Complications!
Neither of us heard anything (Francesco wasn’t even trying to listen, not that he was the kind of rogue who could notice a Scandinavian war-bear if it fell on him), which in retrospect should have been more of a hint. At the time, I just chalked up the general lack of movement in the basement of a bank as being more evidence of just how backward and backwoods Schmoditten-Schloditten was — and still is, mind you. It’s the sort of place that will bring its sidewalks in at night, once it actually gets around to buying some.
Ah, I digress, probably from lingering embarrassment. It wasn’t until we actually got to the bank vault that we discovered that it wasn’t actually a vault anymore. It lacked certain amenities, like a guard post, alarms either arcane or mundane, and indeed a solid door. Instead there was a barred door that even Francesco could unlock with a sniff.
I let him get to that while I fiddled with my dowsing rods; Gefikst rumbled up to me while I was making my final adjustments. “So, about my being able to pop the hinges on the safe if need be, Mr. Weld. I should mention that I’d need to actually find the safe first?”
“Yes, ha, ha, very droll,” I muttered back. “I don’t see the blasted thing either. But the rods still do, dammit.” Indeed, they did. In fact, they were unerringly pointing to a particular spot on the floor; one showing signs of a heavy object being removed. “We’ll need to take a sample from the dirt and scratches.”