Since my father and uncles were children. Thinking about Ian was a distraction right now—and if there was one thing that Jameson was certain of, it was that he couldn’t afford a distraction.
Couldn’t afford to lose another key.
“We’ll head back up.” Avery’s voice was steady. “There are still two more keys out there, and given that four out of the five of us ended up at the caves first, I doubt this key is the key.”
Her mind had a habit of mirroring his own, and that meant that she knew as well as he did: The next key was theirs. It had to be.
They went back the way they came. And the entire time, Jameson was running through everything that Rohan had said before the start of the Game. The Factotum hadn’t just intimated that he’d given them enough information to find a key; he’d suggested that they had what they needed to win.
What were his exact words? Jameson could practically hear the old man quizzing him. Hawthorne games were won and lost based on attention to detail. Fortunes were made and lost based on the same.
Jameson summoned an image of Rohan talking and played back the words he’d said—exactly. If that’s your way of asking if I’ve made it easy for you all, Rohan had told Zella, I have not. No rest for the wicked, my dear. But it would hardly be sporting if I hadn’t given you everything you needed to win.
Jameson watched where he was going, made sure that his foot never slipped. Avery was ahead of him, and he watched her climb, willing his mind to see what others might miss.
No rest for the wicked…
It would hardly be sporting…
Rohan’s use of the term smuggle hadn’t been accidental. He hadn’t accidentally left that book. What were the chances that every other turn of phrase he’d used had been intentional, too?
Think back further. Jameson kept climbing up that cliff. Seventy feet off the ground. A hundred. No margin for error.
He went back over Rohan’s every statement, starting at the top.
Hidden somewhere on this estate are three keys. The manor, the grounds—they’re all fair play. There are also three boxes. The Game is simple. Find the keys. Open the boxes. Two of the three contain secrets. Two of yours, as a matter of fact.
Jameson didn’t dwell on that. One foot after the other, a hundred twenty feet up.
So, two boxes with secrets. In the third, you’ll find something much more valuable. Tell me what you find in the third box, and you’ll win the mark.
It was called a mark. Not a chip. Not a token. A mark. And why was a mark necessary at all? It had already been established at that point that they all knew the stakes they were playing for.
Leave the manor and the grounds in the condition in which you found them. Dig up the yard, and you’d best fill the holes. Anything broken must be mended. Leave no stone unturned but smuggle nothing out.
The stone and the turning—that could have referred to the statue. But what if it didn’t?
Two hundred feet up.
Likewise, you may do no damage to your fellow players. They, like the house and the grounds, will be left in the condition in which you found them. Violence of any kind will be met with immediate expulsion from the Game.
That seemed straightforward. The only words that even remotely jumped out to Jameson were condition and damage.
Were they looking for something damaged?
Something for which the condition mattered a great deal? Art. Antiques.
Two hundred thirty feet up.
You have twenty-four hours, beginning at the top of the hour. After that, the prize will be considered forfeit.
“The top of the hour.” Jameson wondered how many clocks there were in the manor.
Two hundred seventy feet up.
If that’s your way of asking if I’ve made it easy for you all, I have not. Jameson was retreading old ground now, and he and Avery had almost finished the climb. No rest for the wicked, my dear. But it would hardly be sporting if I hadn’t given you everything you needed to win.
Jameson reached the top of the cliff and stepped onto solid ground. The Game starts when you hear the bells. Until then, I suggest you all let the wheels turn a bit and acquaint yourself with the competition.
“You’re thinking,” Avery commented, stepping back into her dress. “You’re in deep.”
Deep in his own mind, deep in the weeds of the Game.
Jameson zipped her dress for her, but this time, he didn’t linger on the task. “I’m going back through everything that Rohan said. There are certain phrases that stick out.”
“Smuggle nothing out?” Avery suggested wryly.