Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  “We’re not all lucky, Highness, and my luck only runs in certain ways, none of them very useful.”

  “But I hear that you back privateer ships. That’s very useful. May I ask you something?”

  “Of course, Highness. Anything.”

  “We’re said to be distant kin. Why aren’t you at court?”

  Grinning, Seregil flipped a bakshi stone in the air and caught it. “Because I’m not very respectable, Highness.”

  “But you were at court for a time?”

  “When I was very young.”

  “I’ve heard that you were friends with Aunt Phoria and Uncle Korathan.”

  “I was. I think I can say that I’m still on good terms with your uncle.”

  “And Aunt Klia. That’s why I wondered—But you’ve already said. So why aren’t you on good terms with the queen?”

  How to answer that? “Well, as I said, I’ve become a bit of a wastrel over the years.”

  “You don’t seem like a wastrel at all. And Lord Alec certainly doesn’t,” she said, then blushed.

  “I’m afraid I’m rather a bad influence on Alec. And I suspect your mother and aunts would agree.”

  “That’s not what Aunt Klia says. She says the alliance with Aurënen would never have been struck if not for you. And that you and Lord Alec helped save her life when she was poisoned.”

  “She honors us. We only helped.”

  The princess surprised him with an unexpectedly shrewd look. “If she trusts you, then you both are worthy of trust. I won’t forget that when I’m queen.”

  Reltheus wandered over just then, carrying a three-legged stool. “You two are looking very serious over a game,” he said, sitting down beside the table.

  “Lord Seregil is teaching me strategy,” she told him. “But you were right about his luck.”

  Reltheus chuckled. “Seregil, you better mind your manners or you’re likely to end up in the Tower again.”

  “I’d forgotten that,” said the princess. “But Grandmother did let you out.”

  “I’d rather not take my chances there again,” Seregil replied with a wink.

  “I won’t send you there, at least not for beating me at the stones. Reltheus, will you give me a game so I can try out my new skills?”

  Seregil rose and bowed. “May you have Illior’s luck, Highness.”

  He was aware of jealous eyes on him as he searched out Alec, who was dozing under a birch tree. Seregil sat down with his back against the white trunk and settled himself as if for a nap, then kept watch under his eyelashes.

  Presently Elani stood up from the bakshi table, laughing over something Reltheus had said, and joined her ladies to nap in the shade. Reltheus sat where he was, looking pensive, until Tolin and Stenmir joined him and the three strolled off into the forest.

  Seregil waited until they were out of sight, then stood and stretched, and ambled off in the opposite direction. As soon as he was in the cover of the trees, however, he quickly skirted the clearing and soon caught sight of Reltheus’s red coat. The three nobles were standing on the path, heads together, deep in conversation. Seregil had worn his brown coat for just such a chance. Keeping low, he stole silently closer to a hiding spot behind a fallen tree.

  “How could you be so careless?” Tolin hissed.

  Reltheus gave him a dark look. “It was intercepted from the courier before it ever reached me. There was little I could do about that.”

  “What are we going to do? Are you certain the duke has it?”

  “Yes.” Reltheus started off along the path again, deeper into the woods, and Seregil followed, staying just close enough to hear what was said.

  “We must get it back!” Tolin hissed. “It’s not just your head on the block if he goes to the prince with it. Have you told Kyrin?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “Any more word from the north, Reltheus?” asked Stenmir.

  “No, and nothing at the Palace. I suspect if they’d been successful in killing her, we’d have heard about it by now.”

  Killing her, Seregil thought, shocked at the words. There was only one “her” he could think of that they would be speaking of. If there had been an attempt, how could Thero not know?

  They passed through a clearing, and Seregil lost the thread of the conversation as he had to skirt wide to avoid being seen. All he caught were bits and pieces of some argument between Reltheus and Tolin. Stenmir said little, listening more than he spoke. The men stopped again and Seregil heard Reltheus say something about “the cat.”

