Luck in the Shadows

25 Return to Rhнminee

Alec rose before dawn his last morning at Watermead, but found that Beka was up before him. Dressed for riding, she sat mending a broken catch pin on her bow case in the hall. Beside her lay a few small packs containing all she would take with her to the Guard barracks.

"You look ready to go," he said, setting his pack down next to hers.

"I hope so." She worked an awl through a stubborn piece of leather. "I hardly slept last night, I was so excited!"

"I wonder if we'll see much of each other in the city. Where we live isn't too far from the palace grounds."

"I hope so," replied Beka, inspecting the new catch. "I've only been in Rhнminee a few times. I'll bet you could show me all kinds of secret places."

"I guess I could," Alec said with a grin, realizing how much of the city had become familiar to him since his arrival.

The rest of the family soon appeared and they settled down to their last breakfast around the fire.

"Can't Alec stay a little longer?" begged Illia, hugging him tightly. "Beka still beats him a lot. Tell Uncle Seregil he needs more lessons!"

"If he can beat your sister just some of the time, then he's a pretty fair swordsman," said Micum. "You remember what your Uncle Seregil said, little bird. He needs Alec back."

"I'll come back soon," Alec promised, tweaking one of her dark braids. "You and Elsbet haven't finished teaching me to dance yet."

Illia cuddled closer, giggling. "You are still awfully clumsy."

"Guess I'll go check on the horses," Beka said, setting her breakfast aside half eaten.

"Don't dawdle, Alec. I want to get on the road."

"You've got the whole day ahead of you. Let him eat," chided her mother.

Beka's restlessness was infectious, however, and Alec hurried through his porridge. Shouldering his pack and bow, he carried them out into the courtyard only to find that Beka had put his saddle on

Windrunner. Patch shifted resentfully behind the Aurлnfaie horse, tethered on a lead rein.

"What's this?" he asked. Turning, he saw the others beaming at him.

Kari stepped up and kissed him soundly. "Our gift to you, Alec. Come back to us whenever you can, and keep an eye on this girl of mine in the city!"

"You'll see me at the Sakor Festival,"

Beka said gruffly, embracing her. "That's just over a month away."

Kari pressed a handful of Beka's wild, coppery hair to her cheek. "As long as you remember whose daughter you are, I know you'll be fine."

"I can't wait to join you there," exclaimed Elsbet. "Write as soon as you can!"

"I doubt barracks life will be much like what you'll get at the temple school," Beka said with a laugh. Swinging up into the saddle, she gave a final wave and followed Alec and her father out through the palisade gate.

They reached the city just after midday. It was Poulterer's Day in the outer market, and every sort of fowl-from auroles to peacocks, quail to geese, live or plucked were on display. Each poultry dealer had a bright pole standard mounted over his wares and these, together with the usual strolling vendors of sweetmeats and trifles, gave the market a festive look despite the lowering sky overhead. Drifts of multicolored feathers blew in the breeze as the three travelers rode through the honking, cackling, twittering din.

Alec smiled quietly to himself, recalling his fears the first time he'd entered Rhнminee. This was his home now; he'd learned some of its secrets already and would soon know more. Gazing about, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar face in the market crowd.

Same protuberant teeth, sly grin, and moldy finery. It was Tym, the young thief who'd cut his purse at the Sea Market. Taking advantage of the slowed traffic by the Harvest Gate, he'd latched on to a well-dressed young man, evidently cozening him with the same tricks he'd used on Alec. A girl in a tattered pink gown clung to the mark's other arm, aiding in the distraction.

I still owe him a bit of trouble, thought Alec. Dismounting, he tossed his reins to Beka.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Just saw an old friend," he replied with a dark grin. "I'll be right back."

He'd already learned enough from Seregil to approach the thieves unnoticed. Biding his time, he waited until they'd lifted the unwitting victim's purse, then came up behind them and grasped Tym's arm. His triumph was short-lived, however, and it was Micum's recent training that saved him.

Newly honed instincts read the thief's sudden movement just in time. Alec caught at his wrist, halting the point of Tym's dagger scant inches from his own belly.

Tym's eyes narrowed dangerously as he tried to jerk free; easy enough to read the message there. The girl stepped in to screen her compatriot's knife hand and Alec prayed that she wasn't ready with a blade of her own. In the press of the crowd, she could easily stab him and disappear before anyone was the wiser. She made no attack, but Alec felt Tym tensing.

"We have a mutual friend, you and I," Alec said quietly. "He wouldn't be very pleased if you killed me."

