Luck in the Shadows

26 Plans at the Cockerel

Alec and Micum were halfway to the Orлska House when a tiny message sphere winked into being in front of them.

"Alec, Micum, come to the Cockerel at once!"

Alec blinked in surprise. "That was Thero."

"Bilairy's Balls!" muttered Micum, changing direction.

At the Cockerel they found Thero waiting for them, but not his master.

"Where's Nysander?" Alec asked, somewhat taken aback that Thero also knew how to enter Seregil's closely warded rooms.

"With the Queen," the young wizard replied, looking stiffly out of place in the midst of SeregiFs mess. "He sent me to meet you. He'll join us here as soon as he's able."

"I take it he was as surprised by the arrest as we were?" asked Micum, tossing Seregil's sword belt onto the table.

"Events have moved more rapidly than any of us anticipated. Nysander is quite worried over the fact that Idrilain did not consult with him before ordering the arrest."

"But what happened?" fretted Alec, pacing in frustration. "Nysander stopped the letter! Seregil said they'd never dare to send another without knowing what happened to the first."

"I have no idea. The Queen sent word that he'd been taken to the Red Tower, nothing more. Was the arrest carried out discreetly?"

"If it hadn't been for Runcer, we might have missed it altogether," glowered Micum.

Thero rubbed his chin pensively. "That's a hopeful sign, anyway."

For the first time in their brief acquaintance, it occurred to Alec that Thero must be a Watcher, too. With this revelation came the certainty that it was this fact, rather than any personal feelings for Seregil, which engaged his interest now.

"Do you think they'll—"

Memories tightened coldly in Alec's chest. "Do you think they'd torture him?"

Thero arched an eyebrow, considering. "That would depend on the severity of the charge, I suppose."

"The bailiff said treason."

"Ah. Yes, I'd say it was quite likely."

"Damn it, Thero, show some sense!"

Micum growled, catching at Alec's arm as the boy went pale. "Steady now, there's no use thinking like that. Nysander would never allow it."

"I doubt Nysander could interfere," Thero countered, oblivious to Alec's distress. "The Red Tower is protected by magic as well as bars; Nysander and I did some work in there ourselves. Not only that, but given Nysander's close association with Seregil, he can't afford any suggestion of interference with the law."

"What are we going to do?" asked Alec.

"We're going to sit here and wait for Nysander, as ordered," Micum said calmly. Giving Thero a dark look, he added, "Meanwhile, there's no use wasting time in idle speculation."

Nysander felt a certain relief when the royal messenger led him to the Queen's private audience chamber rather than the Great Hall. There had always been little need for ceremony between them; he had known Idrilain since infancy, and though he had always afforded her the respect due her station, their ties of mutual affection generally allowed them to drop formality in private. Something in her cool greeting, however, conveyed a warning.

Even in her evening robe, greying hair free over her shoulders, Idrilain looked like the warrior she was.

Joining her at the small wine table, Nysander did his best to mask his rising uneasiness. Neither spoke until they had saluted each other with their wine cups and taken the ritual sip, signifying their pledge to speak honestly.

"You have arrested Seregil," Nysander said, getting directly to the point. "On what charge?"

"Treason."

The wizard's heart sank; somehow, their enemies had outflanked them. He must proceed with caution and respect. "Upon what evidence is he being charged?"

"Lord Barien received this earlier today." Idrilain pushed a rolled document across to him.

He recognized the opening lines; it was based on one of the half-finished letters Seregil had sold to Ghemella. Like the last, it had every mark of being authentic except its contents. Handwriting, signature, ink-all were consistent.

"It appears genuine, I admit," Nysander said at last. "And yet I do not believe that it was composed by Seregil. May I inquire as to your opinion?"

"My opinion is irrelevant. It's my duty to deal in facts," she replied. "So far no evidence of tampering, magical or otherwise, has been discovered on that parchment."

"And yet you must have doubts or I would not be sitting here with you now," Nysander suggested gently.

The regal mask slipped just a bit at that. "I don't know Seregil well, Nysander, but I know you. I know

that you've been worthy of my trust, and that of the three queens before me. It's difficult for me to believe that anyone you hold in such esteem could be a traitor. If you know anything about this, you'd better tell me now."

Nysander drew the forged letter he'd intercepted from his coat and handed it to her. "I came into possession of this a week ago. Believe me when I tell you that I would have spoken to you at once if I had the slightest doubt as to Seregil's innocence. The initial content is based on a letter Seregil did in fact write, but the damning lines were added by the forger. I have spoken with Seregil about it and have every reason to believe that he speaks the truth."

Idrilain's face darkened again as she compared the two letters. "I don't understand. If these are false, then they're masterpieces of forgery. Who would go to such lengths to discredit a person of such small importance? Forgive the bluntness of an old soldier, Nysander, but aside from his friendship with you and my children, what is Seregil but an exiled wastrel noble with a bit of trader's sense? He has no power at my court, no influence."

