The sun had set, and the night sky was a mottled purple. Leo and Nico had debarked the Mint for the third time that day, this time bound for their guildhouse. Their objective was twofold: first, to seek intel on the Musea’s architecture, curator, and its vault; second, to verify that Tomasso was safe and sound, that Danieli’s prediction about his seizure by the Duke’s forces was inaccurate.

“I’ll bet you a gleaming gold talent we’ll find Tomasso in his office, eating a donut or something,” Leo said, leading them down a shortcut through the Boboli Gardens. Duke Ferdinand I, who had ordered the garden’s construction, had utilized an arrangement of bioluminescent plants, such that no other forms of illumination were required.

“Probably,” Nico said, eyes downcast. The footpath was lit by a bed of blue peonies. “Still. We have to rule out the possibility.”

“I know. Are you sure the painting — the original — is in the Musea’s vault?”

Nico gave Leo a sidelong glance. “I’m not sure of anything. It seems the most likely location. And even if it’s not there, it’s another possibility we have to rule out.”

“And if we don’t find it there… what then?” Leo looked at Nico hopefully, as if Nico was prepared for every contingency. In fact Nico was prepared for nothing. It felt like every step they took was a reaction. Every inch of progress was won by luck more than ingenuity.

“If it’s not in there, then we have to interrogate people who might know. People like the Black Cabal.”

Leo sighed, running a hand through his golden hair. “This accursed Quest. So chaotic. I yearn for the days of yore when we were slaughtering goblins by the score, raiding tombs. Such quaint times…”

***

Spellslingers Alley was sparsely trafficked at this late hour. They stuck to the shadows, wary of the Black Cabal (who had eyes everywhere), and quietly slipped into the Pathfinders guildhouse. The Common Room was mostly empty, but there was a light on in Tomasso’s office. Leo smiled, deeply relieved. But when he opened the door he did not find Tomasso.

Lucius Ferrera was sitting at Tomasso’s desk, sifting through papers. He was wearing a pair of bifocals which (along with his silver hair) made him look older than his years.

“Oh hello, Leonardo. Niccolò. A real pleasure to see you.” He nodded casually at them, barely glancing up. “I thought you might turn up here.”

A cold fear gripped Nico. Danieli was right.

“Where is Tomasso?” he said.

“In the custody of the Duke’s Whitecloaks.” His eyes were focused on the papers before him, as if the matter of their guildmaster’s seizure was of minor importance.

“What? When was he taken?” Leo said. “We were with him just yesterday.”

“Well then,” Lucius said, looking up, glee burning in his bright green eyes, “I deduce it must have happened some time between then and now. You never did have a very firm grasp on the obvious, Leo. Why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a cup of coffee?”

“Why was Tomasso seized?” Nico said. “Under what charges?”

“Well, of course I am not privy to all of the details… but I understand he made the Duke very, very angry. And so I made an arrangement with the Duke and his men.”

“An arrangement?”

“I turned over Tomasso, and in so doing I saved the guild. Really it was an act of selflessness and valor. You ought to thank me.”

“It was an act of cowardice and self-serving ambition, you sly weasel.” Leo had taken a step forward. He was ready to pummel Lucius with his fists, but Nico stopped him, hooking him by the elbow.

“Not now,” he whispered to him. “Not the time.” Speaking to Lucius, he said, “We need information about the Musea di Ortiva.”

“Tsk tsk tsk tsk. You’ve been naughty too, Leonardo and Niccolò. By the by, where is Gianna? It’s only fitting for her to be here for what comes next. She is, after all, a wanted fugitive, and no longer under the aegis of Tomasso Vasari. She’ll be lucky if they give her the noose.”

Now Leo drew his sword, and Nico did not stop him.

Lucius, who was previously so smug and so sure of himself, now seemed surprised that Leo was resorting to threats of violence. There was fear and alarm in his eyes.

“Are y-you going to c-cut me down like a dog, Sforza?”

“No. I don’t cut dogs. I like dogs.”

“If I w-were you,” Lucius said, stammering in a way that was reminiscent of Tomasso, “I would b-be running right now. Running far, far away. They’re c-coming for you.”

“Who?”

“Why, the B-Black Cabal, of course.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Nico could not tell if it was a bluff or the truth, but he let go of Leo, and Leo proceeded to single-handedly lift him by the throat, slamming him against the wall.

“It’s a pleasure to see you too, Lucius. We’re going to need the key to the intelligence vault.”

“Or else what?”

“Either you give us the key, and I knock you insensate. Or you don’t, and I kill you. The Black Cabal may have perfected the art of a slow death, but I know a thing or two about inflicting agony. You would be amazed how long a man can live after a sword has spilt his guts, the stomach acid seeping into the chest cavity. What shall it be, Lucius — the key… or death?”

Lucius went with the key.

***

The Pathfinders’ intelligence vault was in the basement of the guildhouse. After knocking Lucius unconscious, Leo and Nico went down there and began a systematic search of its contents, which had been taxonomized according to the high-level subject matter, somewhat similar to the Azkaya Library’s system. This no doubt was a classification scheme imposed by Tomasso himself. A former accountant and banker, the guildmaster was incorrigibly fastidious when it came to order and precision.

