After entering the castle, we seem to have crossed into a different world. A haunted place where time loses part of its meaning, and the stone releases century-old whispers trapped within its cold embrace. The wind is blowing softly through the corridor. A hall stretches before us, cavernous and dimly lit. Beams of sunlight slice through gaps in the not tightly closed windows, making the dust dance in their wake over the marbled and polished floor. Massive paintings hang on the walls, depicting the lords of the manor and all their forefathers, hunting scenes, and pitched battles, immortalized with fine strokes in glowing colors, almost seeming alive. If you look at them too long, it feels like you are about to get sucked into them and can smell the blood and sweat of the battlefield. I shudder. But Dante whistles appreciatively.

“Forget about it. We would never be able to fence any of them,” I admonish him. He looks at the paintings with regret but walks on muttering under his breath.

The air carries a faint chill, laced with smoke and the scent of beeswax from the blown-out candles left at the bottom of intricately chiseled bronze sconces that hang from the walls. Above us, heavy wooden beams form a curved ceiling carved with geometric shapes and flickering runes whose meaning I can not comprehend. I feel like an intruder in the lair of a beast. We entered a place of power and secrets, of intrigues and machinations, where every corner holds the weight of stories untold. A place where those like us do not belong. Exposed mice, hoping for the cats to be sleeping. I shudder again. The echoes of our steps seem to drown out, swallowed by the vastness. Get a grip on yourself, Kivi.

Our information must be severely outdated because, after walking down another eternal corridor covered in dancing shadows, only illuminated by the wandering light beams shining through narrow arrow slits, we enter a room that does not appear on our crudely drawn map. In the center of it, there is a strange stone arch adorned with flickering intricate runes chiseled in relief, beneath which a translucent disk emits an ethereal glow, like the lake surface illuminated from the bottom.

“What the hell? Wasn't this supposed to be an armory or something?” asks Dante. He rubs his eyes as if to clear a dream or illusion.

“Doesn't seem like it, does it?”

"Fucking wizards, the fucking sons of bitches even have private portals," complains Dogface. “Where do you think it goes?”

"Don't cross it," I order, catching his arm before he can take a step closer. He looks at me with a tense frown. “We don't know how charged its runes are. What if you drain them passing through and get trapped wherever you end up?”

“Whatever,” complains Dogface, pouting like a child. “Spoilsport.”

On the far side of the otherwise sparse room, we finally find the door that is supposed to lead to the private chambers of the baron and lord of the castle. Dogface only needs a few seconds with his lockpick before it opens with a soft click. At least for something the scoundrel has no equal. I softly fit the door back into its frame, holding it in place with a toothpick. Now, it only appears to be closed. I take another toothpick from my pack and start pulling and prodding at the annoying pieces of salted jerky stuck in the holes between my teeth before I look up again. According to what we know, no one should pass by here. The baron and his family are hunting in the forest. On a trip, The Crow somehow managed to arrange. There should be only a small staff left behind because nobles need to be attended to wherever they go. But it is still better to be as quiet as we can. It is impossible to anticipate every unforeseen event.

After crossing another series of mazelike corridors in which we would have gotten lost without the help of our castle map, we finally arrive at the chambers of the lord.

“What a fucking bed!” exclaims Dante. “Are you seeing this? Those nobles know how to live.”

“He's a magician, what did you expect?” observes Dogface.

The truth is that it is huge. The mattress, covered in snow-white satin, must be wider than my room down in the slums and is almost two feet thick. They must have sheared several flocks of sheep just for the stuffing. Or do these people stuff them with feathers? I am not able to tell from the smell alone. I can not smell nearly anything here. An intense odor of lavender drowns even the lingering smoke that swirls over the embers of the grand fireplace on the other side of the room. Maybe I could find out if I touch it. So soft. So white. So brilliant. Even the snow-white pillows have the characteristic satin shine. The washerwomen must suffer to keep them that color. Or maybe they have magic for it. I don't think so. A real magician does not care about such mundane things.

“What do you say, Kivi, wanna try it out after we finish here?” asks Dogface, shaping his thumb and index finger into a circle and inserting his other index finger through it with a pumping motion while smiling at me impishly, showing me his half-rotten teeth.

