Casket of Souls

to the right. No light showed there.
    The one on the right appeared to let into a dining room and was easily shimmed open. Silent as shadows, they slippedinside, then Seregil crept to the kitchen doorway; there were no signs of any additional servants.
    All the same, they remained cautious as they investigated the room on the far side of the kitchen—a bedroom with two narrow beds and clothing thrown about that spoke of the twins. There were several jewel boxes, but none of the pieces were labeled and without Thero, there was no way of knowing if there was any magic in the room. Instead they had to make a quick and thorough search, but found nothing hidden away or suspicious.
    What should have been the main salon at the front of the house was nearly bare except for a few plain chairs and empty crates, and a mattress on the floor. A rack of wooden practice swords stood against the wall.
    They found more jewel boxes in another bedroom beyond, which appeared to belong to Zell and Leea, but their takings had been modest. Another frustrating search found nothing of interest. Time was passing too quickly.
    “If Thero hadn’t gone haring off, we’d be done by now,” Seregil muttered as they started up the stairs to the second floor.
    “It must have been important,” Alec whispered back. “I wonder why he couldn’t tell us? And why we couldn’t hear the message?”
    “There are different versions of that magic. Come on.”
    The bare treads creaked under their boots as they climbed the steep stairway. It sounded too loud in the empty, silent house. The floor of the upstairs corridor was bare wood, too, and a bit creaky in places. This wouldn’t be a good house to burgle if anyone was home. Seregil far preferred the dependable marble floors and thick carpets in the homes of the rich.
    There were more jewels in Brader and Merina’s room, and the children’s. Merina had the largest collection in a chest on her dressing table. Once again, none of the jewels in any of the rooms were locked away with anything but ordinary locks, and none of the pieces were labeled. Seregil glanced out the window and cursed softly under his breath at the span the moon had crossed since they’d begun. As he turned to go he collided with a dark shape that grabbed at him. He wasreaching for his knife when the shape growled, “It’s me, you fool!”
    “And about time, too,” Seregil whispered back. “Go downstairs and work your magic. We couldn’t find anything.”
    Leaving Thero to it, Seregil and Alec came at last to what was clearly Atre’s room, the best one, at the front of the house. It was lavishly decorated, while the others were much simpler, though well furnished. Atre’s bed was as large as the one at Wheel Street, with ornately carved bedposts and sumptuous tapestry hangings. There was a tall wardrobe, several clothes chests, and an expensive mirror on the wall, as well as an ivory-backed hand mirror on the dressing table. A writing table stood under the window overlooking the street, strewn with parchments. More overflowed from a basket on the floor beside the desk, awaiting scraping to be used again.
    Seregil drew the velvet drapes closed and began with the writing table, Alec with the wardrobe, working by the glow of their lightstones.
    The desk yielded nothing of note, aside from pages of what looked like a new play and sketches for costumes. Seregil had to stop himself from reading too much, as what he saw was quite good. Evil though he might be, Atre was a man of considerable talents.
    He moved on to the dressing table—unusual in a man’s room. It was covered with jars of cosmetics, unguents of various sorts, the hand mirror, and a casket of jewelry. He sorted through them carefully but none of these pieces were labeled, either, and Illia’s ring and Elani’s emerald brooch were not among them. But he did find two pieces he recognized: an ornate woman’s gold hairpin set with a citrine and the ring he’d given to Kylith, who had gifted it to Atre.
    As Thero joined them Seregil handed the articles to him. “Thero, look at these.”
    The wizard took the pieces and closed his eyes for a moment. “Myrhichia, certainly,” he said, holding out the hairpin. “And Kylith—but the impressions are very weak.”
    “I think Atre used these to kill them, then saved them as trophies.” Mouth set in a grim line, Seregil moved on to thefirst of the clothes chests, rifling down through the layers of fine wool and