42
GIANT THIEF
from a bracket inside the smoke hole, an elegant construction of black iron patterned with stars and diamonds of coloured glass, but it was extinguished, as was the hearth beneath it. My escort paced past me, tore the flask I was still carrying from my fingers, and returned it to its place on a low set of shelves to our right. Beside the shelves was a large collapsible table, with maps, charts, and other papers spread over its surface. The only sign of luxury was a few patterned rugs tossed over the dirt floor, seemingly at random. Most of the remaining space was taken up with the bed, a low wooden frame draped with furs. Looking past, I saw the metal-bound chest beside it. My heart clenched. “Did you look in there?” I asked, pointing. “It’s locked.” Well, of course. “I’m sure Moaradrid would have mentioned that. It’s probably just stiff.” I walked over to it and kneeled down. It was large and decorative, made of some reddish wood and ornamented with a flowing geometric pattern along the metal bindings. All that really interested me, though, was the lock. It looked like a standard fivepin tumbler, and not a very sophisticated one at that, for all its artistic embellishment. I kept my body between it and my escort and drew my picks. “Are you sure there’s nothing on that table?” I called. “I’ve looked.”