“You found a letter?” Rose asked. “What did it say?”
“This service means more than any kingdom. ‘It’ has arrived safely,” Augustus recited.
“Calvin Cartier refused a marriage proposal between Lady Elizabeth and his youngest son, offending Lord Crystalcreek’s daughter and his pride!” Rose exclaimed. She smiled, rubbing her hands together. “Nothing is more profitable than noble intrigue.”
“Then, the Crystalcreeks are moving against the Cartiers?” Dori inquired. She thumbed her chin. “Are they trying to start a rebellion?”
Gus shook his head. “The Crystalcreeks are too small to move against the royal bloodline. They would be beset by all the Lords of the Western Ward. To claim the city for himself, Lord Crystalcreek would need the allegiance of other powerful families within the city and aid from a foreign power.” Augustus sat down on a wooden bench. “If Crystalcreek is involved, he’s merely seeking to embarrass the Cartiers and make them look foolish.” Rose furrowed her fiery brow in consternation. “The only identifying mark on the message was ‘B’. There was no seal."
“‘Bee?’” Skiggi asked, tugging at a bead in his braided beard.
“A single letter,” Gus clarified. “Nothing more.” He paused, then scratched his head. “Personally, I’m more intrigued by the seal–or lack thereof. Did Lord Crystalcreek write the letter and leave it open for any prying eyes to read? Or, did he receive an unmarked letter? It is not uncommon for the nobility to bend the laws to suit their needs, but, if Crystalcreek received an unmarked–unlawful–letter, then he is certainly wrapped up in some business that could stain his reputation.” The four of them paced about the attic of the Western Inn. It was a graveyard of broken and abandoned furniture, kept for spare parts. “What have you all learned about the Red Sashes and their leader?” Gus asked.
“Maddox is a hard man to get to,” Rose said.
“I can get to him,” Gus assured. “But that will distract me from Crystalcreek Manor and the Elvish District.”
“Leave it to us, Gus!” Skiggi pointed a thumb at his chest.
“We just need more time,” Dori added.
“Thankfully, we’ve done business with the local Reds before,” Rose informed. “We’re inviting them to our performances, henceforth–free of charge. They’ll be drinking and dancing and talking. There’s nothing like a stiff drink to loosen a tongue.”
Gus crossed his arms and cocked his head. “So, while I’m investigating, you all will be at the Western Inn–drinking and talking?”
“I’m meeting with an apothecary in the Elvish District whose brother was among the elves who fled the city.” Rose flipped a lock of red curls behind her shoulder. “We’re doing what we can, Gus.”
Gus shook his head. “Let me talk with the apothecary.”
“Why?” Rose asked.
“Because I’ll be in character and the elves know me as a loner,” Gus explained.
“The things they teach in Ottoburg…” Rose mused.
The town crier stood atop his box on the street corner, shouting over the heads of passerbys: “Find the best dwarven steel and the finest craftsmen in the world, right here in Goldhill! Shal’a’til and Sons offer fine leather and garments! Tel’ran’terath can build anything: homes, siege engines, bridges, and more! Tinker the Smith is selling iron at a great price! And don’t forget to visit Terra’s Bakery, located in Market Square!” Cobbles pressed against Rorick’s roadworn boots, carrying him across the city. He gathered many pieces of gossip and news of Juulumbra: “Frank the Fishmonger was stabbed to death, after finding the Black Jewel in the belly of a fish! That Dwarven jeweler, Borum, placed Juulumbra on a crown and sent it north, to his true master!”
The Elvish District was quiet. There were no rumors, no gossip, and no business. Its streets were deprived. Rorick walked to the center of the district, where once again he met a scant few elves gathered by the well. Ignoring their glares, he made for the apothecary.
Her shop was easy to find; her gardens grew thickest and brightest. Vines crept along arched gazebos, flower troughs sat before every window–and there were many–and flowerpots lined the walkway. Entering the shop, Rorick spotted a she-elf behind a long table of flower beds, clipping at blue-petaled bushes. Light poured through a nearby window, glowing gold in her hair. “How may I help you?” The she-elf asked.
“I’m looking for unripe deathrattle,” Rorick said. “I’m making a trip to the sea.”
“I bought a bundle just the other day, but they are slightly ripe. You may check them yourself,” the she-elf offered. “They’re just over there.” She pointed a lithe finger at a far windowsill. Her eyes never left the cave tulips she cared for. Rorick stalked across the shop and found the bundle of deathrattle, soaking sun from its crib of whicker and cotton. He inspected the plants. They were seasoned but green enough to make the trip–if he brewed them at the right time. He gathered a few and packed them to a nearby counter. The apothecary joined him. “Ten coppers per deathrattle,” she said. “Is there nothing else you need?”