"Who's that?" Tym spat back, still pulling against Alec's grasp.

"It's a trick, love," the girl cautioned. She was scarcely older than Elsbet. "Do him and move on."

"Shut up, you!" Tym growled, still glaring at Alec. "I asked you a question. Who's this friend of ours?"

"A comely, openhanded fellow from over the sea," Alec replied. "Handy with a sword in the shadows."

Tym glared an instant longer, then grudgingly relaxed his stance. Alec released his wrist.

"He should've told you never to grab a brother from behind like that unless you mean to deal with him!" Tym hissed, yanking the girl to his side. "If you'd done that in a back alley, I'd have you lying dead right now."

Sparing Alec a final scornful look, he and the girl disappeared into the crowd.

"Did you catch your friend?" Beka inquired when Alec reappeared.

"Just for a moment." Alec mounted and wrapped the reins around his hand. It was still trembling a little.

From the market they turned south to the barracks gate of the Queen's Park, where Beka showed her commissioning papers to the guards. Giving her father and Alec a final farewell embrace, she rode in without a backward glance.

Micum watched through the gateway until she was out of sight, then heaved a deep sigh as he turned his horse back toward the Harvest Market. "Well, there she goes at last."

"Are you worried about her?" asked Alec.

"I wouldn't have been, a year ago when there wasn't a war brewing for spring. Now I don't see any way around it, and you can bet the Queen's Horse will be some of the first into the fray. That doesn't leave her much time to get used to things. No more than five or six months, maybe less."

"Look how far I've come with Seregil in a few months," Alec pointed out hopefully as they headed for the Cockerel. "And he had to start from practically nothing with me. Beka's already as good with a bow and sword as anyone I've seen, and she rides like she was born on horseback."

"That's true enough," Micum admitted. "Sakor favors the bold."

In Blue Fish Street, they slipped in through the Cockerel's back gate and went through the lading-room door and up the stairs with hoods well drawn up. Micum took the lead on the hidden stairs, speaking the keying words for the glyphs with the same absent ease as Seregil.

Following him in the darkness, it occurred to Alec that Micum, too, had come and gone here freely over

the years, always certain of welcome. Everything Alec had learned of the friendship between these two seemed to come together and spin itself into a long history in which he had only the most fleeting foothold.

Reaching the final door, they stepped into the cluttered brightness of the sitting room. A crackling fire cast a mellow glow over the chamber. The place seemed more disordered than usual, if that was possible.

Clothing of all sorts hung over chairs and lay piled in corners; plates, papers, and scraps of wizened fruit rind cluttered every available surface. Alec spotted a mug he'd left on the dining table a week ago still standing undisturbed, as if to anchor his right of presence until his return. A fresh litter of metal fragments, wood chips, and scattered tools ringed the forge on the workbench beneath the window.

The only clear spot left in the room was the corner containing Alec's bed. A suit of fine clothes had been neatly laid out there, and against the pillow was propped a large placard with the words WelcomeHome, Sir Alec! written on it in flowing purple letters.

"Looks like he's been busy!" Micum remarked, eyeing the mess. "Seregil, are you in?"

"Hello?" A sleepy voice came from somewhere beyond the couch.

Stepping around, Alec and Micum found him sprawled in a nest of cushions, books, and scrolls with the cat on his chest.

Seregil stretched lazily. "I see you left each other in one piece. How did it go?"

Grinning broadly, Micum settled on the couch.

"Just fine, once I managed to undo all your wrongheaded teaching. You may get a few surprises next time you cross blades."

"Well done, Alec!" Pushing the cat aside, Seregil stood up and stretched again. "I knew you'd get the hang of things. And not a moment too soon, either. I may have a job for you tonight."

"A Rhнminee Cat job?" Alec ventured hopefully.

"Of course. What do you think, Micum? It's just an over-the sill and out-again sort of thing in Wheel Street."

"I don't see why not. He's not ready to storm the Palace yet, "He should be able to look out for himself on something like that if he doesn't attract too much attention." Seregil ruffled Alec's hair playfully. "Then it's settled. The job's yours. I guess you'd better have this."

With a dramatic wave of his hand, Seregil produced a small, silk-wrapped parcel and presented it to Alec.

It was heavy. Unwrapping it, Alec found a tool roll identical to the one Seregil always carried.

Opening it, he ran his fingers over the ornately carved handles: picks, wires, hooks, a tiny lightwand. On the inner flap of the roll a small crescent of Illior was stamped in dull silver.

"I thought it was about time you had one of your own," said Seregil, clearly pleased with Alec's speechless delight.

