The start of surprise had been entirely natural. The last thing that Mags expected was to discover that the Sethorites were so bold as to arrange the vandalism like this. He’d thought they were using their own people, not recruiting outside their ranks. He had to simultaneously repress his excitement and his fear.
“Sor, yessor,” Mags repeated, bobbing. “I’ll do m’best, sor.”
“Good. Do you know Goose Lane?” the priest asked, watching him closely.
Have I given myself away? He strove to look eager and earnest. “Aye, sor. It be comin’ off Goldoak Street, almost t’Balcher’s tavern.”
“So it is. And do you know the herb shop across from Gerand’s ’Pothercary?” the priest continued.
Mags furrowed his brow. Best not to act as if I know every nook and corner of Haven. “I know ’Pothecary. Reckon I kin find ’er.”
“Excellent. Then this is your mission.” The priest leaned foward on the table, and the hood of his robe fell back, revealing an uncomfortably intense man with chin-length hair and a beard that looked scraggly, even though it was neatly trimmed. “You will enter that herb shop. You will destroy everything in it. You will return here. All without being detected.” The priest smiled thinly. “Do not concern yourself over being detected from within. The whore that owns it, and steals bread from the mouth of Gerand, sleeps elsewhere, and it is only locked, not guarded.”
Well, of course it ain’t guarded. Goose Lane’s a good neighborhood, an’ it’s patrolled by the Watch.
Now, Goose Lane was outside the area where the previous shops had been vandalized. They’re moving further afield. Not good. “I kin do thet, sor,” he promised, though inwardly he was sick at the idea that he was about to wreck another woman’s livelihood.
But there it was. Proof positive that it was the Sethorites behind the trail of destruction. Now if he could just find the one orchestrating things up at the Palace! They said there’s better things if I pull this off. Maybe it will have something to do with that.
“Well, go tell your friend he’s free to go home, or stay and wait for you. Then get on with it, Brother Pakler.” The priest jerked his head, and Mags took that as the signal to leave. He followed the Novice back out as far as the Sanctuary, where Teo was dutifully occupying a pew, and miraculously not falling asleep. The Novice tapped Teo on the shoulder, and he followed them both to the Fellowship Hall.
“I gots a job I gotta do fer Sethor,” Mags told Teo. “I dunno ’ow long I’ll be.”
Teo grunted. “I don’ mind waitin’.” He looked around, and noticed a few men dozing, stretched out on the benches against the walls. “Likely I kin catch a nap.”
The Novice smiled. That seemed to be the right answer. “All right, Brother Pakler. On your way. Don’t make your friend wait too long.”
Aha. Now I see why he let Teo stay. Using that as a way to get me to move faster. Mags nodded, and headed out the door at a trot.
The streets were lit brightly by the moonlight—moonlight which would also reveal him, and would have been a problem for anyone but Mags. Mindful of the fact that whoever was behind this might just have Farsight, and might just be watching, Mags took himself into the alleys, and once he got to Goldenoak Street, took to the roofs. It would do him absolutely no harm with these people if they knew he knew the thief’s high road.
He found the herb shop easily enough, and dropped down off its roof into the tiny alley behind it. The lock was nothing to someone of his skills; he easily forced the door with almost no noise. And once inside—well, it was an herbalist. The fastest way to wreck it was to throw everything off the shelves into the middle of the room and grind it all to powder under his boots.
Because it was an herb shop, the counter was right at the door; you came in, said what you wanted and how much, and the herb-woman measured it out for you into small paper packets. It was heartbreaking how easy it was, and how little time it took, to turn a prosperous shop with excellent stock into a worthless, empty store. A candlemark, a candlemark and a half at most.
Then he was back out, up and over the roofs again, dropping down into an alley far from Goose Lane, after making sure there were no telltale bits of dried leaves or stem clinging to him. The Watch came along just as he started his stroll back. They eyed him but he looked them in the face, and gave them that nod-bow, and they moved on, satisfied he was no threat to anyone.
