Chapter Four

Unnoticed No Longer

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Cass hunched outside the window, shivering as the cool night air seeped through her thin tunic. Her face bathed in the glow from inside, she watched intently as the man from the litter, every bit as ratty looking as his voice suggested, carefully turned down the sheets on his satin-clad bed. He slid between the covers, lying flat on his back. Within minutes, she could hear his snores through the glass.

Smiling scornfully, Cass unsheathed one of her seven knives and studied the window. It was somewhat normal; four panes of glass set into a square figure, edged with what looked to be iron. Cass stuck her knife into the iron part, and smiled as it splintered. Just like back home, she thought, satisfied. They think if it looks like the real thing it must be the real thing. She began to pry the wood off the glass.

Unbeknownst to her, the deep blue gem against her chest flashed in random pulses of light.

Soon, she had prised the two strips of wood out from between the glass, making next to no noise. This left her with a cross of open air in the middle of the window. Slipping her numb fingers into gloves, she gripped the upper left-hand pane of glass. With a quick jerking motion, she pulled it from the wall, leaving a one-by-one square. Cass quickly wrenched the other three panes from their homes, leaving them in a neat pile outside the window.

Quiet as mist, Cass slipped in through the now open window. Her trained feet made no noise on the hardwood floors, and she kept her breath as soft as possible.

The man grunted in his sleep, flipping over and getting comfortable again. Cass caught her breath, hand flying to the gem beneath her shirt – a nervous habit picked up from years of living with the necklace. She fingered it until the man was silent once again. Then, stealthily, she slipped to the bureau.

Gathering what she knew about men like him and their hiding places, she drew open the bottom drawer, digging to the back. Wrinkling her nose as she sifted through his loincloths, she groped a small silk pouch. She pulled the drawstring and saw the glint of gold.

Unsatisfied, she attached the pouch to her belt, closed the drawer, and slid out of the room.

Cass moved freely through the empty house, checking all the common places to hoard money. Apparently, this man had not been burgled before — he had money so easily hidden that she barely had to look. Still, she was not content. She had picked up upwards of six pouches, but purses of gold weren't what she was after.

Without her knowledge, the gem continued to flash irregularly as she moved through the room. It pulsed silently, but her shirt soaked up what scant light the jewel produced, and she didn't distinguish it from the light that shone in through windows. It glowed with a steady light when she picked up the bags of gold, but went back to flashing erratically as soon as she began moving.

As Cass walked from room to room, a sudden thought occurred to her. If he's so stupid or naïve to not have hidden the loot, maybe he's got a treasure room! she thought excitedly. She retraced her steps, looking for doors.

The first two led to a washroom and a guestroom. The third lead to the kitchen, and the servant's wing after that. She was just about to give up on a treasury and begin searching harder when she spotted a partially hidden door in the corner of a corridor. She grinned, a predator about to catch her prey.

Cass jimmied the lock in seconds, and stepped forward into the most elaborate treasury she had ever had the liberty to observe. High pedestals raised artifacts above the general clutter of the floor. Gold coins spilled out from pouches as gems shone quietly on the wood floor.

Quickly moving to the pedestals, she grabbed their items, listening for the sounds of an alarm spell. None came. She almost laughed at his stupidity and her good luck. She shoved the pedestal items into a small bag, tying it about her waist before bending over and grabbing at the coins that littered the floor.

That done, she left the way she came, leaving behind an unsuspecting victim to a marvelous crime.

***

The morning light streamed in through the windows of the Soaring Falcon. Nicolas Thatcher strolled down the stairs and situated himself in his chair by the fire of the empty common room. It was too early to be awake for most people, but Nick Thatcher was not most people.

At first glance, Nick looked like the average commoner. He wore plain clothes of average quality and had what looked to be unspectacular good looks. But after a closer inspection, it became evident that this was no ordinary young man.

About twenty, Nick Thatcher possessed the same muscular grace that all Kings of the Rogue must have in order to succeed. He moved smoothly and silently, sharp eyes taking in everything around him. With short, dark brown hair and blue eyes that were a shade of blue so as to be black, his looks were unconventional, but compelling. They fit him.

After having poisoned the King before him, Nick took command of the Court of the Rogue. Following tradition, he moved the Court to the Soaring Falcon, his favorite inn. He now lounged lazily in the chair by the fire, letting his thoughts wander.

