Paparazzi Burning
Part 3. Noussoir's Story
“Why do you ‘ave to walk so suspiciously? No one else is ‘ere.”
Noussoir du Marais looked at his accomplice with disdain.
The elven maiden didn’t mind him, as she passed him in the shadowed hall. She walked effortlessly, at a casual pace, but did not make a even a single rustle from her Belcadizan vestida.
“This is the only thing I ‘ave in black,” she had said earlier petulantly, when Noussoir had questioned her about her choice of attire for that night’s activities.
“I cannot very well explain your presence here,” Noussoir said in a hush. “Even I have only been here once before.”
“Bueno,” scolded Felicidad de Fedorias, “ ‘ow can you be sure we can find what we need here then?”
“This is Fenswick Keep, Felicidad! This is where she would keep her secrets!” insisted Noussoir, opening a massive oak door.
Seeing they were alone in the chamber with dark wood-paneled walls, Felicidad spoke up, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And could you remind me, señor, ‘ow all of a sudden we ‘ave come to suspect the Princesa de Fenswick of being responsible for the Paparazzi burning? Is she truly an ‘idden enemy? Or is this the vengeful plot of a jealous lover for paying less atención to you than to ‘er ‘alf-brother?”
Noussoir pricked at Felicidad’s accusations. It was commonly known—at least amongst the all-knowing Paparazzi Glantri—that Princess Dolores Hillsbury’s bed had turned cold to Noussoir of late, and that the Princess of Fenswick had instead turned her focus on Sir Lathan Aendyr—who was not, as may believe, truly her half-brother. What was not known was whether or not Princess Dolores’ interest in Lathan was more romantic that just their purportedly common lineage from the supposedly deceased Prince Volospin Aendyr.
Rather than finding a decent retort, Noussoir found the large imposing portrait of a withered, draconic-looking matron.
“The Old Dragon of Fenswick,” Felicidad exclaimed under her breath. She was referring to the unflattering moniker of Duchess Margaret Hillsbury, a stern Fenswick noblewoman and even sterner Glantrian bureaucrat, who was allegedly Princess Dolores’ mother, but who was well known—at least amongst the Paparazzi Glantri—to have been barren.
“Help me move this. Careful!” Noussoir said, pushing the painting to one side, revealing a hidden panel on the wall. “The cache is in here. Now get to work.”
“ ‘Old on!” protested Felicidad, in mock indignation, “What would make you think that a proper Belcadizan lady such as me could have anything to do with secret panels and picking locks?”
“Felicidad, I have no time for games. We both know that you are as much of a thief as I am, plus you have magic at your disposal. This is the home of a Glantrian noble, so you can be sure there are magical wards on this safe, and we need your spells to get through them.”
“So do you admit I am the better thief, señor Noussoir?” Felicidad smiled flirtatiously at Noussoir, who gave her a murderous look. Sensing she better get to work, Felicidad took around a small purse from between her breasts and turned toward the dark wood paneling.
As Noussoir kept the portrait of the Duchess to one side, he cursed audibly, “I swear by Rad’s Ass I will never agree to work with you again. Damn that Beatriz Dominatore!”
Felicidad ignored Noussoir the whole time. She was muttering some incantation to dispel any protection magic. She was also working with the finest thieves’ tools: a miniature pick, a small mallet, a tiny pair of thongs—no doubt made by the finest elven metal smiths from Belcadiz.
Finally, the wood panel slid open. After a quick inspection and a few more dispelling spells, Felicidad reached in the cache for its contents.
“ ‘Ere, take these,” Felicidad commanded, as she handed Noussoir a pile of scrolls and parchments. Noussoir brought the papers to the window, so he could read them by moonlight.
“Rad’s Radiant Ass! I can’t understand a word!”
Noussoir turned to Felicidad. As he did, he heard a small click.
Felicidad had just picked the lock of a small pewter chest, which he knew had come from the safe.
As Felicidad opened the chest, she muttered, “¡Puñales!”
The chest contained nothing but a few sheets of parchment.
Noussoir had an idea what Felicidad was hoping to find: the famous jewelry of Duchess Margaret Hillsbury. The nasty gossips used to say that the Old Dragon was so ugly that she needed to wear the most of beautiful jewels in the Known World so that people could even stand looking at her. All those jewels were priceless treasures and most of them were believed to be magical.
But Noussoir was not going to confront Felicidad yet.
“Felicidad, can you read this? I can’t understand a word. I think it’s Fenswick.”
Felicidad gave an annoyed look at Noussoir.
“What makes you think I read Fenswick?”
“Maybe you have some magic that can help us read it?” Noussoir explained, almost soothingly. Under any other circumstance, he would have been exasperated at Felicidad’s shrewish attitude, but Noussoir already had a counterattack planned.
“Bueno. Dejame,” Felicidad said acquiescently.
As Felicidad began her spell of translation, Noussoir kindly informed his fellow thief, “They’re gone, you know.”
Felicidad raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Dolores had them sold, or used them as gifts or bribes, to put her into power and fund whatever grandiose schemes of evil of hers.”
Felicidad looked at Noussoir accusingly, as if he had stolen Lady Margaret’s jewels himself to fund his own grandiose schemes of evil.
“She even paid the Paparazzi using them recently,” Noussoir added.
Felicidad turned from a indignant white to a livid scarlet.
“Haven’t you seen Beatriz’s silver necklace?” Noussoir teased.
“Or those emerald earrings of Melisante?”
Noussoir lied about that last part (Melisante never got a cut of the loot.), but he new full well that Felicidad would be irked.
Felicidad finished her spell with finality. She handed Noussoir the documents without looking at him directly.
“I don’t think your spell worked, Felicidad,” Noussoir said, matter-of-factly without trying to be smug.
Felicidad glared at him with what could have been a Witch’s evil eye.
With a voice too loud that it made Noussoir wince, Felicidad said angrily, “Nothing went wrong with my spell!”
With that, she turned and exited the room, banging the door loudly and knocking over something heavy in the hall.
Noussoir ran out after her.
