10. Cal
ten
Cal
Cal had forgotten how much more fun it was to have a partner along on jobs. It had been like that with Kelsith, especially near the beginning: the two of them against Allaria. But the longer they’d worked together, the less Kelsith had felt like a partner than a displeased boss barking orders.
Griff, though, continued to surprise him. He’d expected the inspector to be stiff and exacting, and sure, there’d been a bit of that. But if Cal wasn’t mistaken, Griff was actually starting to enjoy taking a walk on the dark side.
As they followed the attendant down a broad corridor lined with fanciful wood carvings of waves, Cal leaned in closer to Griff. “It’s good to see you enjoying yourself.”
Griff frowned. “I don’t enjoy committing crime,” he whispered back. “But I admit, I am glad we’re getting closer to some answers.”
Nine times out of ten, Cal probably would’ve let the matter drop there. But something about the earnest look on Griff’s face compelled him to add, “Me too. I had my doubts about this whole joint investigation thing. But it’s proven a nice change of pace.”
That was a bit of an understatement. After the tedious monotony most of his jobs had begun to feel like recently, it was good to feel like he was actually doing something important—something that mattered.
It’s only temporary, he reminded himself. You don’t actually have a higher purpose. As soon as they unmasked whoever was behind this conspiracy, Griff would be on to his next case and Cal would be off to his next job…preferably in a city far, far away from Derimay.
It was the same life he’d always had. Though that prospect had never felt quite so lonely before…
He was grateful to be jarred from his unexpected brooding when they reached the attendant’s office.
She took a seat behind a cramped desk while Cal took the chair in front of it, leaving Griff to hover at his back.
Usually, having someone in his blind spot would keep him on edge, but he found he didn’t really mind it with Griff.
“So,” the attendant said with a practiced smile. “How may I be of service today, Lord Heneford? I heard you wish to review your account?”
“Correct.” Cal made sure to lean into the role of pompous noble, lounging in his chair and making his voice imperious. “I’m not convinced my holdings are in good hands here. Walk me through my current portfolio of investments. And be thorough about it!”
“Of course, Lord Heneford.” The attendant retrieved a folder of papers from her desk that some scribe must’ve retrieved for her before they arrived.
She flipped to the first page. “Let’s begin by discussing your registered assets.
I see here that you have a 12% stake in the Siren’s Call theater, along with your estate in the Garden District.
Then, you have smaller investments in several other enterprises throughout the city… ”
As the attendant droned on, Cal glazed over a little.
He’d learned all about managing wealth to better play his expected role, but that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed it.
Usually, this was the sort of task he’d leave to a hired scribe on his alias’s payroll to handle.
But if a boring financial session was what it took to give them a pretense into the Treasury, then so be it.
After answering a few of the attendant’s questions, Cal decided the charade had gone on long enough. “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting her. “I need to relieve myself. My adviser here will stand in for me while I’m gone.”
The attendant hesitated while Cal rose, shuffling toward the door. As he moved past Griff, he caught the inspector’s look of wide-eyed panic. Cal muffled a grin. I hope he enjoys the finer points of banking.
Cal had one hand on the door when the attendant spoke. “I’m sorry, Lord Heneford, but we aren’t really supposed to let anyone walk around unsupervised.”
Cal leveled the most disdainful look he could conjure at the attendant, delighted when she visibly shriveled.
“Oh? Do you expect me to soil myself in front of you then? If that is the kind of service you offer one of your most illustrious patrons, then perhaps I should look to invest my funds elsewhere. I’m sure the Pentarchy would love to hear about my concerns at the next show I attend with them. Tell me, what was your name again?”
The attendant paled, then gestured frantically at the door. “A-apologies, Lord Heneford. Of course we can make an exception. Shall I call for someone to guide you?”
“No need,” Cal said, turning and striding out the door. “I’m perfectly capable of finding the restroom myself.”
Chuckling quietly to himself at the thought of Griff attempting to parse Heneford’s portfolio, Cal quickly made his way to the communal toilets. The instant he was alone, he channeled his duskflame, letting the shadowy magic warp his features.
