It was the only explanation. My stomach plunged as I joined Master James and Theodore to throng toward the door with the other curious tavern-goers, the magistrates at the fore. Though the Golden Rose acting troupe was very good at picking pockets, even we were not perfect. There was always the risk of a mark getting jostled or a particularly shrewd nobleman realizing that he was somewhat lighter in the linen. Not too often, though, truth to tell. Other than Tommy, the members of the Golden Rose chose our targets carefully. We needed to, to keep our hands attached to our bodies. I glanced to the side as we pushed through the crowd. I could see the fear pinching Master James’s eyes even as it ate at my nerves, but we’d both been trained too long and too well to betray any overt concern. We were good at this—we were good! What had happened? I tried to remember the gawkers in the crowd whose pockets I’d rifled on my way into the inn.
