Chapter 24: Past Perfect ------------------------ The years seemed to pass slowly at the time, but Locke hardly minded. He had his purpose, and his days were filled. If he wasn't off on some expedition, he was at the inn, listening to tales from the travellers who passed through Kohlingen. The Figaran soldiers taking a short holiday, the shady sailors from Albrook, the merchants from Jidoor, the occasional messenger from Narshe - Locke listened to all of them. And wherever he might be, he was never alone. Rachel was a constant companion, even on his exploratory journeys; Merine always seemed to be nearby when he was between adventures. Her sister, Rana, was often with her, and if not... Sascha was. He frowned, remembering. He'd tried to befriend Sascha, first because of Merine and later because he'd heard she, too, longed for adventure. But... He suspected she didn't. So they avoided each other, outside of Merine's company, and did their best to ignore each other when both were with her. He didn't know why; often, he was painfully blunt with people. But Merine was like that. Nobody wanted to hurt her. And he had learned. Sometimes, one of those Figaran soldiers would show him one of the finer points of bladework - and Locke learned to use a sword as well as a knife. Sometimes, one of the sailors would show him... certain other skills. And soon, he excelled at sleight-of-hand and was practiced with lockpicks, as well. Locke had no qualms about learning such illicit skills - who could tell when he'd need them, in his chosen profession? And from those who were neither soldiers nor criminals, he also learned. Merchants taught him to appraise artworks. From weaponsmiths he learned to judge the quality of a blade. From the travellers with no specific skills, he heard tales of distant lands, and lost treasures. One of those tales had led him here. A traveller had casually spoken of the treasure that was rumored to be hidden in these hills, only two days' walk from Kohlingen. A relic of the War of the Magi, the man had whispered, eyes wide with awe and respect. Guarded by fearsome monsters spawned of black sorcery. The inn's patrons had roared with laughter at the idea, but Locke had not. He had slipped out the door to gather his gear. The hardest part had been avoiding Rachel. If the man's tales were true, he didn't want her nearby. Not because of the monsters - she had long since proven herself as capable with a dagger as he - but because of the treasure. It was important that this one be a surprise to her. There had been monsters, after all. Nothing as fearsome as the wanderer had claimed, but stories were prone to exaggeration, after all. Locke only hoped that this treasure was what the man claimed.