Luck in the Shadows n-1

by Lynn Flewelling

  "It's good having you here," she said, her needle flashing in the sunlight as she stitched up a tear in one of Illia's kirtles. "I hope you'll come back to us often. Seregil doesn't come out as much as we'd like. Perhaps you can influence him for me."

  "I don't think anyone influences him very much," Alec said dubiously, then added, "You've known him a long time, haven't you?"

  "More than twenty years," Kari replied. "He's part of the family."

  Alec rubbed wax into his bowstring and smoothed it over with his fingers. "Has he changed much since you first met him? Being Aurлnfaie and all, I mean."

  Kari smiled, thinking back. "It was before we'd married that I first met Seregil. Micum came and went as he pleased, just like now, but always alone. Then one fine spring morning he showed up at my father's door with Seregil in tow. I remember seeing him that first time, standing there in the kitchen door, and thinking to myself, "That's one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen, and he doesn't like the looks of me one bit!" his Kari took up a new piece of mending. "We got off to a rather rough start, Seregil and I."

  "Beka told me."

  "I thought she might have. How mature he seemed to me then. I was only fifteen. And now look at me." She smoothed a hand over her hair, where scattered strands of silver were mingled with the dark. "A matron and mother of three girls, and Beka older than I was then. Now he looks so young to me, still the handsome boy. In the reckoning of his own people he is young and will be long after I've been tilled into these fields."

  She looked pensively down at the vest on her lap. "I think it troubles him, to see Micum getting older, knowing sooner or later he must lose him. Lose us all, I suppose, except perhaps Nysander."

  "I never thought of that.

  "Oh, yes. He's lost friends already that way. But you asked me how he's changed. He has, but more in his manner than in his looks. There was a bitterness in him back then that I seldom see anymore, though he's still a bit wild. He's been a good friend to us, though, and brought Micum safely back to me more times than I can say."

  She left unsaid the fact that more often than not it was Seregil who had led her husband into danger in the first place. This boy was cut from the same cloth as they, and Beka, too, to her mother's sorrow. What could you do but love them and hope for the best?

  25 Return to Rhнminee

  Alec rose before dawn his last morning at Watermead, but found that Beka was up before him. Dressed for riding, she sat mending a broken catch pin on her bow case in the hall. Beside her lay a few small packs containing all she would take with her to the Guard barracks.

  "You look ready to go," he said, setting his pack down next to hers.

  "I hope so." She worked an awl through a stubborn piece of leather. "I hardly slept last night, I was so excited!"

  "I wonder if we'll see much of each other in the city. Where we live isn't too far from the palace grounds."

  "I hope so," replied Beka, inspecting the new catch. "I've only been in Rhнminee a few times. I'll bet you could show me all kinds of secret places."

  "I guess I could," Alec said with a grin, realizing how much of the city had become familiar to him since his arrival.

  The rest of the family soon appeared and they settled down to their last breakfast around the fire.

  "Can't Alec stay a little longer?" begged Illia, hugging him tightly. "Beka still beats him a lot. Tell Uncle Seregil he needs more lessons!"

  "If he can beat your sister just some of the time, then he's a pretty fair swordsman," said Micum. "You remember what your Uncle Seregil said, little bird. He needs Alec back."

  "I'll come back soon," Alec promised, tweaking one of her dark braids. "You and Elsbet haven't finished teaching me to dance yet."

  Illia cuddled closer, giggling. "You are still awfully clumsy."

  "Guess I'll go check on the horses," Beka said, setting her breakfast aside half eaten.

  "Don't dawdle, Alec. I want to get on the road."

  "You've got the whole day ahead of you. Let him eat," chided her mother.

  Beka's restlessness was infectious, however, and Alec hurried through his porridge. Shouldering his pack and bow, he carried them out into the courtyard only to find that Beka had put his saddle on

  Windrunner. Patch shifted resentfully behind the Aurлnfaie horse, tethered on a lead rein.

  "What's this?" he asked. Turning, he saw the others beaming at him.

  Kari stepped up and kissed him soundly. "Our gift to you, Alec. Come back to us whenever you can, and keep an eye on this girl of mine in the city!"

