Deveren feigned innocence. "Sweet Health, Rabbit, can't I patronize a fellow thief without being accused of ulterior motives?"
"You've never bought from me before," Rabbit said, still suspicious.
Deveren shrugged his shoulders lazily. "I happened to be passing by. But, if you're convinced that I'm trying to enlist your aid in my Grand Theft-or Thefts, I should say- then I'll take my business elsewhere. There are certainly other apothecaries in Braedon." His voice wasn't angry, and in fact he was speaking the truth. If Rabbit proved recalcitrant, he could always go somewhere else. He took a step toward the door, and the herbalist's cupidity won the battle.
"All right, all right, but if you are going to use anything I sell to accomplish your task, I didn't know about it. So, what do you need?"
"First of all, some pine soap."
Rabbit raised a thin eyebrow. "Bit early for hunting season, isn't it? No, don't tell me — I don't want to know. 'Spensive, too. I suppose I should have known you'd prefer the best," he said. He trundled over to a shelf where a variety of soaps, sorted by scent, were piled. Pine did not grow well this far south and this close to the ocean. It had to be imported from the northern climes and was only occasionally made into soap. Its primary users were wealthy landowners who enjoyed hunting; the strong, natural odor of the pine completely obliterated human scent and gave them an edge over their prey. Few cities south of Kasselton had any pine at all, but Braedon was a major port city. Everything in Verold had passed through here at one time or another. If you looked hard enough in the town, you could find just about anything.
Finally Rabbit found a lone cake wrapped in dark green cloth. "You're lucky. That's the last one, but I'll be getting more in toward the end of the summer."
"Excellent," Deveren approved. "Next, I've been having trouble sleeping lately." Rabbit's thin lips twitched in a slight smile. "Guilty conscience?"
"Not in the slightest," Deveren responded, chuckling a little himself. "I suppose I'm a bit tense, with the Grand Thefts coming up. What do you recommend?"
"I have a special tincture for sleeplessness already made up. It contains vervain, chamomile, mugwort, a few other similar herbs. Ah, here it is. Mind, this is an extremely strong preparation, so you don't need much. Just a spoonful about an hour before bed should work just fine. Don't increase the dosage."
"Why not?" Deveren uncorked the vial and sniffed gently. There was the faintest whiff of rum and the not-so-pleasant fragrance of the bitter, earthy herbs themselves.
"Because if you take more than I tell you to take, you'll be sleeping for a week. As I said, strong."
"Just what I need. How much?" Deveren reached into his bulging pouch, rummaging among the gems and gold kings for more common coinage. A few items tumbled to the hard-packed earth that served as a floor for the shop. Deveren knelt and hastily picked them up, glancing toward the door as he did so.
"Death's breath, Fox!" hissed Rabbit, his parsimonious nature offended by Deveren's cavalier treatment of valuables. "Empty the damned thing once in a while, will you? Our group isn't quite the noble robbers that you'd like us to be, at least not yet!"
Before the apothecary could blink, a slim, needle-sharp dagger had appeared in Deveren's hand. It seemed to have materialized from nowhere. A second later the weapon quivered in the wooden countertop a fraction of an inch from the startled Rabbit's left hand-exactly where the leader of the thieves had aimed it.
"I've got good reactions," drawled Deveren. "But don't think the friendly advice isn't appreciated. Now, how much?"
Shaking, Rabbit clutched his nearly missed hand with his right one. "Uh… two princes, Your Lordship."
The man's face was milk pale, and Deveren regretted his impulse to show off before Rabbit. After all, the apothecary was more or less on his side to begin with. He badly wanted to bring the price up to a king-a gold piece-by way of apology, but he knew such generosity would merely further damage his reputation in Rabbit's eyes. Thief leaders were expected to be fair, perhaps after a fine haul even generous, but they never overpaid.
So he contented himself with dropping the two silver princes on the counter, thanking Rabbit, and leaving the poor man alone for the day.
