Special thanks to 16DarkMidnight80 who goes over these chapters!

-K-

Honorhall Orphanage was a simple, well-built building on the south side of town, just outside the wall surrounding Mistveil Keep, where Jarl Laila Law-Giver rules. It looked like a grim place to grow up; I didn't like the look of it at all.

Upon entering, I found myself in the dormitory. The children were playing among themselves, one or two were reading (or looking at illustrations). Although poorly dressed, they did look clean, their garments carefully mended…

They all looked up alertly when I entered, a kind of hopeful nervousness on each face. Before I could do more than raise a hand and smile, an adult arrived.

"Hello," a soft, gentle voice greeted me. "Are you…" the kind-faced Imperial woman who spoke stopped, as if considering my youth before asking me if I was here to adopt.

A kid like me, with a kid myself? Now there's a recipe for trouble.

"No, I'm not here to adopt," I answered the unfinished question with a rueful chuckle. "Are you… you're not Grelod the Kind, are you?"

Now, I knew very well from Bryn that Grelod was quite dead; also, that she was old, much older than this woman. However, presenting myself as a person of ignorance sometimes has its benefits. I watched, with averted eyes, the children when I mentioned Grelod. Anger. Fear. Hatred. And on one young face… something like grim amusement, the look of someone thinking 'the old hag got exactly what she deserved.' It was strange to see such a look on the face of a child.

"No, no," the woman shook her head, looking troubled. "Grelod the Kind died six months ago. I'm Constance Michel."

"Oh, I see. Then you're the matron here, now?"

"I am," Constance answered.

"I don't suppose we could step into your office? I'm here for business reasons."

Constance looked even more worried, but nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course." She led me to a combination bedroom and office. I noticed that the bedding wasn't much superior to that of the straw mattresses on the orphans' beds. "Please, sit down," she motioned to one of two chairs at a table, which looked more like a dining table than a desk.

I sat down, and so did she. "I'm sorry I haven't much to offer in the way of hospitality," Constance said uneasily.

"No, not at all. Better to spend the money on the orphans than on impressing people not here to adopt," I assured her. "Um. I'm new in town, and will probably be here for a while. As an orphan myself," which was true, since Mother was dead and I never knew my father, though Mother spoke well of him when he came up at all, "I have an interest in those who share that condition."

"Oh?" Constance's eyebrows knotted.

"Mistress Michel, you seem to mistrust me terribly," I grinned, letting humor fill my tone and expression. "What is it you think I'm up to?"

Constance flushed bright pink. "I'm not sure. Forgive me I-I'm not much of a people person." The excuse was lame, and I smelled an untruth.

"My name is Kitty. I had a few questions about the orphanage—beyond 'what is needed here?'"

Constance nodded. "Of course. What would you like to know?"

"You said Grelod the Kind died. How?"

Constance blanched, her whole aspect taking on shades of distress. "She was murdered, as a matter of fact."

From what I can tell, no surprise. "Murdered? By whom?"

Constance's lips worked in tiny motions, her breath stilling. She swallowed hard. "I don't know. I never saw the killer."

Her eyes signaled that this was another lie.

"Still… even Grelod didn't deserve to be murdered." Stress and agitation continued building within Constance. I got the feeling that she was sitting on something, something that caused her a great deal of distress, and with me stirring the pot as I was, she might just confess it all if pushed in just the right way.

"Didn't she?" I asked. "I've met one of the former orphans. I saw the marks on her back." She doesn't need to know who I've actually been talking to. It's probably best that she doesn't.

Constance's eyes filled with tears. She closed her eyes hurriedly, her expression twisted, as if she was braced for a blow.

"Mistress Michel," I began oh-so-gently, "I know there was something very wrong in this orphanage. And I begin to think you were as much a victim as anybody else."

"Don't ask me," she whispered, the tears falling down her cheeks, her lips pursing as her skin went blotchy red.

Curiosity—of the morbid, not-sure-I-want-to-know kind—compelled me to keep on this line of questioning. What could be so bad? Because I couldn't see abuse like the marks on Bryn's back creating this degree of distress, when Constance knows it's not happening anymore. There's more to this… and I don't think I'm going to like it.

