If he spoke slowly and took care with his syntax, despite the odd accent he still had, he’d be taken for a farmer or craftsman—or, just possibly, a country squire—from some agrarian part of Valdemar with its own regional accent. It was a fine guise, and very useful for what he was about to do—which was to buy used clothing.
Such was easy enough to acquire, and it was easier to put mending and patching onto gently used clothing than it was to repair clothing that was getting far past its useful lifespan. It was easier to put on stains than remove them. That so-helpful, completely invisible accomplice at the Companion’s Bell was quite literate, as Alberich had proved to himself by leaving some instructions with one of those disguises, and returning to find that those instructions had been carried out to the letter. So he would buy appropriate outfits, and leave instructions on how the items were to be abused if they looked insufficiently used.
And finally he would have things that fit him, rather than Dethor. His predecessor had been slightly shorter and significantly broader in the waist than Alberich, with much shorter legs.
It will be good not to have to wear my breeches down around my hips to keep them from looking too short.
He spent a very profitable morning, going from shop to stall to barrow, examining items with all the care that any thrifty fellow from the hinterland would use, exhibiting all the suspicion that he was being cheated by a city sharper that any Haven merchant would expect from a shrewd bumpkin, eager to get his money’s worth. He never bought more than one piece from any one place at the same time—though he did come back, later, if he’d seen more than one item that he wanted. In this persona, Alberich was not particularly notable. There were several men like him, engaged in similar errands, up and down the quarter where used clothing was sold. Most were alone, though a few had wives or older children with them. Whenever he had a collection of three or four items, he went back to the Bell, and left them, so that he was never observed carrying great piles of clothing.
By doing this, he was able to acquire disguises for a good dozen personae, including one or two that were just a touch above his current character; good, solid citizens who would be welcome in any decent house or tavern in the city. Anything else, he’d get from the Palace; he had a notion he’d like to have a set of Palace livery, perhaps a Guard uniform, and clothing appropriate for the lower ranks of the highborn.
And, under the guise of purchasing something for his wife, he bought some women’s clothing as well. Not that he’d ever tried to impersonate a woman, but—well, he might need to.
:You’ll never pull it off: Kantor said critically as he stowed these last purchases away, hanging them up, rather than putting them in the chest, as even with all of the old guises taken out and left with a note to get rid of them, there was no more room in that chest. :You’d need a wig. And how would you hide that face of yours?:
:I’ve seen plenty of ugly women in this city,: he objected.
:I’m sure you have, but none that looked as if they’d been through a fire, then fought in a dozen taverns and a war,: Kantor argued. :And you don’t act like a woman; you don’t know how to act like a woman. If you need to find out something only a woman can, then get a woman to do it. Myste would probably fit those skirts.:
:But—: he started to argue—then stopped. Myste would fit those skirts. And she was a native of Haven. And she’d come into the Heraldic Circle as an adult, which meant that she was used to being a civilian, acting like a civilian, and she had all the knowledge that an ordinary citizen of Haven had. He wouldn’t want to take her down into the area around Exile’s Gate, but—
:But she’d go if you asked her to. Think about it anyway. There’s Herald Keren, too. She’d go, and she’d fit in anywhere that was rough, including around Exile’s Gate. Good gods, some of the clientele of those fishers’ taverns in the ports of Evendim would frighten the whey out of the loungers in the Broken Arms!: Kantor sounded very sure of himself, but Alberich saw no reason to doubt that he was right. Keren was a tear-away of the first order, and back in the day, if the Sunsguard had permitted women to take up arms, he’d have had no objection to her in his cavalry unit. She made a fearless bodyguard for Selenay.
:I’d have to find a way to persuade Ylsa to stay away, though. The two of them together would be a dead giveaway to anyone who knows anything about the Heralds.:
:Pointing that out ought to be enough to persuade Ylsa,: Kantor replied with a hint of humor. :Wild they might be, stupid, they aren’t.:
Well. Two excellent ideas in one morning, one from his own mind, and one from Kantor!
