When Key finally returned to his office, he found Castor waiting. He had also brought the prince and his two guards. Key was fairly certain he was the only one who knew the prince's real identity and intended to keep it that way.

"It took you long enough," Castor reprimanded, getting out of his chair. "You remember the captain, right?"

Key greeted the prince, who flopped a hand up in return.

"Captain here was eager to solve more mysteries, so naturally, I brought him here. It works out for us, because you and I have some errands to run."

"We do?" Key asked, noting that Castor hadn't given the prince a fake name yet.

"Let's walk and talk, Sergeant."

Castor exited the room and didn't stop to wait. When Key caught up, he asked where they were going.

"Do you remember when Delina asked about our mutual pickpocket friends?" Castor asked, gaze firmly fixed ahead. "We are going to pay them a visit."

"We left the royal prince with Trudie so we could talk to some pickpockets?"

Key felt like he was asking the wrong questions, like, 'Where do we go to find a pickpocket?', 'If we know they're thieves, why don't we just lock them up?' or 'Why do you and Delina have criminal friends in common?'. He considered these before Castor started talking.

"There are a lot of secrets in Royal City. I've gone back and forth on the idea of letting you in on some of them. Based on what you've demonstrated so far, you've clearly shown that you, Key, are a locked vault. I believe I can trust you with one more secret."

Key didn't like where this was going. If Castor was about to tell him he wore wigs and sang at a smoky tavern every night, Castor could keep that secret to himself. Still, the prospect of learning some juicy piece of information was enough to keep him listening.

"I'm giving you the same conversation that I had with the last assistant, Corporal Ellsworth. You would have liked him. He was a good man…" Castor let the words hang in the air before he continued. "A story for another time, perhaps."

Key nodded his head.

"There is a secret organization called the Crownsmith. They started over two hundred and fifty years ago to end the reign of King Jassamil the Tyrant and put a more fitting ruler on the throne. They didn't just assassinate the king; they systematically eliminated every one of his supporters and absorbed their assets. They are a dangerous group of assassins and thieves. I'm taking you to their headquarters now."

Key was stunned. He might have even preferred Castor presenting a smoky wig. He didn't like the idea of visiting a secret society of king assassins. He reached for the comfort of his sword; he hadn't brought one.

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"You seem to be taking this well," Castor complimented as they turned down Castle Road.

"I didn't bring my sword," Key mumbled, feeling the sinking feeling of helplessness.

Castor tisked. "You should always wear your sword. Makes you look important."

They kicked up dust while Castor mumbled to himself about forgetting the horses; he always brought a horse. Key felt out of place walking down Castle Road. The area wasn't off limits to the guards, but it might as well have been. No one patrolled this side of town, making it practically lawless.

They walked past old, dirty shacks, unlabeled establishments, and a sign advertising goat pies before stopping in front of a dilapidated cathedral with a domed roof. A grim man with a skull tattoo on his face sat outside smoking a pipe.

"Bones," Castor greeted. He nodded to the man as he confidently walked past. He grasped a brass ring on one of the towering doors and pulled it open.

Key had stopped in front of the skull-faced man while Castor pulled the door open. He could feel the man's gaze on him through puffs of acrid smoke. He decided not to make eye contact. He was not trying to get stabbed in the neck. The door swooshed out, and he walked inside, cautiously following his captain's lead.

At first glance, the interior seemed cluttered. It looked more like a warehouse than a secret society of assassins. Bags and bundles occupied every available space, lit by colorful patterns as sunlight sifted through stained glass.

They approached a dozen or so grim figures at a table, performing some dark ritual around a golden skull. One of their members, presumably their leader, greeted them.

"Who's this?" A man with a sword tattoo on his face asked.

"This is my assistant, Key." Castor made introductions, pointing at people and saying their names, "This is Reese. He's in charge here. Those ruffians are Jafa and Pots. Jafa cuts his own hair, and Pots looks like a pot."

"Says the kettle," Jafa retorted. "At least I don't look like I'm always clenching my butt cheeks."

Castor shook his head and continued. "This is Ren. He's the handsome one. He also kills people, so don't tell him how he really looks. At least not to his face."

Ren looked up from the table, shifted his eyes between Castor and Key, and then looked back down to what he was doing.

"This is Poler, Easel, and some new faces I've never seen," Castor said with a short sweep of his hand.

"These are some of the women who are formal members of the Trixy Minx," Reese explained, looking around the table. "Except for Gloria. She's one of Ren's."

Gloria had dark hair, vibrant brown eyes, and a quiet demeanor. She smiled at Key shyly and, as if crushed under the force of his attention, abashedly looked back down.

Reese frowned comically at the interaction, back and forth between Key and Gloria. Key felt at ease enough to ask what they were all doing. Pots lifted two wicked-looking spikes and replied, "We're knitting."

"The women formally of the Minx-" Reese began as he was interrupted.

"Just call us the merchant guild," another woman corrected him. "Why are you always trying to complicate things?"

"As I was saying," Reese stood with his back to the woman. "They have purchased, I believe, all the wool in Royal City. We now hold a monopoly on it and come winter…" he rubbed his hands together, "Money. Right now, we're just dabbling with hats and sweaters for fun. What brings you around?"

"I have a mutual friend in need of a pickpocket," Castor procured a letter from his pocket and held it up. "The work will be low risk and high reward. This letter contains detailed instructions on how to proceed."

Jafa jumped up from the table and took the letter out of Castor's hand. "I'm sick of knitting anyway."

Key got a better look at him, and he instantly recognized the thief. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"What's this?" Jafa asked, looking closer at Key. "Pots, would you look who it is. This is that sword-swinging guard that got us all locked up! Do you play cards?"

"Do not play cards with them," Castor warned. "They all cheat."

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