"Mistress Michel. Constance." I rested my hand on the table beside her fist, fingers just barely brushing her skin. "I can see you're terribly upset, so something really awful happened here. But I get the feeling there's something you need to tell someone. I want to help these kids; this is such a grim place to grow up. But the more I talk to you, the more I think I want to help you, too."

Constance opened her eyes. "Why should you care?"

"Isn't it enough that I do?" I reached into my sleeve and produced a handkerchief, which I offered to her, with the most compassionate look I could muster. "I'm not from Riften. Maybe that's why."

My accent should have already indicated I'm not from Skyrim… or anywhere in particular. I hadn't been here long enough to really blend in as far as accents go.

Constance studied me for a long few moments, then burst out into tears. I let her cry; it seemed to me the kind of crying that comes when a dam inside the person suddenly breaks, and everything comes out all at once. She didn't try to talk, just wept as if her heart had broken.

I let her cry until she got hold of herself.

"I-I'm sorry," she hiccupped.

"I can see you're deeply troubled."

Constance gave a watery laugh at this understatement, wiping her eyes with my handkerchief (and her nose with her sleeve). "I-I don't even know where to start."

"Start at the beginning. Grelod the Kind?"

"Th-that wasn't really her name. It was what she was called. Ironically, as it were," Constance sniffled. "She was murdered six months ago. Quick and clean."

"But you saw the murder, didn't you?"

Constance's eyes and mouth grew round, her color receding until she looked white and blotchy red. "How… did you guess…?" she asked in a ghost of a whisper.

"Like you said: I guessed. I'm good at guessing."

Constance's eyes fell to her lap as if dragged by lead weights.

I waited in silence until she was ready to begin speaking again.

"…I saw the murderer. And I didn't say anything," Constance whispered, tone thick with shame and remorse… and maybe guilt that she didn't feel guiltier. "She was a Dunmer, wore a hood and mask, so I didn't see much else. She just slipped in one night, slipped past the children like a wraith, and entered Grelod's room. At first I thought she was…" Constance shuddered. "But not when she was moving so stealthily. When she came out a few seconds after having gone in, I knew she hadn't been in there long enough to say anything. She just ghosted back out." Constance's eyes went unfocused, as if she was looking at the scene in her mind. "I-I went into Grelod's room to check on her. She was there, on her bed, with her throat slit, and a gaping hole in her chest. I-I don't know which wound killed her, but there was so much blood. And I…" she blinked, looking at me with an ashen face. "And I didn't say anything. I just went quietly back to my little room. I shut the door, and pretended to sleep until morning. Then, I pretended I was taking Grelod her morning gruel… and pretended that that was the first time I saw her body. I… I should have raised the alarm sooner but…" A convulsive shudder ran through Constance.

"But you were relieved that she couldn't hurt any of the children anymore. And grateful that someone had done something about a vicious old tyrant," I finished gently.

Constance nodded. "No one deserves to be murdered like that… in cold blood."

I beg to differ, and I think that's part of why Constance is so upset: she thinks that if anyone deserved to be murdered, it was Grelod, even though most people don't approve of murder. I don't approve of murder. That's why I'm Thieves Guild: if we're murdering people, we're doing it wrong.

"I didn't tell the watch about the woman I saw," Constance faltered.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to tell them. To a non-Dunmer, most Dunmer look alike. It's the same all over: anyone not of your species all looks alike," I assured her. "Telling them wouldn't have helped."

Constance nodded, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

"How did Grelod end up in charge of an orphanage when she so obviously hated children?" This was what puzzled me.

"She had some kind of connection to Maven Black-Briar," Constance answered. "The Black-Briar family funds this orphanage, you know."

I glanced around the room. "Not too well, it seems."

Constance, didn't say anything, which was proper. It's one thing for me to make a comment like that, but for her to do it would be like spitting into the offering hand. It's just not seemly. "We manage. You said your name was Kitty?"

"That it is."

"I think I saw you a few weeks ago in the plaza. You were doing acrobatics on the railing." She attempted a smile.

"Yep! That was me! Did you enjoy the show?"

"I did, thank you."

I recognized an attempt to change the subject… but I had the feeling there was more. "Constance—may I call you by your given name?"

