The storage room had a weird, dusty smell. It seemed like a deposit for old furniture, paintings, clothes and a bunch of unrecognizable trash covered by drapes and carpets. There was even a big, expertly made carpet hanging from a wall. It had flowery patterns interwoven with geometric ones, and it seemed too expensive to be left here to rot. This piece of art had a small piece of paper glued in the angle, with a weird string of letters on it: Keyshon, property of Olex Arlando .

“Where do you think we should be?” Lazar said, looking around, a bit disoriented by the mess.

“Don’t worry, dear.” Liliane looked at her surroundings, too, trying to adjust her sigh to the dim light of the room. “We just have to follow the rats to reach the Mayor’s sleeping quarter. The guard dogs protecting the books should be there. Their friend said that there aren't any cats in the vicinity, so this place has always been safe to hunt and scavenge in. They knew it by heart and they explained it well to our little friends.”

Lazar smiled towards the small rodents, still on his shoulders.

“Thank you, Thyme, thank you, Spyce. You’ve been a boon since the start of our journey. I think you deserve a treat when this debacle is over.”

The rodents perked up at that, and descended from the old man's body. They scuttled towards a half-hidden door, covered by crates, squeaking. The way was seemingly blocked off, but with a bit of effort, the couple managed to get them out of the way, freeing the passage.

The door opened on a corridor, and they started following it. Thyme and Spyce kept sniffing around, looking alert, but didn’t signal any disturbance. The manor was eerily silent, which was weird. Usually a place like this would have at least three or four servants catering to the needs of their sir.

The corridor ended on a small bend, in the back of which was another door, open, this time. Inside was a dining room. It was pretty spartan to be the dining room of a Mayor, but it seemed like the only expenses the man did were to ensure that no money could escape his grasp, one way or another.

There was a big fireplace in the far wall, with a weird patch next to it, made of off-colored bricks. It was a gray patch in the mostly whitish stone wall. Probably a bricked door.

They stepped into the room, trying not to make much noise and being as wary as possible, when they heard a loud voice from the back, shouting “Murder! Murder!”

They turned around but saw nothing.

Lazar took out his mace, and Liliane took out a knife from her purse.

“Who goes there?” the old woman said, “Who are you?

“Who are we? Who are you! What are you doing on my resting place?”

“This is literally a dining room!”

“Well, tell that to the chump who interred me into the floor, then!”

A figure emerged from the pavement. It was a man in a cook's outfit, apron and all, and a weird hat on his head. Spyce tried to jump on top of him, but it passed like he wasn't here.

“Who are… Who were you?” asked Liliane, holding her knife tight.

“I was the cook of the late Mayor, sir Miller, the one that came before my killer.

“He did not like how I cut his meat. Said the cuts were too big and that I was wasting money, so he decided to show me the error of my ways by knifing me to death, and interring me in the dining room so I could watch how a real cook worked. No one worked for him after that, I made sure of it.”

“Do you know anything about the guarded safe?”

“He inherited the safe from my previous master, and I think he didn't bother to change the lock, since all the people who knew the code were dead… He moved all the furniture from his sleeping quarters to the safe room, and what did not fit he put in a storage and forgot about it. He seems almost possessed by money. I can show you where it is. Follow me. The manor is empty right now, for some reason.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

—

“Did you also call the maid and the valet to come help?” a guard asked the big Deginish man “weren't we enough? You already rounded up the whole barracks!”

The armored guard looked at him, with a serious look, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“All hands on deck. The Mayor said it, and I'm just following his orders, here.” Mutt said, a little devious smirk on his face. “Now go back and pull that rope, that stone won't detach itself!”

—

“Does he keep his books in the safe? Or did he put them somewhere else?”

“What books and books! The mayor has no books: he has a magical ledger! Double book kept and all the works! One of the cleanest list I have ever seen made by a loan shark! He likes to know to the penny the money he is owed and that he spends the moment it leaves his hands. That's how he always knows if someone has more money than they told him. Signing a contract with him means sharing all the info on your wealth. It's written in fine print at the back of everyone of his contracts, not that the majority of his debtors can read.”

“We need to find it.”

“Well, it's on the other side of the door, somewhere. I don't know exactly where. I can't follow you: he asked a cleric to ward it from spirits since I started haunting him after my killing.”

