feet took an eternity.

Arriving at the outskirts of the lawn, I quickly hopped over a small fence and stepped through some bushes and onto the street, forcing myself not to pant. I nodded politely to a couple who seemed startled by my sudden appearance during their evening stroll. I didn't notice if they nodded back or not.

Safe. Maybe.

Determined not to look behind me, I forced myself to walk down the road as casually as I could, heading towards my keep.

I was thinking furiously, digesting information. It was impossible for me to say if I felt I was getting closer to an explanation, or if each strange twist simply cast me further adrift in the ocean of uncertainty I'd been floating in. Was I getting anywhere at all?

This whole thing was suddenly much, much bigger than I had originally assumed. From all accounts, Greybridge was an extremely tough, no-nonsense, cagey son of a bitch, one who had resources that boggled the mind.

It occurred to me that the sheer economic and political force that was required to make a powerful recluse like Greybridge bend a knee would have to be even more considerable.

It also occurred to me to wonder if I had my affairs in order.