“Keep dreaming, mutt,” I snort at him, giving him the stink eye before moving past him to get to another intricately carved wooden door.

“Frigid bitch,” he mumbles at my back while I am already entering the adjacent room. I pass by rows after rows of fine suits and silken, vividly colored dresses and approach an enormous trunk made of dark oak resting on the floor in a corner. I wonder how The Crow knew it would be exactly where he told us and why he could not do the job himself.

The trunk has no lock, but a huge rune that emits a soft bluish glow decorates the front. I know the meaning of this one: seal. It is a rune I know inside and out. Apart from the simple version that you can find covering the hulls of some ships, to close off all the slits between planks, I have frequently seen the complex version on the doors and windows of wealthy people. From what I know, the simple version always remains active until the magic of the ink that powers it is used up and has to be reapplied, while the complex version allows a specific magician to activate and deactivate it whenever they want. In theory, the trigger is coded to a specific mana signature, but it does not matter. I can modify the rune itself without having to deactivate it. Stupid magicians, too confident in their arts. They rarely resort to more mundane and more difficult-to-circumvent solutions. I pull out a small vial and a paintbrush from my backpack and apply a couple more strokes until it becomes the silence rune instead. Or the compound rune sound seal, as The Crow called it when he showed me how to do this. A not well-known rune, even between mages dedicated to runic engraving, at least according to The Crow. Maybe that is because it is unstable and short-lived. Not that it matters for what I need it to do. The rune is so large that I have to use almost all of my remaining imbued ink. Finally, it shimmers and flicks, emitting an ozone-like stench. Its meaning has changed. A thin line appears between the body of the trunk and the lid. I pick it up in ghostly silence, thanks to my modified rune, even though it is somewhat stuck. Inside the trunk, there is almost nothing, just some kind of folded robe or cloak, a note, and a metal artifact.

“What is that?” The sudden voice behind me makes me stumble in fright.

“Fuck! Dante,” I complain. “Don't startle me like that. If I was still modifying the rune it could have gone very wrong.”

“Sorry.” He looks at me like a beaten puppy. If it was Dogface, I would have called that look fake. But Dante, one of the few decent guys in our gang, has always looked up to me.

“It doesn't matter, just be more careful next time.” I take the artifact out of the trunk. It is made of brass or something similar, encircling a half-sphere of glass. A slender metallic needle quivers faintly over an aged ivory background, polished to a blank shine without any letters, numbers, or other markings. Around the edges, the brass casing is engraved with minute swirls that seem to be hiding hidden depths. Looking at them, I feel a soft call in a certain direction, inviting me there, like a warm hearth with flickering fires inviting me to sit down and warm up after a winter night lost in the storm. “Looks like a compass,” I say finally, realizing I am still in what must be the wardrobe. “I guess it's what The Crow wants.”

“I don't think north is that way,” observes Dante. “Is it broken?”

“You ask me, but who should I ask?” I fold the soft cloak again, let everything slide into my backpack, and sit up. "Where is Dogface?” For some reason, Dante's face turns red like a tomato. “Fuck, what has he done this time?” I resign myself while I impulsively rub my temple.

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Dante looks at me like he wants to tell me but fears to do so.

“He is relieving himself on the magician's bed.”

I look at Dante, dumbfounded. He grows even more red.

“He what? No! Dogface, you fucking idiot! What the hell are you doing!” I scream exasperated, while I run back to the bedroom. I find him there, standing on the bed with his dirty shoes. He seems to be contemplating, with a smile on his face, how a yellowish stain decorates the center of the mattress while he reties the front of his trousers. The smell of ammonia and wet wool drowns out the lavender.

“The bastard is gonna sleep comfortable tonight,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“Why? Dogface, why? Now everyone who comes in here will know that someone has been here.”

“Chill down, Kivi. They'll find out anyway when they realize that whatever we came here to steal is missing,” Dogface counters. He takes a look at the compass that still lies in my hands. I feel the sudden urge to hide it from him, but Dogface looks away again, seemingly uninterested. Or not wanting to fuck with The Crow, most likely.

