“Probably,” Malden admitted. “But if he’s locked up in his laboratory, or better yet, in his bedchamber—remember those cold-forged iron chains—then he’s not likely to come out just because one of the guards thought he saw a ghost. They know nothing of you, remember. It’s my face they’ve all memorized.”

“So be it,” Kemper said finally. Malden could tell the card sharp was not satisfied, but Kemper owed him—if he hadn’t freed Kemper from the Burgrave’s dungeon he would be dead now. Besides, Kemper stood to benefit from this caper in more tangible terms. Hazoth had a full set of silver plate and cutlery, which Kemper could carry out of the villa and keep for himself. Malden wanted nothing of the treasures the house contained. He would be satisfied with the reward Croy had promised him. His efforts in the villa would be all about getting the crown back.

Which led to the far more difficult phase of the plan. “It’s up to me to reach the third floor undetected. The crown is in the sanctum, at the end of this hall—Cythera told Croy as much. The hallway, we know, is full of traps. I’ll have to overcome them somehow.” Without knowing what they might be, that was a lot to presuppose. But there was no way around it. “Then I can get into the sanctum, grab the crown, and beat a very hasty retreat. The guards will all be inside looking for you, so when we exit through the garden there’ll be none there to stop us. Cythera will lower the barrier once more and we escape, both of us unscathed, me with the crown, you with all the silver you can carry. After that we split up. I’ll go to Cutbill and you’ll leave the city by means I don’t want to know about.”

“Aye,” Kemper said, and shuffled his cards distractedly. The simple motion of his hands seemed to soothe him. It made Malden want to reach over and grab them away from him, throw them across the room, even tear them up and throw the pieces out the window.

He was under a bit of strain.

There were too many variables. Too many things he couldn’t plan for. What if Hazoth took the night off from his studies? What if Cythera betrayed them? What if Anselm Vry was watching them right now, waiting for them to make a move—just so Vry could seize the crown as soon as he brought it out of the house, so that Cutbill couldn’t claim to have recovered it?

“This plan will work,” he said, trying to convince himself.

“Aye,” Kemper replied.

“It’s the best plan we’ve had so far.”

“Aye.”

“With a little luck—”

He stopped because Cythera was sitting on the sill of his open window.