Alec glanced back at the forge. "You made these yourself?"

"Well, it's not the sort of thing you see in the market. You'll be needing a new history, too. I've been giving it some thought."

Micum nodded toward the placard. "Sir Alec?"

"Of Ivywell, no less." Seregil dropped Alec a slight bow before collapsing into the couch opposite Micum. "He's Mycenian."

Alec went to the bed and looked more closely at the clothing.

"So Lord Seregil will be returning to the city in time to prepare for the Festival of Sakor, as usual?" observed Micum. "And not alone this time?"

Seregil nodded. "I bring young Sir Alec, only child and last surviving heir of Sir Gareth of Ivywell, a genteel but impoverished Mycenian baron. In hopes of giving his scion a chance in life, Sir Gareth has left his son ward to an old and trusted friend Lord Seregil of Rhнminee."

"No wonder he died poor," Micum threw in wryly. "Sir Gareth seems to have been a man of questionable judgment."

Ignoring this, Seregil confined his attention to Alec.

"By situating the now defunct and completely fictitious estate of Ivywell in the most remote region of Mycena, we kill several birds at a shot. Any unusual mannerisms you might display will be put down to your provincial upbringing. There's also less chance that anyone will expect to know a common acquaintance. Thus Sir Alec's background is at once suitably genteel and safely obscure."

"The fact that he's neither Skalan nor Aurлnfaie would make him a tempting target for any Leran hoping to get at Lord Seregil," added Micum.

"A jilt!" said Alec.

"A what?" laughed Seregil.

"A jilt, the bait," he explained. "If you want to trap something big, like a bear or mountain cat, you stake out a kid and wait for your beast to show up."

"All right, then. You'd be our jilt. If any bears do show up, just be your sweet, innocent self, feed them everything we want them to know, and report everything they say back to me."

"But how would they get to me?" asked Alec.

"That won't be difficult. Lord Seregil's a social sort. His house in the Noble Quarter has already been opened and word's getting around. I'm sure the news will reach the right ears sooner or later. In a few days we'll throw a big party to introduce you to society."

Micum favored his friend with an affectionate grin.

"You scheming bastard! So what else did you get up to while we were gone?"

"Well, it's taken until today, but I think I've found our forger. You recall Master Alben?"

"That blackmailing apothecary you burgled a few years back during that business for Lady Mina?"

"That's the one. He's moved his shop to Hind Street since then."

"How'd you find him?"

"I was pretty certain Ghemella was our seal forger. Since she also buys stolen papers, I planted some of mine with her and last night she led me straight to him. It's only a matter now of finding his cache to see if there's anything useful to be had. If he is the one who forged the letter from me, then my guess is he's probably made a copy or two for himself just to hedge his bets. And if we can get our hands on those we can squeeze him for names."

"Is that the job tonight?" asked Alec, an eager gleam in his eye. "The sooner we clear your name, the better."

Seregil smiled. "Your concern for my tattered honor is deeply appreciated, Sir Alec, but we'll need another day or so to prepare for that one. Don't fret, now. Everything's under control.In the meantime, however, I think you'll find tonight's little exercise worthy of your new skills."

Wheel Street, a quiet, respectable boulevard of modest back garden villas, lay on the fringe of the Noble Quarter. Well dressed so as to attract no attention, Alec strolled along beside Seregil and Micum just after dark-three gentlemen out enjoying the night air.

The narrow houses were decorated Skalan style with mosaics and carvings. The ground level of some had been converted into shops; in the dimness Alec made out the signs of a tailor, a hat maker, and a gem dealer. The street ended in a small circular court in front of a public stable.

Riders and carriages bustled in all directions; the sounds of entertainment could be heard here and there as they walked past.

"That's ours, the one with the grapevine pattern over the door," whispered Seregil, indicating a brightly lit house across the way. "Belongs to a minor lord with some connection to shipping. No family, three servants: the old manservant, a cook, and the maid."

Several horses were tethered in front and they could hear the noise of pipes and fiddles being tuned.

"Sounds like he's having a party," whispered Micum. "Suppose he's engaged extra servants for the evening?"

"Those can be the worst sort, forever bumbling into places the regular staff can be counted on not to go," Seregil warned Alec. "And guests, too! Keep your ears open and remember, all we're after is a correspondence case. In and out, nothing fancy. According to my information, he keeps the case in a desk in his study, that room there at the left corner of the second floor, overlooking the street."

More carriages rumbled by, destined for houses up and down the cobbled street. "It's too busy out here," said Alec. "Is there a back way in?"

