“I would like to be the fox,” Isabel said.

“I believe you’d make a better peacock, my love. The fox would better suit both my complexion and my suit.”

“Jacques Revou, are you calling me drab?”

“Wh…what? No. I would never…” Jacques stammered.

“The male peacock is a bright, colourful avian with a full, ostentatious plumage,” Isabel said with a smile. “That sounds a lot like you, dear. Whereas the female peacock…”

“Is a dull brown creature with no excitement or flair,” Jacques finished. “Very well, my love. You may be the fox and I will take the majestic peacock.”

“Excellent decision,” Isabel said, picking up the fox mask and twirling it around before pressing it against her face. It covered everything but her mouth and chin, her nostrils and her eyes. She wagered with a bit of dark eye liner her pretty blues would sparkle behind the deep orange of the fox’s fur.

“I wonder if I should fashion myself a tail to go with the mask?” Jacques mused.

“We’re trying to blend in, dear, not stand out. At least we’ve secured invites for a change.”

“Mhm,” Jacques said unconvincingly. “I just… It takes all the fun out of it. I haven’t scaled a wall, hopped a fence, or climbed in through a window in months.”

“Probably a good thing considering your arm,” Isabel replied matter of factly.

“Oh, this old thing is fine,” Jacques said, swinging about his left arm.

“What about the other one?”

Jacques pouted. “Still twinges from time to time. I was shot, you know?”

“I know.”

“By the Maker it’s a miracle I still have full use of it. Well, at least part a miracle. At least part is my own dogged determination and near supernatural healing.”

“Uh huh,” Isabel cocked an eyebrow. “I think we’ll stick to entering through the front door this time. Besides, the invitations were a small fortune.”

* * *

Mittefurt was the largest and grandest city in all of Great Turlain. Its streets played host to some of the richest merchants and some of the most powerful aristocrats in the world. In Jacques’ opinion they didn’t have nearly the class, nor the eloquence of people from Sassaille, but he was never one to judge when the fools were so rich they didn’t know how to properly protect their riches.

Jacques stepped down from their hired carriage and extended his hand to help Isabel to the ground. He banged once on the side to send the driver on his way and then they stepped forward towards the grand gates of the Museum of Elements.

Once a year the museum held a fund-raising gala in order to help keep its cases stocked full of treasures and its doors open to those who wanted to learn. The irony of the situation was that on the night of the gala those same doors were closed to all those without the money required to open them. Jacques felt the invitations in his jacket and hoped they were as good a counterfeit as their fence claimed.

They joined the short queue that led up to the cast iron gates and Isabel took the opportunity to rearrange Jacques’ mask just a little. “It’s been forever since we came to one of these things, my dear,” she said with a smile that set her ocean-blue eyes twinkling.

“We’ve hardly been in a situation of late,” Jacques replied with a smile of his own.

Since their recent escape from Sassaille and the clutches of the sinister Seigneur Daron, they had spent a year acclimatising to the customs and fashions of Great Turlain. It took a lot of effort to blend into high society and the Turlain’s society was nothing if not different from that of Sassaille’s. They wore different clothes, different titles, and discussed significantly less politics (at least Jacques could be thankful for that).

Jacques and Isabel relied on drawing little to no attention, becoming almost invisible when they needed to. For that they needed to know the ins and outs, the trend setters and the outcasts, the hot topics and the ice breakers. They had spent an entire year living off their stolen fortune and paying attention to everything and everyone. Now they were going to put it all into practice.

“Invitations please,” said the butler at the gate. There were a couple of armed guards as well, but they would stand by, discreet and barely noticeable unless they were needed. Jacques reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the little cards, handing them over and barely deigning to notice the butler. Some things never changed from one country to the next and the poor treatment of those destined to serve was one of them.

“Herr Jerome and Frau Elise la Saine,” the butler said. To Jacques amazement the man’s Turlain accent didn’t murder the Sassaille pronunciations. “Enjoy the ball.”

Without a word, Jacques and Isabel passed through the gates and into the museum grounds. They had a good long while before the next step of the heist and they were in just the right place to enjoy themselves in the meantime.

* * *

“No,” Isabel said firmly.

“Oh why not?” Jacques argued. “We’ve been here for what feels like forever already and I think we’re ready. Masters of disguise and all that.”

“Well…” Isabel paused and Jacques could tell she was trying to think of a diplomatic way to say something. “Your accent is terrible, Jacques.”

“What?” He leapt from his chair and threw his hands in the air for dramatic effect. “I sound like a Turlain born and bred.”

Isabel stood from her own chair and pulled Jacques arms down, staring deep into his eyes. “Jacques Revou you are many things, but a convincing Turlain is not one of them. There are times to experiment and times to go with what we know. This one would be the latter.”

She was right, of course. Isabel was almost always right when it came to matters such as this. Jacques kissed her quickly on the lips and nodded. “Merchants from Sassaille, it is. I’ll be Jerome la Saine.”

“Then I will be Elise la Saine,” Isabel with a smile and a slight curtsy.

“Married again then?”

“Unless you would rather we be siblings?”

“Ruiner no,” Jacques cursed. “Why some of the things we do would be positively wrong.”

“And quite illegal over in Sassaille,” Isabel agreed.

“We’ll have to dig out the rings again. How about we say we hail from Thethingham this time? I feel like digging back into my roots a bit.”

“As you wish, dear. It might be worth acting a little terse and short, quick to take offence.”

“It would give us the perfect excuse to excuse ourselves from any company when the time is right.”

“Exactly,” Isabel said. “We’ll need to mingle for a while. Try to keep a low profile, but not appear too standoffish. Also, I hear there will be a buffet.”

