Act 1: The Impossible Theft
Inspector William Wright’s heart raced and his breath quickened at the sight of the grand treasury’s massive golden doors. Unable to keep from fidgeting with the unfamiliar badge pinned to his vest, he felt compelled to stop and check for the third time that morning if he had somehow failed to pin the badge on straight.
“Pardon me, sir,” a passing banker muttered, turning sideways to avoid colliding with the inspector.
The square was busy, so others soon followed suit, glaring at the inspector, who stood like an unmoving pylon in the sea of bankers, treasury agents, merchants, and scribes passing through the king’s halls of commerce and trade.
All were no doubt on important business. Yet no one was here on more important business than Inspector Wright.
With the glares of passersby mounting against him and his superior waiting, William reinserted himself into the melee, navigating the tides until he found one that carried him to the treasury’s entrance.
“Inspector Wright,” growled a voice. Chief Inspector Bartholomew stepped into view, his gray-streaked beard bristling and his scowl leveled with obvious annoyance at the junior inspector. “Kind of you to finally join us.”
William straightened his shoulders. Three days into his promotion, he had already found himself thrust into the kingdom’s most sensitive case, and at the request of the king himself, no less. Though he remained uncertain why the king honored him, William knew he needed to make a good impression on the chief inspector. As the youngest watchman ever to achieve the rank of inspector, William knew he needed to impress many people.
“Chief Inspector,” William said, nodding. “I’m eager to assist however I can.”
“Humph. Well, follow me. And mind you, speak of what you see to no one. This matter does not leave these walls.”
The massive golden doors groaned open to reveal a long antechamber lined with a dozen royal guards, their faces grim beneath plumed helmets. William hurried after his superior, who maintained a brisk pace down the line of guardsmen, following him through a corridor where more guardsmen stood at attention at the top of a staircase and again at the bottom. They stopped before a set of open vault doors fashioned from steel so thick that William doubted even the strongest battering ram could dent them.
“The vault doors,” Bartholomew said. “Ever seen them before?”
“No, sir.”
Bartholomew gestured to an intricate mechanism where three keyholes formed a triangle pattern. “Enchanted locks,” he said. “Three officials must turn three different keys simultaneously while a fourth individual speaks the correct incantation. The enchantment changes daily.”
“Who is responsible for the keys?” Inspector Wright asked, the knot in his stomach loosening now that he had something to focus on.
“The King’s Treasurer, the Master Banker, and the Captain of the Royal Guard,” Chief Inspector Bartholomew said. “Not once in Alchester’s history have the three conspired to steal from the king, so you needn’t spend time looking there.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, sir,” William said, understanding that to accuse even one of them falsely meant adding the title of the shortest tenured inspector to that of the youngest. “The incantation? Who manages that?”
“The King’s Mage, of course.”
The chief inspector waved at William to follow him into the vault. “Shall we?”
A flurry of treasury officials and other king’s inspectors milled about inside. William had heard tales of the royal vault since childhood, but nothing prepared him for the reality. The interior was vast, its ceiling so high that the uppermost shelves disappeared into shadow, where crystal chandeliers hung like frozen stars, illuminating the room with an enchanted light that never dimmed. Seven enormous archways supported by pillars of marble veined with gold radiated outward from a circular central chamber, each leading to specialized vaults housing Kallendor’s immense wealth.
The floor gleamed with polished granite inlaid with precious stones, arranged in intricate mosaics that depicted the kingdom’s history. Silent statues, sentinels rumored to animate should any unauthorized visitor attempt theft, stood at every few paces. Hundreds of chests lined the curved walls between the archways, each forged from rare ironwood and bound with enchanted steel, bearing the royal seal stamped in gold and precious gems. A single person could manage the smaller chests, while others towered taller than a man. Treasury workers moved among them with reverent precision, their official robes emblazoned with symbols denoting their rank and clearance level.
At the chamber’s center stood the immense royal scales, masterworks unlike anything in the Four Fiefdoms. Not the simple balance instruments used by marketplace merchants, but complex devices of brass and silver rising fifteen feet high, with multiple weighing platforms suspended by chains of gold. Ancient runes covered every surface, glowing faintly when in use, enchanted for perfect accuracy by the first royal mage centuries ago. Legend held that the scales could detect the difference in weight of even a single grain of sand added or removed.
But it was the vault’s stacks of gold that took Inspector Wright’s breath away.
Mountains of coins, ingots, and ceremonial objects filled every corner. So much that it was a wonder anyone had noticed any of it missing.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” came a thin, reedy voice.
Inspector Wright turned to see a small man in elaborate robes approaching. The royal seal hung so heavy around his neck that his head drooped. Scribes clutching ledgers flanked him.
“Master Banker Ambrose,” Bartholomew said. “May I present Inspector William Wright? It was Master Banker Ambrose who discovered the discrepancy.”
Ambrose’s face contorted. “Discovered! As if it were a simple accounting error! Inspector Wright, what we face is impossible. Absolutely impossible!”
William folded his hands before him. “I just arrived, so perhaps you could explain what happened, sir.”
The treasurer wrung his hands. “Every year, my staff audits the contents of the entire treasury, a process that takes a full fortnight, with our most trusted officials working day and night. Last year’s count placed our reserves at 1,532 king’s weight.”
One of the accompanying scribes stepped forward, holding a ledger so massive he staggered under its weight.
“The Golden Book,” Master Ambrose said. “The book contains a record of all vault transactions.”
Bound in oxblood leather that had darkened to near-black with age, intricate brass fittings that gleamed despite decades of handling reinforced the tome’s corners. Its spine, thick as a man’s wrist, bore the royal seal embossed in gold leaf, worn from years of reverent touches. As the scribe opened the cover, the pages of the finest vellum revealed themselves, each one ruled with crimson lines and inscribed in meticulous copperplate handwriting that flowed across the pages like liquid gold. The golden record of the realm’s treasury, accountants numbered, dated, and sealed every page with wax impressions bearing the mark of each royal treasurer who had served the crown. Margin notes in different hands showed the layered verification history, with each entry double-checked and countersigned by no fewer than three officials. Some of the earliest pages had taken on an amber hue, but not a single entry had faded—a testament to the treasury’s specially formulated ink. The scribe turned pages until he found the one he wanted, then ran a finger down a line of figures.
“Since that time, we have documented expenditures of 236 king’s weight for royal projects, military campaigns, and court functions,” he recited. “While tariffs, levies, and fines amounted to 153 king’s weight in incoming revenue.”
“Which should leave us with 1,449 king’s weight,” Ambrose said, his voice rising. “But yesterday’s count confirmed only 1,297! Somehow, 152 king’s weight of gold has vanished!”
The chamber fell silent save for the echo of his last word. Vanished.
Inspector Wright frowned. “If I am to understand the situation correctly, you’re saying a specific sum of gold—152 king’s weight, to be precise—has gone missing over the past year. Is that right?”
“Not missing,” the banker screeched. “Vanished.”
William exchanged a look with his superior, who shrugged. Inspector Wright cleared his throat. “Vanished—and not missing—because of the meticulous nature of the audit process carried out by you and your staff, I presume?”
“Exactly so!” Mr. Ambrose said.
