Cecil walked away from the smithy, face scrunched together. His plans on finding tools to pick the door lock had been foiled again. Not even the stables had anything. Nor the cellars, despite the supposed cult that was down there. They didn’t even have anything interesting to look at. Just pickled egg jars.

  His only luck was that Oakley had an old horseshoe file that he could use on the mortar between the stones. But a file couldn’t pick a lock.

  Which meant he was left with one option.

  He had to steal the keys.

  He soothed the guilt that rose in his chest with explanations. He had tried everything, and nothing had worked. He needed to get into the library. And besides, if Pro Ostrion didn’t want them stolen, he wouldn’t have left them out.

  Those thoughts tumbled in his head until they were worn smooth, and he stood in front of the librarian’s desk. He gripped the book he was returning like death clung to a butcher’s knife, then he put the book back and swiped the key in the same motion. Cecil walked away with measured cadence.

  He couldn’t think of it as he left the library stiffly, not borrowing a book this time. If it was the wrong key, he’d have to do that again. As He rounded the corner of the hallway, he couldn’t take it anymore. He opened his hand, needing to check.

  And there, in a tiny script were the words, “Front door”.

  Guilt and relief warred in him, but he batted the former down. It was already done. Returning it would do no one any good. And now that he had it, it would do him a lot of good.

  But as he walked away, some parts of him remained unconvinced.

  “Awful fancy butt I see crawling over rubble.”

  Cecil quickly stood and patted the dust from his pants, then pointed a finger at Oakley, “At least mine started out clean, when was the last time you had a bath?”

  The older boy smiled from his vantage point atop the wall, “this morning.”

  “Really? Was it a mud bath?”

  Oakley laughed, “I’ll show you a mud bath fancy boy.”

  The smirk fell off of Cecil’s face as his new friend came closer. By Geas, he was in an enclosed area with no fast escape. Instead of picking through the rubble again, Cecil dodged though the hole in the wall he had come through the first time. Then he sprinted across the field.

  He was free.

  He was going to escape.

  He was-

  Oakley tackled him and they both stumbled to the dirt.

  Cecil groaned, “what was that for?”

  Oakley stood, “for not bringing more cookies.”

  Cecil started to open his bag, “But they’re right- hey…. WAIT.”

  The bigger boy grabbed the bag and shouldered it. Then picked up Cecil with a slight stagger.

  Cecil squirmed and tried to escape, “What gives?”

  “Oh nothing. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “What kind of favor is this?”

  “I got you dirty, and now I’m going to give you a mud bath.”

  Cecil paused for half a heartbeat. Was he serious? If so, how would he explain mud to Fanny?

  Cecil renewed his struggles tenfold, but it was already too late. Oakley threw the leather bag a safe distance away, then threw Cecil into a mud wallow next to a lazy stream. He spluttered indignantly as the warmed mud squished and molded, and seeped into his clothes and skin.

  He laser focused on one thing.

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  Revenge.

  While Oakley laughed, Cecil lunged at his leg and wrapped his whole body around it. Oakley tried to wiggle his leg free, but ended up losing his balance.

  It was beautiful. The bigger boy fell with such grace as the muddy sludge opened its loving embrace.

  Cecil grinned, “Ha! Revenge is sweet…” Oakley sat up and started sloshing mud.

  “Wait wait wait,” Cecil tried to scramble out of the pit when a barrage of mud was thrown in his direction. He fell laughing, and sent a return volley.

  Oakley stood carefully “There. Now we’re even.” Then he held out his hand.

  Cecil took with both hands to prevent slipping, “Great. Now what though? I need a second bath.”

  Oakley frowned, “the river here is wide and slow. But your clothes are nicer than mine. They may never be the same.”

  “Eh, it was worth it.”

  Probably.

  Cecil watched Oakley take off his shoes, then walk into the water. It was so clear you could see the multi-colored stones at the bottom. Except where the water met his muddy friend. He sat and struggled to rip off his wet shoes as he called out, “How deep is the river?”

  “Not deep. Most of it only goes to my shoulder.”