“I wonder if they will have those delightful miniature smoked sausages?”

* * *

The museum grounds were large and open and full of wonders that were no doubt ridiculously valuable yet far too impracticable to steal. Isabel saw statues of rock with such detail that would take a master artist a decade to chisel from the stone. Of course an earth elemental likely created the masterpiece in mere moments. She saw fountains that seemed to defy the laws of gravity and a burning torch whose plaque claimed it was an eternal fire and hadn’t gone out in six hundred years.

Isabel glanced at Jacques to find his mouth set in a grim line. She couldn’t see his eyes or any of the rest of his face past his mask, but she hoped he wouldn’t cause too much of a scene. He had a determined, disrespectful hated of elementals and the magic they performed, instead preferring to place his faith and his interests in the pursuit of science. It was very likely he would happily destroy or deface every exhibit in the museum, but for one saving grace, they were there to rob the place of its most valuable of artefacts.

They passed into a tent that was serving as a tunnel, funnelling guests through the front doors of the museum. A few guests were loitering around in the tunnel and Jacques and Isabel received smiles, frank appraisals, and even one lingering wink. Isabel felt Jacques bristle and hurried him along.

“I hate this country,” Jacques moaned as they moved on towards the doors.

“I know, dear.”

“They’re all so damned frank. They have no decency.”

“I know, dear.”

“And the magic is just…”

Isabel stopped and pulled Jacques to a halt with her. “Jerome la Saine!”

“Yes, my love,” Jacques said with the tone of a naughty child who knew they had done wrong.

“We are here to have fun. We are here to donate some money to this fine establishment. And,” Isabel leaned in close so she could whisper, “we’re here to pull a job.” She leaned back again. “Behave yourself.”

“Yes, my love,” Jacques said, suitably admonished. “You look beautiful by the way.”

Isabel was smiling as they stepped through into the brightly lit entrance foyer and it had nothing to do with either the fine works of art, or the servant waiting over the threshold with glasses of fruit wine.

The Museum of Elements opened out before them with row upon row of glass cases filled with the treasures of Great Turlain. To their left stood a statue forged in bronze of a woman bathed in flames. Similar statues depicted elementals representing the other three elements.

Jacques accepted a glass of wine from the servant and moved off to their right to stare at another glass case. They were not the only couple taking the time to admire the exhibits before moving on to join the ball proper and Isabel smiled at a woman wearing a wonderfully detailed snake mask who was also admiring the artefact. The woman smiled back and Isabel saw fangs, just like that of a snake. She clapped and gasped and approached the woman.

“That is wonderful,” she said with a wide smile and was pleased to see the woman’s eyes crinkle a little with her own smile. “I never even considered accentuating the mask with such prosthetics.”

“Oh I come to these things all the time. After my… it must be fourth masquerade, I decided to start getting inventive.” The woman’s eyes dropped to the floor and her smile became slightly less practised. “Mother says I need to stand out a little more and I always feel more comfortable doing so at these things than the normal gatherings.”

“I imagine that would be the anonymity, dear. Sometimes one is never so able to be themselves, as when they can do so as someone else.”

The woman looked up at Isabel again and smiled, showing off her prosthetic fangs. It really made her mask seem to come alive. “You’re so right. You’re a Saille,” her accent thick with the harsh consonants of a Turlain.

Isabel glanced over towards Jacques, but he was still studying the exhibit. Or more likely he was still studying the glass case it was held in, trying to fathom out its composition and the best way one might be able to break into it.

With a curtsy that was picture perfect for engaging a woman of unknown social rank, Isabel smiled and nodded. “Elise la Saine,” she said. “My husband, Jerome la Saine, is the rude one over there paying more attention to an ancient artefact than he is his own wife.”

“I heard that, my love,” Jacques said without turning away from the glass case.

“We’re here in Mittefurt attempting to acquire some new trade contracts and thought we’d take the opportunity to come to the ball. It’s our first time here. Actually it’s our first time at any masquerade.”

“Actually I went to that one at Duc Vallette’s estate that one time, Elise,” Jacques said, still not turning around to greet the woman.

“Oh, of course. I was over in Rares at the time seeing my uncle,” Isabel loved a bit of improvisation. She turned to the woman in the snake mask and gave her a sad smile. “He’s ever so unwell, my uncle. The physicians say he has no more than a few months to live. Of course they’ve been saying the same thing for two years now.”

The woman’s mouth went from a sympathetic ‘O’ to a laughing smile in a moment and Isabel found herself wondering what she looked like under the mask.

A couple strolling hand in hand walked past, sparing only a glance their way. Isabel noticed a trio of guards standing nearby, paying particular attention to both herself and the woman in the snake mask. It was only because of her trained peripheral vision she noticed at all.

“Oh, but I’ve been so rude,” the woman said suddenly, her eyes dropping to the floor again.

“Not at all, dear,” Isabel said quickly. “Why next to my husband you’re positively charming.”

Jacques grunted.

“I’ve not introduced myself,” the woman continued. “My name is Marta Haas.” She performed a curtsy that was so deep it bordered on subservient and was far from proper given that Isabel was posing as nothing more than a merchant.

“Haas?” Jacques asked, turning around for the first time. The name clicked in Isabel’s mind only a moment later.

“Yes,” Marta admitted with a half-smile and a very unladylike shrug.

“That would make you Kronprinzessin Marta Johanna Mia Haas,” Jacques prompted and even through the mask Isabel could see the woman becoming uncomfortable. “Oldest daughter of Kaiser Friedrich Armin Haas?”

“Yes.”