  Seregil’s heart skipped a beat at that, doubting the conspirators would be discussing someone’s mouser. A stop in at the Stag and Otter might be in order when he got back to the city.

  He shadowed them back to the others, but their conversation had turned to the war and Phoria.

  “I would wish no harm on her, of course, but it might simplify things,” Tolin observed, and he seemed to be still speaking of the queen.

  Simplify what for whom? Seregil wondered. The most obvious answer was that Phoria’s untimely demise would clear the way for Elani to take the throne, and assure Reltheus’s interests if the girl wed Danos. If that were the case, and he suspected it was, then Phoria’s life might be in as much jeopardy as Klia’s.

  “Enough of that. We’re too close,” Reltheus warned. Then, raising his voice a little, “Tolin, do tell me about that new kestrel of yours. You must bring her to my next hunt.”

  Seregil faded into the trees and hurried back to his place beside Alec before Reltheus and the others appeared on the far side of the clearing.

  Alec cracked an eyelid as he sat down and murmured, “Find what you were looking for?”

  “Mmm,” Seregil replied noncommittally as he signed yes. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

  When the heat of the day had passed, the courtiers roused themselves and there were games, more shooting, and wading at the shoreline to catch shrimps and collect periwinkles and black mussels.

  Alec won a few shatta and purposely lost a few, too, to avoid bad feelings. There was no question that the more time either he or Seregil spent in Elani’s presence, the more they were regarded as interlopers of low degree.

  As night fell, the servants built a bonfire on the beach and everyone gathered around to eat mussels boiled in wine and spices and sing under the stars. Seregil was loaned a harp again and sang a love ballad in his lilting tenor, then called on the company to join him in more love songs and warriors’ lays, finishing with a few ballads celebrating the queen’s battles.

  At last they were rowed back to the ship and sailed home across the glittering harbor. At the quay Elani bid them good night and rode off with her court.

  Collecting their horses from a public stable, Alec and Seregil started for home through the backstreets of the Lower City.

  “You wouldn’t mind staying at the Stag tonight, would you?” Seregil murmured.

  “No, why?”

  Seregil’s grin flashed pale in the starlight. “Just a bit of business, if we’re lucky.”

  As they turned into Cod Street, Alec noticed a young bawd sprawled awkwardly near the open doorway of a tavern. He first supposed she was either drunk or murdered, until he saw that her eyes were wide open and that she was still breathing. He reined in and dismounted.

  “What are you doing?” Seregil asked impatiently.

  “She’s alive.” He touched her brow with his palm. “Like that boy we found.”

  Seregil joined him and pressed two fingers against the inside of her wrist. “Her pulse is strong.”

  “You there! What are you up to?” a man demanded, and Alec turned to find a blue-coated sergeant of the City Watch regarding them with obvious suspicion.

  “We just found her like this,” he explained.

  “Oh, pardon me, my lords,” the man said, taking in their fine clothing. Then, looking down at the woman, he shook his head. “Sakor’s Flame, another one?”

  “You’ve seen th
is before?” asked Seregil.

  The man came a bit closer, but Alec could tell he was nervous. “Mostly back away from the merchants’ streets. It’s the sleeping death, all right.”

  “The what?”

  “Some new sickness here around the waterfront,” the bluecoat explained, taking a step back. “We’re seeing a lot of it, here in the dog days. A person will just be walking along, then all of a sudden they stagger and go down, then just lie there. After a while, they die. Leave her. The Scavengers will see to her.”

  “But she’s not dead,” said Alec.

  “The Scavengers are the only ones who’ll handle these poor beggars, except for the drysians. It’s spreading, you know, though folks aren’t talking about it, on account of what could happen.”

  “Quarantine,” said Seregil.

  “Yes, if there are enough cases reported that it’s deemed a contagion, the whole Lower City could be cut off. And you can bet the traders don’t want that. Not on account of a few whores and their brats falling sick. Things are bad enough already. Now you two move on, and see that you wash your hands. I’ve heard it said these sick ones are unclean.”

