Breaking and Entering 101 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Report 01: A Royal Break-in Henri's Additional Report 1.5

  Report 02: Queen on a Warpath

  Report 03: Gold Heist

  Report 04: Tools of the Trade

  Report 05: Trial by Fire

  Report 06: Hot Mess Express Jamie's Additional Report 6.1

  Report 07: So Many Theories

  Report 08: Trial Run Jamie's Additional Report: Fanmail

  Report 09: Stalkers Make Poor Life Decisions Henri's Additional Report 9.5

  Report 10: Magical Passes Jamie's Additional Report 10.26

  Report 11: Where's a Computer When I Need One?

  Report 12: No Rest for the Weary

  Report 13: But It Was Bad Mouse

  Report 14: Key Conundrum

  Report 15: Don't Tase Me, Bro

  Report 16: Impenetrable Wards Penetrated...Again

  Report 17: Good Attack Kitty

  Report 18: Interview With A Thief

  Report 19: Wrapping Things Up

  Report 20: Thief for Hire

  Final Report: My Girls Are the Best!

  Jamie's Notes to Herself:

  File X: Author

  Published by Raconteur House

  Murfreesboro, TN

  THE CASE FILES OF HENRI DAVENFORTH: Breaking and Entering 101

  Case Files 4

  A Raconteur House book/ published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2020 by Honor Raconteur

  Cover by Katie Griffin

  Clockwork spare parts by donatas1205/Shutterstock; male man toilet WC by yougifted/Shutterstock; old locomotive at night by nikifor todorov/Shutterstock

  This book is a work of fiction, so please treat it like a work of fiction. Seriously. References to real people, dead people, good guys, bad guys, stupid politicians, companies, restaurants, cats with attitudes, events, products, dragons, locations, pop culture references, or wacky historical events are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Or because I wanted it in the story. Characters, names, story, location, dialogue, weird humor, and strange incidents all come from the author’s very fertile imagination and are not to be construed as real. No, I don’t believe in killing off main characters. Villains are a totally different story.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

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  For information address: www.raconteurhouse.com

  I leaned back for a moment, easing the tension in my lower spine. I’d been leaning over the table for several hours, conducting an experiment with sheep’s blood in an effort to determine cause of death in a case. I was beyond tired, running into the realm of exhausted, but had no real time to properly rest. Ever since Sanderson had been fired, I’d been carrying his workload. Granted, I’d more or less carried half his workload from the beginning, but now I had all of it and was struggling to keep my head afloat. I’d taken precious time every few days to go through resumes and interviews in an effort to find someone to replace him. To no avail, sadly. Worse, the person whom I knew without a doubt could do the job, I wasn’t allowed to extend an interview to.

  If something didn’t change soon, I might well stage a protest. I couldn’t keep up with this insane workload much longer.

  Sherard Seaton burst through my workroom’s door like a damsel from some dramatic play. He didn’t even pause at the doorway, just threw himself upon my worktable without any further ado, his head buried against the surface. And considering what I’d just done on this table, that wasn’t at all advisable.

  “Seaton, really,” I chided him in exasperation. “I just conducted an experiment with sheep’s blood two minutes ago.”

  He immediately jerked his head up but didn’t leave off with his lamenting. He even looked the part of the damsel in distress, the dark liner around his eyes running and giving him raccoon eyes, an unshaved collection of stubble aging him. “Davenforth, you must help me!”

  “Only if you cease with the dramatics and start being sensible.” I knew this man could be practical if he so chose. I didn’t know what to make of his theatrics. Either he was having a joke at my expense, or something had sent him teetering into this state.

  Seaton gave me a hopeful look. “You promise to aid me?”

  “You’ve come to my aid often enough, I do believe it’s my turn to return the favor,” I pointed out patiently. It was even true. The most notable account that leapt to mind was the insanity barely two months ago, when Sanderson had burst in here and attacked me. Seaton hadn’t actually needed to do much but stand there and look threatening, but he’d dropped everything to come to my aid, and I appreciated it beyond measure. Of course I’d help him in return.

  This assurance seemed to settle him, and he stopped draping himself across my table as if he were ready to perish on the spot. “We’ve got a problem at the palace—” He abruptly stopped and looked suspiciously at my open door. “How well does sound carry here?”

  “Too well if the door’s open.”

  Seaton immediately leapt from his stool, closed the door with hard finality, then retreated to his spot once more. Then, for added measure, he cast a silencing spell against the door. This time, the capable Royal Mage and magical genius faced me as he laid out the facts with a moue of distaste. “We’ve got a problem with security at the palace. Someone is routinely breaching the walls and strolling about not only on the grounds, but inside the palace itself.”

  My eyebrows shot into my hairline. Dear me, I did understand now why he was so utterly alarmed. The security measures and wards on the palace grounds were no laughing matter. It took the consistent work of three Royal Mages to keep them operational. The wards were the product of generations of Royal Mages’ designs and ingenuity. Defeating them was no easy matter, nor should be. “How many breaches in total?”

