“Father, this is the man we spoke of. He says he knows where an original is being sold,” the noblewoman gushes as she fans herself with a purple frilled thing that matches her dress. The ballroom is quite spectacular, but the crowds are not to my taste.

“Darling, you become more like your mother every day. What a treat you have brought if this turns out true!” The man turns a bright smile on me that does not reach his eyes. “And who might you be, good sir?”

I ring the cap in my hands, glancing up at the opulence and majesty of this fine building. “I am but a humble merchant, your sir royalness. Name’s Jack.”

“What a man, indeed.” His words communicate just how much he does not mean those words as I pump his forearm with more gusto than is strictly necessary.

“Father, please.” Her eyes beg, and something softens in the man.

He pats her hand with his. “Alright, my dear. For you. Jacob Youngsprite, at your service. Where is this painting?”

When I make it back to the inn after imbibing what should have been too many drinks but was, in reality, used to water the plants along the edges of the vast and magnificent ballroom, I know much more than I did before.

It’s time to pay Youngsprite a visit.

~~~

The man sits at his desk, his head in his hands as he looks over paperwork from that day. He takes his glasses off, rubbing his eyes with a sigh.

The click of the fourth story balcony is lost in the sigh.

“Purple.” The man startles at my voice, turning bright eyes towards the balcony window.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” His mannerisms might contain fear, but his eyes do not. He slumps in his high-backed chair, the desk before him a deep ebony black.

The room is pristine, everything neat and in place. There is a cabinet with assorted painted glassware, some even golden glass, and a tapestry along the far wall that bristles along the edges. I feel there is likely a hidden door behind the tapestry that would make it drafty.

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A fire roars beneath a hearth where grows a trailing plant. Red flowers poke from the blanket of greenery, tiny, star-like flowers that can spit a poisonous gas if you trim the prickly leaves without caution.

A mirthless chuckle escapes my lips. “How long since Black sent you on this assignment?”

The man straightens from his hunched position, coming up with a tiny crossbow in his hand and a calculation gleam in his eyes. “I’d heard rumors, but didn’t believe them to have much fact, Bloodfang.”

I incline my head. “The others didn’t like where I was taking the Underground. Decided to do something about it.”

“I killed Marsha.”

The words are a sock to the gut, but I don’t let it show. The one thing they held over me, the one I thought I had gotten far enough away to never have to hear from again. She was like a pestering sister, and her death hits me harder than it strictly should.

“Was it quick?” I ask, my words soft.

“I made sure it was.”

I pull back my hood, a sad smile tipping my lips. “Thank you, my friend.”

He rises and clasps his hand around my forearm, a smile turning his lips and making it to his eyes.

“I am heartened to see you return from the dead.”

I snort, the man before me the only one I trusted in the whole of the Underground, besides Marsha.

“Also, you need to change the scent from peppermint to clove. It’d be easier to fool the nose.” He taps his nose, grinning.

I shake my head, knowing I didn’t fool him, but hoping all the same. He taught me much, and it’s unlikely the student could fool the Master. “Who is the girl?”

“Not to be trusted.” His deep, slate grey eyes flash in the candlelight.

“Ahhh, good thing I stopped by her room first. She won’t wake for a while yet.”

He shakes his head. “Only you would drug a young lady. Now, what are you here for?”

“The Pits have some folk who are of interest. If I were to give you some names, could you find where they are and see who owns them?”

He rubs his wrinkled hand across his forehead, looking at the page of paper. “It’s possible. I may could buy them. Why?”

“Reasons that are my own.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I nod, turning to leave.

“Fang? Don’t forget where your loyalties lie. You owe me one for the girl, but I will tell you this. The maid of the princess fought against a talented assassin, kept him at bay long enough for help to arrive. What do you know of this woman?”

I keep my head turned out to the sky so the slight grin on my face is not seen. “What would I know of her?”

“It seems she was brought in at the same time as a young boy who is in The Pits. A boy named Jed, who is on your paper.”

“She is also of interest. Keep an eye on her; should you do so without compromise.”

"You know I take no orders from you, Master of the Grey." Despite his words, humor coats his voice.

I snap off a mock salute, and his eyes twinkle.

My cloak snaps out behind me as I leap for a trellis, the guards below unconscious and no one to see me but the assassin hiding in a treetop who made no move to stop me. Good thing Purple is of the same mind as me in these machinations of a turning wheel, or tonight would have gone much different.