Burned into a wooden board above the bar of the Three- headed Rooster was a declaration that read:
IF ANYONE BECOMES BLIND FROM DRINKING HERE, THEIR FUTURE DRINKS ARE FREE.
Hadrian almost laughed, but he wasn’t convinced the sign was a joke.
The tavern was a miserable place. Roughly the size of a large woodshed, it might actually have been one in the past. To call it rustic would be a gross understatement. Three crates served as chairs, and a larger one acted as a table. The floor was nothing but dirt. Hadrian and Royce sat on the wooden boxes, but most of the patrons stood at the little board suspended between two barrels that functioned as the bar or took their chances leaning against one of the three walls. There was a fourth, but so many slats had been removed that calling it a “wall” was a questionable descriptor. Hadrian guessed it’d been done on purpose to let in the breeze. Given the pungent odor of sweat and smoke, he couldn’t argue with the reasoning.
Royce was in a worse mood than usual, which was saying something. His hood was up, and his eyes peered out like bats from a cave. There was no mystery as to why. It was becoming increasingly apparent they would never find the man they’d been searching for. Delano DeWitt had set them up to die. To make matters worse, it wasn’t to come at the hands of a merciful hanging but rather a slow and gruesome mutilation. What Hadrian realized, and Royce didn’t care about, was it hadn’t been DeWitt’s idea; he had been hired. That made a difference to Hadrian, and he was willing to let water run under the bridge, but Royce planned to return the transgression with interest.
“It’s not the end of the world if he gets away.”
Royce ignored his partner, continuing to swirl his glass of wine in little circles, sneering at the drink since the first disastrous taste. “Really thought he might be here. Probably was. Must have just missed him. The crow salesman over there seemed to think DeWitt was headed for Colnora.”
“Crow salesman?” Hadrian glanced toward the huddled group of a half-dozen filthy men gathered at the bar. They laughed, hugged, and snorted as they shared the adventure of finding the bottom of their cups. “Who would sell crows?”
Royce stared at him, dumbfounded. “Some people, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I mean, why would anyone buy a crow? You can’t eat them, right? Or can you?”
“I have no idea,” Royce replied incredulously.
Hadrian turned partway around. “Which one is he?
“Why do you care?”
“I’ve never seen a crow seller before. Does he have the birds with him now? Are they dead, or does he haul them around in cages? Either way, it’s a problem, isn’t it? On the one hand, you have to deal with the cawing and feed the filthy things, and I think they eat meat, which is weird for a bird of that size, right? On the other hand, imagine the stink of hauling around a bunch of dead birds. So the question remains, what kind of a man does that?”
Royce shrugged. “How would I know? The important point is that our crow is flying to Colnora. I thought we’d stop by there on our way back to Medford. Maybe we can pick up his trail.”
Hadrian turned back, puzzled. “I didn’t think you liked Colnora. We’re always going around it.”
“Special occasion.”
Hadrian looked down at his mug. He’d ordered an ale, and it was possible that’s what the bartender had poured, but what he had in front of him was dark as ink.
Maybe it’s a stout, or perhaps it’s just because of the color of the cup.
With one final glance at the sign above the bar, he took a long brave swallow. Immediately, he regretted his decision and grimaced. “It’s not a joke.”
“The disclaimer above the bar?” Royce asked.
“Yeah.” Hadrian spat into the cup and began dragging his tongue along his sleeve, trying to wipe off the taste.
Royce watched. “Seriously? Do you have to do that?”
Hadrian nodded as he licked.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Licking my sleeve or the drinks in this place?”
Royce opened his mouth to answer, then glanced at his wine and held his tongue.
In desperation, Hadrian bent over, stuffed his sleeve into
his mouth, and began sucking. The way his head was tilted, he was looking right at the entrance when she came in.
Everyone else in the tavern was grizzled and dressed in patched linen or stained wool. The woman who hesitated at the open doorway wore a floor-length, black velvet gown with a green cape that had an embroidered pattern of oak leaves. She spotted them and walked straight up to their table.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but you wouldn’t happen to be Riyria, would you?” she asked Royce.
