Despite their aversion to tasteful decoration, the Andra Rats were clearly more organized and settled than Hadley could have imagined. She encountered meeting rooms, a training pit, refectory and even a small library. Curious, she knelt by the bookcases and thumbed through an eclectic collection. Interestingly, there were a number of collated accounts and memoirs from the thieves themselves. The Rats had been gracing the Andra underground for well over a century. Though their power had ebbed and flowed over time, they invariably sided with the common folk who plied their daily business in the Nook. Of course, various rulers had come and gone, all sharing a healthy antipathy for the shady denizens of the deep. Several had attempted to eradicate the Rats’ hideout, only to lose hundreds of good men in the dark, dank tunnels. Permanent removal of the thieves required guerrilla tactics no royal force had successfully deployed. One nefarious Baron by the name of Julius Farron had come close, flooding the tunnels with treated pitch and setting the underground ablaze. Not only did the thieves survive, they rose up to assassinate every royal that had ever stood in their way.
Hadley had expected to be appalled by such raucous accounts of treachery and bloodshed, but even she had to admit a grudging respect for the Rats’ steadfast, belligerent resourcefulness. There was a modicum of honor in how these thieves presented their home-spun philosophies, even if it was doubtful that the ‘common man’ benefited a great deal from their influence. No, despite the egalitarian doctrine, it was more likely that the spoils of organized crime were fed directly into the thieves’ own coffers. In fact, Hadley had more admiration for Governor Sandor Ballist, the first ruler to effectively neutralize the Rats without a single drop of blood. A figure deserving the most vehement loathing if the Rats’ literature was to be believed, the Governor had developed quite a cult status amongst his enemies. Hadley could only smile at the tone of exasperation in the various critiques of his “villainous” taxes and “reprehensible” regulatory framework. Some local scribes even pined for a return to the “old days” when “stupid royals” ruled the town. How could King Rosten have allowed such a beastly, godless man to rise to power? The more Hadley read on Ballist, the deeper her fascination grew. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but every perceived “flaw” looked a virtue in her eyes.
A grandfather clock in the corner gave a low chime and Hadley decided it was time to move on. Further along the tunnel, a middle-aged woman was filling wrought-iron bathtubs in a low, steam-filled chamber.
“You’re the new girl?” she croaked.
“I suppose. News travels fast down here.”
“We’ve been tracking you for days,” came the bright reply. “Jansen owes me five crowns. I knew you’d replace Hanna.”
The woman laughed - Hadley must’ve looked utterly confused.
“We work together,” she said. “One day I’m a flower-seller, the next I’m a dock hag. Depends on the operation. Oh, don’t stand on ceremony. Take your clothes off and hop right in.”
The woman left Hadley alone in a room thick with drowsy heat. The scented water beckoned. Why not? It wasn’t as if she was free to leave. She stripped down and settled gratefully in a tub. The cares of the world retreated a little. She didn’t quite know what to make of these Andra rats. They were scoundrels, no doubt, but like germs they had a niche. In the right situation, they might even be useful. And she was working her way up from the bottom. Her mission had arrived much sooner than expected, which was confronting, but with widespread chaos looming on the horizon, time was of the essence. The prospect of a vast orcish host was too abstract to genuinely scare her, but the threat of war itself was disturbing enough. Her brush with Dahal Rane had made sure of that.
Hadley let herself soak until the water grew cold. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been stewing. An hour and a half, perhaps.
“These walls were built for war,” came a familiar voice by the door. It was Dalton, leaning against the wall with smug complacency. “A place for Sanctum nobles to come when they feel threatened.”
Knowing full well that Dalton was trying to intimidate her, Hadley went on the offensive.
“Hand me that towel, would you,” she said, rising from the water. Unable to cope with the sight of her full-bodied figure, Dalton averted his eyes and served the request. Just as she’d expected - gutless.
“Come,” he said. “The wardrobe is just down the hall.”