William understood the sensitive nature of the predicament now. How could he not? One hundred fifty-two king’s weight of anything was significant, but this was the royal treasury. The wealth of their nation. That someone foiled the vault’s protection mechanisms and pilfered such a large sum was an embarrassment to the crown and a hardship for the people of Kallendor, who would most likely suffer higher taxes and such to make up for the shortfall. Not to mention the reputational cost to people like Master Banker Ambrose, who was most certainly about to find himself bereft of a job and perhaps even his life. While it remained too early to rule out theft, on the surface, it seemed improbable. The more plausible explanation was an error in the auditing process. However, William knew the master banker would never admit to that unless confronted with irrefutable evidence, as it placed the responsibility for the shortfall squarely on his shoulders. A far easier explanation was one William cringed at even mentioning. Yet someone would sooner or later, so it was best he addressed it openly now.
“I suppose you suspect magic, Mr. Ambrose?” Inspector Wright asked.
“What other explanation is there?” the master banker said, eyeing William with suspicion.
Blaming magic was all too often a matter of convenience. While Inspector Wright didn’t outright discount the possibility, his job was to find answers. If someone had used magic to pilfer the king’s gold, his investigation would reveal it. But he’d make no assumptions nor draw any conclusions so early in the process. One must maintain an open mind, especially at this early stage of an investigation.
Still scrutinizing the inspector, Master Ambrose asked, “Aren’t you a little young to be a king’s inspector?”
Chief Inspector Bartholomew stepped in. “Rest assured, Master Banker. Inspector Wright may look young, but he is a rising star in our ranks. One of our best. We will find who did this and bring them to justice.”
Ambrose humphed. “See that you do.”
While the master banker stepped away to deal with a waiting scribe, Inspector Wright strolled about the room. Bartholomew followed. Approaching one of the many stacked arrangements of gold, he was careful not to touch anything. “One year is a long time since the last reckoning, don’t you think?” William asked his superior.
Bartholomew waved his hand across the vault’s expanse. “It’s a lot to count. They do periodic measurements of specific lots more frequently. Once a month, at a minimum.”
Inspector Wright looked up sharply. “Was any specific lot short?”
“Not one,” Bartholomew said. “All.”
William considered the implication. “But that would mean the perpetrator had intimate knowledge of the auditing schedule. Enough to know which lots to steal from, but only after the treasury officials had completed their count. That way, no one would notice the missing gold right away.”
Chief Inspector Bartholomew nodded his agreement. “Perhaps not for an entire year, if one planned it right.”
“Who knows the auditing schedule?” William asked.
“Not many,” the chief inspector said. “I have someone compiling a list now.”
“Any record of unauthorized entry or someone tampering with the locks or enchantments?”
“None,” Bartholomew replied flatly. “The guards maintain a constant watch. As far as anyone knows, no one has so much as tripped an enchantment. Even the dust on the unused chests remains undisturbed.”
“Which is why,” Master Ambrose interjected, rejoining them, “we must be dealing with magic. Dark magic. Nothing else could explain it.”
While the chief inspector promised to overturn every stone—magical or otherwise—Wright continued circling the room, examining the arches, the ceiling, and the floor. Every stone fit perfectly, without gaps or seams that might conceal a hidden passage or secret tunnel into the vault. He didn’t think it would be that easy, but he believed in thoroughness above all else.
Returning to the others, William asked, “What about the monthly audits? When was the last partial count conducted?”
“Four weeks ago, Inspector,” Master Ambrose said. “At that time, a targeted measurement of allotment thirteen in the southern repository showed everything in order.”
“And now? Does the latest count of that allotment show a difference?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything unusual at all about the most recent annual audit? Even the smallest difference from past audits might provide a clue.”
The master banker gave the question the thought it deserved. But finally, he shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind other than we started three days earlier than usual.”
“Three days early?” Bartholomew asked. “Is the auditing schedule so regimented to make that unusual?”
Ambrose shrugged. “It’s a break from protocol, but well within my purview. I had the needed personnel at hand, so I authorized my staff to begin early.”
William didn’t fault the banker for his initiative, but he couldn’t help but think the schedule change played a role in the turn of events. For now, he filed that information away until he knew more.
“What about the scales?” William asked, gesturing at the elaborate measuring devices. “Are they calibrated and in good working order?”
The master banker nodded. “The Ministry of Weights and Measurements guarantees it.”
“Who conducts the measurements?”
“I personally oversee all counts,” Ambrose declared proudly. “Assisted only by trusted officials who have served the treasury for no less than twelve years.”
Chief Inspector Bartholomew cleared his throat. “We’ve already questioned every treasury official, Inspector Wright. Twice. We’ve examined the guards’ rotations. Gideon Graveshire even inspected for foreign magical auras. He found nothing.”
Many said never to trust a wizard, but William had met Gideon a time or two and always found him a pleasant, honest enough fellow. If he said magic wasn’t involved, then that was good enough for him. Master Banker Ambrose did not share such sentiment.
“That doesn’t mean magic isn’t to blame,” he said.
“Of course, Master Banker,” Bartholomew said, humoring him. “But there is simply no explanation except...”
“Except that someone did the impossible,” William said, his mind racing now that the mystery took hold. He might be new to the ranks of the king’s inspectors, but he wasn’t an inexperienced investigator. Every puzzle had a solution. Some were only harder to crack than others. “I’d like to see the ledgers for the past year. All of them.”
Ambrose and Bartholomew exchanged glances.
“Inspector,” Bartholomew said with forced patience, “these are royal accounts. They bear the king’s seal, and multiple officials have verified them. Surely you don’t think...”
“I think,” Wright interrupted, careful to keep his tone respectful, “that when the impossible occurs, we must question everything, even that which seems beyond question.”
Master Ambrose nodded curtly. “Very well. I’ll have the records made available. But I warn you, Inspector Wright, if you find nothing, as I suspect you will, I’ll personally inform His Majesty that you wasted valuable time when you should have been hunting the true culprit.” With that, he spun about and stalked off to see to other business.
The inspectors watched him leave before Bartholomew turned to Inspector Wright and asked, “Any theories?”
“A few,” William said, but unwilling to share them just yet. “I know my involvement in this case is unusual, sir. Truth be told, I’m not sure why the king requested me personally. But I hope I’ll have your full support.”
“Anything you need,” Bartholomew said. “We all want to solve this case as expeditiously as possible. I have others working the case from different angles, but the king was clear that you are to have a certain amount of autonomy to pursue your own leads.”
William felt his chief inspector’s eyes lingering on him.
“Take some advice?” Bartholomew asked.
“Of course, sir,” William said by rote.
“A case like this can make or break your career. You’re young and, despite what you may think, inexperienced. As you said, His Royal Majesty has asked for your help, so follow the clues. But make sure you don’t follow them into such a deep, dark hole that you can’t get out.”
“Good advice, sir,” Inspector Wright said, unsure if it really was but grateful that his superior felt compelled to offer any advice at all. “I will keep that in mind. Thank you, sir.”
As Bartholomew wandered off to follow up with the other inspectors in the room, William surveyed the gleaming treasure one more time. He had jumped when word arrived about King Classus wanting him on this case. Who wouldn’t? He joined the Ministry of Justice because he wanted to make a difference, and here was his chance. But making a difference meant solving the case, something he wasn’t sure he could do.