“And heir to the throne. Oh dear,” Jacques said. He then quickly dipped into just about the deepest bow he could manage. Isabel complimented it with a curtsy that was equally as suitable given the difference in status between the two of them.

“I was hoping this wouldn’t happen,” Marta said in a sad tone.

“We’re very sorry to have bothered you, Kronprinzessin,” Jacques said, still in his bow. “And I apologise deeply for my conduct before. I had no idea to whom we were speaking.”

“I see.”

“We will, of course, leave you to the ball. A hundred apologies for disturbing you.”

“Must you leave me?”

“Yes, it would only be proper,” Jacques said in a voice full of pomp.

“I see,” the Kronprinzessin sounded very sad.

“No,” Isabel said. “I see no need to abandon the girl, no matter what her station, and ours, may be.”

“A word, if you please, Elise,” Jacques said, finally standing from his bow and treating both women to an inch-perfect smile.

“Just a moment, Kronprinzessin,” Isabel said with a sigh.

“Please call me Marta.”

Isabel smiled and nodded and stepped towards Jacques, he pulled her away a few steps and they turned their backs on the Kronprinzessin.

“We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile,” Jacques hissed.

“I know.”

“Spending time in the company of the crown Princess of Great Turlain is not keeping our profiles low.”

“We’re all wearing masks, dear. No one knows she’s the Kronprinzessin,” Isabel argued.

“Her guards know,” Jacques argued right back, his eyes flicking towards the three armed guards who were subtly watching Marta.

“Are the timings on the fuses, correct?” Isabel asked in a whisper.

“Of course they are,” Jacques said. He sounded very sure, regardless of the fact that he had been wrong about such things before.

“Then I will find you after the donations have been made,” Isabel said finally, patting Jacques on the arm and turning back to the Kronprinzessin.

“I am very sorry about that, my dear. My husband wishes to mingle in with the other guests of the ball in an attempt to secure some new contacts. I however, am more than happy to spend some time in your company.”

Marta smiled and her green eyes sparkled behind the scales of her mask. Isabel stepped towards her and took her by the arm, trying desperately to ignore the attention of the nearby guards. “Now you must tell me how you managed to construct those wonderful fangs.”

* * *

“We’ll need a distraction,” Isabel said as she looked over the floor plan of the museum. Jacques had been visiting the museum on a daily basis for almost a week to make certain they had a comprehensive guide to where they needed to be and when.

“You’ll be all the distraction we could ever need in your new burgundy dress,” Jacques said as he played around with a valve on an alembic he was using to distil his latest concoction.

Isabel cocked an eyebrow at Jacques but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. It was blatant flattery, but she loved it all the same. She knew she’d never be the prettiest woman in the world, but Jacques always managed to make her feel as though she was.

“It is a very fine dress,” Isabel said with a sigh as she stared at it. Burgundy was, without a doubt, her colour. It complimented her dark complexion and brought out the bright blue of her eyes. With her hair cut a little shorter than normal, as was the current fashion in Turlain, and dyed a deep raven-black with bare hints of chestnut red streaks, there was simply no doubt she would look beautiful.

“I should hope so,” Jacques said in a distracted voice. He was paying as much attention as he could to the alchemical equipment and was doing something to a golden mark. Isabel wished he would experiment on a lower unit of currency, but there was no sense arguing with him over alchemy. “It cost more than all of my equipment combined.”

“Well you did owe me a dress from the Lavette job we pulled last year.”

“Oh, don’t remind me of that debacle, Bel.”

“The job went off with barely a hitch.”

“Yes. But what followed was anything but pleasant and I would prefer my mood to stay jolly. We have an entirely new heist afoot and I have no intention of finishing it on the business end of a bullet.”

Isabel frowned. It had taken Jacques a good six months to recover from his bullet wound and the arm still pained him even now. They had vowed never to steal an airship again, especially not one as heavily armed as The Northern Sunrise.

“So what is this new formulae you’re playing with, my love?”

Jacques let loose a grin as wide as a rainbow. “A distraction. I’m tweaking the mixture in an attempt to perfect the delay on the reaction.”

“But what will it do?”

“I’m hoping, if I can get the formulae just right, I’ll be able to accurately calculate the delay. Sort of like a timed fuse only without the need for a fuse.”

“But what will it do, dear?” Isabel pressed.

“Oh… um… well it should combust.”

“Explode? That may be a bit too violent a distraction.”

“No. No. No. Nothing quite so violent. It should be more like a…”

The coin held in Jacques’ vice started to sizzle even as more liquid dripped down onto it from the alembic.

“Merde,”Jacques cursed as the coin started to corrode and an acrid white smoke started to rise from it. He quickly turned the valve on the alembic and then stood staring at the coin and frowning as more and more smoke poured from it. The gold mark was starting to turn a dull grey colour and it smelled of week-old rotten eggs.

“So not entirely as intended?” Isabel asked with a laugh, crossing the room and opening an window to let some chilly fresh air in.

“Oh the reaction was quite what I was expecting,” Jacques picked up a pencil and made some notes in a little log book. “The delay was… well, not very delayed. I’ll need to make some alterations and experiment further.”

“And the mark?” Isabel asked, already worrying how much Jacques’ experimentation was likely to cost them.

“Quite worthless, I’m afraid. The mixture renders it into a compound more akin to lead.”

“I see,” Isabel said with a frown. They were running out of money and fast. It was not something they liked to talk about, but they both knew if this job went sideways they would not have the money to fund another.

