Dagnell slipped into Riften the back way, when it was as dark as it was going to be and she could hide in shadows.
Or, rather, it was the front way. She swam out to one of the piers and crept up its ladder. She had considered circling around the stables and taking her own back stairs, to the deck at Honeyside; but if the Guild was after her that would be the obvious place for them to be watching. They might even have stationed someone inside; she didn’t harbor any illusions about their willingness to simply let themselves in if Mercer told them to. Any other approach would require her to face a set of gate guards, save one: going through Black-Briar Meadery. She had discovered that quite by accident, one of her first days in Riften, when she’d passed the lower door; one could simply go through the meadery’s lower level and up the stairs to the main entryway. She’d had some odd looks, that day, but nobody had tried to stop her. It was her best bet. Once again, she was grateful for the enchantments on her gloves. She could have picked the Meadery’s lock without them, but the additional boost allowed her to slip inside, up the stairs, and out again in record time.
Dag had purposefully waited until she knew Balimund was likely to have quit work for the day. She was fond of him, with his raspy voice and his perpetually cheerful greetings to her, but she really didn’t know whether he had any associations with the Guild and didn’t want to chance it. There was nobody else on the streets but the usual complement of city guards, and they weren’t difficult to avoid by slipping in and out of concealed spots in the marketplace. Once she was in the gates of the Temple’s grounds, she bolted for the sarcophagus entrance.
It ground open. As she waited to drop down through the old sewer opening, her mind and her heart were racing, wondering how she and Karliah were going to explain themselves to Brynjolf and Mercer, how they would survive the confrontation. She reached for the opening to the sewer.
It wouldn’t budge.
They had locked her out.
For a moment, her chest constricted. They locked me out. They don’t want me any more. I’ve been rejected again. I’m alone again and even worse, I’m in danger from the people I most wanted to see again.
No, idiot. Think.
She thought about it.
Mercer thought he had killed her. He had absolutely no reason to suspect that she was even in the world any longer, much less that she might have teamed up with Karliah to work against him. No, he had barred the door to Karliah, fearing that she would attack him there.
Ah, but what if he’d made up some wild tale about Dag, the way he had about Karliah? What if he hadn’t told them that she was dead? Who knew what she might have become in his stories – perhaps they all thought she had attacked Mercer, instead of the other way around?
There was no way to know. All she knew for certain was that she was locked out.
Dag turned and made her way to the lower level of Riften. They wouldn’t have blocked the entrance to the Ragged Flagon. People actually went to the Flagon for drinks, especially the laborers and less-affluent townfolk who skulked about the periphery of the city day and night. They couldn’t afford to close the Flagon. She walked into the Ratway and made her way across the drawbridge to the Flagon’s oddly-placed entrance.
Karliah approached her as soon as she got inside.
“I’m glad you’re here. I think some of these people are beginning to suspect who I am. Are you ready to face the Guild?”
Dag thought for a moment. Vekel was by himself, for once, sweeping the floor around his bar. “In a moment,” she said. “I need to check on something first.”
She approached him quietly, hoping not to attract any other attention. “Vekel,” she murmured.
He looked up at her and startled. It was the first time she’d ever seen his face break out of its noncommittal mask. Well, that tells me just about all I need to know, Dag thought. He sure wasn’t expecting to see me here.
Vekel was nothing if not smooth. He had to be, in his line of work; he heard things, as bartenders do, and needed to be able to keep them under his hat. He went back to his sweeping and his usual placid expression in just seconds.
“Well I see you’re back. You and Mercer were gone so long that Brynjolf even went out looking for you. Delvin and Vex were running things for awhile.”
“Really?” No, Vekel, trust me. Brynjolf wasn’t looking for me, he was looking for Mercer. “Well I’m sure they are quite capable of doing that.”
He nodded, then scanned the area to make sure they weren’t being watched. He dropped his voice to a whisper.
“Look, I like you, so I’ll tell it to you straight. I know that’s Karliah over there. There’s nobody else it could be. Brynjolf and the rest are in the Guild, and they’re ready to cut you down. I know you have a damn good reason for siding with her, so I hope you can give it to them.”
Dag felt as though the blood was draining from her. Well, I knew it was likely. The Guild takes care of its own. They were told a tale, and they had no reason to doubt it, and they were just getting ready to do what they always do. But it hurts, it really does.
“I do, Vekel. I hope they’ll listen. And thanks for the heads up. I really appreciate it.”
She and Karliah walked slowly toward the entrance to the Cistern, Karliah with the translation of Gallus’ journal out, visible, in her hands. That physical evidence had to change minds. It just simply had to. Otherwise, they were walking to their execution. They might be, anyway; she didn’t know whether they could stay all of those hands long enough to tell them about the journal. If they couldn’t, they were lost; she was a good fighter, but the numbers were not in their favor.
As they rounded the corner, Dag saw three figures, nearly obscuring the light. Coming from the dark hallway, her eyes wouldn’t adjust quickly enough to see their faces, but it was obvious who they were. Vex, on one side. Delvin, on the other. And in the center, nearly obscuring the light, looming and radiating menace in a way she’d never felt before, was Brynjolf. All three of them had daggers drawn. That big glass dagger, Dag thought, oddly detached. He’s not going to use it on Roggi. He’s going to use it on me.
She thought she heard a sharp intake of breath, as she blinked, her eyes adjusting to the room’s lighting. Had he thought she was dead?
