Duncan hadn’t told anyone, but somehow the rumor still got around. Before long, some of the other thieves grew suspicious. If Luc could make things jump into his hand, what else was he capable of? Could he be stealing from them? Perhaps he cast spells to make them forget, or perhaps he was dangerous.
Luc had been furious with Duncan, certain that he was responsible for all the attention. It didn’t matter in the end. The templars came, and when Luc tried to run, they’d struck him down. Killed him in cold blood, right in front of Duncan. Nobody had said anything, of course. Just one more thief rotting in the gutter, and this one an apostate to boot.
Duncan knew where Luc kept his stash, hidden away in the attic of an abandoned chantry. He’d gone to collect it, considering that Luc wasn’t going to need it anymore, and he’d been pleased by the amount of coin there. It was enough to get him through some hard winters and even put a roof over his head, at least for a little while. He’d felt badly about it, even so. Far better for Luc to still be alive, even if that meant being locked up in a tower like this one. One didn’t acquire friends very often where Duncan came from.
He stuck his head into a dim chamber and saw that it was a library of some kind. Rows and rows of dusty books, and tables covered in even more books with candles burned nearly down to nothing. Duncan wasn’t sure what a mage needed to read in order to learn his spells, but apparently it was a lot. There were two mages in there now, older men in their full enchanter robes, poking through various tomes as a templar glared at them next to a roaring fireplace.
Good thing books weren’t worth stealing, so there was no need to go in.
He continued forward, avoiding the large chambers in the central part of the tower as that was where most of the people seemed to accumulate. He probably needn’t have worried. Most everyone was down on the main floor with the King and the Grey Wardens, watching what ever formalities the First Enchanter had cooked up to honor them. It had made it a simple matter to slip away. With any luck, the long-winded Orlesian would still be talking long after Duncan found his way back … preferably with his pockets full of what ever trinkets he could find up here.
It occurred to him that it was very possible he could get into trouble again. The last time that had happened, he had ended up the serving boy of the King, after all. Well, he thought, I’ll just have to make sure I don’t get caught this time, won’t I?
He ducked into an alcove and hid behind the statue there as the sound of footsteps approached. An elven man in grey robes passed by, this one with the same serene expression that he had seen on others similarly dressed. Fiona had called them “the Tranquil” with a fair amount of distaste. He had asked what that meant, but she refused to say. He knew that they seemed to act as the keepers of the tower, seeing to the day-to-day running of things and acting as the Circle’s merchants to the outside world. Beyond that, he had no idea why Fiona would shudder whenever she saw them. Their emotionless manner was unnerving; perhaps that was it?
As the man glided past, Duncan reached out and snatched a ring of keys that he spotted on the man’s belt. It was a simple matter to slip them free of their hook with nary a jingle. Duncan smiled to himself as the fellow kept on going, completely oblivious to his loss.
The keys were large and iron, the sort that you used in padlocks and gates. Or chests. That thought ran enticingly around Duncan’s mind as he crept out from behind the statue. Where would these keys fit? Would the Tranquil get to wherever he was going and suddenly discover them gone? Would he assume he lost them and retrace his steps, or raise the alarm? Duncan needed to work quickly.
It took some time to move through the next several levels of the tower. He needed to scamper back into the shadows every time some templar roamed his way, and while he poked his head into just about every room he came across, there was always either someone inside or it was just another boring storage room or something filled with even more books. Everyone was so quiet, as well, moving around with a hush that seemed completely unnatural. It served to make Duncan nervous. Not that sneaking around the home of magic-wielders wasn’t call for a bit of sweat as it was.
There were small side stairs that led up, allowing him to avoid the central staircase, and he noticed that as he moved up in the tower it became quieter and more cramped. The halls were narrow now, and he couldn’t even hear the distant thumps of armored templars walking the halls. Good. That would make things easier.
The rooms up here appeared to be mostly dormitories, each with a set of beds and large chests. They ranged from the chaotic to the neat and orderly. Was this where the apprentices slept? That made him a bit dubious about his chances of success. It was unlikely that apprentices would own anything of interest, surely.
But then he reached a darker part of the halls, where the doors were all locked. The quarters of the senior mages, then? That held more promise.
Quietly he tried the keys on several of the doors. Nothing. The keys were too large, and while he was tempted to use the lockpick he kept hidden in his belt, he knew too little about the sorts of protections these mages might be using to guard their privacy. He had heard about traps that exploded in fire or electricity. He had once known a girl, in fact, that had been killed trying to open a chest belonging to a mage. Nothing left of her but some scorched bones and a pile of ashes. The guards had been able to do little else but gawk as the mage responsible rode off in his carriage, leaving the girl’s remains to blow in the windy streets.
So, no. He wasn’t going to force his way anywhere. As angry as Genevieve might be if he got himself stupidly caught sneaking around the mage tower, she would be utterly livid if he got himself killed.
He was just about to give up and look for a way to get even higher into the tower when he noticed the large door at the very end of the hall. It was at least eight feet tall, and made of a dark wood. It had an ornate brass handle that was completely unlike any of the others he had seen. More important, it had a very large keyhole. The sort that an iron key would fit into.
Smirking, Duncan approached the door and attempted to insert one of the keys on the ring. It slid in easily, but didn’t turn. He waited for the bolt of lightning to strike him … and nothing happened.
Silently he exhaled.
He tried two more keys before he found one that slid in and turned. With a loud clacking sound, the door unlocked and opened inward. He tensed, almost expecting a magical beast of some kind to leap out at him, perhaps a demon. Demons were supposed to follow mages around like flies, weren’t they? The whole tower could be full of them!
But nothing happened. There was just a shadow-filled room awaiting him, and his foolishness was the only thing keeping him from it. Shaking his hands out nervously, he walked inside.
There was a tall, arched window that let in faint light, and through it Duncan could just barely make out the lake below and the hint of land on the horizon. The shutters were open, and a crisp breeze caused them to clatter against the wall with a disjointed rhythm. He shivered, squinting to see everything else in the room. There was a fancy bed, with the sort of gilded posts he’d seen in Orlais from time to time. A desk made of a reddish wood he didn’t recognize, covered with an assortment of parchments and leathery tomes. The silver inkwell might fetch a price, he thought, but not enough to make it worth stealing.
A massive wardrobe stood open, filled mostly with—no surprise there—cloaks and woolens and more mage robes, but as Duncan drew close he realized something. Several of those robes were ornamented in exactly the same manner as the First Enchanter’s. Were these his quarters? The idea excited as well as terrified him.