"True. Which leaves nothing of significance except his rather tenuous connection to you, or perhaps even to me. And who but the Lerans would find this of value?"

"The Lerans?" Idrilain said derisively. "A bunch of narrow-minded malcontents mouthing the empty threats even their great— grandparents didn't believe! By the Four, Nysander, the Lerans have been nothing more than a political bugbear since the time of Elani the Fair."

"So it is generally believed, my lady. Yet you must remember that I was a boy at the wedding of your ancestor and namesake, Idrilain the First, when she took the Aurлnfaie, Corruth, as her consort.

"Seven generations later, who but a handful of old wizards recall the shouts of anger outside the temple during the ceremony? Yet I tell you, my Queen, that at this moment I hear them as clearly as I did then. "A Skalan lord for the Skalan people!" they screamed as the Queen's Horse rode out with swords and clubs. And it was not only the rabble who protested, but nobles, as well, who felt their honor usurped by foreign blood. I saw these same nobles stand by Queen Lera through her oppressive reign. I watched the public protests when her half sister Corrathesthera took the throne after Lera's death."

"And yet my ancestor Corruthesthera reigned unchallenged by any revolution, and her descendants after her."

"And two of those queens died under questionable circumstances."

"Rumors! Elani died in the Great Plague, and Klia was poisoned by Plenimaran assassins."

"So history has decided, my Queen. Yet there was talk to the contrary at the time."

"Nothing was proven in either case. And without proof to the contrary, you're left standing on smoke," Idrilain asserted stubbornly. "Which brings us back to Seregil. Perhaps it would be to the Lerans' advantage to embarrass me through him. Sakor knows, I can't afford division among my own people with the threat of war hanging over us. Still, you realize that by giving me this second letter, you have doubly damned him unless you can produce proof that they're not genuine?"

"I do," replied Nysander. "And I give it to you as a pledge of my good faith, knowing I must prove him innocent or watch a man I love as my own son executed in the most horrible fashion. You have him in custody. Word will spread, just as the Lerans intend. All I ask of you is time to produce proof of his

innocence."

Pressing her palms together, Idrilain rested her forehead against her fingertips. "I can afford no show of leniency. Barien is planning to pursue the matter personally."

"And his loyalty to you is unclouded by any regard for Seregil?"

"Precisely."

Nysander hesitated an instant, then reached across the table and clasped her hands in his. "Grant me two days, Idrilain, I beseech you. Tell Barien whatever you wish, but give me time to save a man more loyal and valuable than you know."

Astonishment dawned on Idrilain's face as the implication struck home. "Seregil, a Watcher? Sakor's Flame, can I be that blind?"

"He is a master of his craft, my dear,"

Nysander said rather sadly. "Regardless of what I would have wished for him, Illior has set him a path all his own. With your permission, I would prefer to say no more, except that I gladly stake my own honor on his loyalty to Skala and to you."

Idrilain shook her head doubtfully. "I hope you never have cause to regret those words, my friend. He was a traitor once; we both know that. What you've just told me-that could be a double-edged thing."

"I stand by him, nonetheless."

"Very well, then. Two days. But I can't give you any longer, and your evidence must be irrefutable! I don't suppose I need to warn you that any interference in the due process of the law would be most unwise?"

Nysander rose and bowed deeply. "I understand perfectly, my lady."

Riding at once to the Cockerel, Nysander made no effort to hide his concern from the others waiting there.

"It is as we feared," he told them.

"A second forged letter has been delivered to the Viceregent, this one dated the sixth of Erasin. Ironically, the original was one that Seregil handed over to Ghemella as part of his scheme to entrap the forger."

"The sixth of Erasin?" Alec counted back.

"That's just after we met. We were still out on the Downs then."

"Bloody hell!" growled Micum. "Either the bastards know about Seregil's work or they struck lucky in the dark. Either way, they've fixed it so he either has to rig up some lie or reveal himself. And that could prove a death sentence in itself."

"I could say he was at Ivywell," Alec offered. "We've already set up the story that he brought me down from there. He was telling everyone at the party about it."

"I fear not," said Nysander. "That tale serves well enough in some circles, but would not bear up under the scrutiny of the Queen's inquisitors. At the very least, witnesses would be sent for from Mycena. When none appeared, you would find yourself as deeply implicated as Seregil. Besides, there is no time.

Idrilain has given us just two days' grace. I fear our best recourse is to pursue Seregil's original plan regarding Hind Street."

"I've been thinking about that," mused Micum. "It took Seregil a week to find Alben, and he's not even certain he's the right one. Assuming that we do find a cache-that there is one— what if he's not our man after all? It could take us weeks to run down information that Seregil could come up with in a few days' time."