Alone in his solar, Deveren worked the fresh-scented pine soap into a lather and proceeded to bathe his entire body and hair. As his fingers scrubbed his scalp, his mind went back, as it did every time he sat in this tub, to the last night that Kastara was alive. Even after the passage of seven years, the pain always caught him by surprise. It was nowhere near as overwhelming as in the beginning, of course. Nor was it as constant a thread running through the fabric of his day-to-day activities. But occasionally an odd phrase, or image, or scent, would come to whisper her name to him, and Deveren would feel his heart actually ache, as though squeezed by an unseen hand.
And for some reason, this innocuous wooden tub seemed to be the one thing that always triggered her image in his mind.
You don't have very long to get ready.
I told you, I'm not going.
It's a premiere. You're expected to attend premieres, love. That's why you 're called a patron.
I won't enjoy it without you. I don't like leaving you alone here while I'm off enjoying myself. It doesn't seem fair.
We'll be fine.
Oh, but she hadn't been fine, had she, not she, not the child she carried. Gods, he could almost hear her, could almost feel her smooth little hands washing his back…
The soft plop of a teardrop landing in the soapy water jolted him out of his reverie. Deveren took a deep, shuddering breath and bathed his face with the soap.
Kastara was gone. He had mourned her, and would, he felt certain, continue mourning her for the rest of his life. But now he had other people who depended upon him. He had come to the thieves thinking to expose and kill a murderer. He had stayed to help them, and had made them a promise. If he failed at his Grand Thefts tonight, someone like Freylis would take over the group. Everyone, from Pedric to Clia to little Allika, would suffer then.
No. He rose, shook off his moodiness, and began to towel himself dry. Experimentally, he took a sniff at his forearm. "I feel like a forest in springtime," he quipped, the old sense of humor that had come to the rescue so often in the past returning to him now. He truly did smell like an evergreen forest, at least to his own nose. He only hoped the three large, rather unfriendly dogs that guarded the Vandaris home would agree.
The Councilman's Seat was located in the heart of the Garden. Deveren could see it from his window as he finished dressing-a beautiful, large building that was as much a landmark in Braedon as the Godstower. The upper level hosted the current Head Councilman and his family, complete with dining rooms, gaming rooms, wine cellar, and a huge hall that would, tonight, serve as the stage for The Queen of All. Well below the finery were the cells in which prisoners awaited judgement. Deveren had always though it ironic that the only time a commoner could see the Garden was if he were sentenced for a crime. On the other hand, it was terribly civilized that Braedon's criminals had a pleasant view while they waited for sentencing.
He toyed with the idea of riding, and decided to walk. He might need to slip off without being noticed once the thefts were completed, and didn't want to have to worry about retrieving Flamedancer from Vandaris's stables. Besides, it was a lovely summer evening.
So Deveren selected breeches and boots rather than slippers and hose. Instead of clothing that he wore often, tonight Deveren chose a blousey red silk shirt and over-tunic that he had tucked away in a chest of cedar wood for several weeks. It would be less likely to retain his scent.
He grinned a little. Cedar and pine, how refreshing.
There was nothing he could do about his walking boots, save hope that there was more of Flamedancer about them than Deveren Larath. As he adjusted his pouches, making sure that the false bottoms wouldn't reveal the second space beneath, he mentally reviewed his challenge. Part of the "test," he assumed, lay in deciphering the code
and figuring out just exactly what it was "his" thieves wanted him to acquire. Or it could be simply a case of young Pedric having a little fun-well, a lot of fun-at his expense. Deveren hoped that he wouldn't be disqualified if he, for some reason, didn't steal the correct items. Freylis would be overjoyed.
The thought of the big man erased any hint of a smile from Deveren's lips. Others were attending the theatrical performance for pleasure. He was certain they would find it- The Queen of All was a fine play. He, however, had a job to do.
He was glad he had chosen to walk. The air was thick with the scents of the Garden, which bloomed almost all year round with one sort of plant or another. Only in the dead of winter was the Garden anything less than redolent with fragrance. Now, in summer, the scent was almost as intoxicating as wine.
The play wasn't due to start for a while yet, and Vandaris's guests milled about, enjoying the balmy evening. They stood on the magnificent stone steps, draped themselves across the finely carved wood-and-stone benches, walked in groups or pairs through the paths. As Deveren approached the entrance, he was met by one of Captain Jaranis's men.