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

"Constance, I know that Grelod beat her charges. I can infer that she had a vile tongue and used it on them and you. Is there anything else you think a friend to these children should know? Because that's what I want to be: a friend to these kids. And to you."

"…what are you going to do?" Constance asked.

"I'm not going to perpetuate any more murders, if that's what you're worried about. But there are fates worse than death," I shrugged flippantly.

To my shock, Constance broke down into sudden vicious sobs, as if I had just ripped open a set of curtains in her soul to reveal something iniquitous and vile.

Oops. That was… unexpected…

"Constance…" I managed lamely, totally thrown by this unexpected breakdown.

She shook her head, though at what I wasn't sure.

So I waited, trying not to show any signs of agitation, until she calmed down again. When she finally looked up, her eyes said she had no defenses left against anyone or anything thing. "She wouldn't adopt the children out," Constance whispered through numbed lips. "But she would sell one, every so often. And yes," fresh tears as her voice broke, her whole expression and posture that of a woman in torment. "I think—I'm afraid—it's every bit as bad as it sounds."

I'm guessing she never said anything to anyone about these transactions. It also explained why she knew the killer wasn't one of the regulars. And that phrase—one of the regulars—made my stomach churn.

I sat back in my chair, feeling more than a little cold inside. In my mind, people buy children for one of two reasons. Slave labor… or sex. "Have you had to deal with any of these… regulars?"

"I've told two that with Grelod gone, the arrangement is gone too. But I'm worried," Constance said through chattering teeth. Suddenly, she unfisted her hand and grabbed mine, which was still on the table. "I know that Maven Black-Briar was getting a cut out of the sales. She'll want that cut to continue, I'm sure… and if she… if she insists… I don't know… I can't…"

"Shh," I stood up and pulled Constance into a hug. She was so distraught she didn't argue, just wept unrestrainedly into my shoulder. I waited until she calmed down again. "Listen. For that sort of thing, I'm sure Grelod had books. Records of the transactions." I also suspect that Constance has been diverting money from the Black-Briars' funding of the orphanage to pay back to them, so Maven doesn't get bitchy about not getting a cut of any sales, without there being any actual sales.

Constance nodded. "Maven came once news of Grelod's murder broke. She took them away. She may have destroyed them, or maybe she still has them. I don't know what to do. I've managed this long but…" she shook her head.

I patted her back, considering. Maven is a name you hear often and repeatedly in Riften. Rumor has it she's the power in Riften, not the Jarl. I've never had anything to do with her, of course. She's rich, and her manor is actually just across from Honorhall, on the other side of Mistveil Keep.

It did occur to me that as the owner of Black-Briar Meadery… she might have an interest in the Goldenglow Estate, which produces honey. Mead is made with honey.

My stomach wobbled in my guts as I tried to calculate how much trouble I would be in if it was ever found out that I burglarized Maven's home. It was kind of dependent on whether I got caught or not… and whether the theft was ever discovered. Because while Maven couldn't complain to the guards if a ledger connecting her to the sale of defenseless children was stolen, she could theoretically complain to someone in the Thieves Guild because only someone in the Guild would have the skills to burgle her.

…although arguably, no one in the Guild would be dumb enough to burgle her.

And I knew, for a fact, that her house had the shadowmark—all of which I had become familiar with by now—for 'protected' on it. That was the two interlocking circles over the diamond meant, the sign that was on Felimal's door.

I'm a thief. But I'm not a monster. And every time I thought about what had been going on here, I thought about poor Sapphire, who fell into the hands of evil men.

-K-

Riften might be petrified of Maven Black-Briar, but I'm not from Riften. Therefore, her reputation didn't scare me enough to divert me from my intended plan of action: stealing the Honorhall ledgers to find out where these sold kids went. I'm not dumb enough to try to blackmail someone like Maven. With her reputation, she'd just have me killed and that would be the end of both me and the matter.

Better to avoid facing off with her until such a time as it couldn't be avoided. Or leave it to someone more capable. People like Maven sooner or later overreach themselves, and then someone unsympathetic takes care of the problem. The things we do have a way of coming back to us. Maybe that's why I'm alright with theft but not with a bunch of other things.