Another figure sauntered down the stairs, vaulting over the railing and landing gracefully on the floor. He threw himself across a chair. "Good morning, Nick," he said conversationally.

Emmit was one of the three people in the world who could still call the King of the Rogue by his first name. The two had met before the age of ten, when both were still pickpockets scrounging for a living. Emmit had helped Nick to gain his position, and now kept him well informed about the goings on of his kingdom.

Nick nodded, still disinclined to speak so early in the morning. Emmit continued, giving him the rundown of the night. "Last night was a good one — Lucas Empri finally got the jeweler's shop on Copper Street; we got about thirty nobles off that. Slider pulled a good haul from old man Kahbey — but one of the servants saw him, so he has to lay low for a while. Quickpick broke into—"

A man burst through the inn doors, interrupting Emmit's list. "Emmit! Your Majesty!"

Nick frowned, slightly worried, but then recognized the man as one of his Court, a rogue called Lightsteps, for his ability to walk without making a sound. Lightsteps was grinning from ear to ear, and Nick relaxed a little. "What do you want, 'Steps? Emmit and I've a lot to talk about without you barging into the midst of it," he called as Lightsteps strode to the table.

"Majesty, won't you tell us who did it? The whole city's talkin'!"

"What are you talkin' about? Who did what?" Emmit asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Who pulled off the catch! It's amazin'! The city's a-buzz, and no one knows anythin'!"

Nick shot a quick glance at Emmit. The burglaries of the night before had been minor, and arranged ahead of time – nothing to warrant the city's attention. What could Lightsteps be talking about, then?

When neither man spoke, Lightsteps prodded them. "Was it Slider? Andre? Who?"

Nick smiled, his mind racing. " 'Steps, if you told me what job it is, then I'll tell you who might have pulled it off."

The rogue snorted and rolled his eyes. "And he acts like he doesn't know. Lord Udell! The old bastard's treasure room was picked clean afore mornin' broke, and not a mark on his spells! So says the cook, who heard Udell screamin' bloody murder at the sight, and he told one of ours afore they all got hauled off for questionin'."

Nick's eyes were guarded, and he looked just once, fiercely, at Emmit.

Emmit knew his friend's signals. "Lightsteps, get out of here." The rogue looked like he was about to argue, but changed his mind and held his tongue; Nick hadn't taken anyone's ears yet, but he didn't want to be the one starting the collection. And when the King looked as he did, there was no sense in making a fuss. Lightsteps was out of the inn as fast as his infamous feet could take him.

Nick leaned back, away from the table, exhaling as he did so. Emmit rubbed the spot in-between his eyebrows. "Someone picked Lord Udell's hoard?" he muttered. "Without clearin' it with you, no less." Emmit shook his head. "It just doesn't add up. Why would someone bother to do it without you knowin'?"

"I have no idea," Nick said. "Especially since every rogue in Tortall knows I'd just help them get in. We've been trying to crack that skinflint for years." He bit his lip, a sign he was thinking.

" And it's damn near impossible to believe — Udell's got more guardspells on his manor than sand on a beach! But 'Steps said none were tripped . . ." Emmit trailed off.

"And you've heard nothing?" Nick asked him.

Emmit shook his head emphatically. "Not a word. And like you said, it's not like they'd keep this quiet. Anyone wantin' to break in would want your help in the doin' of it."

"Except someone broke in without my help," Nick muttered. The two men were silent. After a few minutes, Nick spoke again. "Here's what we'll do: don't say we don't know. Let them think that Slider did it, and that's why he has to lie low. Say that you pulled Kahbey. But don't let on that we didn't know this was to happen. Send out a message to the pawnshops — tell them to be on the lookout for Udell's stuff. They'll have to turn up somewhere. And we'll work from there. We'll catch this unseen rogue – sooner or later."

"Hopefully sooner," Emmit stated. "Lest someone will figure out we don't know what's goin' on."

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Yay! I've finished! And I must say, I am somewhat disappointed with the turnout of reviewers. *tsks and shakes head* oh, well, not like I can do anything. I think it has something to do with the fact that people read more if it's TP's own characters. I know I do. Just so I can get a clear, accurate analysis (GAH! English lit. is taking over my life!) of how many of you are actually reading, please please please, everyone who's reading, review! And I don't care if all you even say is "it's cool" or "it sucks." Whatever it is, tell me!

Wow. That was pathetic. I'm actually begging for reviews. I must stop immediately. Review if ya want to, don't if ya don't