Vex was still on high alert when Dagnell approached her, and she didn’t relax or sheathe her dagger.
“Vex, it seems I’m going to need to get into Mercer’s house. I understand you might have some information on the man who’s guarding it. Vald?”
Vex sneered. Vex always seemed to sneer, but this one was a particularly deep sneer with obvious feeling behind it.
“That pig? Oh, I have info on him. More than you care to know.”
Undoubtedly, Dag thought. I’d laugh, except that it’s not really funny.
She told Dag that Vald had once been a bandit but had ended up working with the Guild, much like Thrynn. That’s how she’d come to know him. Then he’d gotten himself into debt with Maven Black-Briar and found himself stuck guarding Mercer’s home on her orders. Dag watched Vex’s face closely as she spoke. Yes, there was something there, she thought. Maybe it was just mutual attraction, but I think maybe it was more, at least for her. Lucky man. Too bad he had to leave. Maybe if he’d stuck around he’d eventually have been worth the attention she paid him.
“Well I need him to let me in there, or give me the key, or something. How do I get on his good side?”
Vex laughed. “Good side? Wrong person. The only thing Vald understands is gold. A man after my own heart. “
Dag nodded. Well I certainly understand what’s going on here. Trust a situation like that to show you things about yourself, none of which make you especially happy. I’ve been there. Recently. I’m sorry.
Vex told her that she had a few options. It might be possible to bribe Vald, but he would ask for a lot to betray Mercer. Dag shook her head. The coin purse was still mighty thin after buying Honeyside. She could talk to Maven. Yes, Dag thought, I could talk to Maven. I still seem to be on her good side. But I really don’t like her or the stranglehold she seems to have on just everything in this town and I don’t care to give her leverage over me. Something needs to be done about that woman.
“Or you could just run him through and take what you need off his corpse,” Vex said, shrugging. “I could care less.”
I don’t believe you, Dag thought. But that’s probably my only choice.
Dag passed Karliah on her way out of the Flagon.
“I’m glad we both survived, Karliah,” she said.
Karliah nodded. “I’m glad Brynjolf has an open mind, or that could have gotten bloody.”
You have no idea, Karliah, Dag thought, shifting her shoulders and wincing. He’s a powerful man, and he has a bad temper and the potential to do great damage. I don’t know how he manages to keep it under control so well. I’m glad he’s on our side again.
The sun had long since risen when she emerged into Riften once again. That was a long night. I hope nobody minds, but I have got to get some rest.
Dag walked slowly toward Honeyside, looking at all the people she’d come to recognize milling about in the marketplace. Balimund looked up in mid-hammer and gave her a smile as she passed. One of the guards nodded at her and said, “I hope you’re well, Thane,” a greeting that almost made her jump. Thane. That was still hard to wrap her head around.
As she was inserting her key into the lock, Dag noticed something new. There was an odd symbol carved into the doorframe, low down where someone not constantly scanning the area for potential threats wouldn’t be likely to look, an elongated diamond shape with a circle in the center. This was the same symbol that was on the outside of the Ragged Flagon’s door, and the symbol in stained glass that adorned the cemetery entrance to the Cistern. I’ll be damned, she thought. Someone just came over here and put the Guild shadowmark on my door. I guess that means I’m back in their good graces.
She vastly preferred that to the alternative.
The tub felt wonderful, and so did the nap.
Shadows were getting long by the time she headed back to the Temple’s grounds. Instead of going into the Cistern, though, Dag used that cover to slip into the alleyway that ran behind Riften’s row of larger homes. It was, as alleys go, a pretty one, well-kept, with iron fencing to keep the riffraff out. Dag could see one guard at the far end, walking back and forth between the mouth to the alley and the inside of Riften’s north gate, but at this moment that was all she needed to worry about. She walked along, looking for the back entrance to Riftweald Manor.
It was not a difficult place to find, the large home with all of its windows and its visible lower-level doors boarded up tight. There was a stairway from ground level up to a landing, but no apparent access to the upper-level door except a raised ramp. Dag tried the gate, not expecting anything other than what she found: it was locked. Then she ducked back down into the shadows as a figure emerged from the far corner of the back yard. Vald. It had to be.
Vald was big, the size of Maul or his brother Dirge. A Nord, dark-haired, blindingly handsome to Dag’s eye. I can see why Vex was attracted, she thought, grinning. So now I know what type she likes. It’s a wonder she’s not with Brynjolf. Maybe she is, who knows. But no, she’d seen nothing that would hint that Red was with anyone of any persuasion in spite of the tales of him sleeping with all the new recruits.
Vald made a wide sweep through the yard and stopped just inside the gate, looking back up toward the house. Dag pondered. She wasn’t a great pickpocket, but this was a golden opportunity and she might as well try it. She slipped her fingers into the pouch on his belt and, to her wonder, pulled out a pair of keys. Vald looked around the yard, but not behind him, and then headed out to circuit the yard again.