“I can find most of it myself,” Rorick stated. He fished out his coin purse, plucked a silver, then set it on the counter.
The elf eyed the silver circling. “Do you have thirty coppers?”
Rorick straightened his back. “I have eighteen.”
“That will do,” she assured. “You look worst for wear, as it is. And the sea isn’t merciful to the sick and weary.”
“Keep the silver,” Rorick said. “Your people have seen much hardship as of late. The streets are barren. And…" he paused. "I know you all were blamed for Juulumbra’s disappearance.”
“I hate that cursed gem,” the elf seethed. She scoffed. “As if we would want that dwarven hunk of rock! What would we do with it? Sell it? To whom?” She shook her head.
“From what I understand, the trouble started long before the black stone went missing,” Rorick said. He slid the silver circling across the countertop with the tip of his index finger. “Keep it–as my condolences.”
The she-elf nodded, took the coin, and stalked across her shop, back to the plants she tended. “Things weren’t always so unpleasant,” she said. “The last few generations have been especially cruel, but, the people’s attitudes tend to fluctuate. Not seventy years ago, we were hailed as heroes!”
“After the Battle of Hardin’s Pass?” Rorick inquired. “Six Elvish hunters and a village of peasants stifled a goblin raid of six hundred. Immortal blood was spilled.”
“I remember the celebrations and the memorials for the fallen.” She grabbed a pair of shears and cleared thick growths from a tulip’s stem. “We Elves have long memories. Dwarves and men are fickle beings, shifting with time.”
Patrons filled the Western Inn until it was bound to burst. Garen juggled mugs and bottles across the crowded floors, serving the crowds single-handedly. Between his curses and cries, the innkeeper revealed a subtle smile. Gus piped a tune on his flute, as the dwarven couple drummed away upon deer hides. Skiggi pounded a booming keg with a two-handed mallet. Dori paddled a pan and danced about. Rose sang:
“The hills abound with gold untold,
The roads wind ever onward,
And still, we friends strike out so bold,
For fortune’s never squandered!”
The crowd of dwarves and men sang and danced along. Metallic circlings fell to Rose’s feet. She twirled, sending her flowering dress spiraling. Gus glimpsed several red sashes flapping like flags in the sea of dancing bodies. He tried to focus on the song, for it was difficult. When it was over, the tavern erupted with cheers and clattering mugs. Ale spilled, but no one cared.
“We’ll be taking a break for fifteen minutes!” Rose announced, her hands raised high in the sky. “My feet are killing me!”
The crowd laughed. Rose bowed. Gus tucked his flute away while scanning the crowd, studying the Reds. One caught his eye: a blonde-haired man dressed in a tailor-made suit in Western fashion. He was above the average commoner–a merchant or a courtier–but not a lordling. An Alexandrian lord wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit such as his. Augustus watched the well-dressed man approach the bar and greet Garen with a bright smile. “Gus!” Garen called, waving him over. “Here’s a drink to wet your whistle!” At the bar, he handed Gus a full mug of frothy ale.
The well-dressed Red laughed. “You're good!”
“Thank you,” Gus responded. He flipped Garen a silver circling. “How about a round of Stonestench for the bar?”
The well-dressed Red clapped Gus’ shoulder. “You’re a good man, Gus! And a hell of a bard!”
Gus smiled and raised his mug high. “The road winds ever onward!”
Garen handed the blond-haired Red Sash a mug so that the Red could clank his mug against Gus’s. “Ever onward, my friend!” The two men chugged their ale and slammed their empty mugs against the bar. They laughed. “Borgis Heimlen.” The well-dressed man introduced himself, offering Gus his hand. Gus shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gus.”
He has a Western name and a thick accent. Gus thought of the letter found in Crystalcreek Manor. B? Borgis? The Heimlen family… I don’t know them. What is their trade? Augustus leaned against the bar. “A pleasure.”
“You are from the Duchies, too?” Borgis asked.
“Accent gave it away?” Gus grinned.
“Slightly, yes. And your name. And your taste for ale. Your travels have weakened your tongue, though. It is a shame,” Borgis said.
“Then I wouldn’t be a bard,” Gus retorted. He’s arrogant enough to be a merchant lord’s son.
