And that reminded him that Reva was on the verge of committing unintentional suicide.
“We can’t go yet, though,” he told Tazia.
She once again looked at her father, more meaningfully this time.
“No, it’s not that,” Anrel said. “Though in truth I would prefer an honorable parting, with your parents’ consent given and a wedding announced. I do not insist on it, however, and arranging such a thing here in Beynos might not be practical.”
“I don’t think Father would give his consent,” Tazia whispered.
Anrel frowned at that; now it was his turn to glance at Garras.
“I don’t think he’ll ever willingly part with any of us, despite his complaints,” Tazia said. “As long as we all bring in more than we cost, he’ll want us to stay. That money Reva is collecting? It will never be enough to buy her freedom.”
Anrel considered that for a moment, then decided it could wait. “We can discuss that further another time,” he said. “Right now, there’s something more urgent.”
“What could be more urgent?”
“Your sister’s life. I honestly do not believe she can safely enchant Lord Allutar, and if she is caught attempting it, she’ll be hanged—or worse. Allutar sacrificed a young man’s lifeblood to power one of his own spells at the autumnal equinox; I would rather not see him spend your sister’s life in similar fashion at the vernal, or perhaps use her to enhance his sorcery in other ways.”
Tazia glanced at Reva, who was huddled with their mother. “You’re sure he is that dangerous? That he would do that, if he caught her?”
“How can I be sure?” Anrel asked. “But I have seen Lord Allutar kill a man with nothing but raw magic; he is the most powerful sorcerer I have ever met. I know that I can detect the wards your family casts, and I felt the binding Reva and your mother attempted on me the day we met—felt it, and resisted it. And I’m not a tenth the sorcerer Lord Allutar is.”
“You think she should refuse the job?”
“I do.”
Tazia frowned. “But fifty guilders! She’ll never agree to forgo so much. She wants so badly to strike out on her own.”
“Did you not just tell me that no amount of money would ever be enough for her father to release her?”
“I believe that, but she doesn’t.”
Anrel bit his lip. He knew Tazia was right.
Twice, though, he had failed to intervene when someone faced death at Lord Allutar’s hands. He had done nothing at all to save Urunar Kazien, even when he had his hands on another criminal whose life might perhaps have been substituted for the baker’s son. He had done nothing remotely effective for Lord Valin; his efforts to keep Valin and Allutar apart, or to talk sense into Valin, had been worse than useless. He had let an acquaintance and his best friend die, and he did not want to let yet a third life be needlessly snuffed out—particularly not the life of a sister of the woman he was coming to love. This time he would do something. He recalled the gold in his own coat again, and schemes began stirring in his brain.
“Let me see what I can do,” he said at last. “There may be a way.”
“How could there be?”
“I will concede that we may be unable to sway your sister, but there are other parties to this transaction,” Anrel said. “If Mistress li-Dargalleis should change her mind, perhaps set her cap for someone other than Lord Allutar, then Reva will be safe enough.”
“But why would she . . . ?”
“Let me see what I can do,” he repeated.
Tazia looked unconvinced, but did not argue further. “And when this matter is resolved, and my sister has finished with Lord Allutar, in one way or another—then what do you intend?”
“Then I intend to travel,” Anrel said lightly. “Eastward, I think—perhaps a stay in Lume, but then on to the eastern provinces, perhaps even a tour of the Cousins.”
“Ah. Would you be traveling alone?”
“I sincerely hope not,” Anrel said, looking her in the eye.
She smiled, threw her father a glance, then said, “I think I will have a few words with my parents while you see what you can do about Mistress li-Dargalleis.”
“And just how direct will these words be?”
“Oh, I will be most circumspect initially, and judge the weather carefully before risking any blunt questions. There will be no demands or threats, I promise you—nothing that might provoke open antagonism.”
“While you undoubtedly know your parents far better than I do, is anyone capable of such fine judgments?”
“Well—perhaps my promise is a trifle ambitious. Let us say rather that I will do my very best to avoid any unfortunate confrontations.”
He smiled at her. “I can ask no more.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Perynis demanded. She had been shut out of Reva’s conversation with their parents, and had therefore turned her attention elsewhere.
“None of your concern, ninny!” Tazia replied.
“Plotting to assassinate the emperor and invade Ermetia, of course,” Anrel told her.
“Ha! Telling each other romantic little lies, more likely.”
“If you knew, then why did you ask?” Tazia retorted.
With that, the conversation became general once again, and a moment later Anrel made an excuse to slip away for a moment. He did not head for the privy, though; instead he made his way to the front room, where he found Dorrin Kabrig dozing by the door.
He started at the sound of Anrel’s footsteps and sat up. “Master Adirane,” he said. “Going out?”
“No,” Anrel said. “But I would appreciate a word with you, Master Kabrig.”
The doorkeeper looked puzzled. “Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am at your disposal, Master Adirane. How can I be of service?”
Anrel hesitated, trying to phrase his request well. “You are familiar with the town, I take it?”
“I have lived here all my life,” Dorrin replied. “I think I know it tolerably well.”
“I’m sure you do, then,” Anrel said. “I have heard that several of the delegates to the Grand Council have made themselves at home here, when their presence is not required in Lume; is that true?”
