Hah! Lock successfully picked. An army of ruffians failed to keep them away, and now Dinmir had broken into their lair. Muinassë slid through the door first, hand against the hilt of a short-bladed sword somehow hidden in the layers of her clothing.
The "lair" was a plain-looking house, nestled somewhere between the Ered Luin and the Hithaeglir, south of Tharbad and supposedly north of the Ered Nimrais. Not close to the mountains, and not close to the Sea. Muinassë had managed to find a village as far from any useful landmark as possible. It meant that no matter how much Dinmir studied the map, she would never figure out where they were in relation to anything. That's fine. Between the rain and the sweat from this unreasonable warm spell, the ink had begun to smudge anyway. But there were trees! How special!
Dinmir wiped the sweat from her brow and followed her mentor's lead. Excuse her, not sweat. Perspiration. Muinasse was certainly perspirating just as much, but she managed to ignore it. Or pretend she did. Dinmir tugged at her collar. What was she doing again? Ah yes, examining the den she'd just stepped into: couches, short tables, a couple of shelves, and a fireplace in the middle of the far wall. Doorways on each side led to other rooms, and a staircase led into the attic. A stillness rested over it all; and not just a silence disturbed only by rain drumming on the roof. Week-old bread smelled and tasted fresher than the air, and it was almost as thick.
Muinassë bent down at the hearth and touched her fingers to the ash, then stood up, looked around the room, and whispered to Dinmir. "This is the peddler's house." Ok, so it wasn't a ruffian's lair so much as a home stolen from its rightful owner. "We've been tasked to locate a prized family heirloom before it's discovered by the curs who drove him out. Time to thread the needle. What do you see?"
Threading the needle. To anyone else, it spoke of deftness and precision. For a tailor, it was such a basic maneuver that one who couldn't manage it might as well quit. Dinmir didn't yet have an eye that exposed the world's secrets in a glance, but she would. One day. For now, she had to concentrate. With one hand she pushed her hood back to her shoulders and with the other she touched the ashes, just like her mentor. "These are new. Three days old at most. That's precisely how long ago the old peddler was driven out. They're dry, and it's been raining the last two days, so there's no leaks in the roof or the chimney. Personally, I would've just lit some candles if I needed light." Hopefully one could be forgiven for thinking the torrent drenching the world would also make it cooler. It was an understandable mistake.
"And?" Plain. Direct. Unimpressed.
What else? The bookshelves had dust from many more than three days, while the tables had no more than a day's worth. "There's patterns in the dust on some of the furniture, like things have been set down and picked up. Other furniture is almost free of dust altogether. Someone has been here recently and often."
"Keep going." In other words, Dinmir wasn't even close.
"Based on the bootprints and clumps of mud at the door, several someones, though I've never known an intruder to be polite enough to clean their boots."
A floorboard creaked under Muinassë's foot and her eyes darted to the door. "Not every detail is important to our mission. You can parse those later while finishing the dress."
"Even after all this, you still expect it done by tomorrow morning?"
"Of course, and there better not be a single stitch out of place. Now focus!"
Bah. The troop of ruffians Muinassë sent stalking the woods could return any minute and she was worried about some dress. Dinmir ran a sleeve across her forehead. Why couldn't they have gone somewhere with an icy mountain-fed waterfall? There was a part of her, a surprisingly tiny part, that hated working in all this heat and humidity. The largest part of her hated admitting the tiny part existed. This was everything she wanted: adventure, challenge, the chance to know. At that moment, however, both parts were united in their desire to soak in cool water, and the quickest way to that was to figure out whatever clue she was missing.
Hmm. The mud on the doorpost. "The mud at the door is maybe a day old. None has been tracked inside, so whoever has been here likely fancies themselves the owner."
"You're so busy hunting for the trick that you're overlooking the obvious."
Dinmir took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She could do this. Staircase, fireplace, clockface, book...brace. Bah. No time for games. Nothing stood out. How was it obvious?