Dag picked the smaller of the two keys and opened the gate. To her dismay, it made a loud click.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!” Vald yelled, drawing a dagger and running at her.
Dag sighed. It had seemed to be going so well for one brief moment. She pulled her swords and sprinted past Vald, rolling at the last moment to get under his swing. Popping up, she whirled and cut his throat with a quick scissors cut from behind. He dropped like a stone. “I’m sorry, Vex,” she murmured, looking down at him. “I don’t know what went wrong, but I’m sorry.” Dag struggled a bit with Vald’s heavy body, but managed to pull him aside so as to be out of sight to a passing guard, then closed the gate.
As she had thought, all the lower level doors were barred from the inside. Her only way in was going to be via the ramp, and it was raised. She stared at it, thinking. Underneath, near the hinges, was an odd-looking mechanism. It would make sense that Vald, or any other guard, had to be able to get into the house somehow, what with all the doors locked; so how did they activate it from below? She scoured the walls near the stairs, but there were no chains, or levers, or buttons; nothing looked like an activator at all.
But, she thought, staring up at it, I might be able to hit that thing with an arrow. The worst that can happen is that it won’t work. She pulled her bow and lined up a shot, then loosed it, the iron arrow hitting the mechanism and bouncing off. The ramp creaked, then dropped down. All right, she thought. Finally, something went well. I guess Delvin’s curse only goes so far. Dag ran up to the second floor door and used Vald’s key to let herself into the small storage room just inside the door.
The interior of Riftweald Manor was lovely, with spacious rooms well-appointed with nice furniture, albeit a bit empty. Just the living area next to the storage room made Honeyside look like a shack, and it irritated her no end that Mercer Frey had owned a house like this and complained that the others spent too much while sleeping on threadbare, smelly cots in the Cistern. In fact, closed doors to her right opened up to a beautiful, airy bedroom a step above the one in Honeyside. Shelves along the walls of the living area were packed with silver mugs, plates and urns. Silver. Well that explains where some of the Guild’s money went, she thought. Dag had begun shoveling some of the goblets into her pack when two of them clanked together.
“Hello? Is anybody there?”
“You’re hearing things again.”
“I’m going to go check anyway.”
Well damn! she cursed internally. Nobody told me there would be people inside, too! A mercenary guard ran out from the room around the corner, sword drawn, looking around but at standing height, not seeing Dag huddled behind the edge of a cabinet. She poisoned an arrow, drew, and shot him directly in the chest. The arrow might not have reached his heart, she didn’t know; but the poison was enough to stop it anyway. She crept around the corner, stepping over the dead mercenary’s body. There was another man sitting at a table at the far side.
This room had too much furniture in it for Dag to line up a clear arrow shot. She pulled one of her swords as quietly as she could. It seemed agonizingly slow. Then she inched forward. The man isn’t much of a guard, is he, she thought as she stood and rammed the sword downward into his chest just as hard as she could manage. He grunted and fell over sideways in his chair, then drooped down onto the floor.
There was a sweet roll on a platter just to the side of where the man had been sitting. “Ooh, yum,” Dag murmured, grabbing it and taking a big bite. As she chewed, she looked down at the dead man, then poked him with her foot. This no-killing policy seemed more ephemeral by the day. It wasn’t as though she’d been a stranger to defending herself, over the years, but killing people just to get from one place to the next was getting to be a real annoyance. She rolled him over with her foot and tskd. Some of this floor is going to need changing, she thought as she watched his blood drain into the boards. She sighed, licked the last of the sweet roll’s icing off her fingers, then looted the coins from both mercenaries and continued her search.
There wasn’t much on the lower level of the home, either. Food, mostly; she helped herself to a slice of cheese sitting atop a trestle table with one lone chair next to it, and munched it as she poked around. A larder area was packed solid with food, herbs, and casks of mead. It looked as though Mercer had been cleaning out the valuables for awhile, leaving the place to his hired thugs, and well-fed thugs they were judging from the evidence.
Dag looked around, put her hands on her hips, and sighed. “I’m going to have to go through the whole place again. I’ve missed something,” she muttered.
She trudged back up the stairs, starting in the bedroom, and opened every table, chest, stand and barrel she came across. She didn’t find so much as a jewel, much less anything else aside from some pitiful-looking potatoes and wilted carrots in the entry room. There certainly wasn’t anything that looked like plans, or notes. There were copies of most of Skyrim’s most popular book titles, but even taking the time to riffle their pages and shake them by their spines revealed nothing. She went back to the lower level and repeated the process, getting more and more frustrated by the moment.
“Blast it, Mercer,” she muttered as she opened the last cabinet. “Where have you gone?”