:Dallen,: he said, as he walked at the sober pace a tired man returning home from a hard day’s work might take. :I won’t be coming home tonight, and probably not for several nights. Tell Rolan to tell Amily. I’ll talk to her myself once I’ve got a place to sleep and some privacy. And tell her to make sure that herbalist gets help from the Prince and Princess.:
:Done,: said Dallen. :I’ve been keeping Nikolas apprised as well.:
That left him only to get back to the Temple without calling attention to himself. The best way to do that was to walk as he was doing, head down, shoulders slumped, looking like a man who only wanted to get to a bit of soup and a bed. And every time he came across members of the Watch, he would look up, meet their eyes, nod-bow, and move along. The fastest way to draw the attention of the Watch to yourself was to look uneasy around them.
He was met at the entrance by the Novice, who clapped him on the back, confirming his suspicion that he had been watched with Farsight. How else would they have known he was coming, or when he would arrive? “Well done, Brother Pakler,” the Novice said, cheerfully. “Well done indeed! Precept Darent would like to have a word with you again before you go talk to your friend.”
“Yes, sor,” Mags said, and followed the Novice back to the office. It was, indeed, the same office, and the same intent man behind the same table.
This time there was a chair waiting for him, and Mags dropped heavily into it with a mumble of gratitude. “Brother Pakler,” the Precept said, both hands clasped in front of him on the table. “You showed a remarkable set of skills tonight. We were impressed.”
All right. How to act? Be impressed and afraid that they kin see me, or act as if I knew they could all along? I don’t wanta oversell this . . .
Settle for being unsettled. “Ye saw me?” Now with a touch of suspicion. “How? I didn’t see none uv ye!”
The Precept chuckled. “Well, the God grants us the ability to do many things, Brother Pakler. We need not be present to oversee our Brethren.”
That’s all but admitting to Farsight. And it’s as much warning as anything else. But they can’t be watching everyone all the time, or they’d have more Farseers than all the Temples and such in Haven put together, and that ain’t likely. Mags switched back to being unsettled. “Aye, sor,” he mumbled.
Now the Precept leaned over his hands, staring at Mags intently. Suddenly Mags knew what the Precept’s eyes reminded him of. There was a highborn, Lord Kallian, who’d lost an eye, and rather than covering it over with a patch like a sensible person would, he’d had a very expensive replacement made of glass. It unnerved so many people with its cold, inhuman gaze that finally he’d discarded it and gone back to the patch.
“Now, we have a few questions,” the Precept continued. “We would like to know how you came by the skill of roof-walking. You appear very . . . practiced.”
“Learnt it as a little, sor,” Mags said. “M’sibs an’ me, we useta roof-run alla time when we was littles. Safer nor bein’ on street; them carters, they don’ look out fer kids, neither do them highborns when they’s in a hurry. On street, ye kin get snatched up, too. Cooler t’sleep on th’ roof in summer. Faster t’get almost anywheres is t’go by roof.” He scratched at his head, and looked rueful. “I bain’t a big man, sor. Still safer b’night nor bein’ on street. Less’n m’frien’ Teo’s wit’ me.”
“So it is,” the Precept chuckled. He lowered his lids over those uncanny eyes. “And that accounts for you wanting him to stay. Being none too
stout myself, you have my sympathy, Brother Pakler. And that clears away a question I had.”
He didn’t ask that question, but Mags could imagine what it was. Whether or not he’d gotten those skills as a thief. I wonder what he would have said if I’d claimed to be one? It occurred to him that such an answer would not necessarily mean rejection—just an offer of a different sort of “job” altogether.
“Now.” The Precept leaned over his hands again, fixing Mags with a piercing stare. “Are you a true son of Sethor, Brother Pakler? Are you prepared to take His cause to the heart of the corruption in this land?”
Mags decided that bewilderment was the best reaction here. “I ain’t sure whatcha mean, sor,” he said, scratching his head again. “But what’er Sethor wants, I reckon I’ll do ’er. Sethor bin good t’me. Right good. Reckon I kin pay thet back.”
