The masked man flinched hard and made a move to grab her, then thought otherwise when she raised the knife against his face.

“Will you keep it down?” he hissed, throwing a concerned glance toward the door. “That oaf is awake by now”.

Claire wasn’t listening, her mind whirring with what the stranger had told her.

The Crow?!?

Tales from her childhood and after reared their heads in her memory. The Crow, the feared hidden lord of Blackstone’s underworld. Some said he was a defender of the poor, giving to the Powers that Be what they deserved for the people suffering; some said he was a ruthless kingpin, squeezing the miser for every penny and crushing any opposition under an iron heel while ruling over a crime empire. They said that there wasn’t a pickpocket in Blackstone that didn’t offer a cut of his ill-gotten gains to the elusive crime lord. Everybody agreed about the man’s existence, nobody knew his real identity. The man was a legend, simple as that, a boogeyman infesting the lives and dreams of the city’s inhabitants just as much as evil spirits like Magog or Cetra did.

And, Claire remembered, keeping the knife high, it was him behind the recent unrest in Blackstone. Anybody with eyes could make the connection, the Crow was that big of a presence in the underbelly of the city, but she had heard that this went beyond a simple gang war; that the Crow had weaved a net of alliances with many of the powerful to actually take possession of the entire city. Father had done his best to keep the gravity of the situation away from his family ears, but you can only keep so much hidden from a girl very good at eavesdropping and with a knack for finding spots where to hide.

The girl licked her lips, finding them dry. Even with half of his face hidden and with a knife pointed at him, the masked young man looked pretty smug. Claire fought back a wave of irritation: she must have been gaping like a fool.

She forced herself to think, pushing shock and surprise back.

“You’re lying,” she said.

To her satisfaction, the young man’s smugness disappeared, replaced by a surprised frown.

“You can’t be the Crow”, she pressed. “The Crow has been going around since the times when my father was a boy. You’re too young for possibly being him”,” she concluded with a note of triumph.

The young man watched her surprised for a moment. Then, to her consternation, he started to laugh.

“Oh, sorry sorry,” he said quickly, trying and failing to stifle his laugh with a hand. “It’s just that just now… you looked so… so satisfied!”

Claire felt her face warm up. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on the knife and made a threatening motion with it.

To her mixed satisfaction, that stopped him from laughing. The young man stepped back, both hands raised in a peace gesture.

“Woah, calm down with that, will you?” To her annoyance, his eyes still glimmered with irony. “You may hurt someone with it”.

“Who the hell are you?” She demanded angrily.

“Told you…” His eyes paused briefly on the knife, then to her face. “I am the Crow”.

Claire held his gaze. “You cannot be the Crow. You’re…”

“…too young, yes yes,” he cut her off. For the first time, his voice held a hint of annoyance. She had to keep herself from grinning.

Stomping from the other room had them both jumping.

“Ah crap”. The young man stepped away from the door. “Told you to keep it quiet,” he rebuked her with a severe glance. “That trick never lasts long”.

Claire had no idea what he was talking about nor did she care. She stepped back as well. Keeping the knife between herself and him and the door, she took in her surroundings with a quick glance.

They were in a smaller room than the other, this one cluttered, aside from another worktable, by crates and other things. It looked like a mix between a storage room and a secondary workshop. Planted high on the wall on an iron sconce, a Sun Crystal offered enough light despite not there being any window.

Claire returned from her quick taking the place just in time to catch the man making a feint toward her.

She stepped back quickly, keeping the knife between them.

He whistled lightly under his breath. “Not bad, missy. So that sharp thing isn’t just for show, uh?”.

Claire wanted to give him a snarky reply, but another bump in the other room had them flinch and stiffen both. For a moment, they were both silent and still, ears perked up. Then, they heard the sound of a saw cutting through wood.

Claire felt a tiny bit of relief swirl in her chest. The man hadn’t heard them.

Not like much had changed.

