Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Uncle Seregil taught me to play,” said Elsbet. “I don’t need any more luck than that.”

  “My apologies, I was only joking,” Selin returned, blushing, and Alec realized that the young lord’s chaffing might be more than idle banter. He seemed quite entranced by Elsbet’s quiet charm. “I’m not playing with you, either!” he announced to Alec, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “My grandmother taught me never to wager against anyone on their name day. It’s bad luck the rest of the year if you lose.”

  “If I lose or you lose?”

  Selin thought a moment, clearly well into his wine. “Well, I don’t recall, but it’s bad luck for one of us and I’m not going to risk it.”

  “Why don’t we take a turn in the garden?” Alec suggested. “It’s much cooler out there.”

  Selin, who’d lost most of his right leg in a carriage accident as a child, retrieved his ornate crutch and nimbly followed Alec outside. It was a clear, moonless night, but the stars were bright enough to cast shadows. The trailing roses on the arbors were in full bloom, scenting the night air.

  “What have you been up to all summer?” asked Alec. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Tending to my mother’s affairs,” Selin replied. “Since Father died, she’s gone to pieces. She stays in bed all day, sometimes.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But you do get free now and then, obviously.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve managed one hunt this summer, and I attend Archduchess Alaya’s salons whenever I can.”

  Ah, there was an opening. “How do you know her?”

  “Mother sends me for the latest gossip. It’s one of her few pleasures these days.”

  “Isn’t Duke Reltheus a friend of the archduchess?”

  “Why, yes! And a friend of mine, as well. Do you know him?”

  “No, but I’ve heard he’s an interesting conversationalist.” Alec had, of course, heard no such thing. Fortunately, his guess was on target.

  “A very amusing fellow!” Selin agreed. “The archduchess is very fond of the man.”

  “How do they know each other?” Alec asked.

  “The princess royal hunted on his estate last winter. His forests are teeming with deer! Princess Elani’s whole court accompanied her, and evidently the archduchess was quite taken with him then.” Selin lowered his voice with a wink. “It’s rumored that the princess was rather enamored of his oldest son, Danos, too.”

  Alec pretended surprise. “So Danos is courting the princess?”

  “From a distance, if he is. He’s with the Queen’s Horse Guard.” Selin sounded a little wistful, absently drumming his fingers on his crutch. “To be honest, I don’t know the son as well as the father. Duke Reltheus is quite the bakshi player.”

  “Perhaps you could introduce us sometime. He sounds like a fellow worth knowing.”

  “I’d be happy to! Write me tomorrow and I’ll arrange something.”

  This had been a good night’s work after all.

  Thero was rather drunk and dancing with Elsbet Cavish when he suddenly felt a faint crawling sensation on the back of his neck again; it could have been a spider but he sensed a whiff of magic to it. Looking around the crowded room, he couldn’t find the source. It was gone as quickly as it came.

  “Is something wrong, Thero?” asked Elsbet.

  “No, I felt something odd, just now.”

  “Magic?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well, maybe someone is wearing a strong charm.” She gave him a twinkling smile. “Or maybe it’s the wine.”

  “You’re probably right.” But he spent some time wandering among the crowd afterward, without success.

  Kari took the exhausted younger children upstairs around midnight, but the party lasted most of the night. Lord Seregil kept an excellent cellar and the wine, ale, and Zengati brandy flowed very freely. The younger guests—and some of the more feckless older ones—overindulged, as was to be expected. Dawn was breaking when the last of the ambulatory ones were seen off, and the ones left snoring in a stupor on benches and under tables had been made comfortable with pillows and blankets.

  Seregil yawned and clapped Alec and Micum on the shoulder as he looked around the salon with satisfaction. “I always say it’s not a successful party unless someone pukes in the garden.”

  Alec gave him a wry look. “Then it was a rousing success. We should have set out buckets.”

  “I don’t envy your servants who have to clean up,” said Micum as he followed them upstairs, weaving a little. He paused as they reached the landing. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Did you hear any talk of Princess Klia tonight?”

  “No,” Seregil replied.