Her voice was musical, more notes than words. Her hair, the color of rich chocolate, was swept back into a single luscious tail that curled around a long delicate neck and covered one of her sloping shoulders. Her tiny lips were a ripe plum color, her cheeks rosy, but her eyes were devastating. Large, dark, and inviting, they were the sort of open windows that decent people draped.
Hadrian promptly spat out his sleeve.
“Riyria? What’s that?” Royce asked.
The woman was young and perfect in every detail. This likely set Royce on edge; he didn’t believe in perfection. He was the sort to look for rain clouds during a flood, and he’d be disappointed if they weren’t still gathering. For him, life was like shooting an arrow straight up. He knew it was coming down, he just couldn’t understand why everyone else wasn’t looking for its return.
“Don’t try to play coy with me. You know exactly who I’m referring to. I’ve come to this tavern nearly every day, searching for a hero. All I ever find is the likes of them.” She pointed toward the men at the bar, all of whom ignored her. “Don’t mistake my pleasantries as an indication that I’m uninformed. It’s clear that you are Riyria, and I couldn’t have asked for a better pair of heroes to help me with my plight.”
“Uninformed or just plain stupid doesn’t change matters. But now that you mention it, I have heard of a couple of fellows who use that name, but no one would ever accuse Riyria of being heroes, and we aren’t them.” Royce started to drink his wine to punctuate his declaration but reconsidered and put down the glass.
She turned her attention to Hadrian and took note of the three swords he carried. “You are the nice one. I should have started with you. I want to hire Riyria to retrieve a family heirloom, a necklace, then take it and myself back to my home. You will be well compensated for your efforts.”
Hadrian rubbed his chin. “What do you think, Royce? We could use a little additional coin to help find our friend. If it doesn’t take too long, maybe we can help this fine lady out.”
Royce tilted his head to peer around behind her, and he looked puzzled after seeing she was alone. “Listen, lady, I told you, you’re mistaken. We’re tradesmen passing through. My friend is a blacksmith. That’s why he has so many swords. Samples of his work. I’m sure there are plenty of people who carry that much iron. It doesn’t mean they are part of Riyria. Now, why don’t you leave us alone and go bother someone else.”
“If you find my presence such a nuisance, then perhaps you should end this little charade, so we can get down to business. I’ll try to make this brief.” Then, addressing Hadrian, she added, “I am Tess Rochambeau, of the Somerset Rochambeaus, currently residing at Ashmoore Manor.”
“The Rochambeaus of Somerset?” Hadrian nodded. “The name seems familiar, and Somerset is on the way to where we are heading.”
This elicited a concerned look from Royce, which caused Hadrian to remember that the two of them had stolen a prize stallion from the estate’s stables just two years before.
“Wonderful,” Tess said, then her expression darkened. “I am embarrassed to say that I abandoned my family many years ago, which lies at the heart of my problem.”
Hadrian, who never looked for clouds or arrows and liked the idea of Riyria being seen as a pair of heroes, asked, “Which is?”
This caught another sharp look from Royce.
Tess knitted a flawless brow and said, “Gentlemen, I have been the victim of a terrible crime.”
“Maybe you should visit the sheriff,” Royce said.
“I’m afraid that won’t help. Perhaps I should explain a bit more. May I sit?”
She gently settled onto the open crate between them.
“I guess you’re the type who asks for forgiveness later,” Royce said irritatedly, but the woman failed to notice.
She smiled sweetly at Hadrian, and he was finding it difficult to breathe.
Maybe I should bust out a few more slats in that fourth wall.
“Some years past, the Baron August Dushane of Ashmoore
courted my affections. How could I resist? A dashing man on a stallion dressed in frills and lace, he could turn a daffodil’s head away from the sun. I was helpless, you see.”
Hadrian nodded with absolute understanding.
“My father is a prudent man, and not at all like a daffodil. He wanted me to have no part of the winsome Dushane. In my foolishness, I ran away with August. And to further my shame, I took the necklace with me. It was my dowry, you see. Valuable hardly describes it. The centerpiece is a sapphire this big.” She made the largest circle possible with her thumb and index finger and peered through the hole at them as if sighting through a spyglass. “Of course, its true value lies in its history and its sentimental value. Priceless, you understand. Absolutely priceless.”
She paused and took a breath. Spotting Royce’s wine, she sighed.
