“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Rose asked the satyr. “The City of Goldhill is full of interesting people. Just think of all the friends you could make!”

Padair looked at her through blocky goat’s eyes. “It’s no fun when they’re fenced in. Friends are best made in the wild–” Standing in the middle of the cobbled road, the goat man spread his arms wide, gesturing towards the surrounding trees and bushes “–where they’re free to roam anywhere they please, but choose to stay by your side.”

“Padair!” Rose begged.

“Stop your name-calling!” the goat man glowered.

“You just want to show him off,” Augustus said.

“Stay out of this, Gus!” Tangles of red curls bounced with the sway of Rose’s head. “I think our friend would have a great time in Goldhill.”

“And I think it would do me some good to get away from you all!” Padair crossed his arms. “You take my name too lightly!”

Rose sighed. “Fine, you stubborn old goat! Stay out here and sleep in a ditch like a proper stray!” The red-haired woman marched back to her wagon, parked away up the road, where two dwarves sat in the driver’s seat. “Come on, Gus!”

Gus looked at Padair. “I’ll see you on the other side?”

“You almost sound eager to see me again.” Padair smiled. The goat man turned his eyes on the Moonlit Mysterium–their large red wagon. “I regret making friends with that woman.” He shook his horned head. “You know how to summon me if the need arises–just say my name–but, please, don’t allow the need to arise!”

Gus waved. “Farewell, friend.” And parted ways. He crawled into the back of the awaiting wagon. I hope I never see you again.

Skiggi cracked his whip, and the oxen set their wagon into motion. The Western Road led them to a city that rose like an anthill. The massive mound, the city’s namesake, overlooked the Western Road and the Golden Valley to the south. The Moonlit Mysterium rocked against neatly lined cobblestones alongside several other wagons full of merchants and their goods. They passed through the city gates. Gus' head poked out from the front flaps of the wagon’s red cover. Castle Cartier, the home of House Cartier, loomed high and proud. The ancient fortress sat like a crown upon the pinnacle of the hill, with a ring of walls and battlements circling the keep within. Towers, with cone-shaped shingled roofs, at each corner of the keep peeped over the walls, peering down upon the tightly packed shops and homes of its denizens. Roads within Goldhill carved up and around the mountainous mound, winding through narrow streets and alleys. Men and dwarves hurried along the streets. Merchants, mercenaries, and people of every kind filled the spaces between tall buildings like water filling a riverbed. Peddlers pushed through the crowds, drawing attention to themselves and their wares. Vendors stood behind stalls, selling food, clothes, and tools. Two roadside tables displayed an array of weapons and armor. A pair of blonde dwarves stood behind the armory, shouting: “There’s no finer steel in all the kingdom! Come buy yourself a proper weapon!”

“This city is buzzing like a beehive!” Skiggi's braided beard and hair jingled.

Goldhill is the honeypot of the kingdom, Gus mused. Three gray-robed brothers of the Holy Order stood beside the road, chanting a hymn. Peasants threw circlings at their feet. Money for their coffers. He recalled the secluded monastery he visited as a child, hidden away in the Red Hills. Men of God who want nothing, yet have no problem begging for more.

“Hear all! Hear all! The word of the hour!” A black-haired man stood on top of a wooden crate in the center of the market square. He shouted between cupped hands. “The wedding of Lady Elizabeth Buckwheat and John Winterwhelp is tomorrow! Two houses, once peasants, now mingle as royal blood! Kal’atir sells Elvish potions! A thousand years of experience in ancient magic! Buy love, health, or wealth at Kal’atir’s Cauldron in the Elvish District! House Candlebright acquired the Rushwood Mills: Premium domestic timber and lumber!” The crier paused for a moment. He gulped. “No sign of Juulumbra! The Black Stone is still missing! One hundred golden circlings awarded to the person who finds it!”

Gus moved to the back of the Moonlit Mysterium. The cover flaps stood open, allowing him to watch the lively people of Goldhill. The Jewel of Juulumbra is missing?

“I found it!” a middle-aged woman with dirty clothes shouted. A herd of peasants mobbed her. She shouted. A fight broke out nearby.

The woman disappeared beneath a wave of bodies. The bazaar erupted into chaos. Children screamed. Men and women punched and kicked and cursed at one another. “Tug!” Skiggi cried. His whip cracked. The oxen jerked their wagon forward. The Mysterium rocked and lurched.

