“Not yet,” Josef said. “We need to find out what happened last night and why. We also need a who. Eli, I want you to go to my room and see what you can find. Nico, I’ll need you to stake out the duke. I want to know what he’s planning. Meanwhile, I’m going to go down to the kitchen and get the truth out of whoever cooked my food last night.”

“Josef,” Eli said cautiously, taking off his wig so he could look at the swordsman without hair getting in his eyes. “I know you don’t generally listen to these, but the first rule of thievery is never jump without knowing where you’re going to land. You’re making a lot of assumptions here. We’re not even sure you were poisoned.”

“It’s a room full of rich, soft, old men!” Eli cried. “It’s not an army.”

“I’d prefer an army,” Josef said. “You don’t know what those people are like. If they would fight me openly, everything would be fine. But they don’t. They justtalk.”

Eli smiled and held up a finger. “Juse relax and remember the first rule of thievery: Shown weakness is your only weakness. Go in there with your head held high and leave the talking to me. That’s why I’m here, remember?”

Eli started wiggling again, turning until his back was to the wall. First rule of thievery, always know what’s around you. The cave was quite small, barely six feet across and twice as deep, with a ceiling low enough to make a child claustrophobic. Still, despite the cave’s tiny dimensions, it took three look-overs for Eli to realize he wasn’t alone.

Eli stared at the woods in front of him, the rolling hills of dappled shade and fragrant evergreens. Thinking about it rationally, he should keep walking. He’d been a thief long enough to know when it was time to cut your losses and get out, but…

Eli stopped in his tracks. First rule of thievery, the actual first rule the old Monpress had drilled into him, was never risk what you couldn’t afford to lose. He couldn’t lose his team, not if he wanted to get his bounty to one million. Over the last year, he’d pushed higher and further than ever, and Nico had been a part of that as much as Josef. Even knowing what he was messing with, he couldn’t give that up. Not yet.

“Aren’t we going to do something?”

“What can we do?” Eli said, taking a deep breath. “We’re here for information, not to play hero. Even if I wanted to, we’ve got no backup. First rule of thievery, if you must fight, only fight the fights you can win.”

“Okay, okay,” Eli said, putting his hands up. “The Heart stays. But if it’s not going, then you shouldn’t either.”

Josef arched an eyebrow, and Eli shook his head. “I’m not saying anything about your fighting prowess, but if you can’t bring your big weapon I’d probably have an easier time sneaking in alone.”

“How does that make sense?” Josef growled.

“It’s the first rule of thievery,” Eli said with a shrug. “One person makes less noise than two. And I’d much rather you be here with Nico and the Heart than stuck on some mountain with just me and your pot-metal normal blades.”

Josef’s hands flicked to the blades on his hip, as though he was about to show Eli just how dangerous those pot-metal blades could be, but Eli was already walking over to the cranny where he’d dropped his bag.

Fine mess was a pretty way of putting it. Royally screwed was more accurate, or completely bollixed. Eli folded his arms across his chest. They still hurt horribly; so did his legs. Eli clenched his teeth. He hated pain. He also hated being trapped, but he had no one to blame but himself this time. He thought back to the duke’s words in the library, before the pain had become too much. He’d let himself get predictable. How many times had he gotten himself caught? A dozen in five years? Two dozen? He shook his head. Far too many, that was for sure.

“You’re getting lazy,” he muttered at the dark. “Lazy and predictable.”

Saying it actually made him feel worse, but he always tried to be honest with himself. First rule of thievery: If you can’t be honest with yourself, you’ll never fool anyone else.

Monpress reached over to the pile of cloth beside them and lifted the top bolt. There, nestled between the folds of burgundy damask, was a beautiful set of gold plates.

“White Tower Dynasty,” Monpress said. “Probably older than Gaol itself. Lovely design, too. I think those are my favorite pieces.”

“Hiding stolen goods in purchased ones,” Eli said, trying not to look impressed. “Classic. I have to say the insurance is a nice touch. Even if you did get stopped, the duke’s guards wouldn’t do more than a cursory inspection for fear of breaking something.”

“First rule of thievery,” the elder Monpress said, laying the cloth down again. “Always hide where it costs money to find you.”

Josef burst into laughter, and Eli shot him a sharp look. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“No, no,” Josef gasped between laughs. “It’s just that I see where you get it now.”

Josef gawked at him. “Are you mad? The duke knows you’re here. The jig is up. Only thing for us to do now is get out with our skins. Anyway, you don’t even know where the other thief is. How are you going to find him when there’s a whole duchy out there looking for you?”

“I know how to find him,” Eli said, taking off his wig and carefully placing the dusty blond mess into his pocket for cleaning later. “He certainly hasn’t left Gaol.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Josef said. “You said he was smart. Leaving seems like the smart thing to do.”

“Ah,” Eli said, smiling. “But you’re forgetting the first rule of thievery.”

“Which one?” Josef sighed. “You have a hundred at least.”

“This one is very important,” Eli said, stepping up to the cellar door and putting his ear against the coarse wood. “The last place a man looks is under his own feet.” He paused for a moment, holding his breath, and then opened the door with a flourish. “After you.”

Without further hesitation, Josef crawled in, pressing himself against the wall to squeeze by the square of fake wall. Nico followed right behind him, buried deep in her coat. When they were through, Eli paused for a moment and dug around in his pockets, pulling out a large, white card printed with an elaborate, cursive M.

“First rule of thievery,” he muttered to himself. “Never waste an opportunity.”