The pair adjourned to a musty room three doors down. Hadley shivered in the cool, post-bath air, and was “rewarded” with Dalton’s hands on her shoulders. He steered her to a large wooden chest and theatrically lifted the lid.
“I need to know what color you choose,” he murmured, “so I can match it.”
Hadley almost gasped when she saw the dress on top. Blue and green depending on the angle, it was made from a sheer material she’d never handled before. It was easy to fall in love with it immediately, but Hadley suspected it wasn’t right for the occasion.
“Something more casual for a sunny reception,” she said, selecting a white dress with blue flowers embroidered into the hem. Her towel dropped to the floor and Dalton stepped forward to help her into it. She got a whiff of his cologne as he strapped her lace. A subtle aroma, which Hadley appreciated. Too many men doused the noses of women they came across.
“Perfect,” Dalton said, admiring her from behind. “Just perfect.”
Hadley had to agree it was a good fit.
“Can you organize an assistant tomorrow morning?” she asked.
“Consider it done, Mrs. Dalton.”
“A man who likes to rehearse,” Hadley purred. “I can appreciate that.”
A dangerous moment passed. A flash point where a man could give in to his baser desires. Hadley was a master at picking the right moment to jump off the ride. It was all she ever did.
“I might find something to eat before retiring for the day,” she murmured. “We need to be at our best tomorrow.”
“You room is just across the hall,” Dalton said with a trace of disappointment. “Till tomorrow, then.”
Hadley waited until the rogue had gone before breathing again. It’d been a long day and she did need to rest up. She padded back to the empty kitchen and helped herself to a platter of cold meats and a wedge of hard cheese. There seemed to be a mid-afternoon lull in activity around the place. Hadley withdrew to her room and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to imagine what Aurora Rosten’s reception would be like. She’d never come close to attending such a high-level event. Guill wasn’t exactly the center of Ardennian politics. It might have been dusk when Grell knocked on the door to check on her. His manner was tense and subdued. Hadley suspected he carried the weight of multiple operations in and around tomorrow’s event.
“Sandor Ballist is a smart play,” the thief said as he left. “Tomorrow will be about your brain. Which is why I think you might just survive.”
Hadley supposed that was as close to a compliment as the head rat dished out. When he was gone, she sat on the edge of her cot and pondered Grell’s message. Her path forward gradually resolved itself and gave her peace. She washed up, stripped down to her under-garments and huddled under the quilt. One thing was certain - Andra’s horizon was blood-red.
Hadley’s sleep was surprisingly unbroken. Settling on a plan of action the night before might have helped. She gratefully accepted a steaming bowl of porridge adorned with fresh strawberries from the kitchen. Thoroughly satiated, she headed to the room with the clothes chest, hoping someone would arrive to assist her. At length Mya, the middle-aged woman from the bath chamber, reported for duty and fastened Hadley’s dress. Mya also insisted on styling her flame-red hair into a bun fixed with oaken hairsticks. Hadley was uncomfortable sporting such an overtly elvish style, but Mya assured her it was on trend among Ardennian elites. She helped Hadley apply rouge, eye shadow and lipstick, completing the look with a delicate clutch purse from the rats’ stores. By the time Hadley reported to Grell’s office, she felt and looked
like a new woman. This was her version of a plate of armor. She didn’t need sword and shield to survive - she needed her voracious brand of womanhood. Pieced together in the right way, it was a devastating package.
Grell and Dalton were poring over a crude blueprint of the Overlook Keep. The latter was dressed in a gaudy variation of Ardennian red and white livery. The cut was sharp and angular in the Lakeshore style. Vaguely ridiculous and debonair at the same time. Grell’s fine brown leather was a lithe and deadly counterpoint. A set of throwing daggers glinted from his belt.
“The reception will be held here,” the thief said to Hadley, jutting a finger at the gardens outside Overlook. Hadley smiled. Grell had noticed her transformation and his controlled response was no surprise. Dalton, on the other hand, was governed by his passions. Hadley might have been able to knock him over with a feather.
