Mags stared at the back of Nikolas’ heels and did frown. ::Thet don’ follow,:: he said instantly. ::Feller coulda killed a Shin’a’in an’ took it.::
::If he did—well, that’s why he’s dead now,:: Nikolas replied soberly. ::But it’s not likely. Shin’a’in on the Plains are almost impossible to find. Shin’a’in off the Plains are extremely suspicious of strangers. Rightly so, their horses are prized, especially the ones that they don’t sell. I’ve heard that the couple of genuine Shin’a’in studs that the Ashkevrons own are valued at their own weight in silver.::
Mags felt his jaw dropping. A horse’s weight in silver? He could scarcely imagine that much money.
By this point they were at the shop, and Nikolas repeated last night’s routine. When they were ensconced in the little room behind the barred window, and Nikolas had lit the lamp indicating they were open for business, someone came in almost immediately.
It was a Constable, a tall, burly, black-haired fellow with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, who said nothing to Nikolas, merely peered suspiciously around the store as if he was looking for something. “Evening, Weasel,” he said, finally. “Been shown anything I should know about?”
“Whosir? Mesir?” Nikolas said innocently. “This’s a lee-jit-a-mit shop, sir. Nothin’ amiss here, no.”
The Constable snorted. “And I’m a Master Bard.”
“Are you, sir?” Nikolas’ expression was of utter guilelessness. “Well, ye should take down one of them instruments on the wall an’ give us a tune then! It’d be a rare pleasure to hear ye, sir.”
“Leave off!” the Constable snapped. “You know what the law is about taking in stolen goods!”
“None better, sir, as ye remind me of it every time ye walk in me shop.” Nikolas’ tone did not edge so much as a hair into sarcasm, but the Constable glared at him anyway. “Now if I could be interestin’ ye in some of me goods?”
“I’m more interested in that boy. Who is he?” The Constable thrust his face at the barred window. Mags considered many different responses, all in the flash of a moment.
’f I looks askeered, he’s gonna think I’m askeered of Nikolas. Then he’ll figger Nikolas’ up to no good. Mebbe he’ll try an’ take me away. Same if I act shy-like. Mags decided that a bold approach was in order, glared at the Constable, and stuck his tongue out at him.
“That cheeky little bastard!” the Constable exclaimed, affronted. “Why I—”
Nikolas cuffed Mags, then grabbed his chin and thrust his head up so he was looking directly at Nikolas’ face. “You show some respect fer the law, ye little demon-limb!” he said, enunciating carefully.
Mags sneered, then shrugged, and turned his back on the Constable. He sat down on his stool, still with his back to the man, and resumed his horsehair braiding.
“I’m mortal sorry, sir,” Nikolas said, putting an edge of a whine into his tone. “Right little bastard’s m’sister’s son. He’s been here afore, only I guess you was never here when he was. Deaf as a post from a fever. Promised her I’d take care of him.”
“Well, see to it that you beat some manners into him,” the Constable retorted, then Mags noted his footsteps retreating toward the door, and the jangle of the bell over it signaling his departure.
::Good thinking.::
::Didn’ want ’im reckonin’ I was some kinda slavey ye’d bought, or th’ like,:: Mags replied. ::Uh . . . meant t’ask ye somethin’ . . . ye do know ’bout th’ Healers Collegium an’ Bear an’—::
::And that they plan to try and fix Amily’s leg, yes, of course I do.:: Nikolas sounded amused rather than alarmed. ::You surely didn’t think they’d keep that a secret from me, did you?::
Nikolas took out the stolen gems from last night and unlocked a panel at the back of the room. There was a box inside, and inside the box were several small linen pouches. He poured each cup of sorted gems into a separate pouch, and shook them. ::There. Good luck finding one set of stolen gems in a cup of stolen gems just like them.:: He turned back to Mags. ::Was there something else?::
::Bear’s in charge!:: Mags blurted.
