Robin leaned back in his chair, feet on the table and a goblet in his hand. With a flick of his fingers he changed the water inside so it tasted of fresh-pressed apple cider. His throat pinched at the tart-sweet richness of the flavour, just as he remembered it.

Rerebos was flitting from beam to beam, above. Clara had left a while ago with the night’s take. Other than that and the enchanted stone on the table in front of him, Robin was alone.

Wasn’t he?

‘Check the perimeter, Re,’ Robin asked in the little dragon’s language of hissing shadows and flapping wings. ‘We’re about to have a conversation we don’t want overheard.’

Robin’s familiar sent a pulse of fierce pride and resolve along their empathic bond and flitted out of the room. The bard could feel the little dragon’s hunting instinct. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything slip past.

While he waited, Robin considered the stone on the table before him. It was one of a paired set, allowing him to magically communicate with Ruprecht, though the living dungeon was far below Noviel. It was a simple thing, roughly round and able to fit into the palm of his hand. There were no obvious runes or other markers of enchantment. If it weren’t for the large hole worn through the centre of the rock, giving it a vaguely toroid shape, it could have been any random bit of river stone.

Back on his Earth, it might have been considered an adder stone, and the hole in the centre able to reveal spirits and other enchanted or veiled creatures when one looked through it. At least if you went with folklore.

Here, it was his line to Ruprecht, and he activated it as Rerebos returned feeling smug. No intruders detected, then.

‘Ruprecht?’ Robin asked, fingertips tracing the inner edge of the stone. ‘Are you there?’

It took a few moments before the dungeon replied. When he did they spent a little time on pleasantries. Ruprecht was a bit bored. There hadn’t been any new adventurers, as expected, and his expansion was stuck, caught as he was between Noviel above and Gyrfalcon below. The other dungeon was moving closer as well, rearranging her borders.

Ruprecht didn’t say anything explicitly, but Robin could tell the dungeon was nervous.

So what is this project I can help you with? And what will I get out of it?

‘I need you to re-create some things for me. Parchment, ink, and so on. Copies of samples I’ve acquired. I need the stuff to essentially read as the same age as the samples. You can do that, right?’

I can. But as I said, what’s in it for me?

‘My goodwill? I dunno. What do you want?’

Not to be bloodthirsty about things, but I don’t suppose you could send me a few more like that Khavren fellow?

Robin paused. He did indeed know of some tough-guy types that might fit the bill. Not adventurers, but they clearly knew their way around a fight and had an unshakable thirst for treasure.

Or at least coin.

‘I might, actually. Though I’ll need some bait. Like the scroll and ink I mentioned. Maybe a couple of other things. Most fake. One real piece in there. Doesn’t have to be the fanciest, but juicy enough to really set the imagination on fire.’ Robin paused. ‘So you’d have to trust me on making an upfront payment. After all, I can hardly guarantee delivery, can I? Not without knocking people out and dragging them down there myself which, frankly, is not in my skill set.’

‘Yesss,’ hissed Rerebos, ‘send the nasty shiny-thieves to friend Ruprecht. It is still better than they deserve.’

Robin was a bit uneasy to find he didn’t have much of a problem with the idea of sending the Broken Knucklebones gang to their probable deaths at the metaphorical hands of Ruprecht. They clearly lived by violence and had hurt a lot of people. Not that he should be judge and jury while Ruprecht played executioner.

But since he’d arrived in this world he’d had to kill. Not often. And it still turned his stomach to do it, but the further it was removed from him actually doing the deed himself the easier it was.

That was dangerous. And not a moral quandary he wanted to look at too closely.

If he did he’d have to face the fact that he likely wasn’t quite as good a person as he’d always imagined himself to be.

Good people didn’t consider sending people, even bad guys, to their gruesome deaths, right?

It was more philosophy than he was prepared to deal with right now. Right now there was an offer on the table. And he was going to take it. Because the Broken Knucklebones were taking advantage of him, and their removal would get him closer to the knowledge he wanted.

‘You get me that scroll so I can make my forgery, and a bit of other shine to go with it, and I’ll make sure it ends up in the hands of the right people. They can rough me up and I’ll get them a map—maybe even guide them down myself if I have to—that should see them to your front door. And once there, they’ll have the same chances as any other adventuring party for gold and glory, right?’

Of course. Presuming the refinements I’ve made in the interim don’t make things more difficult for them.

