The narrow window of the garderobe chamber granted cramped entrance for a snake-hipped nightrunner with the wit to jigger the catch on the interior leaded pane. A lime-wood shim inserted between glass and frame soon found and lifted the latch. An earthy smell drifted out on the damp air as he swung the window inward and shimmied through. He wrinkled his nose. Someone in the household wasn’t feeling well, from the odor.
Holding his breath, Seregil stole silently to the door and inched it open. All was dark beyond. Listening intently for watchmen or wandering servants, he found the servants’ doorway behind a tapestry in the hallway near the kitchen and crept up to the second floor. Fortunately the stairs were solid and well maintained. They hardly creaked at all.
The library was at the front of the house, down a long corridor that branched off the one leading to the household sleeping quarters. An ornate Zengati carpet ran the length of the hall and muffled his footsteps nicely as he hurried along.
The simple lock on the library door was enough to keep servants and nosy guests out, but not Seregil. He pondered suggesting something more complex to Malthus the next time they met, but decided it would be an awkward topic to work into casual conversation.
Once inside he checked the locked drawers of the desk, finding little of interest, then searched the room for hidden compartments. Once again, it was all too easily found, in the wall behind a small tapestry. Dust had collected around the edges of a square of wood paneling, making it obvious to a trained eye. In Seregil’s experience, the more honest the person, the easier it was to burgle them. Feeling a little guilty, he carefully pried out the panel and found a flat wooden box hidden in the space behind it. Roughly square, the box was about a foot wide and half that thick. Seregil carried it to the desk and inspected it closely with the lightstone from his tool roll. Finally, a lock with a little spirit to it! Perhaps even a nasty device incorporated into the lock or brass plate. Smiling to himself, he took out the slender pick he’d designed for just such a situation. It was purposely bent so that it could probe the lock while keeping the hand out of range of any needles or other dangerous deterrents that might pop out.
It was a good thing, too. Malthus had been much more careful with this; a burst of white flame flared from the keyhole, melting the pick and catching the edge of Seregil’s rolled-up shirtsleeve on fire.
“Bilairy’s-!” Seregil struggled out of the shirt and hastily threw it away from him. He knew this magic. He’d seen
Thero-who had a peculiar fascination with all things flammable-place it on various objects to protect them. This sort of magical fire could consume flesh if in contact with it for more than a few seconds. For all Seregil knew, Thero had placed the magic on the box for Malthus himself. Unfortunately it set anything else it touched ablaze, too, and he’d thrown the shirt a little too close to the drapes behind the desk.
Hard-pressed to think how he could make things any worse, he grabbed the box, which had stopped spewing fire, and hurried back the way he’d come. As he passed the kitchen, he shouted “Fire! Fire upstairs!” and ran for the garderobe. Tossing the box out the window, he wiggled after it, grabbed it up again, and bolted for the garden wall. He could already smell smoke and cursed himself for a fool. The last thing he’d intended to was to burn down a friend’s house. Fortunately someone had already raised the alarm. He could hear shouting inside. Bolting through the garden, he heaved the box over the wall, then scrambled up the rope and down the other side.
He found Alec scrabbling around on the ground, gathering scattered documents and stuffing them into his shirt. Apparently there was no magic on the box to prevent it from smashing open when thrown over a wall onto a paved street.
“A little warning would have been nice,” Alec whispered as he grabbed up the last of the scattered documents. “You nearly brained me with that thing.”
“Sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Alec looked up and sniffed. “Is that smoke?”
“Is it?” Seregil picked up the last pieces of the splintered box and hurried away with Alec close behind.
At the Stag and Otter, Alec shook the documents from under his shirt and spread them out on the table. There were five in all, ordinary missives from Nalian and Laneus with no apparent hidden messages, as well as one from Elani, thanking Malthus for some gift. This one bore both signature and the princess royal’s seal, and was in Elani’s hand.
“Well, that was a waste of time.” Alec stretched his arms
over his head and yawned. “Why would he go to the trouble to hide those?”
“Why, indeed.” Seregil turned his attention to the pieces of the box. It had landed on an upper corner; the left side panel was cracked, and the lid had broken in two, with one of the pieces hanging by one hinge. The lock plate was a melted medallion surrounded by charred wood. “You’d think he’d have used something sturdier.”
“He probably didn’t anticipate it being tossed over walls.”
Seregil detached the lid and set it aside with the splintered pieces. “Or he thought the fire spell on the lock would be enough to keep it safe.”
“Fire spell? So that was smoke I smelled. What happened?”
“Just a little mishap with the drapes,” Seregil hedged. He scrutinized the bottom of the box, tapping it lightly with his finger. “I think there’s a space under here.”