His mentor nodded, slowly. ::Amily told me last night. You think I won’t approve?::
Mags shrugged. ::I didn’ rightly know. I was gonna ast ye t’gi’ ’im a chance. Not like ’e’s doin’ this wi’out supervision—::
::Exactly so.:: Nikolas clapped him on the shoulder. ::I trust the Dean, I trust the Healers’ Circle, and I trust Bear. I’ll let him know that myself, if you’d like.::
Mags considered that. ::Might steady ’im, sir.::
::Then I will. Now, knowing how you, Bear, and Lena are as thick as birds hatched in the same nest, I assume you’ve already had a hand in this project?:: Nikolas handed Mags his horsehair and box of beads, and Mags sat down to work.
::Aye. ’E’s makin’ a model uv Amily’s leg as ’tis. Then him an’ some senior Healers’ll study it over, figger out what needs t’ be done.::
::Slow, steady, and methodical. I approve.:: Nikolas didn’t ask if Mags approved; he already knew Mags did. As terrified as Mags was for Amily—what if this didn’t work and she was left worse off than before?—he knew she wanted it more than anything. How could he stand in the way of that? The only “hold” he had over her would be to say, “I can’t stand it if you try this. If you care for me at all, you won’t do it.” And that would be just wrong. She was brave enough to try this, to get the proper use of her leg back. She hated being a burden on people, hated that they would have to alter their plans to suit what she could and could not do. He also knew she worried for her father; she was the daughter of the King’s Own Herald, which made her a potential target to be used to control her father. As long as she was fundamentally unable to escape a kidnapper, she represented a serious vulnerability, and it wasn’t safe for her to go many places away from the Palace.
This was important to her. He would never stand in her way.
So, like her father, he knew he would worry and fret on the inside and never let his concern show.
::Reckon his fambly’ll try an’ stop it?:: he hazarded.
::If they find out about it, yes,:: Nikolas said, soberly. ::Mags . . . what do you think Bear needs to do? Not about Amily, about his own situation. I ask you this as a point of strategy, not as his friend.::
::Purt obvious, ain’t it? Needs t’stand up to ’em.:: Mags finished the bracelet he was working on and started another.
::More than that. Because that will only alienate them, and in the end, he doesn’t want that. What he wants is to be treated as someone with intelligence and valuable skills. To get that sort of treatment, he will have to discover why his father and older brother are treating him in this way. I’ll give you a hint. It is not solely because he is the youngest son. After all, he has demonstrated that he can handle great responsibility.::
Mags shook his head. ::Dunno.::
::I don’t either, but I do know this. When a person acts this outrageously about something, it is because there is more going on than is showing on the surface. I think you and Bear need to find out what that something is and address it. In the many leisurely hours of your spare time, that is.::
Mags nearly laughed aloud at that.
::Now there is something that only you and Lena can do,:: Nikolas continued. ::Bear needs to learn how manage being under pressure. He tends to allow it to eat him alive. I think you can show him a better way.::
::I’m tryin’. I’ll put Lena to it. She does th’ same; mebbe they’ll learn from each other.:: He thought a moment. ::Better. I’ll put him t’watchin’ her on it. Reckon they concentrate on each other, they ain’t gonna be thinkin’ so hard ’bout thesselves.::
The bell over the door rang, and Nikolas was all the Weasel again, Bear’s problems, Lena’s, even Amily’s set aside for the moment.
It was the thief from last night.
“I want m’money,” he said, abruptly. “Found out what ye wanted, and I want m’money.”
Nikolas showed no signs of producing anything. “Got t’hear it first, don’t I?” he said, with a sneer. “I dunno if it’s worthy anything.”
“But if I tell you afore ye pay me, ye can say it ain’t worth nothin’ when it is!” the thief protested.
Nikolas shrugged. There was a long, long silence as the man fidgeted on the other side of the barrier. Finally he couldn’t bear it any more and blurted, “Feller that had the shiny was poisoned.”
That got both their attention. “How d’ye reckon that?” Nikolas asked cautiously.
