Hettie crept along the edge of the stone seat, avoiding the puzzle-like stones below. It did not feel threatening, but she did not wish to risk it. The door was thick and solid, likely sealed by a crossbar on the other side. Not a problem for her. As she crouched near the wall, she studied the outer rim of the tower, looking for an alternative way inside. She was surprised by the lack of windows. Cautiously, Hettie stepped on the edge of the balcony floor, careful to avoid the colored design. She waited, listening. Then, slowly, she began to stretch over the ground, sliding out like a snake so that it spread her weight evenly as she moved. That was usually a way to circumvent many troubles that might be in the way, but her instincts felt that the balcony was not rigged. When she was fully stretched out, her head near the door, she cocked her ear at the seam at the bottom and listened, waiting patiently. She waited a long while, letting the sounds of the wind wash over her, letting her senses reach out to the world around her. The air from the bottom of the door was stale but she detected the odors of ale and wine. Curious. She also felt heat coming from the seams, just enough to caress her skin. Thinking back, she realized she had seen a flue jutting from the rooftop on the other side—a tiny one. A sparrow might squeeze in it, not her.
Convinced there was no one beyond, she lightly touched the handle, a stout iron ring flecked with rust. Grasping it by the collar, she waited, breathing in slowly, her heart starting to race. She pulled at the ring. The door opened a fraction. She waited, shutting her eyes so that she could hear better with her ears. Another little tug on the door. It opened farther. There was no crossbar securing it. With her other hand, Hettie loosed her dagger from its sheath and brought it out, holding it underhanded. She pulled the door until it parted open, just a fraction. She kept herself pressed against the door itself so that she would not be seen. Again, she waited for sounds to reveal the presence of someone.
Nothing.
Taking a deep breath, Hettie jerked the door ajar, keeping herself back out of sight. She wanted it to seem like the wind may have gusted it loose. If someone were asleep inside, they would come to investigate. Nothing happened. Hettie peered around the edge of the door, into the room.
A small fireplace contained a crackling fire and there were glowing orbs set in the wall inside, revealing the room with light. The dancing flames first caught her gaze, as they appeared to be the only movement in the room. She waited for several moments, watching the flames whip as the hot air joined the swirling winds outside. Hettie stepped around the edge of the door, peering inside curiously. It was a small tower, a single room. It was, however, very full.
Hettie’s boot tapped against an empty wine bottle as she took her first wary step inside, knife balanced for throwing. There were bottles throughout the chamber, cluttering the floors and tabletops. A bed sprawled to her right, the blankets and sheets rumpled, but not occupied. There was a huge chest at the foot of the bed, nailed with leather and bound with iron straps. She shut the door behind her firmly, knowing it would open with a strong kick. The room was deliciously warm and had the yeasty smell of ale and the pungent smell of spoiled grapes. A second door was directly across on the far wall, of the same design as the one she had entered through. Two doors and no windows. A small coffer sat on the table, its lid open, spilling an assortment of gems and ducats of various mint—Havenrook, Cruithne, Wayland, but mostly Kenatos. There was a shaggy rug in the center of the room. She went to it quickly and lifted one of the corners, trying not to let the empty bottles rattle too much. She expected a trapdoor beneath, but there was none. A book lay on the table near the coffer. It was open to a page with ink scrawls marking names, races, ages, and recording injuries sustained. She flipped several pages, seeing the ledgers full. Many names were crossed out. The swipe of the ink looked ominous. A half-empty goblet sat by the tome, a small circle of ale froth showing its remaining contents. There was a small chair by the desk.
By the bed, on the far side, was a huge bracket full of swords. She raced to it immediately, counting at least seven. A solitary brace showed one was missing. She studied the remaining blades and scabbards, seeing various fashions of blades. All had gems mounted to the pommels and she could feel the sense of power radiating from them. Seven blades. One was missing. She swore under her breath. However, if the empty brace was where the Sword of Winds was normally kept, it would be an asset to know that now. She studied all seven, noting the make and length of each. She memorized the order and the details.
Across the wall on the other side of the tower, Hettie noticed a hanging cabinet. There was a lock on it. It was too small for a sword, but the lock caught her attention immediately. She approached it, studying the curve of the wood and noticed it was sturdy and solid. The lock, however, was no match for her skills. With a wire and a prod, she tripped it open and unfastened the cabinet latch. She expected to find bottles of wine or ale, but instead, a cold creeping fear clutched her stomach. There were vials of poison inside. Each had a label, scrawled with a delicate hand. She stared at one of them, tucked away in the back.