The White Road n-5

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Just in case?”

  A chill ran up Seregil’s spine. “No, talí. For luck. Wait for my signal.”

  “Luck in the shadows,” Alec whispered after him as he started up the wall.

  “And in the Light,” Seregil whispered back, though he hoped light wasn’t going to be a factor.

  He made it easily to the top of the wall; from there it was a short jump to the low-pitched roof of the workshop. Fortunately, one of the shuttered skylights was on this side of the ridgeline. If he could get it open without alerting the entire household, it was a safer way in than climbing down to the front door.

  Lowering himself onto the roof tiles, he climbed up to the ridge to scan the courtyard. There was no one there that he could see but a sleeping watchman.

  He crawled back to the skylight. The shutter was six feet high and about half that across. Fortunately it was lifted by means of a pair of pulleys mounted on a post on the hinge side. The thick rope that operated it passed through an opening in the roof, and there was enough space around the rope for Seregil to see that no light was coming up from below.

  He went back to the wall and hissed softly for Alec, who climbed nimbly up. Seregil signaled silently and together they hauled on the shutter rope. It opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges. The workshop below was pitch-dark, so he took a lightstone from his tool roll and dropped it in. It bounced off something and rolled under something else, but they could still see the glow of it. As far as they could tell, the place was deserted.

  Alec pulled up their rope and reset the grapple so they could climb down into the shop. Seregil slid down first and retrieved the stone. Going to the cellar door, he opened it enough to see that there was no light there, either.

  Alec came down and took out a light of his own. “Look,” Seregil whispered.

  There were footprints in the dust around the bookcases and a chair beside a lamp stand. A few others showed that people had walked around the room and gone to the small tent at the far end. It was painted with rings of what were most likely alchemical symbols of some sort. The dust was disturbed in front of it, showing where someone had knelt down, presumably to investigate its contents.

  Curious, Seregil went to the tent and pulled back the flap while Alec began searching the bookcases. In addition to a few leather bags and a gold chalice, there was a locked casket that looked large enough to hold a book like the one Alec had described.

  The lock was a large one. These were often the most dangerous, being large enough to hide a nasty surprise, like a poison needle on a spring. After a close inspection, however, Seregil slid a pair of slender picks from his roll and went to work. A moment later he heard the click of several tumblers. He grinned as he raised the heavy lid, but the casket was empty.

  “I don’t see it in the bookcase,” Alec whispered, joining him. “It’s not on any of the tables, either.”

  Seregil showed him the empty box. “Would it have fit in here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn!”

  They spent some time searching the room, but it was no use. Nothing like the book Alec recalled was to be found.

  “Bilairy’s Balls,” Seregil hissed.

  “Maybe some other alchemist took it.” Alec looked around. “Then again, everything else is just as I remember it. Nothing appears to have been moved.”

  “Except books.” Seregil went back to the cluster of footprints in front of the bookcases. There were no empty spaces between the volumes. “Whoever it was knew what they were looking for, to the exclusion of all else. They paid no attention to anything else here, except books and that tent. You’re certain the book you saw would fit in that casket?”

  “Yes.” Alec stared around into the shadows. “Wait. What about the cellar? And that locked room they kept me in down there?”

  But once again, there was nothing like a book anywhere; everything was just as Alec remembered.

  “Ulan?” whispered Alec.

  “We’ll see. Come on.”

  Seregil went up the rope first. As his head cleared the roof, however, he heard an outcry in the distance. It was coming from the direction of the gully. From what he could make out, someone had found their horses and raised an alarm.

  “There, in the workshop!”

  Seregil looked around to find a man balanced on a ladder placed against the garden wall to his left. He must have gone up to see what the fuss was about.

  “Guards! The workshop,” the man shouted, disappearing down the ladder. “Fetch the key, someone!”

  Seregil quickly climbed down the rope and found Alec already struggling with the heavy anvil. He hurried to help and they heaved the trapdoor up. People were at the door now, and someone was not waiting for the key. The door shook on its hinges as someone tried to break it down.

  “Go get the lower door open,” Seregil whispered.

  Alec disappeared down the rickety wooden ladder bolted to the side of the narrow shaft.

