Luck in the Shadows (50 page)

“Did you tell Klia you were meeting us?” asked Micum.

“No and she’ll ream me for it when she finds out. But I agree with you that it’s best not to involve her until we know which way the wind’s going to blow. So, how can I help?”

Micum poured more tea and settled back in his chair. “There’s a man in Hind Street, a forger, who probably fabricated the false documents that put Seregil in the Tower. Seregil had planned to go after him himself tonight; he wants us to go ahead without him.”

“But the evidence can’t come from us,” added Alec. “Barien could say we made it up just to clear Seregil’s name.”

Myrhini looked out at the grey sky brightening above the muddy garden. “What you need is someone to tip off the blue-coats. Someone who won’t ask too many questions.”

“That’s about the size of it,” said Micum. “Of course, there’s a certain amount of risk involved. I’d understand if you wanted no part of it.”

Myrhini waved the warning aside with a disgusted look. “As it happens, there
is
a certain captain of the Watch who’d be happy enough to do me a favor. And Hind Street just happens to be in his ward—to catch a forger squeezing nobles would be a proper feather in his cap.”

Micum grinned knowingly. “Enough said. We’ll send word as soon as we’re certain of our man. When we do, you speak to your bluecoat captain. Alec and I will play the flushing hounds and he can have the kill. We’ll need you there, though. Your captain can’t see us or know we’re involved.”

“I’ll be there.” Myrhini rose to go. “Having one of the Queen’s daughters as best friend and commander does have its occasional advantages, you know.”

Alec made his way through a cold winter drizzle to Hind Street an hour later. It was a neighborhood of plain, respectable tenements: five-story wood and stone buildings constructed around small interior courtyards.

Dressed as a country lad of good family, he made a show of great agitation as he asked directions along the street. He was directed to a whitewashed building in the third block. Hurrying into the courtyard, he spotted a brass mortar hung over a door on the ground level. The shutters were open. With a silent prayer to Illior of the Thieves, he lifted the latch and burst into the little shop.

The low room reeked of herbs and oils. A young boy stood heating something over a lamp at a table near the back of the shop.

“Is this the apothecary’s?” Alec asked breathlessly.

“Aye, but Master Alben’s still at his breakfast,” the boy replied without looking up from his work.

“Call him, please!” cried Alec. “I’ve been sent for medicine. My poor mother’s had an issue of blood since last night, and nothing seems to stop it!”

This galvanized the apprentice. Setting his pan aside, he disappeared through a curtain at the back of the room, returning a moment later with a balding man with a long grey beard.

“Master Alben?” asked Alec.

“That’s me,” the man answered brusquely, brushing crumbs from the front of his robe. “What’s all this fuss about, first thing in the day?”

“It’s my mother, sir. She’s bleeding terribly!”

“Durnik told me that much, boy. We’ve no time to waste on hysterics,” snapped Alben. “Does the blood come from her mouth, nose, ears, or womb?”

“From the womb. We’re in from the country and didn’t know where to find a midwife. They said at the inn that you might have herbs—”

“Yes, yes, Durnik, you know which jars.”

The apprentice fetched three jars from one of the crowded
shelves and the apothecary set to work measuring the herbs and powders into a mortar. Alec wandered to the window, wringing his hands with simulated impatience.

In the courtyard outside he saw other tenants of the place setting out for their day’s business. Micum was just across the way, strolling around the court as if looking for a particular address. Seeing Alec at the window, he sauntered over in the direction of a refuse pile in a corner of the yard.

Alec paced back to the worktable. “Can’t you hurry?” he implored.

“A moment!” snapped Alben, still grinding. “It’s of no use at all if it isn’t correctly mixed—By the Four! Is that
smoke
?”

At that moment a cry of “Fire!” went up in the courtyard, followed by a scream and the sound of running feet. Dropping his pestle, the apothecary rushed to the door. The rubbish heap was in flames.

“Fire! Arson!” he shrieked, going white. “Durnik, fetch water at once! Fire, fire in the courtyard!”

By now the shout had been taken up through the building and doors flew open as people hurried out to douse the blaze.

