by Pfantazm

Send comments, criticisms and cookie recipes to pfantazm at hotmail.com .

	the wizard Eleazar needed from them. Sir Madoc of the King's High Guard was still cleaning himself in the stream by their camp. Thom sat on the bank, dressed. "Madoc, what is a `silvered glass'?" he asked, referring to the third item among the spell ingredients. "It's a sort of mirror, made magically from glass with a silver backing, rather than being just silver." "Oh, is that all. That's funny. That's one of the things I was supposed to nick from my next target." Madoc looked up from his ablutions. "`Your next target?' You had it all planned in advance?" "Of course I did," Thom said, surprised the knight would think otherwise. "You don't gain the reputation of the Dark Rogue by picking your pigeons will-ye-nill-ye." Madoc stopped what he was doing to listen. "I even had this one recommended to me. A fence I know, whose name, I'm afraid, I cannot tell you, said that the merchant Tybalt had a trader ship that was bound for Karelia raided. They say it was carrying a large load of art objects, your mirror included, that were to be sold at auction, but Tybalt decided to take the lot for himself." "How did the fence know all this?" Madoc asked, amazed. "Oh, one of the servants opened her mouth in front of the wrong people and word got back to R-- to my friend. The auctionhouse was quite willing to pay to have these items reclaimed and I was the man to do it." "Why didn't the auctionhouse report this to the authorities? And why didn't your fence?" Madoc was becoming angry. "Simple. No proof. If you hadn't found those diamonds on me, no matter what other things you had, we wouldn't be talking to each other right now. By the time the 'house had their evidence, they'd have their swag back. Pursuing the matter after that is bad for business." Madoc was still scowling, but he was beginning to see the thief's point. "I'll have to report this at the garrison. They'll have to deal with it while we finish our quest." "Then we'll be able to lend that mirror to Magister Eleazar for his cure, right?" "We cannot. It is evidence." Now, it was Thom's turn to look incredulous, while Madoc scrubbed his hair. "Then where else will we get our hands on another glass mirror?" "We can send for one from the castle in Aragon. Lady Tandara has such a mirror, and she will donate it to this cause." "But it will take two days for the message to get there by carrier pigeon, a day to get the thing, and four days to bring it back. That's a whole week! Tybalt's mirror is just outside Karelia, not even a day's ride away!" "We cannot do that," Madoc explained. "It is evidence against Tybalt, and the King's Guard must return it." The wheels were turning inside Thom's head. He smiled the devil's own grin. "No, it's not." "What do you mean? If Tybalt stole the mirror, then it is evidence." "But we don't know that Tybalt has it," Thom said with mock innocence. "I only have the word of a thief, and I can tell you that he is not a trustworthy man. You don't have a case." Madoc stammered. "But... you... if..." "You'll never find my fence, and you'll never get the auctionhouse to admit a thing. If you want to bring Tybalt in, you'll need to see for yourself." Madoc waded out of the stream, naked. By now he thought nothing of exposing himself to Thom; they had shared much in their time together. "So that is precisely what the Guard will do." Thom followed him over to Fleetfire. "It won't work. Tybalt will see them coming a mile off. The man is slick as satin. He'll clean house before they get to his door and make your men feel bad for taking up his precious time. I know about this man. I know his birthday. I know his son's name. I know that he has a prize stag's head mounted on the wall in his library. No one will ever see that mirror again unless a thief gets to it." Madoc searched through the sacks on Fleetfire's bridle for his towel. "Are you suggesting we steal it?!" "I'm suggesting we enter Tybalt's manse and seize some evidence. Even if you lock eyes on that mirror, you'll still have no case unless you come away with some proof." Madoc was searching the bag on the far side of the horse now. "And how would we get in without him `cleaning house'?" Thom handed him his towel, which he'd used earlier. "We simply won't tell him who we-- you are." Madoc took the towel and began drying his hair. "We can't," he said simply, as if that settled everything. Thom sighed, exasperated. "Tell me you pigs have never gone into - sorry," he said to Madoc, who had been glaring at him since the word 'pigs'. "Tell me you gentlemen have never gone into a man's home and taken something that proved he'd committed a crime." Madoc glared even at the word `gentlemen'. "We