“Hadrian used another arrow to cut the rope at the roofline.”
“But that’s impossible,” Albert declared. “No man can shoot the width of a rope at—what was it?—two hundred feet maybe, in total darkness!”
“There was a moon,” Royce said, correcting him. “Let’s not make more out of this than it already is. You forget I have to work with him. Besides, it’s not like he did it in a single shot.”
“How many arrows?” Emerald inquired.
“What’s that, sweetie?” Hadrian asked, wiping foam from his mouth with his sleeve.
“How many arrows did it take for you to cut the rope, silly?”
“Be honest,” Royce told him.
Hadrian scowled. “Four.”
“Four?” Albert said. “It was much more impressive when I imagined it as one lone shot, but still—”
“Do you think the earl will ever figure it out?” Emerald asked.
“The first time it rains, I imagine,” Mason said.
There was a triple tap on the door and the stocky smith pushed back his chair and crossed the room. “Who is it?” he asked.
“Gwen.”
Sliding the dead bolt free, he opened the door, and an exotic-looking woman with long, thick black hair and dazzling green eyes entered.
“A fine thing when a woman can’t get access to her own back room.”
“Sorry, gal,” Mason said, closing the door behind her, “but Royce would skin me alive if I ever opened the door without asking first.”
Gwen DeLancy was an enigma of the Lower Quarter. An immigrant to Avryn from the distant nation of Calis, she survived in the city as a prostitute and fortune-teller. Her dark skin, almond-shaped eyes, and high cheekbones were uniquely foreign. Her talent for eye makeup and an eastern accent made her an alluring mystery that the nobles found irresistible. Yet Gwen was no simple whore. In three short years, she turned her fortunes around, buying up shop rights in the district. Only nobles could own land, but merchants traded the rights to operate a business. Before long, she owned or possessed an interest in a sizable section of Artisan Row and most of the Lower Quarter. Medford House, commonly known as the House, was her most lucrative establishment. Despite its back-alley location, gentry from far and near frequented this expensive brothel. Gwen had a reputation for being discreet, especially with the identities of men who could not afford to be seen frequenting a brothel.
“Royce,” Gwen said, “a potential customer visited the House earlier this evening. He was quite anxious to speak to one of you. I set up a meeting for tomorrow evening.”
“Know him?”
“I asked the girls. None of them have ever seen him before.”
“Was he serviced?”
Gwen shook her head. “No, he was just after information about thieves for hire. Funny how a man always expects prostitutes to know everything when he is looking for answers, but assumes a girl will take his secrets to her grave.”
“Who talked to him?”
“Tulip. She said he was foreign, dark-skinned, and she mentioned an accent. He might be from Calis, but I didn’t bump into him, so I can’t tell you for sure.”
“Was he alone?”
“Tulip didn’t mention any companions.”
“Want me to talk to him?” Albert asked.
“Nah, I’ll do it,” Hadrian said. “If he’s poking around these parts, he’ll probably be looking for someone more like me than you.”
“If you like, Albert, you can be here tomorrow and watch the door for strangers,” Royce added. “I’ll keep an eye on the street. Has there been anyone new hanging around?”
“It has been pretty busy, and there are a few people I don’t recognize. There are four right now in the main bar,” Gwen mentioned, “and there was a different party of five a few hours ago.”
“She’s right,” Emerald confirmed. “I waited on the five.”
“What were they like? Travelers?”
Gwen shook her head. “Soldiers, I think. They weren’t dressed like it but I could tell.”
“Mercs?” Hadrian asked.
“I don’t think so. Mercenaries are usually troublesome, grabbing the girls, shouting, picking fights—you know the type. These guys were quiet, and one was a noble, I think. At least, some of the others referred to him as Baron something—Trumbul, I think it was.”
“I saw some like that up on Wayward Street yesterday,” Mason said. “Mighta been as many as twelve.”
“Anything going on in town?” Royce asked.
They looked at one another doubtfully.
“Do you think it has anything to do with those rumors about killings out near the Nidwalden River?” Hadrian asked. “Maybe the king is calling up support from other nobles.”
“Are you talking about the elves?” Mason asked. “I heard about that.”
“Me too,” Emerald said. “They say elves attacked a village or something. I heard they slaughtered everyone—some even while they slept.”