Act 2: Following the Clues
Inspector Wright sat alone in a small treasury antechamber surrounded by stacks of ledgers. The closet-sized room served as a temporary office where he could examine the financial records without disturbing the regular business in the main vault. Three days had passed since his first examination of the treasury, and his eyes burned from scrutinizing endless columns of numbers by lamplight. Regardless of the outcome of this case, he was at least grateful that he hadn’t chosen the career of an accountant.
Each ledger was a masterwork of meticulous record-keeping, with perfectly aligned figures, no corrections, and every page-level entry stamped with the royal seal and signed by at least two treasury officials. William flipped another page, temporarily removing his spectacles to rub at his temples. So far, the ledgers showed a flawless accounting system, which he might have found reassuring under other circumstances. Right now, though, the carefully kept records only deepened his suspicion.
A knock at the door interrupted his concentration.
“Enter,” he called, returning his glasses to their usual place.
Captain Renard of the Royal Palace Guard stepped inside, filling the doorframe with his broad shoulders. “Inspector Wright? Any progress to report?”
William let out a breath as he leaned back. “Nothing conclusive, Captain. Your men still have found no evidence of forced entry or tampering with the locks?”
Renard folded his arms across his chest. “None whatsoever.”
William nodded slowly. “What about the treasury workers? Any suspicious behavior, sudden wealth, unusual absences?”
“No one stands out so far,” Renard replied. “I can’t vouch for the bankers, but I know many treasury guards personally. They’re good men. Many beyond reproach.”
“That may be, Captain, but no one is beyond investigation,” William said, perhaps with too sharp an edge to his words. “Still, I appreciate your thoroughness.”
After Renard departed, William returned to the ledgers with renewed focus. Whoever had removed the gold from the vault had done so at regular intervals over the span of a year. Assuming magic wasn’t involved, as Master Banker Ambrose continued to insist, and the scales uncompromised, the discrepancy had to lie in the accounting. But damn if he could find anything.
Hours later, he slammed the final ledger shut in frustration. Every calculation was correct. Every withdrawal and deposit properly documented at the time of counting and again on leaving the vault. Different individuals conducted each count, so short of a conspiracy, which remained a distinct possibility, everything checked out. Even cross-referencing the monthly spot checks with the annual counts revealed no inconsistencies. The records showed precisely what they should: 1,532 king’s weight minus 236 in expenditures plus 153 in revenue, equaling 1,449 king’s weight. Yet the most recent audit found only 1,297.
A soft cough from the doorway drew his attention. Chief Inspector Bartholomew stood there, watching him with a hawkish gaze. “Any revelations in those pages, Inspector Wright?”
William stood and stretched his cramped muscles. “Nothing obvious, sir. The records appear flawless.”
“As expected,” Bartholomew said. “The senior investigators believe we’re dealing with one of two scenarios. Either someone with extraordinary magical abilities circumvented our protections, or...”
“Or it’s an inside job,” William finished.
“Precisely.” Bartholomew stepped closer, lowering his voice. “His Majesty is growing impatient, Wright. We need answers, not more questions.”
William met his superior’s gaze. “With respect, sir, both theories have serious flaws. If someone used magic powerful enough to bypass the vault’s enchantments, why steal only 152 king’s weight? Why not more? Or less? Why something as specific as 152? On the other hand, if it’s an inside job, how did they move that much gold with no one noticing? Even taken at regular intervals, it’s not a small amount.”
Bartholomew frowned. “What are you suggesting?”
William scratched his chin. “I’m not sure yet. But I believe we’re missing something.”
“That much is obvious,” Bartholomew growled. “The king has granted you unusual latitude because of your unique investigative approach. But remember what I said about deep, dark holes, Wright. Don’t disappoint His Majesty, the Ministry of Justice, or me.”
With nothing left to do, William gathered his notes and extinguished the lamp. His conventional methods had yielded nothing. Fortunately, he still had some unconventional ones to explore. William valued the other inspectors’ work, but sometimes you needed an outside perspective. An outside, expert perspective.
#
Rogue’s Den had no street-facing storefront or sign hanging over its door. Neither did it have a conventional front entry. All of that was intentional, and while it might seem detrimental to business, the opposite was true. If a person had never heard of the Den or didn’t know where to find it in Low Town, then that person didn’t belong there.
Fortunately for Madame Vex, the Den’s sharp-tongued proprietor, enough folks knew exactly where to find the place to keep up a steady business. Alchemists seeking unregistered ingredients, enforcers between contracts, and the city’s most skilled pickpockets kept gold flowing and whispers circulating. But sometimes, someone who didn’t belong caught wind of the location and thought they were the rough-and-tumble sort who might fit right in with the Den’s usual clientele of thieves, cutthroats, and street dregs. Some of these bravados succeeded in blending in. But those who didn’t? The city watch usually found them the next morning with a gut full of steel in a back alley or laid out across a sewer grate, their blood seeping into the city’s filth.
Inspector Wright had no illusions about whether or not he fit in with the Den’s usual patrons. However, he knew how to look inconspicuous and, if needed, handle himself in a scrape. That was why he arrived wearing a plain brown cloak with the hood pulled low over his face and, instead of his usual sword, a concealed dagger. He realized too late that perhaps he should have swapped his polished brown loafers for something more utilitarian, but he was inside before the thought occurred to him. Despite his precautions, William felt exposed as soon as the door creaked shut behind him.
Inside, the air reeked of pipe smoke and the sour smell of cheap ale. Conversations quieted, suspicious glances evaluating him before returning to mugs and cards. William made his way to the bar, ordered a drink he had no intention of consuming, and casually surveyed the room.
In the far corner, partially obscured by shadow, sat a woman alone at a table. Even from a distance, he recognized her from the descriptions he had gathered: short auburn hair and light skin, her fingers adorned with silver rings, and an amused expression suggesting she knew something no one else in the room did.
Elizabeth West.
As he watched, she rolled a set of ivory dice, studying their pattern before gathering them up again. No opponent sat across the table from her, yet she seemed engaged in an intense game only she could see.
William approached her, aware that several pairs of eyes tracked his movement through the smoky tavern. When he reached her table, Elizabeth spoke without looking up, her words as sharp as the pair of daggers at her belt.
“Whatever you’re selling, Inspector, I’m not buying.”
William frowned. “What makes you think I’m an inspector?”
Elizabeth looked up then, amber eyes glinting with amusement. “You walk like one. Shoulders back, eyes constantly scanning, cataloging. You nervous?” She shook the dice and rolled again. Snake-eyes. “Also, you haven’t touched your drink.”
“Maybe I’m a thief . . . or an assassin.”
Elizabeth grinned and lifted a brow. “You ever seen yourself in a mirror? You are most definitely not an assassin.”
William frowned at that, knowing she was right. There was hiding in plain sight, and there was implausible. His youthful good looks and innocent demeanor were more the latter than the former.
Elizabeth sighed and gestured to the empty chair. “Sit down before you draw any more attention to us. Nothing says, ‘I don’t belong here’ quite like hovering awkwardly.”