:And didn’t I tell you, back when we first came here, that you and I were a good match?: Kantor asked smugly.
:So you did. And you were correct. So very correct that I don’t even mind hearing you say ‘I told you so.’:
Kantor’s only reply was a sort of mental snicker.
Alberich finished writing notes on what he wanted done—or not—to each of the new disguises, left them piled atop the chest or hung up on pegs around the room, went to the stable-side door, and blew out the lamp.
:Don’t worry, you won’t be seen. No one here but us Companions,: Kantor told him, and he slipped the catch, moved out into the stable, and shut the door carefully behind himself. It locked itself with a soft click.
There were, indeed, two other Companions in stalls with Kantor. One was partnered with Herald Mirilin, who was one of the two Heralds assigned permanently to dispense justice within Haven. The other assigned to that duty was Jadus, who, since losing his leg, could not ride for very long or very far—but whose insight and understanding of human nature made him very suitable for this job. Jadus’ Companion was not here, though; the third Companion was not one he recognized.
:Not a Herald you know either. Someone just in off circuit, and an old friend of Mirilin’s.: And something about the tone of Kantor’s mind-voice told Alberich that the “old friend” was female and that neither Mirilin nor the newcomer would be found in the common room. But that they would be found with each other.
Heh. So Mirilin was human, after all. Mirilin, with a woman! Now that was a thought to hold onto. From the way that Mirilin usually acted, Alberich had the idea that he’d be very embarrassed if he was caught playing truant with a woman and no matter if the woman was another Herald.
:I believe,: he said, as Kantor turned his head to wink one blue eye at him, :That 1 will have one of the Bell’s delicious pigeon pies. And I believe I will linger over it.:
It would do him no end of good to see the expression on Mirilin’s face when the Herald finally did emerge. . . .
Kantor snickered. There was no other word for it. The sound wasn’t even remotely horselike.
:I’ll see to it that their Companions “forget” to mention you’re here.:
Mirilin and the stranger strolled into the smaller common room—the one usually used by Heralds—with a careless and casual air, as of people who expect to find a room empty. And since Alberich had deliberately set himself in the most secluded corner of the room—which happened to be right beside the cheerful fire—Mirilin and his friend would not be able to see him until they were already well into the room.
“Heyla, Mirilin,” he said calmly, and was rewarded when Mirilin actually jumped a little, startled. The other Herald, an attractive little redhead, didn’t jump, but did look surprised.
The Herald peered at his corner. To Alberich’s further pleasure, he flushed and looked extremely discomfited. Not that there was anything at all wrong with two Heralds having a quiet mark or two alone together, far from it! But being discovered by the enigmatic Alberich—
That same Alberich that Mirilin had openly and avowedly not trusted at all when he first became Selenay’s bodyguard? And who was now one of the great heroes of the Wars? And if Mirilin was not acting as a Justiciar in the Heraldic Court, shouldn’t he be up the hill at the Collegium at the moment?
Again, there was no reason why Mirilin should not t
ake a mark or two out of the day to please himself—but someone like Mirilin would feel guilty that he had, and moreover, he probably wouldn’t want anyone to know he had done so.
“Ah. Herald Alberich? What are you doing in Haven?”
“Delivering our miscreants to their place of punishment,” he replied. “Heard of the incident in the salle, I presume you have?”
“A broken mirror, wasn’t it?” Mirilin said, after a moment. “And a couple of Trainees with more enthusiasm than sense?” Mirilin was regaining his composure, which made Alberich smile a little. After all, he only wanted to discomfit the fellow a trifle, not humiliate him.
Alberich uttered a dry chuckle. “Well put. And no more free time, in which to devise more such mischief, will they have until well into spring. Pumping the bellows at the glassworks, Dean Elcarth has decreed, is to be their task.”