There was nothing in the cabinet but one pair of shoes, but it sounded funny. Or, rather, it …sounded. Cabinets didn’t make noises, they were solid, inert pieces of wood. Standing in front of this one, she heard, or felt, or sensed, the slightest of sounds coming from behind it. She tapped on the back of the cabinet and heard not the solid thump of wood against a wall, but a slight reverberation. Running her hands along the back of the wardrobe, she found a small lever, a catch, which clicked to open what had been a false back panel concealing stairs down to a basement level.
Dag spent the next ten or fifteen minutes navigating an amazing warren of small rooms with pressure plate fire traps, tunnels that doubled back but headed ever lower, and in one spot a set of wicked blades swinging like pendulums from the ceiling. She got past them by timing her movements to the extremes of each blade’s swing, her heart pounding furiously, knowing that if she missed by even the tiniest amount she was going to be bleeding worse than the men upstairs.
It was clear now from the construction of the tunnels, and the slow downward direction of them, that she was somewhere near the Ratway. She rounded a corner to discover a study of sorts, a small room with a bookcase and a good-sized table on which was a bowl simply loaded with gems. “Mine,” she said quietly, scooping them out. Garnets, sapphires, and even a couple of diamonds went into her pouches just as quickly as she could move them. This was hardly a significant portion of the Guild’s stolen wealth, though; that vault had been full, according to Brynjolf and Delvin. He’d either spent the money or stashed it elsewhere.
On the table was a note congratulating Mercer for having gotten past some difficult lock to retrieve a treasure. There it was again; somehow he had the means to bypass the most difficult security anywhere, and Dag wanted to know what that was. There were also a few coins and a couple of books, including The Lusty Argonian Maid. Dag decided not to picture Mercer reading that particular title in a dark room by himself. More important to her eye, though, was a document laid out on the table. It didn’t have much writing on it but was clearly a map. Brynjolf was going to want it.
Dag was slipping the map into her pack when a gray shape she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye. It was the stone bust of a sinister-looking man wearing a hood, and was so cleverly placed on the back of the desk as to nearly blend into the gray of the stones behind it. It was a bit startling, actually, to suddenly see it after she’d been looking at the desk for so long already. “Delvin, I have another curiosity for you,” she murmured, snatching it off the desk.
She turned to leave and saw a display case up against the wall. Inside it was an exquisite thing: a glass sword. She could feel that it was enchanted, even through the locked case. “Well this is coming with me,” she said, and began jimmying the lock. It took her a number of tries to get the case open, but at last she reached in and lifted the thing out. Cold. It gave off the aura of cold, not so much physically, because she could hold it well enough, but she was certain that a cut from this blade would do more than simply draw blood. There was a small plaque near the base of the display case: “Chillrend.” Perhaps Chillrend would bring her a bit of luck. It certainly would be a terrific backup in case one of her scimitars got knocked out of her hand or lost.
At the back of the room was one of the familiar square openings that dropped down into the Ratway. Dag found herself standing in what the Guild called the Vaults, just a few steps outside the back entrance to the Ragged Flagon. She looked up into the opening. How in the world, she thought, did I never notice that hole before? The man is a genius. That makes him even more frightening.
Dag made her way into the Flagon. Thrynn was the nearest to the door.
“Come here for a second, Thrynn, I need to show you something.”
“Ok,” he said, “what is it?”
She opened the door and pointed up. “That leads right into Mercer’s house. I just came from there. There’s nobody left alive in there right at the moment, but who knows when he might sneak back in.”
“Oh, great,” he said, frowning.
“Yeah, exactly. We’ll have to board it up somehow but I didn’t want you to be caught off-guard. Maybe two of you should watch this door, or something.”
Thrynn nodded. “Yeah, alright. I’ll see if I can’t get Vipir to be my backup over here.”
She nodded. “I’ll tell Brynjolf, too; I’m off to see him right now.”
“Heh,” Thrynn said, grinning in spite of the gravity of the situation. “He’s got quite the thing for you, I hear.”
She snorted. “Don’t be an idiot, Thrynn. He can barely tolerate me.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard. I figured it must be true if even Vipir backed down. He’s like a hunting dog when he sees a woman.”
Dag rolled her eyes. “Is that all you guys ever think about?”
He chuckled. “That, mead, and money. Pretty much it.”
Well, Red had predicted there would be tales about them, hadn’t he?
She laughed and headed for Delvin, seated as usual near Vekel’s bar. He looked up at her and grimaced.
“Stabbed in the back. It’s just like the Dark Brotherhood all over again.”
Dag stood, blinking, trying to sort out what she had just heard. Did Delvin just tell me that he used to be in the Dark Brotherhood? Her mind flashed back to him warning her that the mercenaries at Goldenglow Estate were trained killers. So it seemed that he would know, better than most. Best not to poke this particular hornet’s nest with a stick, she thought. Instead, she collected her wits and offered him the bust.