  Seregil took a deep breath and grasped the ring on the underside of the trapdoor. It was tricky, pulling the heavy door in such a way as to not get brained by it. The only way was to throw all his strength into it, then hang on tight to the ring as the whole thing crashed back into place. If the ring came loose, it was a long way down.

  But it didn’t, and he found the ladder with one foot and clambered down after Alec.

  Alec was at work on the large iron lock with two of his heaviest picks and had it open as Seregil’s feet touched ground. Dashing into the tunnel beyond, they closed the door. Alec jammed one of the picks into the workings of the lock, then bent the long end flush with the door. “That should slow them down a bit!”

  They set off down the dank passageway at a run. By the time they reached the ladder at the far end of the tunnel, they were both winded. Seregil climbed, gasping, up the ladder and pushed the trapdoor up just enough to peek out into the stable. He barely noticed the horseshit that fell down around him, though he heard a muffled curse from Alec below.

  All was dark and quiet, except for the sound of snoring coming from a stall near the door. They couldn’t count on the stable boy being drunk, but at least he was asleep. Seregil levered himself out of the shaft, heedless of the fresh horseshit covering the floor. At least it deadened sounds well.

  There was no time to find saddles. As soon as Alec was up, they closed the trap, kicked some shit over it, then each took a horse and led it out by the bridle. The useless stable boy never stirred as they passed. Once outside, they hurried away on foot, away from the farm and away from the road. They’d just reached the apple orchard behind the barn when they caught the sound of horses in the distance, coming on at a gallop.

  There was no time for subtlety. Springing onto their horses’ backs, they gathered the reins and kicked their mounts into a gallop, heading north and hoping the riders wouldn’t hear them over the sound of their own horses.

  After several miles, they reined in and listened. There was no sound of pursuit.

  “I think we got away,” Alec said, still scanning the starlit landscape behind them.

  “Only just.”

  They circled back and reached the copse just before dawn. Micum and Rieser were both awake and waiting for them in the cold campsite.

  “There you are!” Micum exclaimed, clearly relieved. “I was just about ready to go looking for you.”

  “Did you find it?” asked Rieser.

  “No,” Seregil told him, sliding off his lathered horse. “Someone’s taken it. We saw plenty of footprints in the dust, so someone’s been in there since Yhakobin’s death.”

  “Or maybe the wife knew about it and moved it—or sold it,” said Alec as he dismounted. “Or it was Ulan. I say we start there.”

  “Rather than go back and search the house?” Rieser asked.

  “It’s going to be a bit tougher to get back in there now,” Alec told him.

  “You raised the house, did you?” asked Micum. “Did anyone get a good look at you?”
<
br />   “No,” said Seregil. “At least I don’t think so. I saw one man, but it was dark enough that I couldn’t make him out, so hopefully he couldn’t see me any better. And it was only for an instant.”

  “What does this khirnari have to do with the book?” asked Rieser.

  “The alchemist told me himself that he did business of some sort with Ulan,” Alec explained.

  “And our wizard friend Thero and I tracked down a slaver in a Virésse port who claimed Ulan ransoms slaves back from Plenimar, presumably with Yhakobin’s help,” Micum explained.

  “Not to mention the fact that Ulan knows of Alec’s mixed blood,” Seregil added. “Since he’s involved with the slavers that Micum and Thero spoke with, it’s not a great stretch to think that he knows something of the rhekaro—perhaps was even having Yhakobin make one for him. Add that to the fact that he’s here himself, and as far as I’m concerned that’s a pretty strong set of coincidences pointing to the possibility that he knows about the book, too.”

  “Then we must go back to the city?” asked Rieser.

  “Looks that way. But at least we have a few new horses to trade.”

  “The two you stole aren’t on the bill of sale, though,” Micum pointed out.

  “We’ll have to lead them away a bit and let them go,” Alec said, stroking his stolen mare’s sweaty neck. “That should throw off any trackers, if we can get into the city before anyone catches up with us.”

  Micum tapped the heel of his boot against the ground. “Still frozen hard. You couldn’t have left much of a trail, and not one easy to follow in the dark. We’d better go now, though, just in case.”

  “We’ll use the north gate this time, I think,” Seregil said.