Is that why the city is so busy? Everyone is trying to find the jewel, Gus realized. Why did the Cartiers announce such a thing? There’s chaos in the streets! Gus watched the angry mob disappear behind them, as the Moonlit Mysterium climbed Goldhill. Unless that’s what Calvin expected? Perhaps Caterina told him of my betrayal? Perhaps this is a ruse to stir me out of hiding. His mistake, if so. The Cartiers are on their own–just like the King and his kingdom. Just like me…

“We should join in the hunt!” Skiggi exclaimed.

“It’s a waste,” Gus informed.

“What do you mean?” Skiggi asked.

“The nobles wouldn’t announce such a failure to the commoners. It makes them look incompetent,” Gus explained.

“What would you know about it?” Skiggi asked.

“He thinks he knows everything because his father’s a merchant lord,” Rose said.

“I know more than you think,” Gus said. “The dwarves crafted Juulumbra and gifted it to the first Cartier to rule this city. It’s a symbol of peace and prosperity. And a symbol of the Cartier’s right to rule Goldhill. If the Jewel of Juulumbra is missing, and if someone handed it back to Lord Cartier, I fear he would pin the theft on said samaritan, and say he lured the thief into a trap.” The others remained silent–defeated. The Mysterium creaked and moaned as it rocked on the cobbles.

“Rose, do you think we’ll even find a room in this city?” Skiggi asked.

“I’ll talk to Garen,” Rose assured.

“I thought we’re not allowed at Garen’s?” Dori asked. The little woman sat beside her husband on the driver’s bench. She watched the residents of Goldhill with anxious suspicion.

Skiggi chuckled. “Rose won’t turn down cheap rent!” He nudged his wife with his elbow. Dori giggled.

“Someone has to be mindful of our money,” Rose said.

Skiggi’s eyes searched the crowded streets. “I’ve got money on my mind, Rose. Oh, I’ve got it in my eyes, growing out of my ears–I taste gold on my tongue!” He roared with laughter. Dori laughed along with her husband.

Only a sign fashioned from yellow painted boards–a giant ‘W’–distinguished the Western Inn from the steep-roofed replicas it rested between. The first floor had two levels. On either side of a long and wide hall, a foot or so above the central flooring, two raised sections looked down upon the empty dance floor. Handrails and wooden pillars ran along their edges. A scarce few patrons sat at tables on the raised sections. A bar lined the back wall at the end of the hall. Walking toward the bar, Gus felt eyes bearing down on them. His weapons stayed on the wagon, hidden in secret compartments–save his pointy pommeled dagger. A man with sandy blonde hair, stripped of silver runs, stood behind the bar. He wore a scowl, watching Gus and his companions. “Is this really happening?” The man asked.

“We’re back!” Rose announced.

“And you can turn right back around, witch!” Garen scolded. He pointed a finger toward the door.

“Garen…” Rose approached the bar and leaned against it. “Don’t be like that, dear! Think of all the money we’ve made you!”

“I can’t stop thinking about all the blood you spilled,” Garen said. “Out—now!”

“He had it coming to him,” Rose said.

Skiggi thumped the bar top with a thick paw. “He was saying ugly things to Rose all week, Garen. You should be proud of her for sticking up for herself!”

“You can stick up for yourself without sticking someone with a knife!” Garen grabbed a nearby mug and chugged its contents, then slammed the empty mug on the bar. “Those stains are still on my floor!”

Rose waved her hand, and a coin purse appeared from her sleeve. She set the purse on the bar. “We’ll pay upfront for rent and food. And you’ll receive one-fifth of every circling we make! Come on, Garen, your inn is perfect for our performance!”

Garen picked up the coin purse and weighed it. He studied the Moonlit Mysterium, including Gus. Garen sighed. “Promise me no one will die in my inn, Rose.”

“It was a one-time thing, Garen,” Rose assured. She smiled. “I was having a bad day.”

“Most people get drunk when they’ve had a bad day,” Garen remarked. Skiggi and Dori laughed.

“So, is that a yes?” Rose asked.

Garen eyed her. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Dori clapped her hands.

“Get our equipment,” Rose commanded. The dwarves made for the exit. “You too!” Rose eyed Gus. “You’re our bard, are you not?”

“I am,” Gus said. He bowed and turned for the door.

Outside, the dwarven couple unloaded crates and boxes from the Mysterium. “You’ve never seen a show like this, Gus!” Skiggi called from the back of the wagon.

