Denna gave me an odd look.
“You’ve had a ring for as long as I’ve known you.” I explained. “Silver with a pale blue stone.”
Her forehead furrowed. “I know what it looked like. How did you?”
“You wear it all the time,” I said, trying to sound casual, as if I didn’t know every detail of her. As if I didn’t know her habit of twirling it on her finger while she was anxious or lost in thought. “What happened to it?”
Denna looked down at her hands. “A young gentleman has it,” she said.
“Ah,” I said. Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added. “Who?”
“I doubt you—” She paused, then looked up at me. “Actually, you might know him. He goes to the University too. Ambrose Jakis.”
My stomach was suddenly filled with acid and ice.
Denna looked away. “He has a rough charm about him,” she explained. “More rough than charm, really. But . . .” She trailed off into a shrug.
“I see,” I said. Then, “It must be fairly serious.”
Denna gave me a quizzical look, then realization spread onto her face and she burst out laughing. She shook her head, waving her hands in violent negation. “Oh no. God no. Nothing like that. He came calling a few times. We went to a play. He invited me out for dancing. He’s remarkably light on his feet.”
She drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “The first night he was very genteel. Witty even. The second night, slightly less so.” Her eyes narrowed. “On the third night he got pushy. Things went sour after that. I had to leave my rooms at the Boar’s Head because he kept showing up with trinkets and poems.”
A feeling of vast relief flooded me. For the first time in days I felt like I was able to take a full lungful of air. I felt a smile threatening to burst out onto my face and fought it down, fearing it would be so wide I’d look like an absolute madman.
Denna gave me a wry look. “You’d be amazed at how similar arrogance and confidence look at first glance. And he was generous, and rich, which is a nice combination.” She held up her naked hand. “The fitting was loose on my ring, and he said he’d have it repaired.”
“I take it he wasn’t nearly so generous after things went sour?”
Her red mouth made another wry smile. “Not nearly.”
“I might be able to do something,” I said. “If the ring’s important to you.”
“It was important,” Denna said, giving me a frank look. “But what would you do, exactly? Remind him, one gentleman to another, that he should treat women with dignity and respect?” She rolled her eyes. “Good luck.”
I simply gave her my most charming smile. I’d already told her the truth of things: I was no gentleman. I was a thief.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Fickle Wind
The next evening found me at the Golden Pony, arguably the finest inn on the University side of the river. It boasted elaborate kitchens, a fine stable, and a skilled obsequious staff. It was the sort of upscale establishment only the wealthiest students could afford.
I wasn’t inside, of course. I was crouched in the deep shadows of the roof, trying not to dwell on the fact that what I was planning went well beyond the bounds of Conduct Unbecoming. If I was caught breaking into Ambrose’s rooms, I would undoubtedly be expelled.
It was a clear autumn night with a strong wind. A mixed blessing. The sound of rustling leaves would cover any small noises I might make, but I worried the flapping edges of my cloak might draw attention.
Our plan was a simple one. I had slipped a sealed note under Ambrose’s door. It was an unsigned, flirtatious request for a meeting in Imre. Wil had written it, as Sim and I judged he had the most feminine handwriting.
It was a goose chase, but I guessed Ambrose would take the bait. I would have preferred to have someone distract him personally, but the fewer people involved the better. I could have asked Denna to help, but I wanted it to be a surprise when I returned her ring.
Wil and Sim were my lookouts, Wil in the common room, Sim in the alley by the back door. It was their job to let me know when Ambrose left the building. More importantly, they would alert me if he came back before I’d finished searching his rooms.
I felt a sharp tug in my right-hand pocket as the oak twig gave two distinct twitches. After a moment the signal was repeated. Wilem was letting me know Ambrose had left the inn.
In my left pocket was a piece of birch. Simmon held a similar one where he stood watch over the inn’s back door. It was a simple, effective signaling system if you knew enough sympathy to make it work.
I crawled down the slope of the roof, moving carefully over the heavy clay tiles. I knew from my younger days in Tarbean that they tended to crack and slide and could make you lose your footing.
I made it to the lip of the roof, fifteen feet off the ground. Hardly a dizzying height, but more than enough to break a leg or a neck. A narrow piece of roof ran beneath the long row of second-story windows. There were ten in all, and the middle four belonged to Ambrose.
I flexed my fingers a couple times to loosen them, then began to edge along the narrow strip of roof.
The secret is to concentrate on what you’re doing. Don’t look at the ground. Don’t look over your shoulder. Ignore the world and trust it to return the favor. This was the real reason I was wearing my cloak. If I were spotted I would be nothing more than a dark shape in the night, impossible to identify. Hopefully.
The first window was dark, and the second had its curtains drawn. But the third was dimly lit. I hesitated. If you’re fair-skinned like me, you never want to peer into a window at night. Your face will stand out against the dark like the full moon. Rather than risk peering in, I dug around in the pockets of my cloak until I found a piece of scrap tin from the Fishery that I’d buffed into a makeshift mirror. Then I carefully used it to peer around the corner and through the window.
Inside there were a few dim lamps and a canopy bed as big as my entire room back in Anker’s. The bed was occupied. Actively occupied. What’s more, there seemed to be more naked limbs than two people could account for. Unfortunately, my piece of tin was small, and I couldn’t view the scene in its full complexity, otherwise I might have learned some very interesting things.
I briefly considered going back and coming at Ambrose’s rooms from the other side, but the wind gusted suddenly, sending leaves skipping across the cobblestones and trying to claw me away from my narrow footing. Heart pounding, I decided to risk passing this window. I guessed the people inside had better things to do than stargazing.
I pulled the hood of my cloak down and held the edges in my teeth, covering my face while leaving my hands free. Thus blinded, I inched my way past the window, listening intently for any signs I’d been spotted. There were a few surprised noises, but they didn’t seem to have anything to do with me.
The first of Ambrose’s windows was elaborate stained glass. Pretty, but not designed to open. The next was perfect: a wide, double window. I pulled a thin piece of copper wire from one of the pockets of my cloak and used it to trip the simple latch holding it closed.
When the window wouldn’t open, I realized that Ambrose had added a drop bar as well. That took several long minutes of tricky work, one-handed in the near-total dark. Thankfully, the wind had died down, at least for the moment.
Then, once I’d worked my way past the drop bar, the window still wouldn’t budge. I began to curse Ambrose’s paranoia as I searched for the third lock, hunting for nearly ten minutes before I realized the window was simply stuck shut.
I tugged on it a couple times, which isn’t as easy as it sounds. They don’t put handles on the outside, you realize. Eventually I got overenthusiastic and pulled too hard. The window sprang open and my weight shifted backward. I leaned off the edge of the roof, fighting every reflex that urged me to move my foot back and regain my balance, knowing there was nothing but fifteen feet of empty air behind me.