“Filching thief!” Pan suddenly screeched and then began to bob on Matthew’s shoulder. “Filching thief!”
“Shhh,” Matthew hissed, wondering not for the first time if he should have left the parrot at the Black Sheep. Pan was well trained for their normal nocturnal adventures, but this was a different type of job. Hannah and Sophia had been very generous to lend him the bird, even though this undertaking was personal.
Pan stuck his eye in front of Matthew’s left one. “Filching. Thief.”
Matthew glared at the parrot, although it wouldn’t do any good. It wasn’t so much that Pan didn’t understand human facial expressions. He just blithely ignored them.
“I didn’t give you the signal to create a distraction,” Matthew said. “This is the silent part.”
“Filching thief.”
Matthew sighed. “Do you wish for me to leave you behind? Once we go over that wall, you can’t keep squawking.”
Pan retreated back to Matthew’s shoulder. The bird didn’t open his beak, but he did rustle his feathers directly in Matthew’s ear.
Matthew hid a smile. Pan might act long-suffering on their midnight jaunts, but Matthew suspected that the old bird loved every moment—the more perilous the better.
A stillness descended, and Matthew’s training told him it was time to make his move. “Go. Be a lookout. Report back.”
Pan muttered one more “filching thief” before flying off. As Matthew waited, he refrained from pacing. Although he doubted anyone could see him, he didn’t want any movement or sound to betray his presence, especially to the Night Watch. Instead, he dealt with his nervous energy as he always did, by regulating his breathing. Easy in. Easy out.
Finally, Pan returned in a flutter of feathers that could be mistaken for pigeon wings. “No souls. No souls.”
Matthew reached into his bag and withdrew a grappling hook. Normally when he did this kind of exercise, there were already ropes aplenty to climb. This time, he needed to provide his own.
He threw the device easily over the bricked garden wall, the spikes catching in the soft mortar. Of course, his target would live in a house with a fortress-like gate. At least Matthew didn’t have to climb onto a rooftop… yet.
Climbing up a sturdy, stationary wall was elementary. It was almost as easy as taking a stroll through a manicured park. Matthew was perched on top of the ten-foot structure within moments, his breathing not belabored in the least. He scanned the misty garden, even though Pan had already scouted the area. The little rascal might be an exceedingly intelligent bird, but that was part of the problem. He was both (a) a rascal and (b) a bird.
Matthew couldn’t see anything in the fog, but more importantly, he didn’t hear anything. Adjusting the hook, he quickly rappelled to the ground. He was adept at using shadows as cover, buttonight everything was the shade of pitch. Matthew possessed a dark lantern that he could adjust to allow only slivers of light, but he did not want to risk using it in the open. Instead, he moved slowly through the garden with Pan flapping circles above him. Although the bird made no other sound, Matthew was convinced the feathered fiend was laughing at him. The sensation of being mocked only intensified when Matthew accidently blundered into an ornamental tree and a few twigs slapped his face. Thankfully, he traversed the rest of the yard without incident.
When he spied a set of French doors, he allowed a triumphant smile to blossom over his face. He’d guessed correctly that the owner of this particular home would have insisted on installing the fashionable architectural feature. It didn’t take Matthew long to pick the lock, as he was accustomed to much more substantial ones.
Leaving Pan outside, Matthew slipped into the town house. As soon as he inched away from the doors with their multiple panes of glass, he pulled the dark lantern from his sack and lit it. Cautiously, he lifted a panel, and the faint glow illuminated a luxurious rug. Matthew grinned. No creaking boards tonight. He had a cushioned path to follow. Breaking into an aristocrat’s mansion was child’s play.
Matthew drifted through the house like a wraith. Although he did not know the layout, he had a good idea that the owner would choose the room with the best vantage point over London as his private study. Matthew had earlier selected a location to try first by studying the windows as he’d waited on the foggy street for nightfall.
Matthew headed that direction now, making sure to tread lightly. His heart pounded, but he’d long ago learned to ignore it. Moving deliberately, he reached his destination. As he carefully eased the door open, relief flooded him. It was indeed the private study of his quarry.