“I’m excited for you!” Dori added.

“This place is empty,” Gus said. “I doubt we’ll make any money.”

“When the people hear music and laughter, they’ll come to see what the fuss is all about,” Skiggi explained. “You just have to trust the process, friend! We know what we’re doing.”

Gus sat on a stool before a red tapestry. The dwarves stood on either side of him, cradling cold torches in the crooks of their arms. A crowd of six patrons, four of whom sat across the inn, trying to ignore the odd display, sat in attendance. Gus piped a tune that sounded foreign and mysterious. The notes flowed from his flute, ascending and descending on a steady scale. Only the cultured would recognize the melody. Seven candles sat in a semi-circle on the floor. Rose stood behind them in a flowering red dress. “At night, when the monsters creep and the gods sleep, a light lingers in the shadow. Carried by a breeze, as quiet as a drift of smoke, and as mysterious as the sea. This light is merely a window. It is not good or evil. It is what we make it: an illumination of our soul.”

Gus pipped his flute, flaring a few squealing notes.

“Join us for a week of marvels, wonders, ballads, and songs! Join us for our Moonlit Mysterium!” The two patrons standing nearby clapped their hands. The other four remained silent.

Gus calmed his flute.

The dwarven pyros spun their dull torches. They marched slowly, spinning the torches and humming a melody to match Gus’ flute. They approached Rose. Marching up beside her, drawing close to the candles, the torches licked the flames from their wicks and fire engulfed their torches. Cheers escaped the two enthusiastic patrons and even one of the distant patrons. The dwarves spoke in their native tongue and bounced the butts of their torches on the floor. Their flames vanished. They stood like guardsmen, stiff-backed and at attention. One patron gasped. Another laughed. “Dwarven magic? Do you really think we’re that thick? There’s no Dwarven magic! You folks are taking people for fools!”

“No Dwarven magic?” Rose asked.

“That’s what I said!” The rude patron bellowed.

Rose raised her hands in the air. She threw a little black ball onto the floor and a cloud of dust exploded. The dwarves relit their torches and spun them wildly. In the cloud of dust, yellow flames streaked through the gray haze, spinning, forming circles and other shapes. The dust settled. The dwarves doused their torches with leather satchels lined with flame retardants. They resumed their statuesque poses.

Four of the six patrons clapped and whistled. Gus heard a man say: “I don’t care if it’s not real magic, that was something to see!”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Join us tonight and every other night this week for even more spectacles!” Rose shouted.

The doubtful patron smiled. He clapped slowly.

Skiggi approached Gus and placed a hand on his shoulder. “That man’s a plant,” the dwarf whispered. “The easily amused don’t gain us the validation of the crowd. It’s the naysayers, Gus. If we can convert the naysayers, then the others will fall in line.”

Gus nodded.

“Now, we wait…” Skiggi looked around the bar. “And drink. Come, let’s drink!”

The Western Inn was as bereft as the mines beneath the city. Garen offered them all a free drink, so Gus requested a pint of Hunter’s Honey. The mead was sweet and thick. Rose and Garen gossiped as if they were the very best of friends, whispering and snickering. “I suppose you all have heard about the missing jewel?” Garen asked.

“We’re not interested,” Rose said. “Everyone knows it's just a ruse.”

“Speak for yourself!” Skiggi shouted.

“Not everyone. Lord Calvin is offering a hundred gold circlings.” Garen wiped a mug clean with a little white cloth. “I’ve thought about hunting for it myself. It’s not like anyone would miss me.” He scanned the empty tavern.

“You could always join us on the road,” Rose said.

“I can juggle wine bottles!” Garen laughed.

“You can pour our drinks while we perform!” Skiggi chimed. "We could use an ale-boy!"

Garen chuckled. He eyed Gus. “You’re pretty quiet for a bard.”

“My words are like a plow. Inspiration is my ox. The minds and hearts of the crowd are my fields. It is all for naught, however, without a little rain for nourishment,” Gus said.

Garen stared at Gus. “What school did you go to?”

“Ottoburg.” Gus drew in a sip of mead.

“They make fine lutes in Ottoburg,” Garen offered. "I've heard it's the cleanest city in the world. I'd like to go there one day."

“They do,” Gus responded.

Garen turned his attention back to Rose. “Supposedly, the jewel went missing months ago,” Garen informed. “The Cartiers tried to hide it, but word got out and rumors spread as they tend to do. The bounty was announced three days ago and, ever since, the city has been an absolute madhouse!”

