“Drexl,” Zia said slowly. “I… acknowledge that, of the lot of us, you’re the one who best understands ‘subtle’ and that this mission calls for it.” Drexl raised an eyebrow. Curse Zidrist for teaching her that she does it so well. I feel like an idiot before I’ve opened my mouth. “But, and don’t get me wrong, I’m all for your agency, forget castes,” Drexl made a small, sleepy smile at this that Zia would obsess over later. “But, you looked into what the slums of a nearby city looked like, you’ve attended a service or two by Wholists, and Darka has been performing for several days now to earn our keep. Are you still… I mean, you do… intend to carry out Ser Mien’s mission for us? Or are you just having a good time while it lasts? Not that I think you’d do that, just… clue me in please?”

  Drexl laughed. “I’m still going to go do Mien’s little job. Ser Mien, relax, Zia! You’d think I called him Mumps. Anyway, Ser Mien’s job. I’m going to do it. I’m waiting for rain.”

  Zia’s eyebrows disappeared into her long brown hair. “Rain?” Drexl nodded. “You’re waiting for rain to deliver papers. Because if they get wet it will obscure any inaccuracies by making the ink bleed? I don’t think they’re binding if that happens.”

  Drexl shook her head. “Zia, you’re not thinking subtly enough. Mien—” She left off the honorific again. “—said that there would be a deal made where the noble would want those particular deeds. That’s not for another week at least, though. The noble has been hanging around and being a pest for months, but the Season will start in Fief soon and Mien has a plan. If it doesn’t rain, I’ll think up a new plan.”

  “So you have a plan.”

  Drexl laughed again. “Yes I have a plan. The noble’s house has a moat. I need to get around it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Then you’ll have to trust me, because with Gnosis around my plan is staying in my head.”

  It was around mugs of warm blittero that Drexl related to them how she had succeeded in her mission, on a thunderous spring day a few days later. She cut it a little close, didn’t she?

  “So I told Zia I was waiting for rain. Well, when the rain came, it came…”

  The rain was a pleasant sound to Drexl, something she’d enjoyed despite the leaks in the roof ever since she was small. However, with spring weather there was no telling how long the storm would last, so for her deception she had to get moving instead of sitting by a window enjoying it. She took the land deeds and wrapped them in multiple layers of oilcloth. Mien had explained that they were used in place of large denominations of currency, which Drexl took to mean “big money.” Evidently, this particular noble had not kept up with the times and sold off multiple estates too cheaply, thinking they’d remit into her hands at the eight year mark; this was a policy the White Queen had done away with following a debate with the Black Queen and obtaining her tacit consent. Finding these “by accident” among her duns and debts would be quite the windfall. “Windfall” was a word Drexl knew as meaning “fool’s money.”

  Drexl felt undressed without her armor, but she would both swim better and pass better as a common servant without the hide plates and knotwork mesh. She stepped out into the rain, and her hair was almost immediately plastered to her head. This was excellent, as she was about to get even wetter than the rain was making her. She strode confidently towards the minor noble’s estate. The noble’s name, potentially relevant, was Lord Soliloquy, a word Drexl would not try to spell but could pronounce readily enough. The estate, a fancy word for a house with a yard and wall, was surrounded by a moat feeding off the nearby river Zia had used to find the main mansion. Drexl circled the walls, looking for… ah. A small grate to allow water in for the kind of artificial pond nabobs liked to put in their gardens. They were always grated, but never very well maintained, it being a wet, unpleasant, difficult job to do so. After a quick check to see if there were spikes or other hazards—there were not—Drexl strode into the moat and swam across. Rust was eating into the wrought iron eagerly, and—Drexl sighed. If she were a second story worker this would be a calligraphy invitation, the bars were set into the rocky soil below on the bottom. She set her parcel of papers against the outside wall and worked them loose with unhurried ease. She took out more bars than she thought she’d need, not relishing the prospect of getting stuck underwater. Before grabbing the papers, she slipped through the bars and popped up her head on the far side, looking to see if there were nobles enjoying the gardens and their artificial lake. Seeing there were not, she returned for her papers and headed for the least impressive side of the mansion.

  As she went, she walked as though she were hurried but bored, upright and looking neither left nor right. Sure enough, just like the Queen’s mansion, there was a servants’ entrance between the front gate and the back gardens. The door wasn’t locked—why would it be, inside a walled and moated “estate”? Inside, she took a liveried cloak off a peg and dumped the water in her boots over it, making it as wet as the rest of her. She pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and let her sleeves hang down so that she looked like someone wearing clothes too big for them. Then she widened her eyes and rushed into the first room she found.

  “I got locked out! I was supposed to get these papers out of the coach house but then the front door wasn’t open and fortunately the papers were wrapped but I can hardly go upstairs like this and it’s pouring—”

  “Calm down,” the matronly woman in the kitchen said. “I’ll take the papers. Where do they go?”