Seregil nodded. "The house backs onto a walled garden, and a common beyond. This way."

Crossing the street a few houses down, they went through a narrow alley into the little common. Such areas had been left open throughout the city to assure pasturage in time of siege. At the moment it was occupied by a flock of sleeping geese and a few pigs.

Creeping softly along, they counted gates until they found the one leading into the back garden of the house in question. The wall was high, the gate stoutly barred from within.

"Looks like you'll have to climb," Seregil whispered, squinting up. "Be careful going over; most of these places have the walls topped with spikes or sharp flints."

"Hold on!" Alec tried to make out Seregil's expression through the darkness. "Aren't you two coming with me?"

"It's a one-man job; the fewer the better,"

Seregil assured him. "I thought this is what you wanted, a first trial on your own?"

"Well, I—"

"Would I send you in alone if I didn't think you could handle it?" Seregil scoffed. "Of course not! Best leave me your sword, though."

"What?" Alec hissed. "I thought I had to be armed so I could do jobs!"

"Generally speaking, yes. But not this time."

"What if someone sees me?"

"Honestly, Alec! You can't just go hacking your way out of every difficult situation that arises. It's uncivilized," Seregil replied sternly. "This is a gentleman's house; you're dressed as a gentleman. If anyone catches you, just act chagrined and drunk, then claim to have stumbled into the wrong house."

Feeling a good deal less confident all of a sudden, Alec unbuckled his sword and started up the garden wall. He was halfway to the top when Micum called softly, "We'll meet you back here when you've finished. Oh, and look out for the dogs."

"Dogs?" Alec dropped down again. "What dogs? You didn't say anything about dogs!"

Seregil tapped himself sharply between the eyes. "Illior's Fingers, what am I thinking of tonight? There's a pair of Zengati hounds, snow-white and big as bears."

"That's a fine detail to forget," growled Micum.

"Here, let me show you what to do." Taking Alec's left hand, Seregil folded down all the fingers except the index and fourth, then turned the palm downward.

"There. All you have to do is look the dog in the eye, make we sign by snapping the little finger down-like this-and say Peace, friend hound' as you do it."

"I've seen you do that trick. That's not what you said," Alec remarked, repeating the hand sign.

"Soora thasdli, you mean? Well, you can say it in Aurлnfaie you like. I just thought it might be easier for you to remember in your own language."

"Peace, friend hound," Alec repeated, performing the hand sign. "Anything else I should know?"

"Let's see, the spikes, the dogs, the servants—No, I think we covered it that time. Luck in the shadows, Alec."

"And to you," Alec muttered, starting up the wall again.

The top of the wall was indeed set with spikes and thick shards of broken crockery. Clinging to the edge of the wall, he pulled his cloak up from behind and wadded it up on top of the sharp points in front of him.

Hooking an elbow over the thick material, he tugged the cloak strings loose from his neck.

The garden below appeared to be empty, though muffled sounds of the familiar kitchen variety issued from a half-open door at the back of the house. Hitching himself swiftly over the top of the wall, Alec lowered himself by his fingertips and dropped down the other side.

The garden centered on an oval pool. Graveled walkways showed pale in the darkness between planting beds and leafless trees. An especially large tree growing close to the carved balcony running the length of the second story looked to provide the easiest way in.

The shadows closed in around Alec as he stole toward the tree. He moved silently, careful to avoid the gravel paths. He was in reach of the trunk when something large stirred just beside him.

Hot, wet jaws closed firmly on his right arm, just above the elbow.

The white hound might not have been quite as large as a bear, but Alec was not about to argue the point. The beast did not growl or tear at him, but held him fast, regarding him with eyes that shone yellow in the dimness.

Fighting down the impulse to struggle or cry out, Alec quickly made the left-handed sign and croaked,

"Soora, friend hound."

Not seeming to mind the mixed translation, the dog obliged immediately, padding off into the darkness without a backward glance. Alec was up the tree and reaching for the marble balustrade almost before he realized he was moving again.

Dry leaves had collected in little piles on the balcony. Stepping over these, he inspected the two windows that flanked an ornate door leading into the house; the door was locked, the darkened windows covered with heavy shutters.

With a silent nod to Illior, he set to work on the door. Sliding a wire along the edge, he found three separate locks. Moving on to the larger window, he found two equally stubborn mechanism there. The third window, scarcely large enough to admit a child, was secured with a single shutter.

