Casket of Souls (15 page)

“And persistent,” Micum said with a chuckle. “He didn’t waste any time coming back.”

“Hardly surprising. According to him, they’re having to turn people away at the door at their current location. I’d say he’s going to be a very rich man before long.”

“And you like him,” Alec observed. “So do I. I bet he’d make a good nightrunner.”

“No doubt he would. Actors often make good spies. We’ll have to keep an eye on that one.”

Atre met them in Gannet Lane at the appointed time. Lady Kylith was there as well, fanning herself in her open carriage.

“I’m so glad you two have decided to invest,” she said as Alec helped her down.

“I didn’t know it was a foregone conclusion,” Seregil replied.

She laughed and rapped him with her fan.

“I wouldn’t presume!” Atre exclaimed.

“You might as well.” Seregil sighed dramatically. “My
lady here seems to have made up her mind on the matter. Come on, then. Let’s have a look.”

This theater was a far cry from the one in Basket Street. The huge polished wood doors were carved with the Eye of Illior, patron Immortal of creativity and actors, as well as wizards, nightrunners, and the mad. Inside there were banks of proper benches and a dozen fine boxes large enough for couches and wine tables. The stage was twice the size of the one at Basket Street, and flanked by tall wooden columns carved in the shapes of trees whose branches, laden with gilt leaves and fruit, spread across the theater ceiling. Atre led them around it, pointing out the finer details of the stage area, then took them back through the warren of little dressing and storage rooms behind it.

“It’s perfect, and worthy of your fine company,” Kylith said at last. “Seregil, you and Alec will be generous, won’t you?”

Seregil looked around approvingly. “It makes a nice change from my usual investments.”

“And once the army comes home, business should be even brisker,” added Alec.

“It will be before then, I assure you,” Atre told him. “Our Mycenian patrons tripled their money in a year. I expect we’ll do at least as well here.”

“Illior’s Light, it’s not about money!” Kylith exclaimed, scandalized. “I’m not in trade, Master Atre. No offense to you, dear Seregil.”

“None taken, dear lady.”

“No, I only wish to bring the beauty of your artistry to its proper standing in Rhíminee,” Kylith said, patting Atre’s arm.

Atre gave Kylith a warm look that made even the seasoned old courtier blush. “You are most gracious, my lady.” Then, to Seregil and Alec, “All our performances will be dedicated to you three. And I am, as always, my lady, at your service.”

“He made me the same promise the other night at the party,” Seregil told her with a wink. “Perhaps we should work out a schedule?”

T
EUS
crouched at the end of the alley across from Crab Quay, hiding from the older boys who’d been picking on him. Squatting with his chin on his knobby knees, he was drawing in the dirt with a bit of broken crockery when a shadow fell across the mouth of the alley. He looked up to find a strange-looking character regarding him. He was a young fellow on a crutch with a bandaged foot and a patch over one eye. The ragged yellow hair sticking out under his hat looked dirty, as did his face and hands. He had on a long tunic with a rope for a belt and carried a lumpy sack over his shoulder.

Teus jumped to his feet, aware that he was trapped. But the stranger stayed where he was as he said, “Boy, I am lost, I think. Can you tell me how to get to the Sea Serpent tavern?”

“The Serpent?” Teus squeezed one eye shut, trying to think of how to tell the man all the twists and turns. There was something funny about the way the man spoke. You heard all kinds of accents here in the Lower City, but he’d never heard this one. “It’s a ways off.” He pointed. “That way.”

The man gave him an embarrassed smile. “Maybe you could show me? I’m not used to a big city like this. I’ve been lost all morning and my friends must be wondering where I am. I’m afraid they’ll sail without me. I can pay you a bit for your trouble.” He took a silver penny from his purse and held it up for Teus to see.

Eyeing the money hungrily, Teus still hesitated. The Serpent was on the edge of a neighborhood worse than this one,
but the man did look worried, and friendly, too, and he clearly wasn’t from here. Maybe he’d tell him where he was from. Teus liked to hear about foreign places. He was going to sea as a cabin boy when he was old enough, to see them for himself. Anywhere but this stinking slum would be fine.

He glanced up at the sun. There was plenty of daylight left; if he hurried and ran all the way back, he’d be home in no time, his mother none the wiser. He could tell her he’d found the penny and she’d be happy. “Come on, then.”

As he’d hoped, the young man was glad to talk, hopping along spryly on his crutch. He was from somewhere up north, in the Ironheart Mountains. Teus had never heard of those and was a little disappointed when the man told him you couldn’t sail there.

“But you might want to go anyway,” the fellow said, “if you want to see dragons.”

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Dragons! Really? You seen ’em?”

“Seen ’em? I’ve eaten ’em,” the young man replied proudly. “Little ones, anyway. The big ones are too dangerous to hunt, but the little ones are tasty.”

Teus was skeptical but he wanted to hear more and they were nearly to the Serpent already. “I never heard of any dragons in Skala. Not for years and years.”

“Where I’m from is a long way from Skala, lad. And there are dragons there. I can prove it.” He stopped and rummaged in his sack, then pulled out a little leather pouch. “Hold out your hand.”

Teus did and the man poured out half a dozen little white teeth on his palm, no longer than the end of his little finger.

“Dragon teeth,” he told the boy. “They’re good protection from bad luck.” He pulled a tiny cloth bag on a string from the neck of his tunic. “See? I wear one all the time, to keep me safe traveling.”

“Really?” That would be a good thing for a sailor to have.

