He’s cut off by an extremely distinct species of giggle-gasp echoing from one of the pathways splitting off to the right. The shadows cast by distant torchlight lay out an equally distinct explanation.
“You see,” I say gravely, “when two people love each other very much, or at least think the other’s passable if they squint—”
“Yes I understand now thank you.” I can practically hear his blush.
“You realize if we get caught, that’s our excuse, right?” I point out. “We’re just a couple of squirrelly youths who got turned around looking for somewhere to, er, canoodle.”
“Then I’d rather not get caught,” he says, grim.
I force a laugh as I lead us toward a flight of stairs. “That makes two of us.” Then I flash his own coin at him. For someone who’s supposed to be a highly trained supersleuth, he’s awfully easy to pickpocket. “What’s the deal with this? Special gift from Papi Klemens?”
He snatches it out of my hand. “Will youpleaserefrain”—I pass him his writing charcoal—“from robbing me”—and his makeshift notebook—“while I’mworking?” Then he lets out an exasperated sigh. “I need my spectacles to see, Miss Schmidt.”
I’m too busy holding them up to the nearest torch, impressed with how the lenses distort it. “No kidding. Nearsighted? That seems appropriate.”
“You’re the first to makethatjoke,” he says with absolutely no sincerity, plucking them from my hands. “They also let me see things like enchantments, magical traps, and your curse, so it’s in both our interests to leave them on my face.”
“You didn’t say what this is.” I toss him his own coin again. It’s incredible how he just put it back in the same pocket.
He catches it with a scowl. “Later.”
We exit the servant passageways into the hallway of the margrave’s wing. Just as I suspected, there are no guards in sight, and if I strain, I can hear faint conversation far beyond the bend of the corner. Adalbrecht doesn’t want anyone closer to his rooms than they have to be.
The study door is locked, so Emeric keeps an uneasy lookout while I break out my picks. It’s almost laughably simple to crack, just a few taps on the tumblers and a twist of the tension rake, as if the margrave’s confident that his reputation alone would deter anyone from crossing him.
It’s pitch-dark inside. Even the drapes have been drawn to shut out the rooftops of Minkja below. Still, I hear Emeric draw in a sharp breath. “Ah.That’swhat you meant by a skull in his study.”
“Sure? Poldi can light some candles—” I turn to double back and run into Emeric instead.
“Wait.” There’s a rustle of fabric, then a glimmer of ghostly light spilling between cupped fingers. It’s the coin, glowing like a tiny moon in Emeric’s hands. He sets it on the credenza, where it brightens enough to shed chilly light throughout the study. I see his jacket has already been laid at the base of the door to keep the telltale light from shining through.
Well. I’m not generous enough to say I’m impressed, but I can respect his foresight.
“Every prefect has a coin like this.” His voice stays low as he rolls up his sleeves, heading toward the wall of hunting trophies. “The engraving also changes when there’s a message for me at the nearest outpost.That’sthe deal with it.”
Ah. Wonder what he’s waiting on.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” I ask.
“That’s a very boldwe, Miss Schmidt. Just stay out of the way and don’t steal anything. How much time do we have left?”
I shove my hands in my pockets, annoyed, and annoyed that I’m annoyed. “Sorry, I don’t speak Sanctimonious Coatrack.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. The time, Miss Schmidt.” When I don’t answer, he releases a drawn-out, waspish sigh of pure martyrdom. “We want evidence or leads.Nachtmärenparaphernalia, correspondence from the von Hirschings, anything that seems out of the ordinary. And for the love of High Gods and Low, try not to disturb anything.”
“Twenty minutes at the most, fifteen at the least,” I say primly. “I’ll start with the desk.”
There are no papers left in sight on Adalbrecht’s desk, no decorations of any kind; inkpot, drying salt, and quills lined up perfectly at the head. Just as much a curated façade as thePrinzessin. I won’t find anything here he doesn’t want seen.
But knowing Adalbrecht, he’ll still keep his secrets within reach. I plant myself behind the desk and slowly look around. There’s the credenza with its bottles, tapestries of family trees and past conquests, bookshelves full of military history and volumes of Almanic imperial law . . .
There. Something catches my eye: a clean stripe in the shelf’s thin blanket of dust.
“He isn’t letting the servants in to clean,” I tell Emeric. “And he’s only pulled one book off this shelf since he got back.”
Emeric’s got his hands full with an elk head he’s carefully lifting off the wall. “Can you write the title down? My notes are—you know where they are.”
I do know: exactly in the pocket where I left them. I fetch the charcoal and notebook-in-progress from his discarded jacket, listening a moment at the door to make sure we’re not in for an unpleasant surprise. Nothing.