“Is that why your tavern is so empty?” Rose asked.

Garen chortled. “Yeah, that’s why.”

Gus crossed his arms. He shook his head. “Did you all hear anything I said? Absolutely not!”

“Come on, Gus!” Rose paced around their attic suite. Cobwebs clung to the rafters. “You could find the jewel!”

“My family isn’t in good standing with the Lords of Goldhill. I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember?” Gus explained. And their house elf knows me. She would sniff me out from a mile away, not to mention the Holy Order and my former brothers.

“You don’t have to go to the Lords of Goldhill, Gus.” Rose crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Bring the jewel back to me. Then we can decide what to do with it.”

“You just want it for yourself?” Gus asked.

“Of course!” Skiggi cut in. “If the Cartiers are paying a hundred gold, imagine what it’s really worth!”

Gus sighed. “It really isn’t worth the trouble.”

Rose scratched her head. “I see where your mind’s at, Gus. It wouldn’t make much sense for the nobles to reveal their incompetence to their subjects, but what if they’re just desperate? You heard what Garen said.”

“The Cartiers are one of the most dangerous families in Alexandria. I’d stay away from their games.” Gus searched the eyes of his companions, seeking sanity.

“What if we quit living as rogues?” Rose asked.

“What?” Skiggi startled.

“What?” Dori echoed her husband. She put her hands on her hips and scowled at Rose.

Rose sat down on an abandoned chair, coated with dust. “I’m tired of this life. I want to stop and plant my toes in the dirt. We could sell the jewel and make enough circlings to live as kings for the rest of our lives!”

“What?” Skiggi repeated.

Is she being real? Or is she taking me for a fool?

Rose looked at Skiggi with tired eyes. “I wasn’t always a dancer, you know? Once, I was the daughter of a farmer. I lived on the farm and worked until I was thirteen, but, as most children, I grew bored with the pastoral life.” Rose rubbed her eyes. “I want to go back. Not to that farm, but to a farm of my own.”

“You taught us everything we know about acting and dancing,” Skiggi said. "What would we do?"

“Where would we go?” Dori added.

“You would have enough money to take you wherever you want to go,” Rose explained. “You’d never be trapped in a mine again, that is certain.”

Dori snuggled up close to her husband’s side, nuzzling his beard. “That sounds pretty good,” Skiggi said. The dwarf turned to face his wife and held her hands in his own. “We could finally buy a ship and spend the rest of our days sailing the world–exploring!”

“Oh, Skiggi!” Dori smiled. She looked at Gus.

“You won’t have to do it alone, Gus,” Rose said. Dori turned to her, as did Skiggi. “We’ll all join in the hunt. If we find the jewel, then the Moonlit Mysterium will retire to the eternal shadows. No more robberies, assassinations, or criminal activities of any kind.” She eyed her dwarven friends. Then, her big blue eyes found Gus. “Come on, Gus. I’m not trying to play an angle here. I’m being honest–I want out.”

“What about your performance?” Gus questioned. “You told everyone we’re performing every night.”

“And we will,” Rose assured. “You know how we operate.”

Augustus sighed.

“Come on, Gus…” Dori pleaded.

I am curious: what are the Cartiers up to? I don’t have to go to the courts to figure that out. Gus studied his companions. “Do you sincerely promise to quit your criminal activities? Truly?”

“We’ll do anything to keep from going back to the mines, Gus,” Skiggi said. He tugged at his beard. “If you get me that jewel, we will retire peacefully. I promise.”

“As do I,” Dori said.

Gus started: “I make no promise–”

“Yes!” Rose exclaimed.

Dori jumped into Skiggi’s arms. The dwarves embraced.

Gus’ guts knotted in his stomach. “If we don’t find the jewel by the end of the week, then we leave the city as planned."

“Deal,” Rose stood. She approached Gus with an outstretched hand and Gus took it into his own.

They shook. “Deal,” said Gus.

Augustus wore his magical cloak tight. He shuffled down a dead-end alley full of debris under a moonless sky. Nestled in a cobblestone cove, three beggars huddled around a small fire. Watching Gus approach, their laughter, and chatter went silent. Gus stood on the border of light and shadow. “What do you know about the jewel?”

The three beggars looked at each other. “Everyone is looking for it,” a tall man spoke, eyeing Gus through a mess of stringy hair.

Gus chuckled. He tossed down three copper circlings.

