With a silent nod to Illior, he set to work on the door. Sliding a wire along the edge, he found three separate locks. Moving on to the larger window, he found two equally stubborn mechanisms there. The third window, scarcely large enough to admit a child, was secured with a single shutter.
During a lesson on housebreaking, Seregil had once remarked that the way least likely was often least barred. Alec pulled a thin strip of limewood from the roll and worked it around the edges of the shutter. In less than a minute he found the two hooks securing it. These yielded readily and the shutter swung back to expose a small panel of leaded glass. The room beyond was quite dark.
Praying that any occupant would have set up an alarm by now, he went to work with the wire again and threw the single hasp lock with no difficulty at all. The pane swung in on silence. Slipping the tools back into his coat, Alec pulled himself up by the window frame and wriggled in feet first. Lowering himself into the room, his foot struck something that overturned with a clatter.
He dropped in with his back to the wall and listened for an outcry; none came. Groping in the darkness, he pulled out the lightstone.
An overturned washstand lay on the floor beside him. Thank the gods for carpets! he thought wryly, righting it and replacing the basin and pitcher.
The spacious bedchamber was plainly furnished by Rhíminee standards. A broad bed with hangings of translucent silk took up much of one end of the room. A dressing gown draped carelessly across the foot and a thick book propped open against the bolsters, together with the remains of a fire on the marble hearth, all warned of recent occupation.
There were several tall wardrobes and chests against the other walls. A gaming table stood next to the single deep armchair drawn up before the fireplace. Thick, patterned carpet gave underfoot as Alec moved across to an interior door. Finding it unlocked, he pocketed the light and took a cautious peek through.
A corridor ran the length of this level, with several other doors on each side. Halfway down the right-hand wall was a staircase leading down. Light came up from below, and with it music and the sounds of lively conversation.
Alec stepped out into the corridor and closed the door of the bedroom behind him. Picturing the location of the study, he moved quickly down the corridor to a pair of doors at the far end. The one in question was secured with a complicated lock.
Feeling nervous and exposed, Alec tried one pick and then another. Twirling a third in, he closed his eyes and explored the wards by feel.
The master of the house evidently set great value on privacy; like those on the windows, this was no common device. The endless lessons at Seregil’s workbench paid off, however. The lock gave and he was in.
A writing desk and chair stood between two tall windows overlooking the street. A glance outside found the avenue busier than ever. Pulling the drapes shut, Alec took out the lightstone and sat down to begin his search.
A few items lay arranged in orderly fashion on the polished desktop: ink wells, a bundle of uncut quills, and a sand shaker stood ready on a silver tray beside a tidy stack of parchments. Next to these was an empty dispatch box. Finding nothing of note, he moved on to the drawers.
The wide central drawer was flanked by two narrow ones. The central one was locked but yielded readily. Inside were packets of correspondence tied up with silk cord, a stick of sealing wax, a sand brush, and a penknife.
The left drawer was lined with silk and contained four locks of hair. Each had been carefully tied up with ribbon and one, a thick curl of raven black, was adorned with a jeweled pin. Reaching over these tokens, Alec found a velvet pouch containing a thick golden ring and a small ivory carving of a nude man.
The third drawer held a more mundane collection—used blotting paper, wax tablets, styluses, a tangled skein of twine, a litter of gaming stones—but nothing resembling a correspondence case. Going to the door, Alec checked the corridor again and then continued with his task.
Pulling out all three drawers, he lined them up and discovered the narrow ones to be a full hand’s-breadth shorter than the central.
The desk was a casework piece, enclosed on the bottom as well as the sides. Peering in, he saw that the cavity for the central drawer ran to the back of the desk, separated from the side drawers by thin wooden dividers on either side. These also ran the depth of the desk. Small leather-faced blocks were fixed to the bottom of the cavity to keep the drawer flush with the front skirt when closed. Similar stop blocks were in the side drawer tracks, but there was a difference. Just behind these, the cavities ended in wooden panels that sealed off whatever space lay beyond. Inexperienced he might be, but the whole costly, overly complicated structure of the piece seemed to promise at least one secret compartment.
