I had no intention of making the same mistake twice. My first attempt to enter the Vellmore estate had ended at the front gate, where the guards had refused me entry without giving me much opportunity to argue. My second attempt had been considerably more successful. Using Facsimile, I had borrowed the face of a guard named Cassian and managed to slip inside, where I discovered records linking House Vellmore to suspicious payments, redirected shipments and a meeting involving the Thorn Collective and an unnamed council member.
Unfortunately, my disguise had nearly been exposed when another guard recognised Cassian and began questioning me about his duties. I had managed to escape before things became complicated, but the experience had taught me something important about my ability. Facsimile copied a person’s appearance, not their memories, voice or mannerisms. Looking like someone was not the same as being able to convincingly pretend to be them.
This time, I intended to be more careful. I waited near the estate’s outer grounds, observing the guards as they changed shifts. The Vellmores maintained a respectable security force, but even the most disciplined guards had moments when their attention wandered. Eventually, one of them left the main patrol route and headed towards a narrow path beside the estate’s storage buildings. I followed at a distance, waiting until we were out of sight of the others before catching him by surprise. A quick strike rendered him unconscious, and I dragged him behind the building. After checking that he was still breathing, I removed the guard’s uniform and put it on myself.
Facsimile.
The familiar sensation settled over me as my features shifted. Within moments, my reflection belonged to another man. I adjusted the uniform, checked my appearance and made sure nothing was out of place. I had less than an hour before the ability wore off, and I had no intention of wasting it. Unlike my previous attempt, I would avoid unnecessary conversations and stay away from anyone who might know the guard personally.
I entered through a side passage used by the estate staff, keeping my head down as servants moved between rooms carrying supplies. Guards passed through the corridors, while somewhere deeper inside the estate, someone was giving instructions in an irritated voice. I walked with purpose, making sure I looked as though I had somewhere to be. Looking lost would attract attention, and that was the last thing I needed.
I was halfway through a service corridor when a woman stepped into my path. She was carrying a bundle of folded linen against her chest, and although her face was rather pretty, the layers of clothing she wore made it difficult to judge much about her figure. I offered a polite nod and attempted to pass, only for her to speak.
"You’re late."
I stopped and turned towards her. "Sorry?"
The woman’s voice was unexpectedly deep. Not merely husky, but so deep that I briefly wondered whether the sound had come from someone standing behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, but there was nobody else in the corridor. When I looked back, she was watching me with a rather unimpressed expression.
"Have you forgotten your duties as well?"
I studied her face. I had no idea who she was, and judging by her expression, she had no intention of making the conversation easy. "Of course not," I replied, hoping that confidence would carry me through.
"Then why are you standing there?"
A reasonable question, unfortunately. I needed to establish who she was without making it obvious that I had no idea. "Forgive me. I’ve had a rather busy morning, and I don’t believe I caught your name."
Her expression changed immediately. "Have you forgotten my name?"
I maintained my smile, although my thoughts had become considerably less pleasant. Apparently, the guard whose face I had borrowed knew this woman. That was precisely the sort of problem I had been hoping to avoid. "Not forgotten," I replied smoothly. "I was hoping you would remind me."
She stared at me for a moment before sighing and shifting the linen in her arms. "Garret."
"Garret," I repeated, as though committing the name to memory.
"Yes. Garret. Try to remember it this time."
"I’ll do my best."
She looked unimpressed, and I considered excusing myself before the conversation became any more troublesome. I had already spent too much time standing around, but as I prepared to leave, I noticed the papers tucked beneath her arm. An inventory sheet, judging by the columns and figures written across it. Several entries had been crossed out, with additional notes squeezed into the margins.
"Are those the latest supply records?" I asked.
Garret glanced down. "What of it?"
"Nothing. You just look as though you’ve been having trouble with them."
Her expression grew suspicious. "And what would you know about that?"
I looked at the sheet again. "You’re tracking the deliveries separately from what the estate actually receives, aren’t you?"
She frowned, and I took that as confirmation. "That makes it difficult to notice discrepancies. You could have one list for what was ordered and another for what arrived, then mark each delivery off as it comes in. That way, if something goes missing, you’ll know exactly where to look. You could even divide them by supplier so you don’t have to search through every page whenever someone asks about a particular shipment."
Garret examined the papers for a moment. "That might actually work."
"Most things do when they’re organised properly."