  “Malthus and Duchess Nerian were talking about the truce she made with Aurënen,” said Alec. “And she was on Kyrin’s list.”

  “List?” asked Micum.

  “I’ll explain when we’re sober,” Seregil told him.

  “Count Selin asked after Klia, knowing that Beka serves under her,” Micum told them. “I didn’t think much of it. Then I caught her name again when I was out for a stroll in the garden to clear my head. I passed Lord Areus and Lady Yrin whom I thought were doing the same.”

  “Their names were on that list, too,” said Alec.

  “They had their heads together and I caught Klia’s name and something about the succession,” Micum went on. “When they saw me, they started chatting with me about horses.”

  “Interesting,” said Seregil, and yawned again. “Not the sort of thing most people chance talking about in public, though. The succession. Not horses.”

  “They were well into their cups.”

  “Too bad you didn’t hear more of it.”

  “I managed to work Beka into the conversation. They didn’t know that she serves under Klia. Anyway, that didn’t go anywhere. I thought it was all a bit odd.”

  “I’ll have to sound them out, next chance—” Seregil said, and yawned until his jaw cracked.

  “Bed?” asked Alec.

  “Excellent idea!”

  Micum grinned. “Don’t expect to see me before supper tonight.”

  He went to the library first, though, and Alec paused by the open doorway, watching Micum lift Illia from the armchair where she’d fallen asleep. There was a burned-down candle on the stand by the chair, and a book on the carpet in front of her, where it had fallen. Micum laid her on the couch that had been prepared for her and pulled up the blankets, then gave Alec a wink and whispered, “Don’t tell her mother.”

  Alec nodded, and followed Seregil into their chamber.

  Seregil had tossed his coat in the general direction of the wardrobe, kicked off his shoes, and sprawled facedown across the bed.

  Alec closed their door and draped his coat over the back of a chair by the window to air.

  “I saw you talking to Selin finally,” Seregil said, his voice somewhat muffled by the bedclothes.

  Alec flopped down beside him. “I think Danos might be the one sending those coded dispatches to his father. He’s in Klia’s squadron.”

  “Spying on his own commander? That’s not very loyal. Did you get anything else out of Selin?”

  “He’s going to introduce us to Duke Reltheus, who happens to be a gambling man.”

  “Excellent! That should make things easier!” Seregil turned over and propped himself against the bolsters. “Did you enjoy your party?”

  “Of course I did, talí.” Alec moved around to rest his head on Seregil’s lean thigh. “I got Elsbet to dance, and I beat all the bakshi players in the dining room while you were cornered by those poets. What did you learn from that pack of leeches this time?”

  “Leeches in packs!” Seregil chuckled at the image. “Let’s see. Lady Lania is cuckolding her husband with two different lovers and no one knows whose child she’s carrying. Duke Northus’s wife ran away because he beat her once too often. Korathan’s beautiful young Lord Byris gorges on sweets behind closed doors, and keeps his
figure by tickling the back of his throat with a goose feather to bring them all up again. Lady Mora is sleeping with Lady Stania. The usual foolishness.”

  “I overheard something more interesting than that.” Alec told him of the conversation between Malthus and Nerian. “I thought they were friends, but they sounded angry.”

  “The heat and the shortages are rubbing tempers raw. When Phoria comes back, things will calm down.”

  “That’s not the first time I’ve heard someone grumbling against the ’faie.” Alec tugged gently on a lock of Seregil’s long hair. “You call attention to yourself, you know.”

  “We’re ’faie, Alec,” Seregil said, eyes fluttering shut. He wound his fingers in Alec’s thick hair. “At least I am, as far as anyone knows, and obviously you’re in my thrall. No one cares—” He yawned again. “—how long our hair is. And Phoria isn’t happy with us anyway, after we cocked up that last job.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s things like that that are dividing the nobles,” Alec mused. “How can Phoria go out of her way to insult an ally like Aurënen when they’re her greatest source of help now that Mycena is ravaged? And this talk of the queen not considering the truce? Do you think that may have something to do with whatever it is Reltheus and Kyrin are up to?”