Sliding his arm into each of the three spaces, Alec pressed and tapped with no success. As he sat back in exasperation, wondering what Seregil would do, his gaze wandered to the dispatch box. A memory leapt to mind; Seregil toying with a similar box during their burglary in Wolde, finding a secret mechanism.
Running his hands slowly over every surface of the desk, he finally located a tiny lever concealed next to the right front leg. When he shifted it, however, nothing seemed to happen, not even a telltale click. Perspiration beaded his upper lip as he knelt and inspected the interior of the desk again.
This time he noticed something he’d missed before. The unfinished wood on the bottom of the central drawer track showed the parallel wear marks that one might expect to find; these he’d seen. But halfway in, toward the center of the panel, a faint, curving scuff could just be made out, arcing from a point midway between the two more pronounced marks and terminating abruptly at the right-hand divider. Looking closer, he realized that there was also the tiniest hairline gap between the lower edge of the partition and the bottom of the desk. If not for that arcing scratch, he might have passed it off as nothing more than the result of the wood shrinking in the dry winter air, causing a joint to pull apart.
He pressed the hidden lever again, at the same time pushing firmly against the edge of the partition closest to him. Pivoting on unseen pins, the partition swung into the central opening and out over Alec’s lap, revealing a small triangular compartment attached to the far end. Grinning in silent triumph, Alec lifted out a leather folder and heard the muffled crackle of parchment. Cramming it into the front of his coat, he quickly put everything else back the way he’d found it.
Back in the corridor, he locked the study door again for thoroughness’ sake. No sooner had the last ward fallen into place, however, when he heard footsteps on the staircase behind him. There was no time to unlock the door or retreat to the bedchamber at the far end of the hall; the light of a candle was brightening rapidly toward the head of the stairs.
In desperation, Alec tried the door of the room next to the study; the handle turned smoothly under his hand. Ducking inside, he put his eye to the crack of the door.
Two women had just reached the top of the stairs. One carried a candelabra and by its light he could see that both were expensively dressed and quite beautiful.
“He said to look on the second shelf to the right of the door, a thick folio bound in green and gold,” the younger one said, peering around the hallway.
“This is a lucky night indeed, Ysmay,” remarked her companion. “One so seldom has a chance to visit his library. But which room is it? It’s been so long since I was last up here.”
Jewels winked in the dark coils of the young woman’s hair as she turned Alec’s way. More jewels sparkled in the intricate necklace that covered her chest. In fact, Alec saw, the necklace was very nearly the only thing covering her breasts. The bosom of the dress was cut so low the top of one nipple peeped out from the fretwork of gems and gold.
“I must thank you again, dear aunt, for bringing me tonight!” the girl exclaimed. “I nearly swooned when you presented me to him. I can still feel his lips on my hand.”
“A fact I pray your esteemed father never learns,” her aun
t replied with a low, musical laugh. “I felt just the same the first time I met him. He’s one of the most charming men in Rhíminee, and so handsome! But take care, my dear. No woman has ever held his fancy for long, or man either. But now for that excellent manuscript. Which room is it?”
“This one, I think,” replied the girl, making straight for the room where Alec was hiding. He pressed back against the wall behind the door, hoping for the best.
“La, this isn’t it,” the aunt exclaimed as the candles illuminated a bedchamber similar to the one at the back of the house.
“Is it his room?” breathed Ysmay, stepping toward the bed.
“I shouldn’t think so. See that painted chest there? Mycenian work. Not his sort of thing at all. Come, my dear, I think I have my bearings now.”
As soon as the women had disappeared into a room down the corridor, Alec bolted silently for the first bedchamber. Not daring to chance the lightstone again, he found the dim outline of the little window and made for it.
He hadn’t gone three paces when a large, callused hand clamped over his mouth. Another seized his right arm, pinning it behind his back as he twisted and struggled.
“Hold him!” a voice hissed from somewhere across the room.
