Two cloak-wrapped figures slipped from a shadowed courtyard in Blue Fish Street and hurried east to Sheaf Street.
“I can’t believe we’re out in this to deliver a damn love token,” Alec groused, shaking his wet, fair hair from his eyes.
“We’ve got the Rhíminee Cat’s reputation to maintain,” Seregil said, shivering beside the boy. The slender Aurënfaie envied Alec his northern-bred tolerance for the cold. “Lord Phyrien paid for the thing to be on the girl’s pillow tonight. I’ve been wanting a peek into her father’s dispatch box anyway. Word is he’s maneuvering for the Vicegerent’s post.”
Seregil grinned to himself. For years, the mysterious thief known only as the Rhíminee Cat had assisted the city’s upper class in their endless intrigues; all it took to summon him was gold and a discreet note left in the right hands. None had ever guessed that this faceless spy was virtually one of their own, or that the arrangement was as much to his benefit as theirs.
The wind buffeted at them from all sides as they pressed on toward the Noble Quarter. Reaching the fountain colonnade at the head of Golden Helm Street, Seregil ducked inside for a moment’s shelter.
“Are you sure you’re up to this? How’s your back?” he asked as he stooped to drink from the spring at the center of the colonnade.
Less than two weeks had passed since Alec had pulled Princess Klia from the fiery room below the traitor Kassarie’s keep. Valerius’ malodorous drysian salves had worked their healing magic, but as they’d dressed tonight he’d noticed that the skin across the boy’s shoulders was still tender-looking in places. Not that Alec would admit it and risk being sent back, of course.
“I’m fine,” Alec insisted as expected. “It’s your teeth I hear chattering, not mine.” Shaking out his sodden cloak, he tossed one long end over his shoulder. “Come on. We’ll be warmer if we keep moving.”
Seregil looked with sudden longing toward the entrance to the Street of Lights across the way. “We’d be a hell of a lot warmer in there!”
It had been months since he’d visited any of the elegant pleasure houses. The thought of so many warm, perfumed beds and warm, perfumed bodies made him feel even colder.
Invisible in the shadows, Alec made no reply, but Seregil heard him shifting uncomfortably. The boy’s solitary upbringing had left him uncommonly backward in certain matters, even for a Dalnan. Such reticence was unfathomable to Seregil, though out of respect for their friendship he did his best not to tease the boy.
The fashionable avenues of the Noble Quarter were deserted, the great houses and villas dark behind their high garden walls. Ornate street lanterns creaked unlit on their hooks, extinguished by the storm.
The house in Three Maidens Street was a large, sprawling villa surrounded by a high courtyard wall. Alec kept an eye out for bluecoat patrols while Seregil tossed the grapple up and secured the rope. The roar of the storm covered any noise as they scrambled up and over. Leaving the rope in a clump of bushes, Seregil led the way through the gardens.
After a brief search, Alec found a small shuttered window set high in a wall at the back of the house. Climbing onto a water butt, he pried back the shutter with a knife and peered inside.
“Smells like a storeroom,” he whispered.
“Go on then. I’m right behind you.”
Alec went in feet first and disappeared soundlessly inside.
Climbing up, Seregil sniffed the earthy scents of potatoes and apples. Squeezing through, he lowered himself in onto what felt like sacks of onions. He reached out, finding Alec’s shoulder in the darkness, and together they felt their way to a door. Seregil eased the latch up and peeked out into the cavernous kitchen beyond.
The coals in the hearth gave off enough of a glow to make out two servants asleep on pallets there. Deep snores sounded from the shadows of a nearby corner. To the right was an open archway. Tapping Alec on the arm, Seregil headed for it on tiptoe.
The arch let onto a servant’s passage. Climbing a narrow staircase, they crept down a succession of hallways in search of Lord Decian’s private study. Not finding it, they moved up to the next floor and chanced shielded lightstones.
By this dim light they saw that these nobles left their shoes outside their bedroom door for a servant to collect and clean. Seregil nudged Alec and flipped him the sign for “lucky.” The lord of the house had only one daughter; it was a simple matter to find the footgear appropriate for a maiden of fifteen.
