Musical notes, high and pure and bright as jewel-tones echoed around the tavern, and Robin plied his illusions. Flickers of images, hyper-real tableaux of rock stars and anthropomorphised gemstones singing their hearts out, faded in and out of sight around the room. It was truly outrageous and why the people of this world came flocking to the tavern at Robin’s invite.

Not even the louring presence of Clara and the belching hulk of Dag could dampen the evening.

Robin felt a stab of cold hatred from Rerebos as he looked at the gangster. His familiar didn’t approve of anyone threatening them at the best of times. Combine that with the Knucklebones’s stealing of their rightful shinies, and Rerebos was on the verge of going full Smaug.

Well, he would if he were a bit bigger. As it stood he might be able to kill one of them in their sleep, but so far, the watch the gang had maintained had thwarted Rerebos’s murderous ambitions.

More’s the pity. Though Robin wouldn’t appreciate the heat it might bring down on his little friend. They didn’t know just how powerful the Knucklebones’ patron was, though they knew they had one. Nor did they know how beloved Dag may or may not have been by his boss or his fellow gang leaders.

Though how beloved could the man be? He was a mess. Robin watched as Dag dug a congealed glob of snot out of his nose and wiped it on the table.

Not even under! On!

Robin made a mental note to clean that table thrice over with [Legerdemain] later.

He’d already spun several tales of the adventures he’d had with his party delving down to Ruprecht’s dungeon, and dropped hints about what they may or may not have brought back with them. Nothing too specific, nothing too solid. He didn’t want everyone picking up on what he was doing.

But he felt Clara’s hot, hard glare between his shoulder blades. It was growing warmer, if anything, and Dag was clearly not as jovial and drunk as he was pretending to be. Robin was fairly sure they were thinking he had some treasure squirrelled away and resented that it wasn’t currently lining their pockets.

Time to play things up a bit. Robin started circulating with Bertha’s Bottle, pretending to match customer after customer drink for drink. His Deception score got a good workout, as he pretended to be increasingly drunk.

He made sure to drop a few more hints that he had a secret stash of treasure on the premises in the hearing of Clara and Dag. The two Knucklebones got less and less cagey about their interest as Robin appeared to get drunker and drunk.

The bard even caught them exchanging a glance after he dropped a particularly obvious hint.

So far, so good.

The night wound itself up, songs about precious gems and star-crossed lovers filling the time between tales of glittering treasure and one-of-a-kind wonders of nature. Robin even threw in a bit of reimagined Titanic and even a blood-curdling rendition of the story of the Hope Diamond.

Top it all off with a few half-heard rumours landing in their ears courtesy of his use of [Lesser Phantasm], and Robin had the two thugs practically salivating to get at his treasure.

Though hopefully not so eager for it that they were ready to gut him. That’s why he’d tried to emphasise that, while there was probably a hidden treasure, it likely wasn’t an untold cache of riches and gold. That rumour certainly wouldn’t do him any good.

Especially if it got loose. Who knows what kind of vermin that kind of thing would attract? In a city like Noviel?

No. Better to try and keep things small. Little rumours. Whispers of a bit of gold and silver. The odd mysterious artefact.

Robin felt two pairs of eyes on him as he closed down the evening, ushering his customers out and sweeping up the last bit of coin.

Robin felt the weight of those gazes even when the eyes averted themselves for a moment, when he sat down to begin counting out the evening’s take in front of Clara and Dag.

Something was definitely going to happen. Dag usually joked and drank as Robin counted. Tonight he was doing very little of either. And Clara might as well have been filleting him with her eyes.

Not that that was very different from the way things usually went.

Robin counted the coins and slowly cut out shares, listening to the too-casual conversation of Clara and Dag as he went. They were clearly building up to something.

‘So, bard,’ Dag said, suddenly turning the conversation to Robin, ‘it sounds like you had quite the adventure in the undercity.’

Robin nodded, head like a balloon on a pole, still playing drunk.

‘I did! Great adventure! Those guys were great. Just great. Too bad we lost one, but the ones that came back, all great!’

‘And I heard you managed to sneak a bit of treasure out too,’ Clara added, toying with the point of her knife.

‘We did! Not that much, not that much. So much was fake. Fake stuff. Who makes fake stuff? Why? Just mean.’ Robin shook his head.

‘It wasn’t all fake though, was it?’ Dag was fixated now.