“Got him!” a deep voice rasped next to Alec’s ear. The hand across his mouth clamped tighter. “Not a sound, you. And quit yer wigglin’!”
A lightstone appeared and his captor swung him roughly about to face it. Alec gave another convulsive twist, then froze with a strangled grunt of astonishment.
Standing there, one arm propped on the corner of the mantel, was Seregil. At his waved command, the man holding Alec released him and he spun to find himself facing Micum Cavish.
“By the Flame, boy, you’re worse than an eel to hang on to!” Micum exclaimed softly.
“Did you get the case?” asked Seregil.
“Yes, I got it,” Alec whispered, casting a nervous glance in the direction of the door. “But what are you doing in here?”
Seregil shrugged. “And why shouldn’t I be in my own bedroom?”
“Your own—Yours?” sputtered Alec. “I went through all that to burgle your house?”
“Not so loud! Don’t you see? We wanted to make sure you had a proper challenge.”
Alec glared at the two of them, cheeks aflame, all his careful work reduced to a ridiculous charade. “By breaking into your own house? What kind of a challenge is that?”
“Don’t take on so,” Seregil said in honest consternation. “You just got into one of the most difficult houses in the city! I admit, I removed a few of the more deadly wards, but do you think just any common tickler could have gotten past those locks you found?”
“This is the last place we’d send you into if we didn’t think you were ready,” added Micum.
Alec chewed this over angrily for a long moment, arms locked across his chest. “Well, it was pretty hard. The study door was nearly the end of me.”
“You see!” Seregil cried, throwing an arm around Alec’s shoulders and giving the boy a rough hug. “For plain housebreaking I’d say you acquitted yourself boldly. In fact, you surprised us both by weaseling in through that little window. Remind me to see to that tomorrow, will you? And that was a quick bit of thinking when the ladies wandered through.”
Alec pulled back, eyes narrowing suspiciously again. “You sent them!”
“Actually, that was my idea,” said Micum. “You were having such an easy time of it. Admit it now, it will make a better story later on with that.”
“So what now?” asked Alec, still wary. “Tonight, I mean.”
“Tonight?” Seregil’s grin went crooked. “Why, tonight we have guests to attend to.”
“The party? This party? Now? You said before you were doing that in a couple of days!”
“Did I? Well, it’s a lucky thing we’re already dressed for the occasion. By the way, how did you like your new room?”
Alec grinned sheepishly, recalling the woman’s remark about the painted Mycenian chest in the room where he’d hidden. “From what little I saw of it, it seems very—useful.”
Reluctantly following Micum and Seregil downstairs, he found himself faced with a room full of elegant strangers.
Dozens of thick candles lit the room, their honeyed scent like the distillation of long-dead summers. Their radiance was given back everywhere in the flash of jewels and the sheen of silks and polished leather.
The salon itself was no less elegant than those who occupied it. The high walls of the room had been painted to look like a forest glade, the tops of life-size oaks extending up across the vaulted ceiling overhead. Garlands of brightly flowering vines adorned the trees, and between their trunks distant mountains and ocean vistas were visible. Musicians played on a carved balcony overhead.
Seregil paused halfway down the great staircase and laid a hand on Alec’s arm.
“Most honored guests!” he called, assuming the formal manner he’d used while playing Lady Gwethelyn aboard the Darter. “Allow me to present my ward and companion, Sir Alec of Ivywell, lately of Mycena. Make yourselves known to him, I pray you, for he is new to our great city and has made few acquaintances.”
Alec’s mouth went dry as dozens of expectant faces turned to him.
“Steady now,” whispered Micum. “Just remember who you’re supposed to be.” Slipping the boy a covert luck sign, he moved off into the crowd.
At the bottom of the stairs, a servant stepped forward with a tray of iced wine. Alec took a cup and drained it in a hasty gulp.
“Go easy with that,” Seregil murmured, propelling him gently forward. Playing the gracious host, he made a circuit of the room, moving smoothly from one knot of conversation to another.