Carefully shutting himself in the room, Matthew walked over tothe window and drew the curtains closed. Only then did he pull up all the shutters on his lantern. Lifting the light high, he scanned the space. He paused when he spied a bust of the homeowner situated on a round table. Matthew followed the head’s gaze. It was looking at a watercolor of a familiar Scottish estate. Matthew frowned. His target might feign family fealty, but he doubted the man would position his statue in that direction. Quickly, Matthew scanned the study’s paintings. One of them showed Zeus on his throne at Mount Olympus surrounded by demigoddesses and cavorting nymphs. On the plains below, mortal men battled in a brutal, bloody contest to entertain the immortals.
Matthew walked over to the bust and turned it to face the tableau of deviant excess. As he’d hoped, he heard a snick. Crouching down, he felt under the desk, his hand brushing against an open secret compartment. Matthew reached inside, and his fingers grazed the softness of a kid leather bag. He withdrew that small satchel and dumped its contents into his hand. Cool metal poured into his palm. When he brought the object into the beam of light, gold glinted and pearls glistened.
Matthew had little interest in jewelry, but the piece called to something inside him. Pearls clustered around small bloodred rubies to form a repeating chain of flowers. A delicate clasp that looked like two hands clutching each other held the choker in a tight circle. From the center hung an onyx cameo nestled in a bed of delicate gold leaves. An indeterminant animal was carved in relief in the white portion of the semiprecious stone. It seemed crude compared to the rest of the piece—or perhaps it was intentionally stylized.
Yet as much as the necklace unexpectedly captivated Matthew, it didn’t give him the answers that he sought. He flipped it over, looking for an inscription or some clue. Frustratingly, there was nothing.
The tread of footsteps in the hall caused Matthew to freeze. Quickly, he shoved the jewelry into his pocket. He glanced around the room, wondering if he should return the bust to its proper position, but the creaks drew perilously close. Matthew dashed to the window and quickly opened it. There wasn’t much of a ledge, but it would have to do. Extinguishing his lantern, Matthew shoved it into his knapsack. Next, he ripped off his shoes and stockings, knowing they would only hamper his movements, and tossed them into the bag too. He threw the now-heavy load over his shoulder. Luckily, he was accustomed to balancing himself with the uneven weight while he scampered across narrow beams and other obstacles. But the four-inch outcropping of ornamental brick might prove to be a challenge.
Matthew didn’t have a choice though. Without hesitation, he slipped outside, pressing his back against the building. He didn’t look down but instead scanned the edifice for helpful architectural flourishes. Instead of simple brick, the vertical sides of the mansion were capped in blocks of limestone. The white rock formed a pattern that looked a bit like capitalEs stacked upon each other, or a wide-tooth comb. Matthew just hoped that the slabs weren’t flush with the rest of the outside wall as he slowly inched his way toward them.
Movement echoed from the room that Matthew had just vacated. Ignoring the sweat dripping into his eyes and the scrape of the bricks against his palms, Matthew scooched his body even faster. He’d just reached the squares of limestone when he heard the first bellow. The empty secret compartment must have been discovered.
Matthew grasped the stone embellishments. Relief flooded him when he found that the rock stuck out almost two inches. It was enough for Matthew to grab and give his feet a toehold, and thankfully the night air had made the rough surface cool, making it easier to grip. Years of unorthodox exercise had made Matthewexceedingly nimble. Ignoring his burning muscles and his abraded fingertips, he controlled his breathing and managed to descend quickly.
His feet hit solid ground. From the open window above Matthew, he could hear the crash of thrown figurines and the accompanying roars of outrage. Matthew padded quietly and quickly to the garden wall. Pan alighted from his perch in a tree, his rhythmic flapping wings setting an almost soothing beat. The locale might be different, but the mad dash to safety was familiar.
Matthew swung his grappling hook at the brick garden wall, his first throw thankfully accurate. He scaled the structure even faster than he had the first time. When he reached the top, he stopped. As he slipped on his shoes, he glanced back through the dissipating fog at the lighted window. In the warm glow stood a broad-shouldered man, angrily scanning the darkness. Although Matthew could just make out the fellow’s enraged features through the fading mist, the owner of the mansion wouldn’t be able to detect Matthew, especially at this distance. Still, old fear coursed through him, almost making him fumble his grappling hook as he repositioned it.
