Casket of Souls (54 page)

“Under torture?” Danos said bitterly, without looking up.

“There was no need. Once arrested, he confessed willingly to the conspiracy. That is why I instructed my brother the vicegerent to exile him, rather than execution. His title and lands are yours by right, and you shall have them, if you don’t go getting yourself killed.”

“Your Majesty is kind and generous,” Danos replied softly, “but how do I erase the stain on my birthright? How do I quell the whispering that’s sure to follow me for the rest of my days?”

Phoria snorted at that. “Hold your head up and show them differently, of course. Most people will forget in a season, and those who don’t aren’t worth your consideration.”

Danos looked up not at the queen, but at Klia. “And can you look past my father’s machinations against you? Against your very life?”

“I know the man you are, Captain,” she replied. “There is evidence that your father was coerced to some extent by Marquis Kyrin, who held certain information against him. But regardless of that, your father’s sins are not your own.
Whatever the reason, he used you and your position to his own advantage. If anyone should be angry, it’s you.”

The young man’s eyes glimmered in the lantern light. “The father I knew was a good, kind man.”

“And an ambitious one,” said the queen. “Learn from his errors, and know that I will not forgive if you seek any kind of vengeance.”

“Never, Majesty—”

“Enough. Now, I do have some conditions to the restoration of your holdings. First, you are to have nothing more to do with my niece.”

Beka saw Danos’s fleeting look of pain as he nodded. Everyone knew of the princess royal’s favor, though Danos never boasted of it.

“Aloud, Captain,” Klia ordered.

“I swear on my honor,” Danos replied.

“My second condition is that you do not seek a place at court,” Phoria went on. “Do you swear to this, as well?”

“I do, Majesty, on my honor.”

“Very well, then. Carry on.” With that she nodded and walked away into the darkness.

“I don’t deserve her mercy,” Danos muttered, getting to his feet.

“See that you live up to it,” said Klia as she followed Phoria. “No more throwing your life away. It belongs to the queen as long as you wear that uniform.”

Beka rose and went to Danos. “I’m sorry about Elani.”

Danos said nothing, just went back to currying his horse.

S
TEALING
away to the inn, Seregil, Alec, and Micum prepared their disguises and headed for the slums near the Temple Precinct, where Kepi had heard of new outbreaks of the sleeping death.

“We’re not likely to hear about too many sick ones, the way people feel about the quarantine,” Seregil noted as they set off.

The Lower City and the Ring had been relatively simple to cordon off; the sprawling open neighborhoods of the Upper City were impossible, so the sick were all being moved into the Ring to be overseen by drysians. Even though Korathan had ordered that one of the pastoral sections be used, no one wanted their loved ones taken inside and the protests continued.

Seregil and Alec dressed as beggar women again, since they’d managed to pass easily in that guise. Micum wore a stained tunic and breeches he kept there for just such purposes, and Seregil’s battered hat. He hadn’t shaved since he arrived in Rhíminee and had a good start on a grey-sprinkled scruff. They attracted little attention as they walked along the Street of the Sheaf to the slums east of the Sea Market and made their way slowly through the squalid lanes and sagging tenements.

They worked all morning, and into the afternoon. Although it was safer here than in the Ring, it wasn’t necessarily safe. Micum, posing as their protector, cast a baleful eye at any who seemed overly interested in his “women.”

This area had absorbed more of the Mycenians who’d fled the war, and people in country garb sat on doorsteps and leaned out of windows.

The Dalnan temple in Wayfarer’s Street was better maintained than the one in the Lower City, but not by much. A priestess greeted them and listened with concern to Seregil’s tale of a missing child.

“It’s not like her to run off, being just a little one,” Seregil told her tearfully. “I seen her with a beggar the other day, and now I fear she’d fallen with the sleeping death somewhere, and no one to care for her. Is she here, sister?”

“We’ve only had two of the sleepers: a man and a boy,” the priestess told him. “But the bluecoats came and took them.”

Seregil clung to Micum’s arm as they made their way out and down the street. When they were well out of sight of the temple he straightened up and carefully patted his face dry with a corner of his shawl, so as not to disturb the cosmetics of his disguise.

“Just as you thought,” Alec said softly. “Now what?”

“We keep hunting,” Seregil murmured back, slipping his arm through Micum’s like a wife out with her husband.

They continued on, wandering down squalid side streets edged with offal and full of dirty children playing with whatever they could find. One had found a rusty barrel hoop and was rolling it down the street with a stick. Micum caught it as it rolled by.

“Hey, give it!” the boy cried, seizing up a stone from the muddy street and cocking his arm to throw.

Micum grinned. “Just want to ask you a question, boy. The answer’s worth a penny and your hoop back.”

The boy sidled closer, as did several of his playmates. They all had rocks.

“We’re lookin’ for raven folk,” Micum told him.

“What you want with ’em?” the boy demanded.

“What do you care? Or don’t you want my money?”

The boy lowered his arm. “Yeah, we seen ’em around. I traded one for a yellow stone, but I lost it.”

Just as well
, thought Seregil, wondering if that might save the child. “Who did you trade with, dearie?”

“Yellow-headed fellow on a crutch.”

“Where was this?”

“Over near the Ring wall, end of Barrow Lane.”

“Have you seen any others?” asked Alec, pulling off a reasonably feminine voice.

The boy shrugged. “There’s an old woman, and a blond-headed young feller. Seen ’em around here and there.”

“When did you last see one of them?” asked Micum.

The boy consulted with his comrades.

“I seen the woman yesterday,” one of the taller boys replied.

“And I seen the woman, over by the nail maker’s stall,” a ragged young girl put in.

“Me too, me too!” several others clamored, and Seregil guessed that most of them were lying in hopes of a penny.

