“Oh,” Tristam said. “I was not aware.” He needed to stop forgetting that things were done differently in the city. His father had always paid the funeral expenses of those who died while serving Brancel Manor. But apparently, there was no room for these gestures in Forge’s busy machinery.

To his relief, Malikel chose that moment to start giving commands. “Search the body and the surrounding area. Look for anything that might tell us more about the intruders.”

As everyone scattered to the tasks, Tristam lingered by the rock pile. Like the armory raid before it, this robbery was eerie in its precision. There were no signs of how the robbers had entered the compound or even of how they’d entered the storehouse.

He turned to Finley. “You say the locks to this storehouse can’t be picked?”

“Yes, milord, we replaced them according to Sir Malikel’s orders.”

“What about the windows?”

“They are well locked too.”

“All of them?” He knew his voice was harsh, but he couldn’t help it.

“All the ones within reach.”

Tristam backed up, squinting up at the top of the building. The sun proved too bright for him, and he closed his eyes, only to suddenly open them again. “Can you take me to your top floor?”

“Of course, milord.”

The top floor smelled of herbs and dried fruit. As was common with upper floors, it was warmer here. The builders had placed small windows close to the ceiling to let out the warm air in the summer.

Tristam peered over the sill of the closest one. The Palace maids were either shirking their duties or were too short to reach the high windows. The outer edge of the windowsill had a thin layer of dust, as did the next. The dust of the third window, however, had a streak across it, as if a halfhearted housekeeper had taken one pass with a dust cloth.

Tristam stared at this third window as the clues rearranged themselves into a new theory. A mysterious, high-climbing thief, breaking into buildings previously thought impenetrable. Leaked records that had been known only to a few trustworthy people. He’d been looking for informants within the Palace, but if the Guild had this much freedom of movement, they didn’t need informants. Why go to the trouble of turning Palace officials, when you could just browse through their notes?

“Thank you, Finley,” he said. “I’ll need to speak with Sir Malikel.”

They would start with the record rooms. Station guards in there at all times, morning and night. And there would be no more writing down of the patrol schedules. All commands would be delivered verbally.

And then, they’d wait and see.

Seventeen

S E V E N T E E N

“Where’s the key?”