“The door sticks," Nancy said, bracing her shoulder and shoving until the latch gave with a sigh. “If I oil it, the guards will hear less."
“Oil it," Isabella said, stepping into the cool entry. “And tell me which floorboards complain."
Nancy stamped across the hall in a steady pattern—tap, hush, tap, creak. “Here, here, and the fourth from the stair."
Isabella knelt, pressed her palm to the plank. “Loose nail. We can fix that without a carpenter."
“We can fix anything," Nancy said. “Except what isn't wood."
Isabella's smile flickered. “Set the kettle. He'll come at dusk."
“He said he *might* come," Nancy corrected, heading for the kitchen. “There's a difference, and you hate differences."
“I like schedules," Isabella said. “Schedules pay debts."
By late afternoon the villa smelled