Finding the ledgers in Maven's house was easy. Swapping the contents of two of them (and packing one with the pages of another book) wasn't hard, either. So, at the end of the day, Maven would likely never know she'd been burglarized unless she went to have a good look at those old ledgers, which didn't have the look of books that were often consulted.

I made off with the ledger recording sales of orphans and to whom they went.

I won't say the news was all good, but I didn't think it was all as horrible as I'd been imagining, either. Naturally, I assumed the worst; I'm not so naïve as to assume sunshine and rainbows… but there was a chance it wasn't quite as bad as I first thought.

Stendarr's mercy, I hope it's not.

Several of the larger farms in the Rift, for instance, had purchased a few orphans. Tracking down all these buyers was not something that could be done quickly. And, as much as I hated to wait, it wasn't the kind of crusade I could just tear off and start.

Firstly, I needed an idea of what I should do if I were to find any of these kids. Where would I put them? I couldn't send them back to Honorhall. I couldn't just turn them out into the wilds of Skyrim on their own, with coin liberated from their purchaser. They'd surely be robbed before long, and find themselves in as bad or a worse position than they were in when I found them.

I certainly can't recruit them all into the Guild. That would be silly to even consider.

Secondly, I needed a way to make it look like these people, ruined by repeated burglary, were random victims, not part of a specificly targeted group. I worried that it might get back to Maven that her child-buyers were being targeted. If it did, she might check to see if someone had gotten her ledger and would discover the swap and fake. Then would come the questions.

I didn't think that anyone in the Guild would be willing to cover for me if it was Maven asking the questions. Her reputation is that fearsome.

Fortunately, I grew up understanding that to move precipitously was bad. It could lead to anything from a nasty spill to broken bones or even—

Don't think about it. It's enough that I know how to be patient. I don't always like having to be patient, but I knew how to be.

-K-

The Goldenglow Estate occupied three islands in Lake Honrich, accessible only by boat or by two segments of bridge. All the islands were interconnected by walkways and the whole place was always lit up fairly well. One island was where everyone had (or was supposed) to go in order to get into the estate proper. The beehives (or apiaries, as they were apparently supposed to be called) were all built on the leftmost island as one looked at the place from the front gate. The manor associated with the estate was on the rightmost island.

Now, according to Vex—who had had time to reconcile herself to being pulled off the job, and had recovered her cold, sarcastic brand of professionalism—said that there was a sewer or something like it that could help me get in or out (or both) depending on how I played my cards. It ran from the west side of the estate's island all the way to the east side—which put it a bit too close to the jetty for my liking.

As much as I wanted to trust Vex without reservation, I felt it was like preparing my own equipment back at the circus: I just feel better knowing my eyes have gone over everything I intend to use. Nevertheless, she willingly described in great detail where the entrances were, so I could find them even if seeing the place for the first time.

She might not like being replaced, but she wasn't going to risk my life because of it. I appreciate the fact.

So, over the course of several nights, I spent a lot of time guzzling water-breathing and resist cold potions, and swimming in Lake Honrich.

I found both ends of Vex's sewer entry—neither side of which was watched, let alone locked—exactly where she said they would be, and precisely as described. A blind man could have followed her directions without any difficulties.

The mercenaries employed by Goldenglow were of the first (or second) quality: they didn't drink on duty, they walked their rounds diligently, they didn't get distracted or bored. Very professional, and that wasn't a good thing from where I was treading water. The only good thing was that I don't think any of them could shuck their armor fast enough to follow me into the lake if they spotted me making a retreat. My armor was light enough not to be too much of a penance in the water—another reason for all the reconnaissance. I would hate to drown because I misjudged how much extra weight I could comfortably contend with.

Not being shot full of arrows while making a swim for safety was another thing entirely.

Aringoth was the Altmer owner of Goldenglow, a sneaky, canny fellow who was probably still edgy despite the time between Vex's failed attempt and my upcoming fresh one. I knew which room was his and knew—after five nights' observance—that he was a creature of habit. So timing my entrance was half the battle.

