Rowan Hargraves was pissed. He’d been forced to delay his leaving for Lorenthia by a day because he’d been promised that a transaction that he had been waiting on for several days was going to be finalized today. He’d wasted his morning standing in the office of a warehouse that smelled like damp and mold, being given constant assurances that everything would be taken care of shortly.

  Now the driveling idiot who was evidently in charge of this operation had just come in and told him there was a mix up and Hargraves’ package wouldn’t be arriving for several more days.

  The back of Hargraves’ hand ached where he had cuffed the man across the face. He would probably end up with a bruise. The man’s jaw had been surprisingly hard, but it was worth it. You had to make sure people understood who their superiors were.

  Hargraves was not surprised how much the man’s attitude had changed after that. Earlier the man had treated Hargraves as if his presence was an imposition. Now he was giving Hargraves the proper deference deserved by one’s betters, particularly a senator of the Lorenthian Empire.

  Without another word, Hargraves turned and left the office. Jensen already had the door held open. Hargraves strode out into the darkness of the warehouse and crossed the mostly empty floor. He walked with purpose and speed, but he was sure that his personal assistant, Jensen, or one of the three bodyguards he employed would have the door that led to the street open long before he got there.

  He’d been hoping to have lunch at a nice tavern he’d recently discovered not too far from the government buildings. Their food and ale were above average, but the wait staff was excellent. Particularly if you caught the youngest waitress in the back room. But now there would be no time. Revisiting that little treat would have to wait until he returned.

  He passed through the doorway into the street without even consciously noting who it was that had actually opened the door. He strode out into the bright sun, blinking against the abrupt change.

  The masses were out clogging up the streets. Hargraves grimaced at the thought of them and their petty little lives.

  “Jensen!”

  “Yes, sir?” said Jensen racing to come up to Hargraves’ side.

  “I’m skipping lunch. Send one of these men back to the manor to get the things. They should meet us at my office, and we’ll leave for Lorenthia immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t want to waste more time standing around waiting. They had better not be late.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Jensen fell back and began instructing one of the bodyguards as the group reached the intersection and began to turn right. A wagon was unloading several crates into the shop on the corner and so Hargraves swung out further into the street to go around it.

  “Die Rowan Hargraves! You have poisoned our community and now I poison you!” screeched an old woman as she stepped out of the small crowd of people fifty feet further up the road. Her leathery old finger pointing out at Hargraves accusingly.

  Hargraves watched as her other hand went up and flicked forward. There was a brief moment when something blurred through the air between them and then there was a plain dagger sprouting from his chest.

  Strangely his first thought was not for his own safety but annoyance that she had ruined the shirt he had just had tailored two days earlier. It was then he realized two crucial things.

  The first was that the blade of the dagger was coated in a bright green slime that could only be one thing. The second was that somehow, he felt no pain at all.

  His bodyguards went racing up the street after the old crone, but in spite of her apparent age, there was more than enough distance for her to melt back into the crowd long before the three guards even got close.

  Jensen, the obsequious turd, was instantly at his side pretending to care after his well-being. Hargraves silently vowed that if he saw even the slightest hint of a smile or of pleasure at this incident in Jensen’s eyes, he would personally gut the man.

  “Get your hands off of me!” Hargraves roared elbowing the man back.

  “Sir?” said Jensen in confusion.

  “Can you not see that the blade is poisoned? Did you want to find out for sure how quickly Imogene could kill me?”

  “But sir, why aren’t you dead?”

  “Perhaps I’m made of sterner stuff than anyone expected.”

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  “Sir?” said Jensen, his confusion deepening.

  “Idiot. The knife missed me. It’s embedded in the book hanging around my neck.”

  “You are unharmed?” said Jensen. The moron’s limited intellect finally beginning to grasp the situation.

  “Yes. And I hope to stay that way, if you can please stop threatening to bump the knife and possibly kill us both. Step back so I can remove my shirt.”

  Given a task he could immediately tackle, Jensen went to work. He turned and began clearing a space around Hargraves. The men unloading the wagon and the few other people who had stopped to gawk were shoved back and quickly Hargraves was standing alone in a fair-sized circle near the half-unloaded wagon.

  Hargraves shrugged his way out of the shirt without too much effort, being careful to keep the blade away from his body as he did so. As he removed the shirt, he was also forced to remove the necklace with the journal attached to it.

  Once the shirt was off, he carefully turned it inside out to wrap it around the poison coated dagger. Now it simply looked like a wadded-up shirt with a book attached to it.

  “You there!” Hargraves said pointing to a man standing at the edge of the circle surrounding him. “What’s in that sack?”

  The man looked down at the sack he had sat at his feet and then looked up at Hargraves. It was immediately clear to Hargraves that the man was an idiot.

  “’tatoes,” the man said in a country drawl that confirmed Hargraves suspicions.