There was no time to waste. He only had a limited window before that attendant grew suspicious…or Griff ran out of things to say.
When he stepped out of the restrooms, it was as a middle-aged man wearing the same bank uniform as the attendant.
He navigated his way down the hall, walking with purpose.
As he hoped, the few other people he passed didn’t give him a second glance.
He’d long ago learned that the best way to blend in was to act like he belonged.
He found the records room easily enough. However, his stomach dropped when he realized it was bound by shimmering dawnflame. The golden magic appeared much simpler than the complex array of wards protecting the back area: a mere lock rather than anything fancier.
Still, even a basic ward took time to dismantle, and he didn’t have Griff’s aura-sight with him this time to help.
Shaking away a mental image of the inspector’s warm brown eyes, he checked to ensure he was alone in the hall, then reached under his shirt and pressed a finger to the tattoo on the right side of his chest. His thief’s tools materialized in his grip an instant later.
Tools in hand, he studied the ward with a keen eye, then regarded his selection of lock rods.
Generally speaking, different materials worked better depending on the type of magic involved.
Living wood, for example, had a particular affinity for lifeflame while soulflame tended to respond well to jade.
A particular rod’s effectiveness versus a given ward might also be affected by other characteristics, such as its size or weight.
In this case, he selected a thin harmonite rod that pulsed with a dull white glow. Song crystal was usually a good place to start when working with dawnflame. Taking a deep breath to steady his hand, he pressed the rod against the ward and got to work.
Disabling magic was mostly done by feel, especially when working with magic you couldn’t cast yourself.
You had to learn how to read every slight vibration in the rod, every twitch in the spell you were attempting to unravel.
Then, you had to respond in kind, shifting the rod’s tip about in various patterns to align with the spell’s weave.
Kelsith had insisted he practice with every type of magic, even voidflame—though of course, that had been the hardest to come by given its rarity.
When his initial rod proved too narrow, he swapped to a larger size for a while before switching again to an obsidian rod.
Attuned to duskflame, it felt more natural in his grip, helping him untangle a particularly troublesome knot of magic.
He continued to alternate rods as he worked, falling into a practiced groove.
He was in the middle of a delicate maneuver with a thin rod forged from arcane silver when he noticed another figure step into the hallway. Shadow and shade!
Moving quickly, he jerked the tools back from the door and hid them in his clothes, scrambling for an excuse that wouldn’t blow their cover. When he realized the figure was Griff, he puffed out a breath. “What the Void are you doing here? You’re supposed to be distracting that attendant.”
“I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending I had the slightest idea what she was talking about, so I invented a fake audit of your accounts.
” He raised an eyebrow. “Turns out you have quite a few investments all across Derimay, not just the Siren’s Call.
There must be a fair number of business opportunities there for someone looking for honest work. ”
Electing to ignore the poorly veiled implication, Cal shrugged. “Good thinking. That should keep her distracted for a while. Now that you’re here, you can help spot for me. This ward’s trickier than it looks.”
Things went much smoother with Griff there.
What Cal had to intuit via feel, Griff could simply see as subtle shifts in the ward’s aura, calling them out so Cal could select the appropriate rod.
As he worked, he couldn’t help appreciating Griff’s calm voice and steadying presence beside him.
When Griff shifted closer to him to study the ward, Cal’s eyes were drawn to the light smattering of freckles along his stubbled cheek.
Eternal Dark, get ahold of yourself!
At last, Cal felt the ward give way beneath his fingers. Checking the hall again to ensure they hadn’t been spotted, he returned his thief’s tools to his tattoo, eased the door open, and slipped inside. Griff trailed after him, shutting the door behind them.
The records room was massive and dimly lit by enchanted glowstones. Unlike the rest of the Treasury, little attention had been paid here to decoration. Towering shelves dominated most of the space, filled with row upon row of thin stone tablets.
Frowning, Cal approached one and picked it up, examining it. Why in the Void would the Treasury opt for these over simple scrolls or ledgers?