He pulled the remains of the left side of the box free and his smile went a little crooked. There was, in fact, a false bottom, with a space about two inches deep beneath. “Lend me your knife.”
Alec gave him the black-and-silver-handled dagger and Seregil used it to pry the false bottom of the box free. Underneath he found a folded letter still bearing a waxy spot where the seal had been broken. Even though it had no salutation or signature, he immediately recognized the familiar, slanted script; it was from the same spy who’d sent the other messages to Reltheus, and written in the same code. Skimming it, Seregil made out “Ten more to the cause. Think the wolf bitch is watching. Taking steps.”
“If it is Reltheus who hired the Cat, then I bet this is what he was looking for,” mused Alec.
“Or something like it. It’s certainly proof enough that Laneus and his crew know about the other cabal. This ‘wolf bitch’ is almost certainly Beka. And ‘steps taken’ might refer to preparations for the assassination attempt. This isn’t good.”
“We have to warn her!”
“Yes, although if this was intercepted before it was seen by
Reltheus and the others, there may not have been any order sent back yet.”
“But if we give this to him-”
Seregil grinned. “Oh, we’ll give him something, all right.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Forge a replacement, of course.” Going to the basket on the desk, he took a piece of scraped parchment and began making the edges ragged and smudging it with soot from the hearth. When that was done, he mimicked the writing style of the sender and the code. His note read: Ten more to the cause. Wolf bitch suspects nothing.
“There, that should do it.” Seregil gathered the other papers. “When the time is right we’ll send these off to the Cat’s employer and see where they turn up. I’ll give this original to Thero.”
“What are we going to do about Malthus?”
“I think we’ll send an invitation for him to join us for dinner and a jaunt to the theater tomorrow night. Perhaps Thero would enjoy another evening out, as well.”
CHAPTER 22. Changes of Plans
SEREGIL and Alec were dressing for dinner with Malthus the following night while Thero, whom they’d finally worn down, strolled in the garden, when Runcer appeared at their chamber door with a sealed letter from Lady Ysmay.
Alec broke the seal and read the contents. “Oh no!” he gasped.
“What is it?” asked Seregil, looking up in the act of pulling on a boot.
“It’s Kylith. She’s-she’s dead.”
Seregil stared at him a mo
ment, dumbstruck, then let the boot fall and reached for the letter. “Illior’s Light! Does it say how?”
“Died in her sleep in her bedchamber this afternoon.” Alec shook his head sadly. “She didn’t look sick at dinner last night.”
Stricken, Seregil sank back on the bed and rested his face in his hands. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I knew I’d outlive her, but she was one of my first friends when I came into society. She helped me so much-”
Alec went to him and put an arm around him as Seregil drew in a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry. I know she was more than a friend. It sounds like she went peacefully, at least.”
Seregil sighed. “Looks like we’ll be disappointing Malthus tonight. We’d better go give Thero the news.”
“What’s wrong?” the wizard asked the moment he laid eyes on them.
Seregil showed him the letter.
“May Astellus carry her gently. Seregil, I’m so sorry. She was a delightful lady.”
“The wake begins tomorrow morning. I’ll send a note to Malthus,” said Alec, taking charge.
“Thank you, tali.”
Atre was dressing to go out the following morning when Brader came in without knocking.
“What are you doing up here?” he demanded. “The others are already at the theater, waiting for rehearsal.”
“I’m afraid the theater will be dark tonight, and a few more besides,” said Atre, still dressing in front of the mirror on the wall. “Haven’t you heard? Lady Kylith passed away. I’m going to pay the respects of the company.”
Brader stared at him a moment, then grabbed him by the front of his fine linen shirt and slammed him against the wall hard enough to set the mirror swinging on its nail. “Not again!”
Atre grinned. “What makes you think-?”
Brader pulled his fist back, trembling with anger. “I can see it on you! I can see it in your eyes. You swore to me!”
Atre ignored the imminent threat to his face. “She was old, cousin. Old people die. I understand that it was very peaceful. What do you care anyway? She’d already cut us off. What use was she anymore?”
“We’re safe here, Atre! Or we were. You’re taking too many anyway, and now?” He turned away with a look of disgust. “You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you?”
“You’ve forgotten what it’s like with the good ones, cousin. How you relished them. You’ve been living on crumbs for too long. I have another one with me, right over there. Seems old Marquis Yarin took sick suddenly at his summer estate last week. Such a pity. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t crave it as much as I do.”
“Brader, did you find him?” Merina called. They could hear her coming up the stairs.
Atre clucked his tongue. “Dear me, cousin, what will you tell her this time? Or shall I bring her into our little secret?”
Brader closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Damn you.”
“Brader, is that you?” Merina called from just outside.