Muinassë slid to the door, peeked around the corner then eased it closed. "Those brigands won't scour the underbrush forever, especially not in this rain. They may be slow-witted, but if you'd seen them you'd know they're full of ill intent. Even they'll discover the deception given enough of a chance. We may have to sneak out through a window." Bah. Those windows must've been built by a castle architect. To call them snug was to suggest a barrel should fit through a keyhole. In fact, she and Muinassë might fit better into a barrel. Threading the needle indeed.
"That's why we should deal with the brigands too." The large knife at Dinmir's hip was mostly a deterrent, something to make fools think twice about getting too close. The ten or so daggers hidden about her person, on the other hand... well, the "or so" part probably made her a little bolder than it should. She'd always had excellent aim.
"It's not our mission. I'm teaching you discretion, observation, and evasion. Not provocation. We don't engage our foes, we bypass them when at all possible."
"This isn't Mordor. We shouldn't have to look over our shoulders anywhere we go. We should feel safe."
Muinassë grinned. "My third apprentice once said something similar."
"Oh?" Wary interest pricked at her curiosity.
"I wasn't so patient back then. I laughed. Perhaps too loudly."
Dinmir would've scowled if she'd dared to. "Why is that something to laugh at?"
"Would you walk into a dragon's hoard and expect to feel safe? Would you consort with orcs and expect to leave their lair unscathed? Did you think your parents' den was some sanctuary Morgoth himself swore to honor and uphold?"
"Well, no."
"Why then should you expect to traipse down lightless paths with impunity simply because they're closer to your door than Sauron's? Do you honestly expect that anyone with any common sense feels safe doing so?" Muinassë shook her head. "The truth is that no place is safe, my dear. Not for you, or me, or anyone, unless someone makes it safe. Someone takes that danger upon themselves so that you can wish it were so everywhere. Your father, my father, valiant men stretching back to our dawn and marching forward beyond that Auros fellow who you think spends too much time perfecting his swordsmanship. Hopefully your opinion of his willingness towards martial prowess won't be so low when nothing stands between you and the armies of Mordor but his determination. When he sacrifices his safety for yours. Do you think a knight marches into the dark oblivious of what may await?" Brush rustled and twigs snapped in the distance. "We don't have much time left! Focus! You can do it!"
Dinmir took another deep breath. Of course the price of curiosity was more to mull over. Ugh. Such a stuffy house. If only the whelming truly was over. Dinmir flapped her cloak to stir the air... and now had plenty of dust to choke on as silently as she could. The only advantage indoors had over outdoors was that it was dry. A gulp from her water skin eased the coughing. Daring another moment to collect herself she closed her eyes, and... and every bead rolling down her forehead was a distraction! Bah! For the last week, day or night, rain or shine, no relief! First she roasted then she stewed! What kind of person needed a fire in this heat?
...What kind of person indeed! Her gaze shot back to the ashes. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Muinassë grin. Bah, no tools for the fireplace. Oh well, water wasn't exactly scarce. She dug in, feeling around until— "There!" Out of the ash came a small box. She held it up to Muinassë in triumph, doing her level best not to perspirate satisfaction.
"You found it, you open it."
Dinmir turned the box over in her hands. A simple latch, no tricks or traps. She flipped the latch, and inside was an ornate ring carved with intricate runes and symbols. Hmm. Actually, those symbols were animals. One of them had thick legs and a long neck, not quite like a dragon.
"This must be his heirloom. It matches the description."
"Yes, yes it does. Now let's go before we've overstayed our welcome."
"Yes, let's." Dinmir tucked the box into her pocket. It was quite surprising Muinassë took her along on this mission, with all these dangers to dodge. She was still just an apprentice so Muinassë made sure to distract them herself. It was a good thing Dinmir didn't have a run-in with the brigands... that she saw no evidence of... "There are no brigands, are there?"
Muinassë grinned again. "You're only the second apprentice to ask before making it back to the village."
"You really would've made me go through that window?"
"In an instant. When escape is necessary you won't have time to balk at the route so long as it leads to safety. Don't worry, my dear. You would've fit through better than me and I've done it dozens of times."
Bah! It was all just a test! "So all that urgency, prodding and rushing was for nothing?"
"Perhaps you'd prefer to take a leisurely stroll back?"
"Heavens no! I want a nice, cool bath and then I have a dress to finish!"
"I knew you were a quick study."