The streets are quiet and the shadows long and dark. Even though my body isn't responding as well as it should, a combination of the recently healed wound and four days of inactivity, it's no trouble to avoid the few guards that cross my path. I don't feel well enough to outrun them if they spot me, but that shouldn't be a problem for the Master Thief. With what Isganna gave me and the little I had left, I have almost no equipment, but it's enough for the task at hand if I am careful.

Two guards stand outside the main entrance, the door I left by last time. Bright torches line the steps all the way up to the entrance, ruling it out as a possible way in. I duck into an alley alongside the Watchhouse.

A high wall runs around the building, and I guess that it contains a courtyard. I can smell cooking, and the unmistakeable stink of stables. Somewhere there will be gates to allow horses and servants to come and go unseen by the public.

I follow the wall around and come to a gatehouse. Two lookout towers frame the gate and there are guards moving above. This part of the building is much older than the front. The gatehouse has the look of an ancient fort, while the front of the building is a more elaborate modern design. I stick close to the wall to keep in shadow and, as I do, I notice that the gaps between the stones where the mortar has fallen away are wide enough to use as handholds.

It takes me nearly two minutes to scale the wall, and by the end my fingers and toes ache with the effort of supporting my weight. I move deliberately slowly, knowing that sudden movements draw the eye.

At the top I drop lightly over the buttress and crouch. The guards on the wall top are gathered near the lookout tower closest to me. I creep as close as the darkness will allow, thinking to listen in on their conversation and perhaps learn something that mat be useful to me, but they are involved in a game of chance and I learn nothing. I turn my attention to the building across the courtyard and plan my route.

Two doors open from the main building onto the courtyard. One is the kitchen door, thrown open to let in the cool night air, and the other is heavily guarded. But crossing the courtyard is too risky, and once I have seen there is no easy way in I don't spare it another glance. My eye follows the wall along to where it meets the building, where a single guard leans sleepily against the buttress. Beyond him is a small door, set in a dark alcove in the wall.

I pass within touching distance of him, but he does not turn or become aware of me. He watches the street below, but his gaze is unfocussed, not concentrating on his job. I briefly consider knocking him out, but if his absence is noted the alarm may be raised.

The door is slightly ajar, and I can only see darkness beyond. I open it slowly. The hinges let out a creak like wailing banshee. The guard at the wall looks up sharply.

I run through, leaving the door open. I find myself at the corner of a corridor that runs ahead of me and off to the left, and dart left. I flatten myself against the wall.

The guard looks through the door. 'Rill?' he shouts. 'Was that you? You know I don't think it's funny.' He pauses, waiting. Only silence answers. 'Just the wind, I suppose.' I hear the door creak again and it closes with a soft thud. I let out my breath, relieved.

I move down the corridor, keeping my tread light on the wooden floor. There are two torches further down, casting twin circles of light. They mark the top of a wide staircase leading to the floor below. I'm not sure where the Strongroom entrance is, but I know my best chance of finding it is to be methodical. I carry on past the stairway.

Beyond the stairs there are several doors, evenly spaced. I open the door of the first, slowly and carefully in case there is someone in the room beyond and wary of more noisy hinges. It is a small office, with only a desk and chair and cupboard. I look through the desk drawers and cupboard, but there's nothing of value.

The next room is similar, and the next. I almost don't open the final door, expecting to find only more of the same, but I know if I don't I'll miss something valuable.

This office is as sparse as the others. I shrug. Sometimes these gambles pay off, and sometimes they don't. But as I turn to close the door behind me, I realise my luck has held after all.

On the back of the door is a framed chart, a floor plan of the Watchhouse. I prise the back off with the tip of Isganna's dagger and take out the map. There's always a map somewhere, if you look hard enough.

A quick study of the map shows that the Strongroom entrance is on the lower floor. But I have not forgotten the memo I read on my last visit here. Two keys are required to open the door.

I peer out into the corridor again. It is still empty. I head for the staircase. I reason that the Duty Officers responsible for the keys will probably have offices on the ground floor. They are not marked on the map.

I can hear guards moving in the hall below. From the sharp sounds of their footsteps the floor is tiled and I frown. Tiled floors are a thief's worst enemy when he has no moss arrows. A thief, that is, who can't improvise.

The torches cast too much light for me to risk moving into the stairway. Instinctively I reach for my quiver to take out a water arrow, but of course it's not there.

Time to improvise. I take the torch out of its bracket and thrust it against the wall twice. I stamp out the fallen embers before the carpet catches fire and replace the dead torch carefully. I brush the soot from my boot and creep down the stairs.

The hallway is long and narrow with six guards in pairs, one at this end, one in the middle and one at the far end. It is dark in here, with no windows to let in the moonlight, and only four torches blazing. I consult my stolen chart, which says I need the door at the far end. The tiled floor stretches out before me, seemingly endless. I can see a path that should keep me totally invisible, but how to remain silent?