During a lesson on housebreaking, Seregil had once remarked that the way least likely was often least barred. Alec pulled a thin strip of limewood from the roll and worked it around the edges of the shutter. In less than a minute he found the two hooks securing it. These yielded readily and the shutter swung back to expose a small panel of leaded glass. The room beyond was quite dark.

Praying that any occupant would have set up an alarm by now, he went to work with the wire again and threw the single hasp lock with no difficulty at all. The pane swung in on silence. Slipping the tools back into his coat, Alec pulled himself up by the window frame and wriggled in feet first. Lowering himself into the room, his foot struck something that overturned with a clatter.

He dropped in with his back to the wall and listened for an outcry; none came. Groping in the darkness, he pulled out the lightstone.

An overturned washstand lay on the floor beside him.

Thank the gods for carpets! he thought wryly, righting it and replacing the basin and pitcher.

The spacious bedchamber was plainly furnished by Rhнminee standards. A broad bed with hangings of translucent silk took up much of one end of the room. A dressing gown draped carelessly across the foot and a thick book propped open against the bolsters, together with the remains of a fire on the marble hearth, all warned of recent occupation.

There were several tall wardrobes and chests against the other walls. A gaming table stood next to the single deep armchair drawn up before the fireplace.

Thick, patterned carpet gave underfoot as Alec moved across to an interior door. Finding it unlocked, he pocketed the light and took a cautious peek through.

A corridor ran the length of this level, with several other doors on each side. Halfway down the right-hand wall was a staircase leading down.

Light came up from below, and with it music and the sounds of lively conversation.

Alec stepped out into the corridor and closed the door of the bedroom behind him. Picturing the location of the study, he moved quickly down the corridor to a pair of doors at the far end. The one in question was secured with a complicated lock.

Feeling nervous and exposed, Alec tried one pick and then another. Twirling a third in, he closed his eyes and explored the wards by feel.

The master of the house evidently set great value on privacy; like those on the windows, this was no common device. The endless lessons at Seregil's workbench paid off, however. The lock gave and he was in.

A writing desk and chair stood between two tall windows overlooking the street. A glance outside found the avenue busier than ever. Pulling the drapes shut, Alec took out the lightstone and sat down to begin his search.

A few items lay arranged in orderly fashion on the polished desktop: ink wells, a bundle of uncut quills, and a sand shaker stood ready on a silver tray beside a tidy stack of parchments.

Next to these was an empty dispatch box. Finding nothing of note, he moved on to the drawers.

The wide central drawer was flanked by two narrow ones. The central one was locked but yielded readily. Inside were packets of correspondence tied up with silk cord, a stick of sealing wax, a sand brush, and a penknife.

The left drawer was lined with silk and contained four locks of hair. Each had been carefully tied up with ribbon and one, a thick curl of raven black, was adorned with a jeweled pin. Reaching over these tokens, Alec found a velvet pouch containing a thick golden ring and a small ivory carving of a nude man.

The third drawer held a more mundane collection-used blotting paper, wax tablets, styluses, a tangled skein of twine, a litter of gaming stones-but nothing resembling a correspondence case. Going to the door, Alec checked the corridor again and then continued with his task.

Pulling out all three drawers, he lined them up and discovered the narrow ones to be a full hand's-breadth shorter than the central.

The desk was a casework piece, enclosed on the bottom as well as the sides. Peering in, he saw that the cavity for the central drawer ran to the back of the desk, separated from the side drawers by thin wooden dividers on either side. These also ran the depth of the desk. Small leather-faced blocks were fixed to the bottom of the cavity to keep the drawer flush with the front skirt when closed.

Similar stop blocks were in the side drawer tracks. but there was a difference. Just behind these, the cavities ended in wooden panels that sealed off whatever space lay beyond. Inexperienced he might be, but the whole costly, overly complicated structure of the piece seemed to promise at least one secret compartment.

Sliding his arm into each of the three spaces, Alec pressed and tapped with no success. As he sat back in exasperation, wondering what Seregil would do, his gaze wandered to the dispatch box. A memory leapt to mind; Seregil toying with a similar box during their burglary in Wolde, finding a secret mechanism.

Running his hands slowly over every surface of the desk, he finally located a tiny lever concealed next to the right front leg. When he shifted it, however, nothing seemed to happen, not even a telltale click. Perspiration beaded his upper lip as he knelt and inspected the interior of the desk again.

This time he noticed something he'd missed before. The unfinished wood on the bottom of the central drawer track showed the parallel wear marks that one might expect to find; these he'd seen.

