Casket of Souls (41 page)

“The usual urchin?” Seregil asked, setting his book aside.

“No, my lord. A new one.”

The boy in question had been left waiting on the front doorstep. He wasn’t much older than Kepi, and had the same capable, starved look about him. He hopped to his feet as soon as Seregil stepped out.

“Message for you, m’lord,” he said, making a sort of bow.

“Yes?”

“Just one word, m’lord. ‘Laneus.’ ”

Seregil felt a cold sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, although he’d expected something like this. He gave the child a silver penny and went back inside.

Alec came in from the kitchen and found Seregil staring at the murals, absently rubbing at the thin scab on his throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Laneus didn’t waste any time. He set the assassins on us. I doubt they’ll stop at just one attempt.”

“Time to pay him a visit, don’t you think?” asked Alec.

“Perhaps he and his lady would enjoy an evening out? I’ll send invitations to him and Malthus, and Eirual and Myrhichia, too. The women will be a good distraction. I’ll fall ill at the last moment and send you to play host. Take them to the Red Hart. If anything goes wrong, you can excuse yourself and ride like hell to warn me.”

“Why can’t I do the housebreaking? You’re better at entertaining the nobles.”

“You’ll be fine.” Seregil leaned forward and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Besides, it’s my turn.”

“We’re taking turns now? If that’s the case, then you’re wrong. You burgled Malthus, and Reltheus,” Alec countered, undeterred by the kiss. His expression darkened ominously. “This is the second time you’ve tried to keep me from going out alone. Is this about that night I broke into Kyrin’s house without you?”

“No, talí, I just—” Seregil broke off with a sigh. He’d sworn long ago not to lie to his talímenios. “Well, maybe a bit.”

“I’m going,” Alec said in a tone that he seldom used with Seregil, or anyone else, for that matter. “Either you trust me, or you don’t.”

“It’s not a matter of trust.”

“Yes, it is.” Alec took him firmly by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “You’re going with Laneus. Because you
are
much better at charming the nobles than I am, and always will be. I’ll be fine—and careful. I promise.”

A muscle twitched in Seregil’s jaw as he clenched his teeth against all the arguments he wanted to make. It was true; he hated the thought of Alec doing the job alone, in a large and unfamiliar villa. But Alec was also right about their individual skills. His young partner had taken to nightrunning and swordplay far more naturally than he had to the delicate thrust and parry of social subterfuge.

Caught in the strong current of that earnest blue gaze, Seregil gave in. “All right. You do the housebreaking.”

Alec grinned. “And
I
won’t set anything on fire.”

Dressing for the evening, Seregil was careful to leave the lacings of his shirt loose, so that the garrote mark showed. It would be interesting to see how Laneus reacted to the sight of it.

The sharp thud of an arrow striking a wooden target drifted in through the open bedroom window. Seregil shrugged into one of his more elaborate coats and wandered over to watch
Alec send another shaft to the center of the painted bull’s-eye. The setting sun cast a mellow light over the garden and picked out glints of pure gold in his lover’s hair as he smoothly nocked an arrow and raised the bow again, speeding a third arrow to split one of the first two. It was a neat trick, if hard on arrows, and one that never ceased to impress people. Alec made it look as easy as picking a single ward lock.

As he lingered there at the window, however, another image came to him: Yhakobin’s villa in Plenimar, and the day he’d stood at a barred window, seeing Alec alive in another garden, walking with Ilar.

Stop it
, Seregil told himself, willing the painful image away. The past was past and Alec was right about his unreasoning fears.

He stood a moment longer, admiring the strong lines of Alec’s slim body, and the lean, corded muscles in the younger man’s bare forearms as he pulled the bowstring to his ear again. Seregil had long since come to appreciate that archery was far more to Alec than a mere skill; it was a kind of meditation, a way he sometimes focused that fearless mind of his.

Alec let fly, then looked up and smiled at him, as if he’d known he was there all along. Seregil smiled back and went to find his boots.

