Breaking into Florringham's bakery should be... well, it should be a piece of cake, not to put too fine of a point on it. Allayria sighs, crouched behind a bin in the alley behind the bakery. She's certainly spending a lot of the night hunkered down in places she'd rather not be.
When she looks down Iaves has finished writing the note and has begun to tie it with a small string around Rex's throat. Allayria can almost hear it, the Skilled conversation drifting between the two, as Iaves places a heavy hand on the wolf's head.
Rex blinks, and then trots off.
"She'll let you know when Keno gets the letter?" Allayria asks, extinguishing the flame on her fingertips.
He nods, his gaze fixed on the spot where Rex vanished.
A hand leans on her shoulder and Meg, hovering over her, says: "You take care of the lock and I'll cover you."
Allayria uses a pick, feeling more confident in the quickness of her manual lockpicking than her newfound Skill-picking abilities. As the door springs open there's a sudden scuffle of feet behind them and Allayria turns, the metal ball in her pocket sliding up through the air into a thin blade held between her fingers.
Ben has some man in a headlock and Iaves's knife is sliding between his ribs. The man twitches, grunting, but Iaves has his hand over his mouth, and after a long moment they let him slide to the ground.
Pulling him behind the bins, the two run over, slipping into the shadowed backroom of the bakery as Meg pulls the door closed.
"A Brezkin guard," Ben says in response to Meg's cocked eyebrow.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we're in the right place and we've got to move," Iaves answers, steering Allayria by the small of the back further into the room. "Serfigue said the cellar, correct?"
Allayria nods, scanning the room. She elbows him when she spots the slanted metal doors, nearly hidden behind a shelf of supplies, and the oxidizing metal groans in protest as she pulls them open.
The air is cool down here, and she pools handfuls of flame in each hand as she descends, letting them grow enough to illuminate the room. The others spread out, checking along the walls and bookshelves, behind crates and heavy sacks.
Ben finds the door, hissing in approval as the shelf springs out on hidden hinges, revealing a thin door behind it. Allayria rips the latch off of it.
The room inside is decorated well enough that Brezkin must have anticipated spending some time in here. There are plush chairs and sofas set in the corner, and a glass curio cabinet stocked with old brandy and scotch, among other things. There are also boxes, stacks and stacks of boxes, cabinets, shelves, and corners stuffed with what must be the spoils of the Jarles' handiwork.
"Grab anything valuable that isn't evidence," Ben orders, throwing a bag at each of them as Allayria lights the lamps suspended around the room.
"Isn't it all evidence?" Iaves points out and Meg rolls her eyes.
"Nothing with 'Jarles' written all over it, you idiot."
"How much time do we have?" Allayria asks, pulling what must be thousands of bills into her bag, eyes sharp for anything that looks like letters or notes.
"Twenty minutes, max," Iaves replies. "Keno has sent men with copies of Brezkin's letter to the captain of the city guard and the mayor. They and the city councilors should be bearing down on us as fast as they can."
YOU ARE READING
Paragon - Book I
Fantasy*COMPLETE* There are whispers across the kingdoms that the Paragon, that strangely gifted person who can wield all four Skills, has been found. They're wrong, of course. No one has caught the Paragon. Allayria should know: she's it. But Allayr...