He sat, placing his untouched mug on the table. “Good evening, Ms. West. My name is Inspector William Wright. I’m here because I’m told you have certain expertise.”
“That right?” Elizabeth sat back, drawing one of the daggers from her belt. She used the tip to clean beneath her fingernails. “The Ministry so desperate for lawmen they’re hiring children now?”
William cleared his throat. “I am in my early twenties. While that is young for someone in my role, I can assure you, I earned my badge the same as anyone else.”
Elizabeth held up her hands in mock surrender. “All right then, Inspector. How do you know who I am?”
“I have made it my business to familiarize myself with Mr. Targalas’s operation, including knowing the identities of his lieutenants. I know all about you, Garrick Greyfoot, Zara Blackthorn, Nyxander Hawkins, and others.”
“All about us?”
“Well, perhaps not all. But enough.”
Elizabeth continued cleaning her fingernails. “If I were you, Inspector, I’d be careful with those names. Wrong person hears, and you might wish you’d never said them.”
Inspector Wright sat up. “Is that a threat?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Consider it a friendly warning. Now, what do you want? I assume you’re here about what happened in the palace?”
William blinked in surprise. “How do you—?”
“Know about the theft?” she asked. “What else could it be? Palace guards have been asking after me for three days. Not very subtle questions, either. I assumed someone would eventually show up. I expected someone older, though.”
Quite old enough to arrest you, William wanted to say. But he needed Elizabeth’s help, so he ignored the quip. “I need insight into how a thief might operate in an impossible situation.”
Elizabeth’s lips curled into a devilish grin. “Impossible situations are my specialty. But information costs, Inspector Wright. What are you offering in exchange?”
William had anticipated this, so he said without hesitation, “Immunity.”
Elizabeth let out a burst of laughter so raucous it drew glances from around the smoky room. “Immunity? For what? You’d need to catch me doing something first, and no one’s managed that yet.”
“Not for past offenses,” William said. “Official immunity from prosecution by my office, signed by the king himself. Good for one year and one year only. For your expert consultation on this case.”
William couldn’t help but miss the sparkle of interest in her eyes.
“That’s unusually generous,” Elizabeth said. She rattled her knuckles on the table, studying the inspector. Her decision made, she gathered her dice and slipped them into a pouch. “Tell me about your impossible theft, Inspector Wright. But not here.”
They exited the Den together, Inspector Wright following Elizabeth through a maze of back alleys to a small courtyard hidden between buildings. A modest fountain burbled at its center, the sound masking their conversation from potential eavesdroppers.
“Now,” she said, sitting on the fountain’s edge, “tell me everything. I know it’s a theft. But what was stolen?”
William hesitated. “Much of this is classified, so I can only relate—”
Elizabeth lifted a brow. “Then why did you ask for my help? Either you trust my expertise enough to share the details, or you’re wasting both our time.”
William weighed his options. If word got out about weaknesses in the royal treasury’s security, panic could spread throughout the kingdom. It might even instill enough confidence in thieves like Elizabeth or one of her cohorts, like Ms. Blackthorn, to make a play for the treasury. But he needed answers. He knew he would have to share some details with her, but he’d have to exercise caution regarding which ones.
“Gold has disappeared from the royal treasury,” he said finally. “A significant amount.”
“How significant?”
“One hundred fifty-two king’s weight.”
Elizabeth let out a soft whistle. “That’s not just significant, Inspector. That’s damn near impossible to move without someone noticing.”
“We believe the perpetrator performed the heist over the past twelve months,” William said.
Elizabeth contemplated that information and nodded knowingly. “Moving a little at a time, though that’s still an awful lot of money to go missing for no one to notice until now.”
“Treasury officials have promised a full review of their auditing process. However, in the meantime, I have a case to solve. As near as we can tell, the vault shows no signs of forced entry. The enchantments remain intact. The guards saw nothing. Yet 152 king’s weight of gold has vanished.”
“What about magical transportation?” Elizabeth asked. “Teleportation spells, dimensional pockets?”
William shook his head. “The court mage found no traces of external magic.”
“The scales, then,” she said, tapping her fingers thoughtfully. “Someone tampered with the measuring instruments.”
“We considered that, but the scales are sophisticated pieces of machinery. If someone had altered them, officials at the Ministry of Weights and Measurements would know.”
Elizabeth fell silent, her brow furrowed in concentration. William crossed his arms, wondering if he’d made a mistake getting her involved. Then she looked up, her expression lit by a revelation.
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re asking how someone stole the gold without being detected. But what if that’s not what happened?”
William frowned. “The gold is missing. Someone removed it from the vault.”
“Is it?” Elizabeth challenged. “Or is that what someone wants you to believe?”
The inspector stared at her, uncomprehending.
“Tell me, who tallies the results of the audit?”
“Treasury officials. The Master Banker oversees everything personally.”
“And the ledgers? Who maintains those?”
“The same officials, under supervision.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly. “And they all confirm that someone stole 152 king’s weight of gold?”
“Yes,” William said, growing frustrated. “That’s the problem, as I originally stated.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, shooting up. “The problem is that you’re too focused on what’s missing to see what’s actually there.”
William’s frown deepened. “Speak plainly, please.”
“Real thieves don’t work the way you think, Inspector,” she said, pacing the small courtyard. “Magic and brute force? That’s for amateurs. The best thefts happen right under your nose, without you ever realizing you’ve been robbed.”
“How?”
“Deception,” Elizabeth said. “The best thieves make you question your own perception. They don’t always steal objects. Sometimes, they steal truth.”
She stopped pacing to face the inspector. “You’re looking for missing gold, Inspector Wright. But what if the gold was never there to begin with?”
William felt a chill run down his spine as her meaning became clear. “You’re suggesting someone falsified the records. That some of the gold reported in last year’s count—”
“Might have already been stolen,” she finished. “You said gold’s gone missing over the past year? I think you need to expand your timeline.”
As the implications sank in, William could do nothing but stare back at her.
“I think, Inspector, that you might have a full-blown conspiracy on your hands.”
William wanted to groan but maintained his composure and asked, “But to what end?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “That’s for you to figure out. I’m just telling you how a professional would approach an ‘impossible’ theft.”
“But the records bear the king’s seal,” William said, more to himself than to Elizabeth. “Multiple officials verified the entries. I’ve examined the records and found nothing.”
“Maybe someone duplicated the seal. Bribed or blackmailed officials. Nothing is as secure as you believe, Inspector.”
She reached into her pouch and withdrew something, flicking it toward him. William caught it with a deft hand. He held his inspector’s badge.
“When did you—?” he started to say before his other hand closed on the badge in his pocket.
“I didn’t,” Elizabeth said, smiling at his confusion. “I’ve never touched your badge. But I made you question whether I had.”
William stared at the replica, understanding dawning. “Deception.”
“Exactly,” she nodded. “Question everything, Inspector. Especially the things you assume are genuine.”
William nodded. He held up the counterfeit badge, like he meant to toss it back to her. Instead, he stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m confiscating this.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I’ve got more. Now, about that offer of immunity.”
