“Ach,” the orc muttered, grimacing, as his finger dropped from his mouth, his narrow eyes refocusing on Geva’s face. “Then we shall begin at once, poppet. Is there aught of worth in this mess?”
He waved sharply at the chaotic schoolroom around them, and Geva gulped down a shaky breath as she fought to follow his question, to think. To assess the schoolroom’s rickety furniture, the faded decorations, the books and papers and toys and clothes strewn all about.
“That — that painting,” she made herself say, as she nodded toward a large gilt-framed landscape on the wall. It had surely been hanging there long before the Fitzwalds had purchased the house, and it was one of Geva’s favourites, with its vivid colours and strong, striking strokes. “It’s a rare piece, by one of the capital’s most in-demand artists, and it would likely fetch —”
But she was interrupted by the sound of the orc’s laughter, cold and scornful, scraping up her spine. “You seek to mock me, woman?” he demanded, as his taloned hand once again gripped his sword-hilt. “You ken I wish to jaunt about the realm with some greatscribblestrapped upon my back? I said, coin. And jewels!”
Geva’s trembling body flattened back against the schoolroom wall behind her, and she nodded, as quickly as she could. “R-right,” she stammered. “It’s just likely more valuable than — never mind. Jewels are — downstairs. In the Fitzwalds’ dressing-rooms.”
She was desperately fighting to shove away the memory of speaking to Mrs. Fitzwald, that very afternoon, in that very dressing-room — but before her, the orc was giving a low, guttural grunt, and jerking an imperious wave toward the door. Saying,Show me.
Geva nodded, and pushed her shaky body off the wall — but then, curse it, she stumbled over one of the many toys scattered across the floor. Sending her pitching straight toward the solid doorframe, her mouth helplessly crying out, her hands wildly flailing before her —
When something strong and solid caught around her waist from behind, and yanked her back up again. Clutching her against something huge and powerful and… alive.
The… the orc’schest.
For a stunned, shivering instant, Geva couldn’t move, pinned like that against him, his huge hand spreading wide against her waist. And when she shot a frozen, furtive glance downwards, she found that his long talons had somehow drawn back into his fingers, leaving behind what looked like short, pointed black fingernails. Fingernails that were still gently pricking against the fabric of her day-dress, in a bizarre, confusing contrast to the protective spread of his fingers, their warm capable strength holding her close and safe…
But just as quickly, there was a frantic flurry of movement, and Geva was standing alone again, swaying on her feet. Her own hand slipping down to where the orc’s had been, feeling that odd, unexpected warmth, still shimmering beneath her skin…
“Careful, poppet,” said the orc from behind her, with a sudden, false-sounding joviality. “Dressing-rooms, you say?”
Geva managed another nod, and again stepped toward the door, far more carefully this time. And though she kept her gaze straight ahead, she could stillfeelthe orc following her, his huge body unnervingly close, his footfalls silent on the polished wooden floor. As her own heartbeat just kept thundering louder and louder in her skull, her hands wringing tightly together. Just the next thing, just doing her best…
“These… paintings, then,” came the orc’s voice behind her, and when Geva startled a look backwards, he was waving his big hand — with its long claws extended again — up at the portraits lining the staircase’s walls. “Are these also of worth?”
Geva glanced up toward the nearest portrait — an obsequiously flattering depiction of a simpering Mrs. Fitzwald — and gave a choked, shrill-sounding laugh. “No, of course not,” her shaky voice replied. “Not unless you’re the one who wasted obscene amounts of your ill-earned coin on it.”
Behind her, the orc made an odd huffing sound, not unlike a chuckle. “Ach, you humans,” he said. “Even the vainest orc I know shouldwitherat the thought of his own face leering down toward him all day. Much less to pay goodgoldfor this.”
Geva couldn’t bite back her bitter twist of a smile, and despite everything, she felt the furious hammer of her heartbeat fading, just slightly. Enough, at least, to allow her to draw in a deep, shaky breath as she halted before the closed door of Mrs. Fitzwald’s bedroom.
“The dressing-room is attached to the bedroom,” she made herself say, as she again shoved away the memory of Mrs. Fitzwald sitting there, dangling those jewels in the looking-glass. “Though I’m sure they’re both very well secured, and —”
Her voice broke there, because the orc was already nudging her aside, and reaching inside his tunic to pull out a long gold chain, with a variety of slim metal rods attached. And after he jiggled several of them in the lock, the heavy door smoothly swung open, revealing Mrs. Fitzwald’s large, opulent bedroom.
Oh. Geva blinked at the orc for an instant, and then back at the waiting bedroom. Which, not unlike the schoolroom, had been left in a state of shocking disarray. The bed unmade, the carpets scuffed and stained, the furniture littered with a haphazard array of shoes, clothing, bedding, and papers.
“Humans,” the orc muttered, wrinkling his nose as he stepped inside, his eyes sweeping scornfully over the mess. “Where are the jewels, angel?”
“Over there,” Geva said, nodding at the adjoining dressing-room door. And once again, the orc nudged her aside and strode over, jiggling the lock with his chain until that door swung open, too.
“Come, poppet,” he said over his shoulder, waving Geva forward. And despite her grimace, she again obeyed, following him into the starkly familiar room. With that huge jewel-box on the dressing-table, as well as a variety of costly fabrics, shoes, hats, and even more jewels, strewn carelessly about the room, and especially across the dressing-table.
“Ach, yes,” the orc breathed, as he snatched for a gold locket, and held it to his nose. His breath inhaling deeply, his lashes fluttering, as his long black tongue slithered out to curl against it. Just the way he’d licked Geva’sbloodfrom his finger, good gods, and her heartbeat again kicked in her chest as she watched. What the hell was she doing, what the hell elsecouldshe do, there was nothing else to do, but keep moving, forward —
“Here,” the orc said, tossing something toward her — and when Geva caught it, she discovered it was a small leather pouch. “Fill it with all you can find, ach?”
Geva blinked down at the pouch, and then around at the room — gods, now she had to participate in the actuallooting, too? — but the orc’s expression was rapidly darkening, his hand again dropping to his sword-hilt. “Quickly,” he hissed. “Now, woman!”
Geva flinched, but nodded, and lurched to obey. Snatching up chains, bracelets, earrings, rings, from the dressing-table, the shelves, even the floor, while the orc occupied himself with the large jewel-box on the dressing-table. The very same one Mrs. Fitzwald had opened earlier that day, and Geva could see his frown deepening as he poked at the lock with first his claws, and then with a much smaller pick from his chain.
She watched for a too-long instant, her breath shuddering in her throat —make sure to hide the key properly, Mitzy— and without thinking, without following, she stalked over to the wardrobe. To where the maid had reached up inside, perhaps to the back wall, where —
There, hanging on a nail. A silk ribbon, with an elegant little key attached. And Geva swallowed hard as she stared at it, her heart once again thundering, her breath choked in her throat.Priceless jewels to pilfer. Leave these rooms very secure…
“Here,” Geva croaked at the orc, dangling the key before him. Earning a glance of genuine astonishment in return, followed by a smug, satisfied grin as he snatched the key from her fingers, and deftly unlocked the jewel-box.