But halfway in, toward the center of the panel, a faint, curving scuff could just be made out, arcing from a point midway between the two more pronounced marks and terminating abruptly at the right-hand divider.

Looking closer, he realized that there was also the tiniest hairline gap between the lower edge of the partition and the bottom of the desk. If not for that arcing scratch, he might have passed it off as nothing more than the result of the wood shrinking in the dry winter air, causing a joint to pull apart.

He pressed the hidden lever again, at the same time pushing firmly against the edge of the partition

closest to him. Pivoting on unseen pins, the partition swung into the central opening and out over Alec's lap, revealing a small triangular compartment attached to the far end. Grinning in silent triumph, Alec lifted out a leather folder and heard the muffled crackle of parchment. Cramming it into the front of his coat, he quickly put everything else back the way he'd found it.

Back in the corridor, he locked the study door again for thoroughness" sake. No sooner had the last ward fallen into place, however, when he heard footsteps on the staircase behind him. There was no time to unlock the door or retreat to the bedchamber at the far end of the hall; the light of a candle was brightening rapidly toward the head of the stairs.

In desperation, Alec tried the door of the room next to the study; the handle turned smoothly under his hand.

Ducking inside, he put his eye to the crack of the door.

Two women had just reached the top of the stairs. One carried a candelabra and by its light he could see that both were expensively dressed and quite beautiful.

"He said to look on the second shelf to the right of the door, a thick folio bound in green and gold," the younger one said, peering around the hallway.

"This is a lucky night indeed, Ysmay," remarked her companion. "One so seldom has a chance to visit his library. But which room is it? It's been so long since I was last up here."

Jewels winked in the dark coils of the young woman's hair as she turned Alec's way. More jewels sparkled in the intricate necklace that covered her chest. In fact, Alec saw, the necklace was very nearly the only thing covering her breasts. The bosom of the dress was cut so low the top of one nipple peeped out from the fretwork of gems and gold.

"I must thank you again, dear aunt, for bringing me tonight!" the girl exclaimed. "I nearly swooned when you presented me to him. I can still feel his lips on my hand."

"A fact I pray your esteemed father never learns," her aunt replied with a low, musical laugh. "I felt just the same the first time I met him. He's one of the most charming men in Rhнminee, and so handsome! But take care, my dear. No woman has ever held his fancy for long, or man either. But now for that excellent manuscript. Which room is it?"

"This one, I think," replied the girl, making straight for the room where Alec was hiding. He pressed back against the wall behind the door, hoping for the best.

"La, this isn't it," the aunt exclaimed as the candles illuminated a bedchamber similar to the one at the back of the house.

"Is it his room?" breathed Ysmay, stepping toward the bed.

"I shouldn't think so. See that painted chest there? Mycenian work. Not his sort of thing at all. Come, my dear, I think I have my bearings now."

As soon as the women had disappeared into a room down the corridor, Alec bolted silently for the first bedchamber. Not daring to chance the lightstone again, he found the dim outline of the little window and made for it.

He hadn't gone three paces when a large, callused hand clamped over his mouth. Another seized his right arm, pinning it behind his back as he twisted and struggled.

"Hold him!" a voice hissed from somewhere across the room.

"Got him!" a deep voice rasped next to Alec's ear. The hand across his mouth clamped tighter. "Not a sound, you. And quit yer wigglin'!"

A lightstone appeared and his captor swung him roughly about to face it. Alec gave another convulsive twist, then froze with a strangled grunt of astonishment.

Standing there, one arm propped on the corner of the mantel, was Seregil. At his waved command, the man holding Alec released him and he spun to find himself facing Micum Cavish.

"By the Flame, boy, you're worse than an eel to hang on to!" Micum exclaimed softly.

"Did you get the case?" asked Seregil.

"Yes, I got it," Alec whispered, casting a nervous glance in the direction of the door. "But what are you doing in here?"

Seregil shrugged. "And why shouldn't I be in my own bedroom?"

"Your own— Yours?" sputtered Alec. "I went through all that to burgle your house?"

"Not so loud! Don't you see? We wanted to make sure you had a proper challenge."

Alec glared at the two of them, cheeks aflame, all his careful work reduced to a ridiculous charade. "By breaking into your own house? What kind of a challenge is that?"

"Don't take on so," Seregil said in honest consternation. "You just got into one of the most difficult houses in the city! I admit, I removed a few of the more deadly wards, but do you think just any common tickler could have gotten past those locks you found?"

"This is the last place we'd send you into if we didn't think you were ready," added Micum.