"Let's get out of here once and for all," suggests Dante. He seems nervous, or embarrassed. As if it would be much more tragic if we are discovered now than it was before.

"The fuck are you talking about? When are we going to get another opportunity to take something for ourselves," scowls Dogface seeming indignant. “The way I see it we did all the work. We should get rewarded for it. We got the trinket The Crow wants. There is no one here and we have time.” He jumps down from the bed still grinning and chuckling under his breath. “I think the mage must have some jewelry hidden in some drawer, exotic weapons, or expensive liquor. I'm sure he likes to drink at night before banging with the maids.”

"Mages are gentlemen. They do not fornicate with someone of lower status," states Dante.

“What? You can't believe that. Don't be stupid,” Dogface snorts back.

I roll my eyes.

“Half a bell and we meet in the portal room,” I concede. As much as I would love to contradict Dogface, he has a point.

“I saw a strange sword hanging on the wall in one of the rooms we passed,” observes Dante. His eyes are shining. Maybe I've misjudged him and he's just anxious to get out of the room. “It may be mithril.”

"Nah, don't get your hopes up, I think it was just silver," says Dogface. “Still worth taking.”

“How do you know which one I'm referring to?”

“You think I'm blind? I saw it too, let's get a closer look at it.”

I wait until I'm left alone in the bedroom. I have another destination in mind. Weapons and artifacts are temporary. Knowledge and practice give real power. I'm in a magician's house. He must have supplies to practice his art somewhere. If the man is adept at drawing runes, he must have imbued ink, or at least other alchemical ingredients, crystals to store mana with which to operate that strange portal. Whatever they used to chisel the runes that make it work into the stony surface of the arc can´t be cheap. Where would he store them?

On the castle plan, there was something called a Duel dungeon, but that sounds more like a place to practice magical combat, or combat in general, and not what I am looking for. No, either he keeps his ingredients in a laboratory or some studio adjacent to his private quarters. I begin to open the nearby doors one by one. I find a living room with an enormous table carved out of a single piece of wood, another bedroom, a small courtyard with a pond filled with flowering water lilies and hyacinths surrounded by cherry blossom trees, and more bedrooms.

I stop in place when I hear footsteps echoing in the distance. I slip into the shadows behind a column in the last room I entered. Two maids approach the room I am in, conversing in low voices. I get my crossbow out of my backpack. Luckily, they pass by the doorframe and disappear again around a bend in the hallway. I store my crossbow again and continue exploring.

The next room I enter feels alive with the mingling scents of mystery and madness. A heady concoction clings to the air like an invisible fog that refuses to disperse. I breathe in. A deep, earthy, and almost hypnotic smell hits my nostrils. It smells of forest and rain, of damp soil hiding the sting of rotten eggs, balanced by a darker, acrid, resinous edge, almost like leather scorched in a fire or the smokiness of incense lingering in the air. Sweet, cloying notes of honey and beeswax thread through the chaos, an odd comfort against the sharper smells. On a shelf on one wall, there is a row of glass bottles filled with crushed herbs and lonely eyeballs floating in a murky liquid. Those must be alchemical reagents. Ones I have never seen before. Too many to take with me, and I do not know which of them may be valuable.

In front of a window through which you can see the distant mountains is an oak desk. In the drawers, I discover a wad of paper, a bundle of brushes, and a couple of strange tools that I have never seen in my life. I exchange the brushes for those in my backpack. They have a strong handle made of a bone or ivory-like substance and soft but sturdy bristles, way better than the ones I had.

If I can find something to store the paper without getting it stained, maybe I can take it with me. It is not that you can not get it elsewhere, but such white and fine paper is expensive. It must be imported.

On one wall, there is a shelf with books. Immaculately clean books. There is not a speck of dust anywhere close to them. I wonder why, maybe it is because of the runes on the shelf. I wish I had the time to study them. But I need to speed up. I may have wasted too much time already.

I go over to read the titles. Maybe I can find something useful to take with me. Knowledge is power. Let us see: The Maid and the Dark Knight, Rescued by the Dark Knight, Alone with the Dark Knight, Bitten by the Dark Knight.