* * *

Jacques pulled the woman so close that the beak of his mask almost touched the whiskers of her own. He caught a whiff of lavender and cranberry. It stuck in his mind and almost threw him off his task. He twirled the woman to the left and then back and into a slight dip. Her ice-coloured eyes shined behind her mask and were locked on his own. She was tall and lithe and flexed in all the right places as the tempo of the dance increased and the steps became more and more athletic.

Dancing in Great Turlain, at least in high society, was treated almost as a competition. The musicians were trained to steadily increase the tempo and continue until the dance floor was cleared. Those participating did so until they could not, either by missing steps or the physical exertion became too much for them. Jacques had no doubt he could last until there was no one left to challenge him, or at least no other men left to challenge him, but to do so would draw attention and that was not something he wanted. He would have to bow out soon, purposefully missing a step so he had an excuse to drop from the competition without incident.

He stepped back from the woman in the tiger mask, her cherry red lips forming into a mocking smile, sketched a shallow bow, and turned full about. His new partner was a smaller woman with a slight chubbiness to her arms and a snarling wolf mask that hid all but her purple-painted lips and blue eyes so dark they almost seemed black. She was smiling and breathing heavily, but still managed to take the time to greet her new partner. Jacques returned the nicety and they were off, stepping across the dance floor in time to the tune.

As Jacques and his new, wolfish, partner twirled about, he swept his gaze across the dance floor, looking for the woman who smelled of cranberries. She was wearing a sunflower yellow dress that did little to hide her curves and there was something about her that Jacques couldn’t quite shake from his mind.

Perhaps, he mused as he twirled the wolf-masked woman and caught her into a dip, it was that the woman smelled of cranberries. It was a strange fragrance to wear, though it was entirely possible she had eaten something containing cranberries from the buffet.

Jacques stepped apart from the wolf-masked woman and gave a slight bow. She curtsied back and trotted from the dance floor, looking exhausted as Jacques turned to find his new partner– a tall lady in a low-cut black dress wearing a mask looking as though it belonged to an oversized rodent. They stepped towards each other and the dance began again.

His new partner was gangly and they were not well suited together. Jacques took the opportunity to make a mistake, cutting across the woman and almost bringing them both down. He recovered with a flourish, bowed, and offered his most sincere apologies for his clumsiness, before excusing himself from the dance floor and fanning at his mask as though he were exhausted.

He searched those still dancing, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman in the sunflower dress. It wasn’t, he admitted that she smelled of cranberries and neither was it her dress, it was that Jacques had never before danced with a woman who moved with more fluid grace than Isabel.

As high society charlatans, dancing was a necessity for Jacques and Isabel and luckily it was also something they both enjoyed and excelled at. After the scene they caused during their heist to steal the famed Living Autumn, they decided it was necessary to learn the dances of each region and practise the steps. Improvisation was frowned upon and they didn’t need that sort of attention when they were trying to steal something from the hosts.

Isabel had rhythm, timing, and inch-perfect precision that only natural born grace could provide. She took to the steps of new dances in moments and made even those who had been practising all their lives look clumsy by comparison.

But the woman in the tiger mask was something else. She had felt like water in his arms, flowing whichever way he led and doing so with a languid grace beyond comparison. Jacques had actually felt clumsy and boorish just partnering with the woman, and worse was that she knew it. Her little mocking smile had said everything her voice might have. That she was perfect, a creature born to dance and move, and he was not.

She was gone from the dance floor and not by accident. There was simply no way the woman could have missed a step or lost the beat. Jacques himself could have kept going for much longer and the woman in the sunflower dress likely longer still. He stood on tip toes and glanced about the ball room, looking for and not finding her.

The dance ended, the musicians bringing it to a close, and the final two competitors bowed to each other. A man wearing a parrot mask and a woman wearing a mask that looked like flame. Jacques gave a quick clap to join in with the applause and moved away in search of the woman with more grace than his Isabel.

Before the musicians could start up again and another bout of friendly competition could get under way, a bell sounded, ringing loud across the room. Jacques was out of time and the woman in the sunflower dress would have to remain a mystery. Jacques hated mysteries.

Everyone was gathering to watch as a large cauldron was wheeled out from one of the side rooms towards a double set of stairs that wound up and around each other towards the third floor of the museum. The man ringing the bell was standing at the foot of those stairs and was wearing an impeccable suit of mauve that would have looked beyond gaudy if not for the sea harpy mask he wore.

The man raised his hands into the air as the servants wheeled the cauldron up to him. He patted the air to call for quiet and the murmurs and chatter of the masquerade drew to a halt. Jacques looked about for Isabel but couldn’t see her. If she was still with the Kronprinzessin, she would need to detach herself and soon. Jacques, on the other hand, needed to be near the front of the queue before his money quite literally burned a hole in his pockets.

“My lords and ladies, I thank you all for coming here today,” the man in mauve said loudly, his voice ringing around the halls even without shouting. Jacques had to admit he had an exceptionally rich voice. “You all know why you’re here.” The man patted the cauldron and a round of laughter rippled through the crowd of gathered socialites.

The man in mauve waited for a few moments, letting the laughter rise and fall, before continuing. He certainly knew how to work a crowd. “The Museum of Elements is a national treasure, preserving our heritage and reminding both ourselves and elementals why they have their powers, what they can do with them, and what they should do with them.”

There was some murmured agreement around Jacques, but with everybody wearing masks he could not see who had spoken. He turned his attention back to the man in mauve to see him step to the side and motioned up towards the display case behind him. It contained a large roll of vellum with some sort of writing upon it and it looked very old. Many of those in the crowd nodded and made vocal agreements, but Jacques had no idea what it was they were agreeing with.