Alec chewed this over angrily for a long moment, arms locked across his chest. "Well, it was pretty hard. The study door was nearly the end of me."

"You see!" Seregil cried, throwing an arm around Alec's shoulders and giving the boy a rough hug.

"For plain housebreaking I'd say you acquitted yourself boldly. In fact, you surprised us both by weaseling in through that little window. Remind me to see to that tomorrow, will you? And that was a quick bit of thinking when the ladies wandered through."

Alec pulled back, eyes narrowing suspiciously again. "You sent them!"

"Actually, that was my idea," said Micum. "You were having such an easy time of it. Admit it now, it will make a better story later on with that."

"So what now?" asked Alec, still wary. "Tonight, I mean."

"Tonight?" Seregil's grin went crooked. "Why, tonight we have guests to attend to."

"The party? This party? Now? You said before you were doing that in a couple of days!"

" Did I? Well, it's a-lucky thing we're already dressed for the occasion. By the way, how did you like your new room?"

Alec grinned sheepishly, recalling the woman's remark about the painted Mycenian chest in the room where he'd hidden. "From what little I saw of it, it seems very useful."

Reluctantly following Micum and Seregil downstairs, he found himself faced with a room full of elegant strangers.

Dozens of thick candles lit the room, their honeyed scent like the distillation of long-dead summers. Their radiance was given back everywhere in the flash of jewels and the sheen of silks and polished leather.

The salon itself was no less elegant than those who occupied it. The high walls of the room had been painted to look like a forest glade, the tops of life-size oaks extending up across the vaulted ceiling overhead. Garlands of brightly flowering vines adorned the trees, and between their trunks distant mountains and ocean vistas were visible.

Musicians played on a carved balcony overhead.

Seregil paused halfway down the great staircase and laid a hand on Alec's arm.

"Most honored guests!" he called, assuming the formal manner he'd used while playing Lady Gwethelyn aboard the Darter.

"Allow me to present my ward and companion, Sir Alec of Ivywell, lately of Mycena. Make yourselves known to him, I pray you, for he is new to our great city and has made few acquaintances."

Alec's mouth went dry as dozens of expectant faces turned to him.

"Steady now," whispered Micum. "Just remember who you're supposed to be." Slipping the boy a covert luck sign, he moved off into the crowd.

At the bottom of the stairs, a servant stepped forward with a tray of iced wine. Alec took a cup and drained it in a hasty gulp.

"Go easy with that," Seregil murmured, propelling him gently forward. Playing the gracious host, he made a circuit of the room, moving smoothly from one knot of conversation to another.

The guests seemed to be mostly minor nobles and wealthy merchants associated with "Lord Seregil's" business interests. There was much talk of caravans and shipping, but the most popular topic was clearly the possibility of war in the spring.

"I hardly think there can be any question," sniffed a young nobleman introduced to Alec as Lord Melwhit.

"Preparations have been going on since summer."

"Indeed," a portly lord grumbled over his wine cup. "You can hardly come by a decent stick of lumber these last few months with the requisitioners snapping up everything in sight. I doubt I shall be able to complete my solarium before spring!"

"Wolde cloth?" a woman exclaimed nearby.

"Don't speak to me of Wolde cloth! With all the new tariffs, I can scarcely afford a new riding mantle. And gold? Mark my words, Lord Decius, before this is over we shall all be reduced to wearing beads and feathers."

"And what a delightful fashion that would prove," exclaimed her companion.

Trailing along with Seregil, Alec suddenly found himself face-to-face with the two women he'd seen upstairs.

"Allow me to introduce a very dear friend of mine," said Seregil with a hint of his wicked smile.

"Lady Kylith, may I present Sir Alec of Ivywell. Sir Alec, Lady Kylith of Rhнminee, and her niece, Lady Ysmay of Orutan."

Executing his best courtly bow, Alec felt his cheeks go warm. Lady Kylith's velvet gown draped a form still slender and elegant; like those worn by most other women of fashion present, it left her bosom nearly bare beneath a tissue of thinnest silk and a heavily jeweled necklace.

"What a fortunate young man you are!" purred Kylith, enveloping the boy in a languorous dark-eyed gaze that sent his heart locking again. "Our friend Lord Seregil is one of the most cultured gentlemen in the city, well versed in all the pleasures Rhнminee has to offer. I am certain you will find your time with him most enjoyable and instructive."

"You flatter me, dear lady," murmured Seregil. "But perhaps I might presume on our friendship? Would you partner Sir Alec in the first waltz? I believe the musicians have just struck up one of your favorites."

"A pleasure," replied Kylith with a curtsey.