  Which meant it would be to his chin. It should be fine. His bath was about this deep. His shoe finally popped of and fell into the water with a plink. Cecil stood and looked at it through the water.

  Oakley called out, “first you can’t climb, now you can't swim? What kinda man you goin grow up to be if you can’t do the basics?”

  “Cecil just shook his head and stepped in. the water was lukewarm near the surface, but the bottom held a tinge of colder things. Cecil tried to bend down to grab his shoe, but the water was too deep for his arm to reach without his head going under. The water around him had started to turn cloudy, so he quickly put half his foot into the boot and waddled closer to shore before kicking it to land.

  Then Cecil turned around and squatted in the water to wave his arms underwater and clean his shirt, “Never learned how to swim. Just swear you’ll save me if I start to drown, ok?”

  “I’ll do you one better, and teach ya to swim! In exchange for double cookies, of course.”

  He laughed, “why not?”

  After rinsing out most of the mud, they stripped to their undergarments and put the rust on some bushes to dry off.

  Cecil received a crash course on the “art of not drowning.” and found the slow stream to be a calming thing to float in.

  But once again, Oakley decided at some arbitrary time that it was time for him to go. So, they put on their clothes and shoved on their boots and parted ways at the edge of the garden.

  Cecil decided to hurry back, and pray that Fanny was not in the room. He knew how to draw his own water through the engraved pipes and looked forward to an actual bath. And if his wet clothes were already carefully hidden under the rest of the laundry that were to be picked up by the maids later, then how would she know?

  He got an odd look or two from guards, probably because he looked like a half dried lap dog, but no one commented on his state. And miracle upon miracle, Fanny was not in his room. He executed his plan flawlessly, with no one the wiser.

  But his conscience didn’t let him off the hook.

  The further into his plans he delved, the more rules he broke. The more people he deceived. But it would all end when he broke into his pool of energy and manifested engraving. Then he could learn legitimately, and end the subterfuge.

  That night, after Fanny had turned in, he had snuck out of his room. It seemed that with each step he took to achieving his goal, the more rules he broke. But on the grand scale of things, his little crimes were nothing. Tavv never seemed upset when he learned of ladies mourning the loss of a handkerchief. And there was no one to cry if he got into the library.

  Except him perhaps.

  He stood in front of the door of the library. His hand shook with the key in it. Then he took a deep breath and unlocked the thing and quickly went in before anyone saw him loitering by the door.

  He thought things would feel very different in the library, but the only difference was that it was slightly darker without the sunlight. The other difference was the muffled snores coming from a door behind the desk. He had just assumed that Pro Ostrion lived… somewhere else? But at least he knew that the only guardian of knowledge nearby wouldn’t easily wake up.

  Cecil walked casually to the desk and grabbed the stick limos that was weak. He didn’t want a bright light, especially in the dark. With a giddy excitement, he snuck up the staircase, then stopped at the last step to the second floor. It was this one that was warded against intrusion. And the stone on the left, that was loose.

  He took out the thin file that Oakley had given him in exchange for more sweets, then carefully, gently, scraped at the mortar holding the stone together then paused.

  The gentle snores drifted through the room muffled by the door.

  He grinned, hands shaking with adrenaline. There had been a small chance that some alarm would go off, and he would need to escape. But all was well.

  Cecil took another experimental scrape, this time with an eye to the amount of dust created.

  Now that he was here, he needed to figure out how fast he wanted to do this. If he went too slow, someone else might notice that the step was no longer structurally sound. But, if he went too fast, someone might notice that he was sleep deprived, or that the stone was suddenly worse for wear. And there was always the risk that the longer he was out of bed, the more likely someone would find out. And considering the recent assassination attempts, going missing at night would cause a lot of people to freak out. And when they figured out that he was just goofing around…

  He shuddered.

  he had better make sure that he made the time that he was gone each night short. With all that in mind, however, and assuming that he was only gone for an hour each night, then he should be able to loose the stone from its place before the end of summer, which was only a few months anyway. Which wasn’t bad considering his other options.

  Then he could sketch and disable the security, and have access to the second floor with none the wiser.