Alec saw Seregil off that evening, then stole off to the Stag and Otter to pass the evening until it was time to go. Settling by an open window in the sitting room with a book Thero had lent him on dragon lore, Alec tried to read, but soon found himself scanning the same page over again. He set it aside and gazed out over the neighboring rooftops as the shadows lengthened across the city. Seregil had always been concerned for him, he knew, and in the early days of his apprenticeship that concern had been warranted. He wasn’t sure when it had begun to irk him, but it did now.

When it was full dark he went to one of the clothes chests in the bedroom and put on a plain dark coat and trousers, then tucked a square of black silk and his tool roll inside his
shirt. The cool weight of the tools against his bare skin was familiar and comforting, as was the dagger at his belt. After a moment’s thought, he buckled on his sword belt and threw on a light cloak to cover it, in case of assassins or footpads, though the latter were less likely in that quarter.

He blew out the lamp and went back to the sitting room and one of the chests there. Inside, he found the muslin bag he was looking for and selected an owl feather. He held it a moment, sending up a silent prayer to Illior Lightbearer, patron of thieves—and nightrunners, presumably—then singed the tip of it over the remaining candle and tucked it behind his ear for luck. Gathering the rest of the night’s equipment, he blew out the candle and set off.

Laneus’s handsome three-story villa in Ruby Lane had plenty of tempting balconies and lots of trees. Alec skulked down an alleyway to the tradesmen’s lane that ran behind it. The wall here was higher than most. Seregil had joked that the higher a noble’s rank and the greater their fortune, the more they walled themselves in.

He checked the lane, then took the rope and muffled grapple from under his cloak. Checking the cloth wrappings that would mute the sound of the metal on stone, he swung it up and grinned when it caught on the first try. Tugging it to make certain it was securely seated, he climbed up to the top and peered over. Metal spikes that had once protected the house had been sacrificed to the war here, too.

The garden was large and laid out in a formal pattern, with traditional crushed-shell paths that showed pale in the starlight between the beds of flowers and herbs. Balanced there, Alec appraised his route in. On this side of the house there were no trees or convenient drainpipes close enough to the balconies to be of any use. However, the ground floor was lined with tall glass doors overlooking a terrace and an ornamental fishpond. He’d have preferred a kitchen or pantry window, but the sides of the house were walled off. There was no choice but to take the risky way in across the terrace into the lower level, where it was more likely that some servants could still be underfoot.

But he wasn’t about to give up the job he’d had to fight for.

There was no sign of a watchman, but there could be a dog. Or dogs.

He took out the bit of sausage he’d found in Ema’s pantry and tossed it toward the house. It was an idea he’d had the last time a dog surprised them, and it worked. There was a single bark, then a huge brindle hound ambled from the shadows and went for the sausage. Alec whistled softly and when the hound looked his way Alec raised his left hand, first and little fingers extended, and made the turning motion of the thief’s cantrip, whispering,
“Soora thasáli.”
He wasn’t certain the charm would work at this distance, but the dog didn’t bark.

Alec shifted the rope and climbed down into the garden. The dog trotted over for a scratch behind the ears, then disappeared into the shadows again. Avoiding the shell paths, Alec made his way to the terrace and sidled up to one of the tall glass doors. All was dark inside, but the faint moonlight spilled across a patterned carpet and the slender curved legs of what looked like a dining table. It was unlikely that servants would be sleeping there, so he picked the lock and slipped inside.

At the far end of the room a set of double doors was outlined in some faint illumination, probably a night lamp. Alec waited to be certain the light was not moving—a lantern carried by some watchman—then stepped out into a long corridor. To his left he could see part of a receiving hall, the source of the light, and a corridor continuing on from there. The place was huge, and he sent up a silent plea to the Lightbringer that whatever there was to find was down here somewhere. This was a two-man job, though he wasn’t about to admit it to Seregil later. He didn’t have to prove himself again, he knew. He just had to prove to Seregil that he could let Alec out of his sight and not lose him again. He had no intention of getting caught.

The back of the house was taken up with the dining room, several sitting rooms decorated in different styles—none of which contained any sort of secret hiding place that he could find—a larger dining room, two garderobes, and the kitchen.
From there a plain stairway led up to what was most likely the servants’ quarters. The corridor past the receiving hall led to a lavish ballroom.