Borgis chuckled. He waved for Garen, who slid a full mug down the bar, followed by a second. Borgis handed Gus the first. Gus took a sip of Hunter’s Honey. He made eye contact with Garen, who nodded. Gus nodded back. Borgis eyed the barkeep, then Gus. “Garen is a good man.”
“He is,” Gus sipped his Hunter’s Honey.
Borgis sipped his Stonestench. He sighed. “I miss our motherland, Gus.”
“What brings you here?” Gus asked.
“Business, of course!” Borgis exclaimed. He tugged at his Red Sash. “My father supports the cause, so he sent me to represent our interests. His liaison, as the Fergonian’s say.”
“The people need a voice.” Gus nodded, then gulped his ale.
“It’s a shame that people still live this way,” Borgis said. “These people do not know what freedom is, Gus. They’re so oppressed.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Gus drew in a slug of cold mead. “And the elves… the poor bastards.”
“Indeed,” Borgis said.
“But the dwarves will never want them here,” Gus stated.
Borgis nodded, then drank. “I wish I could change their minds.” He drank again. “Elvish tax exemptions on lumber and exports could make them profitable allies.”
“Not everything is about business, though,” Gus said.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Borgis eyed him. “Too true. I’ve had good dealings with almost everyone in this city, but the elves, especially, earned their reputation for punctuality and generosity.” Borgis clanked his empty mug down on the bar. “Speaking of punctuality, if you’ll excuse me, Gus, I have other business to attend to.”
“Of course.” Gus nodded. He watched Borgis leave. After another mug of ale, Gus returned to the stage alongside the Moonlit Mysterium. He retrieved his flute and announced their next session with a floating stream of puffing melodies.
The Mysterium gathered in the attic. “What makes you think this Borgis fellow is involved?” Rose asked Gus, who leaned against a legless tabletop stacked upon stools. The others sat on benches. Rose rubbed her feet.
“Just a hunch. He’s a merchant lord’s son–a courtier from the west,” Gus explained. “I can’t place his family, but he’s self-important enough to play the part. And he’s sly, too. I think my curiosity piqued his suspicion. That was enough to spook him.”
“So, you want us to gather information about Borgis?” Rose asked.
“And the noble families he’s tied to,” Gus added.
“How’s your end of the investigation coming along?” Rose inquired.
“I’ve planted a couple of seeds, but nothing has borne fruit.” Gus shrugged. “I’m going back to Crystalcreek Manor first thing in the morning.”
The others looked at Gus, their brows furrowed. Dori yawned. “Good luck with that. We’ll keep drinking and talking… and sleeping.”
Gus woke up before the sun, dressed in simple trousers and a wine-stained shirt, and set out towards the noble district, where lavished manors of local lords climbed towards the castle crown of Gold Hill. He entered the courtyard of House Crystalcreek on a narrow lane of cobbles. The manor was more impressive during the day, standing three stories high, with large bronze window frames and a lawn full of closely tended flowers and deftly carved statues. He spotted their stable around back. Two simply dressed servants approached. “You must be Edward, the new stable hand!” a balding man smiled, head gleaming under the sun. His portly nose and fat cheeks glowed red.
“Are you the Stablemaster, Tobias?” Edward asked.
“You got it!” The fat man nodded.
“And I’m Susanne. I am Lady Elizabeth’s handmaiden. Speak to me if you need food, clothes, or payment. With introductions behind us, I have duties waiting for me.” The peasant woman attempted a clumsy curtsy and then shuffled away. Edward and Tobias watched her leave.
“She’s not trying to be rude,” Tobias explained. “The Lady of this house keeps Susanne busy.”
“Oh.” Edward rubbed his hands together.
“It’s not right to keep a wife from her husband,” Tobias said. “Lady Elizabeth is young and frivolous, though! She cares nothing for larders and logistics, nor old lovers.” He chuckled. “She’d rather play music and enjoy the company of her retinue.”
“She is a noble,” Edward agreed.
“That’s the truth of it.” Tobias nodded. “And her father favors her so.” He pulled a pipe from his shirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Then, he walked over to a candle-lit lantern and plucked the candle from its mount. He drew in the flame and puffed out a stream of smoke. He placed the candle back in its holder. “Well, come on, boy, we have work to do!” Tobias marched through the courtyard, around to the back. Edward followed. A wooden fence marked the end of grass and the beginning of trampled dirt. Two sem-circular pens extended from the back privacy wall, built on either side of the stable and the dirt lane leading into the stout-smelling building. A gray and black spotted horse pranced around the pen on the right, unattended, tossing its head, shaking its mane, sprinting in circles, and enjoying a taste of freedom. Tobias pulled open the gate and ushered Edward in. “That’s Proudmare. She’s a Colchester,” Tobias announced, his chin held high. He pointed to the right, at a gray horse standing in its stall. “There's no finer horse in all the kingdom!”
