“They anchored just fine,” Royce said. “Getting them out was the problem.”
“The release failed?” Mason asked concerned. “But I thought—well, I’m no fletcher. Ya should’a gone to a fletcher. Told ya that, didn’t I? I’m a smith. I work with steel, not wood. That fine-toothed saw I made—that worked, didn’t it? That’s a smithing product, by Mar! But not the arrows, and for sure, not ones like you wanted. No, sir. I done said ya should’a gotten a fletcher and ya should’a.”
“Relax, Mason,” Hadrian said, emerging from Emerald’s mane. “Of the two, the anchor was the most important, and it worked perfectly.”
“O’course it did. The arrow tips are metal, and I know metal. I’m just disappointed the rope release didn’t work. How did ya get the rope down? Ya didn’t leave it there, did ya?”
“Couldn’t, the guard would have spotted it on his next pass,” said Royce.
“So, how’d ya do it?”
“Personally, I would like to know how you did the whole thing,” Winslow said. Like Royce, he was sitting back with his feet up and mug in hand. “You never let me in on the details of these operations.”
The Viscount Albert Winslow came from a long line of landless gentry. Years ago, one of his ancestors lost the family fief. Now all that remained was his title. This was enough to open doors closed to the peasantry or merchant class and was a step better than the common baronage, at least at first glance. When Royce and Hadrian first met him, he was living in a barn in Colnora. The pair invested a little money on clothes and a carriage, and he aptly performed the delicate duties of liaison to the nobles. With an allowance funded by them, the viscount convincingly attended every ball, gala, and ceremony, patrolling the political pressure cooker for business leads.
“You’re too visible, Albert,” Hadrian explained. “Can’t afford to have our favorite noble hauled to some dungeon where they cut off your eyelids or pull off your fingernails until you tell them what we’re up to.”
“But if they torture me, and I don’t know the plan, how will I save myself?”
“I’m sure they’ll believe you after the fourth nail or so,” Royce said with a wicked grin.
Albert grimaced and took another long drink of his ale. “But you can tell me now, can’t you? How did you get past the iron door? When I met with Ballentyne, I had the impression a dwarf with a full set of tools couldn’t get it open. It didn’t even have a lock to pick, or a latch to lift.”
“Well, your information was very helpful,” Royce said. “That’s why we avoided it completely.”
The viscount looked confused. He started to speak but instead remained silent and cut himself a piece of the roast beef.
Royce took a sip of his wine, and when he did, Hadrian took over the tale. “We scaled the exterior of the east tower, or rather Royce did, and he dropped me a rope. It wasn’t as tall, but it was the closest to the one Archibald had the letters in. We used Mason’s arrows to connect the two towers and, with our knees wrapped around the rope, inched our way across the length hand over hand.”
“But there are no windows in the tower,” Albert protested.
“Who said anything about using a window?” Royce interjected. “The arrows anchored in the taller tower’s roof.”
“Yep, as I said, that was quality craftsmanship,” Mason said proudly.
“So, that gets you to the tower, but how did you get in? Through the chimney?” Albert inquired.
“No, it was too small, and last night there was a fire burning,” Hadrian said, “so we used Mason’s second little tool, a small saw, and cut the roof on a bevel. All in all, the night was going pretty much according to plan, until Archibald decided to visit his study. We figured he’d have to leave eventually, so we waited.”
“We should have just slipped down, cut his throat, and taken the letters,” Royce insisted.
“But we weren’t being paid for that, were we?” Hadrian reminded him. Royce rolled his eyes in response. Ignoring him, Hadrian continued. “As I was saying, we lay there waiting and the wind on the top of that tower was bitter. The bastard must have sat in that room for two hours.”
“You poor thing,” Emerald purred and nuzzled him like a cat.
“The good news was he actually looked at the letters while we were watching him through the cuts, so we knew right where the safe was. Then a carriage came into the courtyard, and you’ll never guess who it was.”
“The marquis arrived while you were on the roof?” Albert asked with his mouth full of roast beef.
“Yep—that’s when our timetable got really tricky. Archibald left the tower to meet the marquis, and we made our move.”