“Yes!” Adelaide replied eagerly – and a bit loudly – to Celeste's offer of a set of lock picks and tutelage. She caught herself, glancing at the door with a chagrined expression, then went on in a lower voice, blushing to the ears at her own boldness, “Yes, please. I’d really like that.”
Another time, in another mood, Celeste might have been tempted to see just how much she could make that pretty face blush, but while this girl was close to the age she had been when Daniel had whisked her away from her father, there was an innocence to Adelaide that Celeste had been well beyond at that age, and she needed to learn a few useful life skills more than she needed to learn about the birds and the bees.
“Show me which bedroom is yours before I leave,” Celeste told her, “and leave a window unlocked at night. I'll surprise you,” she added with a grin and a wink, fairly sure that would get another blush. Two birds with one stone.
The word 'fart' had its usual effect, and Adelaide covered her mouth with a hand to stifle her giggles as Celeste spiked bottle after bottle with Belzer's specialty.
“Why does that even exist?” the girl asked, her voice hitching with laughter, “And have an official merchandising name? Is it that popular?”
“In certain circles,” Celeste replied. Dax pulled in a tidy sum of coin keeping the Friends of Red Jenny supplied, though he was the only one who generally referred to it by its grandiose title. Many tries had been made to duplicate his formula, but nobody had yet been able to match the consistency of his results. Five drops caused belching, ten added flatulence, fifteen brought diarrhea. “Pretty much everybody just calls it 'fart juice'. As to why ...” she shrugged and grinned. “Why not?”
The girl was all but vibrating in place when Celeste finished treating the libations, a delighted smile on her face. “I’m so, so glad I ran into you,” she said eagerly. “To think my plans for this evening only involved a snack and a book until now.”
Celeste chuckled. “Well, you've made my evening more interesting, as well, so we're even on that score.” Pranking prigs was always entertaining, but surprises of any kind were just icing on the cake, and good surprises even more so.
She brushed an errant lock of hair behind one ear. “I hate to impose,” she began hesitantly, “but…when you bring me the locks, could I give you some money to get me a bottle of that as well? I can think of a few people who would benefit from it. Or their servants would enjoy the show, anyway.”
“No imposition at all,” Celeste assured her, settling in the luxuriously padded leather chair behind the monstrous desk that served as the phallic compensation for those who wielded quills more readily than oversized swords, “but why don't we let Daddy pay for it?” The desktop was meticulously clean and organized, the inkwell and quill stand arranged with military precision on the blotter, and – Celeste picked the lock on the top right drawer, slid it open to reveal the glimmer of gold and silver – like most prigs, Barrett Orland liked to keep a reminder of his wealth close at hand.
“This should cover the fart juice,” Celeste told her, plucking out three silver pieces, “and this should help reimburse the folk that have been screwed out of their wages by their rent.” She selected several sovereigns and silvers, keeping an eye on the mix.
“I'll convert it to silver and copper,” she told Adelaide. “You give someone living in Lowtown a gold piece, they'll have their throat cut within an hour. The trick to stealing,” she went on, “is figuring out how much won't be missed, and taking only that much. Do that, and you can hit the same targets as many times as you like without drawing attention or having to leave town in a hurry.” A polished wooden box was set into a compartment at the front of the drawer; opening it revealed the Orland seal and several sticks of wax.
“I can make a copy of this,” she offered, taking the seal out and holding it up for Adelaide to see, “but you'd have to be damn careful about using it. Emergency only … like authorizing passage for you on a ship if he arranges for you to be married to somebody you're afraid of. Use it once, maybe twice, then throw it into the harbor.” She held Adelaide's gaze, all traces of mirth gone from her expression. What she was proposing could get the girl into serious trouble if she were caught, but the Wicked Grace would be leaving Kirkwall in a few weeks, and her instincts told her that nothing good would come to Adelaide from any match that her father and brother arranged. She might have to save herself, and she'd need some tools to do it.