Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  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.

  “But where is Alec?”

  “Indisposed, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, and I was so looking forward to teasing him a bit!”

  When the women had completed their adornments to their mutual satisfaction, the three of them strolled arm-in-arm to the Red Hart, glittering among the evening crowd and drawing admiring glances from many they passed. At the elegant tavern the master of the house escorted them to the private room Seregil had reserved for the evening.

  Laneus, Malthus, and their ladies soon joined them, and introductions were made all around. Malthus and Ania knew the two courtesans, and greeted them warmly, as did Laneus and his young wife. Eona seemed particularly thrilled to meet the famous Eirual.

  They dined on poached butterfly fish, jellied eel, raw oysters, warm sesame bread, dishes of olives and pickled vegetables, and a rare Mycenian white wine of excellent prewar vintage.

  The courtesans were charming as always, and Seregil could see Eirual’s tutelage in Myrhichia’s sparkling conversation, and her knowledge of current events and politics. She and Laneus had a spirited debate over the tax on gemstones, and ended the argument with laughter.

  Seregil watched the two men with veiled interest; both gave every indication of being delighted to dine with him, and their ladies expressed great concern over Alec’s supposed fever. His wound was remarked upon and Laneus’s shock at the story of how Seregil and Alec had been waylaid by assassins seemed quite genuine, but perhaps not as violent as Malthus’s, who went white to the lips and stole a glance at Laneus as Seregil elaborated.

  “By the Light, he might have taken your head off!” Duchess Ania exclaimed.

  “If the bluecoats hadn’t come along and chased them off, he probably would have!” Seregil told her. “Of course, all I could think of was Alec, but he was much better at fighting his man off, though he cut his hand quite badly.”

  “You didn’t tell me that! I hope that’s not the source of his fever,” Myrhichia exclaimed, fanning herself in agitation. “Blood poisoning is a serious ailment. I lost an uncle to it, and he’d only pricked his finger on a rusty arrowhead.”

  “Brother Valerius saw to it personally,” Seregil assured her. “It’s just a summer fever. He’s been out in the heat too much.”

  “Playing with Princess Elani,” Malthus noted with a smile, having recovered. “Or so I hear.”

  “By all reports, you two have suddenly been spending a lot of time at court,” said Ania. “It was Duke Reltheus who introduced you, wasn’t it?”

  “Actually it was by way of Count Selin,” Seregil replied, popping an olive into his mouth. “He got us admitted to Archduchess Alaya’s salon, and we met the princess royal there. He also introduced us to Duke Reltheus. Quite the gambler, the duke.”

  “As are you,” Laneus said. His expression was bland, but Seregil was certain he caught just a hint of double meaning.

  After the cakes and sweet wine, Ania and Eona unexpectedly rose to go.

  “We’re off to the Swan,” Eona told them, extending her hands to Eirual and Myrhichia. “Won’t you come gamble with us, ladies, and we’ll leave the men to their boring talk?”

  “Go on,” Seregil said with a laugh. “Who am I to stand in the way of a woman’s pleasure?”

  “I can vouch for that,” Eirual laughed, taking Eona’s hand.

  Seregil felt strangely outnumbered when the women were gone, though he hardly expected the two men to attack him. They sipped their wine and made small talk about horses and tailors for some time, then Laneus struck.

  “Malthus tells me that you have some concerns regarding the princess royal’s safety,” he told Seregil. “He was left with the impression that you believe there may be some dark movement against her.”

  “I merely passed on rumors that I had heard among the royal set, purely out of concern for Malthus’s safety.” He turned to Malthus. “I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear. I wasn’t accusing anyone of anything.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” Laneus answered for the other man. “It wouldn’t do for such rumors to go any farther.” He paused a moment. “May I ask where you stand on the succession, Seregil, now that you’ve come to know the heir?”

  “The princess royal is a remarkable young woman, but so young!” Seregil exclaimed, selecting another olive from the common dish.

  “Young for what?” asked Malthus, rising to the bait as hoped.

  Seregil shrugged. “Well, if—Sakor forbid—our queen should fall in battle as her mother did before her, then don’t you think Elani is, well—” He paused as if unsure of his audience. “What I mean to say is, the war seems to be far from over and she’s untried in battle. Perhaps if Phoria had taken her into the field, as Idrilain did with her, it would be a different matter, but to put the weight of Skala’s future on such slim shoulders …” He looked around as if he’d said too much and nibbled the olive. Laneus was doing a fine job of watching his face without being obvious about it. “Not that I’m speaking against the succession!”<
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  “You’re right to be careful, my lord,” Laneus warned.

  “Especially as your friendship with Princess Klia is so well known.”