“Work, thou, for the people. Not for thy self.” The rich voice of the man in mauve carried throughout the hall and was met with a thunderous round of applause. Jacques joined in so not to seem ignorant of the words’ meaning.

“Our most important artefacts are housed here,” the man in mauve continued once the applause had died down. “On show for all to see. To remind us all. But an institution such as this does not run on good will and dust bunnies.” Another round of laughter. “So dig deep and lets all help to keep the museum’s lights on.”

The man in mauve finished by picking an old style purse from his belt, shaking it so that the coins within rattled against each other, and then dropping it into the cauldron with a wide smile. He then stepped back and waved for the nearest of the gathered socialites to come forwards and make their own donations.

Jacques slipped through the crowd, careful not to ruffle any feathers by rudely bumping into anyone. He reached the front in good time, flicking open a pocket watch and estimating they had just fifteen minutes before the delayed reaction started.

The man in mauve smiled at him when Jacques deposited his donation. He had a thin, perfectly trimmed goatee around pencil-thin lips and eyes so pale they almost looked like glass.

“The museum thanks for your donation,” the man in mauve said.

Jacques nodded and smiled back before quickly stepping away from the cauldron and disappearing into the crowd. They had little time left and he needed to find Isabel before the distraction started.

* * *

“We won’t have long once the distraction starts,” Jacques said. He rolled a out a length of grey velvet upon the dining table.

“No,” Isabel agreed. “I imagine they’ll perform a full search of the museum once they realise what is happening. Picks.”

“Check,” Jacques said as he placed a set of titanium picks and torsion wrenches upon the velvet. They were without a doubt one of the finest tools they owned and most thieves would likely give their left arm for the set. Of course if they were to give an arm it would make the picks almost useless. Jacques couldn’t imagine trying to pick a lock with only one hand. “The job itself should be fairly easy. I can’t imagine what could possibly go wrong.”

Isabel stopped just before asking about the next item on the list. “Jacques Revou, have you lost your genius mind?”

“Ah,” Jacques said as he realised his mistake. “I’ve gone and made a blunder, haven’t I?”

“You know better than to tempt the Ruiner like that,” Isabel said angrily. “Well at least I know where to place the blame should something go wrong.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong, Bel.”

“Jacques!”

“I’m sorry. Nothing should go wrong. I hope nothing will go wrong. I have planned for every hiccup I can think of. By the grace of all three Gods our plan is approaching fool proof.”

“Now you’re just mocking fate.”

“A little bit. What’s next on the list?”

“Biosolvent,” Isabel said with a frown.

Jacques picked up the vial and checked to make certain the stopper was well and truly stopping. Biosolvent had no reaction on most materials, but on skin it would burn and leave and a horrible rash. “Check,” he said as he placed the vial on the velvet.

“Distraction.”

Jacques looked over his apparatus and let out a long sigh. “It will be check by the time we leave.”

“Hmmm,” Isabel said by way of agreeing. “Glass cutter.”

Jacques picked up the masks. “Check.” He placed them on the velvet.

“Sleep?” Isabel asked.

“Two sachets as standard,” Jacques said. “I prefer not to use them, but you do have a habit of getting into trouble.”

“Oh yes, it’s just me,” Isabel replied with a smile. “What about that time you had to put the crocodile to sleep, dear?”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Jacques claimed in an affronted voice. “I mean honestly, who keeps an alligator in a koi pond?”

“It was a crocodile, and the Baron Ruesow does.”

“Well, yes,” Jacques agreed. “I know that now.”

* * *

Isabel spotted Jacques approaching from some distance. She and Marta were sampling the buffet while many of the other guests were making their donations. The spectacle would go on for some time yet. Once the stream of coins being dropped into the cauldron began to sputter, the man with the actor’s voice would call for another round so the aristocrats and merchants could feel doubly generous.

Picking up another chocolate covered strawberry, Isabel took a bite from it and relished at the decadent taste. There were definite benefits to acting as though one belonged to high society and the food they were often treated to was one of them.

“I do believe my husband has returned, dear,” Isabel said, looking longingly at the rest of the bowl of chocolate strawberries. She let out a sigh. “I guess our fun has come to an end.”

Marta giggled and Isabel laughed along with her. The princess was very different from anything Isabel had expected. She was young and naïve and full of wonder despite her lofty position. Isabel found it refreshing. She might have even liked to befriend the woman, but friends were a luxury their lifestyle couldn’t afford, especially not from among those they were intending to relieve of valuables.

“Kronprinzessin,” Jacques said as he drew close, sketching a near impossibly deep bow while also making certain to keep some distance so as not to alarm the guards. “I apologise for the interruption. I wondered if I might be able to retrieve my wife from your company.”

Marta looked at the floor and nodded. “Of course, Jerome. I understand. I wouldn’t dream of keeping her. I mean…”

“I’m sure he just has some old merchant, with more hair in his ears than on his head, he would like me to meet,” Isabel said, patting Marta on the arm. “Time willing I could come and find you again afterwards.”

“I would like that,” Marta said with a fangy smile. “Very much.”

“Excellent,” Isabel said. She stepped forward and then turned. “If I don’t manage to find you again. It has been an honour keeping your company, Kronprinzessin.” Isabel dipped into an elegant curtsy and then stood as Jacques pulled her away.

“We’re on the clock here,” Jacques whispered as they walked away. He flipped open the front of his pocket watch.

“How long do we have?” Isabel asked. They moved into the crowd just in case Marta was still watching them and then changed direction towards the exhibits.

“Not long,” Jacques replied.