She looked up at me. "Since when have you been interested in organising anything?"
I almost smiled. It was another question I could not answer honestly. "I’ve been trying to improve myself."
"Then you’ve picked an unusual place to start."
"I’ve been told improvement can begin anywhere."
Garret gave a short laugh. It was still rather strange hearing such a deep sound coming from a woman with such delicate features, but I was beginning to find it amusing. She shifted the linen in her arms and looked down at the inventory sheet again.
"You should be careful offering advice around here. People might start expecting you to do something useful."
"That would be terrible."
"Very."
For the first time, her expression softened. I recognised an opportunity when I saw one. I had entered the estate looking for information, not companionship, but there was little reason to ignore an opening that presented itself. Someone who worked inside the household could hear things that guards and visitors never would. If I managed to establish a connection with her, it might prove useful later.
"Perhaps I should make it up to you," I said.
Garret raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For interrupting your work."
"You didn’t interrupt anything. I was already having a difficult morning."
"Then allow me to improve it."
"How?"
"That depends. Are you always this difficult to impress?"
Garret stared at me, apparently trying to decide whether I was being serious. I waited, keeping the faint smile on my face. Eventually, she laughed again.
"You’re in an unusually talkative mood today."
"I’ve been told I should make better use of my time."
"Who told you that?"
"Someone wise."
"Clearly not someone who knows you very well."
I gave her a smile. "Perhaps you’d like to find out."
Garret looked me over, taking in my uniform before returning her attention to my face. "You’re certainly behaving strangely."
"I’ve had a change of perspective."
"Well, whatever has happened to you, I hope it lasts. The other guards are hardly pleasant company."
I made a mental note of that. "Then perhaps I should keep you company sometime."
"Perhaps."
It was not an invitation, but neither was it a refusal. Garret glanced towards the corridor behind her and adjusted the bundle in her arms. "I have work to finish. If I stand here talking all morning, someone will come looking for me."
"Then I won’t keep you."
I stepped aside, allowing her to pass, but before she could leave, I spoke again. "Garret?"
She looked back.
"Would you be free after your duties?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"
"I’d like to buy you something to eat."
"That’s rather sudden."
"I’ve always preferred being direct."
"Have you?"
"On occasion."
She shook her head, but there was the beginning of a smile on her face. "There’s a little place near the eastern market. I sometimes go there after work."
"I know it."
"Then perhaps you can find it."
"I’ll try."
Garret gave me one last look before continuing down the corridor. I watched her disappear around the corner, considering the encounter. That had been unexpectedly convenient. I had not entered the estate intending to flirt with a housekeeper. It had simply become the most practical way to turn an awkward encounter into something useful. If Garret was willing to speak with me outside the estate, I might gain access to information that would otherwise remain beyond my reach. Her appearance was an added benefit, but I had no intention of confusing an opportunity with anything more than what it was.
I turned towards the main passage, reminding myself that I still had work to do. As I passed a group of servants, I caught a fragment of their conversation.
"Have you heard about the stranger?"
"The handsome one?"
"Apparently, half the city has been talking about him."
I barely paid attention. Clara had mentioned something similar before, a handsome stranger who had recently become the subject of gossip around Haremdale. I had dismissed it then, and I saw no reason to reconsider now. Ren should already have been on his way to the Dragon Kingdom. Whatever rumours were circulating in the city, they were unlikely to have anything to do with him. I continued walking, more concerned with the matter that had brought me back to the estate in the first place.
The records I had discovered during my previous infiltration were suspicious, but suspicion was not proof. I needed something more substantial, something that could establish a direct connection between House Vellmore and the Thorn Collective. A name, a document or even a conversation between the right people would give me somewhere to start. The information Garret might provide could prove useful, particularly if she had access to the household’s deliveries and records. I would have to be careful not to ask too much too soon.
By the time I reached the servants’ exit, I could feel the familiar pressure of Facsimile beginning to fade.
I had no intention of testing how long it would last. Once outside, I put some distance between myself and the estate before allowing the disguise to disappear. My own reflection returned in the glass of a nearby shop, and I adjusted my coat before continuing down the street. I had managed to get inside without attracting attention, found a potential connection within the household and arranged to meet her later.
It was not everything I had hoped to accomplish, but it was a reasonable start. I still had a meeting to attend, a household to investigate and a connection to the Thorn Collective that I intended to uncover.