  “They’re estate papers! Her Lordship wanted them before the Season and I don’t think I got them wet, oh please don’t tell her that I let them get rained on—”

  Again, the woman tried to calm her down. “Rest easy. Who are you, anyway?”

  “Morebund, ma’am. From the House. I was supposed to help today but nobody likes me and they locked me out so her Lordship would have to redraw the papers, I just know they did!” Drexl began to cry.

  “Relax, Morebund. Have some cider by the fire, dry up a bit, I’ll make sure these are prominently on her Lordship’s desk.” She wiped flour from her hands and took the oilcloth from Drexl. “She’ll be very happy to hear you found these. Shall I tell her who she has to thank?”

  Drexl sniveled, “I want to go back to the House. It’s cold and wet outside and you’re the first person, ma’am, who’s been nice to me.”

  The cook sighed. “It would be Perdi’s idea of fun to lock out the newbie. No sense complaining, she’ll explain it was an accident. If you want to go back to the House, I’ll see the drawbridge lowered. Maybe suggest your replacement be someone male, Perdition will be busier flirting than getting into mischief. The problem with hiring servants from that side of the family, not to quote her Lordship.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Might I have that mug of cider first? It is awfully cold…”

  Darka burst out laughing. “You didn’t. You literally had a mug of cider and warmed up by the fire before walking out the front door?!”

  Drexl grinned and hefted a cloak which was distinctly not white, cream, and silver. “I did. Now, of course, I have to stay in our suite. We can’t let Lord Soliloquy see me. But the hard part is over and soon…” Drexl tilted her chair back on two legs, “We’ll be out of here and on our way to find Izkarzon’s heir for Zia.”

  “You have no idea how impressed I am, Drexl,” Zia began.

  “That’s true. You haven’t told me.”

  Smartalec. “I mean, I wouldn’t even have thought to go in through the grating. My idea of cunning is like what we did to Lady Amorous, and that earned us nothing but enemies.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Criminal bread is good at what it does. Didn’t you say each caste has its strengths?”

  “I also said you should be ouroboros and I stand by it!”

  Zidrist cut in with, “You didn’t, entirely, stand by it.”

  “Well I am now! Drexl, you’re amazing and when we find the heir we’re going to make sure that brand looks the way it should! I just… I mean… and that story!” Drexl raised one insufferably pleased eyebrow which Zia was going to suffer through. “You don’t tell it like I would—not that that’s bad—but it was riveting! I… I’m not flirting or flattering.” Drexl nodded acknowledgement, and Zia felt a bit of wonder that she truthfully wasn’t. “It was seriously like, I was always waiting for trouble even though you’re here and clearly made it!”

  “You want to make it in criminal circles, you have to spin a good yarn. But I’m surprised, Zia. Normally I’d expect you to be telling me how the Daring Kaliskast would have done it, or how you would have done it. It’s a nice change, don’t get me wrong.”

  “I’m trying to be a little less egotistical. It doesn’t mean as much as I once thought it did that I’m ouroboros and you’re bread.” Hang on, that’s the wrong verbiage. “It doesn’t matter at all that I’m ouroboros and you’re bread. Unless we want bluster, which is the only thing I’ve done well in this adventure.”

  Drexl smirked. “You also start fires really well.”

  Zia groaned. “Eugh, don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about that. I never meant to kill him, I was just terrified.”

  “You’re giving up on solving problems with fire? That’s a change. I remember when we started our adventure, you wanted to solve everything with fire!”

  Ser Mien came in then. “And you have no idea how relieved I am that you elected to use a different method this time around.” It’s rude to eavesdrop.

  Lacking confidence in her haughty arrogant expression, Zia instead went for frankness. “Drexl was the mastermind here. She thought up and executed the plan all by herself. Actually drove me a bit nuts because she wouldn’t tell me what she was planning.”

  “So it was wise to let you retrieve your muscle before we made our bargain.”

  Drexl scoffed. “You can drop the act, Mien, we were subtle and we got the job done. So shoot straight with us and be nice.”

  Ser Mien sneered, but it was half-hearted. “And what makes you think I’m nice?”

  “You gave us a chance.”

  “Suppose I was bored.”

  “Okay, we’ll ‘suppose you’re bored’ and play that game. Our payment, earthbrain.”

  Zia gasped. Ser Mien laughed, then sighed heavily. “Oh, why not. You’ll be out of my domain soon enough. Gnosis already knows everything there is to know about everyone.” Now there’s an unpleasant thought. Knowing what that felt like, I’m actually glad I didn’t manage to rifle through Drexl’s emotions.

  Zidrist cut in, “I thought this was the White Queen’s vacation home?”