“She looks strong,” Edward said. And it was true. The beast had a fine coat that shimmered in the light, and muscles that bulged, stretching her skin.
“She carried Lord Luxburg’s eldest son to three tournament victories,” Tobias informed. “I raised her from a pony and trained her myself. When Lord Luxburg sold her, I came to Crystalcreek Manor and took over as the new Stablemaster.” Edward nodded. Tobias led him to the back of the stable, where another stable hand was forking out soil from a stall. “Daniel, come and say hello to your new friend!” Tobias shouted.
A skinny young man appeared from the shadowed stall. “Hello!” Daniel offered with a wave. “I’m glad Tobias finally hired someone. There’s more than enough work to go around.”
Tobias chuckled. “Don’t scare the poor lad off, Daniel. It’s only his first day!”
“Do you know how to use a shovel and a fork?” Daniel asked.
Edward nodded. “I do.”
“Good! Jump in here!” Daniel threw his pitchfork at Edward, who nearly fumbled it.
“I’m going to give Proudmare a good brush down and a bucket of oats,” Daniel said. “Meet me in the back stalls when you get done in here. We’ve got more shite to shovel!”
“Those back stalls are long overdue,” Tobias agreed, nodding his consent. Tobias puffed on his pipe, then disappeared down the lane.
Seasoned beams and planks swelled with humidity. The stench of animals clung to everything. Edward lugged a putrid bucket across the shady stable and into the high noon sun. He dripped with sweat. A swift breeze carried the stench and heat away. After dumping the bucket in a wagon, he returned to the stable to find Daniel standing in its gateway, waving at him. “It’s time for our midday break, Ed.” Daniel, lathed with sweat, panted, leaning against his shovel. “Let’s wash ourselves off at the well, then make for the servant’s hall. There should be a big pot of stew waiting for us. Bread, cheese, any vegetable you can think of. You’re serving a lord, now, Eddy.” Daniel picked up his shovel.
“They let us eat like that? Right off their own table?” Ed asked.
“No, you nitwit!” Daniel bellowed with laughter. “That’s why there’s a servant’s hall! We’re servants, Eddy. We don’t get to eat with the lords.”
Edward followed Daniel. “How many slices of bread do we get?”
“A loaf every week–mind you, it’s a small loaf. Nothing like what the lords eat.” Daniel eyed Ed, holding out both hands in front of him, three feet apart.
He’s not exaggerating, Ed contemplated. “How many onions? I like onions.”
Daniel stopped and handed Ed the shovel. Eddy took it. “You get two vegetables, but you get to pick them: cabbage, lettuce, onion, and potato,” Daniel explained.
Before exiting the stable, Ed hung the shovel on the wall. “I can get a whole cabbage to myself?”
Daniel chuckled. “Look, Ed, I’ll give you some advice: don’t be like Susanne and Tobias. They spend half their earnings on rent for a stuffy apartment near the Elvish District. If you’re smart, you’ll take up living on the grounds. You get to keep your money in your pocket. You live under the protection of Lord Crystalcreek and his house guard. And you’ll never run out of supper stew! It’s a great life!”
“You’re a merry fellow, Dan,” Ed said. “I never knew shoveling shite could bring someone so much joy!”
Daniel side-eyed Ed. He broke into laughter. “Come on, Eddy!” He smacked Edward on the shoulder with a calloused paw, then led him to the well, where they washed clean of their labors. Afterward, they traveled to the Servant’s Hall for their meal. The Servant’s hall welcomed them with the smell of bubbling stew and baking bread. Two women wearing gray dresses and white aprons danced around the expansive room. Crackling flames lit the chamber from within the bellies of two brick-built stoves on the right wall. Candles, too, sat scattered here and there, gathering pools of wax. “Ladies, meet Eddy!” Daniel announced.
The scullery maids smiled and waved. “Hello, Eddy!” They moved, as well as spoke, in unison. They laughed. “We just added a little extra to the stew,” a blonde-haired maid said.
“Did you get those stalls cleared out?” A familiar voice called. Ed found Tobias sitting alone at a table at the room's far end.