“Oh, yes. There are several fine homes in Beynos, maintained by various great families for themselves and their friends, and I believe that virtually all of them are currently let to councillors. Why do you ask?”
“It is a delicate matter; bear with me.”
“Of course.”
“Is one of those councillors Lord Allutar, the landgrave of Aulix?”
“So I have heard,” Dorrin answered, his eyes narrowing.
“Please, Master Kabrig, do not look so concerned! I assure you, I intend the landgrave no harm.” That phrasing was deliberate; Anrel most certainly wished that harm might befall Lord Allutar, but he did not at present intend any. “As a citizen of Aulix, I merely want to know something of his present situation. I have heard some most peculiar rumors of late.”
“Rumors?”
“Indeed.”
“What sort of rumors?”
“Well—I told you it was a delicate matter.”
“You did.”
“I have heard rumors as to why Lord Allutar has not yet married and sired an heir. I would prefer to be no more specific.”
A slow, crooked smile spread across Dorrin’s face; apparently he found something very appealing in the rumors he now imagined. “I see,” he said.
“Now, these may well be the most scurrilous sort of lies,” Anrel said hastily. “I do not for a moment present them as fact. But I do admit that my curiosity has gotten the better of me—is there some foundation for these tales?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dorrin said. “I hadn’t heard anything of the sort.”
“But you know, perhaps, which house Lord Allutar is residing in?”
“Oh, yes—it’s his own, in fact, built by his grandfather, Faurien Hezir. It’
s up on Bridge Street Hill.”
“Perhaps, when you have a moment, you might stop by, and have a word with a member or two of the landgrave’s staff? I’m sure it would be a great relief to everyone if we could put these rumors to rest.”
“I’m sure it would.” He glanced at the front door, then back at Anrel. “You could go yourself, you know. I could give you directions; it’s not hard to find.”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid that won’t be practical—Master Lir has hired me for certain duties that require me to remain close at hand at all times.”
“Chaperoning his daughters, I suppose. That youngest one, Perynis, is a little heartbreaker, isn’t she? But I believe you said you had your eye on the middle one.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t say,” Anrel said with a smile and a wink.
“Of course.” Dorrin glanced at the door again. “I can’t go just now, but I’m sure I’ll find a chance to stroll up Bridge Street in the next day or two, and a word or two with a coachman or footman would be a pleasant diversion.”
“That would please me very much,” Anrel said. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m sure you know how troublesome a rumor can be, even if it’s no more than a malicious lie. Best to put it to rest immediately.”
“Indeed,” Dorrin agreed. “Lord Allutar—who would have thought it?”
“Who, indeed?” He bowed to the doorkeeper. “Thank you, good sir; now, if you’ll forgive me, duty calls.”
“Of course.”
As Anrel headed back toward the Lir family gathering in the back room, he allowed himself a smile.
He had no idea whether there were really any rumors circulating about Lord Allutar—but he was certain that now there would be, even if Master Kabrig was far more discreet than Anrel thought he would be. That would provide a petty irritant for the landgrave, and anything that discomfited Valin’s killer would please Anrel.
More important, if there was any actual impediment to Lord Allutar marrying Mistress li-Dargalleis and siring children on her, the landgrave’s staff would almost certainly know about it, and Master Kabrig would report it back to Anrel.
If there was no such impediment—well, that would be unfortunate, and Anrel would need to create one. He had not yet devised a means to do so, but he was sure something would occur to him in time.
25
In Which Anrel Discusses Lord Allutar’s
Marital Prospects
The following afternoon, while the Lir family was attending to the business of witchcraft, Anrel was in the Boar’s Head’s saloon, enjoying a fine and surprisingly inexpensive merlot. He looked up when the door opened; two men stepped in, and Anrel was startled to recognize both of them.
The presence of Dorrin Kabrig was hardly unexpected, but the man following him was someone Anrel had last seen in Alzur, a season ago—and someone who he did not want to see him. He started to turn away and look for somewhere to hide, but he did not have time.
“Master Adirane,” Dorrin called. “A moment of your time, if you would.”
Anrel sighed, and turned back to the new arrivals. He tried not to let his concern show, but he was well aware that at any moment he might need to run for his life.
“Master Kabrig,” he said, lifting his glass. “A pleasure to see you again.”
The other man’s mouth twitched. “I thought it might be you, ‘Master Adirane,’ ” he said.
“Hollem,” Anrel said, acknowledging the man he had instantly recognized as Lord Allutar’s footman. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your full name.”
“Hollem tel-Guriel,” he said, holding out a hand.
Astonished by this friendly gesture, Anrel set down his wine and shook hands firmly. “Master tel-Guriel,” he said. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“And I never expected to see you again anywhere,” Hollem said. Anrel grimaced.
“How is it you two know each other?” Dorrin asked suspiciously.
“Oh, we grew up in the same village,” Anrel said, before Hollem could speak. “I left under unfortunate circumstances, though.”
“Very unfortunate,” Hollem said.
“Indeed,” Anrel agreed. “And what brings you to the Boar’s Head, Master tel-Guriel?”