“Yes, love. I found him. I’m afraid we’ve had some bad news.” He looked back at Atre as he reached for the door handle. “At least put something on your face!”
Atre lounged against the wall and pouted at him. “Oh, look, you’ve torn my favorite shirt.”
Leaving Atre to make himself presentable, Brader went to head off Merina. He thought he’d schooled his expression, but Merina took one look at him and her eyes widened with dismay.
“You two are fighting again?” She caught up with him and clasped him by the arm. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing, Brader! Things have been going so well. He’s happy. I thought you were happy, too.”
“It’s not that, love.” How he hated lying to her! “We’ve just had word that Lady Kylith died.”
“Oh, no!” Merina came into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. “The poor dear! She was so good to the children, and so generous.”
“Yes.” Brader held her close and kissed her hair. With her warm tears dampening his shirt, he couldn’t say any more than that. Building on the lie caught in his throat.
“Another dead patron,” she whispered against his chest.
“She was old, Merina, and she’d withdrawn her patronage.”
“She did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
Merina sighed. “She wasn’t that old, Brader, and not the first. Sometimes I wonder if we bring bad luck with us.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. People die.”
She gave him a worried look. “It’s more than just today. I’ve been concerned for a while now, though I haven’t wanted to say anything. Atre gets this gleam in his eye sometimes, something wild, and so often it means we’re moving on again. This is the best place we’ve ever been!”
“Not to worry, my dear!” Atre exclaimed as he came out of his room, dressed in his best black coat. “I’m off to pay the
company’s respects at poor Lady Kylith’s wake. Such a loss!” He kissed her cheek, then pulled on a fine pair of black kid gloves. “Nothing to fret your pretty head about, though. There are plenty more rich fish in this lovely, fertile Rhiminee sea, and I plan to stay here for a very long time.”
Seregil, Alec, and Thero arrived at Kylith’s villa to find it already full of mourners and a cold feast laid out in the reception hall. Dead she might be, but Kylith’s hospitality lived on. Looking around, Seregil saw Eirual and a number of her courtesans, as well as Count Selin and Malthus. A very somber Ysmay was attending to the guests, dressed in black and jet.
Seregil went to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Ysmay, I’m sorry for your loss. Thank you for sending word.”
“Of course,” she replied sadly. “She loved both of you very much.” She paused and dabbed at her eyes with an already damp and wrinkled lace handkerchief. Seregil took his out and pressed it into her hand.
“Thank you. It was so sudden! And she was so looking forward to the play last night. She just said she was a little tired. I had no idea-”
“I doubt she did, either, my dear,” Seregil said.
“May we see her?” asked Alec.
“I’ll be here,” Thero told them.
Ysmay led Seregil and Alec up the gilded marble staircase to Kylith’s bedchamber, where the lady was laid out on the bed in a magnificent gold-embroidered gown and slippers, and heavy gold and ruby jewelry. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, as always, and adorned with jeweled pins.
“You did her proud, Ysmay.” Seregil went to the bedside. “Rhiminee has lost some of its light today.” He placed a hand over Kylith’s where they rested on her breast and bent to kiss her brow. A single tear ran down her cheek as if she were weeping rather than him. Accepting Alec’s handkerchief, he carefully blotted the streak of moisture away so as not to mar her carefully applied cosmetics.
They returned downstairs to find Duke Reltheus there.
“Such a wonderful lady.” Reltheus sighed. “I wish I’d gotten to know her better.”
“Mother is devastated,” said Selin. “She was friends with her since before I was born. Lady Kylith was always there, my whole life, like an extra aunt.” He broke off and wiped his eyes.
Just then Atre was ushered in by the doorman. He could easily have been mistaken for a nobleman, so richly was he dressed and bejeweled. His mouth was set in a tragic line, and he looked pale and drawn.
“I hope I do not give offense with my presence,” he murmured, coming over to join them. He cast a curious look at Thero. “I could not believe the news. Though when you did not come to the theater last night- Such a tragedy!”
At this range Seregil could see that Atre was wearing a bit of cosmetics. His grief might be genuine, perhaps enough to affect his looks, but his vanity was clearly intact.
They exchanged condolences, then Atre went to offer his sympathies to the grieving niece.
“He must have been very fond of her,” said Thero.
“Perhaps, though I think he was more interested in her pur
se, which is now in the hands of Ysmay.”
Thero shook his head disapprovingly. “The man is nothing if not bold.”
“It’s a shame he and Kylith were on such strained terms at the end,” said Alec.
Ysmay was weeping in Atre’s arms now.
Seregil frowned, watching them. “It doesn’t seem to have affected relations with the niece. I suspect he’s just secured his new patron.”
CHAPTER 23. Malthus
“WELCOME, 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.
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