“Would you care for a drink?” Hadrian asked.
Her eyes widened. “It’s been so very long since I’ve tasted good wine.”
“Me too,” Royce said, and he pointed above the bar. “That’s not a joke.”
She looked at the glass for a long moment, then shook her head. “Where was I? Ah, that cad August Dushane. After getting me back to his estate, he postponed the wedding. First for just a day, then a week, then a month, and so on. Meanwhile, I remained a virtual prisoner because he took the necklace from me. He said it was for safekeeping, but it’s not just my heirloom he’s holding hostage; it’s me! He knows I want to return to my father and ask for forgiveness, but how can I go back without the necklace?”
“And your father never came looking for you?” Royce asked.
“He doesn’t know where I am. Ashmoore is a tiny holding. Fearful that his modest origins might ruin his chances, August begged me not to tell my father the name of the estate or even the kingdom where it resides. In retrospect, this likely shaped much of my father’s distrust.” She shook her head. “I can’t go to him, and he can’t find me.” She fixed Hadrian with soft eyes. “I need your help.”
“Of course we’ll—”
“Can’t do it,” Royce said. “We don’t do charity jobs, and despite your earlier assertion, it doesn’t sound like you’re in a position to pay.”
“I have other jewelry to offer for payment. All you need to do is obtain my necklace, and see that I and it are returned safely to my family in Somerset. All these years they have worried, never knowing what became of me.” She leaned closer until her chest rested on the table, and her lips were just inches away from Hadrian’s. “It would mean so much if you could aid me.”
“We really should do this, Royce.”
“What kind of payment are we talking about?” his partner asked.
Tess straightened up, drew back her cloak, and pulled up a sleeve to reveal a silver and gold band studded with three small rubies that caught the light. “This bracelet is an ugly thing but quite valuable.”
The two men stared: Royce at the bracelet, Hadrian at Tess’s eyes.
“August gave me this in lieu of his heart, and I would gladly be rid of it.”
“That’s a nice bauble,” Royce said. He glanced at the men at the bar. “And I’d cover it up before anyone else sees it and gets ideas of their own.”
She pulled her sleeve back down. “So, do we have a deal? Can you do it tonight?”
“Tonight?” Royce scowled.
“It’s a simple task.”
Royce smirked. “Unfortunately, we’ve heard that before, and it didn’t turn out well.”
“You really think so? Personally, I feel everything resolved itself to your advantage, at least in the end.”
“Huh?”
“We are talking about that business in Medford with the murdered king, the prince, and that adorable monk, aren’t we?” Tess said it so matter-of-factly that she could have been along with them.
“You’ve been listening to tavern tales,” Royce said.
She nodded. “It’s a wonderful story, and the moment I saw you in that hood and him with three swords, I knew who you were and that you could save me from my horrible fate.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I don’t think we share the same definition of horrible,” Royce said.
Her eyes began to glisten, and when she spoke, her voice quavered, losing its earlier confidence. “Well, I’ve only told you half of it. For you see, August Dushane married another, and yet he still keeps me anchored here.” Her open hands squeezed into fists, turning white at the knuckles. She wiped her eyes and took a slow breath. “I’ve come to this village often, hoping to find someone to aid me. Now, I’ve found the two of you. Thieves. And not just any pair but famous ones.”
“Why does it have to be tonight?”
“It doesn’t, but I fear you will be moving on. As I said, we are nowhere of note. There isn’t even a proper inn for you to stay at.”
“It’s not nearly as complicated as assaulting a castle,” Hadrian urged his friend. They’d been on the road for a month with nothing to show for it, and he’d rather help a beautiful woman than butcher some poor bastard in an alley. “And there’s no better place than Colnora to get a good price for a bit of jewelry, right?”
Royce thought a moment then nodded. “Where is this necklace?”
“That’s the wonderful part,” Tess told them, grinning happily. “It’s just a few miles away at Ashmoore Manor, on the bluff overlooking the bend in the river. Very secluded, no walls, guards, nor any servants.”
“Where exactly does the baron keep it, do you know?”
“Of course.” Tess frowned. “That’s the not-so-wonderful part. The baron’s new wife wears it.”