What the heck? Stupid vampire romance novels? What is this nonsense? I thought I was in the wizard's study, but I must have been wrong. Treatise on magical and mythical beasts found in the Divine Sun Mountains of Eternal Spring. More useful, if I knew where the hell some mountains with such a ridiculous name were located and I had to go there. I may be able to fence it. I will take it. Initiation to alchemy for ladies, from beauty potions to love potions. What the hell? More vampire garbage. On bonding and taming spirit beasts. Interesting, into my backpack it goes too. More vampire garbage. How to converse with elves and other lower races without causing offense. I almost piss myself trying to stop myself from laughing out loud. The art of embroidery with magic threads. It could be interesting if I had a way to get them, but no. Body runes: defensive and utilitarian tattoos for apprentices.

Now we are speaking! Fortune finally smiles at me. It had not even occurred to me that runes could be drawn on a human body. If only I had enough imbued ink left. Imagine what I could do.

I am yanked out of my reverie by the sound of agitated voices echoing up the hallway.

“Yes, some scoundrel has urinated all over the lord's bed. What will we do? You can see the shoe prints. Oh, no! This is the end. What will we do when he finds out? They will throw us out of the castle.”

Shit! Stupid Dogface always has to cause one mess after the other with his antics.

"Don't worry, Elisa, we will find the culprit and make him pay, don't worry," says a man with a deep booming voice, trying to calm the anguished wails of the woman. “When we find the culprit, and you can be sure we will find him, he will pay for it. I'll make sure the lord knows who is at fault. Merkan, go and get Arkan and Oniel.

“Right away captain.”

An armed guard crosses the hallway at a fast pace, clanking his boots all over the marble floor. I wait a few moments and sneak out behind them, keeping to the shadows. More guards appear in the courtyard in front of the door to the wizard's bedroom. I need to find another way back to the tower we used to come in. I hope I don't get lost. I pass by a dining room, a chapel, a room full of paintings of men with thick mustaches, another armory, and a kitchen with people busy preparing a feast for when the nobles return from their hunt.

“Hey! Who are you?”

I close the door to the kitchen again and walk away quickly. Better not to run. The last thing I need right now is to attract more attention. Having to open doors randomly is not ideal. I can hear footsteps behind me echoing around a bend, others in front. I open another door and find myself in the portal room, alone, with no one in sight. More than half a bell must have passed already. Where are Dante and Dogface?

“Captain. Arkan and Oniel seem to be asleep and I couldn't wake them up.

“What? Explain.”

“We found a rope tied to a battlement on the outside of the southern tower. And someone undressed both of our lookouts.

“Damn! This is more serious than we thought, they have invaded the castle. They are posing as guards.”

“They must have a wizard capable of performing sleep spells.”

“Someone go and get the protection amulets from the armory.”

“But why would they invade the castle just to piss on the lord's bed?”

“How should I know? Maybe it's some rival magician who believes the lord offended him for some reason.

“But why would he resort to something so vulgar and despicable to get revenge?”

“Perhaps it is one of those rejected suitors of Miss Kelia?

“Could it be that? Shit! You two, go and stand guard in front of her rooms. You two go to the gatehouse and lower the portcullis. A couple of men stay here on guard, the rest go and call everyone to the parade ground. If you see a guard who is not familiar to you, arrest him. And someone needs to get the mana-suppressing shackles from the armory.

“Captain, what about the portal?”

“Huh? The portal? Someone go and wake up the portal-mage to deactivate it. Intiel and Seraphiel will stand guard over him while he does so.

More metallic-sounding footsteps ring through the hallway, growing in volume, coming closer. Shit! If they discovered the rope we left in the tower, there is no way out that way. It would be risky to scale the wall in a hurry now that the guards are alert. Where the hell is Dante and Dogface? The footsteps grow even louder. I can not keep waiting. Everyone must know how to take care of themselves first. Or at least that is what The Crow always tells us. They are more slippery than you would expect when it comes to it. They may be able to find a way out. What about me? Letting myself get captured is not an option. Mages are not known to be lenient with those they consider their lesser. I can hear muffled voices coming from the hallway. My eyes fall on the shining runes of the portal. Why not? The door behind me opens. I start running.

“What the fuck? Stop her!”

The shimmering distortion sucks me in with a soft pop.