At the break of dawn, the next day, Irina woke, easing out of bed to start her chores. In a resting state, she cleaned her lonely house, then went outside to feed and water the horses. Each chore was mundane; the same reiterative task every day, but for her own sake, she lost herself in her mind and done them without complaint.
Once the chores were done, she returned to her house and retrieved the set of lock picks her brother gave to her, then ventured out into the desolate muddy streets of the village, making her way northeast to the Maiden of War statue. From there Irina went southeast towards the house with the red chimney and cut through the backstreets, waving at locals and evading goat shit on the road as she went on.
She, at last, made it to Luthier's house and eased close to the door in case anyone was to see, taking a lock pick from the leather case she tossed into the pocket of her overcoat. Maneuvering the tool around in the lock, she heard a low click and grinned in triumph as the door creaked open when she pushed on it.
So far this was too easy.
Irina stepped into the dark and cold house, looking around. It was apparent to her that no one had been living there for some time. The house reeked of trash; food rotted in pots on the stove, infested with squirming maggots and fuzzy mold. She covered her nose in repulse and searched through the kitchen for anything of interest, but there was nothing that immediately caught her attention, except for a child's drawing of Happy Birthday on the wall.
Her heart sank. Shame they went missing. Irina didn't personally know them, but they were residence of the village. This is why stealing from them had struck a nerve. She didn't want to, but the Duke had a point; you can't steal from the dead.
She glanced over the hand-drawn picture a moment later, then noticed a date written above the daughter's head. It read 270917. She ignored it and continued searching the house.
Inside the workshop, adjacent to the living area, hollow wooden violin bodies hung from the ceiling and rested against the naked wall. Irina spotted a cabinet on the far side of the room and walked over to it; a combination lock hid its contents from her.
She frowned. How was she to open it? The combination could be any grouping of six numbers.
Suddenly she remembered. Racing back into the kitchen, Irina looked at the picture and recited the numbers over and over in her head so as not to forget them and returned to the cabinet to put them in.
As she hoped, the rusted fastener snapped open. She set it aside and opened the cabinet. Inside was a steel Hraesvelgr statue – a giant in Norse mythology Irina read about, said to take the form of an eagle – and a discolored briefcase. Was the briefcase the treasure the Duke spoke of? Or the eagle statue? He never mentioned there would be two.
Irina took them both, hiding them in a straw sack she found in the kitchen. Once she had them secure, she exited the house, locked the front door, and made her way back towards the altar area where the Duke was with any luck still waiting.
And he was.
Upon her entrance, he sat down his thick novel and greeted her.
"Welcome, Irina."
She gave him a nod. "I brought the treasure you asked for."
"Marvelous! I knew you would pull through."
Taking the statue from the sack, Irina gave it to him. The Duke examined it and put it away inside his carriage with a grin. He took out his purse and gave to her some coins. Irina counted them in glee.
14,ooo Lei. Her eyes widened.
"I promised I'd compensate you, didn't I?"
Irina smiled. "And you kept your word. This is more than enough to keep me comfortable for a while."
