Casket of Souls

in the space behind it. Roughly square, the box was about a foot wide and half that thick. Seregil carried it to the desk and inspected it closely with the lightstone from his tool roll. Finally, a lock with a little spirit to it! Perhaps even a nasty device incorporated into the lock or brass plate. Smiling to himself, he took out the slender pick he’d designed for just such a situation. It was purposely bent so that it could probe the lock while keeping the hand out of range of any needles or other dangerous deterrents that might pop out.
    It was a good thing, too. Malthus had been much more careful with this; a burst of white flame flared from the keyhole, melting the pick and catching the edge of Seregil’s rolled-up shirtsleeve on fire.
    “Bilairy’s—!” Seregil struggled out of the shirt and hastily threw it away from him. He knew this magic. He’d seenThero—who had a peculiar fascination with all things flammable—place it on various objects to protect them. This sort of magical fire could consume flesh if in contact with it for more than a few seconds. For all Seregil knew, Thero had placed the magic on the box for Malthus himself. Unfortunately it set anything else it touched ablaze, too, and he’d thrown the shirt a little too close to the drapes behind the desk.
    Hard-pressed to think how he could make things any worse, he grabbed the box, which had stopped spewing fire, and hurried back the way he’d come. As he passed the kitchen, he shouted “Fire! Fire upstairs!” and ran for the garderobe. Tossing the box out the window, he wiggled after it, grabbed it up again, and bolted for the garden wall. He could already smell smoke and cursed himself for a fool. The last thing he’d intended to was to burn down a friend’s house. Fortunately someone had already raised the alarm. He could hear shouting inside. Bolting through the garden, he heaved the box over the wall, then scrambled up the rope and down the other side.
    He found Alec scrabbling around on the ground, gathering scattered documents and stuffing them into his shirt. Apparently there was no magic on the box to prevent it from smashing open when thrown over a wall onto a paved street.
    “A little warning would have been nice,” Alec whispered as he grabbed up the last of the scattered documents. “You nearly brained me with that thing.”
    “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
    Alec looked up and sniffed. “Is that smoke?”
    “Is it?” Seregil picked up the last pieces of the splintered box and hurried away with Alec close behind.
    At the Stag and Otter, Alec shook the documents from under his shirt and spread them out on the table. There were five in all, ordinary missives from Nalian and Laneus with no apparent hidden messages, as well as one from Elani, thanking Malthus for some gift. This one bore both signature and the princess royal’s seal, and was in Elani’s hand.
    “Well, that was a waste of time.” Alec stretched his armsover his head and yawned. “Why would he go to the trouble to hide those?”
    “Why, indeed.” Seregil turned his attention to the pieces of the box. It had landed on an upper corner; the left side panel was cracked, and the lid had broken in two, with one of the pieces hanging by one hinge. The lock plate was a melted medallion surrounded by charred wood. “You’d think he’d have used something sturdier.”
    “He probably didn’t anticipate it being tossed over walls.”
    Seregil detached the lid and set it aside with the splintered pieces. “Or he thought the fire spell on the lock would be enough to keep it safe.”
    “Fire spell? So that
was
smoke I smelled. What happened?”
    “Just a little mishap with the drapes,” Seregil hedged. He scrutinized the bottom of the box, tapping it lightly with his finger. “I think there’s a space under here.”
    He pulled the remains of the left side of the box free and his smile went a little crooked. There was, in fact, a false bottom, with a space about two inches deep beneath. “Lend me your knife.”
    Alec gave him the black-and-silver-handled dagger and Seregil used it to pry the false bottom of the box free. Underneath he found a folded letter still bearing a waxy spot where the seal had been broken. Even though it had no salutation or signature, he immediately recognized the familiar, slanted script; it was from the same spy who’d sent the other messages to Reltheus, and written in the same code. Skimming it, Seregil made out