  "You'll see me at the Sakor Festival,"

  Beka said gruffly, embracing her. "That's just over a month away."

  Kari pressed a handful of Beka's wild, coppery hair to her cheek. "As long as you remember whose daughter you are, I know you'll be fine."

  "I can't wait to join you there," exclaimed Elsbet. "Write as soon as you can!"

  "I doubt barracks life will be much like what you'll get at the temple school," Beka said with a laugh. Swinging up into the saddle, she gave a final wave and followed Alec and her father out through the palisade gate.

  They reached the city just after midday. It was Poulterer's Day in the outer market, and every sort of fowl-from auroles to peacocks, quail to geese, live or plucked were on display. Each poultry dealer had a bright pole standard mounted over his wares and these, together with the usual strolling vendors of sweetmeats and trifles, gave the market a festive look despite the lowering sky overhead. Drifts of multicolored feathers blew in the breeze as the three travelers rode through the honking, cackling, twittering din.

  Alec smiled quietly to himself, recalling his fears the first time he'd entered Rhнminee. This was his home now; he'd learned some of its secrets already and would soon know more. Gazing about, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar face in the market crowd.

  Same protuberant teeth, sly grin, and moldy finery. It was Tym, the young thief who'd cut his purse at the Sea Market. Taking advantage of the slowed traffic by the Harvest Gate, he'd latched on to a well-dressed young man, evidently cozening him with the same tricks he'd used on Alec. A girl in a tattered pink gown clung to the mark's other arm, aiding in the distraction.

  I still owe him a bit of trouble, thought Alec. Dismounting, he tossed his reins to Beka.

  "Where are you going?" she asked.

  "Just saw an old friend," he replied with a dark grin. "I'll be right back."

  He'd already learned enough from Seregil to approach the thieves unnoticed. Biding his time, he waited until they'd lifted the unwitting victim's purse, then came up behind them and grasped Tym's arm. His triumph was short-lived, however, and it was Micum's recent training that saved him.

  Newly honed instincts read the thief's sudden movement just in time. Alec caught at his wrist, halting the point of Tym's dagger scant inches from his own belly.

  Tym's eyes narrowed dangerously as he tried to jerk free; easy enough to read the message there. The girl stepped in to screen her compatriot's knife hand and Alec prayed that she wasn't ready with a blade of her own. In the press of the crowd, she could easily stab him and disappear before anyone was the wiser. She made no attack, but Alec felt Tym tensing.

  "We have a mutual friend, you and I," Alec said quietly. "He wouldn't be very pleased if you killed me."

  "Who's that?" Tym spat back, still pulling against Alec's grasp.

  "It's a trick, love," the girl cautioned. She was scarcely older than Elsbet. "Do him and move on."

  "Shut up, you!" Tym growled, still glaring at Alec. "I asked you a question. Who's this friend of ours?"

  "A comely, openhanded fellow from over the sea," Alec replied. "Handy with a sword in the shadows."

  Tym glared an instant longer, then grudgingly relaxed his stance. Alec released his wrist.

  "He should've told you never to grab a brother from behind like that unless you mean to deal with him!" Tym hissed, yanking the girl to his side. "If you'd done that in a ba
ck alley, I'd have you lying dead right now."

  Sparing Alec a final scornful look, he and the girl disappeared into the crowd.

  "Did you catch your friend?" Beka inquired when Alec reappeared.

  "Just for a moment." Alec mounted and wrapped the reins around his hand. It was still trembling a little.

  From the market they turned south to the barracks gate of the Queen's Park, where Beka showed her commissioning papers to the guards. Giving her father and Alec a final farewell embrace, she rode in without a backward glance.

  Micum watched through the gateway until she was out of sight, then heaved a deep sigh as he turned his horse back toward the Harvest Market. "Well, there she goes at last."

  "Are you worried about her?" asked Alec.

  "I wouldn't have been, a year ago when there wasn't a war brewing for spring. Now I don't see any way around it, and you can bet the Queen's Horse will be some of the first into the fray. That doesn't leave her much time to get used to things. No more than five or six months, maybe less."

