Casket of Souls

keeper placed the packet—minus a few coins, no doubt—behind the model ship on the mantelpiece and reversed the ship’s direction, then called the girls away into the back of the shop. One of the drinkers, a young ne’er-do-well in a broken-brimmed hat, had lingered behind, and as soon as they were gone he grabbed the packet and money, tucked it into the front of his coat, and strode out, not noticing the dark shape ghosting after him.
    Packet and coins changed hands again at a cheese shop, where a young boy took them and changed direction, heading at last toward the Noble Quarter, as expected.
    The hunt ended, not at Reltheus’s villa, but at Marquis Kyrin’s. The sentries at the gate seemed familiar with the boy and let him pass.
    Seregil ran silently down the side street to the alley behind the duke’s high garden wall. The barrel Alec had told him of was still there, lying on its side across the way next to a garbage pile. It served well again, and Seregil was soon through the garden and on the balcony outside the duke’s library. The heavy draperies were pulled across the window, but as he waited he saw the glow of a lamp in the sliver of space between the panels. Seregil pressed close to the glass, peering in.
    Inside, Kyrin walked to his desk and opened the packet, frowning as he carefully perused it. The frown soon changed to a look of relief. The marquis went to the painted cabinet Alec had searched his last time here. Opening both doors, he reached inside and did something that pivoted the cabinet out to reveal a dark hidden room or passageway, then disappeared inside with the lamp.
    Well, well
, thought Seregil.
I wonder what you keep there?
    He waited until Kyrin reappeared and left the room with his lamp, then waited a bit longer, just to be safe.
    Seregil threw the window latch with a shim and slipped inside, relying on the faint moonlight to see.
    Alec had warned him about the device on the cabinet lock. Taking out his lightstone, he found the telltale pits in the lockplate. He picked the lock carefully, angling his hand so the long needles didn’t pierce it when they sprang out.
    Opening the cabinet, Seregil cautiously reached inside, looking for the mechanism. It turned out to be nothing more than a small brass lever that secured the cabinet and its panel in place.
    Cool, stale air drafted out as he turned the cabinet and slipped behind it. He found himself on a small stone landing above a short flight of stairs. Seregil pulled the secret door nearly closed, in case someone wandered in, but not all the way since he couldn’t seem to find any corresponding lever on this side.
    He was about to go down the stairs when he caught sight of a slight space between the first stair and the riser. Kneeling, he pressed on the step and watched the stairs pivot on some unseen mechanism to become a smooth granite slide. A large trapdoor fell open at the bottom, revealing a square of blackness, ready to swallow up the unwitting thief. Seregil took his hand away and the stairs righted themselves, looking deceptively solid. With a creak of hidden pulleys, the trapdoor closed. Any unwary thief would be securely held until the master of the house came to find him. Or perhaps already impaled on iron spikes or blades. It was as nasty as it was ingenious, Seregil thought, impressed. It was the most elegant device he’d seen for some time. Now to find the locking mechanism.
    By the lightstone’s glow he inspected the stonework on either side of the landing. An iron lever was set into the mortar, just inside the door, quite out of sight unless you knew to look for it. He pulled it down and heard the rasp of metal somewhere underfoot. Pulling the lever down as far as it would go, Seregil felt it shift, no doubt locking into place. He was cautious all the same, testing the upper step again. It seemed solid.
    The stairway was narrow enough for him to press his palms firmly against the rough stonework as he made his way down, just in case the stairs went out from under him. Even now he went cautiously, aware that where there was one trap there might very likely be another, perhaps like theglyphs that protected his own secret staircase at the inn. But Kyrin either was too cautious to share his secret with a wizard, or lacked imagination, for Seregil reached the small chamber at the bottom without incident. Hopping over the trapdoor, he held up the lightstone.
    The room was sparsely furnished with a desk and two large