  “We’ve caught him twice,” Seaton answered sourly. “I’m actually quite sure he’s done it more often than that, but smart lad that he is, he’s not admitting to anything we can’t prove.”

  “You say ‘lad.’ How old is he? Magical?”

  “Not a magical fiber in his being, and he’s fifteen.”

  My jaw dropped and dangled near the floor for a moment. Fifteen?! And non-magical to boot. The idea of someone thwarting all the magical safeguards was far-fetched, of course, but I’d briefly entertained it as possible. Thanks to our last case with a ‘locked-room’ murder mystery that featured a retired Royal Mage, I’d learned not to make assumptions when magic was at play. But non-magical? A teenager? “How is he getting in?”

  “Blast it, that’s the very thing we don’t know! I’ve asked, of course, and the thing of it is, he’ll tell you. He’ll outline exactly how he’s done it, but to him the magical ward was just this pretty, sparkly golden dome that encased the palace—it wasn’t a hindrance. He said he climbed up onto the wall—”

  I made a choking sound. The wards actually covered the walls on the outside—that move alone shouldn’t be possible.

  Seaton gave me a grim, humorless smile in agreement. “—and walked along the top of it for a time, then saw a window on the ground floor he thought was open. He hopped off, investigated, and found it was indeed unlatched. Then he just popped in and went exploring.”

  “How long was he in before he was discovered?”

  “A week, he says.”

  For the first time in my professional career, I was perfectly speechless.

  Well able to read the ex
pression on my face, Seaton grunted sourly. “I unfortunately believe him. He hid up the chimneys during the day, or behind furniture, and moved about quite handily. Because he was up chimneys, though, he was smeared with a great deal of soot. It left marks wherever he was. We can confirm he sat on the throne, read through some of the books in the royal library, ate in the palace kitchens, and even slept under the queen’s settee in her personal study.”

  I shuddered at that list. The thought of an assassin having that kind of free rein inside the palace filled me with dread. Queen Regina was one of the best monarchs in living memory, and we as a nation did not want to lose her. I was unaccountably grateful we were dealing with a teenager instead of a hardened criminal, even if this did promise to give me a migraine.

  “You see my problem,” Seaton concluded, giving me a hopeful look once more.

  “I do see the problem, but I’m not sure how you expect me to help.”

  Seaton lifted two fingers. “On two points I think you are the right man to conscript. First, this is clearly not a case where more magical power can somehow fix the problem. You are not a man who relies on magic—quite the reverse. You rely on intelligence and forward-thinking to solve a problem, using magic only as a handy tool to aid you. I need that thinking right now.”

  Ah. Now this made more sense. That was exactly how I operated. It was a point of pride for me that despite my lack of magical power, I could still stand toe to toe with him. (It was also immensely flattering to my ego that he acknowledged such. I tried to not let it go to my head.) “And your second point?”

  “You’re a Kingsman consultant, so I can pull you in safely for this without having to do a great deal of paperwork first. You are, in fact, the perfect man for the job.” His expression crumbled and he looked utterly done in as he begged, “Please help me figure this out. I’ve literally done everything I can think of, and even after we turned him out and fined him for the first entry, he did it again not two weeks later!”

  Oh dear. “Twice in a month? Seaton, that’s….”

  “I know,” he groaned, flopping on my table again before remembering that was ill-advised and popping back up.

  “Wait,” I advised him, holding up a hand. “Let’s bring Jamie into this. She’ll need to know, regardless, if I’m to help you, since I won’t be available to her. And she might have some insight to offer.”

  “I would have already brought her in, but she wasn’t at her desk.”

  “Ah.” And who knew where she’d be. My partner was not one to sit about. She preferred to be up and in motion if at all possible. I picked up my texting pad from nearby and scrawled onto it: Jamie, can you come to my workroom? Seaton has a problem.

  After a moment, her answer came through in neat script: Be right there.

  “She’s coming,” I assured him before setting the pad aside again. I looked at my friend, so utterly distraught, and felt charitable for a moment. “Need some chocolate?”

  He gave me a look so hopeful it would put any dog’s puppy eyes to shame. “Do you have any of the peppermint ones?”

  I really should just stock up on chocolate at the rate my friends ate through it. Why I kept buying a box at a time was beyond me. Without a word, I fetched the box and offered it to him, which he took with a sigh, nimbly opening the lid and plucking two of the sticks out.

  The door opened and Jamie sailed through, taking in the scene with a pursed mouth and a calculating eye. “If Henri’s sharing his chocolate, it must be bad. Is the zombie apocalypse coming?”

  “Hardly,” I drawled to her, pleased I knew this reference. “Shut the door, please. This shouldn’t get out.”

  She did so, curiosity rising, and snagged two pieces of chocolate on her way to a stool. “To fortify myself,” she explained cheerfully as she took a seat next to Seaton.

  “Of course,” I deadpanned, as dry as any desert. “Seaton will have to give us particulars, but the gist of it is this: A fifteen-year-old boy is routinely breaking through palace security and roaming about the grounds at will. No one has been able to prevent his entry. He’s been caught twice in the past month.”

