BOOM!
The rear wall cracked, and more water surged in. It hissed under pressure, kicking out a rooster tail far enough to spray the side of the metal chest. Hadrian wondered if there might be some river or lake above them. Perhaps they had traveled far enough west to be under the ocean itself. The force of the water looked likely to win the battle against the walls, but even if no more breaching occurred, the floor was solid stone, and there was no drain.
Hadrian said, “We have almost an inch of water gathering here.”
“All right, that settles it. I’m ordering you to open that chest,” Myra told Royce, who looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Look, I hired you—so do what I say. You two were supposed to be an accomplished pair of thieves—”
“Technically, he’s the thief,” Hadrian said. “I’ve never made that claim.”
“No—you’re right, Viscount Winslow assured me you could fight. Good with a blade, I think he said. Only I haven’t seen anything out of either of you to prove your worth. You couldn’t even steal the map piece. How hard could that have been? He’s a pig farmer, for Maribor’s sake. He lived in a shack on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t even have that many pigs! You had three swords, and you’re twice his size. You should have just killed him and taken the map.”
Royce looked at Hadrian and raised both hands palms up, as if to say, “See?”
“Is that how you got the other pieces?” Hadrian asked Myra.
The woman stopped. The rush of the water was loud, but he knew she’d heard him. Still Myra hesitated, turning slowly. “What?”
“You said that an old man gave you the other pieces, but did he? Did he just give them to you?”
Hadrian could see it on her face—she was considering lying. Any other time, anywhere else, she probably wouldn’t have hesitated. He had long suspected Myra was a good liar but buried deep under a mountain in a sealed room filling with water, she must have realized there wasn’t much point.
“He was an old man and dirt poor,” she replied. “Figured a rich widow could be persuaded to finance an expedition for a quarter of the recovered treasure—a quarter! He had seven of the eight map pieces and told me Wilmer had the last.”
“Did you poison him?” Royce asked. There was no accusation in his tone, merely professional curiosity.
“I run a candle shop not an alchemy store.”
Royce shrugged. “It’s just a common choice for women.”
“Maybe for the women in your social circle, but all I had on hand was a lot of hot wax.”
This made Wilmer grimace, shocked Hadrian, and even Royce looked impressed.
Myra rolled her eyes. “What kind of person do you think I am? I smothered him with a pillow while he slept.” She folded her arms and huffed. “So why didn’t you kill Wilmer?”
“You know I’m right here!” the pig farmer yelled.
BOOM!
The room shuddered once more. Dust rained from the ceiling, and all of them looked up to see if some new and more immediate disaster was about to befall them. When the stones hanging over their heads remained unaffected, the party shared a communal sigh.
“I asked Royce not to,” Hadrian said.
“He’s annoying that way,” Royce added.
“It wasn’t necessary. Wilmer offered his piece in exchange for a fair share. His only condition was to come along.”
“And Maribor’s beard, was that ever a mistake,” Wilmer said. “Might have been better if you had killed me.” He looked at the thief. “Would have been quick and painless, right?”
Royce shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
“At least it would have been over and done with. These last few days have been the worst of my life.”
“Coming from you, that’s really saying something.” Myra sloshed over toward Royce through ankle-deep water.
The tight bun on top of her head had come loose, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders, making Myra look like some fairy-tale swan princess. Lines of gray frosted darker locks, lending her a mystical quality—then again, Hadrian might have lost more blood than he realized.
“I should have hired someone else. Viscount Winslow told me you had escaped from the Manzant salt mines, and I got too excited. You just don’t find many people who have experience with dwarven constructions. But this whole trip has been a complete disaster. You’ve done a pathetic job.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Royce said. “And you don’t even have a scratch.”
“Oh, I have plenty of scratches. I can assure you.”
“What are you complaining about?” Wilmer asked, pointing at the arrow in his side.
“And if Hadrian hadn’t killed those wolves, you’d—”