The man smiled. “You like them, eh? Maybe we can make a trade.”

“Like what?” Teus didn’t have anything in the world worth a dragon’s tooth.

The man looked down at the teeth and shrugged. “I like these. You give me something you like for one of them, and it’s a fair trade.”

“I have a toy horse back home.”

“No time to go back. Do you have something on you now?”

Teus’s heart sank. He did. He’d found a little penknife in the street in front of one of the countinghouses in Merchant Street last year. It had only half a blade, but what was left still cut and the sides of it were made of bone with designs carved in. It was a special treasure, really, though nothing compared with a dragon’s tooth!

He reached into his purse and held it out.

The man acted as if Teus had offered him a sack of gold. “Oh, that’s fine, isn’t it? That’s a beauty!” He smiled down into the boy’s eyes as he took it and flipped the knife like a coin. “For this you may have two of the dragon’s teeth. Take the ones you like best.”

Teus was going to miss the knife, and since the man seemed so happy with it, he took the two biggest.

He ran all the way home, clutching the teeth in one hand and the penny in the other. His mother was sitting in the sun in front of their tenement, braiding candlewick to sell in the marketplace.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he came to a halt, puffing. “Are them boys after you again?”

“No, Ma, I’s just helping someone get to—to Gull Quay and I wanted to show you what he traded me!”

“Traded you? For what?”

“My broken knife.” Teus unclenched his fist and showed her. “Look! Dragon’s teeth, from baby ones.”

His mother looked, then shook her head and went back to her braiding. “Teus, you looby. Them’s the eyeteeth of a cat.”

S
EREGIL
was very pleased when an invitation from Selin arrived a few days later, asking them to meet him and Duke Reltheus at the Drake for some gambling that evening.

The Street of Lights gambling houses were, like the brothels, lavish establishments, surpassing some nobles’ houses in the richness of their appointments. The Drake was a favorite of the middle echelons of Rhíminee nobility, and it was not unusual to see members of the court on their way to one of the private gaming rooms.

They found Selin and Reltheus at a bakshi table, where Reltheus was being badly beaten by a wealthy dowager. When the last of his pieces had been captured, he paid his wager and bid the lady good night.

Selin made the introductions. “Your Grace, allow me to present Lord Seregil of Rhíminee and Lord Alec of Ivywell. My lords, His Grace, Duke Reltheus of Tenmont.”

“Well met, gentlemen.” Reltheus clasped hands with them warmly. “Young Selin has been singing your praises. You’re said to have Illior’s luck at the gaming tables, Lord Seregil. I was hoping a bit of it would rub off on me tonight. My purse is a good deal lighter than it was when I started out.”

Seregil smiled. “Then you must play with us, Your Grace.”

“Enough of titles here,” the man scoffed. “Names are good enough among gamblers. Do you play the stones?”

Seregil lifted the bakshi pouch from his belt and rattled the pieces. “Now and then.”

“A round then. Which of you will partner me?”

“Youth against experience, I say. Alec, you partner with Selin.” Seregil took the dowager’s place across from Reltheus and poured his stones into the wooden trough carved into the elegant tabletop in front of him. Alec and the young lord took their places to either side and did the same. Seregil and Alec had both brought their best sets for this place. Seregil’s were lozenges of the finest blood-red carnelian carved on the backs with dragons; the symbols incised on the fronts were highlighted with gilt. Alec’s were round pieces of dark blue chalcedony, with Illior’s Eye on the back, and the symbols limned with silver. His were still shiny, while Seregil’s were well worn from years of use. So were Reltheus’s onyx pieces, inset with gold. Selin’s, cast in silver, had seen considerable play, too.

Bakshi was everyone’s game in Skala; the rich played with fine pieces at tables like this one, while the poor squatted with their fistful of scratched pebbles over a gaming grid drawn in the dirt or chalked on a floor or the deck of a ship, vying to make the serpent, flower, snare, and spear patterns for wagers.

“I’m surprised we have not met before,” said Reltheus as he and Seregil took the first round with two serpents and caught half a dozen of Alec’s pieces with a snare.

“Alec and I move in more modest circles,” Seregil replied with a smile.

Reltheus chuckled at that. “Every man’s an equal over the gaming table, as the saying goes.”

“But you both know Archduchess Alaya, don’t you?” Selin put in, unwittingly shifting the conversation in the right direction.

“A grand lady, indeed, but I doubt she’d remember me,” Seregil demurred. “She did used to pinch my cheek when I was at court, but it has been many years since I’ve spoken with her.”

“You speak of years, Seregil, but look at you!” Reltheus exclaimed, slapping down a counter and capturing two of Alec’s pieces. “That enviable Aurënfaie youth. If I didn’t know better, Lord Alec, I’d say you had a touch of that blood
yourself. You have something of that look about you. But you’re from Mycena, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. But there are rumors of mixed blood,” Alec explained, as he always did when the subject came up. “My family was in trade and traveled in the south.”

“Ah. Well, it suits you. Don’t you think so, Seregil?” The man gave him a wink.

“I do, indeed.” Seregil slid one of his coursers into place to block Selin’s serpent.

“Then it is true, what they say of you two?”

Seregil glanced up with a slightly crooked grin. “More than likely, whatever it is. Do you know Alaya well?”

“Oh, yes, I attend her salons. You should join us. I’m sure she’d be glad of your company, with her taste for handsome young fellows. You’ll be expected to provide some sort of entertainment your first time, however, and you will be judged accordingly.”