“It might be enough to delay while they investigate further,” said Tristam, “and it might be the first step we need to discredit Willem himself. But I’m not sure we have enough proof. This is only one letter, and it’s not even signed. Willem’s handwriting could easily be faked. And we don’t even know who his co-conspirators are.”
Flick drummed his fingers against his thigh. “What if you had the testimony of the messenger? He’ll find his purse empty soon enough and come looking for me. Might there be some way to, ah…persuade him to cooperate?” He almost felt guilty for suggesting it. Though really, Robert was a rather unpleasant fellow….
Tristam squinted in the direction of the street. “Depends on how his loyalty measures up to his self-preservation. But we’d need someplace to keep him. We can’t exactly interrogate him here.”
“I could guard him at my cave,” said Kyra.
“It’d be better if you had help,” said Flick. An idea came to him, and he made a quick decision. Why should Kyra be the only one to come up with harebrained schemes? “I might have friends who could keep an eye on him.”
“Are these friends trustworthy?” asked Tristam.
“They’ve no love for Willem. I’ll introduce you and you can decide for yourself.”
Tristam looked to Kyra. “What do you think?”
She stared at the parchment. “We’ve only seven days until the offensive starts. Think we can get the messenger to crack that quickly?”
“Can you think of a better way?” said Tristam.
A vendor on the street outside hawked his hotcakes as the three of them thought this over. Kyra gave a decisive nod. “Let’s do it.”
They sketched out a quick plan, then Flick returned to the inn, bypassing the dining room this time for the living quarters in back. He climbed the stairs in a rush, as if he were making a hasty exit. No one stopped him, so he ran through the hallways several more times, wondering how long he could keep this up. Finally, Robert stepped around the corner. The man grabbed Flick’s collar and forced him against the wall.
Flick raised his hands. “Whoa there, friend.” One of the doors in the corridor opened, and a bewildered lodger peered out, only to duck back into his room when Robert glared at him.
The messenger bent his face close to Flick’s. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
Flick felt the sharp point of a dagger against his side. “The parchment,” said Robert.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Flick bit back a curse as cloth ripped and the dagger skimmed his skin. He was pretty sure Robert had drawn blood. “Search me if you want,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ve nothing on me.” You owe me, Kyra.
Flick stayed absolutely still as Robert patted him down. Robert searched him twice, then narrowed his eyes. “It was in my purse when I stepped into the dining room, and gone after you left. No one else came near me except for you.” Robert raised the dagger to Flick’s throat.
“All right, all right, I took it.” Flick didn’t have to work hard to sound convincingly panicked. “It’s outside. I can give it back. Just—keep that dagger to yourself.”
The messenger spun Flick roughly around so they were facing the same direction. A moment later, the knife reappeared at his back. “Slowly,” said Robert. “If I suspect anything, your life is forfeit.”
They walked in lockstep down the stairs. The lodgers they passed didn’t even notice anything was amiss. Once out the door, Flick headed for the alley, and Robert tightened his grip. “Don’t try anything.”
“Do you want the parchment or not?” said Flick under his breath.
Flick felt a layer of sweat forming over his skin as they stepped into the alley. There was no sign of Tristam or Kyra as they walked past the stack of crates, and he dearly hoped that nothing had gone awry. Flick’s gaze settled on a pile of rocks next to the wall. “There, under the rocks.”
Robert nudged him closer. “Move them aside slowly.”