Page 6 of The Orc's Thief
The Fates must be punishing me for my impatience, giving me glimpses of her, but never letting our paths cross. I don’t even know if she truly smells like cherries or if that’s just what my starved mind cooked up to torture me. I lay there, panting, my hair stuck to my face, trying so fucking hard to remember more. But the dream slipped away like mist before I could grasp another detail.
I’d had to take care of myself, but the climax was swift and unsatisfying, my body wracked with shudders. It had felt as if I’d been left on the brink of pleasure for far too long, and coming had brought little relief.
When I went to unlock the box to take out a couple of gold marks a little while later, I noticed the faint scratches on the lock. Two of the purses are missing, along with my letters, and I’m left with a riddle. I didn’t leave the inn last night or noticeanyone going upstairs from the taproom while I was dining with my friends.
I stomp downstairs, checking every hallway for possible entry points. Apart from the servants’ staircase leading to the kitchens, the Heron is secure, which is why I chose the inn in the first place.
A quick talk with the innkeeper and the security guard who was on duty last night tells me they didn’t see anything suspicious. That means the thief either works for the inn or entered my room through an exit unknown to them. The innkeeper promises he’ll talk to his maids and stable hands, but I have little hope he’ll discover anything through that venue.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I return to my room to think things through.
I close and bolt the door behind me and inhale deeply, trying to discern any lingering scents I might have missed last night. If the thief smoked before coming here, if they drank, or rode a horse to the city, I’d know at least some of their habits. But there’s nothing—not that I really expected it. If the scents were distinctive enough to last through the night, I would have noticed them yesterday.
Then I survey the room and come to the same conclusion I made downstairs. The guard had assured me that his crew hadn’t let anyone upstairs who wasn’t a guest at the inn, and all the guests were accounted for. The lock on my door hadn’t been broken, and there were no scratches on it—none like the ones I found on the lockbox, anyway. If the thief didn’t enter through the door, the window is the only other entry point.
The problem is, the latch on the window was definitely shut when I left for dinner. I aired out the room when I got back, before bed, and again this morning after waking up hot and sweaty. But unless the thief can walk through walls, this window is how they got in.
I walk over and examine the latch. It looks intact, and when I tug on it, it seems securely fastened to the frame. But it’s been oiled to avoid creaking, which means it’s easy enough to lift. How did they manage that from the outside?
I open the window and inspect the wood around the latch. Sure enough, there’s a faint, thin scratch in the paint. Was it already there? Who knows. But if this thief could unlock Torren’s pick-proof contraption, this latch wouldn’t have slowed them down.
My gaze falls to the windowsill. It’s barely six inches wide, and at this height, it would be extremely hard to balance on it, especially without any good handholds. But sure enough, there’s a faint outline of a boot print on the wood. I glance down. My stomach tumbles unpleasantly at the thought of climbing two stories and then perching up here. I wouldn’t have attempted it, that much I know. Orcs might be good fighters and adept enough at mountain climbing, but that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer to have my two feet firmly on the ground.
How did they make it all the way up here without the guards noticing? My window sits almost directly above the main entrance to the inn, so anyone climbing up would be at least temporarily visible from the entryway.
I narrow my eyes and study the ledge again, then finally look up.
“No,” I murmur. “Not likely.”
The overhang alone would be difficult to pass, let alone the fact that the thief would have to be mad to attempt a descent like that.
But if they had someone to lower them down with a rope…
“Fuck.”
It must have been a team of thieves. A pair, at least. They came down from the roof, grabbed what they could, and made their way back to the rooftops. From there, I bet they couldescape easily, given how close the buildings are in this part of Ultrup. The perfect getaway plan, especially with the city watch only patrolling the streets.
I’ll have to tell Major Strahl that the lowlifes have appropriated all levels of this city, from the sewers to the roofs.
A gust of wind blows in through the open window, sending an uncharacteristic shiver through me. I’m not cold, exactly, but something niggles at the back of my mind, something I’m missing.
I stare outside, trying to figure it out. My gaze lands on the building across the street, one of those townhouses with a stone base and wooden upper floors. Even for someone with a death wish, that roof’s too far to jump from. The thief couldn’t have come from directly across the street, but…
They must’ve been watching me from up there.
I close the window and secure the latch, not that it’ll do much against thieves like these. Then I move back into the room, trying to figure out where they would’ve sat to see in. Shifting from side to side, I squint at the buildings. I finally settle on a flat section between two steep slopes, probably swallowed in shadow at night.
How the fuck did they get up there? It’s three stories high, and those roofs are steep, shingle or clay tile, and slick with even a little moisture.
I go back to the window and lean out, trying to see where the thief might’ve climbed over, but I can’t spot anything from here. I’ll need to go out and check from street level. Fast, since I’ve only got a couple hours before I report to Major Strahl and take over the evening shift watching the Ravens’ crew headquarters.
I consider bringing the whole lockbox with me, but it’s too bulky to haul around all day, especially if I’m going to be crawling over rooftops.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the note Marut left yesterday when he couldn’t find me. He and his human mate, Violet, arrived in Ultrup four days ago with their twins, and with Sarrai, my best friend. I should be staying at the clan’s townhouse with them, but the sudden crowd pushed me to move to this inn.
I didn’t want to be in the way, not when they arrived with a whole caravan to trade and haul supplies back to Bellhaven and the Hill. I’d stayed long enough, taking advantage of free lodging while volunteering for Major Strahl. But I’ll be leaving soon. I packed my things and let them settle in, though Violet had protested and said she felt awful about chasing me out.
Sarrai tried to get me to stay, too, though less insistently than Violet. I guess I’ve been a lousy friend to her, always chasing my fortune. She never understood how I could leave the Hill, but if she’s content to wait for her perfect lady, I’m not. My whole life feels narrowed down to one thing—finding my mate.
