Page 21 of The Hood and his Thief

Ansel chuckled. “I guarantee I’ll give you the promised demonstration. For now, I must leave you to your own devices to go and get the show started.”

With a small bow, he backed out of the space, leaving Rhosyn to take her seat. She didn’t have to wait very long until Ansel appeared on the stage below, raising his arms. The voices of the spectators fell to hushed whispers, the air practically quivering with the barely contained tension of anticipation. It captured Rhosyn in its threads, pulling her to perch on the edge of her seat, leaning forward so she wouldn’t miss anything.

As Ansel spoke, thanking the audience for coming and welcoming them to Archer’s Circus, the Merry Men slipped quietly onto the platforms across from her, from which they would leap. They wore the same green outfits as before, and Rhosyn’s heart rate accelerated in excitement. Sitting level with them, imagining diving off the edge in a freefall before catching the trapeze at the last moment, added a thrill she hadn’t anticipated.

The crowd erupted in applause as Ansel finished his introduction, gesturing upwards to direct the rest of the audience’s attention to the acrobats, moments before they began the dizzying dance of falling and flying.

Seeing the Merry Men for the second time did nothing to lessen the heart-pounding effect. Gravity seemed to have lifted its spell temporarily, letting the performers achieve feats that Rhosyn wouldn’t have even dreamed of attempting.

As one of the men flipped off a platform before easily grabbing a swinging trapeze at the peak of its arc, the image of the Hood performing a perfect front flip from the fence last night flickered through her mind. She had entertained the thought he was one of the circus performers before, but dismissed it when she didn’t spot anybody fitting his build at the King’s ball. Maybe he hadn’t been performing that night though. Or perhaps she had missed something.

Rhosyn’s eyes narrowed as she began consuming the performance with a clinical eye. One by one, she appraised the men flying through the air. A good number of them she ruled out quickly for being too tall. A few were too thin, while several were bulkier than the wiry strength of the arm banded across her chest last night would suggest.

What’s more, something in their posture was off. As awe inspiring as the Merry Men were, none of them quite carried themselves with the effortless confidence she remembered on the Hood as he repetitively slipped from her grasp.

Rhosyn shook herself. She was just exaggerating the Hood’s prowess for being the most challenging and intriguing criminal she had encountered in years. These men were her best suspects. After all, she had encountered the Hood for the first time just the day before they performed at the King’s ball.

She just needed evidence.

Rhosyn tore her attention from the spectacle before her, instead inspecting the rest of her surroundings. For now, she was unattended, and everybody in the vicinity was preoccupied with the performance. If there was any evidence to be found backstage, now was the time for an unapproved investigation.

With one last look to confirm Ansel’s position at the corner of the stage, eyes darting between the forms flipping above him, Rhosyn slipped from the private booth. She descended the ladder to the ground level quickly and quietly. When she turned and looked around the backstage area, she found it deserted, as she had hoped.

Finding what she was looking for, though, might be another challenge entirely. The area wasn’t exactly organized—or if it was, it was sensible only to the people who had done it. Cracked open crates with swathes of colored fabric spilling out the top dotted the area. Rhosyn had to slip past a large spinning wheel and a stack of painted wood slats as she perused the area.

Finally, in the back, against a wall that had green curtains hung against it, folded over as if for storage, lay a series of bundles. They looked like discarded clothes and personal effects—likely where the performers kept their things after changing into their less practical costumes.

Rhosyn knelt and began rifling through the bags and bundles with deft fingers. As she went, she carefully catalogued exactly how clothes were draped and packs stacked. It was a habit from years of lifting little trinkets and emptying purses to feed her young charges—and thankfully one that returned quickly when she wanted to investigate without giving herself away.

As she reached the third pile of belongings, she asked herself exactly what she was looking for. Maybe the familiar hood itself, or the wrist bow that the Hood seemed to favor, although he might not carry those everywhere. She had already uncovered several small blades, but carrying a knife didn’t necessarily mean one was a criminal. For those who walked alone at night, Rhosyn would nearly consider it reckless not too.

Although, as the fourth bundle revealed yet another set of knives—clearly well cared for and stored in sheathes that could easily be strapped to ankles or forearms—she did have to wonder at how well armed this performing troupe was.

So focused was Rhosyn on looking through the remaining contents of the satchel, intent on sussing out any hidden pockets that could contain incriminating evidence, that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her. A hand reached over her shoulder and deftly pulled free one of the knives, forgotten in her hand as she continued her search.

She spun in place, already swinging her leg out in her crouch to catch her potential attacker in the ankles. Rhosyn stopped her kick just short, as she found Ansel staring down at her with a bemused expression.

He tossed the knife up, where it flipped twice before he plucked it out of the air easily by the handle. Rhosyn blinked, nearly forgetting that he had caught her looking through his performers’ belongings. He hadn’t even been looking at the knife as he tossed it. The only person who she had ever seen handle a blade so confidently before was Nate.

“You don’t seem concerned with waiting for a warrant,” he commented. He twirled the knife absent-mindedly and Rhosyn suddenly became all too aware of her position kneeling at his feet. She shot upright and scowled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“An officer of the Royal Police rifling through my circus unattended? One would think you suspected us of something,” he shrugged. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp.

“Maybe it was personal curiosity,” Rhosyn deflected, knowing it was a weak argument.

“I thought you made it clear this wasn’t personal when you showed up for a night of revelry in uniform,” Ansel said, and although his tone remained teasing, for some reason the observation rang of sadness to Rhosyn.

She shrugged. “Well, it hardly matters, because I didn’t find what I was looking for anyways.”

“Oh, and what was that?”

“Clues to what your circus act was, since you seem intent on keeping that information under wraps.” Rhosyn knew Ansel was too sharp to let her meddling drop, but was surprised when he rose to the bait, eyes twinkling as a smirk curled his lips.

“Oh, but you did.” Ansel tossed the knife in the air again, and Rhosyn’s gaze tracked the swirling silver as it rose and fell.

She raised her brows in question.