  “If that’s the case, then shouldn’t there be a lot of dead Scavengers and drysians, too?” asked Seregil.

  The sergeant snorted. “The Scavengers are bred to filth. Ain’t nothing that kills them but each other. And the drysians have their Maker to protect ’em. Go on, now. You’d best be on your way, my lords.”

  Seregil swung up into the saddle and gave Alec a surreptitious wink. “Clearly, there’s nothing we can do for her.”

  They rode slowly around the block, giving the sergeant and his men time to move on, then circled back. Alec carried the woman and Seregil led the horses as they took her to the little Dalnan temple where they’d taken the boy. People they passed along the way shied away from them, and some made warding signs against ill luck and sickness.

  They rang the bell and, after a time, a sleepy-looking young drysian looked out, then quickly opened the gate so they could bring the woman in.

  “How many of these people have you seen?” Seregil asked the drysian when they were inside.

  “A boy was brought in yesterday, but I’ve heard of more,” he replied. He took the woman in his arms and led them through the temple, with its stone hearth altar carved with sheaves and fruit, to an inner room beyond. A young boy with dark brown hair and eyes lay on a straw pallet, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

  The acolyte spread a pallet for the young woman and covered her with a blanket.

  “I’d like to speak with the priestess, Brother,” Alec told him.

  “Of course, my lord.”

  The man disappeared, and a moment later the priestess they’d spoken with before joined them.

  “This one’s from one of the Hake Street houses,” she said as she bent over the stricken woman. “I’ve cured her of the usual things a few times. I suppose this is a kinder end for her than many she could have come to.”

  “You’re probably right.” Alec reached into the purse at his belt and gave her two new-minted silver sesters.

  The drysian took them with a weary sigh. “Maker’s Mercy on you, for your kindness and generosity.”

  “How long has the boy been here?” asked Seregil.

  “His mother brought him to me two days ago.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “Yes, he’s the candlewick maker’s son, Teus.”

  “You handle these people without any fear, it seems. No gloves. No bird beak masks full of herbs.”

  “It didn’t occur to me to do so, when the first one was brought to me,” she explained. “By the time others came, I was quite certain it was not a contagion spread by touch.”

  “That’s not what the bluecoat we just met said,” Alec told her. “And some of the folk we met on the way treated us like we had plague.”

  “I’m beginning to think it might be one,” she replied. “But you, young sir—you carried her with no thought of danger?”

  “The same as you, Sister. We’ve encountered this before and I didn’t catch anything.”

  She patted his arm. “You’ve good hearts, my lords, to stop for such a girl.”

  “We’re all one under the Maker’s eye, Sister,” Alec replied.

  “You’re a Dalnan?” she asked in surprise.

  “Raised one.”

  “Good! Not enough of us down here in the south. Those flame and moon worshipers could learn a thing or two from us. Maker’s Mercy, my lords.”

  “And to you.”

  They rode up through the deserted Harbor Way and through the Sea Market.

  As they threaded their way through the poor neighborhood beyond, Alec turned sharply in his saddle, peering down a side street and reined his horse around.

  “What is it?”

  “I could swear I just saw Atre pass under a street lantern down there.”

  Seregil shrugged. “His old Basket Street theater isn’t far from here.”

  “What would he be doing back there?”

  “Who knows? Come on.”

  The Stag and Otter was shuttered for the night. They approached carefully, making sure not to be seen coming here in noble dress.

  Entering the darkened kitchen, Seregil went to the broad mantel over the hearth and took down the large painted pitcher that stood in the center of it. Inside were two folded parchment packets, both sealed with wax that bore no emblem.

  Alec shook his head. “More work! Just what we need.”

  Upstairs they lit a few lamps. Seregil sat down on the couch and told Alec all he’d heard on the island.

  “You think they tried to assassinate Klia?” Alec exclaimed. “By the Light, Seregil, how could Korathan not know? The news should have been all over the city!”

