Shadow Prowler

The lock looked pretty serious. I cleared my throat and moved a table up to the wall, since the safe was set rather high. I climbed up, sat in a comfortable position, took my faithful lock picks out of my bag, and started fiddling about. It was more than twenty minutes before the final spring reluctantly clicked and the door opened slightly, moving a mere hair’s breadth away from the wall. I laughed happily and reached out my hand, but then jerked it back again.

I really ought to check the secret safe for traps set for impatient fools. For was quite capable of installing some horrible device out of old habit. But no—there was no hidden spring or loaded crossbow or any other nasty little trick.

The safe proved to be small. No valuables. Only papers. I didn’t start delving into the secrets of the priestly brotherhood—the lads had their own little games and it wouldn’t be right for me to go sticking my curious nose into them. I simply took what was mine and closed the door. The moment the lock clicked, the magical fresco reappeared, concealing the ugly opening in the wall. A casual observer would never have guessed that there was a safe hidden there.

I dragged the table back to its former position and sat down to study the documents thoroughly, since I still had four hours left. I glanced quickly through the rhymed riddle and then turned to the map of Hrad Spein.

But the progress I made in all that time was hardly worth a bent pe

When it was almost evening and my eyes were tired and good old For still hadn’t put in an appearance, I tore myself away from the maps and put the documents in my bag. I felt too lazy to fiddle with the secret fresco again, and I didn’t want to waste any more of the magical liquid either, so I thought my old bag would be a safe enough hiding place.

It was time to be off.

In principle, I didn’t really have to go anywhere. But I was tormented by a mixture of doubt and curiosity—would my plan work? And would Artsivus believe what I had asked Roderick to tell him? Because, if the archmagician ignored what I had said, the rhole plan would all go to the Darkness, together with the demon who managed to snatch the Horse with his clawed fingers.8/p>

Evening sas drawing on.

That time of day had arrived when the world is colored in every shade of gray. The sun had not yet sunk behind the hOrizon, but it was ready to retire, and the moon looked like a snow owl. For just one hour the gigantic, drowsy bird known as twIlight had spread its wings over the city.

A suspicious silence had spread along the Street of the Sleepy Dog. This meant that some dark business was in the offing and somebody’s blood might be spilled. Therefore the inhabitants of the houses in the area had gone scurrying off on highly important, but imaginary business, with an air of serious haste, and it was hardly surprising that as the lazy twilight’s gentle hands felt their way along the stone walls of the houses, they found almost no one in the street.

Ah, but that was just it—almost no one.

The street was not actually empty. There were a few lads about with an appearance that was quite easily recognized—the kind of appearance possessed by certain individuals who are at odds with the law and prepared to slip their hands into the pocket of Baron Lanten himself.

Markun had taken the trouble of posting lookouts in order to spot any unusual developments in the form of Frago Lanten and his faithful lads, or even Harold, if it came to that. Well, well.

Thank Sagot, the lads didn’t notice me, and I turned onto the next side street, intending to get into Gozmo’s i

I’d have to do it the old-fashioned way, over the roof. Using the cobweb, I was soon standing on the roof next to the roof of Gozmo’s i

These hunters, may the dark elves roast me alive! You could catch an adult obur in a trap like that! Nothing could possibly be more dangerous than the hospitality of my best friend Gozmo!

As I expected, the attic was dusty and dirty, and so it cost me quite an effort to find the hatch in the floor; I had to scrape away a heap of old rags, and the dust almost made me sneeze. The trapdoor was locked from the other side, and I cursed the lock, and Gozmo, and Markun’s lads, and the stupid Doralissians a dozen times before I finally managed to get it open.

There were no steps, so I simply jumped down onto the floor of the second story, almost colliding with Gozmo as he strolled along the corridor. The i

“Harold! You’ll be the death of me!” he exclaimed and spat when he recognized me. “Couldn’t you choose a less eccentric way of visiting?”

“Did you do as I said?” I asked, ignoring his question.

Somehow I didn’t enjoy visiting Gozmo as much as I used to.

“Yes, may you be cursed three times over! Markun and his lads have been here for more than an hour already.”

“My sympathies.” The head of the Guild of Thieves was as impatient as ever. He had decided to turn up well in advance of the set time. “What sort of mood is he in? Bad, as usual?”

“Bad?” Gozmo wrung his hands despairingly. “I’m done for! The moment he learns that there isn’t going to be any deal, those lads of his will have our guts!”

“Stop whining,” I said good-naturedly. “You’ve got nowhere to fall back to now.”

What’s true is true. Even if Gozmo betrayed me, he was a dead man. The fat slug who through some mistake of the gods had become the leader of the Avendoom Guild of Thieves never forgave anyone who tricked him. The hospitable water below the piers was waiting for Gozmo.

“Curses on that night when I listened to you,” Gozmo muttered.

He had probably been visited by thoughts about the water under the piers as well.

“Don’t panic. It’s bad for the job. Better think about something pleasant. Have you already received your share of the gold?”