Casket of Souls (31 page)

“W
ELCOME
, my friend, it’s been too long since you’ve dined with us!” Seregil exclaimed the following evening as Runcer ushered Duke Malthus into the salon. The theater was still closed in mourning for Kylith, and it was too soon to go out carousing.

“Not that long, certainly?” Malthus replied with a sad smile. “Terrible thing, Kylith. She’ll certainly be missed. Good evening, Alec.”

Alec shook hands. “Good to see you. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I must leave after supper for another appointment.”

“Not at all, dear boy! Attending to Princess Elani again?”

“No, Seregil forgot that I’d promised to visit Myrhichia tonight.”

Malthus raised an eyebrow at that.

“They’re friends,” Seregil said with a chuckle as he led the way to the dining room. “I understand you had an unfortunate bit of excitement at your house the other night.”

“You could call it that. Some servant left a candle burning in the library and set the room on fire.”

“Oh, dear! I hope the damage wasn’t too serious.”

“Fortunately it was confined to the library,” Malthus said with a sigh. “Gutted that room, though, and took all my books and papers with it. My wife has gone to our summer estate until the mess is dealt with.”

“How inconvenient for you,” Seregil commiserated, secretly relieved that he hadn’t done more damage than that. At least the fire had covered the theft.

He and Alec kept the conversation genial over the roast quail and white pear and cheese tart. As they adjourned to the library upstairs for Zengati brandy, Alec excused himself. “Good night, Malthus.”

“It’s been good talking with you.”

“I won’t be late, Seregil.”

“See that you’re not,” Seregil said teasingly.

When Alec was gone, Seregil closed the library door and locked it. “Malthus, I arranged for him to be gone. I have something very serious to speak of, and I don’t want him involved. I pray you’ll hear me out.”

The man raised a surprised eyebrow. “
You
being serious, Seregil? I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed that.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m serious now.” Seregil filled a cup for each of them from the crystal brandy decanter and sat down with him by the window. He paused and sipped his drink. “You know how gossip floats around the city.”

“Yes, and how you take it in.”

“Yes, well—This isn’t easy, my friend, but I’ve heard whisperings that a group of nobles may have ideas about putting Princess Klia on the throne, and— Well, your name came up.”

“That’s preposterous!” Malthus exclaimed indignantly, but he wasn’t as skillful a liar as Seregil. “Where did you hear this?”

“I can’t say, but I think by your expression that I’m not wide of the mark.”

“You’re wrong, Seregil. I wouldn’t have any part of that.” He paused, a little short of breath. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

“No, of course not. I speak to you as a friend, Malthus. And one concerned with your safety.” That last bit was true, at least.

The duke’s hand was unsteady as he sipped his brandy. “I appreciate your discretion and your concern, but you must put such thoughts out of your mind at once.”

“Of course.”

They sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments, then Malthus said, “Princess Elani is a fine girl, very intelligent, by all accounts. But she is very young, don’t you think?”

“She wouldn’t be the first green girl to wear the crown,” Seregil replied with a shrug. “But really, chances are she’ll be grown and more experienced before she has to rule. Phoria is healthy and from a long-lived line.”

“Her mother died in battle,” Malthus reminded him.

“Yes, she did. And I suppose you’re right to think there’s always that possibility. But deposing her heir? By the Light, that would mean civil war. You can’t want that.”

“Of course not.” Malthus paused. “You have gotten on very good terms with the princess, haven’t you? And Duke Reltheus, who’s so close to her.”

“Alec and I have that honor.”

Malthus gave him a thoughtful look. “Perhaps you’ve lost some of your affection for Klia.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, my friend, but I am and always will be Klia’s friend and supporter. And because of that, I could never believe that she would do anything that would threaten Skala’s well-being and stability. Don’t tell me you do?”

“No, but I’m not so certain about Reltheus and his lot.”

Seregil shook his head. “I’m completely confused. First it’s Klia, then it’s Reltheus. I’ve never heard anything of this from you before. Please, Malthus, speak plainly!”

“I don’t know if I can, Seregil. With your new friends …”

“Are you saying that
Reltheus
is up to something?”

Malthus nodded. “He’s a smooth man. A very smooth man, and an ambitious one. You’d do well to be careful around him. He may seem to be your friend, but I suspect he’s more concerned with your connection to the throne.”

“He’s better connected at court than I’ve ever been.”

Malthus gave him a long, measuring look. “Are you going to report me to the queen, or Korathan?”

“If I was, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking now. And what is there to report? I’m your friend, Malthus. I don’t mean you any harm. I asked you here to try to save you from disaster, and anyone else involved in this madness.”

“You’re satisfied with my innocence, I hope.”

“Of course, and I’m glad of it! You wouldn’t just be putting your own head on a spike, you know. Alec and I are rumored
to be part of it. And if word of this ever reached the queen, do you think she would believe for one moment that Klia wasn’t involved, as well? I only hope it’s not too late to quell such rumors. If I’ve heard of it, then others must have.”

“Where did you hear of it?” Malthus asked again.

“Some noble I met at Kylith’s salon. I don’t even remember his name. But you can rely on me to uphold your honor. You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you.” Seregil was beginning to feel a bit heartsick with all these empty promises.

“And Alec knows nothing of this?”

“No, and I have no intention of involving him. That’s why I sent him out tonight.”

Malthus clasped Seregil’s hands tightly. “Thank you, my friend, for this warning. Rest assured that I have taken everything you’ve said to heart.” This time, to his credit, he spoke with an almost convincing lack of concern.

Hidden in the bedroom, Alec heard the library door open and the sound of Seregil and Malthus going downstairs, chatting amiably. He waited for some time before it was clear that Malthus was in no hurry to take his leave. Perhaps Seregil had suggested a game to finish off the evening. Or they’d gone out together.