“We did!” Daniel assured. The stablehand nudged Edward with his elbow. “Come on, Ed.” He led Edward to a large wooden cupboard. He opened its doors to reveal shelves stacked with cups, bowls, plates, and jars full of herbs and spices. They retrieved their dishes and set their table in a shadowy corner, far away from the heat of the stoves and the Stablemaster. Then, Daniel showed Ed the vegetables, loaves of bread, and wheels of cheese. Ed tried to gather up his earnings. “Woah! Slow down, now, we still have work to do, Ed!” Daniel scolded him, and then showed him how to portion his food. Daniel broke off a quarter of his bread loaf, then grabbed an onion. “I’ll let you have half of my onion, but only because I hope you show up tomorrow.”
Ed shook his head. “No way, you earned that!”
Daniel chuckled. “Come on, I’ll show you where Tobias keeps his wine stashed. He drinks like a lord!”
“Watch it, Daniel!” the blonde scullery maid chided, grinning.
“It’s okay, Matilda, they can have a drink on me! Just because they cleaned out that mess.” Tobias smiled and raised his cup in the air.
The maids laughed, as did Daniel. Ed joined them. The stablehands found Tobias' expensive wine and poured two cups to their brim. They sat and ate and talked. From time to time, one of the scullery maids would drop in on their conversation. Ed was too busy eating to do much talking, but Daniel did enough talking for everyone. As Edward finished his second bowl of stew, footsteps clapped down a spiraling stairwell. Lord Crystalcreek marched into the Servant’s Hall. The scullery maids smiled and greeted their lord. Tobias stood. “Good afternoon, my Lord!”
Edgerton greeted them all heartily. “Did you get Proudmare brushed?” He eyed Tobias.
Tobias nodded. “Yes, sir. Daniel did a fine job.”
“Very good!” the lord marched across the room, where the stablehands sat, and joined them at their table. “Daniel, did I ever tell you about that time Proudmare found me amidst a battle after the enemy unseated me?” Daniel gawked at the minor lord as if he were the king himself. Ed did his best imitation. Lord Crystalcreek filled their silence: “There I was after some Fergonian bastard knocked me off my horse—surrounded! Enemies charged from every side. My house guard fought valiantly, but each of them fell, until it was only me and two others, fighting for our lives.” The scullery maids drew close, hanging on the lord’s every word. “Then…” Lord Crystalcreek pounded on the table with his fists, imitating a horse’s gallop. “A gray shadow broke through our enemy! Fergonians cursed and fell beneath her hooves!” The scullery maids gasped. Daniel laughed, as did Ed.
“When my men were reorganized, I mounted Proudmare, and she carried me to safety.” Lord Crystalcreek grabbed Ed’s cup and took in a draw of wine. The Lord’s eyes grew wide. He looked at Ed. “That’s good wine!” The lord laughed.
Daniel and Ed shared a worried glance.
Lord Crystalcreek sighed. “Now, I am old. Too old to fight. And without a son to send in my sted. Not even a grandson, or a nephew!” Edgerton was drunk long before he tasted the stolen wine. “And complaining to my servants. You must be new!” The lord clapped Edward’s shoulder. “I doubt you’ve ever heard a lord speak so openly.” He laughed. “Where are you from, lad?”
Ed struggled to meet the lord’s eyes. “I grew up in Stoneborough, but my mother moved to Goldhill after my father fell in battle.”
Lord Crystalcreek handed Ed his cup. “Then it was sad circumstances that brought you into my service.” Ed nodded. He turned a sorrowful gaze toward the floor. “I lost my father when I was young,” the lord said. “We’ll take good care of you.” He stood up. “Welcome to my house, young man. And enjoy my wine!” Lord Crystalcreek shot Tobias a sly smile. “I’ll leave you, boys, to eat,” Crystalcreek said. He trotted across the Servant’s Hall, whistling a merry tune. The lord joined Tobias at his table. Crystalcreek spoke in hushed tones. Edward couldn’t make out most but gathered it involved finances and debts. Daniel and Ed ate in silence, while the scullery maids busied themselves with their work. By the time Crystalcreek rose to leave, Ed had sickened of pretending to eat. They watched Lord Crystalcreek lumber up the stone staircase. “Lord Crystalcreek is the finest of nobles, Eddy,” Daniel whispered.
