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“Discoveries,” said Mordaunt. “Going to sell the military intel to Kent. Hawking the jewels. As for the letters, Wellesley’s got seven lovers—one for every day of the week, I suppose—and some of them will be worth blackmailing.”

“I beg your pardon? You said you found things—you didn’t say youstolethe things.”

“Obviously I stole the things. Didn’t kill anyone, by the way, not that you asked. Taking me a bit for granted, I think.”

“This isn’t what we came here for,” said Aurienne as Mordaunt continued to stuff his contraband into her bag. “You can’t take those things.”

“Of course I can. What are you going to do—call the guards on me?”

Aurienne snatched her satchel from him and inverted it onto the bed. “I’mnot going to be involved. Do you know how this would look for my Order, if they were to find these things in my bag? Military plans? Really?”

“Well, where am I meant to put them?” asked Mordaunt.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Stuff them into your codpiece.”

“I also found a kitten.”

“You found a kitten.”

“Yes.”

A hissing, dripping, black ball was placed in Aurienne’s hands.

“We can’t leave it here,” said Mordaunt. “The guards had it half-drowned in a bucket. I can’t take it home. Rigor Mortis will eat it. You take it.”

The kitten scrambled out of Aurienne’s hands and into her satchel, from whence it hissed hatefully at the two of them.

“I also need to do something about these,” said Mordaunt, producing two bottles of Scotch from the depths of his cloak. “Wellesley’s got a lovely collection and he knows it. The cellar was well guarded. Took me a full quarter of an hour to get in.”

Aurienne stared at him. “We arenotsmuggling Wellesley’s prized Scotch out of the Keep.”

“You really know how to suck the joy out of anything.”

“I wouldn’t need to if you wouldn’t inject unnecessary stressors into already tense situations.”

Rustling and chatter began to ring through the corridors as servants made their way to bedchambers to stoke fires and serve breakfasts. Wellesley Keep was waking up.

Aurienne cut her lecture short. “Get back into your armour. We could be summoned to see Wellesley at any moment.”

They got Mordaunt back into costume just in time; the chambermaids arrived a few minutes later, bearing a full breakfast tray for Aurienne. For Mordaunt, they brought a single boiled egg.

Mordaunt hadn’t replaced his helmet. The chambermaids eyed him as they aired out the room, and Aurienne heard one whisper to the other that if she’d knownthatwas under the helmet, she would’ve offered him the use of her own bed instead of the straw. Mordaunt, however, had eyes only for Aurienne—narrowed ones, accompanied by mutters that she was a Scourge.

As Aurienne finished her breakfast (smeared eggs about and poured tea into the poor potted plant) there was a knock at the door.

“Hello again, Pumpypip—er, Pipplewaithe,” said Aurienne.

“Good morning, Haelan Fairhrim, Sergeant.” Pipplewaithe swept off his hat. “Lord Wellesley is ready for you. Would you follow me?”

“Of course,” said Aurienne. “I caught a glimpse of the patient yesterday, by the way.”

“Did you, indeed?”

“By chance—she had escaped her minders. A lively girl. Your inexpert eye was correct. She seems in no immediate danger.”

Pipplewaithe’s feather shrank in embarrassment. “Did you think so? Well, I’m certain Lord Wellesley will be pleased to hear this assessment. I do offer my personal apologies for your—perhaps unnecessary?—voyage all the way here from the Danelaw. Though I’m sure you will forgive a father’s worry. He does like to have the best of the best on hand, as you’ve no doubt ascertained, but to call in a Haelan for—well, who can truly understand the minds of great men? Ha, ha—shall we?”

Pipplewaithe’s feather trembled, Mordaunt’s armour clanged, and they were off.