#
William took his time returning to the treasury. From the start, he’d suspected the treasury theft was no simple heist. But the more he considered the crime and what Elizabeth had said, the more it made sense that he’d stumbled onto a conspiracy of the highest order. Forget about low-level treasury officials and the like. Only someone at the highest levels of government could pull off this sort of prolonged deception. The thought stopped him in his tracks.
But why? What purpose did creating phantom gold in the treasury records serve?
William didn’t know. What he did know was that standing here in the street wouldn’t provide any answers. So he got moving, returning to the treasury with renewed purpose. He needed to re-examine the ledgers in this new light and the officials who maintained them.
Inside the treasury records room, he found a young scribe organizing documents. “Leave everything as it is,” he ordered. “And bring me the treasury’s royal seal authenticator.”
The scribe looked confused. “Sir?”
“The magnifying tool used to verify the authenticity of the king’s seal,” William said impatiently. “Bring it here immediately.”
When the scribe returned with the tool—a complex lens device with enhancing crystals embedded in its frame—William dismissed him and locked the door. He then examined the royal seal on each ledger from the previous year’s count. Hours passed as he scrutinized each impression, looking for any inconsistency, any sign of forgery. His eyes burned and his back ached from bending over the documents, but he pressed on, driven by his desire to solve this case. A city bell ringing in the distance signaled the midnight hour before he finally gave up. Unable to find a single discrepancy, he slumped in his chair, dejected and unsure where to look next.
A sharp knock at the door startled him.
“Inspector Wright? Are you still in there?” Chief Inspector Bartholomew’s voice called.
William stowed the authenticator away and unlocked the door. Bartholomew stepped inside, his expression stern.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Inspector.”
“Not avoiding, sir,” William replied, keeping his voice steady despite his despondency. “Investigating.”
“And has your investigation yielded any results?” Bartholomew asked, his tone hopeful. If no one solved this case, the chief inspector was in as much trouble as anyone else. Probably more so because he was in charge.
William hesitated to respond. So far, he had nothing but conjecture without evidence. Still, perhaps his superior’s input might help, so he said, “I’m pursuing a promising lead.”
“King Classus is demanding progress, Wright. The council meets tomorrow, and His Majesty wants answers. I hoped you would have more than a lead by now.”
“I understand, sir. I believe someone may have compromised the king’s seal and falsified records going back years.”
Bartholomew turned a curious stare toward him. “A scheme like that could only happen if someone very high up was involved.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have proof of this?”
Again, William hesitated.
“Well?”
“No, sir. Not yet. I need a little more time to piece things together. If this conspiracy does go to the highest levels . . . . Well, I remember what you said, sir, and I plan to stay as far away from deep, dark holes as I can manage.”
The chief inspector grunted. “See that you do. Continue your investigation. This case has too many eyes on it for failure. Unfortunately, no one else has made heads or tails of it yet.”
Bartholomew spun around and stomped off. As the echo of his footsteps grew more distant, William gathered his notes and slipped them inside his coat. He would need to find evidence—and quickly. Outside, with the night air cool against his face, William couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder several times but saw nothing suspicious. Still, his instincts rarely misled him. Someone knew he was getting closer to the truth. William wished he agreed.
Act 3: The Truth Unfolds
William spent a restless night in his modest quarters. By dawn, he had formulated a plan, though not a very good one. It involved examining more treasury records, the thought of which was depressing enough that he sipped his morning coffee with little enthusiasm. He was about to head out when he heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find Captain Renard standing there.
“Apologies for disturbing you at home, Inspector Wright. There’s been a development.”
His interest piqued, William grabbed his hat and coat, and soon the pair strode down the avenue while the captain explained.
“My men apprehended a suspected forger early this morning. They found him with materials related to the treasury investigation. I came to fetch you before we began our interrogation.”
“How did your men even know about him?” William asked.
“Anonymous tip,” the captain said. “I received a message that read, ‘Look past the deception,’ along with the suspect’s name.”
William grunted, wondering why Ms. West had further involved herself, but thankful, nonetheless.
“I’ve no idea what the message means,” Captain Renard said, “but the name was good. When we arrived at the suspect’s shop, we found him attempting to destroy evidence.”
“What sort of evidence?” William asked.
“Papers bearing a remarkable resemblance to official treasury documents. And something you’ll want to see for yourself.”
Captain Renard led Inspector Wright through the winding corridors of the Ministry of Justice, down several flights of stone steps, and into the dimly lit detention area. The air grew more damp and colder as they descended, the scent of mildew mingling with that of burning oil from the wall sconces. They stopped at a heavy iron door. The guard stationed outside straightened as they approached. Renard went straight to a table laden with scrolls and other documents.
“What do you make of this, Inspector?” Renard asked, unwrapping a small cloth bundle. What he held resembled the official king’s seal with remarkable accuracy.
William examined it. “A counterfeit of the royal seal, though not a perfect one. Good work, Captain.”
“My men have the rest of the evidence locked away upstairs.”
William nodded. “Should we see what the suspect has to say?”
The guard unlocked the door. “He’s been asking for water since he arrived, sir.”
William and Renard exchanged glances. A simple request, but one often denied to suspects to keep them uncomfortable.
“Bring him water,” William instructed.
The guard looked at his captain, who nodded his confirmation.
Inside the small cell, a man sat hunched on a wooden bench, his hands trembling. He was neither old nor young—perhaps forty—with thinning hair and the ink-stained fingers of a scribe. His clothes, though rumpled, were of good quality. Not the attire of a common criminal but that of a respectable tradesman. He looked up as they entered.
William introduced himself and the captain. The prisoner seemed delighted to see the inspector, but less so with Captain Renard.
Inspector Wright held up the seal. “Where did you get this?”
The forger looked from the inspector to the captain. “I’ll speak only with you, Inspector. Alone. Please.”
Renard frowned.
“It’s all right, Captain,” William said. “I can handle this.”
Renard hesitated but eventually nodded. “Very well. But I’ll remain just outside the door.”
Once the captain had left, William pulled a stool closer to the prisoner. “What’s your name?”
“Malden. Ellard Malden.” The man swallowed hard. “I’m a scribe by trade. I specialize in calligraphy, official documents, that sort of thing.”
“And unofficial documents, it seems,” William added, his tone measured but firm. He tossed the fake seal onto the table. “Specifically, forgeries bearing the royal seal.”
Ellard shuttered his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Though not by choice, Inspector. You must believe me.”
William leaned forward. “Tell me everything, Mr. Malden. Beginning with who commissioned these forgeries.”
The door opened to admit the guard, who delivered a cup of water. Malden drank gratefully before continuing.
“I never dealt directly with the true client,” he began, his voice steadier now. “Two years ago, an intermediary named Corvus approached me. Well-spoken, expensively dressed. He said his employer needed certain treasury disbursement requests altered.”
“Altered how?”
“Numbers changed to larger values.” Ellard wrung his hands before him. “I refused at first. Forging the king’s seal is treason. But Corvus made it clear that refusal wasn’t an option.”
“He threatened you?”
“Not in so many words. He mentioned my sister’s children in Westbridge. How unfortunate if they had a mishap.” Ellard’s voice cracked. “What choice did I have?”
William nodded but pressed on.
“Who is Corvus? Who does he work for?”