  “Too soon to tell.”

  Alec grinned as he ran a finger down Seregil’s cheek, admiring the smooth, beardless skin. “That actor was certainly doing his best to charm you.”

  “Me and everyone else.” Seregil caught Alec’s hand and looked down at him. “Did it bother you?”

  “No, talí. He’s just vain and wants your money.”

  “Our money. And you’re right about that. Seems we’re about to own a partial interest in a theater.”

  THE next day Seregil went to speak with Thero about what they’d learned at the party, and Kari went out with Elsbet and Illia to buy fabric. Alec remained behind with Micum and the boys to practice shooting in the garden. The new Radly already felt familiar in his hands, but too much city living threatened to dull his skills. Gherin and Luthas had toy bows, and Micum and Alec were teaching them how to use them, amid much laughter.

  Runcer leaned out the dining room door. “My lord, Master Atre is here.”

  “Send him out,” said Alec.

  The actor greeted Alec and Micum warmly and produced pennies out of the air for the boys, earning delighted laughter and a hug from each of them.

  “You certainly have fine children, Lord Micum,” he said when the boys had run off to play again. “And please, don’t stop what you’re doing on my account! I heard a great deal about Lord Alec’s skills as an archer last night.”

  “All true,” Micum assured him. “I’ve never seen the like.”

  “I’d love to see for myself, if it’s not impertinent of me to ask.”

  The man’s manner was less fawning and flowery today, Alec noted, wondering if it was the lack of wine or the present audience. Taking up his bow again, Alec sent four shafts in quick succession into the center of the bull’s-eye target at the far end of the garden, then framed them with a star pattern of five more.

  Atre clapped appreciatively. “The praise I heard was no exaggeration, my lord. You must be a formidable huntsman. Or were you a soldier?”

  “Hunter.” Alec set the bow and shatta-decked quiver aside on a stone table. “Can I offer you something to drink? We’re sticking to cider today, but there’s wine if you’d prefer.”

  Atre patted his flat belly. “Cider, please! I’m still a bit delicate.”

  Runcer brought another cup and they sat down in a shady corner, enjoying the scents of the summer flowers and herbs around them. The conversation turned naturally to the theater, and Atre enthusiastically described his latest play and the theater in Gannet Lane where he hoped to move his company as soon as their fortunes increased. He was clearly angling for money, but his obvious love of his craft was contagious and Alec found himself asking questions about acting and theaters. Micum asked a few questions himself.

  “Lord Seregil said that he’d like to see the Gannet Lane theater,” Atre said, steering the conversation back to that. “You must come with him, my lords.”

  “I’m heading home early tomorrow,” Micum told him. “I have hay and oats to cut.”

  “Well, I’d like to see the place,” said Alec.

  “So would I.” Seregil stood in the dining room doorway in his shirtsleeves. “Though I suspect it’s going to be an expensive visit.”

  Atre laughed. “I fear you may be right, my lord, if fate chooses to smile on me in my venture. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

  “Very well.”

  “Thank you, my lords! May your Lightbringer smile on you in all things. And you must see the new play. The money you gave us on the occasion of our first meeting has been most helpful. You will see a great improvement in our costuming.”

  “I was very impressed with how you made do, especially the cosmetics. Charcoal and chalk, wasn’t it?” Seregil asked.

  Atre looked pleasantly surprised at that. “Why, yes, and some candle tallow.”

  “What was it you used in place of carmine?”

  “A distillation of some red flowers we found growing in the ditches outside the city. You’re most observant, my lord. Few of our patrons pay any attention to such details.”

  “Well, as you guessed, I have a few amateur theatricals in my past.”

  Alec tried not to smile as he exchanged a quick, knowing look with Micum. They’d both seen him play roles ranging from crippled beggars and old men to the lovely, if somewhat disconcerting, Lady Gwethelyn.

  “I’d like to discuss this theater of yours further, Master Atre,” said Seregil. “Will you stay for dinner?”