They slipped out of the crowd as though they were heading towards the dance floor, then changed direction and moved through the glass-cased exhibits of ancient artwork depicting elementals and their feats of power over mythical creatures. Whether any of the paintings held even a shred of truth was debatable, but Isabel had certainly never seen any of the monsters shown in the pictures.

The museum was full of wide open spaces that were hard to sneak across so Isabel and Jacques chose the safest option they could, to simply stroll as though they both had a purpose and the authority to go where they would. They moved towards a cordoned off room that was more dark than light, stepped around the flimsy rope barrier, and were away.

The room was full of half-formed exhibits, antiques stacked and in disarray, and a host of empty glass cases. There were hooded lanterns hanging from the walls, but none of them were lit. A staircase was hidden near the back of the room and it led up to the second floor. Jacques made his way over and cursed when he got there. Isabel arrived a moment later and her stomach gave an uncomfortable flutter. The staircase was blocked by one of the larger glass cases.

“Merde,” she cursed under her breath. “Now what?”

Jacques was quiet, an unusual occurrence for him, as he scratched at his chin and stared daggers at the glass case that was threatening to undo their entire, intricate plan.

“What about one of your alchemic concoctions to, I don’t know, melt through it?” Isabel suggested.

Jacques shook his head. “After careful inspection of a number of the exhibit cases, I can say with a great degree of certainty that…”

“Jacques, we are on the clock here.”

“Right, of course,” he dropped the accent and the flowery speech in a moment. “The cases are all made using different compositions. A solvent may work on one only to have no effect on another and I have very little solvents upon my person to try. What I wouldn’t give for some ooze from an Ooze. Their acid eats through just about anything.”

“Solutions, dear,” Isabel said, glancing around the dark room for anything they might be able to use. “Another way up maybe?” The stair case went up in a spiral and the glass case was doing a wonderful job of blocking all but the smallest of gaps onto the stairs.

“Huh…” Jacques grunted. “Scuff marks of the floor. This case was dragged and recently.” He put his shoulder against it and pushed. The case was quite stoic in its resolve to not give an inch.

“This thing must weigh a ton,” Jacques breathed.

“The glass cutter?” Isabel asked, looking over at a couple of antique sofas that seemed out of place in a museum dedicated to the history of elementals.

“It would take an age to make a hole large enough for one of us to get through,” Jacques dismissed the idea.

“Can we knock it over somehow?”

“It would make a lot of noise,” Jacques complained.

“If we can cushion the force,” Isabel stopped at one of the sofas. There were three of them in total and they were in a long outdated style.

Jacques stared off into the darkness for a few moments and Isabel could tell he was performing some calculations in his head. “The biosolvent will weaken the wooden floorboards, maybe enough to tilt the case and allow us to push it the rest of the way. It’s a hope and a prayer…”

Jacques set to spreading the alchemical formulae around the base of the glass case while Isabel pushed the three sofas in front of it. The smell that rose around the dissolving wood was warm and reminded Isabel of winter among la troupe de Zelaine where she had grown up. They were travellers and had little money for alchemical fires, so on cold nights they would gather around camp fires like the people of old and sing songs and tell stories.

The wooden boards around the front of the glass case began to snap and collapse and the case lurched forwards, tilting downwards. And stopped. Jacques moved around to the side and got his fingers behind the case.

“Other side, Bel. Near the top, pull it over the rest of the way.”

Together they pulled and the glass case started to shift, tilting further and further until the wooden boards beneath it gave another crack and suddenly the case was falling. Isabel winced as it crashed down onto the sofas.

The first sofa crunched under the weight, one antique that was now nothing but scrap, and Isabel could only hope it wasn’t loud enough for anyone in the ball room to hear. The second and third sofa fared a little better, but it was unlikely either would ever be comfortable to sit on again.

Isabel found herself staring towards the room’s entrance, waiting with a dread anticipation to see if anyone heard the noise and was coming to investigate.

“Time to go, Bel,” Jacques said and Isabel found him already clambering over the glass case to get to the stairs. She accepted his hand and he pulled her up to join him and then they were away up the stair case.

The second floor consisted of a number of exhibition rooms that ran around the edge of the two story ball room in a horse shoe shape. Each room was given over to a different time period in Great Turlain’s history and many of them held valuable treasures. Jacques and Isabel had long ago learned that a good thief doesn’t get side tracked with shiny objects, but instead focused on a single, expensive item. Greed was a required sin for those in their line of work, but those with too much often found themselves adjusting to life behind bars and that was not something either of them could abide.

The rooms were connected with a single, well-lit corridor that ran the length of the second floor, and it was there they found themselves. Jacques led the way, sneaking as quietly as his padded shoes would allow. He knew which room they were heading to, he had been to it many times over the last ten days.

Jacques flipped open his pocket watch and let out a worried growl. “Bare minutes at best.”

“We can always hope you bungled the mixture a little, set the delay to longer than we expected,” Isabel countered with a smile.

“What a strange feeling, hoping to fail,” Jacques replied with a grin as they stopped by the room labelled ‘806ae‘. Isabel did not know a lot about history, but she knew it was a time period full of wonders. They had done some research into it before deciding upon which item to steal.

“You there,” shouted a guard as he trotted around the bend, one hand on a pistol secured to his hip. “This floor is off limits for guests tonight.”

Jacques let out a loud sigh.

“What are you doing here?” the guard came closer, only a few paces away now, and stopped. He hadn’t yet drawn his weapon which Isabel took as a good sign. Both Jacques and herself were excellent thieves, nimble and quick and brighter than a Sunspark, but neither of them were particularly good in a fight.

The guard was tall and broad with a jutting chin that reminded Isabel of a face she had tried very hard to forget. The guard reminded her of a man she had killed just a year ago and that was a reminder she didn’t want. It still made her sick to her stomach whenever she thought about it and she refused to even touch a pistol since.

