The White Road n-5
Page 39
“What did you tell her?”
“That you were still in Bôkthersa, recuperating and visiting your family.”
“Thank you. We’ll send word to the Palace tomorrow after we’ve had a bit of a rest. And that’s what I need right now. Come on, Alec.”
Thero walked upstairs with them and saw them to the door.
“I know you’ll guard those books carefully,” said Seregil. “It’s a relief to be rid of them.”
“I’ll take good care of them.”
With that duty discharged, they backtracked through the Noble Quarter to Golden Helm Street and on past the round colonnade of the Astellus fountain and the arched entrance to the Street of Lights. The colored lanterns in front of the elaborate brothels were lit and there were still quite a number of people on the street, heading for the favors of a favorite courtesan, or the gambling houses at the far end. A good many were soldiers.
From here they entered a twisting maze of narrow streets toward Blue Fish Street.
They were nearly there when they heard the telltale scuffle of feet behind them. The lanterns were few and far between in this part of the city, but there was enough light from the nearest for Seregil to count five men. They were young and dressed like ruffians. He didn’t see any swords, just clubs and staffs and a few long knives.
“And where might you be going?” asked one with a northern accent.
“Those are pretty horses you have there,” said another with a head of wild curly hair.
Two of them were advancing, probably meaning to cut the lead reins of Windrunner and Star. Smelling the brandy on them, Seregil let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t want to do this.”
“I don’t see the bluecoats anywhere,” the leader said with a confident leer.
“He’s trying to do you a favor,” Alec warned.
The man laughed. “I think you two better come down off those horses. Now.”
“Why would we do that?” asked Seregil.
The man swung his club in a vicious arc in front of him. “We mean to lighten your load, that’s why! So you can stop acting so high and mighty, my lordlings. We’ll take those bags, and your purses. And that’s a nice bow you’re carrying, too, Yellow Hair.”
Moving as one, Seregil and Alec swung down from the saddle and drew their swords. The polished Aurënen steel caught the faint light.
Two of the men in front of them stepped back a little, but the three others rushed them, swinging their clubs. Alec ducked a blow from the fare most and slashed the man across the chest, striking to wound rather than kill. It had the desired effect; the man dropped his club and staggered back. Seregil struck the other one—the erstwhile leader—across the face with the flat of his blade, opening up his cheek and stunning him. The rest turned tail and ran.
Satisfied, Seregil went to the man who lay doubled up on the ground and gave him a hard nudge with his foot, pushing him over onto his back.
“Please, sir, don’t kill me!” the man pleaded, craven now.
“I did warn you.” Holding him down with a foot on his chest, Seregil put the tip of his sword under the man’s chin and helped himself to the thief’s purse. “You really should be more careful about choosing your marks.”
The man gaped up at him in terror. “Please sir! I’m sorry! Maker’s Mercy, please don’t—”
Seregil looked over at Alec, who was still standing over the other man. “What do you say?”
“Not worth getting our blades dirty.”
“I suppose not. On your feet, you pathetic bastard. Take your friend here and run away before we change our minds.”
“He’s no friend of mine!” the coward exclaimed and staggered away behind the horses.
“No honor among some thieves,” said Alec.
Seregil sighed. “That was hardly any fun at all.”
Mounting again, they continued on, alert for reprisals.
The Stag and Otter was dark. Bypassing the front door, they led their horses to the back courtyard and left them with the sleepy stable lad, then went in by the kitchen door.
Seregil went to the mantelpiece above the broad hearth and took down the large painted pitcher that stood at the center of it.
“Well, well.” He felt inside and held up three folded vellum packets and a small scroll tube, no doubt delivered by Magyana or Thero. “We’ve been missed.”
Alec lit a candle from the banked coals and they made their way up to the second floor, where Seregil unlocked the door of an empty storeroom and locked it again carefully behind them. Crossing to the opposite wall, he spoke the ward that opened the hidden panel there.
