The Province of Louazier is famed for its fertile lands and vineyards. Hundreds of years ago a knight named Dartan seized it in the wars of troubled times, founding a new dynasty. Hence their coat of arms: a spear entwined with a vine upon a yellow field. In short order the House of Louazier became one of the most powerful and revered in Sharlenne. Wealth, a great army, ties with other houses—these were theirs. The present head of the house, Duke Gaspar, is a hero of several wars and an intriguer besides. He managed to wed his daughter to the king, and even until the latter’s death was reckoned the true ruler. With his son, Ettiere, he had less fortune. Even before he was sent east, the young man had already stumbled into a pair of love scandals. Since his return he has seen his father once, and spends most of his time making merry with other rams. The duke himself is secretive, keeps his movements hidden, and no one knows whether he even sleeps in his own estate. Knowing the Guild’s rats, they will surely wait for the moment he leaves the house; so the place must be entered as early as possible—even if the duke is within. It is risky, but there is no time for waiting and reconnaissance.
Their capital estate is enormous and well-guarded. It is ringed by a wall twice a man’s height, yet it took no great trouble to look beyond it.
Here an instrument sailors call a “spyglass” proved its worth. By a clever joining of lenses it let one see across great distances. For the next three days and three nights Sedrik studied the estate from different points—nearby roofs, arches, tall trees, and other heights—learning the layout of the inner yard, the purpose of the rooms he could make out, the changing of the guards, the routes of patrols and servants.
The servants became a source of information, though they spoke with a measure of fear—of punishment, or of losing their place. Some scraps Sed gathered himself, striking up seemingly chance conversations; the rest he drew out through informants, drop by drop.
Three days and nights of scouting gave him the broad picture.
No fewer than thirty guards were employed in the estate’s protection. By the position of the heavenly lights, by the peal of bells, and by sundry sandglasses, he managed to fix the intervals of their movement.
Four patrols—two men apiece with dogs—walked the perimeter beyond the walls. Two of them inevitably crossed after the second turning of the small sandglass.
On each of the wall’s eight towers, two archers kept watch. At the main gate there was always a guard of six. In the garden three patrols moved with dogs and verids; every three turns of the small sandglass one group came out into the central part of the garden, while the others remained to the west and east.
The change of the guard at the main gate happened at the beginning of the first bell strike, and again when the ringing of the ninth strike sounded over the city. At other times it took place as soon as the cathedral’s great bell had rung five times, marking equal intervals of day and night.
The verid-hounds—also called ridans—were a special danger. As tall as a man, strong and swift, yet with scent and other senses as keen as an ordinary dog’s. To flee them was nearly impossible, and in close fight they tore a man to pieces. They could speak, with men as well as with dogs, coordinating their actions. There were about a dozen of them in the estate—surprising, given the aristocrats’ hatred of verids, yet Gaspar, it seems, thinks otherwise and is said to take pride in them. They say he likes to feed them human flesh, making them more aggressive still. The answer was an elixir based on water of lyf and fungal mould: soak one’s clothes with it, and the scent is hidden. As a last resort, one could make a mixture of powdered bog-mint, sulphur, and tar. It breaks the trail and burns the nose. But its use may stir needless commotion in the pack—better to keep it for the direst need.
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The roofs were no way in. Besides the archers, there were a dozen and a half gargoyles up there. By day one could take them for mere statues, but in the hours before dawn Sed noticed how one on the central fa?ade turned its head, tracking a bird in flight. Their presence wholly ruled out an approach from above.
The servants lived in a separate wing. They all knew one another and the guards by sight, and their scents were known to verids and dogs. By one servant’s account, each newly hired hand was deliberately presented to the pack, so they could smell him through.
Sedrik knelt, rough sketches spread across the floor—charcoal lines on parchment.
The roof was dismissed at once: the gargoyles would notice any movement, and fighting them was useless.
Nor did distraction suit—setting a fire, for instance. It would only raise the alarm.
Another route was the storm drains that led into the inner yard. But the grates that blocked the way would be hard to remove without drawing the patrols’ attention.
The coming festivities added their own particulars. On the eve of the celebration supplies were brought into the estate—casks of wine from the duke’s vineyards among them. The route and schedule of delivery were not difficult to learn, and one might try to hide there, but it would require a special cask whose lid could be opened and shut from within. Making such a thing would take too much time, and swapping it for an ordinary cask would be difficult besides.
Every option skirted failure; best, then, to minimize risk and find a weak point.
Louazier, like other aristocrats, see to the protection of their state rooms and bedchambers; it is unlikely they strengthened the guard over service quarters.
Along the wall grew a pair of tall trees; by them one could enter the garden, then, keeping to bushes and statues, make one’s way to the kitchen. There was a door there for bringing in food and firewood—convenient in sound, but it opened straight onto a service yard well-watched by the archers. From experience one might assume the door was barred from within; yet there was another path: a large window for airing, set on the far side of the garden, so that its grate could be removed without fear of being seen.
After that, there were several possibilities. The chief aim was the “Black Sapphire.” By Dwain’s word it was brought in last night, but where it was kept was unknown.
From the kitchen, a service stair could take him to the second floor, but that would put him in a weak position—he would have to move along corridors and pick doors, all the while checking the perimeter. He could enter from another side, more “secluded.”
Gaspar is devout, and a couple of years ago he rebuilt the chapel. An aristocrat will never pass through the same door as servants, much less stand beside them at prayer; thus, such household chapels usually have two levels—the lower for the household, the upper for the master and his family. That upper gallery is typically joined to private chambers. Given Gaspar’s relationship with his son, he is unlikely to keep Ettiere’s trophies with his own, yet by taking that route one might profit well, while searching for the “Black Sapphire” on the upper floors.
Yet it might be kept in the treasury. Dukes like Louazier keep their riches in ancestral castles in their provinces. Capital estates are usually meant for living, so there is likely no great treasury there—but they must keep a decent reserve of gold, most likely underground, and perhaps the “Black Sapphire,” like other trophies, could be stored there for a time. Then it would be better to enter by a drain; but if the stone was not there, it would be exceedingly hard to fight one’s way upward.
Any choice was almost a game played blind. A detailed plan of the building could not be obtained, and the one he had was half-empty. The placement of rooms could only be guessed—by watching the windows, by servants’ tales, by the chimneys’ arrangement, and by common architectural custom. Even so, Sedrik looked over the drawings with cold certainty and a gambler’s hunger. On the eve of the great night, he set a saucer of milk on the sill. Any seasoned thief knows: every plan ends the moment you arrive, and then you must trust your skill and your instinct. This time was no exception.