----------------------------------------
The village, if you could call it that, was a single street with chickens underfoot, a handful of open-air merchants, and a few outlying farms that provided produce. Royce and Hadrian had spent a few hours refilling supplies and packing. On their way out of town, they would stop by the manor and check it out, but no matter how events unfolded, Royce was planning on leaving, and quickly if necessary.
“It’s an excellent pot,” the tinsmith told Hadrian.
“I can see that,” Hadrian replied, plunking it with his finger, making it ring.
“The bottom is copper, which provides more even heat. Do you need a pot?”
“Yes.” Hadrian glanced at Royce, who held a freshly purchased sack of vegetables over his shoulder. “The last one . . . well, it got a dent in it.”
The tinsmith looked puzzled. “That can be easily hammered out. Do you want me to look at it?”
“Not this one.” Royce, who was examining a salt shaker in the shape of a pig, looked over. “The man has three swords, but he beat a man to death with a pot. Go figure.”
The smith blinked. “I’m sorry. Did you say he—”
“I’ll take the pot,” Hadrian said, smiling at the smith. “How much?”
“Oh, ahh . . . that will be seven silver dins.” The tinsmith held out his hand.
“We should get this.” Royce held up the pig shaker to Hadrian, who was busy opening his purse.
“What’s wrong with using your fingers?”
Royce shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just cute, don’t you think.”
Hadrian stopped untying his purse. “Did you say cute?”
“Yeah.” Royce tossed the little piggy up in the air and caught it. “Something wrong with that?”
“When you say it, yes.”
Royce smiled. “Reminds me of Wilmer. Remember him? The pig keeper? It’s like one of his animals.”
“So, you want it as a keepsake of Wilmer, and . . . because it’s cute?”
“Sort of.” Royce’s smile curled into a grin. “But mostly, I’d love to see how you’d kill a man with a pig-shaped salt shaker.”
With concern on his face, the tinsmith looked at the pig, then at Royce.
Hadrian offered the tinsmith an embarrassed smile as he counted out the coins into the man’s outstretched palm.
“What can you tell us of Baron Dushane?” Royce asked the smith.
“Who?” he asked. He appeared irritated that Royce was
distracting him at the most crucial point of the transaction.
“The Baron August Dushane of Ashmoore Manor. He’s the lord of this village, isn’t he?”
The smith deposited the coins into a tin box. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This village has no baron. We’re too small of a community. The marquis sends collectors for taxes every autumn, but he leaves us alone for the rest of the year.”
“But you know about Ashmoore Manor, don’t you? It’s just down the road a few miles.”
The smith shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“And Baron Dushane?”
“Don’t know him, either.”
Royce looked at Hadrian, confused.
“But that doesn’t mean much. I don’t get out often. I sleep right here. People would rob me blind if I went wandering the countryside.” The smith stared at Royce until he set the pig back on the shelf. “Nice doing business with you.” He smiled.
They stepped out from under the awning into the dwindling sunlight. Royce pointed up the chicken-strewn road. “The feedstore manager said the same thing. So did the farmer, and three kids I ran into outside the candle shop. No one ever heard of Baron Dushane or Ashmoore Manor.”
“You think this is another setup?” Hadrian asked.
Royce shrugged. “Don’t know what it is. If it’s a game of some sort, it’s ridiculously lazy. They had to know we’d ask. Unless they were betting on the fact that being both thieves and famous meant we also had to be idiots. The other possibility is someone has this whole village in their pocket.”
“You don’t think they’re all conspiring against us, do you? The three kids? The butcher? And the tinsmith?”
“I always think everyone’s plotting against me.”
“So much for Mr. Cute Pig. Your paranoia is showing.”
Royce smirked. “Or maybe not. It might just be some standing rule. Try walking into Colnora and asking about the Jewel sometime. The people you meet don’t care who you are, they just know not to answer certain questions.”
“You’re not thinking of walking away, are you? Tess needs our help.”
Royce looked down the road in the direction the woman had indicated. “Normally I would, but this little assignment has turned into a mystery of silence in a village where DeWitt was known to be hiding.”
“What? You don’t think he’s involved, do you?”