  "Look how far I've come with Seregil in a few months," Alec pointed out hopefully as they headed for the Cockerel. "And he had to start from practically nothing with me. Beka's already as good with a bow and sword as anyone I've seen, and she rides like she was born on horseback."

  "That's true enough," Micum admitted. "Sakor favors the bold."

  In Blue Fish Street, they slipped in through the Cockerel's back gate and went through the lading-room door and up the stairs with hoods well drawn up. Micum took the lead on the hidden stairs, speaking the keying words for the glyphs with the same absent ease as Seregil.

  Following him in the darkness, it occurred to Alec that Micum, too, had come and gone here freely over

  the years, always certain of welcome. Everything Alec had learned of the friendship between these two seemed to come together and spin itself into a long history in which he had only the most fleeting foothold.

  Reaching the final door, they stepped into the cluttered brightness of the sitting room. A crackling fire cast a mellow glow over the chamber. The place seemed more disordered than usual, if that was possible.

  Clothing of all sorts hung over chairs and lay piled in corners; plates, papers, and scraps of wizened fruit rind cluttered every available surface. Alec spotted a mug he'd left on the dining table a week ago still standing undisturbed, as if to anchor his right of presence until his return. A fresh litter of metal fragments, wood chips, and scattered tools ringed the forge on the workbench beneath the window.

  The only clear spot left in the room was the corner containing Alec's bed. A suit of fine clothes had been neatly laid out there, and against the pillow was propped a large placard with the words WelcomeHome, Sir Alec! written on it in flowing purple letters.

  "Looks like he's been busy!" Micum remarked, eyeing the mess. "Seregil, are you in?"

  "Hello?" A sleepy voice came from somewhere beyond the couch.

  Stepping around, Alec and Micum found him sprawled in a nest of cushions, books, and scrolls with the cat on his chest.

  Seregil stretched lazily. "I see you left each other in one piece. How did it go?"

  Grinning broadly, Micum settled on the couch.

  "Just fine, once I managed to undo all your wrongheaded teaching. You may get a few surprises next time you cross blades."

  "Well done, Alec!" Pushing the cat aside, Seregil stood up and stretched again. "I knew you'd get the hang of things. And not a moment too soon, either. I may have a job for you tonight."

  "A Rhнminee Cat job?" Alec ventured hopefully.

  "Of course. What do you think, Micum? It's just an over-the sill and out-again sort of thing in Wheel Street."

  "I don't see why not. He's not ready to storm the Palace yet, "He should be able to look out for himself on something like that if he doesn't attract too much attention." Seregil ruffled Alec's hair playfully. "Then it's settled. The job's yours. I guess you'd better have this."

  With a dramatic wave of his hand, Seregil produced a small, silk-wrapped parcel and presented it to Alec.

  It was heavy. Unwrapping it, Alec found a tool roll identical to the one Seregil always carried.

  Opening it, he ran his fingers over the ornately carved handles: picks, wires, hooks, a tiny lightwand. On the inner flap of the roll a small crescent of Illior was stamped in dull silver.

  "I thought it was about time you had one of your own," said Seregil, clearly pleased with Alec's speechless delight.

  Alec glanced back at the forge. "You made these yourself?"

  "Well, it's not the sort of thing you see in the market. You'll be needing a new history, too. I've been giving it some thought."

  Micum nodded toward the placard. "Sir Alec?"

  "Of Ivywell, no less." Seregil dropped Alec a slight bow before collapsing into the couch opposite Micum. "He's Mycenian."

  Alec went to the bed and looked more closely at the clothing.

  "So Lord Seregil will be returning to the city in time to prepare for the Festival of Sakor, as usual?" observed Micum. "And not alone this time?"

  Seregil nodded. "I bring young Sir Alec, only child and last surviving heir of Sir Gareth of Ivywell, a genteel but impoverished Mycenian baron. In hopes of giving his scion a chance in life, Sir Gareth has left his son ward to an old and trusted friend Lord Seregil of Rhнminee."

  "No wonder he died poor," Micum threw in wryly. "Sir Gareth seems to have been a man of questionable judgment."