“I don’t need to ask if you have eyes on the guests’ entrance,” Hadley said.
“Several,” Grell grunted. “Rosten arrived last night.”
For some reason that gave Hadley a pang of anxiety. Aurora Rosten was the one unknown in her plans. Would Ballist be entirely focused on her? Would everyone else fade into the background? It was pointless to speculate on such matters.
“You ready?” Grell asked intently. “Several guests are already drinking mead in the Guildhall.”
Hadley knew from her reconnaissance that the Guildhall was the upmarket tavern adjacent to the Overlook estate. She smoothed her dress and took a deep breath. It was time to take a risk she’d been mulling over for several hours now.
“Let me freshen up,” she mumbled, making for the door. For a horrible moment she thought Grell might call her back, but then she was into the corridor and away. There was no reason for the thieves to question her behavior. After all, she was bound to be nervous. In fact, she could just picture Dalton giving the master thief a knowing look.
Except Hadley had no intention of checking her make-up. She continued right past her chamber and made for the storage room she knew was down the corridor and left. She gave prodigious thanks to the Fat God when the door swung open. The closet held a variety of maintenance items and hardly required high-level security. Heart thumping in the back of her throat, Hadley peered through the dust-filled air. Buckets, linen, brooms, a trolley. There were several lanterns on a shelf, which suggested that … yes, there, stacked in fine sacks. Malacine powder. Hadley stowed the contents of her purse in the cob-webbed darkness at the back of the closet. She then ripped open a sack and carefully filled the clutch with powder. Returning the sack gently, she fastened the purse and was on her way in no time. It felt plump and heavy, but hopefully the thieves wouldn’t notice.
Two cowled figures waited in Grell’s office, presumably to escort ‘the married couple’ above ground. Grell dismissed Hadley with a blank look. Both knew what was riding on this and there was nothing left to say. She followed Dalton and the hooded rats to the end of a long hallway where she was blindfolded yet again. Her dashing ‘husband’ steered her as before, only this time he took much greater care. It wouldn’t do to be splashed with excrement at such a critical juncture. At length Hadley was asked to climb a ladder that seemed to extend forever. An awkward walk over uneven cobble-stones followed, her world brightening considerably. The blindfold was removed and she blinked several times. She recognized the alley - they were behind the mercantile building on Sygil Street.
The cowled figures melted back into the drain hole as if they’d never existed. Dalton gripped Hadley’s hand.
“Mrs Dalton?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Ganria, please,” she joked, finding it helped her swooning nerves.
The pair made their way around the stately building and onto the wide street. The sun warmed Hadley’s back and her excitement blossomed. She was born to play this part. It almost scared her how well-suited to this game she was. The Guildhall came into view on the right. Dalton grinned charmingly at the footman by the door.
“Fine day for it,” he said.
“The best, sir,” came the deferent reply.
Dalton procured two cups of honey mead inside the oak-paneled tavern. More refreshing than intoxicating, the relatively weak beverage was served cold. None of the assembled guests were interested in making spectacles of themselves before they even reached the Governor’s estate. Dalton worked the room comfortably and seemed fairly well-known amongst the Andrian nobles. He was treated exactly as Hadley anticipated he might be - as a businessman of note but not to be taken too seriously. For the most part, she was content to use her ‘husband’ as a shield of sorts, unwilling to wield her potent social skills at this juncture. Despite her low profile, she received several curious looks. At this stage she was simply content not to be recognized as Devon La Berne’s daughter. The chances were fairly remote - she doubted many of these folks had ever been to Guill.