The guests seemed to be mostly minor nobles and wealthy merchants associated with “Lord Seregil’s” business interests. There was much talk of caravans and shipping, but the most popular topic was clearly the possibility of war in the spring.
“I hardly think there can be any question,” sniffed a young nobleman introduced to Alec as Lord Melwhit. “Preparations have been going on since summer.”
“Indeed,” a portly lord grumbled over his wine cup. “You can hardly come by a decent stick of lumber these last few months with the requisitioners snapping up everything in sight. I doubt I shall be able to complete my solarium before spring!”
“Wolde cloth?” a woman exclaimed nearby. “Don’t speak to me of Wolde cloth! With all the new tariffs, I can scarcely afford a new riding mantle. And gold? Mark my words, Lord Decius, before this is over we shall all be reduced to wearing beads and feathers.”
“And what a delightful fashion that would prove,” exclaimed her companion.
Trailing along with Seregil, Alec suddenly found himself face-to-face with the two women he’d seen upstairs.
“Allow me to introduce a very dear friend of mine,” said Seregil with a hint of his wicked smile. “Lady Kylith, may I present Sir Alec of Ivywell. Sir Alec, Lady Kylith of Rhíminee, and her niece, Lady Ysmay of Orutan.”
Executing his best courtly bow, Alec felt his cheeks go warm. Lady Kylith’s velvet gown draped a form still slender and elegant; like those worn by most other women of fashion present, it left her bosom nearly bare beneath a tissue of thinnest silk and a heavily jeweled necklace.
“What a fortunate young man you are!” purred Kylith, enveloping the boy in a languorous dark-eyed gaze that sent his heart knocking again. “Our friend Lord Seregil is one of the most cultured gentlemen in the city, well versed in all the pleasures Rhíminee has to offer. I am certain you will find your time with him most enjoyable and instructive.”
“You flatter me, dear lady,” murmured Seregil. “But perhaps I might presume on our friendship? Would you partner Sir Alec in the first waltz? I believe the musicians have just struck up one of your favorites.”
“A pleasure,” replied Kylith with a curtsey. “And perhaps you would return the boon by partnering my niece. I
did, after all, promise her an evening of wicked pleasures, and I cannot think of a greater one than to dance with you.”
Blushing prettily, Ysmay accepted Seregil’s arm. At this signal, the other guests formed couples and assembled for the dance.
Kylith extended her hand to Alec with a dazzling smile. “Will you do me the honor, sir?”
“The honor is mine, I assure you,” Alec replied. The words sounded wooden and foolish to his ears but he pressed on as best he could. “I must warn you, though, I’ve never been called a graceful dancer.”
Taking her place in front of him, she gave him another melting look. “Think nothing of it, my dear. The instruction of inexperienced young men is one of life’s unrivaled pleasures.”
Seregil set about a playful flirtation with Ysmay while keeping one eye on Alec. As expected, Kylith put the boy at ease in no time. Another dance or two under her influence, and Alec would feel like he’d moved in such society his whole life. She’d had that same affect on Seregil years before.
Beginning as a courtesan in the Street of Lights, Kylith had risen to nobility when a headstrong young lord had brooked the strenuous opposition of family and class to marry her. Over the years her beauty, discretion, and lancing wit had earned her a degree of acceptance and drawn in the best of Rhíminee society to her famous gatherings. The finest artists and musicians of the day were to be found in her house, mingling with adventurers, wizards, and ministers of the highest offices. Few outside of the Queen’s Park knew more than she of what went on in the council chambers and bedrooms of Rhíminee.
It had been for just such a reason that Nysander had introduced Seregil to her after the end of his ill-fated apprenticeship. Charmed by his mysterious past and questionable reputation, Kylith had drawn him into her bright circle and, for a brief time after the death of her husband, into her bed. He’d never been certain if she’d guessed him to be the faceless, unpredictable “Cat” of Rhíminee fame rather than a mere intermediary, but she often relayed requests for services to him, knowing that results were generally swift.