A pair of dainty boots stood before a door at the far end of the corridor. A stout pair of shoes next to them warned that the young woman did not sleep alone.
Seregil stifled a grin. Alec was in for more than he’d bargained for, in more ways than one.
Alec lightly fingered the latch, found the door unbarred. The delivery was his task tonight, more training in the ways of the Cat. This sort of job, though hardly as significant as their recent work for Nysander, required a high level of finesse and he was anxious to prove himself.
Sliding his lightstone back into his tool roll, Alec took a deep breath and lifted the latch.
A night lamp burned on a stand beside the bed. The hangings were open and inside he could see a young girl with heavy braids asleep on the side nearest the door, her face turned to the light. Beside her, a larger form, her mother or nurse perhaps, stirred restlessly beneath the thick comforter.
Creeping to the side of the bed, he took out the token, a tiny scroll pushed through a man’s golden ring. Left to his own devices, he’d simply have put it on the lamp stand and been done with it, but Lord Phyrien had been very exact in his instructions. The ring must be left on his sweetheart’s pillow.
Bending over the girl, Alec placed the ring as specified. Too late he heard Seregil’s sharp intake of breath. The heavy ring immediately rolled down the curve of the pillow and struck the girl on the cheek just beside her mouth.
Startled brown eyes flashed wide. Fortunately for Alec, she saw the ring before she could cry out. Her look of fear changed instantly to one of mute joy as she mistook his muffled form for that of her lover.
“Oh, Phyrien, you are bold!” she breathed, stealing a quick look at the sleeping woman beside her. Grasping Alec’s hand, she drew it gently but insistently under the bedclothes.
Alec blushed furiously in the depths of his hood. Like most Skalans, she slept nude. He didn’t dare resist, however. Any kind of struggle would not only seem suspicious, but probably shake the bed enough to awaken its other occupant.
“You’re so cold!” she said with a hushed giggle, pulling his hand still lower. “Kiss me, my brave lover. I’ll warm you.”
Holding his hood in place with his free hand, Alec pressed his lips hastily to hers, then motioned warningly at the other woman. Pouting prettily, the girl released him and tucked the token away beneath her pillow.
With his heart hammering in his ears, Alec extinguished the lamp and hurried back out into the corridor.
“Seregil, I—” he began in a whisper, but his companion cut the apology short, grabbing him by the arm and hustling him off the way they’d come.
Damn, damn, damn! Alec berated himself. A simple little delivery job and I cock it up.
Braced every moment for an outcry, they hurried down to the kitchen and weaseled back out the storeroom window. Outside, Seregil was still implacably silent. Climbing over the wall, he set off at a run. Alec followed, grimly convinced he was in disgrace.
Three streets from the villa, Seregil suddenly stopped and hauled him into an alleyway, then bent over, hands on knees, as if to catch his breath.
Braced for a scathing lecture, it took Alec a moment to realize that Seregil was laughing.
“Bilairy’s Balls, Alec!” he burst out. “I’d give a hundred sesters to have seen the look on your face when that ring rolled away. And when she tried to pull you into bed—” He sagged against the aley wall, shaking with laughter.
“But it was so stupid,” Alec groaned. “I should have seen it would slide off.”
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Seregil wiped his eyes, grinning. “Maybe so, but these things happen. I don’t know how many times I’ve pulled a blunder like that. It’s the recovery that counts and you did just fine. ‘Learn and live,’ I always say.”
Relieved, Alec fell into step beside him as they headed for home. Before they’d gone another block, however, Seregil let out another snort of laughter. Leaning heavily on Alec’s shoulder, he moaned in a lilting falsetto, “Kiss me, my brave lover. I’ll warm you up!” then staggered away, cackling into the wind.
Perhaps, Alec thought in exasperation, he hadn’t heard the last of the matter after all.
Back at Cockerel Inn, they nicked a late snack from Thryis’ pantry and crept up the hidden staircase on the second floor. Warding glyphs glowed briefly as Seregil whispered the passwords. At the top of the stairs, they crossed the chilly attic storeroom to their own door.