“This must have come from Mercer’s house. He always did admire the Grey Fox,” Delvin said. “What a find! It’s worth quite a bit of coin. Here you go; I think you’ll be pleased.” He handed her a large purse, the heft of which told her that she would indeed be pleased, if she ever had a chance to count it out. He stood and left the Flagon, and by the time Dagnell reached Brynjolf he had already placed the bust on display, on the Guildmaster’s desk.
Brynjolf was still standing behind that desk, deep in study.
“You’re back,” he said, before he’d even looked up. Dag shook her head. Some day I’m going to find out how he does that. He raised his head to look at her and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips, briefly. By Stendarr he looks tired, she thought. I wish he’d at least take a nap or something. Maybe he could use Honeyside for awhile.
Then she blinked, realizing what she’d thought. Boy. That would really give Thrynn something to gossip about, wouldn’t it?
“We’ve scoured the town and I’ve spoken with every contact we have left, and no one knows where he’s gone. Any luck on your end?”
“It depends on your definition of luck. I managed to wade through his goons, and found this,” Dag said, digging in her pack for the notes and the map. “By the way, he has a tunnel system that empties right outside the Flagon. We’ll need to do something about that.”
“I should say so. Good work, lass.”
Brynjolf spread the map out on the desk and began looking it over.
He slammed his hand down on the desk, making her jump.
“Shor’s beard, he’s going after the Eyes of the Falmer! That was Gallus’ pet project!”
“What in the world?”
They were, he explained, the fabled enormous gems set into the eyes of an ancient statue, the only known likeness of a Snow Elf, the ancestors of the Falmer. Even one of them was worth more than the best thieves could make in an entire lifetime. People had been looking for that statue for eons and hadn’t found it. Getting the Eyes would have been the biggest heist in history and would have made them all very rich.
“Ah,” Dag said. “Thus his need to learn the Falmer language.”
“Aye,” Brynjolf agreed, nodding. “Mercer must have finally figured out where it is. And if he gets them, you can be certain he’ll be gone for good and set for life.”
“Well we need to stop him, then,” Dag said. “Even without that there are a hundred reasons to get him, but that would just be too much.”
“Agreed. He’s taken everything the Guild had left. But to go after our biggest heist is just an insult.”
Yes it is, Dag thought. Mercer, I’m going to help take you down if I can.
Brynjolf looked at her. “I’ve apologized to Karliah for the way the Guild has treated her, and welcomed her back. I don’t know whether that can ever make up for what she’s gone through, but we can at least try. She wants to meet with both of us,” he said, inclining his head toward the center of the Cistern. Karliah was standing there, waiting.
“She wants me there too?”
“Aye. Let’s go.”
Dag followed Brynjolf. How is it, she wondered for what felt like the thousandth time, that I have ended up in the middle of all this? I’m nobody special, why me?
Karliah nodded at them. “Thank you both for meeting me. Before we begin, though,” she said, “we have to settle Mercer’s fate. Brynjolf, until a new Guildmaster is selected, the decision falls to you.”
What do you mean, Dag wondered. Brynjolf’s already in charge, of course the decision is his.
“Aye, lass, and I’ve thought about it. He tried to kill both of you. He murdered Gallus. He betrayed the Guild, and he made us question our future. He needs to die. Even if you had managed to kill him at Snow Veil Sanctum the decision would have been the same.”
His voice was cold, unfeeling, flat. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Well, Dag thought. I’ve never actually heard one of them pronounce the death sentence on one of our own before, only threaten to turn it over to the Dark Brotherhood. He didn’t even hesitate.
Karliah nodded.
“We have to be very careful, Brynjolf. Mercer was a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal, and that makes him very dangerous. We’re going to need to prepare ourselves and meet him on equal footing.”
“So it’s true, then, all the stories I heard. The Nightingales and their allegiance to the Sepulcher. But what do you mean about equal footing, lass?”
“There’s a cavern, at the end of a path outside the southwest gate of Riften, near an old standing stone. I would ask you both to meet me there and I will explain more.”
“Alright, lass. We’ll be there,” Brynjolf said.
Ok, Dag thought, I guess that decision has been made. Who am I to argue it, after all, aside from the third wheel?
Brynjolf turned to face Dag.
“Before we meet with Karliah, I have some preparations of my own to take care of. I’ll meet you there.” He smiled at her.
It was the first smile Dag had seen from him in what felt like forever. It was a small, sad smile, but it reached all the way to his emerald eyes.
Dag nodded, and walked into the Flagon. She had Mercer’s jewels to sell to Tonilia, and she wanted to warn Vekel about Mercer’s secret entrance. And she felt very, very unsettled about the entirety.