“And they will not find it.” A bald beggar with scars across his forehead picked up the circlings and distributed them to the other beggars. “It’s gone. And the elves who stole it are long gone, too. Best to give this one up.”

“How can you be sure?” Gus asked.

“No one’s found the jewel,” the bald beggar said. “Yet the whole city has been turned over. And there’s no ransom.”

“What about the elves?” Gus inquired.

The bald beggar sighed. “If you’re going to ask more questions, we’ll need more money.” Gus threw three silvers on the ground. A beggar missing half his arm stooped down and swept up the coins with his only hand. “A group of elves caused a scene, not a month before the Cartiers announced the jewel missing,” the bald beggar explained. “They were not happy about the rising price of lumber, nor the treatment of their people. They said they were going to write a formal complaint to King Erwin. When the jewel went missing, the elves were the first to blame. Poor pointy ears.” He shook his head.

Gus thumbed his chin.

The bald beggar continued: “Kingsmen and commoners alike raided the Elvish District, searching for the jewel. But those elves were long gone. And if they took the jewel, the jewel is gone with them.”

“Is there anyone else who could’ve taken it?” Gus asked.

“Rumors abound,” the bald beggar said. “But we need more money for more answers.”

Augustus tossed a silver coin to each beggar.

“Maddox Mastersmith, the Chairman of the Red Sashes here in Goldhill, has a son with a horrible illness. The kid has been sick his whole life. Supposedly, Maddox pays a hefty sum for the medicines that keep his boy alive. Could be he took the jewel and sold it?” The one-armed beggar shrugged.

The shaggy-haired beggar shook his head. “Or maybe it was a rival lord? The Cartiers have many enemies.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Gus opened his left hand, revealing three golden circlings. The beggars leaned forward, their eyes widening. “It’s a shame…” Gus closed his hand around the circlings.

“There is the matter of Lord Edgerton Crystalcreek and his daughter…” the bald beggar trailed off.

Just before noon, Gus ventured to the Elvish District, on the northwest side of town. He replaced his cloak of invisibility with a worn, brown, traveling cloak, and dawned an outfit gained at a discounted rate: dirty-brown leather trousers and a green shirt. His pointy pommeled dagger rested on his side. Built within a small basin on the western foot of Goldhill, a marketplace marked the district's edge. It was barren. Stalls sat empty, tents and canopies shaded only stones. The elves built their homes and shops from timber and wood, their roofs curved like the belly of a ship, with thick thatching guarding their roofs against rain. Gold-painted runes decorated their doorframes and windowsills. There wasn’t a single stone building. Their streets were wide, and the cobbles looked new. Graffiti marked a yellow canopy with big red letters: “Pointy Ear Thieves!”

Gus remained on the road, traveling to the heart of the district. Despite the graffiti and the occasional abandoned apartment, the elves kept their community clean. Nothing littered their streets. They painted their wooden structures yellow, red, and gold—the colors of House Cartier. At the center, Gus found a well, and a dozen elves gathered around it. They all glared at Gus, watching his approach with suspicion.

Gus raised a hand. He waved at them. An older elf with long white hair, wearing clean but modest clothes, waved back. “Hail, friends!” Gus spoke in Elvish.

The onlooking elves whispered to one another. A few scattered into the wind, scurrying off with water buckets in tow. “Hail, outlander!” the old elf responded in the common tongue."It's rare to find a man who speaks like an immortal."

Gus approached. “Is my accent that thick?”

“If you’re looking for the jewel, you’re too late,” the old elf said. “The entire city has searched our homes and our shops. Guess what? We don’t have it!”

Gus shook his head. “I’m just looking for a new walking stick. What's your name, ancient one?"

“Shal’a’til,” the old elf said.

“Well, Shal’a’til," Gus said. "I’ve heard the elves of Goldhill are the finest wood carvers in the world. Is that true?”

“It is,” Shal’a’til answered.

“My name is Rorick. Most call me Rorick the Ranger,” Gus lied. “I don't seek my fortune. My heart is with the open road and the green countryside.”

A leather-clad elf pushed through the crowd of onlookers and eavesdroppers, placing himself at Shal’a’til’s side. He looked Gus up and down. “If you are a ranger, tell me: where does the dragon’s tongue blossom?”

“In the sunny regions of the south, where it’s warm year-round,” Rorick said.

The elf grinned. “And how many pups can a gnoll-bitch birth in a year?”