"Good even, Lord Larath," said the guard courteously. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to submit to a search, sir. What with the deaths of them three councilmen and all…"
"Of course," Deveren replied smoothly. The guard patted him down gently, respectfully, and halfheartedly, clearly not expecting to find anything. He glanced briefly into the pouches and nodded, indicating that Deveren might proceed.
This boded well. He'd been able to smuggle in nearly all of his tools — the larger tools, such as heavy metal crowbars he had, of course, been forced to forgo-and hadn't aroused the slightest suspicion.
The Councilman's Seat was surrounded by a stone wall. Within was Vandaris's private garden, a section of the Garden allotted for his personal use. There was even a maze, smaller and far easier to navigate than the main one in the center of the larger Garden. The dogs weren't out yet; Vandaris would wait until all his guests were safely inside before loosing the beasts.
Time to move on to another item, then. He'd get the dogs' "teeth" later in the evening. As he moved through the lovely home, admiring the Head Councilman's fine taste in art and furnishings, Deveren thought about the rhymes he'd memorized.
That first challenge, at least, was easy to figure out. The trick was in getting Vandaris to take him there.
He turned a comer, following the murmur of voices, and was rewarded by the sight of Lord Vandaris himself, chatting politely with his guests. Deveren felt a smile of satisfaction tug at his lips. The room was one of Vandaris's favorites, a smaller, more intimate, and more personal chamber than many in the Seat. The room was filled with the Head Councilman's hunting trophies. Like most of the landed nobility, Vandaris was an avid hunter. His one regret, he had told Deveren once, was that, now that he was Head Councilman, he couldn't escape from Braedon often enough to pursue his favorite hobby anymore.
The walls were covered with tapestries depicting hunting scenes. One, commissioned by Vandaris himself, showed the lord-a considerably younger, slimmer man-pursuing a unicorn. Not that such creatures existed, of course, but when the art was that lovely and dramatic, who could object?
Skulls of various creatures — deer, wolf, bear, and others-had been placed around the room. There was also a fine display of riding regalia and hunting bows, spears and other weaponry. Vandaris sat on a cushioned chair, chatting animatedly with two other members of the Council. Over in the corner, Damir, who had left earlier in order to have another private talk with Vandaris, was admiring a carving of a leaping stag. Pedric and Lorinda sat closely together on a cushioned bench. They had eyes only for each other, and found excuses to casually touch. Deveren had never seen Pedric like this before. He tried to brush aside his worry. In the end, when it counted, he knew Pedric to be a good man. And Lorinda, clearly, was a special woman indeed.
At last, Deveren found what he was looking for. He took a deep breath and prayed that his plan would work. If not, he would have tipped his hand.
Casually, he wandered over to what he had determined was the first "item" on his list for tonight. It sat on a small table, seeming to taunt him.
It was a riding cup, shaped like the slim, elegant head of a fox. Its purpose was to provide liquid refreshment to hunters on horseback. When so employed, it fitted neatly into a special place on the saddle, hooked in place by its slender muzzle. When the rider wanted a drink of wine, the head was turned upside down, revealing a hollow cup into which the beverage was poured. The Fox gives Fox a taste quite fine,/When out of his head you drink your wine.
This had to be it. Picking it up, he examined it, as if he hadn't seen dozens like this before. "This is quite nice, Your Lordship. May I ask who the maker is?"
As he had hoped, Vandaris warmed to the subject. He rose and went to Deveren, taking the little stone shape from him. "That, Lord Larath, I purchased from an obscure stone carver in Kasselton a few years ago. Can't recall his name. It's a bit crude, here-" he pointed at the slightly uneven eyes "-and it's too small. Barely holds enough to moisten your throat. That's why I've consigned it to display rather than putting it to use."
"I like the crooked eyes," said Deveren. "Gives the little fellow personality, don't you think?" Jokingly, he mimed petting the fox between the ears.
Deveren could feel the gazes of Pedric and Damir boring into his back. He ignored them and continued.
"Flamedancer stepped on mine, and I'm without one at the present moment. I rather like this one-don't suppose you'd be willing to sell it?"
Vandaris shook his head, and Deveren's heart sank. Now he'd be forced to steal it, and everyone would remember that Deveren Larath had made much of the small object…
"Goodness, no, Deveren, take the thing if you like it so much. It's been sitting here collecting dust for-well, more years than I care to remember."