"And perhaps you would return the boon by partnering my niece. I did, after all, promise her an evening of wicked pleasures, and I cannot think of a greater one than to dance with you."

Blushing prettily, Ysmay accepted Seregil's arm. At this signal, the other guests formed couples and assembled for the dance.

Kylith extended her hand to Alec with a dazzling smile. "Will you do me the honor, sir?"

"The honor is mine, I assure you," Alec replied. The words sounded wooden and foolish to his ears but he pressed on as best he could. "I must warn you, though, I've never been called a graceful dancer."

Taking her place in front of him, she gave him another melting look. "Think nothing of it, my dear. The instruction of inexperienced young men is one of life's unrivaled pleasures."

Seregil set about a playful flirtation with Ysmay while keeping one eye on Alec. As expected, Kylith put the boy at ease in no time. Another dance or two under her influence, and Alec would feel like he'd moved in such society his whole life. She'd had that same affect on Seregil years before.

Beginning as a courtesan in the Street of Lights, Kylith had risen to nobility when a headstrong young lord had brooked the strenuous opposition of family and class to marry her. Over the years her beauty, discretion, and lancing wit had earned her a degree of acceptance and drawn in the best of Rhнminee society to her famous gatherings. The finest artists and musicians of the day were to be found in her house, mingling with adventurers, wizards, and ministers of the highest offices. Few outside of the Queen's Park knew more than she of what went on in the council chambers and bedrooms of Rhнminee.

It had been for just such a reason that Nysander had introduced Seregil to her after the end of his ill-fated apprenticeship.

Charmed by his mysterious past and questionable reputation, Kylith had drawn him into her bright circle and, for a brief time after the death of her husband, into her bed.

He'd never been certain if she'd guessed him to be the faceless, unpredictable «Cat» of Rhнminee fame rather than a mere intermediary, but she often relayed requests for services to him, knowing that results were generally swift.

Whatever the case, she was one of the few nobles in whose discretion he had any faith. If Alec should falter in his role tonight, she would not broadcast the fact. And Alec did appear to be enjoying her company.

Keeping up his side of the agreement, he turned his full attention on Ysmay and flirted outrageously with her until she quivered in his arms.

Alec was midway through his second dance with Kylith when Micum laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Forgive me, lady, I must borrow your partner for a moment," he said, bowing to Kylith. "Alec, a word?"

Trouble?

Alec signed as Micum walked him toward the front entrance of the hall. The big man's grim sidelong glance was answer enough.

In the small entrance chamber at the front of the house they found Seregil boxed in by four bluecoats. Another was binding his hands in front of him. Seregil's old manservant, Runcer, stood wringing his hands and weeping nearby.

An officer wearing the chain of a Queen's Bailiff rolled up a black-ribboned scroll as Micum and Alec approached. Seregil's stony expression revealed nothing.

"What's going on here?" Micum demanded.

"And who might you be, sir?" replied the bailiff.

"Sir Micum Cavish of Watermead, friend of Lord Seregil. This boy is his ward, Sir Alec of Ivywell. Why are you arresting this man?"

The bailiff consulted another scroll and took a second look at the two of them. "Lord Seregil of Rhнminee stands accused of treason. I am also charged to instruct Sir Alec not to attempt to leave the city."

Eyeing the man with chilly dignity, Micum asked quietly, "Am I to understand he is under suspicion as well?"

"Not at present, Sir Micum. But those are my instructions."

"Seregil, what's happening?" asked Alec, finding his voice at last.

Seregil gave a grim shrug. "Some sort of misunderstanding, apparently. Make my apologies to the guests, would you?"

Alec nodded numbly. Glancing down at Seregil's bound hands, he saw him give the sign of Nysander's name, one long forefinger curled tightly over his thumb.

"Come along, my lord," said the bailiff, grasping Seregil's elbow.

"Where are you taking him?" Alec demanded, following as the guards led Seregil out to an enclosed black cart.

"That's not for me to say sir. Good evening."

Climbing in behind Seregil, the bailiff motioned to the driver and the cart rumbled off down the cobbled street.

"Seregil said to go to Nysander," Alec whispered, feeling Micum beside him.

"I saw. We'd better go."

"But what about the guests?"

"I'll have a quick word with Kylith. She'll manage things."

Alec watched miserably as the cart disappeared into the night. "Where do you think they're taking him?"

"It's a Queen's Warrant arrest, so it'll be Red Tower Prison," Micum said, looking bleak. "And that's one place not even Seregil can get out of on his own."