  “I’m most honored, my lord, but sadly, I must decline, as we have a performance tonight and I must be there to manage things, as well as play the central role.”

  “Ah, of course. Another time, then. I won’t keep you.”

  Atre bowed and took his leave.

  Seregil sat down and poured himself a cup of cider. “Charming, isn’t he?”

  “And persistent,” Micum said with a chuckle. “He didn’t waste any time coming back.”

  “Hardly surprising. According to him, they’re having to turn people away at the door at their current location. I’d say he’s going to be a very rich man before long.”

  “And you like him,” Alec observed. “So do I. I bet he’d make a good nightrunner.”

  “No doubt he would. Actors often make good spies. We’ll have to keep an eye on that one.”

  Atre met them in Gannet Lane at the appointed time. Lady Kylith was there as well, fanning herself in her open carriage.

  “I’m so glad you two have decided to invest,” she said as Alec helped her down.

  “I didn’t know it was a foregone conclusion,” Seregil replied.

  She laughed and rapped him with her fan.

  “I wouldn’t presume!” Atre exclaimed.

  “You might as well.” Seregil sighed dramatically. “My lady here seems to have made up her mind on the matter. Come on, then. Let’s have a look.”

  This theater was a far cry from the one in Basket Street. The huge polished wood doors were carved with the Eye of Illior, patron Immortal of creativity and actors, as well as wizards, nightrunners, and the mad. Inside there were banks of proper benches and a dozen fine boxes large enough for couches and wine tables. The stage was twice the size of the one at Basket Street, and flanked by tall wooden columns carved in the shapes of trees whose branches, laden with gilt leaves and fruit, spread across the theater ceiling. Atre led them around it, pointing out the finer details of the stage area, then took them back through the warren of little dressing and storage rooms behind it.

  “It’s perfect, and worthy of your fine company,” Kylith said at last. “Seregil, you and Alec will be generous, won’t you?”

  Seregil looked around approvingly. “It makes a nice change from my usual investments.
”

  “And once the army comes home, business should be even brisker,” added Alec.

  “It will be before then, I assure you,” Atre told him. “Our Mycenian patrons tripled their money in a year. I expect we’ll do at least as well here.”

  “Illior’s Light, it’s not about money!” Kylith exclaimed, scandalized. “I’m not in trade, Master Atre. No offense to you, dear Seregil.”

  “None taken, dear lady.”

  “No, I only wish to bring the beauty of your artistry to its proper standing in Rhíminee,” Kylith said, patting Atre’s arm.

  Atre gave Kylith a warm look that made even the seasoned old courtier blush. “You are most gracious, my lady.” Then, to Seregil and Alec, “All our performances will be dedicated to you three. And I am, as always, my lady, at your service.”

  “He made me the same promise the other night at the party,” Seregil told her with a wink. “Perhaps we should work out a schedule?”

  TEUS crouched at the end of the alley across from Crab Quay, hiding from the older boys who’d been picking on him. Squatting with his chin on his knobby knees, he was drawing in the dirt with a bit of broken crockery when a shadow fell across the mouth of the alley. He looked up to find a strange-looking character regarding him. He was a young fellow on a crutch with a bandaged foot and a patch over one eye. The ragged yellow hair sticking out under his hat looked dirty, as did his face and hands. He had on a long tunic with a rope for a belt and carried a lumpy sack over his shoulder.

  Teus jumped to his feet, aware that he was trapped. But the stranger stayed where he was as he said, “Boy, I am lost, I think. Can you tell me how to get to the Sea Serpent tavern?”

  “The Serpent?” Teus squeezed one eye shut, trying to think of how to tell the man all the twists and turns. There was something funny about the way the man spoke. You heard all kinds of accents here in the Lower City, but he’d never heard this one. “It’s a ways off.” He pointed. “That way.”

  The man gave him an embarrassed smile. “Maybe you could show me? I’m not used to a big city like this. I’ve been lost all morning and my friends must be wondering where I am. I’m afraid they’ll sail without me. I can pay you a bit for your trouble.” He took a silver penny from his purse and held it up for Teus to see.