Downfall

At last he reached the end of the hall and stood in front of a closed door. This was it, he was certain, the only door on this level that boasted a padlock. The heavy iron lock straddled two thick metal strips connecting the frame to a very sturdy-looking door.

Dhamon opened the leather pouch. Too far from the lantern, he relied on his well-practiced fingers to locate what he needed. Kneeling in front of the door and slowing his breathing, he selected two thin metal picks and went to work. His large, sweaty hands and long fingers made the task difficult, but he persisted and the mechanism finally rewarded him with a faint click. He cupped his hand behind the padlock so that when it swung open it wouldn't strike the wood, then he carefully removed the lock and laid it on the floor, hesitating only when a loud, throaty moan cut through the air. It was followed by a string of deep coughs, then the patient quieted. Dhamon waited a moment more, then opened the metal strips and tried the door handle.

He scowled and cursed under his breath. Padlock wasn't good enough by itself, he mouthed, as he brought the picks up to the keyhole and worried them inside. One snapped off, a quick, sharp sound, and he sucked in a breath and waited again. Nothing. Just snores and soft whimpers of pain, a bed creaking as someone rolled over. Another moment and he selected a longer pick, nearly dropping this one in his clumsy fingers. Silently reproving himself, he wiped his hands on his pants and resumed the job.

It seemed like hours rather than mere moments before he finally defeated the second mechanism. He replaced the tools, dried his hands again, and tried the handle. This time the door opened-into pitch blackness. Damn my human eyes, he thought. But he wasn't to be undone. Not after going to all that trouble of getting inside the hospital. Rising, he slid down the hall, ever alert for waking patients and more dwarf caregivers, glancing in the rooms he passed to make sure no one was stirring.

He plucked a lantern from the wall and lit it, quickly and quietly returning to the dark room. Then Dhamon slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He breathed deeper now, uncomfortably so. There was no window in here and the room was as small as a pantry, the air inside dead and stifling. He worked the wick, coaxing more light and revealing shelves upon shelves from floor to ceiling, all containing wooden bins, satchels, coin purses, and more. There was little space to move. Each item was painstakingly labeled with the owner's name-safe from thieves who might slip into patients' rooms and steal their valuables while they were too sick to resist, safe until their owners were well enough to leave, or in the most unfortunate circumstance, until survivors arrived to claim them.

A smile spread wide across Dhamon's face as he noted that the shelves had built-in ladders to accommodate the short dwarves. He wouldn't need the ladders. He guessed ten minutes had passed since he left his room. Twenty minutes or more left. Still more than enough time.

Setting the lantern on the floor he began opening one pouch after the next, swiftly collecting pieces of jewelry- rings mostly, but also a few thick gold and silver neckchains that belonged to the wealthier Knights. There were a few feminine pieces, one an old dainty ring set with tiny pearls, another a delicate cloak pin. They either belonged to lady Knights or were keepsakes from wives and lovers.

Dhamon discovered a small velvet purse filled with loose black pearls-a good find, as most of the pouches contained only coins. Behind the purses he found a sizeable leather bag and two well-worn backpacks, one with a crude broken arrow lodged in it. He set the bag and the largest backpack carefully on the floor, trying not to make a sound, opening them and nudging the lantern close. A neatly folded spare tabard was inside one, bearing the Legion of Steel emblem. He discarded it and emptied the other backpack, too. All they carried were garments.

Then he returned to the shelves and moved faster. Within moments rings and bracers found their way into one backpack, along with coin purses filled with steel pieces, daggers with ornate handles, and a variety of other small, valuable objects. He used the tabard for padding so the baubles wouldn't «chink» together. Coins and jewels were stuffed into the sack.

Dhamon ignored swords and axes labeled with patients' names. Too cumbersome, he decided, and many a man would let his coin purse disappear but would hunt forever for a favorite weapon. Ah, but not this sword. Dhamon decided he would not be leaving this behind. He paused for a moment in front of a broadsword sheathed in a scabbard covered with the fine-tooled images of flying hippogriffs and pegasi. He drew it, noting it was sturdy and elegant and well balanced, undoubtedly belonging to a Knight of some importance. The pommel was inlaid with brass and ivory and bore a hallmark.