  Seregil pretended to be momentarily baffled. “But what—” He gave Laneus a wide-eyed look of surprise. “What are you saying, Laneus? That I—? Illior’s Light, no! You know I never involve myself in politics. My friendship with either of the princesses is strictly on a personal level. I’m immensely fond of both of them.”

  “But if it came to a choice between the two?”

  Seregil made a sign against bad luck. “Pray the Four it never comes to such a pass, my lords! It’s unthinkable.”

  “Really? You wouldn’t back either?” asked Malthus.

  “If it came to that, then it would be civil war, and I’m sure I’d take to my heels in that event,” Seregil said with a delicate shudder, adding quickly, “But I would fear for both their lives.”

  “I can’t decide if you’re a sly fellow, or just a coward,” Laneus remarked.

  “I’ve been called worse in my time,” Seregil replied, a little surprised at the abrupt turn of the conversation.

  Malthus intervened. “Come now, Laneus, there’s no need to be rude. What he means, Seregil, is that it seems odd that you, who have been friends with Klia for nearly her entire life, are suddenly so close to Elani and Reltheus.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You don’t know, then?” Laneus asked with a tinge of sarcasm.

  “Know what?” Seregil persisted in his obtuseness, wondering how far he could draw the man out.

  “That Reltheus and his cronies mean to assassinate Klia, and perhaps even Phoria. We believe there’s already been one attempt on the princess’s life, though news of it has been suppressed.”

  Seregil affected shocked astonishment. “How do you know about it, then?”

  “I have my channels.”

  “By the Light, why? And why Phoria?”

  Laneus sighed, as if dealing with a half wit. “It’s perfectly obvious. Klia is still the rightful heir in many minds. They can’t chance her taking Elani’s place. As for Phoria, Elani is still young, impressionable, and fatherless. She’s obviously devoted to Reltheus, regarding him as a second uncle. Better to be the power behind the throne now, than when she’s matured and has ideas of her own. Now is the time to strike.”

  “But that’s monstrous!”

  “You’ve never heard your friend Reltheus let drop any such sentiment, perhaps only a passing comment?” asked Malthus.

  “Never,” Seregil assured him, aware again of how Laneus was watching him without seeming to. “Then again, we never discuss politics.”

  “Well, I hope we’ve put your mind at rest about our own intentions,” said Malthus. “We mean to protect all three women.”

  “A noble endeavor,” said Seregil. “But what can just the two of you hope to accomplish against such dark forces?”

  “That’s none of your concern,” Laneus told him. “Knowing what you do, can you support us in that?”

  “Support you,” Seregil said slowly, as if puzzling out the hidden meaning. “Keep my mouth shut, you mean?”

  Laneus smiled at that. “Bluntly put, but yes.”

  “How could I not support such a noble endeavor?” Seregil replied. “It’s certainly in the country’s best interests.”

  “Very good. Then we have your word?”

  “There’s just one thing I don’t understand, though. Why haven’t you gone to Prince Korathan about all this?”

  That set Laneus back on his heels for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “We’re still gathering intelligence. We don’t have sufficient evidence yet.”

  “Perhaps Seregil could help us, given his close association with Reltheus?” Malthus suggested.

  Laneus raised an eyebrow at Seregil.

  “Spy on Reltheus?” he asked, inwardly amused.

  “He might let something slip in front of you. Or one of his compatriots. We have reason to believe that he’s not alone in his plotting. You’re in his set now. Can you think of anything you’ve heard that might be suspicious?”

  “I’m not so much in his set as in the princess royal’s. I haven’t socialized with many of Reltheus’s other friends.” Seregil grinned. “I think he may be a little embarrassed at our association. Now you have me afraid to be around him. What if I was suspected?”

  “I would speak for you, if it came to that,” Malthus assured him.

  “Well … I suppose, if it’s to protect Klia and the queen. Yes, you have my word, I’ll back you.”

  He shook hands with both men. Perhaps Malthus believed what he’d told Seregil, but Laneus had liar’s eyes.

  Apparently the evening’s business was complete, for they went to meet the ladies at the Swan, a gambling establishment set aside for women. A manservant met them at the door and left them in an elegant waiting room with a few other husbands and lovers, where Eona and the rest soon arrived to collect them. The two duchesses appeared to be on the best of terms with Eirual and Myrhichia.

  “This lovely girl is a luck bringer!” Eona exclaimed, holding the younger courtesan’s hand as if they were sisters. “As long as she sat by me at the card table, I couldn’t lose! And she and Eirual tell such saucy stories!”

  Anxious to prolong the evening for Alec’s sake, Seregil said, “I’d like to test that luck, myself. Why don’t we go on to the Three Dragons?”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of your very interesting performance there,” Ania said with a knowing smile. “I wonder if they’ll allow you in again?”