  “Give me the sack,” Hargraves demanded.

  The man stared at Hargraves with a slack jaw and eventually said, “But it’s carrying my ‘tatoes.”

  “Jensen, give the man five gold for the sack and the potatoes.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jensen moving to the man as he pulled his coin purse out.

  “’taint worth five gold,” said the man in confusion. “I only paid three copper.”

  “Then you’ve made a lucrative trade,” said Hargraves taking the sack and dumping the potatoes on the ground.

  Hargraves put his shirt with the journal and dagger still attached to it into the sack.

  “You there,” Hargraves said pointing at the one person in the crowd that looked like they might actually have bathed recently. “I’ll give you five gold for your shirt.”

  The man looked down at his shirt and after a moment’s thought said, “This shirt cost twice what those potatoes cost. I want ten.”

  Hargraves’ eyes narrowed. “You’ll take five and you’ll be happy I didn’t have you arrested for being a part of this failed assassination.”

  “I had nothing to do with that!” said the man with the obvious and appropriate amount of worry in his voice.

  “Who do you think the guards will believe, a Lorenthian senator or whatever it is that you are?”

  “Okay, five gold,” said the man taking off his shirt.

  “Jensen give the man three.”

  “But . . .” the man started to protest.

  “Did you want to say something?” asked Hargraves with a sneer.

  The man silently took the three gold and handed Jensen the shirt. Jensen passed it on to Hargraves. Down the street the three bodyguards, having failed to find the old woman in the crowd, started to head back.

  Hargraves sat the sack on the ground between his feet and began to pull on the newly acquired shirt.

  “Thank you,” said a voice that seemed to come from the air.

  “What?” said Hargraves in confusion as he continued pulling on the shirt.

  “I was beginning to think you’d never put that down.”

  Hargraves quickly finished putting on the shirt and looked down between his feet. The sack was gone.

  Nolan opened the sack and pulled the book free from the dagger and the shirt. He held it up by the chain and watched it dangle and spin in the air. It was leather bound with a clasp holding it shut. It looked much like one would expect a journal to look, if not a little on the small size, with the exception of the silver chain that was attached to the top corner by a silver ring.

  “I suspect there are secrets in here that could make me rich,” said Nolan.

  “I suspect you’re already rich,” answered Rori.

  “Truth,” said Nolan with a grin. “Guess we should give it back to your lady fair.”

  “She’s not my ‘lady fair’,” said Rori grabbing the book and shoving it out of sight into his own shirt.

  “You might want to wipe off anything that looks like poison. Also, tell her I’m sorry about the damage from the dagger.”

  “I’m sure she won’t mind. I have to say, that was a pretty inspired plan and quite a dagger throw. Over fifty feet and you nailed the book under his shirt perfectly.”

  “Like most things, it’s nothing but practice,” said Nolan with a shrug. “Given enough time, you could do it too.”

  “I don’t think so,” answered Rori. “I tried weapons in the past, remember. They don’t seem to work for me.”

  “Good point. But don’t forget that you helped too.”

  “My part was easy. Especially since you had that wand to cast invisibility on me. I just stood and waited. You were right, eventually he did put the shirt down. Then it was on the wagon, on the roof and out of sight. How much does a wand like that cost? I might need to get one. That could come in handy.”

  “Between four and five thousand gold,” answered Nolan.

  “Four thousand gold! You paid four thousand gold for a wand!?”

  “Gods no. I found this wand in a cave. Or maybe it was when we raided that thieves’ guild. I forget.”

  “Care to tell me how you managed to look like an old woman?” ask Rori.

  “Hat of disguise,” answered Nolan as if that explained everything.

  “Do I want to know how much that costs or did you find that one too?”

  “I don’t even remember where I got this one. I’ve owned several throughout my life. They’re extremely useful. Though I will say that the illusion of a shirt is not nearly so warming as an actual shirt.”

  “Speaking of shirts, what are you going to do with that one?” said Rori pointing to the bag.

  “Burn it, I guess. The point was to do this anonymously. It would be silly to be identified because we kept Hargraves’ shirt.”

  Nolan freed the dagger from the shirt and then used the shirt to wipe off any of the remaining goo. He then put the shirt back into the sack. Then after giving the dagger a once over, he shrugged and threw it back into the sack.

  When Rori gave him an odd look Nolan said, “I don’t need it, and better safe than sorry. I doubt anyone would recognize it, but if I don’t have it on me, there’s no chance of that happening. Besides it was just an ordinary dagger.”

  “What about the shirt?” asked Rori. “It looked like a nice shirt.”

  “And I do need a new shirt, but in addition to the taint of its previous owner, this one does have a hole in the front. Of course, Hargraves did give me three gold to take it.”

  “That isn’t quite how it worked out,” said Rori.

  “You tell it your way. I’ll tell it mine.”