The Widow

　　The Gala was in full swing. Her show was about to begin.

　　Far from creeping like the spider she was, she marched down the Palace hall with the practiced posture of a Royal Guard. Nobody would know the difference. The Rosari Madam`s necklace took care of what an onlooker`s eye would see, and beyond that, the Widow`s skillful acting would carry the rest of the play. Beneath the disguise, she wore tight, stretchy black clothes, complete with a hood, a mask and a cape to cover her face and form, just in case she were spotted, but she was sure she wouldn`t be.

　　The Guard`s afternoon shift was due to rotate out. The Royal Vault had two Guardsmen posted outside, standing straight, staring out, anonymous behind their metal helmets and slitted visors. From the other side of the hall, the evening guard approached, reaching the Vault at about the same time as the Widow.

　　"Evenin`, sers," the Widow said with a tight nod to the afternoon guards.

　　"Aye," they said in unison.

　　"Anyfin appen on yer shift?"

　　"Same ol` shite, mate."

　　The afternoon guards dropped their sets of Vault keys into the hands of their relief and started down the hall.

　　"Try not to ave too much fun," one guard quipped as he slid off his helmet, slicked back his sweaty hair, and trotted his off-duty trot down the hall.

　　"Cheers."

　　As the sound of metal boots on marble ricocheted down the Palace corridor, the fancy rug outside the Vault muted the evening rotation`s steps. They settled into a guarding pose, one on each side of the wide, ornately carved, gem-encrusted door, hands resting on the pommels of their swords. The empty main wing of the Palace cast an eerie ambiance, with most of the lights extinguished except for every sixth sconce or so. The servants either had the day off, or were tending to the King and Queen at the Gala, leaving the corridors as silent as they`d ever be. There couldn`t have been a more perfect night for what the Widow had planned.

　　"Member wot I told ya las` night," the evening guard said. "Bout my wife?"

　　"Can`t remember anyfin, wot with all the jabberin` you do."

　　"Oi, wot`s got yer bloody panties twisted, mate?"

　　"Not blood in my wife`s panties, that`s a fact."

　　The guard scoffed. "Wot, you gotsa baby comin`?"

　　The Widow shrugged. "Someone does, I reckon."

　　"Lousy whores," the guard grumbled. "Every one of em. Damn near`s got me wontin` t`try a bloke, fer once."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it`s taken without the author`s consent. Report it.

　　"City`s loud wif fancy elf boys," the Widow said with a chuckle.

　　"Ah, doubt if I could, mate," the evening guard said with an air of dejection. "I jus` love tits too much&"

　　A loud crash rattled the inside of the Vault. They looked at each other, then looked towards the door. Perhaps if they weren`t always wearing those silly helmets, the evening guard would have seen the Widow`s lips forming the soft ka-bum` that caused the sound.

　　"Stay here, I`ll check it out," the Widow said. "Ready yer weapon fer if I start hollerin`, ay?"

　　The guard nodded, drawing his sword, its greenish-tinted metal flashing in the dim light. The Widow swiftly unlocked the heavy door and snuck into the Vault, letting it slam dramatically behind her, and as soon as she was out of sight, her magic disguise fell. Though the Madam`s necklace made it easier to maintain the illusion, the enchantment was cheaply done, and it passively sapped her magic. If she wasn`t careful, the necklace might deplete her entirely.

　　The wards inside the Vault reeked of overwrought magic. If the Royal Family had no understanding of magic, themselves, any discount mage could sell their abilities with the promise of competence, and they`d never know the difference. Such was the case, it seemed. It was almost disappointing. The wards appeared as fogged mirrors covering the Royal treasures, and most likely, if someone looked into them, they would relay the image to another mirror somewhere else in the Palace kept under surveillance. The Widow suppressed a chuckle. Whoever had set the wards up had done multiple castings of the same spell to make the mirrors foggier, and thereby harder to see, presumably to trick said common thief into coming closer to them. Such a novice move; all it really did was make them stink. With a theatrical waggle of her fingers, the Widow cut the wards, no more complicated a process than cutting a rope fence. The scent vanished, along with the mirrors, and the Vault opened up to reveal all that hid inside.

　　Chests overflowing with hoarded gold and elaborate suits of embellished armor filled up much of the space, everything sparkling beneath decorative blue lights. Pity the poor servant who has to come polish off the unused armor, the Widow thought, shaking her head. On the back wall, a huge rack displayed dozens of axes, swords, daggers, pikes, spears, bows, crossbows, and every type of weapon under the sun, hanging neatly in rows and sorted by type. The prettiest ones were likely to be rotated on some ornamental plaques in the Palace, but others hummed with magic that surely served a purpose at some point in time, though the nature of their enchantments couldn`t be discerned without thorough observation, meticulous research and careful experimentation. Almost all of the weapons had a sickening green tint. But the one the Widow sought was special, and nearly unheard of, only mentioned in a small handful of slim, unremarkable books, the sort of books to get lost on the library shelves. The weapon didn`t even have a proper name.

　　The Widow`s eyes skipped over every single dagger, seeking the one with the green-silver veins. She never saw a picture in her research, only descriptions, and even those were vague. But finally she found it, nestled between and nearly obscured by larger, decorated blades. She got up on her tiptoes and plucked it from the rack, where it had been hanging by the hole in its center, then wrapped it in black satin and crept back to the Vault door, positively buzzing.

　　"Couldn`t find nuffin`," she said through the crack in the door as she activated her disguise. "Go alert the sarge. Figur` we oughtta do a thorough sweep, just in case it`s one a` them Widow types."

　　"Aye, ser," the evening guard said. He fled with a nervous hop in his step, his chain shirt jingling all the way down the hall, audible even after he turned the corner.

　　The Widow gripped the weapon tightly. This was it. Mission accomplished. All that was left was to sneak away, to vanish without a trace. She let her eyes flutter shut for a second, partly relieved, but mostly exhausted. The Rosari`s necklace was truly terrible - about as elementary as enchantment magic comes - but difficult to replicate, due to the rarity of its components. Chameleon scales were the obvious choice, but not native to anywhere near Iridan, and though some species of octopus and moth could theoretically be substituted, how exactly could one hope to find an animal that disguises itself? The Widow shook her head. It wasn`t the time for resentment. It was time to escape.

　　Just as she turned to step away, a voice cried out from somewhere down the hall:

　　"Poppy! Get back here!"