“Stay back,” she warned, lowering her voice without thinking. To her annoyance, something like vindication twinkled in his eyes.

“Look, miss,” he said, lowering his voice in turn. “I think that we got off with the wrong foot. How about we start again?” He made to step forward but stopped as soon as she brandished the knife.

“Stay back,” she hissed. “Stay back, or i’ll scream”.

“Yea, right. Like if you would for real”. Slyness danced in the young man’s eyes. “You aren’t supposed to be here as much as me, miss”.

Claire bit her lip. Damn, he called her bluff.

“Hey calm down,” he called reassuringly. “It doesn’t have to be a problem, you know? We’re in the same boat, you and i. Let’s just, you know, not get in the way of each other?” He shrugged in a friendly way.

Claire wanted to scoff. Yeah, right, she thought, and then i am going to invite you home and we’re going to have a lot of fun playing chess in the main hall.

She wanted to slap herself. Trapped in a room with a thief with delusions of grandeur or something, while a brute armed with a chisel waited in the other room. Something akin to despair scrabbled against her throat, but she pushed it back. If she wanted to get out of there, she would need to keep her wits about her.

“You still didn’t answer me,” she said. “Who the hell are you?”

Annoyance flared in the young man’s eyes, but was quickly smothered down and replaced by slyness.

“I am the Crow!” he said, with a bit too much forcefulness for Claire not to notice.

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “It can’t…”

“Moron,” he cut her off. “The Crow is a title. It’s just not one single person to carry it!”

She paused, surprised by that sudden revelation.

“A title…?”

She thought quickly about it. It would make sense. For a man so legendary, with so many attributed deeds to him…

She shook herself out of it. It wasn’t the moment for that.

“Whatever,” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The young man was troubled. He didn’t mean to make that revelation. He had just blurted it out in the heat of the moment.

“The same as i you, i guess,” he shrugged, secretly pleased to change the topic. “Just snooping around a bit”. Claire didn’t need to see his mouth to know that he was grinning. The eyes said it all. “Cartus is quite the interesting fellow, isn’t he?”

“We agree on that…” Claire said carefully.

She noticed the second door by a side, small and half-hidden by a pile of crates. Did he arrive from there? If it was so, it meant that there may be another way out. The thought kindled a small hope in her chest.

She wetted her lips. “Right,” she said. “I am listening”.

The young man’s eyes widened slightly. He waited tentatively for a moment for some gesture of peace, like her lowering the knife. As nothing arrived, he shrugged.

“Not much to say, isn’t it?” He murmured. “You go for your way and i go to mine. Still…” He hesitated.

Claire narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Still?”

“Maybe we can help each other!” He said, as genially as the low tone of voice allowed him to. “I bet that you’ve been snooping around to make sure that Cartus isn’t a mage or something else in disguise”.

Claire didn’t like the smug tone, nor that he had hit the mark.

“Maybe,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, i figured as much”. His chuckle grated on her nerves. “It’s that or you’re a thief. And a Duke’s daughter is no thief”.

That was only a half-truth, and it was enough to make her grin, and to appreciate the slight tinge of indecision rippling across his smugness.

He was quick to hide it behind that sly composure of his. “Well, you know, i’ve been sneaking around myself… for reasons of my own”. He waited for a split moment, like if he hoped for an appreciative comment. When nothing was forthcoming, he continued: “How about we exchange some information? You may find something important in what i know”. His gaze and tone dripped with eagerness. It was clear that he was more than happy to strike the deal.

Just then, the sound of sawing stopped. They both tensed, listening. To their relief, it was soon replaced by the sound of a hammer on wood.

Claire watched the masked man. She didn’t trust him, of course she didn’t. But his words had given her some semblance of certainty about him: he was a thief, a burglar with too much imagination and enough guts to exploit the party to try and make a grab for something shiny.