“Thyme, Spyce, stay in the purse for now, I don't want to risk anything.”

Lazar was already working on the door, checking for traps and illusions: he found none, except for the anti-ghost ward. Liliane sprinkled a bit of black salt on it for good measure, but it showed no reaction at all. They opened the door. The room wasn't that big, or even that decorated. There was a baldaquin bed, with red woolen sheets, a small rug on the ground, an open wardrobe with five different sets of shirts and pants, and a seven foot tall dog who had been sleeping before the two opened the door, and was now getting up, growling towards the couple.

“That's a pretty big mastiff!” Liliane exclaimed, excited at the sight of the monstrous dog.

“That - that’s an orthrus. Liliane. Liliane.”

“Such a nice puppy!”

She practically beamed looking at the dog that was now walking in their direction.

“An orthrus! We have to run!”

The jaws of one of the head started smelling of sulfur, the other of coal, and both began glowing.

“A big fluffy boy, aren't you? Aren't you?”

“Liliane, for the love of everything that's holy, it's going to spew fire. It's a fire breathing dog.

“Excuse you? He just has a bit of a spicy breath, don't you? Don't you?”

The orthrus breathed its flames on the two elders. Lazar braced himself and started chanting, but… The flames seemed to part as Liliane got near the big orthrus, hugging it at the base of his neck, underneath the collar. He immediately stopped his fire attack, and started panting, confused.

The old woman began scritching it, hard.

“Who's got such a nice fur? Who is it? Who is it? It's you! It's you!”

The monstrous dog fell on his back, but Liliane the bringer of scritches was unrelenting, and started to do them over his belly. The dog whimpered and squirmed, seemingly in bliss.

“What's the name of this big pupper? What is it? “

Its spiked collar had a tag on it, where it was possible to read the word ‘Lyre’.

“Oh, you've got such a nice name. Oh Lyre you're so handsome! Such a handsome boy!”

The two heads of the orthrus started trashing for a bit, overwhelmed by the cuddles, then stopped: they had fallen asleep, side by side. His right leg, sometimes, kicked the air: it seemed to be having nice dreams.

“I think the way for the safe is open now.”

Lazar looked at the dog, now sleeping, and at her wife. He smiled.

“We just need to crack it. It seems construct-made. The last Mayor spent no expenses to keep his money safe. It must have been a windfall for a miser like Merripenny. Does it have magical protections, too?”

“No, it seems completely mundane, even if very secure. I'm sensing a hint of magic, though, there in the corner, near the bed. We should check.” said the old man

“Do you really think he's the type to put something under an illusion?” Liliane asked, dubious.

“I would not put it behind him. He has an orthrus as a guard dog.” replied Lazar, deadpan.

“Touché”.

There was a small, hidden compartment in one of the bricks. It contained a little vial full of a viscous liquid, the color of rotten leaves and mud, squirming and bubbling. There was also a small emblem resembling a seastar, and a letter. It did not seem like something that belonged to the Mayor, but who knew. Liliane put everything inside her purse.

Then, they went to the safe. It was an old construct model, Lazar identified it as a F41L, one of the best in commerce. It was a bit outdated, though, and with a bit of fiddling, and the help of a sound enhancing spell, he managed to find the combination for the safe. He hated the fact that it was 54-32-10, but that was as good as a guess then all the other possible combinations.

It opened, revealing… Nothing. Nothing, but a single glowing book, leatherbound, or… covered in something resembling leather. It was scaly. It also glowed faintly, in a yellow color.

Lazar grinned from ear to ear.

“We just have to find a taxman now, so that we can deliver that asshole of a mayor to justice.”

“The empire's taxmen are wandering, you know that, right?” quipped Liliane. “We may search for days before finding one. We'll have more luck going to the next city and speaking with one of the officials there to send someone, bringing the ledger with us.”

“Are you sure about that? Don't you think he will try to make an escape?”

“What alternatives do we have? Come on. What are the chances that a taxman will come knocking on our doorstep right this instant?”

Three hard knocks could be heard from the Lower floor, accompanied by the sound of a trumpet and a booming voice that made even the walls tremble in fear.

“By decree of his majesty the illustrious Emperor Primus Magnus Supremus, I hereby request to look at the books of the Mayor of this town so that a fair tax can be levied!”