“Very good.” The Precept sat back in his chair. “You may go and tell your friend that he can go home without you. You will be moving into one of the Novitiate cells here in the Temple. You have no family, so you have only yourself to provide for, which makes you an ideal candidate for service.”
“Ye don’ mean me t’be no Novice, sor!” Mags said in alarm. “I bain’t that smart!”
The Precept laughed heartily. “Of course not. You will eat and sleep with the Novices, but tomorrow you may well meet one of your fellow Soldiers of Sethor, who are quite different from Novices, with fewer restrictions on their behavior. Sethor will be seeing to all your needs from now on. We will supply you with shelter, food, and clothing. We will require your faith, and your labor. You will be one of us, Brother Pakler.”
“Aye, sor,” he said obediently, although his mind was reeling. He hoped that Teo was smart enough to know what he should do from the few clues he was going to give the man. “I’ll go tell Teo now.” He smiled uncertainly at the Precept. “Reckon he’ll wish’t it were him.”
The Precept nodded his acceptance; the Novice opened the door and let him out, then followed him. Mags hadn’t expected anything else.
In the Fellowship Hall they found Teo sitting on the edge of a group of men that were airing their grievances against women under the direction of another Novice, from the bits that Mags caught as he and the Novice walked up to them. Teo looked up before they got to the group, got up, and left them.
“Teo!” Mags said, sounding nervous and excited (he hoped). “They’re takin’ me in! They got work fer me. I got grub, bed, duds, ever’thin’! I gotta stay here but that ain’t no thin’!”
Teo’s face transformed into a mask of pure envy. “Wish’t I got thet,” he said, with jealousy tinging his speech. “Hellfires, yer gonna sleep cool, an’ ev’thin’!”
The Novice laughed, and clapped Teo on the shoulder. “Keep coming and showing your faith, Brother Teo, and one day we may take you into our secular fellowship as well. But go on home now—stop by the food table and tell them that Novice Tomson authorized you to take home a blessing-basket. If we are going to deprive you of the company of your friend for a while, the least we can do is feed your body as well as your soul.”
Teo’s face lit up. “Thenkee sor!” he said, and clasped Mags shoulders. “Ye do good, Pakler. Ye put in good word fer me.”
Mags slapped him on the back. “Damn if I don’,” he promised. “Now git, so’s ye kin git some sleep.”
Teo hurried off to the food table. As the Novice let Mags back toward the cells, he saw Teo talking to the Novice in charge of the food. The man left and returned quickly bearing a covered basked that looked quite heavy, which he put into Teo’s hands.
At that point they left the Fellowship Hall, and Mags didn’t see what happened next.
• • •
Mags lay back on a very comfortable bed by the standards of Harkon and Pakler, with his hands under his head. This was a real bed, rope-strung and all, with a good tufted wool mattress and real sheets, blanket, and pillow. He was clean—and very glad that his “disguise” of Pakler was far less than Harkon required, or it wouldn’t have lasted past the extremely thorough bath he’d been told to take. He was wearing brand new clothing—just for sleeping, he’d been told—a set of light trews and a sleeveless jerkin that had been cut out of extremely worn sheets, and expertly sewn together. The very sort of sheets that effigy that had been burned had been made of. . . .
He had two more sets of common clothing, also clean, waiting for him, and several changes of breeks. And new, canvas boots. “Sethor requires cleanliness, Brother Pakler,” the Novice had said, in a voice that told Mags that there would be no arguments accepted. Not that he intended to argue. If anything, he was grateful. All the sweating he’d done tonight as he ran over the roofs and wrecked that shop had made herb-dust stick to him all over, and until that bath, he’d been intolerably itchy.
Once clean, with his new possessions in hand, and his few personal belongings piled on top of the new clothing, he’d been shown to one of the cells—which turned out to be what lay behind the doors in the corridor. As he had expected, they were small, narrow rooms, with a bed, a table, and a small chest where he was told to put his things.