“He never said. But once, when he was particularly impatient, he let slip something about his master’s displeasure at a delayed shipment.”
“Shipment? What shipment?”
Ellard shook his head. “I don’t know. I only forged the documents they brought me. Treasury records mostly and some diplomatic papers regarding payments to Vranna.”
William’s interest sharpened. “Did you see what these diplomatic papers contained?”
“Not in detail. I merely authenticated the documents with the forged seal.” Malden glanced up, his eyes fearful. “You don’t understand the danger, Inspector. These people are powerful. When the guards came to my shop, I tried to destroy everything because I knew what would happen to me if I didn’t.”
“Or did you destroy them because you feared we would discover your involvement?”
“No! You have to believe me, Inspector.”
“I want to, sir. But I need a name. Someone else to pin this on, or you’ll go down for all of it.”
The scribe shook his head. “I told you, I only interacted with Corvus.” Malden reached out to clutch William’s arm with surprising strength. “But whoever it is, if he discovers I’ve spoken to you, neither of us will live to see tomorrow.”
“You’re under Ministry protection now,” William said, though he wasn’t entirely convinced that mattered. He didn’t doubt Mr. Malden when he said his employer was someone powerful. But power didn’t exempt one from the king’s law, so the inspector asked with renewed firmness, “What else can you tell me about these forgeries? How many documents did you alter?”
“Dozens. Treasury records, diplomatic authorizations, shipment manifests.” Malden released William’s arm. “The last ones came just a week ago—documents concerning Vrannan military supplies.”
William frowned. “Vranna is supplying us with military equipment?”
“No, Inspector.” Ellard shook his head. “The manifests I saw were for shipments to Vranna, not from them. Along with the military equipment, massive payments for something called Project Nightfall.”
William’s mind raced. Why was someone sending military equipment to Vranna, and why all the deception and secrecy?
Ellard took another drink. “The documents I forged bypassed normal authorization channels. No Royal Council signatures and no treasurer approval.”
William placed the fake seal in his pocket and stood. “Where can I find Corvus?”
“I don’t usually find him. He finds me. He comes to my shop every three days to pick up documents or to check in. In fact, he’s due to arrive this afternoon.”
William knew there was no time to lose then. But he had one more question.
“Did you ever perform any book forgeries?”
Ellard shook his head. “Corvus dropped off sheets of parchment mostly. Never an entire book.”
Inspector Wright nodded, and as Ellard sank into his seat, the inspector left the room. Outside, Captain Renard waited alone.
“Well?” Renard asked.
“I need Mr. Malden moved to a secure location immediately,” William said. “Somewhere only you and I know about.”
“You think his life is in danger?”
“I don’t know,” William said. “But better safe than sorry. We may have uncovered a conspiracy that may go as high as the King’s Council for all I know right now.”
Renard studied William, conflict evident in his eyes. Finally, he nodded.
“There’s a safe house the palace guard maintains for endangered witnesses. Few know of it.” He paused. “If what you’re suggesting is true, Inspector, we’re entering dangerous territory.”
“We’re already there, Captain.” William glanced back at the cell door. “Have the prisoner moved quietly, and as soon as possible.”
Renard nodded. “Consider it done. Where are you off to?”
“Mr. Malden mentioned someone else. A middleman of sorts. I believe that if I can find and apprehend him, I might establish a connection to the ringleader of this operation.”
“Need any help?” the captain asked. “I’m pretty handy with a sword.”
“More than handy, I imagine,” William said. “I’ll welcome any help I can get.”
“Then let’s get to it, shall we? Where do we look first?”
“I’ll fill you in on the way. If Mr. Malden is correct, we haven’t a moment to lose.”
Outside, the inspector and captain hurried into the city. They had a man to catch.
#
The brass bell above the door to Ellard’s shop sang a treacherous melody as Corvus slipped inside, his silhouette framed against the misty streetlamps before the door closed behind him. Inspector Wright sat at the scribe’s counter, silhouetted against the single guttering lantern that cast the shop in amber shadows. As Corvus walked down a lane made by oak bookcases lining either wall, William shifted so the proprietor’s stool beneath him creaked, the sound almost lost beneath the gentle ticking of the brass timepiece on the wall.
William’s eyes had long adjusted to the layers of shadow blanketing the shop, so he watched in silence as Corvus closed the distance, his leather boots striking the ancient floorboards with the hollow, rhythmic taps of a man unhurried by—and therefore unaware of—William’s deception. By the time Corvus did sense something amiss, it was too late for him to do anything about it.
“Evening, Mr. Corvus,” Inspector Wright said, his voice cutting through the silence. He remained seated, one hand visible on the countertop, the other resting on the hilt of the sword at his belt.
Corvus froze, his keen eyes piercing the gloom to find the inspector’s face. “Who the hell are you? Where’s Malden?”
Inspector Wright rose from his seat, his movement measured and deliberate. The dim lantern caught the polished silver emblem of the inspector’s badge pinned to his coat. “I understand you like to threaten people.”
Corvus’s eyes darted about, assessing his options. “I don’t know what this is about, but you’ve got the wrong man.”
“I think not.”
Corvus’s hand drifted beneath his coat, where William suspected he concealed a weapon.
“Hands where I can see them. Don’t make this uglier than it needs to be.”
Hand still stuffed into his coat, Corvus spun around, making a play for the door. But he stopped short when he saw Captain Renard’s bulk through the dirty panes. Instead of opening it, Corvus reached out and turned the bolt. Then he turned to face the inspector, his lips pulled back in a wolf’s snarl.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Inspector.”
William’s hand tightened around his sword hilt as he rounded the counter. “I’ve dealt with worse than you.”
Corvus’s laugh was sharper than broken glass. “Have you now?” A slender dagger with an ebony handle and a wicked curve appeared in Corvus’s hand so quickly it seemed to materialize from thin air.
William drew his blade, a serviceable short sword with a plain cross guard.
“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” Corvus said, sneering. “Got Malden locked up, but he ain’t talking, is he? He knows better. Doesn’t matter, anyway. He only saw what we wanted him to see. He doesn’t know anything about the golden goose.”
Outside, Renard hammered at the door, the wood splintering around its hinges. “Wright! Open up!”
Corvus lunged without warning, his knife arcing toward William’s ribs. The inspector sidestepped, parrying with the flat of his blade. Steel kissed steel with a high, singing note that echoed through the shop.
“You should have minded your own business,” Corvus hissed, pivoting for another strike.
This time, he feinted left before slashing right. William caught the movement a heartbeat too late, feeling the knife slice through his coat sleeve. Pain blossomed along his forearm, but he knew the blade cut shallow—more insult than injury. William countered with a thrust that forced Corvus back against a bookcase. Leather-bound volumes tumbled to the floor as Corvus scrambled sideways, sending an inkwell crashing so that midnight-blue liquid spattered across the floorboards.
“You’re better than most lawmen,” Corvus acknowledged, circling. “But I’ve been dancing with blades longer than you’ve been alive.” Corvus eyed him up and down. “You look a little young to be a king’s inspector.”
“I get that a lot,” William said, keeping his breathing even. He could hear Renard’s shoulder hitting the door, the wood splintering.