have, I'll admit," he said, "but we always declared who we were. To do otherwise would be immoral." "Immoral's a long way off from illegal. And if we do this thing, you'll be able to arrest Tybalt, and you'll be helping to save the good people of Cairncross. Your uppers won't--" "Superiors." "Whoever. They won't bust you down for doing all that." Madoc looked at him. He had run out of arguments. Thom smiled. "Well?" "I cannot credit what I'm about to do. Alright. We'll do this your way. I don't see where I have a choice." Madoc began to dress. "Don't bother," Thom said, taking off his shirt. "We have preparations to make. To start, we'll both need a good shave." Madoc didn't understand. "We're going to Tybalt's manse. We're not a King's High Guardsman and the thief he caught nigh on a week ago, here to nab his precious mirror. So who are we? I've got a cover all worked out. You are Hadrian of Janusport, son of Owain, who is a partner in a trading company there. Tybalt has been trying to establish a deal with Owain and Company for some months now. When you show up at his door coincidentally this evening, he'll practically kiss your boots. I will be your manservant, Thom. No one else knows me by both my names, so that will be safe, and it will give you less to remember. You'll have enough to worry about just being Hadrian." Madoc was agape. "Did you just come up with this?" "No, I was going to use this story with a young lad in Karelia who was to be my manservant, but you have no experience at all, so I'd better be in the controlling role." "The servant is in control?" "Of course. He has to see to all of his master's needs, and that often means being more alert than he is. The master takes all the attention, but the servant does all the work. Now, after we arrive, Tybalt is going to insist on dining with you. He's going to want to talk about your `father,' Owain, so you'll have to learn all about him so you don't look foolish or give us away." "Wait," Madoc managed. "Why aren't you Hadrian, since you already know all of this?" Thom rolled his eyes and sighed. "Because I need to be the control. All the while you're distracting the host, I'll be working out how to pull off the theft. I can't do that while I'm chattering with Tybalt. Now, Owain was born in Janusport, and he's lived there all his life...." Thom recited details of Owain's life, and Hadrian's, while they prepared in other ways. They were both shaved, because it wouldn't do for a gentleman to be otherwise. Madoc's distinctive red tabard lined the bottom of one of the two bridle sacks. His sword could be recognizable, but they couldn't replace it or ditch it anywhere, so they'd just have to trust to luck. Madoc's blue tunic, grey hose and sturdy boots were acceptable for a wealthy gentleman and black was fine for a manservant's costume, so no extra clothing was needed. Thom considered the man before him: very thickly muscled at 6'2", his hair such a dark brown it was almost black, his eyes a striking blue. His leather cuirass gripped and accentuated his massive chest. He was extremely handsome, and well suited to his role in every way except for his face. On most days, it was deadpan and serious. Today, it showed insecurity and anxiety about the coming task. He gripped Fleetfire's reins nervously as they readied themselves for the trip. "Madoc," Thom said. "What?" "Not only do you have to know everything I've told you about your cover, you have to act like Hadrian would. Hadrian is a rich man's son. He's journeying in these parts looking for adventure. He's confident, sure of himself. He does not strangle the reins of his horse until his knuckles are white." Madoc relaxed his hands. "Loosen up. I'll take care of the rest." In truth, neither of them knew where the real Hadrian was. As far as Thom knew, he was still in Janusport but with luck, he was anywhere but nearby Tybalt's estates. As they rode Fleetfire slowly toward Tybalt's manes, Thom drilled Madoc. Hadrian and Thom were travelling with a coach, the story would go, when they were accosted by highwaymen. Hadrian and Thom fought them off while the coach went on ahead, and the two men lost it. At this late hour, they needed a place to stay, and they had the good fortune to come upon Tybalt's estates. They rode without the benefit of the waterproof blanket around them because, Thom said, it looked like rain. Madoc tried to puzzle that one out until Thom explained. "It'll work in our favor if we're drenched to the bone. We can play into his sympathies. This whole scheme is about image. If we can make him believe we are who we say we are, we'll get away with it." This logic was cold comfort, however, when the rain started coming down.

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