The safe's iron bands were thick with rust, but its door was solid. I searched Silas's pockets and the shelves for a key. He carried none, and there was no combination I could guess before the villagers noticed smoke or shouting.
An iron poker lay by the hearth. I forced its tip into the door seam and put my full weight on the other end. Rust flaked onto the floor. The first strike numbed my arms, and the second opened a narrow gap.
I drove the poker in again, braced one foot against the safe, and pulled until the lock tore loose.
Dry, stale air escaped when the door opened. Silas's leather ledger sat on top. Fiona's name appeared throughout its pages beside payments for “Weakening Potions” and “Potency Suppressants.”
There were twelve transactions in all, with dates and amounts precis
