Neil felt like he was in trouble. 

Generally when he broke out of jail, it didn't involve someone from one of the Syndicates, and even past that, he usually had a better success rate. The charming ne'er-do-well was nestled in an alcove just beside a stone gargoyle, three stories off the ground.  His teeth were clamped on a steel thread he'd procured, tying it at the base of one of the nails he had peeled off the boards from the one of the outerlying buildings by the prison. He breathed through his nose while he kept the thread steady, trying to pick the lock of the manacles on his wrists. These were harder to pick than the last locks he had to slip out of. 

His thoughts drifted back to what led to this predicament... 

Neil had spent his time as a courier, ever since his engineering degree was taken from him for 'endangering the populace.' The job sort of fell in his lap. He had boundless energy, great stamina, could slip through crowds and make it across urban centers quicker than anyone, and as long as he was paid well he could mostly keep his curiosity in check. Unfortunately, he got so good at it that one of the syndicates had hired him as a mule, which meant he was paid an above-average salary to deliver goods and letters to high valued customers and criminal partners, and at the end of his contract, he would be assassinated in order to keep his dealings quiet. The syndicate had figured he was too stupid to know that bit at the end, but Neil had been around the block. He had made sure not to complete his fifth and final delivery, and instead look at the contents of what happened to be a letter for one of the syndicate lieutenants, containing information on a new shipment of artifacts to be brought to the residence of the local magister to be studied or placed on display, or even to be used for state interests. Neil burned the letter after memorizing the contents and fled, though the syndicate did the smartest thing they could do, something Neil hadn't expected: 

They called the city watch on him and locked him up for a 'destruction of property' charge, where the criminals could pick him off at their leisure with one of their prison contacts. Unfortunately for both Neil and the syndicate, neither knew Neil knew the whereabouts of the shipment and no one else in a hundred miles did, which meant not only was it lost to the syndicate, but Neil couldn't use that as leverage to keep himself alive. So, he waited to be attacked by one of the prisoners in the cells, and subsequently did the other 'law abiding' decision and tipped the guards off with a lie, that he and whomever was set to attack him would use it as a distraction to flee, citing himself as an unwilling participant. It worked, and as soon as the attack happened by a oft-broken nosed man with a hidden blade, Neil was watched closely enough for it to be broken up in no time. As they hauled away the would-be killer, Neil had used the opportunity to check the guard shifts and the cell mechanism on the lock, and the next night he broke out and shimmied up one of the manors in the city. 

He laughed when he got the lock to unclasp his manacle, rubbing his wrists and grinning. The upside to the situation was no one knew where he was, it would take the syndicate another day to figure out he was even gone, unless there were others watching him in prison. And even if that were true, no one knew where he was now. They would need a wizard of some skill to divine his location, and he didn't think they thought him worth that. 

Well, Neil wasn't a bad planner when he wanted to be, but he generally winged it regardless, so he decided he was going to spend the night in as comfortable as a place as he could... 

In the abandoned wing of the manor he sat atop, so he got to his feet and found his way over to one of the balconies. It almost looked romantic were it not for the gothic horrors etched into the stone and the obsidian colored door he broke into. Opening it up, it wasn't so stuffy, but it was as empty as he had expected. But that didn't exactly satisfy him, even for one so carefree. He stepped into the large bedroom, letting his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. A queen sized bed and a foyer-like desk covered in finery, an a cupboard filled with what looked to be books and old relics were before his eyes, and a few curvaceous oil lamps placed in a set on a porcelain desk. 

"Nice room..." he mused, continuing past into the corridor bedecked with paintings the contents of which he couldn't make out in the dark. Perhaps it wasn't just the wing that was no longer in use, but he wasn't going to take chances and passed by some expensive but rundown furniture, opening every door. He found long galleries, more bedrooms, drawing rooms, and even a library. It was large too. He wasn't exactly a scholar, but he read from time to time. 

To cover his bases, he found the door leading into the greater estate and closed it, and then stacked as many chairs against it as possible, placing a candelabra on the hinges for good measure. He clapped his hands as if they were dusty, and went back to the original room to set down his things and eat some stolen bread.