Chapter 10: The Cellar

The wine cellar at Greywater ran under the whole east wing, and Mary's strongbox was behind the third rack from the stairs.

The host's memory had always known it.

Max had never once been allowed to touch it.

"This is a terrible idea," James whispered, holding the candle.

"You said you knew a locksmith."

"I said I knew a man who knew a locksmith."

James crouched in front of the little iron box with a hairpin between his teeth.

"Hold the light still," he said around it.

"I'm holding it still."

"You're breathing on it."

"I breathe."

"Well, stop."

The cellar smelled of cold stone and old oak, and every shadow between the barrels seemed to lean in.

James turned the pin in the lock with his tongue between his teeth, frowning.

He had a stubborn crease between his brows when he concentrated, and Max watched it more than he watched the lock.

It had been three days since James's night, and in all that time they had barely touched.

Max had caught himself looking at the collar of James's shirt more than once.

The lock clicked.

"Ha!" James hissed. "Ha. Do you see that? Do you know how long that took me?"

"Barely a minute."

"Don't take this from me."

Inside the box lay a ledger bound in green cloth.

Max opened it on his knee.

The columns were tidy and in Mary's careful hand.

Wages. Mill fees. The kitchen account.

And three pages from the back, a column headed R.

Twenty silver for the first night logged.

Twenty for the second.

A third line sat empty, waiting.

Beside that column was another, headed H.

One hundred silver, on the certificate.

"One hundred for the healer," James said softly, reading over his shoulder. "She's paying a healer to say you're unfit."

"And twenty a night for the clerk."

"She's paying twenty a night to watch me." James's mouth twisted.

"That's the worst part. She's actually paying for it. I'd have done it for free."

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