“Do you remember the passwords?” he asked Alec with a grin. “It has been a while.”
“I certainly hope so. It would be a shame to be killed on our own doorstep.” Alec took the lead, whispering the current passwords—Aurathra. Morinth. Selethrir. Tilentha, the Aurënfaie words for the four moon phases—for each of the four wards Magyana had placed here to deal with unwanted visitors, should anyone stumble onto their secret.
Seregil’s cat, who had her own way in, stood up and stretched as they reached the door at the top of the stairs.
“There’s my girl!” Seregil exclaimed, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears as Alec spoke the final password. Ruetha broke into a loud purr and rubbed around Seregil’s ankles as he opened the sitting room door.
The room was dark and cold and smelled of dust, but they’d left a good supply of wood by the hearth. Seregil tossed his saddlebag into a corner and kicked off his muddy boots by the door. Alec did the same, then used a fire chip from the dish on the marble mantelpiece to light the fire. Seregil went around the room, lighting candles and lamps, then—sweeping the dust cover off the couch—he stretched out there and inspected the seals on the letters.
Two of them were simply drops of melted sealing wax; it was more prudent not to advertise who was sending certain letters in case they were intercepted. The third was from a duchess he knew slightly, and the scroll was from Magyana.
Alec pushed Seregil’s feet aside to sit down and covered them both with his cloak as they waited for the room to warm.
“Let’s see,” said Seregil, breaking the first blank seal. “This is from old Lord Erneus. Seems his daughter has gotten herself—No, look at the date. She’s given birth by now.” That one was relegated to the fire. The second had been left for them just a week before. The scent of a lady’s perfume still clung to it. Seregil held it to his nose, giving Alec a wink, then looked it over. “This one is from Duchess Myrian, Duke Norin’s wife. It seems she’s unwisely given a token to her lover—Bilairy’s Balls, why do they always do that?”
“We’d be out of work if they didn’t.”
The third missive was from Tyrien, a Street of Lights courtesan Alec had met the first time he’d blundered under a green lantern. The young man wanted someone to rob the house of a patron who’d wronged him.
“I wonder what he’d think if he knew it was you he was writing to?” Seregil said with a grin.
Alec ignored him and picked up the scroll tube. Breaking the seal, he shook out the rolled letter. “Let’s hope Magyana has something more challenging for us. This is dated just four days ago. She must have left it as she went out of town.”
Seregil pulled the edge of the cloak up under his chin. “That sounds promising.”
“‘My dear boys, if you return before I get back, I have a small matter that might be of interest to you. Please visit Lady Amalia as your lordly selves as soon as you can. Tell her you are in my confidence, and know of someone trustworthy who can help her. It’s a small political matter. I do hope you had a pleasant adventure.’”
Seregil grimaced. “‘Pleasant’ is not the word I’d use to describe it. What about you?”
Alec pushed Seregil’s feet off his lap. Going to his discarded saddlebag, he took out the false slave collars they’d worn and propped them up on the cluttered mantelpiece between a box of loose gems and a broke
n lock.
“Are you sure you want to save those?” Seregil asked. How could Alec look at them and not think of Sebrahn?
“It’s all right,” Alec assured him as he sat down beside him again.
He didn’t say more, and Seregil didn’t ask. Instead, he made a show of weighing a letter in each hand. “What do you say, talí? The lady or the whore?”
“Magyana first, then the whore, and then the lady,” said Alec. “On one condition, though.”
“You’re leveling conditions now? All right, what is it?”
The flickering firelight made Alec look a bit menacing as he grinned and said, “That I don’t hear you complain about being bored for at least two months.”
Seregil gave him a mocking seated bow. “You have my word. I’m sure this old whore of a city can keep me entertained for a bit. Besides, it’s nearly spring, and people do all sorts of foolish things in the spring. Ah, Alec—a good honest brawl and jobs waiting.” He yawned and stretched, then uttered the words he had not said since the Cockerel Inn burned.
“It’s good to be home.”
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