It was truly wondrous what money could buy. Try as he might, Alaric couldn't imagine any other reason for Northend Station to exist at all. The terminus of the rail line sat in the northernmost reach of the realm, far from any big city, factory district, or even an airship port. Economically, culturally, historically, ecologically – this extra stop was pure extravagance.
Out here there were only the high cliffs watching over a restless, gray ocean, a sweep of moor, and a single, sprawling mansion.
They had built it tall, and willfully, on pillars thrust over the cliffs of Northend. It stood alone as if it were the center of the world and nothing else deserved a second glance. It shone in pale colors, with a well-kept façade and windows like gates leading into a better place.
A richer one – and Alaric had invited himself.
With the whistle of the departing locomotive, the little station emptied. Alaric and his partner had been the only passengers to ride the line all the way out. He couldn't complain. The air here was a far cry from the steam and steel jungle of Nex City.
All that remained was the unattended station house, the small barometer on the ivy-clotted wooden wall, and the gravel path that climbed toward the estate. Alaric glanced over his shoulder and asked:
"Shall we?"
His partner, an older gentleman whom Alaric had known only as Mr. Red for five years, nodded. His hair had gone gray, but the way he carried himself spoke more of a managing director than a rusty tool. For this particular visit he'd put on a suit, a tie, and even a black flat cap. Alaric wore only a white shirt, light trousers, and work boots.
Mr. Red strode past Alaric and started up toward the manor. Alaric followed with a smirk. His partner didn't return it.
"You're meant to be at ease, not careless," Mr. Red said.
Alaric lifted his hands in innocence.
"Experience shows a relaxed mood greatly improves our odds."
"You have no experience."
"I've been doing this for three years."
"You're sixteen."
"And still breathing."
Mr. Red shook his head. It was a hopeless argument – one they'd had dozens of times. By now it was almost a ritual. The old, seasoned man schooling the young, eager lad. Alaric found it almost touching.
He also knew better than to push Mr. Red too far. He sighed, caught up to the older man, and gave him a straightforward look.
"Once we're in character, I'll be anything but careless. You know me."
"I do. You also need to shed the 'relaxed' part. Simon Smith is not relaxed in the presence of a Blackwood," Mr. Red replied.
Alaric snorted. His gaze drifted up to the villa. A gust whipped his clothes. Far out on the horizon, storm clouds piled like mountains in the sky.
"No one is relaxed in the presence of the Blackwoods," he muttered.
He regretted not bringing a coat. On the other hand, it would have been odd if Simon Smith, a simple courier for the even simpler firm 'Smith Personnel Placement,' showed up in a fine leather coat. The fact that his father, Thomas Smith, wore a suit was already plenty.
For the first time that day, Mr. Red smiled. Alaric made a mental note. Four times in a week. A good sign, or a bad one?
"Not all Blackwoods are... the way Blackwoods tend to be. Miss Victoria Blackwood can be reasonable, under certain circumstances."
Alaric's eyes widened.
"You know the mark?"
Mr. Red gave a contemptuous shake of the head.
"Not personally. I am no amateur."
Even the suggestion – his own – seemed to have stung him. And it should have. The game would be spoiled if Victoria Blackwood had already put faces to their names.
"But I did a bit more digging. Ms. Blackwood visited several orphanages in Nex City a month ago. I can't recall any other Blackwood ever bothering."
Alaric made a face.
"Visited. Wonderful," he almost hissed. "She graced the children with her presence. Now at least they've seen an angel before they spend the rest of their lives scrubbing filter pumps. Or end up in the gutter."
Mr. Red stopped dead. His step faded into the quiet. Perplexed, Alaric halted as well. The old man looked at him.
"That could have been you, if I hadn't taken you in. Ms. Victoria may be a Blackwood, but you don't hold people's good deeds against them just because they fare better than those they're trying to help."
"'Better' is an understatement," Alaric said. "Kids with one or two parents have it 'better.' Three meals a day is 'better.' A Blackwood lives on their own pretty pony ranch – or in a cliff-top villa at the end of the world. That's more than just better."
"A fine speech," said Mr. Red. "Is that how you justify what you're doing here?"
"Tsk. The woman won't even notice if one or two heirlooms go missing. Besides, why would I need to justify anything? You've been at this a lot longer than I have."
"That's true."
Mr. Red paused for a moment before adding:
"But I had a choice."
Was that softness in his foster father's voice? That had to be a mistake.
"What? What are you saying?" Alaric asked.
The old man's face didn't shift – but Alaric felt something all the same. Affection? Unsettling. It made him unsure. He gave a nervous chuckle, but it died as Mr. Smith said, grave as a bell:
"This time is different. One bows to a Blackwood, one does not rob them. This whole affair is dangerous and—"
"You mean more dangerous than usual."
"Deadly," Mr. Red finished. "If you want… I'll do this one alone."