Mirilin smiled and winced at the same time. “Well—at the least, they’ll have stout muscles when spring comes.”
“Make the punishment fit the crime—I like that,” said the woman—not as young as Alberich had first thought.
She wasn’t as old as Mirilin, but she was older than Alberich. “Are you the new Weaponsmaster, then?” She left Minilin and approached Alberich, her hand extended, somewhat to Mirilin’s consternation. “Sorry I haven’t met you before this; I’ve been on one circuit or another for almost six years, and when I come in, I usually stay here rather than at the Collegium. When I’m off, I’m a bit of a carouser, and why disturb people’s sleep when I can have all the fun I like and not upset anyone down here? I’m Ravinia. Mindspeech and Animal Mindspeech.”
Alberich rose, took hen hand, and bowed slightly over it. “And I am Alberich,” he told her, releasing it. “ForeSight, for whatever good it does.”
She smiled at him. Mirilin was very clearly discomfited again. Perhaps because the lady he had come here to meet was being so very friendly to someone he—used to—not trust very much? “So you are indeed the very famous Herald Alberich; it’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Since I’m staying at least a moon this time, I expect you’ll see me at the salle. I could use some sparring practice; can you find me partners at short notice?”
:Is she flirting with me?: he asked Kantor incredulously.
:No. She really does need sparring practice. Find some of the mid-level Guards from Selenay’s bodyguard. Or Keren or Ylsa.: Kantor chuckled. :She’s not flirting; she’s being direct. And she doesn’t mistrust you. She hadn’t met you at a time when you were under suspicion. You are not Alberich of Karse to her; you are Herald Alberich.:
“You will welcome be, and partners can be found,” he replied, and decided to end Mirilin’s discomfort by taking himself off. “Rude I do not wish to seem, but my task and meal both being over, returning I must be.”
“Certainly,” Ravinia agreed. “I expect we’ll meet again in the next day or two.”
“Excellent.” He nodded at Mirilin. “And fare you well, in your afternoon’s tasks, Mirilin. Perhaps the heavy snow will thin the plaintiffs.”
Mirilin shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on it, but I wouldn’t be upset if you were right.” But there was a change in Mirilin. A subtle one, but there it was. Perhaps because, for the first time, he saw Alberich through the eyes of someone he trusted. And he saw the man before him as Herald Alberich.
Alberich took that as a dismissal, and took himself off, keeping his chuckle strictly internal. Well, well, well.
Of course, neither of them could know that he knew the two of them hadn’t just accidentally arrived at the Bell at the same time—but Mirilin suspected Alberich knew. And Alberich was never going to let on one way or another.
:They let the stablehands take their Companions in,: Kantor told him. :They had a great deal of—catching up to do.:
:Indeed,: Alberich replied. It was interesting that Mirilin was clearly embarrassed, but Ravinia was not.
:Sheiteny says that Ravinia isn’t embarrassed by much,: Kantor observed dispassionately. :A very cool one, she says.:
:I can believe that.: Alberich paused at the door to swing his cloak over his shoulders, and pushed out into the stable yard. Snow was still falling, but at least it was not much more than token flakes, and a single stable boy with a broom was doing a reasonable job of keeping up with it. He crossed the yard and walked into the stables again, and a bay horse in the stall nearest the door peered over the side of the partition and snorted at him.
:I trust that the boys are already on their way back up to the Collegia?: he added.
:Halfway there, and just in time for their classes,: Kantor confirmed, as he picked up saddle and blanket from the side of the stall, and heaved them onto Kantor’s back. :Just about in the state of sore-muscled, worn-out wretchedness you’d hoped for. Not utterly miserable, certainly not feeling any desperation, but definitely feeling—chastised.:
:Good.: He didn’t want them to be desperate, but he wanted them to feel, well and truly, that they were being punished for making not one, but several bad decisions. Not the least of which was that they made the choice to act recklessly in a place where mistakes would be magnified. Elcarth had made an excellent decision as to their punishment, and he and the Dean of Bardic had made it crystal clear that the boys were being punished by their respective Collegia, not by Alberich alone.