The goal of this whole caper was to secure a little piece of paper—a bill of sale, in fact—which was apparently kept in the basement, as far from the key (held by Aringoth) as possible. This was the reason the Elf had the Guild's attention: he'd sold out and someone (I could guess who) hadn't wanted him to.

I will admit, I was only marginally curious as to why anyone cared about deeds, bills, or paperwork. The fact was that I'd been ordered to do it, I couldn't get out of it even if I wanted to, and I was under no obligation not to palm a few things for myself while I was there.

I think everyone warned me, at one point or another, not to screw up the burning of the apiaries, which was important to the mission—maybe even more important than getting hold of the deed. Apparently, the job really was for Maven Black-Briar who, despite being the Guild's patroness (and the biggest crook in Riften or any part of the Province), was widely despised. I was apprised of this position of hers as if I hadn't known about it; I also succeeded in not giving away the fact that I'd already crossed her, she just didn't know it.

Fortunately, only Guildmaster Frey and poor Bryn ever had to deal with her directly.

It was one of the few good things I could see about Mercer being such a hardass: from the way people talked about Maven, one had to be. Otherwise, she'd walk all over you.

One might think, because they're both so unpleasant, Maven and Guildmaster Grumps should get together. I disagree: it'd be too much nastiness in one place.

The difference between being a circus performer doing her act and a thief breaking and entering is that there's no opportunity for a dry run or to practice. I actually felt better about getting in and out than I did about sabotaging those stupid apiaries. If the fire spread, and I took out more than three, I could expect—best case scenario—to have my ass (which I've repeatedly stated is small, skinny, and unsatisfactory for a woman to possess, but for which I nevertheless entertain a certain fondness) chewed by everyone. They would queue up and take turn chewing on my ass. And if I ran out of ass, they'd improvise.

Thus, the apiaries took some thinking about, and additional prep work.

Now, I'm no mage, but I've worked with some before. I've also worked with people who worked with fire and preferred to have a 'just in case something bad happens' plan available. That meant Tracia—the mage who mostly handled special effects—had to come up with something to keep people from getting barbecued on accident.

Accidents in a circus setting tend towards the unusually extreme.

I tried not to think about it.

Nords are, apparently, somewhat distrustful of magicka. However, no Hold of any stature would fail to have a court mage or a pet wizard or whatever they like to call themselves out here. The wizard in Riften was an absentminded dear by name of Wylandriah who really wanted to be allowed to study in peace.

Unfortunately, studies take money and for a scholar there's never quite enough to pay for all the things one wants to do.

So she sold me four wards against fire for whatever cock-and-bull story I concocted for her. I may have mentioned an intention to fight dragons or watch them fight.

There's a reason I call her an absentminded dear.

-K-

"Made a mis-take and kissed a snake,

How many heal-ers did it take?

One, two, lace my shoe,

Three four, shut the door—"

I mightn't have become a friend to the Honorhall kids overnight, but I'd begun making inroads into 'helping.' It started with a handful of skipping ropes, which are exceptionally popular toys in Elsweyr. Some of the kids recognized the toy, but some of them didn't. So I was demonstrating with two of the children who did know—a boy and a girl, currently turning the rope for me—what all could be done with a skipping rope. True, I had to bend over low to do it, but that wasn't much of an impediment. I'm flexible. Extremely so.

"Kitty!"

I looked over, aware that, to an outsider, I probably looked quite ludicrous, with my skirts hiked up to my knees, bent double like an old woman.

Svana, my best friend outside the Guild, stood at the gate, looking flushed and excited.

"Just a minute!" I called back, then bounced out of the turning rope. "And that's it. That's all there is to it," I beamed. Once the children were tentatively engaged, I hurried over to the gate. "Heya!"

"Hey," Savana's eyes glittered. "I'm glad I caught you today."

I am a little hard to find, sometimes. "Oh?"

"Yes. I'm… I'll be leaving Riften, soon."

My face fell. "Oh?"

"Yes." Svana's expression remained excited. "I've been hired as a maid to a lady out of Windhelm."

"Windhelm?" I wrinkled my nose. Ugh. Who'd want to live there?

Svana chuckled uneasily. "It can't be worse than staying at the Bunkhouse."