Nico rifled through the subjects Biographies > Constance Ortiva and Architecture > Musea di Ortiva, pulling out any and every file that looked even remotely relevant. Meanwhile Leo had repaired to the guild’s storeroom in search of a rucksack, the sort of heavy-duty backpack one wears on an alpine trek. They would need it to carry the files.

To Nico this whole enterprise felt rather sacrilegious — even treasonous. They were stealing intelligence from the guild. It was quite surreal for Nico, who had always pledged his absolute and undying loyalty to the Pathfinders guild.

No, he thought, my loyalty is to Tomasso — not the guild. It was Tomasso who had admitted him into the guild, who had sheltered and fed him. It was Tomasso who had rescued Nico from the bitter plight of poverty and starvation, from the despair and uncertainty that had plagued his youth. Now the guild is represented by Lucius.

“You won’t believe it,” Leo said when he returned, dropping the rucksack onto a table. He gestured for Nico to follow him, and Nico complied, following him to the back of the vault.

“Look.” Leo pointed to a small door, hardly large enough for a grown man to fit into. Leo threw it open, and within they could see a dark tunnel.

“It connects to the city’s underground plumbing. All these years working for Pathfinders… I didn’t know we have secret passages.”

“Might help us elude the Whitecloaks and the Black Cabal…”

They stuffed the files into the rucksack, a bit more roughly and haphazardly than Nico would have liked. Then they took one last mournful look around the guild that had been their home — and no longer was — and they slipped out of the guild’s secret entrance like thieves in the night. It carried them all the way to the marina.

***

They returned to the Mint. Everyone was already gathered in the Captain’s Quarters. Cosimo sat at the head of the table, in the throne-like Parthian chair, bejeweled fingers tapping on the table’s surface like a king awaiting supplication.

Leo shrugged off the weight of the rucksack onto the cabin floor. “Tomasso’s been arrested.”

“What!? Why?” Gianna had leapt to her feet so fast she knocked over her Citadels board.

“Not to worry,” said Cosimo, “it’s no matter at all. There is a contingency in our contract which stipulates —”

“No one,” Leo said icily, “gives a hot damn about the contract at the present moment. This isn’t about money. It’s about our fa—” He almost said father. “It’s about our guildmaster. We need to get him back.”

“Why was he taken?” Gianna asked again.

“The Whitecloaks grabbed him, presumably under the Duke’s orders. The guild is insolvent; it defaulted on its debts to the Duke.”

“Oooooh,” said Max, “this is a spicy development. This Duke of yours, is he the same one with a penchant for amputating fingers, toes, and limbs until the subject finally succumbs to shock or blood loss? The Mad Duke?”

“The very same,” Leo said through gritted teeth. “We need to find where he’s held and spring him free.”

“Well, Leo,” said Cosimo, “you’d have to be mad yourself to strike at the Mad Duke. And if the Whitecloaks nabbed him, if he truly is deemed an enemy of the state, the odds are better than even that he was remanded to the custody of the Black Cabal. Which means there is one way to get him free.”

“How?” Gianna said.

Cosimo looked from Gianna to Nico to Leo, a smirk on his face. “Solve my Quest — and quickly. I will delightfully shower you with all the funds you require. I will relieve your guild from its liabilities. But you must act swiftly. The Mad Duke may be two hundred years old, but he is not renowned for patience.”

Leo’s fingers curled into a fist. On the one hand, he was furious at Cosimo for manipulating their emotions to his own gain. But on the other hand, Cosimo was right — he likely was their one glimmer of hope, their only way to free Tomasso without inviting further complications. Their one salvation.

“There is,” Nico said slowly, “another possibility. When we visited the Ducal Palace the Duke accused us of staging a heist on the palace, of stealing an enciphered letter. I believe that that is no mere coincidence; the letter he was referring to is the same one that you showed us in Martín’s manse. The letter which initiated this Quest.”

“I hate to rock the boat, Cosimo,” Leo said, “but how exactly did you acquire this so-called enciphered letter? Are you the one who conducted the heist against the Ducal Palace?”

Cosimo looked Leo square in the eyes. “It was delivered to me. Anonymously.”

“And you don’t find that a trifle odd?”

“Of course I did. Still do. But… well, Dani applied her magic to it. She could not divine its provenance, but she was confident about its authenticity. And that was what mattered to me. So…” He shrugged. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Leo said, “indebted, endangered, adrift, with few cards left to play.”

They let that soak in for a moment in silence. Even Cosimo looked a bit anxious.

“Whether Tomasso was seized for the debt for or the letter,” Nico said, “it amounts to the same either way. And if the Duke seized Tomasso due to his connection with this Quest, then it stands to reason that we — Leo, Gianna, and I — as well as you and everyone on this ship are wanted by the Duke under the same charges. It would explain what happened to me yesterday in the Musea.” Nico looked around the room at the assembled faces. “Your money, Cosimo, and your connections to the Empress may shield you temporarily. But that shield is eroding. We must act swiftly. We need to find that painting.”

“Don’t just find it,” Cosimo said. “We have rivals to contend with. Find that painting and take it with you or destroy it entirely. I don’t want anyone following in our footsteps.” He pointed a stubby finger at Nico and Leo.

“We cross the bridge and we burn it behind us.”