“Four to six.” Rorick sighed.

“Enough, Tel’arian,” Shal’a’til pleaded. “Begone with you, child.” The old elf shooed the leather-clad rogue away.

The elf tapped the short-sword at his side and nodded toward Rorick. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“Ignore my nephew,” Shal’a’til assured. "Tel'arian is a warrior. A protector." He offered Gus his right arm, who wrapped his left underneath the immortal's frail limb and followed. “Come, Rorick, I will take you to our finest staff-maker.”

Gus returned to the Western Inn in time for the Moonlit Mysterium’s first performance. The evening began with song and dance, then moved to tales and ballads. Gus delivered “The Eulogy of Arthur” to a crowd of two dozen. His delivery was poignant. The crowd sat silent and satiated, enraptured by his cadence, gorging upon the elegant words. His speech earned him a standing ovation.

After the Moonlit Mysterium ended, Gus joined his fellow performers at the bar for drinks. A half dozen patrons stayed to drink with them. They even bought the Moonlit Mysterium a round of ale.

Gus entertained the patrons for as long as he could stomach, then made his escape, slipping out of the inn and into the shadows of the night.

Exotic plants decorated a wide balcony alongside elegantly carved chairs, tables, and sofas. Elvish furniture, Gus mused. A metal door stood shut. And a dwarven lock. Gus flared his cloak and pushed off the balcony railing. He soared into the night sky, ascending above Crystalcreek Manor.

He let go, falling.

Gus landed on the roof's edge and made his way across from the Lord’s chambers. On the other side, a hatch hid beside a large chimney. He drew his bone-handled dagger and impaled his thumb–drawing blood. Animiki’s talon glowed white and blue. Gus sliced the hinges of the hatch with his magical dagger and removed the door. Then, he spun–his cloak. It spiraled and shimmered. He became invisible. Gus crawled onto a metal ladder and slid the hatch into its frame. It won’t pass a close inspection, but, at a glance, no one should notice.

He stood in a dark closet. Gus pushed against the wall, and it swung open like a door. It led to a hallway. He slipped out and closed the hidden door behind him. It melded seamlessly with the wooden walls of the interior halls. It’s time to pay a visit to the Lord’s chambers. The hallway led Gus to a four-way intersection. Gus turned right, following another hall. His footsteps were light and quick. A second pair of footsteps resounded from a nearby room. Gus glided down the hall, carried by a ghostly gust, which caught in his cloak like a sail. Just as he neared the corner, he heard a door open. Gus spun, flattening his back against the wall. Invisible, he peeked around the corner, looking down the hall without fear of being seen.

A fat man with a fine robe stumbled toward him. Lord Edgerton? Augustus mused. I could question him right now. But he’s out in the open. What is he up to?

Lord Crystalcreek sauntered past, towards a stairwell at the end of the hall. I need to keep a low profile…

Augustus spirited across the manor. He found the Lord’s chambers abandoned. The doorway stood unguarded. Gus opened the door and entered. He glided across the Lord’s chamber toward a large wooden desk. A mess of notes and parchment lay scattered and stained with black ink. A folded letter missing a seal caught Gus’ eye. He unfolded it:

“This service means more to me than all the kingdoms in the world, my friend. It has arrived safely. I thank you. With my most grateful regards,

–B.”

A shuffling noise outside the door startled Augustus. He spun. A servant girl stood in the doorway, searching the room with bewildered eyes. She slammed the door shut. Gus heard the patter of her feet as she scurried away. He studied the letter, memorizing its contents, then dashed down the hall behind the servant. She never heard a sound. Gus exited the same way he came in.

He stood on the rooftop of Crystalcreek Manor, overlooking the city of Goldhill. A midnight breeze rustled his cloak. Street lamps glowed, lighting up the city like yellow stars upon a blanket of gray stones and black shadows. Who is B? Did Edgerton receive an unsealed letter? Or did he write it? Gus shoved off the roof and shot into the night air. Always, my answers lead to more questions. The wind whipped through his hair. His eyes watered. Is Juulumbra the answer for my friends of the Mysterium? Will they change their ways? No. I think not. I think they’re just using me.

Why am I doing this? The Moonlit Mysterium are criminals–killers. They think I’m just a rich kid with fancy toys and an intriguing pet. Then again, am I not using them? They don’t even know my real name. Why do I travel with them? I could travel faster alone. What do they offer but quick blades and sharp wits?