Well… that was true enough. I like having friends. When I decide someone really is my friend, I do my best for them. Svana needed someone doing their best for her, poor girl. So naturally, I took a great interest in this woman into whose service she'd entered. "Tell me about this lady."

"Lady Leandra," Svana answered. "She's here, now. But she was in the market for a maid, I was recommended to her, and she thinks I'll do."

"Do you think she'll treat you right?" I remained skeptical.

"I think so, yes. You see, she's here to-to collect Mjoll the Lioness."

I knew who Mjoll was, of course, but given my somewhat unsavory occupation, I'd always give her a wide berth—and she's been in prison for a while on Maven's say-so—so I had no interactions with her. Still, if this Leandra woman planned to take Mjoll somewhere, it means Miss Mjoll of the High Ideals must be willing to go with her. Mjoll wouldn't go anywhere with anyone unsavory, so Svana was probably right, that this lady's household would be better than Riften, even if it meant moving to Windhelm, which is awful for its own reasons.

"Huh. Sounds like she's taking all the nice people out of Riften. Pretty soon, it'll be me and Maven Black-Briar's family, and Jarl Laila. What a cheery bunch!" Add Guildmaster Grievous to that list and… ugh.

Why do I want to live here again?

Svana chuckled. "I'm sorry…"

"No!" I interrupted, waving my hands. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad for you! I didn't mean to make you think I wasn't… I just… worry. You know."

Svana smiled warmly. "Thanks for worrying, Kitty. Really."

"I'll come see you, next time I'm in the area," I promised, reaching through the fence to take her hand.

Svana closed her fingers around mine. "I'll look forward to it."

On the one hand, I was glad Svana was getting out of her aunt's establishment. On the other… I'd miss her.

-K-

Much to my surprise, I actually got to meet this Lady Leandra not long after Svana mentioned her.

This actually turned out independent of my spying and snooping. If my friend was going out of Riften, I wanted to make sure she was going with someone decent. I hadn't found anything indecent about the lady, but she had a chill about her I wouldn't like to cross lightly.

And, it turned out, she wasn't fond of Maven Black-briar at all.

Lady Leandra was about twenty-three or twenty-four, but carried herself with a poise and dignity of a much older woman. Her brown hair was worn in the Imperial fashion, coiled in a bun at the back of her neck and held in a jeweled net. Her bright eyes were uncommonly clear. Her clothes, a tunic over a split riding skirt, were well made of fine materials. The only other jewelry she wore was a big, ugly ring on the middle finger of her left hand.

She looked incredibly out of place in the Ragged Flagon.

"Kitty-lass," Brynjolf prompted, disappearing behind his flagon of Vekel's best homebrew. We all had drinks, though while Lady Leandra and Bryn both had proper mugs, I had several shots in tiny glasses.

Bless Vekel's heart. Waste not, indeed!

I was at this meeting because I got out more than most, and talked to lots of people. Therefore, it was assumed that I knew more than most of the local garden-variety gossip. I probably did. I might never recover any ground with Bersi Honey-Hand, but I was still in Talen-Jei's and Keerava's good books… even if Keerava didn't approve of the crowd I was mixing with. There's nowhere like the best inn and tavern in town for picking up tidbits...

…though I could have done without some of them. There is such a thing as knowing too much.

"This is the town for dirt, except it's not really dirt. I mean, when everyone's sketchy, what's the point of having standards for sketchiness? And it's not like you gave me much time to scrape stuff together. Fortunately, I live here." I directed this more at Bryn with his 'hey, lend me your gossip for a moment' attitude than towards the lady.

She supposedly wanted to know everything about Riften, so I fed it back to her. Who was sleeping with whom (in reality or just rumored). Who was coquetting with whom. Where the corruption as worst. Who was fairly trustworthy. Which businesses were doing well. Which ones were floundering. Where Maven's evil-eye had rested. Vices that could be exploited. All of it.

It was all pretty boring, as far as I was concerned.

"—and Anuriel's the top of the muck heap, really. I mean, everyone's scared spitless of that Black-Briar woman, so she doesn't count. Miserable old bat," I concluded with a weary huff, draining one of my shots—neglected while I chattered—to wash the taste of having to talk about that woman out of my mouth.