  Ignoring this, Seregil confined his attention to Alec.

  "By situating the now defunct and completely fictitious estate of Ivywell in the most remote region of Mycena, we kill several birds at a shot. Any unusual mannerisms you might display will be put down to your provincial upbringing. There's also less chance that anyone will expect to know a common acquaintance. Thus Sir Alec's background is at once suitably genteel and safely obscure."

  "The fact that he's neither Skalan nor Aurлnfaie would make him a tempting target for any Leran hoping to get at Lord Seregil," added Micum.

  "A jilt!" said Alec.

  "A what?" laughed Seregil.

  "A jilt, the bait," he explained. "If you want to trap something big, like a bear or mountain cat, you stake out a kid and wait for your beast to show up."

  "All right, then. You'd be our jilt. If any bears do show up, just be your sweet, innocent self, feed them everything we want them to know, and report everything they say back to me."

  "But how would they get to me?" asked Alec.

  "That won't be difficult. Lord Seregil's a social sort. His house in the Noble Quarter has already been opened and word's getting around. I'm sure the news will reach the right ears sooner or later. In a few days we'll throw a big party to introduce you to society."

  Micum favored his friend with an affectionate grin.

  "You scheming bastard! So what else did you get up to while we were gone?"

  "Well, it's taken until today, but I think I've found our forger. You recall Master Alben?"

  "That blackmailing apothecary you burgled a few years back during that business for Lady Mina?"

  "That's the one. He's moved his shop to Hind Street since then."

  "How'd you find him?"

  "I was pretty certain Ghemella was our seal forger. Since she also buys stolen papers, I planted some of mine with her and last night she led me straight to him. It's only a matter now of finding his cache to see if there's anything useful to be had. If he is the one who forged the letter from me, then my guess is he's probably made a copy or two for himself just to hedge his bets. And if we can get our hands on those we can squeeze him for names."

  "Is that the job tonight?" asked Alec, an eager gleam in his eye. "The sooner we clear your name, the better."

  Seregil smiled. "Your concern for my tattered honor is deeply appreciated, Sir Alec, but we'll need another day or so to prepare for that one. Don't fret, now. Everything's under control.In the meantime, however, I think you'll find tonight's lit
tle exercise worthy of your new skills."

  Wheel Street, a quiet, respectable boulevard of modest back garden villas, lay on the fringe of the Noble Quarter. Well dressed so as to attract no attention, Alec strolled along beside Seregil and Micum just after dark-three gentlemen out enjoying the night air.

  The narrow houses were decorated Skalan style with mosaics and carvings. The ground level of some had been converted into shops; in the dimness Alec made out the signs of a tailor, a hat maker, and a gem dealer. The street ended in a small circular court in front of a public stable.

  Riders and carriages bustled in all directions; the sounds of entertainment could be heard here and there as they walked past.

  "That's ours, the one with the grapevine pattern over the door," whispered Seregil, indicating a brightly lit house across the way. "Belongs to a minor lord with some connection to shipping. No family, three servants: the old manservant, a cook, and the maid."

  Several horses were tethered in front and they could hear the noise of pipes and fiddles being tuned.

  "Sounds like he's having a party," whispered Micum. "Suppose he's engaged extra servants for the evening?"

  "Those can be the worst sort, forever bumbling into places the regular staff can be counted on not to go," Seregil warned Alec. "And guests, too! Keep your ears open and remember, all we're after is a correspondence case. In and out, nothing fancy. According to my information, he keeps the case in a desk in his study, that room there at the left corner of the second floor, overlooking the street."

  More carriages rumbled by, destined for houses up and down the cobbled street. "It's too busy out here," said Alec. "Is there a back way in?"

  Seregil nodded. "The house backs onto a walled garden, and a common beyond. This way."

  Crossing the street a few houses down, they went through a narrow alley into the little common. Such areas had been left open throughout the city to assure pasturage in time of siege. At the moment it was occupied by a flock of sleeping geese and a few pigs.

  Creeping softly along, they counted gates until they found the one leading into the back garden of the house in question. The wall was high, the gate stoutly barred from within.