“I’d say he’s like most lords.” The blonde, Matilda, said. “Fat and entirely too happy.” The other scullery maid giggled along but then shushed her. “It’s no secret.” Matilda shrugged. “The lecherous old goat. Ever since Evelyn–”
“Now, that’s enough!” Tobias stood up from his seat. “The man feeds us, clothes us, and gives us fair pay for fair work. We live better than most so-called Freemen! I won’t sit here and listen to you speak about our lord in such a manner!” The tubby stablemaster waddled towards the staircase. He turned and looked at his stable hands. “You two get back to work! I won’t have you corrupted by that ungrateful woman!” Daniel and Ed shared a glance, then a shrug. They left.
As the sun set, Edward’s muscles ached. He and Daniel put in a full day of hard labor. They returned to the Servant’s Hall and collected their earnings. Ed walked away with a cabbage, half an onion, three-quarters of his bread loaf, and a thick slice of cheese. For a peasant, it was a most generous offer. On top of the food, they compensated him with five copper circlings. Lord Crystalcreek takes care of his servants, Ed mused. He made his departure from Daniel at the front gate. Daniel tried to convince him to stay the night on the Lord’s grounds, but Ed insisted he had a place to be. Walking down the cobbled street, Ed glimpsed the blonde scullery maid, Matilda, winding her way down Gold Hill. Ed picked up his pace. “Matilda!” he cried.
Matilda spun. She waved and smiled. “Hi, Eddy!”
Ed trotted up to Matilda, and then fell in beside her. “Where are you going?”
“Home, Eddy.” Matilda sighed, lifting her chin and gazing up at the darkening sky. “I’m going home.”
“Hard day?” Ed asked.
Matilda laughed. “Always. Feeding a family of nobles and all the other servants of their household is like feeding a herd of horses, Ed. I didn’t know people could eat so much until I started working for Lord Crystalcreek.”
“Speaking of our lord,” Ed said. “What were you saying earlier, before Tobias interrupted?”
Matilda giggled. “Oh, never mind that. Forget I said anything, please. Sometimes my tongue gets away from me, Ed. Just forget I said anything at all.”
Ed scratched his head. “Oh, okay…”
The pair walked along in silence. Finally, the silence was too much for Matilda. “Okay, okay.” She looked around as if searching for Tobias in a hedge. “You mustn’t repeat what I’m about to say!” Ed nodded. “You promise?” Matilda gazed into his eyes.
“I promise,” Ed said.
Matilda leaned closer to Ed. She whispered: “Lord Crystalcreek has a baby bastard.” She giggled.
“What?” Ed’s eyes grew wide.
“She’s a cute little thing,” Matilda said. “Evelyn. It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?”
“You’ve seen her?” Ed asked. This woman has no clue how much danger that kind of gossip invites.
“She lives in the manor.” Matilda shrugged. “Lord Crystalcreek is quite taken with the little thing. He visits her every night.”
Edward remembered sneaking into the manor and witnessing the lord’s midnight stroll. He keeps his bastard in his own home? And cares for her himself? Were it a male, would he legitimize him?
“Promise me again, Eddy.” Matilda grabbed Ed’s arm, tugging him to a halt. She peered into his eyes. “Promise me, you won’t repeat what I’ve said.”
“I promise.”
The roads in Goldhill wound narrowly between and around its tightly packed buildings. A pale moon hung over the high city. He walked along a shadowy street, gazing upwards. Crystalcreek is a doting father. He loves his daughters but lacks a male heir, so he keeps trying for a son. Why doesn’t he marry a noblewoman and do it right? Unless… White stars speckled the sky. Is he in love with the servant who bore his child? Perhaps the opposite is true, and he won’t let another woman replace his wife? Perhaps he views the servants as so far beneath him— His encounter with Lord Crystalcreek killed his theory. He empathized with me. And he takes care of his servants. Gus’ legs ached and burned from the day’s work and the long hike up Goldhill. Stealing the jewel would put his daughters in danger for no real gain, other than a slight against the Cartiers. Unless he sold the jewel to pay his debts? But who would buy such a gem? Who has that kind of money? Who would put themselves at such risk?
At the top of a steeply sloping road, he stopped to rest his legs and still his mind. Lost in thought, he had missed his turn, and the Western Inn now lay back the other way. He looked over the buildings sprawling away from the foot of Gold Hill. A gray haze rose from the Elvish district. Smoke bellowed into the night air, rising, curling. Buildings glowed yellow and red with fire, blazing against the twilight hour. The Elvish District burned.
Gus ran. His feet fell hard against the cobbles. His legs jarred with shocks of pain, traveling up his tired bones.
What happened?