“I don’ reckon it,” the thief said. “Healer said so. Feller’s a guide. He was down in some city south, took some horse traders down there from here, that’s where he got the shiny. Passed through there, picked up some other fellers t’guide back up here. Healer says he dunno what poison ’twas, on’y that feller was poisoned. Fellers he brung here, they was all kinda furrin. Bet they poisoned ’im.”
Mags could smell the booze on his breath all the way from where he was sitting. He couldn’t imagine how Nikolas could stand it. Nor could he imagine how Nikolas was remaining sober!
“An’ where didja here all this?” Nikolas drawled, skeptically.
“Feller had a reg’lar ’oman at Peg’s. Got it from her.” The man kept looking furtively over his shoulder, as if he thought he had been followed into the shop.
“This woman gotta name?” Now Nikolas reached into the cash till, which was out of sight and reach from anyone standing at the barred window, and pulled out a few silver coins. He pushed them idly back and forth on the counter—still just out of reach.
“Senla,” the thief said, all of his attention centered on the coins. He stared at them avidly.
“Senla at Peg’s.” Nikolas played with the coins. “Well, I ’spose she got nothin’ t’gain from this . . . she ever see these furriners?”
“Nah. He just tol’ her ’bout ’em.” Mags watched the thief’s eyes follow the coins, like a cat watching a fly. The coins made a soft scraping sound across the counter. It was the only sound in the shop aside from their voices.
“Well. That’s somethin’. Ain’t much but . . .” Nikolas shoved the coins under the bars, and the thief grabbed them greedily. They made a chinking sound as he shoved then into a pouch that he thrust into his shirt. “You get me somethin’ better, you’ll get paid better.”
The thief didn’t reply to this; he skittered out the door as if someone had set him on fire. That was . . . odd. Mags wondered why he was in such a hurry to get out of there.
Nikolas drummed his fingers on the countertop for a moment. ::I’m torn . . . :: Mags knew exactly what he meant. This was the middle of Weasel’s business day. There was no way that Weasel would close the shop now, unless he was dying, or the shop itself was on fire. And maybe not even then. But he wanted to get to this woman now.
::I’ll go, :: Mags said instantly. Sure, he was just a youngling. But there had to be plenty of reasons for a youngling down here in this part of Haven to be seeing a woman of that sort. Right now he couldn’t think of any, but surely Nikolas could. ::Ye thin’ of some reason fer me t’wanter see th’ ’oman whilst I git there. Ye know where Peg’s is?::
::I do.:: Nikolas “showed” him the location, not in terms of a map, but the streets he would follow to get there. ::Going by rooftop?::
Mags grinned at him. Of course he was going by rooftop. On the unlikely chance that someone had followed that thief here, the only person he would have to follow would be the same thief.
Nikolas nodded at a ladder in the corner. ::Hatch at the top.::
Mags trotted over to the ladder and skittered up it, feeling quietly gleeful that Nikolas trusted him to go after this woman. There was indeed a hatch at the top, bolted from this side. He pulled it up and dropped it down, poking his head up into the darkness above.
It was an attic. He hauled himself up into it, and in the light coming up from below, he saw the outlines of a roof-door.
::Find the door?:: Nikolas asked.
::Aye. Lemme git ’er open, then ye kin close up from below.:: The door to the roof opened outward; he checked and saw that it would lock again when he closed it. ::Aight. I’m good.::
He heard the ladder creaking, then the hatch closed and the bolt shot home. He was on his own. He levered himself out onto the sloping roof and shut the door quietly. No use alerting anyone to the fact that there was someone crawling about on the roof.
He took his bearings and started out, moving as quickly as he could. He just hoped that when he got there, he’d have figured out an excuse to talk to her. Or Nikolas would have.
Hmm. When he’d been snooping around as the blind beggar, he’d noticed that not all “house” girls stayed in the House to practice their trade. Trusted ones were allowed to visit clients. ::Maybe Peg’ll send ’er girls out, fer a price.:: he suggested to Nikolas.
::If the price is right, I am certain she would send her girls out to entertain performing bears,:: came the cynical reply. Mags snorted. From what he knew, Nikolas was probably right.