Corvus struck, but William shifted his weight to his back foot, allowing the knife to slice harmlessly through the air. Before Corvus could recover his balance, William brought the pommel of his sword down hard on Corvus’s extended wrist. Bone cracked. Corvus howled, the knife clattering to the floor. William kicked it away, sending it spinning beneath a cabinet.
But Corvus wasn’t finished.
With his uninjured hand, he drew another blade, this one smaller but just as deadly. He slashed, backing William toward the counter.
“I should have slit your throat the moment I walked in,” Corvus snarled, his face contorted with rage and pain.
William had a pithy quip ready but was too busy avoiding getting killed to utter it.
The next exchange happened in heartbeats. Corvus lunged forward with reckless abandon. William twisted aside, but his boot slipped in the spilled ink. Off-balance, he couldn’t bring his sword up fast enough to block Corvus’s strike. The small blade caught him across the cheek, a line of fire that welled with blood. William staggered back against the counter, knocking over the lantern. It clattered to the floor but remained lit, casting wild, dancing shadows across the walls.
Corvus pressed his advantage, bearing down on the stunned inspector. Their faces were inches apart, William’s sword trapped between them.
“By the time your man makes it inside, you’ll be dead,” Corvus whispered, his breath hot against William’s face. “And I’ll be long gone.”
William didn’t waste his breath on a reply. Instead, he drove his knee upward with brutal force. Corvus doubled over with a strangled gasp. William brought his elbow down on the back of Corvus’s neck, sending him sprawling across the ink-stained floor. Before he could rise, he placed the tip of his sword against Corvus’s throat. Blood from the inspector’s cheek dripped onto the blade, tracking down the steel in crimson rivulets.
“It’s over,” William said, his breathing ragged but his hand steady.
Behind him, the door exploded inward with a deafening crack, and in rushed Captain Renard.
“Took you long enough,” William remarked dryly, not taking his eyes off Corvus.
Renard’s laugh rumbled with relief. “It seems you have things well in hand.”
Together, they hauled Corvus to his knees. Renard clamped iron manacles around his wrists, taking care with the broken one, which was already swelling.
Corvus spat at William’s feet, a mixture of blood and saliva. “This isn’t over, Inspector.”
William wiped the blood from his cheek with his sleeve. “For you, it is. But it’ll go easier on you if you give up your contact. We know all about the treasury heist, the forged documents, all of it.”
“I’ll tell you nothing,” Corvus said.
Inspector Wright paused, remembering something Corvus had said. “On the contrary, I believe you’ve told me everything.”
Renard pulled Corvus to his feet. “Meaning?” the captain asked.
“Meaning, I think I’ve solved the case.”
“Bullshat!” Corvus spat. “I didn’t tell you anything. You don’t know a damn thing, lawman.”
Inspector Wright grinned as Captain Renard led their prisoner away. About to follow, he paused to survey the devastation of Ellard’s shop. Overturned inkwells, scattered manuscripts, and broken quills littered the floor. The old scribe had his own charges to face, so he wouldn’t get the chance to return to repair the damage. But William would ensure his family received compensation from the city coffers.
“You coming, Inspector?” Renard called from outside.
William touched the cut on his cheek, feeling the sting of it. “Right behind you.”
#
The massive double doors to the East Tower swung open at William’s approach. Against all protocol, he had bypassed the usual channels and requested an immediate audience with King Classus. The urgency of the situation demanded boldness, and his predicament required urgency.
Lord Chamberlain Prestwick awaited him in the antechamber, his ancient face a mask of disapproval. “Inspector Wright. This irregular request has caused quite the disturbance.”
“My apologies, Lord Chamberlain, but the matter couldn’t wait.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. “The king will see you. But not alone. Lord Duncastle is already in attendance.”
William made his expression stone. Lord Duncastle was the king’s spymaster. “I see.”
He followed the chamberlain through corridors adorned with tapestries depicting the kingdom’s glorious history. Royal guards lined the passage, their ceremonial armor gleaming in the afternoon light. At last, they reached the king’s private study, a circular room dominated by a massive desk carved from a single piece of ancient oak.
King Classus looked up from his papers as they entered. Despite approaching sixty, the king remained imposing—broad-shouldered, with a thick salt-and-pepper beard and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look straight through pretense. Lord Duncastle stood beside him, his lean frame poised with calculated casualness.
“Inspector Wright,” the king said, his voice resonant. “I understand you have urgent news regarding the treasury investigation.”
William bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. I believe I’ve uncovered the truth behind the missing gold.”
“Excellent,” the king nodded. “Lord Duncastle is here at his own request. You can, of course, say anything you intend to say to me in front of him.”
William glanced at the spymaster, whose face remained unreadable.
“Please proceed, Inspector,” the king instructed.
William drew a steadying breath. “Your Majesty, my investigation has revealed that the perpetrator did not steal the gold in the conventional sense. Rather, they falsified royal treasury records to cover up otherwise legitimate disbursements.”
The king frowned. “Falsified? How?”
“Through forged documents bearing a counterfeit of Your Majesty’s royal seal.”
William placed the counterfeit seal on the king’s desk for his inspection. Lord Duncastle looked on, impassive.
“As you know, sire, when treasury officials performed this year’s annual audit, they revealed a discrepancy of 152 king’s weight in gold. Initially, I suspected a single heist, but I quickly discounted that notion when I learned gold was missing from every allotment. It seemed whoever took the gold did so over many months, even years, always removing a certain sum after officials performed each regular, monthly audit.”
“This is all fascinating, Inspector,” Lord Duncastle said. “But who did this?”
“I’m getting to that, my lord. If you will indulge me a little longer, sire.”
King Classus waved his hand for him to proceed.
“Master Banker Ambrose first suspected the theft when his staff performed the annual audit of the vault’s entire contents. However, the discrepancy only came to light because he directed his staff to begin the annual audit three days early. If he had ordered it done as originally scheduled, I believe the theft would have gone unnoticed and another year would have passed before we had another chance at detecting it.”
The king looked confused. “What is the significance of the three days, Inspector?”
“It is my belief, sire, that besides falsifying individual records, the perpetrator also falsified the entire treasury record-keeping book. The Golden Book, as they call it inside treasury ranks.”
“That’s preposterous,” Lord Duncastle said. “That book is as old as Kallendor, weathered and aged in ways no forger could hope to duplicate. Not to mention, officials keep the book under lock and key at all times of the day.”
“I have to agree, Inspector,” King Classus added. “What proof do you have of this?”
Inspector Wright folded his hands before him. “Only a hint of it from a condemned man, sire. But it’s the only explanation that makes sense. We know the perpetrator stole money from each allotment in sync with the monthly audits. But this was not a theft by the usual definition. Given the meticulous record-keeping and checks and balances put in place by the treasury, it’s impossible to move any amount of gold out of the vault that isn’t meant to leave. When an official receives a writ of disbursement, he counts and weighs the sum from one allotment, then someone else counts it again before it leaves the vault. If there was a discrepancy, someone would notice. I therefore believe the treasury officials performed their duty admirably, fulfilling each writ exactly as intended.”
“Yet funds are missing from the vault, are they not?” Lord Duncastle asked.