"Kitty-lass," Bryn said warningly. He doesn't think it's a good idea to annoy Maven, even if it's only a bottom-of-the-pile thief running her mouth.

I don't see how Maven manages to boss the Guild around like she does. But she does. "Well she is and even Dirge agrees. Hey Dirge!" I turned in my chair, hollering at the bouncer.

Dirge turned to face me, but said nothing.

"You're not gonna tell that Black-Briar witch I was mouthing off about her, are you?" I demanded.

"..."

I beamed at him. "Not even if I call her Maven Bitch-Briar?"

"…"

"Or—"

"Hn."

"Thank you. See?" I gestured at Dirge as if producing irrefutable proof of something. "We're all friends here and she is a bitch. She knows it. Probably is proud of it," I added scathingly. People like that tend to be proud of being as awful as they are. If they weren't they might not try so hard.

If practice makes perfect, Maven must be putting in some extra effort. I'd hate to be her: when she dies, either no one will care or people will throw parties to celebrate her death, not the fact that she lived.

"Anyway, sidestepping Madame Bitchy-Britches," I gave Bryn a pointed look.

He simply disappeared behind his flagon, as if determined not to humor or encourage me, since his attempt at discouraging me hadn't worked.

"Anuriel's the top of the muck heap. She has one love and one loyalty and it looks like this." With a flicking motion, I produced a shiny septim, which I began to roll dexterously across my knuckles before making it disappear. "You can buy her for anything but a night, if you know what I mean." I winked to add the necessary level of innuendo to the otherwise innocuous words. "I think about the only person here who isn't corrupt is Maramal at the Benevolence."

"I thought you stayed away from there," Brynjolf said, surprised, coming out from behind his flagon.

I squirmed in my seat. "...usually." I'm not devout. I mean, I believe in the gods, of course I do, but… well. When they seem so distant, it's hard to feel close to them.

Brynjolf's brows knitted together, then his expression opened up. "Kitty-lass, you didn't…"

I hadn't actually done anything I oughtn't, but my threat to Haelga about where her underwear might end up gave rise to a running joke about where I might stash anything I didn't want to be found with. Nevertheless, the look on Bryn's face, and the amusement on Lady Leandra's, was priceless. "…I didn't put it in the alms box."

"I don't think I should hear much more of this," Lady Leandra broke in softly, her voice low and pleasant, in spite of the iciness I perceived from her. "Thank you both—I look forward to working with you in future."

I blinked at this. "You do?"

Leandra, smiling, nodded affirmatively.

"Well… great. See you then. Hey, Vekel!"

Vekel brought me another round as Lady Leandra excused herself and left.

"In the alms box," Brynjolf said, shaking his head.

"I know. I'm a horrible person," I agreed blandly. "So who is she and why do we care?"

"She's highly placed in Windhelm, doesn't like your favorite person in the world—"

"Bleah."

"—and it might be beneficial to keep on her good side." Bryn leaned close to me, hot breath tickling my ear. "Here's a rumor you haven't heard: that young lady put Maven in a corner, and walked away still breathing."

Interesting. "I'll stop in at her place next time I'm in Windhelm, if you like. I'll check up on Svana. You know, Haelga's niece."

"Aye, the sweet-looking lass that works there. What's she got to do with the lady?" Brynjolf asked.

"Apparently, our Lady Leandra there hired Svana as her maid. She's also taking Mjoll out of Riften."

"Now, that I did know, and I'm glad of it. That woman makes me nervous," Bryn shivered affectedly. "But by all means. See what you can find out about the lady. It may come in handy someday."

I frowned at Lady Leandra's empty chair. "She's a woman with a plan. I don't know what it is, but she'll make it happen, whatever it is, whoever tries to stop her. I've got that feeling."

Bryn didn't say anything, but he clapped a hand on my shoulder as if to agree with my assessment.

-K-

Author's Note: for those of you worried about the dark turn this story might potentially take because of the Honorhall kids… don't worry. In itself, it's not a major focus of the story, although it is something Kitty works on in her spare time. This story was meant to be a comedy, something fun and fairly light-hearted, so I won't let it get too dark or too ugly.