Mimi strolled through the palace’s front entrance as casually as possible, trying her very best to look as if she belonged there. The act had fooled the gate guards easily enough, but that was hardly an accomplishment; citizens came around the palace all the time for one reason or another. Petitioners, artisans, sightseers… All were allowed to wander between the great hall and the throne room. Only the most obvious of vagrants were turned away. They even let Roulette into the palace grounds, and she looked like a filthy circus clown!

Now now, Mimi, she thought, chastising herself internally. You’re friends now. You can’t go around thinking such ugly thoughts about her.

…Save that for Morgan.

Ugh. Morgan. That greedy, ungrateful baboon! Mimi loved money as much as the next person–perhaps a teensy bit more, even–but the man’s priorities were clearly in disarray if he was willing to dump a catch like her over a handful of dusty relics.

She didn’t feel bad at all for loosening his treasure-sling when he wasn’t looking. Why would she? It had gotten him to show his true colors. And if there was one thing Mimi had learned in life, it was that there was only one thing in all the world with the power to accomplish that:

Pressure.

The girl suspected she’d have to exert more than a little of that before the day was through. Her reputation, spotless as it was, would only get her so far; she would almost certainly be challenged the moment she attempted to wander anywhere other than the palace’s common areas. Fortunately, she was well-accustomed to meeting such challenges head-on. All it tended to take was a modest helping of charm, the occasional pinch of righteous indignation…

…And, of course, her feminine wiles.

On that note, Mimi slid the top button of her tight-fitting safari jacket free… Followed by another, just to be safe. Then she turned down the long, pillar-lined corridor leading to the military wing of the palace. As expected, the door to the barracks was under guard. She smiled sardonically at the sight of its lone guardian: a young-looking soldier engaged in the act of picking his nose. His eyes were glued to the nearest window, beyond which a group of brightly-colored birds were hopping from branch to branch beneath the canopy of a tall shrubbery.

The spectacle was apparently so absorbing that it took him a full half-minute to divert his attention to her. And, when he finally did, the simpleton didn’t even demonstrate an iota of shame; he just kept on picking away at the depths of his left nostril, regarding her with the same bored expression he’d worn since she first caught sight of him.

“Yes?” he asked.

She glanced pointedly at his nose and cleared her throat.

“...Yes?” he repeated.

The girl suppressed a sigh and clasped her hands behind her back, thrusting her chest out ever-so-slightly (and ever-so-intentionally). “Hello, sir. In case you weren’t aware, you are in the presence of a lady.”

He stared at her blankly, eyes never leaving her face. “So?” he asked, withdrawing a sticky mound of “gold” from his nasal cavity before unselfconsciously flicking it away. “What do you want, lady?”

Mimi flushed deeply on his behalf. She knew she was supposed to be approaching this interaction with subtlety in mind, but his callous disregard for her physical attractiveness went far beyond the pale. “Is this the standard the city watch aspires to these days?” she simpered. “Picking their noses in front of the most beautiful, important citizens Sebastopol has to offer?”

“...Are you coming on to me or something?” he replied. “Well, it will not work. I have no interest in ‘ladies’. Or men. I am content as I am. I do not need companionship to fulfill me.”

Mimi blinked. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. “...Well. How unexpectedly cosmopolitan of you,” she observed, feeling rather deflated. “I’m Anua’s assistant. I need to get into the barracks.”

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“What for?” he asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Mimi un-thrusted her chest, trying to conceal the steadying breath she employed to calm her nerves. Relax. You’ve got this. You rehearsed this a dozen times on the way over.

“There is a mechanical flaw in some of the rifles we delivered this past spring,” she lied. “Unless you want to see the brains of your colleagues dribbling to the ground after a rogue misfire, you had best let me in so I can check their weapons.”

That got his attention. He snorted derisively, then, stepping aside to open the door for her. “You should have led with that,” he chided. “Wasting my time with nonsense… Be quick about it, yes?”

She scurried through the open door and into the barracks, allowing herself several deep breaths before continuing on toward the other side of the elongated, bunk-lined room. The exchange hadn’t gone as poorly as she’d thought, all things considered, but her pride was flaring painfully. Just where did that guard get off, being so immune to her charms? She was a catch, damn it! And if somebody didn’t reassure her of that fact in the next ten minutes, she was going to lose it!

As she exited the room, crossed the back hall and mounted the stone steps leading down to the palace dungeons, Mimi found herself hoping that the jailer would prove to be a lustful sort. A lecher; an utter slave to his instincts. Someone who would be reduced to absolute putty in her hands…

The girl reached the end of the staircase and rounded the corner to find the jailer there: a middle-aged female soldier with sharp eyes and thin lips.

Mimi gritted her teeth. This modern era is absolute murder for my approach to subterfuge, she lamented. Nonetheless, she approached the woman with a smile and a wave. “Hi there!” she greeted, peering into the small reception area that preceded the cell block. “Anua’s apprentice here. You know, the local Gunsmith? I was wondering if I could have a look around?”

The prison guard looked up from her whittling project and fixed her with a skeptical stare. “Oh? You were hoping to be imprisoned, then?”

That gave her pause. “Um, no?”

“I would suggest you move along, then,” the jailer replied, returning to her work. “I cannot see why one of your profession would have any business here.”

“But it’s really very important!” Mimi protested. She was flying by the seat of her pants, now; despite all her preparation, she hadn’t considered what she’d say to gain entry to the palace dungeons. “I’m, uh… Researching things. For my Gunsmithing. I need to look at keys and locking mechanisms for inspiration!”

It was a poor excuse, and the look on the jailer’s face confirmed it. Mimi could tell that the woman was readying herself to reject her plight–and, possibly, to threaten her with imprisonment again. With great hesitation, Mimi dug into her reserves of willpower and prepared to utilize her trump card–an emergency measure that had been agreed upon before she even entered the palace. She really didn’t want to resort to such demeaning tactics, but there was no other choice:

…She’d have to rely on her friends. For help.

“AAAaaaAAAhhhHHH!!” she shrieked, pointing at a random patch of wall. “Is that a SPIDER?!”

The jailer whipped her head around, seeking the cause of Mimi’s sudden outburst. “...Where? And why are you being so–”

An awful din erupted from the direction of the cell block, prompting the jailer to leap to her feet. It sounded as though someone was yelling and hammering on iron bars. “Get out of here!” she barked, shooting Mimi a threatening glare. “If there is a jailbreak in progress, I cannot guarantee your safety!”

The woman hurried from the room in search of the perpetrator, leaving Mimi alone with her thoughts. And a poorly-carved dustsnuffle statuette…

…And, most importantly, a ring of keys that hung from a hook on the far wall.

Mimi whistled as she made her way over to the keyring, thankful for the small, barred window that had been carved out just below the roof of every cell to overlook the grounds. Thanks to that window, finding Morgan, learning his cell number, and arranging for that surprisingly effective distraction had been child’s play. Now, all that remained was to put Roulette’s plan into action.

She flicked through the keys until she found one tagged with the number “5”; the very same number Morgan had been able to glean from his perusal of the wooden plate that hung next to his cell. Then the girl reached into her back pocket (which was now filthy!) and recovered the mound of clay that Roulette had dug up from the silt of the bay. She pressed the clay around the key until she got a solid impression of it, then withdrew from the dungeons.

Mimi gave her passionless guard-friend a wave as she strutted out of the barracks. With that key mold in-hand, forging a perfect replica would be simplicity itself. From there, all she and Roulette would need to do is return at night and drop the completed piece through Morgan’s cell window. The rest would be up to him, thank goodness.

She’d already stuck her neck out for that foul-mouthed goon quite enough for one day!