The sea breeze brushed Alaric's cheek with cool fingers. He spared a single glance for the estate and snorted.
"Pah!" he said, lengthening his stride. "You'll have a heart attack if I don't keep an eye on you. Come on, old man! Simon and Thomas Smith don't keep anyone waiting, do they?"
Alone? What's he going on about? By the Founder, sometimes he can be insufferable! Alaric thought, fixing his eyes stubbornly ahead.
The warm laughter he thought he heard behind him had to be nothing but the wind, sweeping over the broad moor at the edge of the world.
***
Clack! Clack!
"I've always wanted to do that," Alaric whispered with a grin as he brought the door knocker down against the towering oak door.
"Stay in character," Mr. Red reminded him, but he hardly needed the prompt.
Alaric took in the estate the way simple Simon Smith would have. He scanned the broad façade and couldn't find a single crack or a flake of paint. The windows were freshly cleaned and drawn with thick red curtains.
Every window.
He frowned. Behind the house, the waves beat rhythmically against the cliffs. The sun was already high. Could Victoria Blackwood still be asleep at this hour?
Rich folk.
A moment later the oak door was unbolted from within. Alaric's body tensed at once. He stepped up beside Mr. Red. He didn't have to pretend Simon's nerves quite as much as he would have liked.
They don't even ask who we are...
Alaric's thoughts faded away when the door swung inward – far too smoothly for its size – and he found himself looking into the eyes of a beauty.
He had to blink twice when the young woman dipped into a slight bow before them. He almost reached out to stop her. It felt wrong – grace itself bowing to someone like him.
"Good day, gentlemen," said the young woman, her deep-blue eyes reminding of the calm of a gentler sea, taking in both Alaric and Mr. Red.
"My name is Elis Snow. How may I serve you?"
Alaric recovered. He had never fallen out of character, but it did surprise him to meet someone like Elis Snow. Maids and butlers belonged, to him, to the same world as unicorns or Stormrunners. He imagined he'd need to be reborn to ever lay eyes on anything quite so... wealthy.
Not that he minded laying eyes on Ms. Snow.
He wasn't sure whether she was actually older than he was, or whether her appearance only made her seem so. She wore a black dress with a wine-red apron, neatly finished with ivory piping. A small pin at her chest clasped the Blackwood family's golden brass button. Under her little cap, her blonde hair had been gathered back with care.
Alaric wondered whether her outfit alone wasn't worth more than the take from his last job.
If this is just the maid, what must the mistress be like?
Mr. Red beamed and bowed as well – and just like that, the game resumed.
Alaric deliberately did not bow. Thomas Smith had to clap his starstruck, dazzled son on the back to make him follow suit.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Snow," Thomas said. "I'm Thomas Smith, and this is my son, Simon Smith. We'd like a word with your mistress. Is Ms. Blackwood available?"
Ms. Snow's eyes did not narrow, but when she let her gaze drift past them, she was unmistakably taking in the vast nothing beyond.
"You've come a long way," she observed evenly. "However, I don't recall Ms. Blackwood expecting visitors today... especially at the summer house."
The point was clear. And anticipated.
Thomas removed his cap.
"I sincerely apologize. But you understand it's impossible to maintain correspondence by letter from out here. That's why we made the journey from Nex City in person. Anything less would not do Ms. Blackwood justice."
Ms. Snow looked them over from head to toe. It was time for Simon to speak.
"We have an offer she will, without doubt, find attractive."
Thomas shot his son a firm look. Simon shrugged, meeting the maid's piercing gaze without flinching.
She closed her eyes for a heartbeat – perhaps the professional equivalent of a sigh – and stepped aside.
"Normally, Ms. Blackwood's advisers decide whether an offer reaches her at all…"
Exactly. But we're two pushy upstarts who've come all the way to the holiday retreat. How tiresome.
"...and I don't have that authority," Ms. Snow finished, motioning the gentlemen inside.
Alaric had to smother a smile. Step One accomplished. Step Two was getting rich.
Thomas and Simon shared a brief, pleased glance and crossed the threshold. Behind them, Ms. Snow swung the heavy oak door shut without the slightest effort. It fell to with a resounding thud.
"You'll have to wait a little. Ms. Blackwood is currently out."
"Alone? What's there to do out there?" Simon asked.
As far as he knew, there was only the station, the moor, the cliffs, and…
A bad feeling began to coil in his gut. Suddenly, Alaric no longer felt like smiling, though Simon still did.
Ms. Snow smiled pleasantly.
"Ms. Blackwood is out hunting. She shouldn't be long."
"Hunting as in..."
"One of The Creatures," Ms. Snow elaborated.
And in that instant Alaric understood that he and Mr. Red had been overlooking one small thing for quite some time.
Stealing from a Blackwood was already a terrible idea... stealing from a creature-hunting Blackwood was worse.
Alaric — no, Simon — chuckled.
"How delightful."