The cluttered sitting room was still warm from the evening fire. Tossing his wet cloak over the mermaid statue by the door, Alec shucked off soaked clothing as he crossed to his bed in the corner by the hearth.
Seregil watched with a faint smile. The boy’s considerable and, to his way of thinking, unnatural degree of modesty had lessened somewhat over the months of their acquaintance, but Alec still turned away as he stripped off his leather breeches and pulled on a long shirt. At sixteen he was very like Seregil in build: slim, lean, and fair-skinned. Seregil quickly busied himself sorting a pile of correspondence on the table as the boy turned around again.
“We don’t have anything in particular planned for tomorrow, do we?” Alec asked, taking a bite from one of the meat pies they’d purloined.
“Nothing pressing,” said Seregil, yawning hugely as he went to his chamber door. “And I don’t intend to be up before noon. Good night.”
With the aid of a lightstone, he navigated past the stacks of books and boxes and other oddments to the broad, velvet-hung bed that dominated the back of the tiny room. Peeling off his wet garments, he slipped between the immaculate sheets with a groan of contentment. Ruetha appeared from some cluttered corner and leapt up with a throaty trill, demanding to be let under the covers.
It had been a busy year overall, he thought, stroking the cat absently. Especially the past few months. Just realizing how long it had been since he’d visited the Street of Lights underscored the general disruption of his life.
Oh well. Winter’s here. There’ll always be work enough to keep us occupied, but plenty of leisure too for the pleasures of the town. All in all, I’d say we’ve earned a bit of a respite.
Imagining quiet, snowy months stretching out before them, Seregil drifted contentedly off to sleep—
—only to lurch up sometime soon after from a nightmare of plummeting into darkness, Alec’s terrified cry ringing in his ears as they fell down, down, past the walls of Kassarie’s keep into the gorge below.
Opening his eyes with a gasp, Seregil was at once relieved and annoyed to find himself slumped naked in one of Nysander’s sitting-room armchairs.
There was no need to ask how he’d gotten there; the green nausea of a translocation spell cramped his belly. Pushing his long, dark hair back from his face, he scowled wretchedly up at the wizard.
“Forgive me for bringing you here so abruptly, dear boy,” said Nysander, handing him a robe and a steaming mug of tea.
“I assume there’s a good reason for this,” Seregil muttered, knowing very well that there must be for Nysander to subject him to magic so soon after the shape-changing incident.
“But of course. I tried to bring you earlier, but you two were busy burgling someone.” Pouring himself a mug of tea, Nysander settled into his usual chair on the other side of the hearth. “I just looked in for a moment. Were you successful?”
“More or less.” Nysander appeared in no hurry to elucidate, but it was obvious he’d been working on something. His short grey beard was smudged with ink near his mouth, and he wore one of the threadbare old robes he favored for his frequent all-night work sessions. Surrounded by the room’s magnificent collection of books and oddities, he looked like some down-at-the-heels scholar who’d wandered in by mistake.
“Alec is looking better, I noticed,” Nysander remarked.
“He’s healing. It’s his hair I’m concerned about. I’ve got to get him presentable in time for the Festival of Sakor.”
“Be thankful he came away no worse off then he did. From what Klia and Micum told me, he’s lucky to be alive at all. Ah, and before I forget, I have something for the two of you from Klia and the Queen.” He handed Seregil two velvet pouches. “A public acknowledgment is impossible, of course, but they wished to express their gratitude nonetheless. That green one there is yours.”
Seregil had received such rewards before. Expecting another trinket or bit of jewelry, he opened the little bag. What he found inside reduced him to stunned silence.
It was a ring, a very familiar ring. The great, smooth ruby glowed like wine in its heavy setting of Aurënfaie silver when he held it closer to the fire.
“Illior’s Light, Nysander, this is one of the rings I took from Corruth í Glamien’s corpse,” he gasped, finding his voice at last.
Nysander leaned forward and clasped his hand. “He was your kinsman and Idrilain’s, Seregil. She thought it a fitting reward for solving the mystery of his disappearance. She hopes you shall wear it with honor among your own people one day.”