Micum handed out coins all around and gave the boy back his hoop. The children darted away like a flock of dingy swallows.

“Think it was money well spent?” asked Alec as they walked on.

Seregil smiled. “At least a few of them were telling the truth. We know about the old man and old woman. And I’ve heard rumors of younger ones.”

“If your wizard woman was right, then shouldn’t the ravens be Zengati?” asked Micum. “A ‘blond-headed feller’ doesn’t sound right. And chances are at least some of the children would have seen a Zengati trader or two to know the difference.”

“You probably don’t have to be Zengati to practice Zengati magic, though,” said Alec. “So, where to first?”

“Let’s split up for a while,” Seregil replied. “I’ll go over by the Ring wall. Micum, you check out the nail maker. Alec, try the marketplace a few streets over.” He glanced up at the sinking sun. “If you find one, just follow them. I’ll meet you back here when the sun touches the rooftops. If you don’t come back, I’ll find you.”

But either all the children had been lying, or the ravens had already moved on again, for Seregil found the other two waiting for him at the appointed time, equally empty-handed.

* * *

They set off again early the following day, picking up a few hopeful reports of sightings and trades over the course of the morning, but not finding their quarry.

At noon they stopped to rest in the shade and eat their meager meal of sausage and bread. They were nearly finished when Seregil halted mid-bite, looking intent as a hound who’d gotten a scent. A tall, dark-haired swordsman was crossing the street near the end of the block.

“That’s him!” Seregil murmured. “He got a good look at me in this getup, though. You two take the lead and I’ll keep out of sight until you need me.”

As they started off to track the tall swordsman, Micum gave Alec his arm as he had Seregil, so as to attract less attention. Strolling along, they mingled in the afternoon crowd and stayed just close enough to keep their mark in sight. Presently the man paused at a small knot of people, children mostly, all clamoring around a stooped old woman with a long nose and stringy grey hair. She wore a shapeless tunic over a striped skirt, and a belt from which hung the sort of things Kepi and the Mycenian woman had noted.

“That’s got to be her,” whispered Alec, looking around for the swordsman. He stood a little way off, seemingly paying no attention to the commotion.

As they watched, the old woman smiled and laughed with the children, and made her odd trades for valueless things. Among her wares were a few of the yellow stones like the one Alec had seen before, and something she claimed were dragon’s milk teeth. As much as he wanted to get a closer look, he knew better than to make a trade, given Thero’s concerns about such items.

So instead he and Micum waited until she was done and toddled off, then continued to follow her at a distance. There was no sign of the tall man now, and Alec inwardly berated himself for not keeping a closer eye on him.

“Did you see which way he went?” he whispered to Micum.

“No. The bastard slipped off when I wasn’t looking. Do you think he spotted us?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Seregil is trailing him.”

Just then the old woman turned down a side street. Micum and Alec hurried to the corner in time to see her disappear down another side street. The crowd was thinner here, and they had to hang back a bit more. By the time they reached the second turning, there was no sign of her or the man in the nearly empty street. Tenements leaned over them, any one of which the woman could have entered.

An old man sat across the unpaved street smoking a pipe.

“Did you see an old woman come by here?” asked Micum. “My mother has wandered off again.”

“The mad woman with the things on her belt?” the old fellow asked.

“Yes, that’s her.”

The man pointed the stem of his pipe across the street at a two-story tenement. “That one there, with the blue door. I seen her here before, you know.”

“She’s a slippery one,” Micum said with a laugh. “At least now I know where she gets off to. Many thanks, old father. Come along, Sana.”

He gave Alec a wink and they went to the house in question and tried the latch. It was not locked, and opened into a small entrance area with a stairway leading up to the rooms. On the second floor they found most of the doors open—the occupants tried to encourage a sea breeze to dissipate the stale funk of the place. There was no sign of their woman, so they hurried up to the next floor, where things were much the same.

A one-eyed young tough with a bandage covering half his face and hair that might have been the same color as Alec’s if it were ever washed lounged in a doorway at the end of the corridor. “What’s the hurry, friends?”

“I’m looking for an old woman who just came in,” Micum told him. “Grey hair, bits and bobs hanging from her belt.”

“I know who you mean. The old raven woman, right?”

Alec hid his excitement as he asked, “Does she live here?”

The man gave him a measuring look and a slanted grin. “What’s it worth to you, missy?”

Alec reached into the little purse at his belt and took out a copper.

“That the best you can do?” the tough asked derisively.

Micum handed him another. “We’re poor folk. Please, won’t you help us?”

The man pocketed the money. “She lives below, third door on the left.”

“Much obliged,” Micum said, and followed Alec back downstairs.

Atre breathed a sigh of relief as Alec and his companion disappeared down the stairs. Brader stepped out from the empty room he’d hidden in.

“Now, that was very interesting,” Atre murmured, scratching under the bandage.

“How so?”

“Unless I’m very much mistaken, that was young Lord Alec under that kerchief and dirt and that forced falsetto. Seems he’s more of an actor than he let on.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“No, of course not.”

“I’ve never seen the big fellow with them.”

Atre gave him a thin smile. “I have. He was at Lord Alec’s party.”

The door in question was one of the few that was closed. Micum knocked, but there was no answer. With a quick look around to see if anyone was watching, he tried the latch, but it was locked.

The door directly across the corridor was closed, as well, and no one in the rooms on either side seemed to be paying any attention. Micum shielded Alec as best he could while he pulled a pick from under his kerchief and jiggered the simple lock. No sooner had he touched the latch, however, than the door was jerked violently open and Micum jumped back just in time to miss being brained by an iron poker. As it was it caught him a glancing blow across the left shoulder, the barb
on the end of the poker tearing his shirt but missing the skin below.