Royce shrugged. “DeWitt called himself a baron, didn’t he? And what are the odds that a whole village forgets there’s a nobleman whose estate is just down the road? And did you notice how absolutely no one reacted when Tess entered the tavern? Not a single man at the bar, including the bartender, looked over. It’s like she was invisible. A woman like that would topple chairs at a royal ball; in the Three-headed Rooster, she should have instigated a stampede.”
“That’s easily explained,” Hadrian said. “All those men are regulars. She said she came there often, so it’s probably not a big deal anymore. Or it could be that each of them has already earned their free drinks.”
“Perhaps.” Royce nodded and hiked up his sack of vegetables. “But that’s a stunning bracelet. We could sell it for a small fortune.” He started walking toward the stable.
“And don’t forget that we’re heroes now. The pretty lady said so, and she was looking at me when she said that, by the way,” Hadrian said.
“You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”
Hadrian laughed. “Is rain wet? She makes Lenare Pickering look like a charwoman. Anyone with a heartbeat would drool in her presence.”
“And yet the baron refused to marry her,” Royce said. “Why?”
“He probably made the mistake of showing up during two- for-one night at the Rooster.”
----------------------------------------
They packed up their horses at sunset and left the village, the name of which Hadrian couldn’t remember, and perhaps hadn’t heard. Tess’s directions were perfect down to the stump and stone, and she’d been truthful about the isolated nature of Ashmoore Manor. They passed no one once they turned away from the village road and followed the path toward the river. They would have missed the switchback that turned sharply uphill due to overgrown thickets if it hadn’t been for Tess’s warning. After that, the route became even more sequestered. The hill they climbed was overrun by mounds of heather, bracken, and moss-covered stone.
General consensus to the contrary, there was, indeed, a baronage at the top of the hill. Ashmoore Manor appeared ancient. The stone house overlooked the river the way a man might sulk as he contemplated suicide. With its towers, gables, and protruding peaks, the estate was more a country castle than a home. And in its present state of neglect, the place was more like a ruin than a castle. Walls were cracked, pillars chipped, the stone speckled with lichen, and everything was wrapped in vines of ivy. Only a few trees stood on the grounds. Leafless and warped, they clacked their dry bones in the howling wind.
“Not a welcoming place, is it?”
“A beautiful woman walks into a bar . . .” Hadrian began like he was about to tell a joke, then paused. “I was just thinking . . . what do they call it when you feel like you’re doing something you’ve done before?”
“Repetition.”
Hadrian shook his head. “Yes, but that’s not what I mean. It’s just that this is so—”
“Similar to Ridgewood Manor?”
“Yes!” Hadrian pointed at him. “Exactly. That whole thing with Lord Darren and his daughter that he kept locked up. She wanted us to kidnap her as well. This is just like that, except Ridgewood was in better shape.”
Hadrian stared up at the manor house, which was bathed in the light of a full moon, with new scrutiny. “You don’t think this is the same thing, do you?”
“Not likely, but given the state of this place, it’s clear her ladyship was withholding information. The question is, why?”
“Maybe it is because of DeWitt. Perhaps he’s heard we’re on his trail and has set a trap.”
Royce smiled. “We can only hope.”
They tied up their horses, and Hadrian took a moment to sling the great spadone blade over his back, bringing his sword count to the full three. Royce, wrapped in his black cloak, displayed no visible weapon, and with his hood up, he might have been mistaken for a monk. Aside from the growing wind, it was a fine summer night.
They moved silently through the courtyard, which was no more than cracked statues and dry fountains divided by a walkway buried beneath a field of weeds. Above them, the glassless windows of the manor remained dark voids, empty eye sockets in a withered face. The whole of the estate gave Hadrian the unsettling impression of a corpse rotting in a field.
The place was dark, and no one was home, and it didn’t take Royce’s keen observations for Hadrian to realize it’d been abandoned for ages.
They made a quick circle of the place and found only the front entrance. A tarnished bronze door stood ajar, and they stepped into the vestibule. Illuminated only by fingers of moonlight, they spotted dark passages running off in various directions. Splatters of bird or bat droppings defaced the black and white marble flooring. Looking up, Hadrian noticed part of the roof was missing. Inside, everything wore a velvet blanket of dust thick enough to scoop up and pack like snowballs.
The two of them stood in the foyer, looking around, puzzled.
“Are we sure this is the right place?” Hadrian asked. He stepped on the remains of an old candle.