“Give her my thanks.” Seregil tucked it reverently away in its bag. “But you didn’t magick me out of bed just for this?”
Nysander sat back with a chuckle. “No. I have a task which may be of interest to you. However, there are conditions to be set forth before I explain. Agree to abide by them or I shall send you back now with all memory of this meeting expunged.”
Seregil blinked in surprise. “It must be some job. Why didn’t you bring Alec?”
“I shall come to that presently. I can say nothing until you agree to the conditions.”
“Fine. I agree. What are they?”
“First, you may ask no question unbidden.”
“Why not?”
“Starting now.”
“Oh, all right. What else?”
“Second, you must work in absolute secrecy. No one is to know of this, particularly not Alec or Micum. Will you give me your oath on it?”
Seregil regarded him in silence for a moment; keeping secrets from Alec was no easy business these days. Still, how could something so shrouded in mystery fail to be interesting?
“All right. You have my word.”
“Your oath,” Nysander insisted somberly.
Shaking his head, Seregil held out his left hand, palm up, before him. “Asurit betuth dös Aura Elustri kamar sösui Seregil í Korit Solun Meringil Bôkthersa. And by my honor as a Watcher, I swear also. Is that sufficient?”
“You know I would never impose such conditions on you without good reason,” the wizard chided.
“Still, it seems to be happening quite a lot these days,” Seregil retorted sourly. “Now can I ask questions?”
“I will answer what I can.”
“Why is it so crucial for Alec and Micum not to know?”
“Because if you let slip the slightest detail of what I am about to tell you, I shall have to kill all of you.”
Though spoken calmly, Nysander’s words jolted him like a kick in the throat; he’d known the wizard too long to mistake his absolute sincerity. For an instant, Seregil felt as if he were looking into the face of a stranger. Then suddenly, everything fell into place as neatly as a three-tumbler lock. He sat forward, slopping hot tea over his knees in his excitement.
“It’s to do with this, isn’t it?” he exclaimed, tapping his chest. There, beneath Nysander’s obscuring magic, lay the branded imprint of the wooden disk he’d stolen from Duke Mardus at Wolde—the same strange, deceptively crude disk that had nearly taken his life. “You went white the night I told you about showing a drawing of it to the Illio
ran Oracle. I thought you were going to fall over.”
“Perhaps now you understand my distress,” Nysander replied grimly.
They’d never spoken of that conversation, but the dread Seregil had felt then returned now in full force. “Bilairy’s Balls! You’d have done it, too.”
Nysander sighed heavily. “I would never have forgiven myself, I assure you, but I would also have been furious with you for forcing me into such an act. Do you recall what I said to you then?”
“To pray I never found out what that disk really is?”
“Precisely. And to undertake this task, you must continue to accept that as my answer on the subject.”
Seregil slouched glumly in his chair. “Same old answer, eh? And what if I say no to all this? That if you don’t tell me the whole story I want no part of it?”
Nysander shrugged. “Then as I said before, I shall remove all memory of this conversation from your mind and send you home. There are certainly others who could aid me.”
“Like Thero, I suppose?” Seregil snapped before he could stop himself.
“Oh, for—”
“Does he know the Great Secret?” The old jealousy gripped Seregil’s heart. The last thing he wanted to hear was that the young assistant wizard knew more of this than he did.
“He knows less than you,” Nysander replied, exasperated. “Now do you want the task or not?”
Seregil let out a frustrated growl. “All right, then. What’s this all about?”
Nysander pulled a sheet of vellum from his sleeve and handed it to him. “To begin with, tell me what you make of this.”
“Looks like a page from a book.” The vellum was darkened with age or weather. Seregil rubbed a corner of it between his fingers and sniffed it, then examined the writing itself. “It’s old, four or five centuries at least. Poorly kept at first, though later carefully preserved. And the vellum is human or Aurënfaie skin, rather than kid.” He paused again, examining the stitching holes on the left edge. “These are still intact, showing that it was carefully removed from a book, rather than torn. It was already damaged by dampness, though. Judging by the color I’d say the page was steeped in poison after that, but that’s obviously been neutralized or we wouldn’t be handling it.”