Agent of the Crown Read Online Free Page B

to imagine anyone might steal from him. She guessed the
latter.
    Telaine silently pushed the door open and
entered with a quiet swish of fabric. Closing the door, she removed
her gloves and pulled a cubical Device out of one of the skirt’s
deep pockets and squeezed it. A thin beam of light illuminated the
room. She set it to hover over her right shoulder and began
searching.
    The Count’s study was far tidier than her
uncle’s, though to be fair there were bird’s nests tidier than her
uncle’s study. Two cabinets with glass doors held books that were
too uniform to be anything but décor. A locked tallboy proved
absurdly easy to open, but held only the Count’s liquor supply; she
relocked it and moved on.
    A door to the left was a closet holding only
a few old uniform jackets and a worn out side-ball bat, its padding
frayed and spilling out of its case. That left only the desk, a
beautiful mahogany creation with neatly organized pens in a stand,
a brass inkwell, a blotter, and a letter opener laid out across its
smooth red surface.
    The desk held seven drawers, only two of
which were locked. She quickly went through the others, tapping
them for false bottoms, feeling behind them for anything concealed
at the back. Nothing. She slid her lock picks out and had the first
locked drawer open in less than a minute. Posy would be so
proud.
    The drawer contained a stack of files, and
Telaine blessed the Count’s obsession with neatness; every one of
them was labeled and every paper sorted within its file. Telaine
skimmed the file names. It was probably too much to ask to find one
with the words “Veribold Smuggling Operation” written on it in
large block letters, but with luck one might hint at the Count’s
connection with the rebels.
    None of the files in the first drawer were
related to what she was looking for. She tried not to think about
the possibility that there was no documentation, relocked
the drawer, and started on the second. Her patience was rewarded
almost immediately; in a folder labeled “Western Trade” she found
several letters, all written in the same careless hand, listing
items, quantities, and drop locations within Veribold. Two other
letters confirmed that the lists referred to shipments of trade
goods, including weapons, received by the Veriboldans from the
Count’s agent acting with the Count’s approval. Perfect.
    She was about to fold the letters and slip
them into her gown when she heard the faintest sound of voices, and
footsteps, approaching. Instinctively she put the letters back
where they’d come from, locked the drawer—did the lock actually
catch?—and slipped into the closet, squeezing her light off and
shutting the door. Her heart pounding, she tried to calm her breath
and listened. Maybe the person would pass by.
    About half a minute later, she heard the
study door open, and a light went on, the narrow gap at the bottom
of the closet door shedding a pale gleam across Telaine’s feet. “I
can’t be gone long,” said a voice muffled by the closet door. Count
Harroden.
    Another male voice, one she didn’t recognize,
said, “You should have thought of that before you became
involved.”
    “I’m involved against my will,” said the
Count. “In fact, I should call my guard and have you thrown out.
You’re not supposed to be here.”
    “You’ll suffer far more than I if you do,”
said the second person. “You still have things you can lose. Would
you like me to call the guards for you?”
    Silence, then, “What is it you want,
Harstow?”
    Telaine held her breath. Hugh Harstow, Baron
of Steepridge. She’d never met him, but she knew his unsavory
reputation. Her uncle suspected him of any number of shady
dealings, but didn’t have enough evidence to convict him. He’d
settled for exiling the man to the far northeast, pretending it was
an honor for Steepridge to contribute to the defense of Tremontane
against the Ruskalder. He wasn’t supposed to be here;