The more she thought about it the more certain she became. Yes, a vulgar thief, maybe with some big preparation at his shoulders and some skill in his arms, but a thief all the same.

The look with which she regarded him had a bit of condescension in it now, but he didn’t notice.

“Sure, why not?” She shrugged. A part of her was a bit bewildered from all that, she making pacts with thieves, but what the hell. Why look in the horse’s mouth? She had to admit that she hadn’t much to show up until then. Another source of information was only welcome. And if her “information” turned into ill-gotten gains…

Her thoughts went to the golden spoons, and she sneered a little.

She eyed him, frowning. “You first”.

The masked thief’s eyes crinkled at the sides in glee.

Delusions of grandeur aside, the thief was true to his word, or at least good enough at saying lies. Too bad that, to Claire’s chagrin, he didn’t seem to have much to say: he had explored only a little, and what he had seen were places she already took a look at or that she didn’t care about. If anything, he didn’t seem to have got to the good places, having mostly passed through sections of the mansion that were still unfinished or given over to the guards’ quarters.

Claire was so frustrated that, when the time came for her to honor her side of the deal, she almost decided not to. But the word of a Duke’s daughter was worth more than lead, and so she related her own tale. She wasn’t disappointed: the way the thief’s eyes widened as she spoke of the wealth and riches she had seen secretly pleased her. It only reinforced her theory about his identity: he truly was a simple thief.

By the end of it, they were both thoughtful, reflecting on what they had just learned. Claire had even relaxed enough to lower her knife. Just a bit: she had noticed how he hadn’t escorted her further away from the other room. Maybe he wanted to keep his own route a secret, or it was something else. Whatever it was, he still held secrets from her.

“Welp,” he quipped, breaking her train of thoughts. “Not much luck on both sides”. The frown he regarded her with had a strange sort of petulance to it, as if he expected more from her.

“Yes, both sides,” Claire clarified. She paused, biting her lip. “There is a place we didn’t check though…”

She glanced toward the door, from behind which still came the sounds of working, then glanced pointedly at him.

He caught her meaning right away. Still, he watched her for a long moment before replying.

“And what’s in for me?” He finally asked.

Claire had to repress a scoff. Thieves! And yet, her mind was filled with the strange, lumbering object she had glimpsed before. If it means that she could take a good look at it, she was ready even to make a temporary alliance with a petty thief…

“All that wealth i talked you about…” She jerked her chin toward the door. “It’s beyond that room”.

His eyes narrowed, and Claire couldn’t be sure if he was intrigued or not.

“Fine,” he eventually said. Claire was just starting to grin that he added: “I want to take a look at that thing myself”.

She frowned hard. Despite the conversational tone, she could feel how that was some kind of barb at her.

She shook her head. “I have no time for this,” she hissed. That brute could be coming in there at any moment, and her mission was far too important to waste precious moments with a thief.

She eyed him with a mix of wariness and suspicion. “How about this…” she began. “You distract him and i take him down from behind."

“Hey now”. His tone dripped irony. “Giving all the risks to a new friend isn’t common courtesy. How about we split instead?”

Claire sneered. He wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

“Fine”, she said, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. “What’s your idea then?”

“Well, i may have just the right trick…”

Before an explaination could follow those suggestive words, the sounds coming from the other room ceased abruptly. They both tensed. Seeing in the thief’s eyes the same concern she felt, Claire strained to listen.

Stomping steps, but not from the other room. Someone else was coming. The sound of a door opening confirmed it.

“Ah, Master”. Claire heard the brute’s voice muffled by the door. She jolted. Master? That meant…

“Zurat,” Cartus’ deep, rumbling voice acknowledged.

A strange mix of fear, eagerness and anticipation gleamed in the thief’s eyes. Claire held her breath.

“Something unusual?” They heard Cartus ask. Steps, slow and measured, rang from beyond the door. Unbidden, Claire saw the image of the old man stalking the room like an animal on the prowl.