Triumph burned in Deveren's heart. "Thank you, sir! It's much appreciated, I assure you. I'll just leave it here and pick it up on my way out."
He had wanted to buy the thing outright. The rhyme had said "take," not "steal," and Deveren wanted to show his thieves that, on occasion, it wasn't necessary to filch something. Sometimes, all one had to do was ask. He heard a muffled cough from Pedric and successfully fought a grin.
A servant appeared at the door and cleared her throat. She dropped a curtsey. "Beggin' your pardon, milord, but the performers have sent word that they're ready."
"Excellent!"' exclaimed Vandaris. "Well then, let us go. When actors are ready, I'm told, making them wait sours the performance. Isn't that right, Deveren?"
They were big, the dogs that Vandaris kept to safeguard his private grounds. Alone in the darkness, Deveren stared over the stone wall at them. The wall was roughly ten feet high, but Deveren had been able to scramble up far enough to get a good look at the true deterrent to would-be burglars. Silvered by moonlight, the large, shaggy beasts stared back. The milky radiance caught their eyes, making them glow eerily. Black flews drew back from powerful yellow teeth as one of them growled at the sight of Deveren.
There came another glint from the shadowy beasts — a glint of metal at the throats. Deveren recalled the second task he'd been set: The hounds will chase, the hounds will tear/Your flesh, unless their teeth you hear.
Leather collars, with sharp metal points embedded in them. Any intruder who thought to hold the beasts off by choking them would have been in for a painful surprise.
The would-be thief leader waited until the growling stopped as the beast tried to catch his scent and failed. His muscles quivered from the strain, but he held his position. The dog cocked its head to one side and made a crooning, puzzled sound. The pine soap had done its job. Satisfied, Deveren dropped quietly down to the earth.
Quickly, he glanced around. He was indeed alone; the guests were engrossed with the performance, and the guards were nowhere to be seen. No doubt they were busy dallying with the serving girls. He took
a deep breath, and opened one of the pouches. Carefully removing the false bottom, he felt for the chunks of raw meat he'd smuggled in along with his thieves' tools.
Deveren had taken the sleeping tincture purchased from Rabbit and had mixed the entire bottle with a cupful of lamb's blood. He'd cut up chunks of raw lamb and let them soak in the concoction. Now he fished one out, climbed back up, and tossed it over the wall.
One of the great dogs jumped up and caught the meat in midair, its teeth clicking. It dropped back to the earth, licked its chops, and cocked its head.
Heartened, Deveren shifted his position, found more meat chunks and began to feed the other two. They ate happily, and Deveren wondered if the rules required him to explain how he had accomplished his Grand Thefts. He didn't want to put the idea of poisoning into the head of someone less scrupulous than he.
At last, all the meat that Deveren had brought had been eaten. Grinning, Deveren again jumped down, replaced the false bottom, glanced around again to ensure that he was alone, and waited.
It didn't take long. When next he poked his head over the wall, he saw that the dogs' alert poses had begun to droop. They yawned, and their attempts to continue patrolling their master's ground became staggering shuffles. At last, one by one, they surrendered to the drug and sank down onto their bellies. They placed mammoth heads on large paws, whuffed a time or two, and fell asleep.
Deveren waited, wanting to be sure, then carefully, quietly, began to climb over the stone wall. A movement from the house caught his eye. It was one of the guards, leaving the private grounds, coming out for a perfunctory inspection of No, damn it, it was Captain Jaranis. Deveren mouthed an oath. He was seated astraddle the wall now, one leg already over into a trespasser's territory. Even if he jumped back down to the ground now, the movement would certainly catch the sharp eye of the captain of Braedon's guards, and Deveren would be forced to explain what he was doing out here. The dogs' lassitude would be noted, and Nothing else for it, Deveren decided. He hoped desperately that Rabbit's concoction had had enough time to render the dogs completely unconscious. If not, well, there might not be enough of him left for Telian Jaranis to put into prison. Slowly, so as not to attract attention, he eased himself down on the opposite side of the stone wall. He plastered himself against its smooth coldness, sought refuge in its shadow.
King's man and thief cov-2 Page 9
