The Thief's Daughter by Jeff Wheeler

ignored. If Tunmore had played a role in convincing others of the prince’s legitimacy, they needed to know. Besides, it was possible he had useful information about the plot as a whole.
    Deep in thought, Owen continued to stare down at the coins in the fountain. Then, beyond the dark smudges of the coins, he saw something more substantial. Yes, there was something in the waters.
    It was a chest, with four sturdy iron legs, a rounded top, and a handle. The handle almost protruded from the surface of the waters, but it remained completely submerged. As Owen drew nearer to it, he saw the designs crafted into the lid and box. Eager to touch it, he tugged off his riding gloves and stuffed them into his belt, hiked up the sleeve of his tunic, and reached into the water. The iron chest was real. He rubbed his hand over it, feeling the handle lying flat against the top. There was a hasp and a lock on one side, a groove opening in it for a key. There was no key.
    He felt the Fountain rush through him, triggering memories from long ago. He had seen this chest amidst the treasures the Fountain had revealed to him at the bottom of the palace cistern. The treasures consisted of casks of jewels, shields, armor, and the like. The day he and Evie had almost drowned there, he had noticed an empty space in the piles of phantom riches, a path showing where the chest had been dragged toward the opening of the cistern. So much had happened immediately after that incident, he’d almost forgotten. But now, amidst the shushing noise of the waters, he remembered it with clarity.
    Over the years, he had read everything he could find about the mysterious treasures that some Fountain-blessed saw in the water, but he’d discovered very little. According to some accounts, seeing the treasures of the Deep Fathoms was a precursor to death. Others claimed the treasures were gifts or boons the Fountain granted to mere mortals. The most famous story was how King Andrew had drawn a blessed sword from the fountain waters of Our Lady. A sword he had taken out to sea with him upon his death. But Owen believed the treasure was real. He had touched it with his own hands in the cistern. And now, at this very moment, he could feel the hard edges of the chest as he groped it in the waters.
    “It’s considered sacrilegious to wash your hands in the fountain. If you believe in that sort of thing.”
    The voice caught Owen completely off guard. He had been so immersed in the memory that he had not heard Tunmore make his approach.
    Owen was stooped over the waters, but he turned and straightened. John Tunmore was a tall man, and his voice betrayed a slight Northern accent. Owen had caught glimpses of him before, but they had never met in person. Tunmore was in his early fifties, and his hair was shorn almost to the skin. It was dark brown with flecks of gray. His size gave him an intimidating bearing, and he radiated a snide aura, as if he had contempt for the world in general and Owen in particular. But the sparkle in his eyes hinted that he was intrigued too.
    “You wished to see me?” the Eel reminded him.
    “I was not washing my hands,” Owen said tautly.
    “It looked like it from my perspective.” His eyes narrowed, his lip curling into a barely suppressed sneer. “Or were you trying to steal a coin?”
    “I leave that work for the sexton,” Owen quipped. “No, I thought I saw something in the water. No matter.”
    “What, if I may ask?” Tunmore probed.
    “I saw a chest.”
    “You thought you saw a chest,” Tunmore corrected. “There clearly isn’t a chest in the fountain.”
    “It was there, and I was about to pull it out when you startled me.”
    “Indeed,” Tunmore said, his voice betraying a hint of uneasiness. “As you can see, it is not there now. What did you come here for, my lord?”
    Owen glanced back at the water, and the chest was indeed gone. He bristled with frustration. “To speak with you,” he said. “I’ve recently