“Oh, that’s simple enough,” Hollem said. “When Master Kabrig came around asking questions about certain rumors, I demanded to know where he had heard these absurd allegations, and wouldn’t tell him a thing until I had a name. When he told me ‘Adirane’ I thought it must be you, and I asked if he could arrange a meeting.”
“Perhaps I should have used another name,” Anrel said ruefully.
“Perhaps you should,” Hollem said. “After all, you have in the past.” He waved that aside. “Though I would have wanted to meet you, in any case.”
“Of course.” Anrel glanced around. The reference to a past alias seemed to imply that the footman knew him to be Alvos. “You know, given the circumstances, I confess to some surprise that you do not appear to be accompanied by members of the city watch.”
“A pleasant surprise, I trust.”
“Very much so.”
“Why would the city watch be involved?” Dorrin asked, glancing from one man to the other.
“I told you the circumstances of my departure were unfortunate,” Anrel said. “I assure you, I have committed no crime in Beynos, but there may be some question about my actions elsewhere. If our friend here has not brought me to their attention for past offenses, though, then the watchmen have no reason to be looking for me.”
“I have my reasons for wanting to keep matters between ourselves,” Hollem said. “In fact, is there somewhere more private we could speak?”
“I have a room upstairs,” Anrel said. “I share it with certain others, but I don’t believe any of them are there at the moment.” He picked up his wine and finished it quickly.
“Wait a minute,” Dorrin protested. “What’s this about? I thought you just wanted to know who was spreading rumors about your master. And I thought you just wanted to know whether the rumors were true.”
“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that,” Anrel said, wondering whether it might be worth attempting to pay Dorrin for his silence.
Hollem’s thoughts apparently ran along similar lines, as a coin appeared in his hand. “Master Kabrig,” he said, “I thank you sincerely for bringing me here, but don’t let me take up any more of your valuable time.” He tucked the coin, a half-guilder by the look of it, into Dorrin’s coat pocket.
Dorrin looked down, then thrust his hand into his pocket to feel the coin’s size and weight. He blinked.
“Of course,” he said. “In fact, I think Master Sharduil had a job for me that I really ought to be doing.”
“Well, we shan’t keep you,” Anrel said. “Thank you.”
With a final suspicious glance, Dorrin turned away.
When the door had closed behind him, Anrel set his empty glass on the bar with a threepenny coin beside it—the wine had been twopence, but the extra penny was to keep the barkeeper from feeling ill-used. That done, he led the way through the back parlor to the inn’s central passage, then upstairs and through the maze of corridors that led to the big drafty room above the stable.
As he had thought, it was uninhabited; the witches were selling their witchcraft, and Garras was either helping them or amusing himself in some fashion. Anrel showed Hollem in, then closed the door behind them.
Hollem looked around the room, and shivered. Anrel crossed to the stove and slid open the dampers, then opened the stove door and shoveled in a scoop of fresh charcoal. It would not be enough to heat the room properly, but it would, he hoped, take off the worst of the chill.
“Now,” Anrel said, as he latched the stove door and straightened up, “much as I appreciate it, suppose you tell me why I have not been dragged off to a dungeon somewhere. Is that Lord Allutar’s doing, or your own?”
“Mine, so far,” Hollem said. “I haven’t spoken
to Lord Allutar yet, not since your friend gave me your name. After all, I couldn’t be sure this Dyssan Adirane was really Anrel Murau until I had seen you for myself.”
“But you could have brought a brace of guards along, if you chose,” Anrel said.
“Yes, I could,” Hollem agreed. “And if I wanted to see you in a dungeon, I would have.”
“I assume, from what you have said so far, that you are aware of my reasons for not returning to Alzur?”
Hollem nodded. “Oh, yes. Your actions in Naith are not a secret from my master or his household. We do know who the infamous Alvos was.”
“Somehow,” Anrel said, “I cannot bring myself to think you have become one of the radical populists, dedicated to the overthrow of the nobility, and therefore unwilling to aid Lord Allutar in the apprehension of a rabble-rouser like me. In fact, I find it very difficult to entertain any doubt at all about your loyalty to our overlord—I have certainly never seen the slightest sign that you are unhappy in your employment, and that half-guilder you gave Master Kabrig would seem to indicate that you are well paid in your present position. That would imply that you are acting in what you believe to be the landgrave’s interest. Do you think, then, that Lord Allutar doesn’t want me in a dungeon?”
Hollem smiled, which Anrel found curiously unsettling; he had never seen the footman smile before. It would not have been appropriate while he was performing his duties in his master’s house, and the meeting downstairs had been a little too awkward for cheerful expressions.
“No one has ever said you’re stupid, Master Murau,” he said. “Indeed, I do believe that Lord Allutar would prefer you to stay free. However, it would be unwise of him to say so—as Alvos you are, after all, a notorious traitor and seditionist, responsible for a major riot. The Lords Magistrate in Naith circulated the knowledge of your true identity to their allies and confederates a day or so after your departure, but kept that information from the general population lest you gain further sympathy from the public at large. They very much want to see you hanged, or perhaps burned at the stake, for your actions.”
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