  Jamie’s hand stayed itself in the act of popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth. She slowly lowered the hand, eyes darting between my face and Seaton’s, as if suspecting us of pranking her. “Wait, are you serious?”

  Seaton nodded forlornly and reached back into the chocolate box.

  “How’s he getting in?” she demanded, voice rising in pitch.

  “He says he climbs the outer wall, walks along it until he spies an unlatched window, and makes his way in from there,” Seaton answered glumly. “I can’t prove otherwise. The wards don’t show any signs of being countered or broken.”

  Jamie whistled low before popping the chocolate into her mouth.

  Something about this account bothered me. I pulled a journal out from the shelf behind me, something to take notes down on, and flipped to a blank page. “You said the wards show no signs of disturbance. Why did the guards not see him on top of the wall?”

  “He mostly enters at night, or near dawn, I think. And really, the guards don’t focus on the walls or walk the perimeter. The only points of weakness in the wards are on the entrances, so that’s where they focus their attention.”

  It made sense, of course. With the wards preventing any entrance along the walls, why bother wasting manpower there? With four entrances into the palace grounds, they had quite enough to guard, and it was better placement to focus on the entrance points.

  Except in this case.

  “And the ground floor windows aren’t locked?” Jamie inquired, following this closely.

  “We didn’t see a point of enforcing that level of security before this,” Seaton explained. He rubbed at his shoulder and neck, as if the tension there was building to uncomfortable levels. “Why should we? Any visitor allowed in was either already approved or under escort from the guards both in and out.”

  Jamie nodded slowly, that intelligent mind of hers going at full throttle. “Are the wards like any other set of wards? Under the same rules?”

  “Ours are more stringent, I believe, than the ones you normally see. They protect against outside attack, of course, and will rebuff any strong elemental force—say, a typhoon. But we couldn’t regulate them in any way where people are concerned.” Seaton’s hands spread in a helpless manner. “We have so many who come through on legitimate business, but there’s no way to predict who’s coming or who might need access in the future. We set it so anyone escorted by the guards at the gates can come through.”

  “And the kid obviously didn’t have an escort, if he’s just hopping the wall. What’s his name?”

  “Eddy Jameson.”

  I stopped scribbling as an idea occurred to me. “Seaton, may I assume the wards don’t have a list of those who have permissions?”

  “Correct.” He nodded sharply with his confirmation. “The spellwork on the wards is hideously complex as it is—if we had to add and remove names from it, it would become even more complex and likely jumbled in the process.”

  “Like constantly amending security software,” Jamie muttered to herself in a rhetorical fashion, staring sightlessly forward. “The coding would get screwed up beyond repair, I betcha. So, wait, how do the wards recognize who’s got permission to stroll through?”

  “A symbol is applied to personnel, just below the nape of the neck. The wards recognize it,” Seaton answered with strained patience.

  “Like a magical tattoo?”

  “You can think of it as such, yes. It’s applied and removed with a spell.”

  “And it’s not something someone can lose or have stolen, which was my next question. Eddy didn’t hack the wards by stealing a badge or something. Hmm.” She sat back and thought some more.

  I made another note to include this new information when the obvious occurred to me. “Seaton. The conditions of the wards are something like ‘any without permission or with ill intent ca
nnot pass,’ correct?”

  Seaton’s smile was strangely proud and triumphant even while staying grim. “I knew you’d pinpoint the weakness instantly once I explained. That’s exactly the problem, that wording.”

  Jamie’s head snapped around to stare at him. “Wait. Because Eddy doesn’t have any ill intentions, the wards don’t consider him a threat, so it’s letting him in?”

  “Essentially, yes. Or at least that’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Technically, even without the ill intent, he shouldn’t be able to just waltz in. Somehow, he’s found a loophole around the permissions. Jameson claims he’s just curious about the inner workings of the palace, that he just wants to watch. I believe him. He isn’t stealing anything or doing any damage. The wards don’t consider that a threat, so he can just waltz in as he pleases. It’s enough to give everyone a migraine, myself included.”

  “Celebrity stalker, much?” Jamie muttered. “But if that’s the case…wait, does that mean anyone without ill intentions could just walk in?”

  Seaton lifted a finger to his lips. “Shhh. We do not want people thinking that. Technically, they shouldn’t be able to without permission. The wards have varying levels of security. Most of the time, it operates at its lowest mode of protection. At its highest, it won’t let anyone in or out. The problem is that we changed it to a higher setting once we knew of Jameson’s entrance, and he still walked right through it. According to the settings of the ward, he should not have been able to.”

  “Yeah, I can see why your panties are in a twist now. What should have happened when he walked through?”

  “At the lowest setting, you’re simply repelled,” I answered, making a face. “At the highest, you’re incapacitated until someone retrieves you.”

  “Huh. So, you can’t really alter the rules completely because people who should have entrance might be either kept out, or knocked out, depending on the security level of the wards.” Jamie tipped back in her chair, staring at the ceiling in blank thought. “How do you change the wards to keep him out, but still keep it flexible enough to let people in?”