Alec, already changed into a dark, plain coat, was pacing impatiently when Seregil finally came in, looking serious. “Well?”

“Go.”

Alec hurried off after Malthus.

Seregil went to his clothes chest and retrieved the fake message he’d crafted. “Now let’s send you home.”

The first leg of the letter’s journey began at the inn. One of the scullions took the wrapped and sealed packet and a handful of silver half sesters from Ema, unaware of Seregil—plainly dressed and armed with the tools of his trade—trailing along behind. Not surprisingly, the first stop was the Black Feather, where the boy left it and some coins with the landlord. It was late, and the barmaids began putting up
the shutters. As the tavern cleared, the tavern keeper placed the packet—minus a few coins, no doubt—behind the model ship on the mantelpiece and reversed the ship’s direction, then called the girls away into the back of the shop. One of the drinkers, a young ne’er-do-well in a broken-brimmed hat, had lingered behind, and as soon as they were gone he grabbed the packet and money, tucked it into the front of his coat, and strode out, not noticing the dark shape ghosting after him.

Packet and coins changed hands again at a cheese shop, where a young boy took them and changed direction, heading at last toward the Noble Quarter, as expected.

The hunt ended, not at Reltheus’s villa, but at Marquis Kyrin’s. The sentries at the gate seemed familiar with the boy and let him pass.

Seregil ran silently down the side street to the alley behind the duke’s high garden wall. The barrel Alec had told him of was still there, lying on its side across the way next to a garbage pile. It served well again, and Seregil was soon through the garden and on the balcony outside the duke’s library. The heavy draperies were pulled across the window, but as he waited he saw the glow of a lamp in the sliver of space between the panels. Seregil pressed close to the glass, peering in.

Inside, Kyrin walked to his desk and opened the packet, frowning as he carefully perused it. The frown soon changed to a look of relief. The marquis went to the painted cabinet Alec had searched his last time here. Opening both doors, he reached inside and did something that pivoted the cabinet out to reveal a dark hidden room or passageway, then disappeared inside with the lamp.

Well, well
, thought Seregil.
I wonder what you keep there?

He waited until Kyrin reappeared and left the room with his lamp, then waited a bit longer, just to be safe.

Seregil threw the window latch with a shim and slipped inside, relying on the faint moonlight to see.

Alec had warned him about the device on the cabinet lock. Taking out his lightstone, he found the telltale pits in the lock
plate. He picked the lock carefully, angling his hand so the long needles didn’t pierce it when they sprang out.

Opening the cabinet, Seregil cautiously reached inside, looking for the mechanism. It turned out to be nothing more than a small brass lever that secured the cabinet and its panel in place.

Cool, stale air drafted out as he turned the cabinet and slipped behind it. He found himself on a small stone landing above a short flight of stairs. Seregil pulled the secret door nearly closed, in case someone wandered in, but not all the way since he couldn’t seem to find any corresponding lever on this side.

He was about to go down the stairs when he caught sight of a slight space between the first stair and the riser. Kneeling, he pressed on the step and watched the stairs pivot on some unseen mechanism to become a smooth granite slide. A large trapdoor fell open at the bottom, revealing a square of blackness, ready to swallow up the unwitting thief. Seregil took his hand away and the stairs righted themselves, looking deceptively solid. With a creak of hidden pulleys, the trapdoor closed. Any unwary thief would be securely held until the master of the house came to find him. Or perhaps already impaled on iron spikes or blades. It was as nasty as it was ingenious, Seregil thought, impressed. It was the most elegant device he’d seen for some time. Now to find the locking mechanism.

By the lightstone’s glow he inspected the stonework on either side of the landing. An iron lever was set into the mortar, just inside the door, quite out of sight unless you knew to look for it. He pulled it down and heard the rasp of metal somewhere underfoot. Pulling the lever down as far as it would go, Seregil felt it shift, no doubt locking into place. He was cautious all the same, testing the upper step again. It seemed solid.

The stairway was narrow enough for him to press his palms firmly against the rough stonework as he made his way down, just in case the stairs went out from under him. Even now he went cautiously, aware that where there was one trap there might very likely be another, perhaps like the
glyphs that protected his own secret staircase at the inn. But Kyrin either was too cautious to share his secret with a wizard, or lacked imagination, for Seregil reached the small chamber at the bottom without incident. Hopping over the trapdoor, he held up the lightstone.

The room was sparsely furnished with a desk and two large cabinets similar to the one upstairs. The sweet aroma of snuffed candles still hung on the stale air.

The cabinets were all locked and needle-trapped. Seregil carefully picked the lock of the left-hand cabinet and found stacks of papers on an upper shelf, and on the lower one cloth-wrapped parcels that reminded him of round wheels of Kerry cheese. He reached for one and found it surprisingly heavy. Undoing the wrappings, he saw that it was an Aurënfaie
kar
, a bowl-shaped ingot of pure gold about the size of a large bird’s nest. There were fifty-two in all. Seregil whistled softly through his teeth as he examined the markings on it; it bore Goliníl clan’s hallmark.

So Kyrin must be smuggling something south, but what? The
khirnari
of Goliníl was hand in glove with the khirnari of neighboring Virésse; together they had opposed the opening of Aurënfaie ports other than wealthy Virésse, a treaty made by Klia. Perhaps they were backing a plot against her out of revenge, or foresight, if they really believed that she was a viable rival for the throne. Seregil eyed the kars; this represented a considerable amount of support by the ’faie, in return for what must have been some pretty convincing assurances from Kyrin. Since Aurënen was a collection of separate but interdependent clans, Goliníl could do this, while other clans, especially the western ones like Bôkthersa, benefited from the open ports and supported Phoria in her war.