Nysander spread his hands resignedly. "True. Yet at the moment I can think of no other option."

"If only he'd had another day," Alec exclaimed bitterly. "He was all smiles about it tonight, as if he had all the time in the world."

"It occurs to me," said There, who'd been quiet for some time, "that Alec's absence at Wheel Street this evening will surely have been remarked upon. Perhaps an appearance at the prison would not be out of place-expressions of outrage, bewilderment, and the like? While it would not be politic for Nysander to be seen there, who would question Lord Seregil's young ward bringing his protector a few necessities for the night? A blanket, perhaps, and some clean linen—"

"A lock pick!"

Thero spared Alec a withering glance. "Only if you want to guarantee your place on the gibbet beside him. My thought was that if they allowed you to see him, he might be able to pass along some helpful information. If not, what have we lost?"

"You've a bit of the spy in you after all," said Micum.

Thero looked slightly offended. "It's simple logic. My thinking is unclouded by emotion in this matter."

"Nonetheless, it is a fine idea," said Nysander, giving the young wizard an approving look. "Well done, Thero."

Alec rose and reached for his cloak. "I'll go right now! Are you coming, Micum?"

Nysander raised a warning hand. "A moment first, both of you. It is imperative that you recognize the magnitude of our actions. Should anything go awry, we will have forfeited any credibility we have left with the Queen. We could all find ourselves in the Red Tower, or worse."

Having said what was necessary, he was proud to see no signs of wavering in the others. "Very good. I must add that any misstep will reflect most disastrously on the Queen; that must be the final consideration in any decision. If this does stem back to the Lerans, any cock-up on our part would play right into their hands. Nothing would please them more, I am certain, than the appearance of a widespread conspiracy that includes myself. With that in mind, I pray for Illior's favor to grant us all luck in the shadows."

"I'll second that," said Micum. "Come on, Sir Alec. We've got work to do."

A dank wind whipped up from the harbor as Alec and Micum rode up to the prison near the southern wall of the city. The main tower was a squat, ugly structure ringed by a bailey wall. Dismounting in the outer yard, Alec wrinkled his nose at the dismal stench of urine and burning tallow that hung over the place.

"It's hard to believe I woke up at Watermead this morning," he whispered, clutching the little bundle he'd thrown together.

"More like yesterday morning now," sighed Micum.

"What if they don't let us in?"

"Just be as persuasive as possible and have some gold ready, throw back your cloak so they can see you're a gentleman."

Following Micum's advice, Alec pounded at the gate.

A bearded face appeared at the door grille.

"What's your business at this hour?"

"A man was brought in tonight," said Alec. "His name is Lord Seregil. He's my protector and I've brought some clothing and blankets for him. May I see him, please, just for a moment?"

"That dark-haired blade?"

"Yes, that's him."

"It's damned late, you know."

"Inconvenience has its price." Alec held up a gold half sester. "We'd be very grateful."

Micum stepped closer behind him. "They haven't given an order against visitors, have they?"

The guard eyed Alec's coin, then turned to confer with someone else. The gate soon swung open.

"I suppose there's no harm in the lad going up," the guard said, taking the coin and leading them into the warder's room. "But just him and only for a minute. You can wait here by the fire if you like, sir, while he goes. And I'll have a look through that bundle first."

Satisfied with the contents of the parcel and a second coin, the chief warder turned Alec over to another guard, who led him into the depths of the chilly edifice.

The walls seemed to press in around Alec as he followed the warder up flight after drafty flight of stone stairs. His time in Asengai's dungeon had left him with an indelible hatred of such places.

Stopping at one of the low cell doors, the guard peered through the tiny grille. "Visitor, your lordship!"

A muffled reply came from within.

"You'll have to speak to him through here," the warder told Alec. "Don't pass nothing through, not even your hand. I'll see to it that he gets this package."

Taking Alec's bundle, he moved off far enough to give them a modicum of privacy.

The grille was set deep in the thick wooden door. Light from the nearest lantern in the corridor slanted through the bars, illuminating a crescent of profile and one glittering eye.

"Are you all right?" Alec whispered anxiously.

"So far," Seregil replied. "It's damn cold, though."

"I brought a blanket, and some fresh clothes."

"Thanks. Any news?"

Leaning as close as he dared, Alec quickly told him the details of their conference at the Cockerel.

"Nysander thinks finding evidence against your forger may be our only chance. Micum and I'll have to do it, I guess, but we're not certain how. God, I wish all this hadn't happened!"

"I know how you feel. Is the guard still well away?"

"Yes."

"Then pay attention." Seregil cautiously reached the fingers of one hand through the bars, signing something about Micum.

It was too quick. Alec shook his head. "I can hardly hear you. What did you say?"

"I said it's a dead end. Nothing to be gained,"

Seregil said, raising his voice for the guard's benefit as he signed again, more slowly this time.