“That is an idiotic question and I find myself quite incensed that you would speak to me with such blatant disrespect,” Jacques said in his angriest voice, one he had used to great effect when posing as a Baron in Sassaille.

“I… uh… You’re a Saille,” the guard said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Jerome!” Isabel said in a tone like hammered steel. “Don’t you dare berate the man for doing his job. He’s quite right. We’re utterly in the wrong place and simply shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, he didn’t even use my title,” Jacques said in a sulk. “That sort of disrespect…”

“I won’t hear it, Jerome. Not another word.” Isabel drew in a sharp breath and let it out as an equally sharp sigh before turning to the suspicious guard, trying desperately not to think of how much he looked like poor Amaury Roache. “I’m very sorry about this. It’s just, well, we’re robbing the joint.”

Even as the guard’s eyes widened and he realised what Isabel had said, she flicked her wrist and a sachet of Sleep appeared between her fingers. Sometimes she found dresses with sleeves to be stifling, but she had to admit that they made sleight of hand so much easier. She ripped the sachet open with her finger and puffed out a lungful of air, blowing the dust into the guard’s face.

The guard stumbled backwards and reached for his pistol, coughing and sneezing as the dust enveloped his face. He just about drew his pistol and it clattered to the ground, his body following it only a moment later. Isabel winced at the thump he made as he dropped and hoped he wasn’t hurt too badly. She also hoped he wouldn’t lose his job over the incident. He would wake up sometime tomorrow morning with very little recollection of the night and would likely get the blame for the theft.

“Help me drag him into the room, Bel,” Jacques said, grabbing hold of one of the snoring guard’s arms.

“Does he look like Amaury to you?” Isabel asked as she joined Jacques.

“What? No. Not at all. Amaury is dead, my love, and good riddens.”

“I suppose,” Isabel said with a grunt as they dragged the big guard inside the room and out of the way.

“We really must thank Rochem for teaching me to make Sleep. It’s saved our skins more times than I care to count,” Jacques continued, oblivious of Isabel’s discomfort.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jacques. Last time we saw him he tried to have us killed,” Isabel countered.

“Oh, yes. I suppose he did. I guess we’ll call it even then.”

Jacques dropped the unfortunate guard’s arm and fair nearly bounced away into the centre of the room. Isabel gave the guard another tug and made certain he was not quite visible from the doorway. Someone would have to enter the room to find him and they were counting on that not happening until they were long gone. She stopped by the doorway and listened, straining her ears. The distraction would cause quite a commotion when it went off and she couldn’t hear anything approaching collective panic just yet.

“Bel,” Jacques said. “I need your mask.”

Isabel moved back into the room and stopped next to Jacques. He was staring down at a small glass case no more than a few feet in each measurement. It stood alone in the centre of the room on a cushioned plinth and inside was a small wooden box about as big as her hand. The symbols for the four elements were etched onto the closed lid of the box. Isabel felt her heart flutter as they looked down upon it.

“I can’t wait to see them,” she said with a smile as she removed her mask and handed it to Jacques.

“I can’t wait to sell them,” Jacques returned the smile as he slotted the fox mask into the back of the peacock mask.

“It will almost be a shame. Imagine how good they would look sitting upon our mantelpiece,” Isabel teased.

Jacques pulled the covering from the suction pad on the inside of the fox mask and then twisted it so that it extended a short distance. He affixed the suction pad onto the glass case and then pulled a feather from each side of the peacock mask. Underneath the feathers were small diamond cutters spaced a perfect distance from each other. Jacques pushed the peacock mask so the cutters were in contact with the glass case and then slowly started to turn, scoring a perfect circle into the glass.

Isabel watched Jacques work with growing anticipation. She heard a loud shout from somewhere distant and bit her lip. There was no sense in hurrying Jacques now, he was working as fast as he could.

Downstairs, she could imagine the acrid smoke rising from the cauldron as the alchemical reaction took place, turning the gold into near worthless lead. There would be panic, of course, and pretty soon an evacuation. They needed to be present before that happened and before the polizei arrived to investigate.

It took three full circles before the glass came away, a new circular hole in the case just large enough for a hand. Jacques withdrew and set about turning the glass cutter back into a pair of masks. Isabel stepped forwards and reached inside the case, nerves making her heart beat faster. It was always the same for her. Thieving may be a way to make a living, but it was also a thrill like no other. To steal things so valuable they were considered unfenceable. Things so well protected they were considered unstealable. Jacques and Isabel revelled in being the ones to prove those presumptions wrong.

Isabel pulled the box from the glass case and let out a ragged breath. Jacques was hovering by her shoulder, beaming at her with a wide grin. They needed to leave and quickly, get back to the ball room as soon as possible.

“Open it,” Jacques said, nearly vibrating he was so excited.

Isabel turned her head and gave him a quick kiss before popping open the lid on the little wooden box. It was empty.

* * *

“The Elemental Jewels,” Jacques said with a clap.

“Well I suppose if we’re going to get back on the horse, we might as well find the biggest, meanest stallion we can,” Isabel replied, smiling at Jacques enthusiasm.

“Four crystal spheres each one containing a small example of one of the elements: fire, earth, wind, and water. Each one is no larger than a marble. We could smuggle them out in my pockets should we choose.”

“Each one is worth a fortune,” Isabel mused, staring at a phonographic picture of the jewels.

“As a set they’re worth even more. Priceless in fact.”

Isabel laughed. “Nothing is truly priceless. No matter the artefact, or the information, or the trinket, or the loyalty. Everything has a price and someone is always willing to pay it.”