Robin’s smile tightened across his face like a vise. Of course the maps he had weren’t necessarily accurate any longer. Ruprecht could alter the layout of his dungeon almost at will. The traps would certainly be moved, changed, or both. The network of tunnels was probably reimagined, as well. If Robin were a sentient dungeon with Ruprecht’s capabilities, he’d have several possible layouts he could switch between just by moving a few key walls.

‘Of course.’

Too bad for the Broken Knucklebones.

‘What if they refuse to take the bait at all?’ Rerebos asked.

Robin resisted the urge to throttle the little dragon. That was not a question he wanted Ruprecht pondering.

It made him wonder if the living dungeon was somehow bribing his familiar behind his back. It would be oh so easy for him to do, provided he had an easy way of delivering shiny things and messages to the surface.

‘You’ve seen them,’ Robin said, for Ruprecht’s benefit as much as to answer Rerebos’s question. ‘Do you honestly think they’ll be able to resist a prize as shiny as the one Ruprecht can make to tempt people?’

‘No,’ the little dragon answered immediately. ‘Ruprecht’s shinies are the best shinies.’

That only made Robin more suspicious.

‘Is there any way you can deliver those goods we discussed to me, or will I have to get some allies and delve down to your entrance again?’ Robin shifted the conversation away from questions of whether or not the Knucklebones would do as everyone there wished and toward a bit of information he was after.

I have made a few useful alliances of my own. I can have the items delivered to you. Though to the secret door in your basement would be more convenient than through the front of your tavern.

That clinched it. Ruprecht was definitely broadening his influence in creative ways now that he couldn’t easily expand any more. He had made friends with someone or something that could safely navigate the sewers and undercity tunnels to go between Noviel and the dungeon premises.

Robin resisted the urge to glare balefully at Rerebos, the little traitor. After all, the dragonling was only behaving in accordance with his nature, and he would never truly betray Robin or Robin’s trust.

Though there was also enough innocuous information Robin wasn’t sure he wanted Ruprecht to know. Better devise some activities to keep Rerebos both busy and rolling in shinies for the near future.

‘I’m sure we can arrange to meet you messenger at the back door, as it were,’ Robin said. The wood of the chair beneath his hands was smooth as he gripped it.

He didn’t need to conceal his reaction. There was no way for Ruprecht to see him through the stone. But habit was habit, and if nothing else, the practice would help him slowly continue to raise his Deception score.

The conversation continued in that vein for a while. Robin and Ruprecht made plans, arranged times for delivery and the like, and exchanged a bit more information. Robin was fascinated by Ruprecht’s descriptions of Gyrfalcon’s activities. He was sure he could make a tidy profit off this gossip if he could figure out a way to sell it to the right adventurers and keep his face and name out of it.

Not long after that, the conversation wound down and the dungeon and the bard said their farewells. Rerebos had landed on Robin’s shoulder and curled around his neck like a lethal little necklace. Even without a direct line of sight, Robin could tell the dragonet was staring greedily at the enchanted stone on the table.

Robin stowed it in his storage with a touch.

‘I’ll need you to keep a very close eye on the Knucklebones until we have the stuff from Ruprecht,’ Robin said, producing a polished silver coin and placing it on the table where the stone had been.

Rerebos immediately uncoiled and pounced upon the coin.

‘Can do, yes,’ the familiar said, never taking his eyes off the play of light upon precious metal.

‘I’ll let slip to one of them that I’ve got some treasure I’ve held back. Clara or Dag will make sure I serve it up to them. That’ll be the best chance to tempt them after Ruprecht.’

Robin wondered briefly if he should include a map in the treasure from the get-go. Or if that would be too much a temptation for them to cut his throat and make off with it. Dag wasn’t that stupid, but Clara was that vicious. Hard to say.

No map, he decided. He could always draw them one later if it looked like they were taking the bait.

And if they didn’t? Well, they’d still have the forgery on them and he could tip off the Head Librarian and no doubt that worthy individual would quash the gang himself. Robin wouldn’t have to lift a finger to resolve the problem then.

If they did brave Ruprecht and not return, well, Rerebos would know where they had stashed the treasure they’d extracted from Robin and he could tip off the Head Librarian again anyway.

After reclaiming the best bits of the Broken Knucklebones’s stash for himself, of course.

Robin grinned. He had a plan, and multiple options for if it went south. It felt good to be taking control of events again.