  “Or perhaps a repeat performance will be required,” Eirual teased.

  “If the former, dear ladies, then I know I am welcome at the Drake. And if the latter, well …” He trailed off suggestively.

  “I fear we must beg off,” said Laneus, much to his wife’s disappointment. “I don’t care for such pursuits, but the rest of you go on.”

  Bilairy’s Balls! Seregil cursed inwardly, trying to gauge how much time had passed, though the only emotion he allowed to show was disappointment. “Perhaps you’re right. I should probably go home and see how poor Alec is doing.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be asleep by now,” Malthus chided. “Come, just a few games and then we’ll let you go.”

  Duchess Ania slipped an arm through his. “Please, Seregil. I really do want to see if they’ll make you disrobe again! Marquise Rela was there, and told me you were quite the handsome sight. I won’t take no for an answer, my dear!”

  Alec was in the library, searching without much hope of success, when he heard voices outside the door.

  “I didn’t want to leave!” a woman was saying angrily.

  A male murmur answered, though Alec couldn’t make out the words.

  “He is not! And why should you accept his invitation in the first place, if you feel that way toward him?”

  Another conciliatory murmur, then Alec heard the unmistakable click of the door handle turning. He dove under the nearest table, which had only a short tapestry cloth thrown over it, and made sure the black silk over his face and the rag covering his hair were in place.

  A pair of breeches-clad legs passed by and a lamp was lit on the table above Alec’s head. After a moment he heard the slide of a book on a shelf and the riffling of vellum pages.

  Illior help me if he sits down. Alec scarcely dared to breathe. The man left the room at last, leaving the lamp lit and the door open behind him.

  Alec crouched under the table, heart pounding, as first one servant, then another came in. Now what?

  Choosing his moment, he crawled out from his hiding place just long enough to blow out the lamp, then quickly retreated, like a snail into its shell.

  More servants, or perhaps the same ones, bustled up and down for what felt like a very long time. Was Seregil home already, worrying about him or worse yet, regretting his decision to let Alec have this job on his own?

  Things
finally quieted down. Hoping the room was dark enough to hide him if he was wrong, he crept to the window and tried the sash. Of course it would be locked! After a moment’s cursing, he realized that it was only latched. Undoing the catch, he stuck his head out to appraise his situation. Just to one side of the window there was a steep slate roof, no doubt part of a summer kitchen or well house. If he lowered himself out carefully, he might be able to get a foot over onto it, and if there were handholds …

  The sound of voices in the corridor decided him. Slipping over the sill, he swung one-handed from it and found purchase on a bit of decorative stonework under the window. Pushing away from that as hard as he could, he made it onto the roof, but immediately lost his balance and slid down the slick slates. Fortunately there was a gutter and he managed to jam his heels into it in time to keep from skidding over the edge onto the flagstones below. It was a noisy fall, and a watchdog began barking somewhere out of sight. Feet firmly braced against the wooden gutter, Alec hastily fumbled out another bit of sausage and threw it out into the kitchen yard. A huge black dog appeared, but instead of eating the offering, it began to bark at him. For the second time that night, Alec managed the dog trick successfully, but not before someone came out to investigate. As soon as he heard a door thrown open below him Alec lay back on the slates as flat as he could, praying they didn’t come too far out or he’d be seen for sure.

  “What the ’ell is it, Brute?” an old man’s raspy voice demanded.

  Alec heard the click of the dog’s claws on the flags, footsteps with them, a muttered curse, and the sound of the door closing again. He had to get out of here before someone noticed the rope hanging tellingly down the back garden wall.

  Seregil was expecting the assassins this time, and heard them coming. There were four of them. Either Laneus had engaged them before he knew Alec had been taken ill, or he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

  It put him in a bit of a quandary; if Lord Seregil single-handedly took down four trained Rhíminee assassins, it would cause unwanted talk. The question was nearly decided for him when one of them grabbed for Cynril’s bridle and another tried to drag Seregil from the saddle. Seregil clung on with one hand and grappled the man with the other, going for his eyes. He missed and caught him by the throat instead. His fingers tangled in something and he felt a tug when he managed to push the man off. Another assassin grabbed his foot and tried to pull it from the stirrup, but Seregil kicked Cynril into a gallop, rode down the man in front of him, and hurtled like fury as an arrow whined past his ear. He was halfway to Wheel Street before he realized that he was clutching something in his right hand. Reining in under a street lantern, he unclenched his fist from around a small bronze disk on the remains of a slender chain. He must have pulled it from the man’s neck during his escape. On one side he could make out the stamped outline of Sakor’s flame; on the other was the flame-and-palace emblem of the City Regiment.