  “Ah, but I keep it for her. But anyway. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a courtier? To be like your Zia—” Aww, sarx, he did read me. I guess I read him. “—and be accepted, you’re playing one more game on top of all the games of the court. I can’t presume too much, but I have to presume more than is entirely couth to be taken as anything but an oddity.”

  “‘Like our Zia’ more than you might think, I’m ouroboros. Nobility. I’ve played the game from the other side.”

  Ser Mien’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his bangs. “You’re nobility? And from Dragold… so things are dire there indeed. My Queen will be interested in that.”

  “Why would she be?” I feel like I just said one thing too much.

  “Oh, the usual reasons. Empire building, alliance building, unstable places looking for the stability of a larger, more established queendom.” Oh. Oh sarx. He’s talking invasion.

  “I wouldn’t advise advising that,” Zia said defensively. “We’re finding the heir, and taking her back to Dragold. Stability is incoming, as soon as you give us your end of the bargain. Contact with a ‘Historian’ who can tell us of Izkarzon’s oldest child.”

  “You might find that a trickier proposition than… well, that’s your problem. If you want to meet with a Historian, stay here until the Season. Her Majesty gives me a certain measure of leeway, and your Darka is a competent chorister. You’ll want to talk to the nephilim Lord Drake. I’m aware of the irony.” What irony? Why is it ironic that a Historian is a nephilim? Zia’s composure had evidently slipped, because Ser—he’s being casual with us, I’m thinking of him as Mien—Mien spun a chair and sat backwards in it. “You don’t know? Historians and dragons aren’t on good terms.”

  “Why would a Historian help us to find Izkarzon’s heir, then?”

  “A warped sense of humor, in Lord Drake’s case. She’d be amused for a dragon to trade status for secular rulership, an act which has clearly already cost one dragon his life.”

  “Status?” Great. Now there’s some reason the dragon we’re not even sure we still want to find might not want to take over ruling an entire country devoted to her worship. Wait. We might not want to find? Oh sarx.

  Mien cocked his head, then shook it. “As much as it’s a relief to have someone understand the game of gender in a courtly context, there’s only so much I’m giving away.” Oh, come on! I am so sick of everyone knowing more than us! Ever since we’ve left Dragold we’ve been learning everything the hard way! We’re not “subtle,” we don’t know how the Royal Society works, we don’t know about the Queen, we shouldn’t have told anyone about Izkarzon or at least we shouldn’t have told Mien…! “Anyway, I have duties to attend to. Drexl, was it? Good job. Stay out of sight for, mmm, nine days, and then it won’t matter if Lord Soliloquy knows she was played.”

  Drexl rolled her eyes. “We talked about that already, Mien, but then you’re not Gnosis. But please assume I have a brain.”

  “To you I will accord that honor. The rest of your Heirrors… good day, milady.” With a smirk, Mien left the room. Was he flirting with Drexl? Was Drexl flirting with him? I didn’t think she was, but then I’m evidently not subtle…

  Modern Wholist Criminal

  Each day I repent just like a modern Wholist crimimal

  I regularly commit acts which are morally abysmal

  I’ve stolen things I’ve fenced some goods my guilt is not subliminal

  I’m really hoping ‘ternal conscious torment is not literal.

  I’ve stolen things from many places geographical,

  To calculate my income would take talent mathematical

  I’ve got an ever postponed date with an executioner’s noose

  But every time they get me handcuffed I run a scam and get me loose.

  Yeah, I’ve read the Good Book know the words that I should be following

  But it seems like sin is in my life inside of everything

  As I said I regularly commit acts morally abysmal

  Each day repenting like a modern Wholist crimimal.

  I know the laws and anecdotes and how a sinner never wins

  Yet I’ve stolen everything from jewelry to dust bins

  The judges know me at first sight they surely bear me great ill will

  And yet of crime I’ve not begun to get my fill.

  The Lord I’m sure I’ve disappointed in each and every way

  Each morning I’m surprised He let me live another day

  Divine judgment sure does seem to take its time

  Maybe He’s just hoping tomorrow I’ll begin to toe the line.

  I go to Church, confess my sins, of which there are numerous

  If sins were mortal mine would be most tumorous

  As I’ve said I regularly commit acts morally abysmal

  Each day repenting like a modern Wholist crimimal.

  I’ve even stolen from the Church I wasn’t struck by lightning

  But with the proceeds my future sure was brightening.

  I told the priest what I had done she said “I know I read the news,

  “Tomorrow you have got a date with a deadly hangman’s noose!”

  I fled the Church from the confessional, found troops outside walking processional

  I tried to break loose but they were too numerous

  My future now looks so dark as to be bituminous.

  For my criminal acts I’m going to hang until I’m dead

  They’ve slipped a bag over my head

  As I’ve said I committed acts morally abysmal,

  I’m going to die having confessed an absolved Wholist crimimal.