“No, Master, nothing… i think…”

“You… think?” The steps stopped. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Zurat lowered his voice, and, no matter how she tried, Claire couldn’t get a meaning out of the murmurs.

She huffed, trying to drain some of the tension away. Alright, Cartus was there. Unexpected, but not unfixable. She only had to wait and…

She hadn’t finished that thought that the thief, that mad wretch, walked toward the door, looking all the parts like if he wanted to go in there.

“Stop!” She hissed. “What the hell are you doing?”

He jolted to a stop, then turned to watch her in surprise, like if he had even forgotten she was there. Then, to her shock, his eyes filled with mischief.

“I have been waiting for this, you know. Oh, don’t you worry,” he added quickly, raising a hand when she made a motion to move toward him. “That trick i was talking about, it will work just as well on Cartus…”

Claire didn’t feel convinced in the slightest. Cartus was an Aether, for Aria’s sake! If that stupid thief alerted him, she was good as doomed.

Her feelings had to show on her face because his eyes crinkled at the sides in amusement.

“Look…” he whispered, lifting a hand.

Despite her better judgment, Claire watched.

A soft, silvery glow enveloped the gloved hand of the thief, his fingers dancing with highlights.

“Neat, isn’t?” She heard him say, clearly proud.

Except that it wasn’t neat at all. It was terrifying. All Claire’s fears, all her calculations and hopes and doubts, they all disappeared as a single, horrible realization hit her. She stepped back, eyes glued at that strange glow, fingers tightening maniacally around the knife’s handle.

Amidst all that rush of things, she had half-forgotten the strange daze the brute with the chisel had fallen into, the way his eyes had turned empty and buttery, his body slack and limp.

Magic! A mage! Worse, one of the worst kind: a Mindwrangler!

She stepped back again, panic rising.

“Mage…” she mumbled. “Stay back”. Would he cast a spell on her? Rob her of her will?

The thief was perplexed by her sudden change. In truth, he had thought she had realized what he had done with the guy and decided to accept him out of curiosity and awe rather than being afraid. A part of him had been happy at that. Now, with widening eyes, he realized his mistake.

“Wait a moment now…”

“I said: stay back!” She exclaimed, eyes moving fearfully from hand to face and back. A thief! How could have she been so foolish? Tales about the horrible deeds of mindwranglers crossed her mind. What plans he had, being in there? Would he be going for her family? No! She wouldn’t allow it! She had to stop this monster, she had to do it here and now!

“By all the Gods,” her voice came out in a feverish whisper. “I’ll kill you!”

The thief raised both hands in what wanted to be a placating gesture. She took it for an attempt to bewitch her, and lost it.

With a scream, Claire threw herself at him. But in her panic, her attack was messy, and he dodged her easily, jumping to the side with a cry.

Carried from her own momentum, she slammed against a pile of crates, sending one crashing to the ground, tools spilling from it in a mess of clatters. Before she could recover from her daze, he grabbed her and, with a curse, threw her against the door. The impact with the hard wood drove all the breath from her lungs, her vision exploding with stars. As she slumped against it, she heard quick steps, the sound of a door opening. Shouts, followed by the violent rattling of the handle of the door she was slumping against. Distantly, she realized that the thief had locked it. That’s why he had been so calm about the brute in the other room.

The hard wood gave a shudder as someone slammed against it from the other side.

Trying to shake the daze away, Claire turned, just in time to see the other door close shut behind the thief’s retreating form. Out of instinct, she tried to chase him, but she tripped on her maid’s gown and fell. Just then, the door gave way, Zurat bursting through it.

The man lifted the heavy chisel even as he stumbled to a stop. He turned there and then, until his furious eyes stopped on Claire, and he sneered.

The girl winced and, without thinking, clenched her hand on her knife. To her dismay, she found it gone: it must have slipped out of her fingers during the commotion.

Then Cartus entered the room, and knife, Zurat and thief were forgotten.