Then the Novice had bid him good night, and shut the door, leaving him in darkness. Not total darkness; there was a slit window just at the ceiling, presumably to let in fresh air, and which now let in moonlight, but there wasn’t enough light to do more than grope his way to the bed and lie down on it.
He was just composing himself to try to talk to Nikolas, when his father-in-law’s mind touched his instead. :Mags?:
:Aye. I’m alone, and kin talk.:
:Teo came and reported to Kriss. Kriss wrote it all down and sent my man from the Guards back to me with the report.:
Mags smiled a little into the dark, but was careful to make it no more than the smile of a simple man who has found himself in sudden comfort. Just in case someone was still watching. Then he turned over on his side and tucked his arm around his head. :That Teo’s as smart as I hoped. Aight. Here’s what happened.: He told Nikolas everything, as concisely as possible. Not that there was much to tell, except that now they knew for certain that the vandalism of womens’ shops had been done—or at least, hired done—by the Sethorites. And he had more evidence that someone, or more than one person, was using Farsight.
:I’m followin’ through,: he finished. :This’s every bit as good a foot in as I’d hoped.:
:It’s more than I hoped for,: Nikolas said. :I’ll make a report to the King.:
And there it was. No, “be carefuls,” no orders to stay in touch via some agent or other, just the plain acknowledgement, in what Nikolas did not say, that Nikolas was certain of Mags’ competence and was going to leave him alone to work the job. Mags felt a little thrill of accomplishment.
:Thankee, Nikolas.: The “presence” that was Nikolas faded from his mind, and he turned his concentration to the harder task of talking to Amily.
:Hey, love,: he sent her.
Mags! he “saw” in her mind. And then a waft of emotion poured over him. He was no empath, but he felt it dimly anyway, perhaps because of their emotional bond, or maybe it was all in his head, just because he knew her so well. But he didn’t think so; it was compounded of worry and pride, love and frustration. He fully understood the frustration. She felt like she was doing nothing.
:We need you there, ’cause the only person who can properly protect Helane is you,: he reminded her. :If we put a guard on the girl, an’ he’s got someone with eyes on her, we’ll alert the Poison Pen. If we send her away, we know for sure he’ll find out. But you kin be her friend. An’ you know what t’look fer. An’ most of all, you got little spies all over the Palace. Somethin’s not right, all them muff-dogs’ll know.:
He sensed that she was thinking, hard. :I wish their quarters were bigger. We could use one of those mastiffs Dia raises.: Then he felt an idea hit her. :I wonder if she breeds a smaller dog that j
ust alerts, rather than attacks? I’ll ask her . . .:
:Leavin’ all that in your hands, love. You’ll know best what t’do when you take the lay’a the land. Tell yer Pa I said so, too. Wish I was up there, but at least I ain’t far.:
More love. And a sense of amusement. :And at least you’re not a hostage. Goodnight!:
He pushed his face into the pillow so his grin wouldn’t show. Heh. At least I ain’t a hostage . . .
Mags sat patiently in another small, bare room. He’d dressed in his “new” clothing—which was clearly used, but much better and cleaner than anything Pakler had ever worn, and breakfasted in a smaller hall with the Novices, the Precepts, and a half dozen men who were dressed as he was. The “Soldiers of Sethor?” Probably. He took careful note of his surroundings, without seeming to. This, at least, was something he had a great deal of practice in. He did have to wonder at the Sisters of Ardana; they were supposed to be an entirely peaceful Order, but he’d seen keeps that were less like fortresses than this. Take this room; stone all around, except for three windows high up on the wall, with decorative iron grates over them. Decorative, yes, but still, they were iron grates. But maybe the Sisters had bought this place from another dying religion, as they in turn had been bought out.
He made no conversation, and no one made any with him; everyone seemed very intent on their own food and their own business. Then when he was done, he was sent by one of the Novices he had been eating with to this little room, with a couple of stone seats in it. He took one, and waited.
Closer to the Chest Page 33