His fingers were somewhat hampered by the bars, but Alec got Tell Micum silver fish.

"I don't understand!" Alec whispered, convinced he must have gotten the nonsensical message wrong.

"I won't leave you here to rot!"

"Don't fret," Seregil replied, locking eyes with him. "There's a lucky moon tomorrow night. Fortify yourself with prayers to the Lightbearer and all will be well. In the meantime, I entrust you to the care of Micum Cavish. Heed his wisdom; he's a man of many parts."

"Sorry, young sir, that's all the time I can give you," the guard called.

"Damn!" muttered Alec, still convinced he'd misinterpreted a crucial message. Pretending to brush back

a stray strand of hair, he signed Silver fish?

To his surprise, Seregil nodded emphatically.

"Come along, sir!"

Alec held Seregil's gaze a moment longer, heart pounding painfully in his chest. What he could see of Seregil's mouth tilted up suddenly in the old reassuring grin.

"Why the long face?" Seregil whispered. "You're not alone in this, you know. Everything's going to be fine!"

But Alec felt anything but fine as he followed the guard back down the stairs. Much as he wanted to believe Seregil's brave assurances, he thought he'd heard a hollow note in his friend's voice.

They were in a bad spot, and a good deal of it was up to him to solve. The consequences of failure were too awful to bear thinking about.

His face must have given something of this away, for the guard said kindly, "There now, sir, perhaps it'll all come right in the end. He seems a good enough fellow."

Sensing a potential ally, Alec managed to work up a few tears by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs. In fact, they came with surprising ease.

As soon as they were out of sight of the prison Alec passed on Seregil's strange message. For a moment Micum looked disconcertingly blank.

"Silver fish?" Stroking the corners of his mustache, he shook his head. Then suddenly he broke into a broad grin. "By the Flame, he must have meant silverfish, like the insect!"

"That means something to you?" Alec asked, still doubtful.

"Oh, yes! In fact, our sneaky friend has given us our whole plan of attack. I'll explain when we get home-home being Wheel Street tonight."

Runcer met them at the door. "The guests have departed, Sir Alec, and I have laid a fire in your chamber. Will you be requiring anything else tonight?"

"No, thank you," Alec replied, feeling a bit confused. The elderly servant's manner conveyed the impression that he had served Alec all his life.

He was hovering in a manner that suggested he expected further orders. "Well, I think I can manage. You should go to bed, ah—"

"Runcer," Micum whispered behind him.

"Runcer, yes. Go to bed. It's late. Thank you."

Runcer's wrinkled face betrayed nothing but respectful attention as he bowed good night.

Retreating hastily upstairs, Alec found his new bedchamber brightly illuminated.

"He's refurbished it," Micum remarked dryly, looking the place over. "It's very-Mycenian."

"Is that what you'd call it?"

The cabinets, chests, chairs, and tall, carved bedstead were all brightly painted with garish fruit and game motifs. The bed hangings, though faded, were richly embroidered with a pattern of pomegranates and wheat. The overall effect was rather overwhelming, even to Alec's untutored eye. The only familiar oh jects in the room were his sword and bow, which lay across the bed.

"I supposed I'll get used to it," he sighed, drawing a chair up to the fire. "Now tell me about the silverfish."

"Old Silverfish was a name we gave to a slippery customer Nysander had us track down a few years back," explained Micum. "He was another blackmailer and, like his namesake, he had a talent for disappearing into the woodwork. Seregil had a hell of a time finding his cache. He finally did, though, and I never saw a prettier bit of coggery."

"How did he do it?"

"We'll get to that. What else did he tell you?"

"To depend on you, and that there'd be a lucky moon tomorrow night when I should pray to Illior. I think he means we do the burglary then."

"Right. We'll pay a daylight visit to Master Alben's shop, look the place over, then do the real work after dark."

"And if he's right? The bailiff who arrested Seregil had my name, too. If I show up with evidence they'll never believe us!"

"Probably not. Which means we have to make certain it gets to the Queen some other way. The City Watch, for instance. I daresay they'd welcome the opportunity to arrest a traitor."

"Sure, but why would the Watch believe us any more than the Queen's Bailiff?"

"They wouldn't," Micum said with a sly smile. "But Myrhini will."

"Who?" Alec was too tired to place the name immediately.

"Princess Klia's friend. She's a captain of the Horse Guard."

Alec, rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his palms. "Oh, yes, the one who took me to the barracks for a pass that day Seregil had me robbed."

"The day he what?"

"Never mind. You think Myrhini will help us?"

"For Klia's sake, if not for Seregil's. I'll send a message, but I don't expect we'll see her before dawn. You try out this new bed of yours in the meantime. I have an idea tomorrow will be another long day."

Alec gave a humorless laugh. "I don't think I've seen a short one since I met Seregil!"