He finished putting on the last of the tack, and Kantor backed out into the aisle so that Alberich could mount. :What had you planned for this afternoon?:
:I believe I’ll have a talk with Keren about that suggestion of yours,: he replied. :And perhaps with Myste—though I had rather speak to Keren first.:
:Good. Mind you, I’d feel better if you had more than one set of hands and eyes helping you—:
:But the more people there are in on a secret, the harder it becomes to keep it.: He felt Kantor’s sigh of resignation beneath his legs as they trotted out into the stable yard, under the arched gate that led to the street, and onto the thoroughfare itself. Kantor didn’t argue with him, though. The Companion knew just as well as anyone that if Alberich was going to do the covert part of his job effectively, it had to be kept secret. Heralds were humans—as witness Mirilin!—and humans talked, gossiped, let things slip by accident. That was one of the reasons why Alberich needed to do his job in the first place.
The ride up to the Collegium was uneventful, and now that substantial inroads had been made on clearing the snow, it was a bit faster than the ride down had been. And Alberich noted as they rode that it wasn’t only the Trainees that had been infected by a spirit of play—there were snow fights and sliding, the building of snow sculptures and castles, and he saw no few people going by with skates over their shoulders. As they came into the region of private houses, larger and representing more wealth, the closer they came to the Palace, there was even more sign of merrymaking in the snow.
:Well, it isn’t often that Haven sees a snowfall as heavy as this one has been.:
:Personally, I have never seen anything of the sort,: Alberich admitted. :There are snows in my hills, but they are thin and dry.:
:This is winter weather typical for the North of Valdemar, not so much here,: said Kantor. :I wonder—:
There was a long pause, as they wove their way among the houses of the highborn, and laughter and shrieks of pleasure and excitement echoed behind the walls and fences.
:You wonder—?: Alberich prompted his Companion.
:Well, it’s dreadfully soon . . . and the Court is technically still in mourning . . . but a snowfall like this doesn’t come very often, and there’s going to be a hard cold spell coming behind it.: Kantor gave the impression to Alberich that he was musing aloud, though Alberich wondered for a moment where he was getting his weather information. :The Terilee is going to freeze solid when that cold spell comes—that hasn’t happened in fifty years. I just wonder if it’s occurred to Selenay to decree a Snow Festival.:
Although Alberich had never heard of a Snow Festival before, the name pret
ty much told him everything he needed to know. :If the river freezes solid, isn’t something like that bound to happen spontaneously anyway?: The very novelty of the frozen river would bring skaters—the skaters would draw vendors of food and drink, and those would attract musicians, skate sharpeners, skate vendors, and probably more merchants than that. On the whole—well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for an official Festival to take place, official mourning be damned. The Wars had dragged on for years. Sendar’s death had cast a pall over the entire country, but there was only so much grieving that you could do before you just wearied of it. Selenay’s coronation had been a triumph, but it had been a shadowed triumph.
:Well, you can hear it beginning for yourself: Kantor agreed, tossing his head in the direction of yet more laughter. :And once the river freezes, people will come flocking down to the banks. If it were me, I’d go ahead and make the decree so that what is going to break out anyway gets some time limits to it. And while we’re at it, something like this would create a number of excellent opportunities for you to nose about and listen.: Kantor paused, perhaps to gather his thoughts. :If anyone is going to try and foment discontent, oddly enough, a Festival is a good place to do so. You can say things then that people will dismiss as the drink talking—but the words will still stick in the memory, and should Selenay or her Council do something that people don’t agree with—those words will be remembered.:
:We really do think too much alike,: Alberich agreed, as they turned in at the gate, with a friendly nod to the Guardsman on duty. :So, to whom should we drop hints, and when?:
Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor Page 7