An hour of polite, skin-deep conversation passed like a cloud in a summer sky. To his credit, Dalton was well-versed in public etiquette and his performance seemed effortless. Hadley also appreciated his regular gestures of reassurance. At length the footman rang a bell and announced that the Overlook estate would be happy to receive them. The jovial guests filed onto the street and joined a larger group strolling up Baler’s Hill. Accompanied by the noon cathedral bell, the colorful, stately throng traversed a manicured path along the estate perimeter. Hadley couldn’t tear her eyes away from the huge tent in the grounds. Was Ballist already in there? She needed to prepare her entrance. This was potentially the most crucial moment of her ‘mission’.
Dalton led his wife through the gates, where they were closely watched by a bald man flanked by several guards. The captain’s hooded eyes flickered with recognition when he saw Dalton, which Hadley took to mean they’d been accepted. Incredibly, she felt her nerves untangling as the pair approached the tent. This was her moment and she knew there was no room for fear.
The tent interior was a masterclass in opulence. Long tables covered in fine food were immediately apparent, but did not dominate the space. The prevailing colors - bone white and crimson - were those of the Ardennian royal family. Elaborate fountains and waterscapes provided a musical background to proceedings. Hadley wondered how such heavy structures were transferred into the estate. Bambla lamps gushed scented smoke into the hazy upper reaches of the enormous tent. The overall effect was like walking within a cloud. The various conversations seemed like hushed, ethereal exchanges between angels.
Hadley was scanning the crowd even as she politely acknowledged the various nobles Dalton greeted. She’d never seen Ballist before but was confident she’d know him immediately. Men like him radiated power, a heady aura Hadley couldn’t fail to recognize. Perhaps sensing her predatory urgency, Dalton navigated the various dignitaries with aplomb. Within a few minutes the pair had reached the far end of the tent but there was no sign of Ballist.
“He might be with Aurora,” Dalton pointed out.
“I think not, dear husband,” Hadley said, nodding at the tall, fair-haired woman barely ten yards away. Aurora Rosten looked every inch a King’s sister. For starters, there was her easy, swan-like grace. Second, her outfit, a fitted black two-piece with intricate floral embroidery, was exceptionally well-made but not ostentatious. It was what wasn’t on display that separated the genuine elite from the swarming, scheming charlatans. Aurora wasn’t pretty in a conventional sense, but radiated a warmth that drew people in. She also knew how to work a room without getting bogged down. Before Hadley could disengage, the Baroness had swiveled in her direction and Dalton was forced to introduce himself.
“Now, here’s a fresh face,” she murmured in a surprisingly husky voice, offering Dalton her hand but looking directly at Hadley. “Welcome to Andra, child. Pray, from where do you hail?”
“Feyn Bridge, milady,” Hadley said with a low curtsy.
“Oh, indeed? I hear you’re in for an intolerably dry summer. The throne is very much in your debt. Someone has
to keep that horrible Keshari sand at bay, hmm?”
“As you say, milady. Truth be told, it’s a rough place and I’m glad to be free.”
Aurora’s steady, unflinching gaze had multiple layers to it.
“Quite,” she eventually purred, eyes hardening. “Tell me, is Destin still trading curios at the Bath House? I picked up a lovely jade figurine on my last visit.” The Baroness leaned in close. “It’s Keshari, but don’t tell anyone.”
Hadley smiled, but Aurora clearly expected an answer. The interloper was being tested. The thought of bungling her one and only opportunity to rise above her desperate station horrified Hadley to the core. She linked arms with poor Dalton, who’d been looking on glumly.
“I’m hopelessly devoted to my husband’s horses, milady,” she said. “Alas, I haven’t returned home for some time.”
Aurora nodded knowingly and smoothed her dress. “How thoughtless of me. I’ve haven’t yet acquired your name.”
“Ganria Dalton, Baroness,” Hadley said with the warmest smile she could muster. Inside, she felt anything but jovial.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Ganria,” Aurora said, tossing Dalton the most fleeting of glances. “I trust you will enjoy your time in Andra.”
“If there’s anything you need, Baroness, don’t hesitate to call on me.”
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