“Yes, my lord,” William said. “I believe we are dealing with two copies of the official records. One, legitimate, and the other, a shadow copy of the originals.”
King Classus’s fixed stare told him to explain in more detail.
“In the case of an illegal disbursement, the perpetrator intercepts a legitimate disbursement writ, forges a new writ with an inflated sum—say, 520 crowns instead of the original 500—then passes that on to the treasury in place of the official document, whereupon an agent disburses 520 crowns as requested. But again, the perpetrator intercedes, intercepting the disbursement before it reaches its intended destination, pocketing the 20 crowns before passing off the rest to the legitimate requestor. From the outside looking in, all is as it should be, with the requested 500 crowns going to the appropriate party exactly as intended.”
“But what about the inflated writ?” King Classus asked. “The treasury retains that as a record.”
“Yes, sire. That’s why the perpetrator makes sure to replace the forged document with the original. I scoured the records, looking for forgeries of the royal seal. I found none.”
King Classus leaned back and lifted a hand to his chin. “What about the book?”
“I believe that a year ago, the perpetrator circumvented discovery during the annual audit by replacing the entire journal with a forgery that accurately reflected the contents of the vault minus the amount pilfered at regular intervals. So, in my simple example, the shadow journal would show a 520 crown transaction instead of the legitimate request of 500. Unknowingly using the shadow journal, the treasury’s auditors would never realize a theft had occurred. However, the scheme didn’t work this time because the officials performed the audit before the perpetrator could replace the book with the shadow copy. If not for Master Banker Ambrose’s initiative, we may never have known about the theft.”
“Who did this, Inspector?” the king asked, straightening and leaning forward. “Give me a name.”
“I have several, sire. First, there’s Ellard Malden, who stands accused of forging royal documents. Then there’s Corvus, whom Mr. Malden named as a co-conspirator and the person who coerced him under threat to take part in the scheme. Last, there is the man in charge. The one who gave Corvus and many others their orders.” William let his gaze fall on Lord Duncastle. “I wonder, my lord, you haven’t involved yourself in the investigation until now, yet you felt the need to come here this evening. Why is that?”
Lord Duncastle tilted his head in confusion. An abrupt knock at the door interrupted anything he was about to say.
“Enter!” King Classus shouted.
In strode Captain Renard, who bowed low. When he rose, his gaze darted to Inspector Wright before returning to his liege. William did not like the look of worry he saw there one bit.
“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty. But I have news pertinent to the inspector’s investigation that couldn’t wait.”
“What is it, Captain?” Inspector Wright asked.
“The men we had in custody, Inspector. We were moving them and . . . . I’m sorry to say they are both dead. The assassins struck from the shadows. My men didn’t know they were under attack until it was too late. I’m very sorry, Inspector.”
William’s gaze shot to Lord Duncastle. The spymaster’s expression remained muted, though William thought he saw the slightest smirk on his lips as he returned the inspector’s gaze.
“Did you apprehend the assassins, Captain?” King Classus asked.
“No, Your Majesty. Though my men scour the city, I am not hopeful we will find them.”
“That is unfortunate, Captain Renard,” Lord Duncastle said. “If I can be of any assistance, you need only ask.”
Captain Renard nodded.
“Inspector Wright, congratulations on apprehending those responsible, though it’s a pity they won’t stand trial for their misdeeds. Did they provide anything else of value before their unfortunate demise? Did they name anyone else?”
William ground his teeth but said, “No, my lord.”
King Classus stood. “But surely others are involved. A ringleader pulling the strings. Why else kill the other two?”
“I agree, Your Majesty,” Lord Duncastle said. “That’s why I offer my full resources to help find this person. In fact, with your permission, sire, I would like to oversee the investigation personally.”
“Of course, of course,” the king said. “No one else is better equipped than you, Duncastle.”
“Indeed, Your Highness.”
King Classus came around his desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I have other matters to attend to. Nice work, Inspector Wright. If only you could have recovered the gold, too.”
“I will continue to try, Your Majesty,” William said, his gaze fixed on the spymaster. “But like the assassins, it may be out of our reach.”
Captain Renard similarly excused himself, leaving William and Lord Duncastle alone.
William stood with fists clenched at his sides. The thin smile never left Lord Duncastle’s lips.
“I commend your persistence, Inspector,” the spymaster said, “and congratulate you on bringing this matter to a swift conclusion. Pity the gold is beyond recovery.”
William clenched his fists tighter. “You do not even deny your involvement?”
He remained unsure if Lord Duncastle was involved, but he knew how to run an interrogation, and sometimes you needed to bait the suspect. The spymaster’s answer put an end to any further uncertainty.
“What need do I have to deny something when you have no proof of my involvement?”
“What about the assassins, my lord? If I find them—”
“I am now in charge of this investigation, Inspector, and unlike before, I intend to keep a close eye on you. My men will lead the search. If they find any leads, they may, at my discretion, involve the Ministry of Justice.” Lord Duncastle fell silent, letting that sink in. “But until that time, Inspector Wright, take the victory. You have the king’s favor. You’ve solved your crime by bringing the perpetrators to justice.”
“Murder is not justice, sir.”
Lord Duncastle shrugged. “Still, it brings a certain finality to the situation, doesn’t it?”
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t take this matter to my superiors.”
“Only one?” Lord Duncastle smirked. “I’ll give you several. First, you value your career, or you should. Continuing to pursue this matter when I forbid it will not go well for you with the Council of Magistrates. Second, you do not wish to make an enemy of me, Inspector. In the end, your investigation caused no actual harm. An inconvenience, perhaps, but nothing my office can’t correct. Disbursements from the treasury will need to stop, of course, but there are other ways to ensure my plans come to fruition. You’ve caused a delay, nothing more.”
“Project Nightfall?” William asked. “What is it? Why the disbursements and shipments to Vranna? Are you trying to start a war?”
“Pfft,” Lord Duncastle said. “The exact opposite, in fact. In time, perhaps you’ll understand. But for now, this meeting is over, Inspector. I bid you a good day.”
Lord Duncastle brushed past William, leaving before the inspector could utter another word.
Alone now, William took a moment to stare at the empty room, shaking his head and finally sighing. He knew he should take Lord Duncastle’s advice and back off. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in his nature. The king had charged him with solving a crime and bringing the perpetrators to justice. Instead, he’d gotten two people killed and the mastermind behind it all had walked free . . . for now. William sighed again. He couldn’t change any of that right now. But neither could he stop like Lord Duncastle had advised. William didn’t come from a long line of investigators. He chose this life because he wanted to make a difference. “Above all else, reveal the truth.” The inspector’s mantra. Words he’d considered often, though he didn’t think he truly understood their meaning until now. The truth demanded more from him. The truth demanded he act.
The wheels in his mind, slow at first, turned quicker now. Pursuing the assassins seemed his best strategy. He had little experience in that area, so he might need to bring in an expert. Not someone in the Ministry of Justice. Lord Duncastle’s scrutiny made that impossible. He’d have to look outside. A rogue operation required a rogue operative. Finding the right person might take some time, but with Duncastle occupied with covering his tracks, he had room to breathe.
William took one last look around the king’s study. He hoped to have better news the next time he stood here. But for now, he spun around and marched out. He had work to do.
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