“You’d better have a damned good reason for showing up with that murderer!” Brynjolf snarled, staring directly at her. His eyes were narrowed, icy cold.
Dag felt numb, miserable. Oh it hurt. It hurt so much to see him looking at her like that. No, my friend, she thought. Karliah isn’t a murderer, and you’ve been lied to.
If Brynjolf didn’t have a level head there was a good chance the death she nearly experienced at Mercer’s hand would turn out to be merely a death delayed. She had never seen Brynjolf fight, had never seen him do much of anything physical, truthfully; but at this moment, looking at his stance, his readiness, she was confident he could shred her to ribbons before she had a chance to draw. She scanned the room behind him; there was no sign of Mercer. They had all gravitated to Brynjolf once again.
Karliah spoke, her voice steady and confident. “Lower your weapons. I have proof that you’ve all been mislead.”
Dag desperately tried to make eye contact with Brynjolf, a silent plea for him to hear them out, but he had shifted his gaze to Karliah. She watched him struggling with his temper. She had seen it before, when she challenged him in front of the Guild and he’d swallowed the urge to punish her for it. Slowly, he sheathed the dagger. Dag fought not to sigh audibly.
“No tricks, Karliah, or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”
“No tricks, Brynjolf. Mercer’s been stealing under your noses, for years. I have proof. Here’s Gallus’ journal; I think you’ll find its contents quite disturbing.”
“Let me see,” Brynjolf said, his voice full of distrust. As the rest of the room stood in collective anticipation he started reading; and as he did, his expression slowly changed from anger to shock, to confusion and disbelief, and then to something she couldn’t decipher. Was it grief?
“This is impossible. It can’t be. I’ve known Mercer too long.” He looked up, looked back and forth between Karliah and Dag, questioning.
Dag couldn’t form words. She just nodded at him.
“It’s true, Brynjolf,” Karliah said sadly. “Mercer’s been stealing from the Guild for years.”
Brynjolf looked torn between anger, confusion, distrust, and a need to know. He looked at Delvin.
“There’s only one way to find out if what the lass says is true. Delvin, I’ll need you to open the vault.” He turned and started walking toward the other side of the Cistern. Everyone else followed.
Delvin spoke first. “Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn. What’s in that book? What did it say?”
“It says just what Karliah just told us. Mercer’s been stealing from the Guild’s vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered.”
“How could he open a locked door that takes two keys?” Delvin grumbled. “Could he pick his way in?”
“That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy,” Vex said. “There’s no way he could have picked it open.”
“He didn’t need to pick the lock,” Karliah murmured.
What? Dag looked at her in surprise, thinking of Mercer at the entrance to Snow Veil Sanctum.
Delvin also shot Karliah a sharp look. “What’s she on about?”
Dag’s mind was racing. Mercer had opened the Nordic puzzle door, too. It was simple if you knew the trick, he had said; but there were three holes in that central lock, the one he’d called a dragon claw keyhole, and she was certain there was no way he could have manipulated three picks at once without her seeing it.
“How did he do it?” she asked.
“I don’t have a clue,” Brynjolf said, mystified. “I have a key, Delvin has a key, and Mercer has a key. That’s all there are, no other copies, and it takes two of them to open the door. Use your key on the door, Delvin. We’ll open it up and find out the truth.”
Delvin walked to the door, inserted his key, and turned it. Dag heard a click; his key had done its work properly, but nothing else happened.
“I’ve used my key, but it’s still locked up tighter than a drum,” he said. “Now try yours.”
Brynjolf used his key. The vault doors swung open, slowly, and he walked inside, obscuring Dag’s view beyond him. There was a roar from the vault room.
“By the eight! It’s gone! Everything’s gone. Get in here, everyone!”
Dag had never seen this room before, but even so the sight was dismaying. There were chests everywhere, all opened and empty. There were shelves with nothing on them. There was nothing in the room except for the containers that had once held the Guild’s wealth. Mercer had taken it all.
Vex drew her dagger and started brandishing it about wildly. “That son of a bitch! I’ll kill him!”
Brynjolf whirled and locked eyes with her.
“Vex. Put it away. Right now. We can’t afford to lose our heads. We need to calm down and focus.” His voice was strong, authoritative, and yet calm.
Vex stopped waving her dagger, but didn’t sheathe it.
“Do what he says, Vex,” Delvin added. “This ain’t helping right now.” A part of Dag’s mind noted that Delvin was most definitely next in charge after Brynjolf. He had the third key; he was the one backing up Brynjolf’s orders at a crucial moment. Delvin was a mystery.
Vex slowly lowered her dagger and sheathed it.
“All right, we’ll do it your way. For now. But if I see that son of a bitch he’s dead.”
Brynjolf nodded.
And just like that, Brynjolf has become Guildmaster, Dag pondered, marveling. He didn’t even take a deep breath. He just took charge by virtue of his character and his powers of persuasion, and Delvin backed him up on it. No bloodshed, no chaos, no power grab, no question at all, just the expressed need to deal with the Guild’s problem. No Mercer Frey.
None of them knew where Mercer had gone, only that he had left and they hadn’t seen him in days. And they knew that they were going to find him. Brynjolf gave everyone an assignment. Vex and Delvin would guard the Flagon. Thrynn, Niruin, Vipir and the others would guard the Cistern. If anyone saw so much as a hair on Mercer’s head they were to come to him immediately. They all scattered, to do the things Brynjolf had given them to do.
Then he walked toward the Guildmaster’s desk. And he motioned for Dagnell to follow.