Tro – ridiculous, wonderful Tro, eternal DM that they are, has drawn up blueprints on a D&D terrain grid, with every bathroom, the admin office, the dance hall, our routes and distances and walking time between each one.

Of course.

We’re doing this thing to the letter. Everything mapped out, and nothing left to chance.

*

We need disguises. Formalwear: the stuff of gentry.

I expected to hate it: shopping is my nemesis. But today is different. Whether it’s because we’re shopping for a quest and I’m channelling my dwarf, or because I’m with my friends, and finally myself. I’m standing in a cubicle in this immaculate black shirt and tie, and Sabre slides a waistcoat underneath the door, telling me to wear it. And suddenly I’m crying. Beaming. Crying at this figure in the mirror who looks somehow just like me in ways he never has before.

Tro picks a dress of diamond-silver, pairs it with tall boots and a bowtie, and I sliiiightly worry that we’ll never stealth anywhere, honestly, because how could we when they’ll command any room they’re in?

I blush.

And then I blush some more when Sabre and Justice both saunter out of their respective cubicles in sheer pink dresses and spectacular high heels.

“I love this! I’m getting it!” Sabre squeals.

“I’m not sure about the pink on me.” Justice pulls at its hem.

“Yeah, go with the gold.”

“Holy dice rolls, guys, you look UH-mazing.” Tro flings themself at both the boys in a wild, giggling embrace.

And it’s not until we’re halfway home that we remember the flyer: dresses for the ladies, suits for the squires.

Justice breaks the horror first, with a teasing elbow aimed at Sabre’s ribs. “They’ll never let you in.”

*

The night of the ball is almost here, we’re almost at our final game night, and there’s so much to be done. It turns out being the hero is not as easy as the dice rolls sometimes make it look.

“We still need to get in the office, if we’re going to infiltrate the system.”

So far, that’s our biggest problem. It has a keycard lock, and any staff member would notice if their key went missing.

“Esteemed gentlemen and wisefolk,” Justice pipes up, “I have … the answer! Did some research, and our school uses an RFID lock system, and it just happens that you can game that system with a smartphone, an Amazon account and six of your English pounds for these … an RFID copier, and blank keycards.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah. There’s just one problem.”

“Mm?”

“We still need to get the key, to copy it.”

*

We’re thieves now. If this were Chrull, we’d operate in shadow, with protection spells and luck. I just hope we have some of the latter.

Justice loiters in the hallway, staring at noticeboards, kneeling down to tie his shoe, reading again. I wait inside a stock cupboard, ear pressed against the door until I hear the squeak of old wheels.