The old man’s eyes were two storm clouds as they fixed themselves on her, and, for the first time since many years, she felt like a little child, small and defenseless.

Cartus didn’t say anything to her. With a last glance, he turned to Zurat.

“Keep an eye on her,” he ordered, then swept away.

Claire felt a surge of relief sweep over her as those eyes left her. Even having that brute, Zurat?, watching over like a hound felt almost pleasant in comparison.

Tense moments passed.

By the time Cartus returned, she had retaken control over her wits and found a semblance of calm. Trying her best to retain her dignity, as much as one could while sitting on the floor, she kneeled primly, the gown smoothed as much as she had managed, and folded under her so that the dust wouldn’t reach her dress.

Her heart trembled a bit when Cartus’ eyes laid on her, but she kept her chin high, refusing to show fear.

Cartus watched her for a long moment. His face was unreadable, his eyes piercing. Claire couldn’t contain the need to avert her gaze, clutching her gown between her hands.

It was almost a relief when he decided to speak.

“Do you mind explaining your reasons for being here, Claire Crofford?”

Claire bristled at being addressed in such an inquisitive manner.

“My duty as a daughter and a citizen of Blackstone,” she declared, lifting proudly her chin.

Zurat, that had been looking like he was about to hit her, blinked at that reply, astonished. Cartus arched an eyebrow.

“I see,” he said.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and Claire felt the unpleasant sensation that the old man was reading her mind. Still, she was a Duke’s daughter and wouldn’t allow herself to be intimidated. It took effort, but she held her ground.

Then, to her immense surprise, his expression softened.

Cartus kneeled. “Very gallant, my lady,” he said, offering her his hand.

Claire could only watch him, baffled. Without thinking, she took his hand, allowing herself to be helped at her feet.

“Shall we return to the party?” He asked with a small smile.

Claire opened her mouth to reply, found nothing to say and closed it once again.

“I…” Half-dazed, she turned toward the big object in the center of the room. “I wanted…”

“Oh?” Cartus’ followed her gaze. “Have you taken a liking to my new clock?”

Claire sharply turned to gaze at him, wide-eyed. “N-new…?”

“Indeed”. He gestured for her to follow. Feeling boneless, she obeyed, and they stopped in front of the large object.

Just as Cartus had said, it was a large clock, built-in a massive frame of polished mahogany that doubled down as a closet. The rhythmic sound she had heard was the large pendulum swinging inside his case.

“Regretfully, it’s still half-finished, so i couldn‘t add it to my collection yet." She barely heard Cartus’ explaination.

The old man nodded toward the brute. “Zurat is my chief artisan. This may be one of his finest works”.

Zurat was watching her with a mix of suspicion and attentiveness, passing a finger over the chisel as he did.

“Nice to meet you, young lady,” he grumbled, not meaning a single word.

Claire managed a tentative smile.

Cartus spied her expression for a moment, lips tightened in a severe line. “Mh, you look a bit pale, my lady. I think that a drink would help you now”. He courteously gestured for her to walk. “Shall we return to the party?”

Confused, flustered, all that Claire managed was a stiff nod. Picking up her skirts, she walked toward the door and into the corridor. She heard Cartus follow, but didn’t dare to turn.

For a few moments, the sounds of their steps were all she heard. Inside, she didn’t know what to think.

She was still struggling to gather her wits as they passed the guarded door, the guards nodding with respect to Cartus and glancing with surprise and curiosity at her, and were back in less secure parts of the manor.

Then, as Cartus was opening a door for her, the old man discreetly put himself in the way, turning to face her.

His eyes grabbed hers like a steel vice.

“A question, my lady,” he said.

Unable to tear her gaze away, all she managed to do was swallow and nod stiffly.

The question was slow and methodical, each word pronounced with deep intensity.

“Were you alone?”

Claire blurted out an answer without thinking. “Yes!”