  “Not if he didn’t want it to be. As vicegerent, he has to keep the peace and he doesn’t need any fuel being heaped on the fire of unrest he’s already contending with. I just can’t imagine Thero not knowing. It will be interesting to see what he has to say about it. But now to these.”

  Alec leaned over Seregil’s shoulder to read with him as he opened each letter.

  “Another bauble delivery,” Seregil said as he read the first one. Tossing it aside, he opened the second and showed it to Alec. “Just as I thought.”

  “Someone wants us to burgle Malthus’s house?”

  “Yes, and look at this clever phrasing. For ‘any missives of interest to the queen.’ ”

  “That must have been what you heard Reltheus and the others talking about.”

  “I’d say so. Reltheus must have sent this before we sailed this morning. Does the handwriting look familiar to you?”

  “No, but the sender might have had someone else write it for them.”

  A great cloak of secrecy surrounded the workings of the Cat, requiring any message back and forth to pass through a number of trusted hands. Not only did this system protect the Cat from being unmasked, but it made their noble patrons feel safe dealing with them. Whatever they found would be passed to one of several people, who would pass it on to others, until it reached the agent of the person buying their services. Money changed hands in the same manner.

  “It’s risky. If he caught us, knowing who we are?” Alec shook his head doubtfully.

  “It’s riskier for Malthus if we don’t, though, Alec. If the Cat doesn’t take the job, whoever sent this will just employ a less sympathetic, and probably less discreet agent. And it’s hardly the first time we’ve burgled the house of someone we know. The Cat would be out of a job if we made such distinctions!”

  “I suppose so.”

  Seregil went to the desk, took out a piece of charcoal he kept for the purpose, and scrawled Yes in crooked letters across the missive. Resealing it with tallow from a cheap candle, he disappeared downstairs to return it to the pitcher for delivery. Ema’s husband was the first of many couriers, taking the Cat’s replies to a run-down tavern called the Black Fea
ther, where Seregil, in disguise, of course, had an agreement of many years with the landlord.

  And so it began.

  THEY found Thero in the Orëska garden the following morning, with a silver trowel in one hand and a flat gardener’s basket in the other. His hands were uncharacteristically dirty, as was the front of his long canvas apron, and his dark curls were sweat-plastered to his forehead. So far Lenthin was showing no sign of being cooler than the previous two months.

  Thero’s basket was filled with roots of various shapes and sizes, elements for spell work. Such gathering had to be carefully done, often with the aid of spells, and could not be left to servants.

  “When are you going to take on an apprentice for this sort of thing?” Seregil chided, dismounting to greet him.

  “When and if I find the right child,” Thero replied.

  “Then you’re looking, finally?” asked Alec.

  Thero sighed. “We’ve only had six children presented here since Mourning Night, and none of them were suitable for me.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Nysander once told me, ‘You’ll know when you’re ready, and you’ll know them when you meet the right person.’ I understand now what he meant.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re getting lonely in your tower?” said Seregil.

  Thero shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

  They left their horses with a servant and walked with Thero into the shelter of a small cherry orchard. Delicate pink and white petals drifted down to settle on their hair and shoulders as they sat on the soft grass under the trees.

  “Any word from Klia?” Seregil asked quietly.

  “She has Beka and Nyal spying for her, but so far they haven’t caught Danos sending any messages, or doing anything else suspicious.”

  “Give her time. He’s sure to slip up sooner or later, unless he’s more of a nightrunner than I give him credit for.”

  “He must have some skill, to go unnoticed for so long.”

  “Apparently,” said Thero. “Now, I assume you’re here to report about your day out with the princess?”

  Seregil grinned. “You heard about that?”

  “You two are becoming the talk of the Noble Quarter. Especially you, Alec. I never expected you to be taken into the royal circle. No doubt it will prove useful. If nothing else, you can keep an eye on those around her. Anything new on Reltheus?”