“Followed her directions exactly,” Royce said, walking in a circle around a large broken table. He left footprints like it was winter. “Why would she tell us to come here?”
“Look.” Hadrian pointed down a corridor where a frameless painting lay against the wall. It depicted a ship rocked by a stormy sea. “Tess said the corridor we wanted was along the wall with the ship in the storm painting.”
“The looters must not have appreciated fine art.”
“What were the rest of her directions?” Hadrian asked.
“She said to take the corridor to the stairs and go down.”
“Down? That doesn’t sound at all ominous.” Hadrian peered down the length of the passage that vanished into the darkness. “Hang on.” He found the candle he’d stepped on and pulled out his tinder kit.
Royce circled the chamber as outside the wind continued to batter the house, occasionally tossing a ragged curtain. “There’s another painting down this way. Canvas is ripped, but I think it must be her.”
“Tess?”
“No, the new wife. She’s wearing a sapphire necklace. Big one. Odd, though.”
Working in a pool of moonlight, Hadrian laid out his char cloth and pulled his striker. “How so?”
“She’s old.”
“How old?”
“White-haired.”
Hadrian produced a flame and used it to ignite the candle’s wick.
Armed with his light, he joined Royce, who stood at the foot of a vandalized portrait of a stately old lady in a lavish gown with a sapphire necklace. “Why would a man spurn a beautiful young woman to marry an old biddy?”
“Money,” Royce replied.
“For what?” He gestured at the house around them. “Certainly not for home improvements. And this woman is so— wait . . . is that . . .” Hadrian spun around, looked at the hall behind them, and then back at the painting. “That’s this room. She’s standing right here, but . . .”
“Looks a lot nicer than in the painting,” Royce said.
Holding the candle high, they followed the corridor into the darkness. More passages appeared to the left and right, each dark and silent. Finally, they came to a set of steps going down.
“She said to go right when we reach the bottom,” Royce said. “Then pass through a little door. After that, we make another right, skip a door, take the next left, and go down another set of stairs.”
Hadrian peered at him in the candlelight. “You remember all that?”
Royce shrugged. “Fear of writing anything down has its virtues.”
They descended the steps. Hadrian held the light with one hand; the other slid along a smooth, cold wall. The passage was narrow, too narrow. In an emergency, he might not be able to pull a sword. “Maybe we should have bought that pig shaker after all,” Hadrian whispered.
“That’s okay. I’m just as curious about how you’ll fare with a candle,” Royce whispered back.
“How many do you think are waiting for us?”
“None. DeWitt’s not down here. No one is.”
“This isn’t a trap?” Hadrian asked. “It’s certainly not the home of Tess Rochambeau of the Somerset Rochambeaus. I figured DeWitt was—”
“Ours are the only tracks in the dust. Unless DeWitt has sprouted wings, no one has been here in a century or more. That explains why no one in town knows about this place. That village might not have even been here when this was a baronage. Maybe if we’d asked about the old ruin up the road, they might have had a clue what we were talking about.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you remember? Tess said the new wife sleeps down here.”
“Down here?”
They followed the directions until they reached the bottom of the second staircase. Here, they found a pair of rotted wooden doors framed in an elaborate stone archway with writing etched in the keystone that was too distant from the candle for Hadrian to read. “What does it say? Can you tell?”
“No, but it’s obvious. This is the family crypt.”
Crypt? Hadrian felt a chill.
“The new wife is through the double doors. Second bed on the left.”
“Second bed?”
“That’s why I thought it was the baroness’s personal chamber.”
“Maybe it is.” Hadrian stopped.
Thick iron bars were embedded in the ceiling and floor, dividing the crypt into two areas. A massive gate was locked with a heavy bolt.
“This makes no sense,” Hadrian said.
Royce pulled out his picks.
“Maybe it’s locked for a reason,” Hadrian added.
“It is. It’s here to keep out grave robbers.”
“Sure, you’d think that, but what if . . . and just bear with me . . . what if that lock is to keep something in?”
This only elicited a smirk from Royce, and Hadrian heard the click of the lock echo. Royce removed the lock and pulled the doors wide. Inside were three stone sarcophagi. Two had names and dates chiseled at the base. The third one only had a date.