He watched her, impassive eyes scanning her, making her feel naked and vulnerable. For a moment, she was sure he had seen through her lie.

Then, he removed himself away from her path. Realizing only then she had been holding her breath, Claire sucked in the air with a small shudder.

“That said,” as he spoke, he was the image of calm courtesy, all the hard intensity of only a moment ago gone. “It won’t do for you to be escorted back to your family in the company of an old man. Someone may think you wandered where common courtesy would frown”.

Claire watched him warily, unsure of what he meant.

Cartus’s expression softened. “But no foul can be punished if it’s not seen, isn’t? And, let’s just say, i may be turning a bit forgetful in my old age”. With a small wink, he turned away from her, regarding out of a window with apparent interest.

Claire blinked, not understanding. Then realization hit her, and she almost jumped. She watched him, completely baffled, but the old man didn’t move from his contemplation.

The girl bit her lip, then glanced behind her shoulder, toward the lonely corridor that she remembered, and that would carry her in no time to a place where she could discard that maid gown and return into the party without anyone having a notice.

She slammed her foot on the floor in frustration and confusion, then turned and scampered away.

Gorren waited for her steps to vanish in the distance before turning to the now empty corridor. Whatever courtesy was now gone, replaced by a cold expression.

She was lying; of that, he was sure. But why, he wondered. To protect someone? Or it was just something done in the heat of the moment? Or maybe she was saying the truth, and the small glimmer of magic he had felt came from her.

“Mh…”

Unlikely, he decided. A mage would have great difficulties at hiding her nature in an Aether family. And the spark he had perceived was, if not in its potency, that was negligible at best, incredibly high-leveled in its ability to hide. And it was from Mind Magic even, a branch that couldn’t ever hope to reach such maturity without having a master and the right environment to nurture it.

It sounded incredibly unlikely for Claire Crofford, elder daughter of the Crofford family, to be provided with all those tools.

Still, something else there was to take into account: the mage seemed to have a strangely skewed training. He was able to pass under the noses of all but the greatest perceptions while at the same time leaving traces of his passage, traces that he had been easily able to find in Zurat’s mind.

“Mh…”

Of course, it always remained a chance that skill belonged to Claire. Maybe the spark of magic had been nurtured in her just that way, to make sure that nobody ever found it while at the same time discouraging her from using it, lest she be found by the Hunters.

Still, it was unlikely, and that left as likely the possibility that another was with her, someone she had lied to protect.

Gorren frowned. Thieves and peepers he could tolerate. He had kept that manor rigorously magic-free just for that, after all. But a mage… that could mean bad news. The last thing he needed right now was for magic to end under the nose of that damned Bishop. It had been lucky enough that this one instance hadn’t been picked up. He didn’t wish for a repeat. Magic there, in that party, might have ended into a disaster.

He snapped his fingers, and, if evoked, Trich and Crick emerged from behind a corner.

“Tell the soldiers to double the guard,” Gorren ordered without turning. “We have a mind mage on the loose. Patrols of three. One Ur for patrol”.

The two attendants nodded seriously, then Crick scampered off to make the Master’s orders known.

Gorren didn’t bother to turn. He knew that his orders would be executed perfectly. He only wished he could extend his perceptions and find the mage himself. But he didn’t dare with that bunch of Hunters keeping watch all the time.

It didn’t matter. If he wanted to keep a low profile, that Mind Mage wouldn’t have been able to take on more than a person at once with his powers.

“Do you wish some change to the schedule, Master?” Trich asked.

Gorren hummed. “Not yet, no. Continue as estabilished”.

He turned to look out of the window, frowning. Yes, continue as estabilished. No point in change plans for now. For himself, he would make himself see as much as he could, so that if some magic was detected, he would have some plausible deniability. Regarding that girl… he would let her cool off a bit, then he’d have her talk.

Gesturing for Crich to follow, he walked away, toward the waiting party.