It was a good thing Robin wanted these punks to tease this information out of him. Otherwise this would have gone down in history as one of the saddest interrogations ever.

He held up his thumb and forefinger, just an inch apart.

‘Little bit,’ he said, smiling. ‘Just a little bit. Safely stowed away. Rainy day.’

‘Rainy day? What does that mean?’ Clara’s eyes sharpened.

‘You gotta save a little bit of your gold for a rainy day. Don’t they say that here in Noviel?’ Robin looked around and squinted. It was dramatic, but hey, he was in character!

‘We don’t, but maybe we should start,’ Dag said. ‘Why don’t you show us how it’s done? How to save a bit?’

‘Yeah, show us the stash,’ Clara said.

She managed to make it sound like a threat. Which it probably was, in all honesty. Robin pretended not to notice and put on a jovial air.

‘Sure! It’s easy.’ He let his face go sober for a moment. ‘But you have to swear not to tell. Hiding places are supposed to stay se-secret.’

Dag and Clara duly swore. Robin tried not to roll his eyes. If this had been a cartoon they’d have been crossing their fingers behind their backs.

How’d he end up playing roadrunner to this pair of coyotes?

Before he’d even begun planning for this evening, Robin had been building small hiding places into the tavern as he repaired the beams and walls and floors. It was only good sense, right? Now, some of these, by necessity, were obvious ones.

The easiest way to get someone to leave after trying to rob you was to make them think they’d found the good stuff. Robin had already salted the most obvious places with small caches of the fake coins he’d brought back from that first disastrous delve into Ruprecht’s depths.

The fake translation he’d created had been in scroll form, rather than book, as it was simpler for Ruprecht to re-create with the materials Robin could scrounge. It was still large enough that it wouldn’t fit in any but the one large hiding cache that Robin was willing to reveal: the obvious ‘hollow under the hearth’.

Rerebos had been quite miffed when Robin hadn’t just given him the space for his growing hoard of shinies. Well, after tonight, Robin might as well, as all the Knucklebones would know about it anyway, and they were unlikely to keep their mouths shut.

He was counting on it, in fact, as part of his backup plan if he couldn’t convince them to brave the dungeons deep themselves.

Robin pried up the stone, revealing the dark cubbyhole beneath.

‘Wish I knew which of this was real and which was fake,’ he slurred. ‘Pretty sure at least half of it’s real. The scroll in my map case, I think that’s real, and real valuable if I can find the right buyer—’

‘Where’s the map lead?’ Clara cut in.

‘Just shows how we got to the dungeon, what to avoid, some of the inside of the dungeon too. Didn’t bother trying to make copies an’ sell it, though. Living dungeons can change themselves.’ He paused. ‘’Course that one’s dead. Shattered by Khavren. So maybe the map’s still good. Not that anyone knows how much of the stuff down there might be real or not. If any of it’s left. If there is, I suppose, anyone brave enough could just go down and haul it up with this. Not that I’d ever be caught down there again! No sirree! Not me!’

Robin watched out of the corner of his eye as Dag’s attention fixated on the scroll case. The gang boss began to massage his knuckles with a thumb.

‘I think we should take that off your hands for safekeeping,’ Dag said slowly. ‘Hidden here? Why, it’s too bloody obvious, innit? Anyone could pry up that stone and swipe your valuables. Give ‘em here.’

Dag reached out and grabbed the scroll case. Robin struggled, not letting him take it. He put on an air of alarm.

‘That’s—that’s not the deal! I pay you to protect me and this place—’

‘And we are,’ Clara added smoothly.

Robin felt the prick of her poniard against his throat. He was suddenly very conscious of the danger this bit of the game involved. Still, he brought in a nice bit of coin. Dag wouldn’t let her kill him.

Would he?

Robin let his grip relax on the scroll case, just in case. Dag pulled it from his nerveless fingers and shot a nod at Clara. The woman kicked Robin in the back of his knees and drove him to the ground, twisting his arm behind him as Dag rummaged through the cache and took everything.

He didn’t fight as Clara held him down. Didn’t protest as Dag robbed him blind. He made a few small noises, to keep Clara distracted, but that was it. Soon enough, the two had what they wanted and were walking out the door.

Robin waited until the gang members had left, stood up, dusted himself off, and smiled. That had gone alright! He barely even needed a [Healing Note] to set himself to rights! The Broken Knucklebones had swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker.

Now he just had to make sure none of these idiots killed him in the process.