Young Durnik ran for the well, but his master disappeared back through the curtain. Following him, Alec discovered a comfortable sitting room behind the shop. Alben was hovering at the hearth, gripping one of the carved pillars supporting the mantel with one hand, and pulling nervously at his beard with the other.

Seeing Alec in the doorway, he snarled, “What are you doing in here? Get out!”

“The medicine, sir,” Alec ventured meekly. “For my mother?”

“What? Oh, the medicine! Take it, take it!”

“But the price?”

“Bugger the price, you idiot! Can’t you see there’s a fire?” Alben gasped furiously, making no move to abandon the hearth. “Get out, damn you!”

Backing out through the curtain, Alec dumped the contents of the mortar into a parchment cone and hurried out past the crowd that had gathered in the street. A few blocks from the tenement Micum stepped from an alley to meet him.

“Well?”

“I think it worked,” Alec told him. “As soon as it started he went right to the room behind the shop and wouldn’t be moved from the hearth.”

“We’ve got him, then! It’s just as Seregil said the first time we pulled that trick on Old Silverfish: ‘Shout “Fire” and a mother will race to save her child, a craftsman for his tools, a courtesan for her jewel box, and a blackmailer for his hoard of papers.’ ”

“So now we tell Myrhini?”

“Yes, and pray to Illior this is the
right
forger!”

That night, Seregil found himself with nothing to do but worry. The cell’s tiny slit of a window was too high to look out of; he gauged the passage of time by listening to the prison go quiet around him. Hunched miserably on the hard stone sleeping shelf with his blankets pulled tight around his shoulders, he worried.

Have they gone out yet?

In truth, he had no way of knowing if Alec and Micum had understood the import of his message.

Surely Micum would have found some way to get word in to you if he hadn’t?

Unless the Lerans found some way to gather Alec and Micum up in their web, too
.

The two of them were certainly tempting targets: both foreign born, both known friends of an accused traitor. Even Nysander could be implicated on the basis of their long relationship. Seregil’s imagination, not always a kind companion at such times, was soon busy painting alarming scenes of forged letters, sudden arrests, and worse.

Throwing aside the blankets, he stretched his stiff muscles and paced the now familiar confines of the cell—three strides and turn, three strides and turn again. It was doubtful that word would come before dawn even if things went as planned.

He paused at the door, rising on his toes to peer out the grille. Was it midnight yet? An hour before? Two hours past? The blank, silent corridor told him nothing.

Damnation!
he raged silently, resuming his restless vigil.
By now I’d have done the job and be back home in front of the fire!

Unless, of course, he’d been wrong about the apothecary’s involvement in the first place.

•     •     •

Alec and Micum met Myrhini in a darkened square near Hind Street. She’d wisely put aside her uniform in favor of a plain tunic and breeches under a dark cloak, though she’d kept her sword. Unrolling an awkward bundle, she handed them two pot-brimmed helmets like those worn by the City Watch.

“Where did you come by these?” asked Micum, trying his on.

“Don’t ask. If things do go wrong, you can pass for some of Tyrin’s men in the dark.”

“This Tyrin of yours, he’s up to this?”

Myrhini nodded. “He has ten men in an alley across from your man’s tenement and two lookouts in the courtyard. They’ve been told to move at the first sign of disturbance inside. I just hope Alec can manage it without getting caught.”

“If I can get in, then I can get out again,” Alec said quietly, tucking his helmet under his arm.

Leaving their horses tethered in the square, the three set off together for Hind Street. Slipping into a narrow alley beside Alben’s building, they took stock of the situation.

The lower floor showed no light between the shutters, nor was any apparent on the upper level, where Alben’s chamber would be. A small window overlooking the alley appeared to be the best point of entry.

Pulling off his boots, Alec climbed onto Micum’s shoulders and peered through a crack in the shutters. The room beyond was quite dark and no telltale sounds of breathing or snoring warned of anyone within. Jiggering the latch inside as quietly as he could, Alec opened the shutter and climbed through.