I tug off my boots. They're soft soled, of course, but still too noisy on tiles. Carefully I place a woollen-socked foot on the tiles. They're cold, but I can move noiselessly now. I creep down the hallway.

Halfway down I see a movement out of the corner of my mechanical eye. I turn slowly, but there is only an alcove with a suit of armour there. I can't afford to get distracted! If I start imagining all the things that could be in those shadows I'll never get to the Strongroom.

I walk on, and slip through the doors. I weave my way through two more long corridors and chance upon the Duty Officers' rooms. With the large polished brass plaque mounted upon their doors they are unmissable.

The first door is locked, but the lock is a simple one and easy enough to pick. I close it quietly. I've seen far fewer Watchmen than I expected tonight, but I don't want one to come walking past while I'm at work.

The key hangs on a fine gold chain on a hook behind the desk. I hide it in my belt pouch and take a few coins from the desk drawer.

As I leave the room a door closes sharply down the corridor, back the way I came. I whip my head round sharply, but the corridor is empty. Perhaps it was the wind, but I feel no draught. With a cautious glance behind I begin picking the next lock.

This second office is similar to the first and I get the second key. I have left the door ajar this time and open it enough to peer out into the corridor without being seen. The door that slammed before is now open.

I wait for an age in silence. A bead of sweat trickles down my cheek though the damp stone building chills the air. Not a sound or movement comes from the hall.

I wait for long minutes and finally feel foolish. Either it was the wind or it was a watchman who opened the door while I was in the first office and has now left it open. I consult my stolen map and head off in the direction of the Strongroom.

A wooden-floored rectangular hallway marks the entrance to the Strongroom. Two elaborate chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Stalactites of wax hang from them. The light they cast is dim, but peering up into the gloom I notice that only a quarter of the candles are actually lit. The Strongroom door takes up most of the far wall. It is wooden, but I can see the panels that allow access to the mechanisms that control it.

I have my hand on the grip of the blackjack, ready for anything, but there is nobody in the room. A small table beside the large door holds cards dealt in a game of chance, and a steaming drink, but whoever was here a short time ago has gone. This seems like a stroke of luck but something about it sticks in my throat. There are far too few guards here.

I open first one lock, then the other. The door swings open without a sound on well oiled hinges. I creep into the gloom beyond, cautious. Perhaps the guards are in here.

But the Strongroom is deserted and dark as well. There is only an eight-branched candlestick flickering on a table in the centre of the room. Even in the half-light, I can recognise my own equipment laid out there.

Each piece has been labelled and I tear the small bits of paper away as I hastily tool myself up again. I keep glancing behind me at the door, sure that at any moment the Watch will arrive. This has been so easy, surely it must be a trap. But even knowing I'm in grave danger, I can't leave without what I came here for.

Locked cupboards line the walls, and I choose four at random to loot. Once my bag is full and I feel rich enough I creep back to the door.

Still nobody. Perhaps the trap is not sprung yet and there is still time to leave.

I take care not to be seen on the way back but still move quickly. Strange, but the guards that lined the tiled hall have gone and I don't see a soul until I reach the wall. Even then, the only guards are those playing their game by the gatehouse towers. They seem tense, speaking too loudly. I'm most relieved when my feet touch the cobbled street again. Though there may or may not have been a trap set for me, at least I have escaped.

I spare the high wall one last glance and as I do I see a figure on the wall, silhouetted against a silvery cloud. Dark hair whips around its shoulder in a gust of wind. It sees me looking back and disappears behind the crenellations. Without waiting to see who or what it is I run through the streets. I use every trick I know to avoid pursuit, just in case.

It takes me three hours to get back to Isganna's shop. My muscles are sore, tired after a long night's exercise after so much inactivity. But as I creep through the window I feel a sense of professional pride. I stole from the Watch's Strongroom. Not many thieves can say that.

A single candle lights the room. Isganna sits in her chair by the dead fire. She looks exhausted, as though she has been running all night, rather than me. She turns her pale face with shadowed eyes towards me.

'The Watch put out a description of your injuries,' she says. There's an edge to her voice but it's not fear. 'I had a visitor while you were gone. Doctor Isen came back. He tried to blackmail me. He said if I didn't tell him where you were he would ruin my business.'

I nod. 'So you said...?'

She scowls angrily at me. 'I didn't tell him you'd be coming back. Or that when you did I would offer you a chance to pay off your debt with no money changing hands.'

I raise a brow. 'No money?' I don't want to part with any of my haul, but a debt is a debt.

'I have a job for you. If you do it I'll forget the money you owe me.'

'What is it?' I ask, though I already know.

'Murder.'