“Yes,” Jacques agreed. “Well, our job is to get the damned things and we’ll let the fence worry about the price and who’s paying it.”

“Our job is to get the damned things and then get out of the place without getting caught and thrown behind bars,” Isabel corrected her love.

“Oh getting out should be even easier than getting in. Far more costly though. At least to the museum. They’ll be evacuating the building, you see.

“The museum has this wonderful little system for putting out fires. Once the alarm is sounded, water is pumped, under pressure, throughout the building and it bursts forth from pipes located along the ceiling of each room.”

“How ingenious,” Isabel said.

“How accommodating for us,” Jacques replied with a smile. “With water leaking from the roof onto a couple of hundred socialites, they won’t be able to stop everyone from leaving in a panicked formation. They won’t have time to realise what has actually happened, let alone search the building for what may or may not have been thoroughly robbed.”

“The rest of the exhibits?” Isabel asked.

“Most will be fine. They’re in glass cases after all.”

“And the rest?”

“Unfortunate collateral damage, my dear. Don’t worry, Bel, the distraction while they attempt to save their exhibits will only serve to help cover our escape.”

“I was more worried about the damage to the exhibits, Jacques. We’re going along to steal one of the kingdom’s most prized possessions, not damage its cultural heritage.”

Jacques snorted. “Cultural heritage. Bunch of wizards using magic to create some pretty baubles. True works of heritage require effort and real importance.”

Isabel let out a sigh. She had once again managed to set Jacques off on a rant arguing the merits of science over magic.

* * *

“How can they be gone?” Jacques asked, fully aware that his voice had risen a few octaves.

“I don’t know,” Isabel replied in an equally frustrated voice. “But they are gone.”

“Well yes, I can see that, Bel.” Jacques turned and then turned again, his frustration getting the better of him. “Merde.”

Isabel gave the case one last check and sighed, placing it on top of the glass. “Now what? We could steal something else.”

“We don’t have time,” Jacques said, approaching the glass case and studying it closely.

“Good point, my dear,” Isabel replied. “We really should be going.”

A strained groaning noise came from above as water began pumping into the pipes. There would be only moments before that same water started showering down from above. Jacques looked closely at the base of the glass case. There were small shavings at the base, almost hidden in the red cushion. Jacques poked at one.

“Glass,” he mused to himself.

“We need to leave, Jacques,” Isabel said firmly. She was standing at the doorway, glancing both ways down the corridor beyond.

The pipes above gave another groaning shudder and water started spraying from the ceiling soaking everything. Jacques ignored it.

He poked at the case lightly and then again harder. It was heavy but it also wasn’t attached to its pedestal. The base of the glass, where it should have been fused to the pedestal, was worn away into glass flakes.

“Jacques,” Isabel said again.

“Someone beat us to it,” he said, standing and making for the doorway. His hair was wet through and hanging down over his face and his clothes were sodden already.

“What?” Isabel asked as they raced for the stairs that led back down to the main hall.

They slid to a stop at the stairs and then hurried down them as fast as it was possible before leaping over the toppled case that had so recently blocked the stairwell. Jacques almost slipped as he landed, but managed to turn it into an artful slide. He placed his mask back over his face and he and Isabel rushed to the archway that led to the main hall.

Socialites, aristocrats, and those merchants rich enough to afford to throw their money away were all crowding towards the exit. Far from the usual civility such people would show, there was a fierce competition of shoving, elbowing, and even the occasional insult. The heist may have gone awry somewhat, but it was clear that they had at least managed to bring Mittefurt’s elite down to street level.

Jacques and Isabel hurried into the main hall and hoped no one was paying too much attention, before inserting themselves into the crowd trying to cram themselves through the exit. Jacques risked a glance backwards and saw the big cauldron of gold still smouldering away, despite the icy shower it was receiving.

They kept hold of each other’s hands. It would be easy to get separated in the crush and it wouldn’t do to have them standing around trying to find each other once outside. They needed to leave before the robbery was discovered. If the polizei arrived and decided to detain everyone for questioning, they would soon make the list for prime suspects despite not having the Elemental Jewels in their possession.

The chatter was loud and agitated. Some of the crowded socialites were angry at the affair, while others sounded more concerned. Jacques glanced at Isabel and caught a brief flash of worried eyes beneath her mask.

Then they were out into the chilly night air, made even more so by the drenched state they were in. The socialites were spreading out and many of them were calling for their carriages already. For them the night was well and truly ruined and Jacques had to agree. He slipped his jacket from his shoulders and hung it over Isabel’s as was only polite. They shared a brief, silent look and made quickly for the gate. They weren’t the only ones.

The man at the gate was doing a sublime job of profusely apologising to everyone that ventured close and Jacques actually felt a little sorry for the poor fellow. After all, they were the cause of his current state of distress and yet he was apologising to them.

“I don’t know what sort of prank you people think you were pulling, but…” Jacques muttered as they strode past. He didn’t bother to finish the remark as he was certain no one was listening.

They hurried away from the museum and quickly lost themselves in the warren of streets that surrounded it.

“We have a big problem, Jacques,” Isabel said, taking off her mask and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

“I know,” Jacques agreed, his mind already racing on a solution. “We told Gunter we would have the jewels for him by next week.”

“There’s also something else, dear.”

“I know.”

“We’re broke,” Isabel continued, relentless. “Or as close to it as we’ve ever been. We don’t have the money to fund another job and we’re not about to get paid for this one.”

“I know.”

“We’re in trouble, my love.”

Jacques let out a deep sigh. “I know.”