He smelled candle smoke in the darkness, felt bare floor beneath his feet. Faint candlelight showed at the top of a stairway across the room. As his eyes adjusted, Alec realized with relief that he was in the very room he’d come to burgle. But someone, presumably Alben, was still awake upstairs after all. A creak of floorboards came from overhead, followed by a muffled cough. The sitting room fire had been banked, however, meaning the master of the house was not coming down again before morning.

Alec took a lightstone on a handle from his tool roll and shielded it with one hand as he crept to the door leading to the shop. It had been closed and bolted for the night.

Alec fumbled a leather cone out of his pouch and fitted it over the stone to shield the light.

It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. Running
his fingers over the carved moldings that framed the fireplace, he soon struck a loose edge on the thick square base of one of the decorative posts. Working the tip of his dagger under it, he uncovered a deep, narrow cavity in the stonework of the fireplace. Inside lay a long iron box secured with a heavy lock. Hunkering down, he picked the lock and opened the box. Inside were several bundles of documents. His skill at reading was by no means great but he knew Seregil’s large, flowing script and signature well enough to recognize them among the others. One entire packet was made up of letters in Seregil’s hand, some complete, some half finished. There were eleven in all, and several were clearly duplicates of others.

Got you, by the Maker!
Replacing the documents, he returned the casket to its hiding place, carefully leaving the concealing bit of stonework slightly askew.

This accomplished, he picked up a small footstool and went back to the window. With one leg hooked over the sill, he tossed the stool into the center of the room with a loud thump and dropped down into the alley. Poised for flight, he and the others listened for an outcry to be raised.

Nothing happened.

“How could they not have heard that? I heard it!” whispered Myrhini.

Micum shrugged. “You’d better give it another try.”

With another boost from Micum, Alec peeked over the sill. The faint glow of candlelight still showed in the stairwell but there was no sign of life.

Climbing in, he briefly considered setting another fire but dismissed the thought; at this time of night the whole place might go up before enough water carriers could be roused. Casting around, he spotted a glazed jar on the mantelpiece. That would do nicely. He smashed it against the fire irons.

This produced an admirable crash and drew startled shouts from upstairs and down. Satisfied, he lunged for the window, caught his foot on the overturned footstool, and went sprawling.

“Is that you, Master Alben?” a quavering voice called from beyond the shop door.

“Damn and blast you, Durnik!” an outraged voice screeched somewhere above. “What in the name of Bilairy’s Bitch are you doing down there?”

Scrambling to his feet, Alec glimpsed a pair of bony ankles at
the head of the stairs. He threw himself out the window and tumbled into Micum’s waiting arms.

“That did the trick!” Micum chuckled, clapping the helmet on Alec’s head as the boy hastily pulled on his boots. Together, they hustled off down the alley, while Myrhini disappeared in the opposite direction to make sure of Tyrin’s support.

Stopping at the far end of the alley, Micum and Alec heard Alben cursing his befuddled servant. The shuttered window banged open, then slammed shut again. A moment later they could hear soldiers hammering at the front door of the shop.

The alley window opened again and this time an ungainly figure in a long nightshirt clambered out.

“Bloody hell!” Micum exclaimed in disgust. “Don’t tell me every damn bluecoat is going in the front door?”

The street running behind the building did appear to be unguarded.

“Quick, draw your sword!” Alec whispered, doing the same. His left hand found the lightstone he’d jammed in his pouch and he held it over their heads, hoping the helmet brims would shade their faces.

“You there, stop where you are!” he shouted in the deepest voice he could muster.

Alben clutched the damning strongbox to his chest as he blinked wildly at the sudden light. Panicked by the sight of swords and helmets, he turned tail, rushing down the alley and into the arms of several of Captain Tyrin’s more enterprising men.

Alec quickly covered his light again as Micum called out, “We caught him shinnying out the back window!”

In the ensuing confusion, they slipped away with no trouble at all.

T
hero answered the summoner’s knock just before midnight. Accepting the rolled message, he carried it downstairs to Nysander, who was dozing in the sitting room armchair.

Thero shook his master gently by the shoulder. “The Queen’s sent for you.”