In the receiving hall, a marble staircase led up to the part of the house he next needed to explore. He judged he’d already been at it for nearly an hour, and wondered fleetingly how Seregil was doing keeping Laneus and the others occupied.

Night lamps burned along the upstairs corridors, as well. Shoes set out for cleaning along the upper corridor showed him which rooms were occupied—five in all. Avoiding those rooms, he discovered a huge library and a large, mostly empty room that served for sword practice, judging by the various styles of blades in racks on the walls.

At the far end of the corridor he at last found what appeared to be a man’s study. It was rather small and by far the coziest room yet, with a pretty fireplace and a jumble of books, scrolls, and male bric-a-brac on the shelves that lined the room. It was tempting to take some small item as a present for Seregil, but he didn’t want to chance leaving the slightest sign of his visit.

The writing desk under the window overlooked the top of the garden wall and the side of the neighboring house. He took out his lightstone and fitted a leather cone around it to shield it from anyone happening in. Rifling the locked correspondence box first, he found a half-finished letter. As he read it his eyebrows arched in dismay.

There was no signature, but comparing it with other letters in the box, it appeared to be in Laneus’s hand. He debated taking it, then decided against it and instead copied the letter out. His script was far less elegant and clear than Seregil’s and he blotted a few places in his haste, but it was soon finished. There was also a sealed letter addressed to General Sarien.

Alec carefully pried the seal loose. The letter was wrapped in the sheet with the general’s name on it. The letter itself had no date or salutation, just a few lines in Laneus’s bold script.

Seven more to the cause. Will bring them to our next meeting. Must have assurances of your men soon
.

There was nothing overtly damning in it, but knowing what he did and whom it was addressing, it wasn’t too difficult to guess what was really being said.

Seven more—

This bore out their concern that arresting the principal players would cause the unknown followers to scatter.

He rubbed the bottom of the sealing wax with his thumb to soften it, then stuck it back down and turned his attention to the desk, and then the room. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t find any secret caches of papers, though he searched every available surface except the ceiling and wiggled anything he could lay hands on, looking for a trigger for a secret space, or a passageway like the one Seregil had found at Kyrin’s house. Nothing.

At Eirual’s brothel, Seregil found the lady in question still in her dressing room. The little chamber was filled with the sweet fragrances of expensive perfumes and powders. She was admiring herself in a long mirror as her maidservant adjusted the folds of Eirual’s pale green silk gown. Several pairs of fancy shoes were lined up for inspection in front of the wardrobe.

“You’re just in time, my love!” the courtesan greeted him, smiling at Seregil in the mirror. Lifting two ornately woven jeweled necklaces from a casket on the dressing table, she turned and held them up for him to judge. “Pearls or the peridots?”

Seregil struck a thoughtful pose. “Pearls, I think. They look so cool and inviting against your skin.”

“Pearls it is.” She handed the necklace to Seregil and lifted her black ringlets from her neck.

Seregil dutifully fastened the heavy strands and brushed his fingertips playfully down her nape. “Hmmm, yes. Most inviting.”

She turned and kissed him on the cheek. “Such a tease. I do miss you, you know. You were always one of my favorites.” She noticed the black armband he wore as she reached for one of the pearl hairpins on the dressing table. Her coquettish smile faded. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Nor I.”

Eirual shook her head as if repelling sadness and began decorating her elaborately braided hair with pearl hairpins. “And where is the fair Alec? Still downstairs?”

“No, he’s not well tonight. I’ll be escorting both you lovelies myself, and will be the envy of all who see me.”

“You always are, I suspect.”

Myrhichia hurried in with a white silk girdle embroidered with pearls. “I thought you might want this,” she said, draping it around the older woman’s shapely hips. “What do you think, Seregil?”

“Perfect! The pair of you are a vision of loveliness not to be outdone by all the titled heads of Rhíminee.” Indeed Myrhichia looked as beautiful as her benefactress in midnight-blue silk stitched with crystal beads, and matching hairpins glittering in her dark hair. “You look like the night sky in Bôkthersa, full of stars and mystery,” he told her, kissing her cheek.