“Look here.” Royce pointed to the first one they came to. “Baron August Emmanuel Dushane. See the date?”
Hadrian was stunned to find out that the baron had been buried over two hundred and twenty years ago, and he’d lived to be eighty-three.
They moved to the next.
“Baroness Elisha Hester Dushane,” Hadrian read. “She died only a year before him, and she was sixty-two.”
They moved to the last sarcophagus. Whoever it was had died at the age of seventeen, which was about the same time August Dushane would have been twenty.
“She said bed two, correct?” Hadrian asked.
Royce nodded.
“Give me a hand.”
The two took hold of the baroness’s stone lid and lifted it free, scraping it across the baron’s lid where they left it. Then Hadrian raised the candle overhead. Inside, they found the shriveled remains of a body with long white hair. Around its throat hung an exquisite sapphire necklace.
“Doesn’t look a day over a hundred. You want me to, ah . . .”
Royce didn’t hesitate. With one hand, he reached in and snapped it off without disturbing the body.
“I forgot you used to do that for a living,” Hadrian said.
They replaced the lid, and they both looked at the last sarcophagus.
“Do you think it’s her?” Hadrian asked. “Do you want to look?”
Royce appeared pained, struggling to work out a problem. He looked at the necklace in his hand. “I know jewelry. This is incredibly valuable. I don’t think I’ve seen a stone this big before.”
Hadrian began to nod. “I see. So you’re thinking we could walk away now and sell that for enough money for both of us to live like kings, but if we look in this last box, you’re afraid you’ll find the dead body of a young woman with long chocolate-brown hair in a black gown and a green cape wearing a ruby studded bracelet. And if we do, we’ll be obligated to complete the assignment and take her and the necklace to Somerset.”
Royce looked at Hadrian as if he couldn’t understand the language his partner was speaking. “No. What would—I wasn’t thinking any of that. I was trying to calculate if we could make more money selling the necklace and bracelet as a set or separately.”
“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you aren’t serious.”
Royce held up the sapphire. “Do you know how much this is worth?”
“Where’s your compassion?” Hadrian pointed at the sarcophagus behind them. “This woman came back from the dead to beg for help. And if there’s a bracelet, she’s even paid for the job, and handsomely. This guy here . . . this Baron Dushane . . . who knows what he did? Maybe he kept her a prisoner, or perhaps he did love her, but she died before they could be married. She certainly wasn’t able to tell her family she was sorry. She can’t rest until that necklace is with her family, and they know what happened.”
“But it’s not like—I mean . . .” Royce frowned. “She’s already long gone. What difference does it make? Anyone who knew her is dead.”
“But that doesn’t mean they don’t care. Tess’s disappearance could be a mystery that’s preoccupied her relatives for centuries. But there’s an even more important reason why we should carry out her request.”
“Which is?”
“Tess Rochambeau has haunted this hill and that village down the road for centuries. She knows we go by Riyria, knows all about us. Maybe she heard our story from listening to conversations in that tiny pub, or maybe she’s talked to a few of your old friends. You know the ones I mean. The people you thought you’d safely put in your past. Do you really want to get on her bad side? And don’t try to say she’ll get over it. After all, she’s not the type to carry a grudge, right?” Hadrian let out a nervous chuckle. “She’s a lot like you in that regard, very understanding and forgiving.”
Royce looked at the sapphire, then at the casket. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Right. Of course not. We both imagined her.”
Royce frowned.
“C’mon, we’ll need to get a wagon and a team to transport the casket to Somerset,” Hadrian said. “We can carry her out ourselves. I doubt she’s very heavy.”
Royce sighed and started back toward the stairs. “There better be a bracelet, and yes, we’re checking before we get there. I don’t want the relatives laying claim to it.”
Hadrian placed his hand on the surface of the third stone box, which was cold and just as dust-covered as everything else. He wiped it off. There were no markings on the surface, no identifying symbols at all. It was as if she’d never existed.
“What now?” Royce asked.
“I just feel bad for her. She must have died right after coming here. All her dreams, her entire future . . . is gone.” Hadrian continued to stare at the casket. “On the way up here, I saw some daffodils growing along the trail not far from the river. Remind me to stop and pick some before we come back, will ya?”