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.Pinch didn't like either.There were priests who said dreams were the work of the gods, omens to be studied for their insight into the future.Perhaps because of this, Pinch had made a point of banishing dreams.He slept, he woke, and he never remembered what the gods might have foretold for him.This nightmare was all the more galling because it would not go away.If it was a message from the gods, then his future was grim indeed.Still, there was no point in brooding over what he couldn't control.The small light though the windows, such as they were, suggested the best of an honest man's day was gone.It was time then for him to get to work.The regulator shrugged out of his tired clothes and into a doublet and hose of dark crepe that the servants had provided.He disdained the fine lace and silver buckles—too visible in shadows—and chose instead his worn hanger and well-used sword.Working clothes for a working man, he mocked as he admired himself in the mirror.Ready, he cracked open the door to the hall slightly, although there was no reason for such caution.It was just old habit.Cleedis would have his guards outside, but there was no reason to conceal his goings from them.The view outside reminded him that old habits existed for reasons.Cleedis's guards were there all right, their backs to him in an indifferent slouch, but beyond them were two more men equally bored, but wearing the livery of Prince Vargo."Damn!" the regulator breathed as he closed the door.Vargo's men complicated everything.They'd report to the prince and he'd be followed.If Vargo learned what he was up to, it would scotch all the plans.It was not likely the prince would allow Pinch to make off with the Cup and Knife.In a few moments, Pinch reviewed his options.He could do nothing.He could hope that Cleedis came and provided a rescue or that the guards grew weary and slept.These were unpalatable and unlikely.He could try to create a distraction, but that would seem too obvious.Still, there was another way out of the suite, though Pinch was loath to use it.His first and only experience in the tunnels had not been uplifting.He could only assume the tunnels went somewhere, but he had no idea how to find that somewhere.Then, there were things down there, including Manferic.He had little doubt the tunnels reached the necropolis because he was certain the late king had been spying on him before.Thieves and fools were never far apart, though, so now was as good a time as any to learn his way through the underground maze.This time, though, he was forewarned and had every intention of being forearmed.By the time he opened the door, he carried an oil lamp and a piece of charcoal in one hand and his sword in the other.His pockets were stuffed with candles, and a glowing coal was carefully hung in a little pot from his side.The ember heated the clay until it threatened to scorch his hip, but Pinch was not going to be without some way of rekindling his light.The dust still lay in a thick gloom on the floor and, although Pinch was no tracker, he could see footprints other than his own in the churn."Manferic," he muttered, interpreting the marks as best he could.This was a confirmation of his suspicions—and also a guide out.He'd follow the trail back until it certainly led to some escape to the surface.He'd just have to hope Manferic didn't have a direct path to the necropolis.The plan stood him well at the bottom of the stairs.His own trail, which he could recognize by comparing to his prints now, went left, the other went right.He followed the latter.The underground was a honeycomb of more passages than he imagined.The trail passed first one branch, then another, and finally so many that he gave up count.At any point of doubt, he marked the wall with a streak of chalk, showing that "I came this way or took this turn." He didn't intend to come back by the tunnels, since he cared not who saw him coming into the palace, but prudence was a virtue, and he with so few virtues needed all the ones he could garner
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