::I c’ld be errand boy, settin’ somethin’ up then.:: That would make sense; a man with the means to hire a girl for the evening would also have the means to hire a boy to go out and make the arrangements for him.
This was an excellent part of town for roof-running. The buildings were crammed too close together for anything bigger than a rat to pass between them. Mags could basically scuttle along without anyone seeing him, as long as he didn’t make more noise than a large cat. This was all very familiar: the feel of slates and tiles and the occasional thatched roof under his hands and feet, balancing on the slope, basically going on all fours with three points of contact on the roof at all times—
Since these roofs were inspected yearly for chimney issues—a fire in this part of town would be a complete disaster, because it would spread for blocks in no time at all—they were in good repair, even if the interiors left a lot to be desired. There weren’t a lot of thatched roofs here; they were more prone to fires. Mags vaguely remembered that house and shop owners were being pressured to get rid of them. A pity, since they were easier to scramble across.
Then again, that was probably a reason that could be used to get them replaced. If he could do it, a thief would find it ridiculously easy.
Nikolas sent him another thought. ::There’s money sewn in the hem of your jerkin. It’s enough to get Peg’s attention. See if she’ll send Senla to the Owl and Firkin. It’s close, and I can be there soon enough. The Weasel has gone out to a tavern for food now and again on a slow night.::
Mags gave his wordless assent. These roofs were absolutely ideal for what he was doing, even the ones that weren’t thatched. Although they were steep, they were also broken up by chimney pots and dormers, to make the most use of the attic space. There was more than enough light for him to see his way up here, with a full moon and no clouds. He didn’t even have to fight chimney smoke; any cooking was over and done with at this time of night.
He was mortal glad to get out of that stuffy shop and out in the fresh air.
And he took his time. It wasn’t more than a few blocks to this house, and there was no real hurry to get there, so he could test each foot- and handhold, making very sure of them before he trusted his weight to roof or handhold. Down below, there were still a few people out and about. This part of Haven actually came to life after dark. Those who lived here worked from dawn to dusk and only had time to get their own business done when the sun went down.
He was literally on the roof of the house next door to Peg’s when he heard a commotion below him. There was an altercation going on at the front door—but that wasn’t what was interesting. What was interesting was that a few moments after the to-do started, he saw a back door open from the inside. A big, burly man held it open while a woman carrying a pack slipped out. It looked to him as if the altercation was being staged—there was a lot of shouting and some wild swinging of fists going on, but he wasn’t sensing ang
er, and none of the swings were connecting. A distraction to keep anyone from going to see what was happening at the back door?
If it was, then the woman was leaving with the cooperation of at least some of the other inmates of the house.
Acting on a hunch, he followed her. She kept to the alleys, and from the way she was moving, she was trying very hard to keep from attracting any attention.
If that ain’t Senla, I’ll eat Dallen’s hay.
::You stay out of my hay!:: He sensed Dallen peering down through his eyes. ::I would say you are correct.::
::Now why d’ye think she’d be runnin’?:: he asked.
::More to the point, why would one of the ‘house enforcers’ be helping her? The proprietors of such places tend to make sure that the loyalty of their men is firmly with the owner and not the women. After all, if there are going to be any disputes, the owner wants the ones with the muscles enforcing her will, not siding with the hirlings.:: He sensed Dallen thinking some things over. ::I’d have to say the owner knew about what just happened. There is no way it could be kept quiet. Not with all the shouting at the front, and the mock-fight.::
::Then this Peg person had t’ hev ordered ’im t’help ’er git. An’ ordered up yon fight, so’s t’distract any’un what was watchin’.:: That seemed the only possible conclusion.
::Exactly so.:: Dallen went silent for another moment, probably thinking. ::Mind, it was probably not altruistic. If the woman was bringing trouble to the house, or even had the potential to bring trouble, it makes sense to be rid of her.::
And thet might could be why th’ thief was a-feared. The guide had definitely been murdered. The thief might think the same people would come after him. Perhaps because he had enquired about the woman?
Reckon th’ gel thinks she’s in danger, anyroad. Mags made a split-second decision. ::Kin you git outa there?::
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