  “You don’t want anyone who saw us today wondering why we’re back so soon,” Rieser observed.

  Seregil gave him a crooked grin. “You’re catching on.”

  “So what are we going to do now?”

  “Find Ulan and see if he has the book,” Seregil told him. “That’s most likely going to involve the sort of work we did tonight.”

  “How do you break into a ship?”

  “The same way you do a house, only wetter.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Taking in the Sights

  NO ONE seemed to take undue notice of Alec and his companions when they entered the city again with their string of horses. From there they made their way through a busy merchants’ quarter toward the waterfront. Micum’s “slaves” were veiled and hooded; if they inadvertently ran into Ulan, he would not recognize them, and he didn’t know Micum.

  They were nearly there when something startled Seregil’s horse and she jerked around in the opposite direction. Seregil quickly controlled her and took a moment to stroke her neck and murmur some reassurance before turning her back to follow Micum.

  “Please, Master,” Seregil said as they reached a market square at the edge of the waterfront. “Can we buy some food? I’m very hungry.”

  “So am I,” said Alec. It had been hours since their cold breakfast.

  “Very well,” Micum snapped, still playing the role.

  There were food vendors along the northern side of the square. Micum chose one selling hot grilled sausages.

  “Go buy for us,” Micum ordered Alec, reaching for his purse.

  “Please, Master, let me,” Seregil said.

  Micum raised an eyebrow, then gave him a few coins. “You—” He turned is attention to Alec. “There’s a woman selling cider down there. Fetch us some.”

  Something’s going on, Alec thought as he headed for the cider booth. Seregil was up to something.

  They ate standing by the public well. The sausages were full of hot spices, and Alec was glad of the cider.

  “I think we’re being followed,” Seregil said quietly around a mouthful. “There’s a young beggar behind me, over there by the ribbon seller. He’s wearing a white kerchief around his neck. I’m sure I saw him by the gate.”

  “I see him,” Micum said, glancing past Seregil. “Plenimaran?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Alec turned his head slightly until he could see the ribbon merchant from the corner of his eye. The ragged fellow Seregil was talking about was leaning at ease against the side of the booth, laughing with another wastrel. “You think the men who chased us last night have followed us here?”

  “Maybe,” Seregil replied, but he sounded doubtful.

  “If they did track us, why wait until now to come after us? It would have been easier out on the road,” Rieser murmured.

  “Exactly,” Seregil replied.

  They finished their food and made their way down to the harbor.

  Some of the Virésse vessels they’d seen yesterday had sailed, and two others had come in.

  “Is he still with us?” asked Micum.

  Seregil’s unruly horse turned again, tossing her head and snorting.

  “He is,” Seregil whispered as he brought the mare under control again.

  Ulan’s ship was still riding at anchor, but the pennant was gone.

  “What does that mean?” asked Rieser.

  “That the khirnari isn’t aboard,” Seregil replied.

  A group of idle sailors had gathered at the end of a nearby quay, sitting on crates and passing a flask. Dismounting, Micum strolled over to them and was soon laughing and talking between pulls from the bottle.

  “He seems so at ease,” murmured Rieser, sounding impressed in spite of himself. “Just like with the horse dealer.”

  “Micum can talk to just about anyone,” Alec told him.

  Soon Micum was pointing, apparently asking about some of the ships. The sailors appeared to be happy to answer. When Micum finally parted from them and walked back to the others, he was grinning.

  “What—” Rieser began.

  “Hold your tongue, slave,” Micum ordered curtly, and loudly enough to be overheard. Mounting again, he led the way along the waterfront toward the far side of the city. Along the way they came to a smaller horse market, and Micum stopped to sell off their string and be free of it.

  While he and the others waited, Alec managed to position himself so he could look back the way they’d come. Sure enough, the beggar was there, sitting against a wall with several others of his kind, hand out, imploring the passing crowd for alms. What he lacked in subtlety he made up for in persistence.

  “I made a tidy profit, enough to afford a decent inn for the night,” Micum said when he returned.

  Alec knew he was speaking for the benefit of anyone listening to them; they all had money in their packs, more than enough for the best inn in the city. “The trader tells me there’s a good one in the next street—the Two Hens Inn,” Micum went on. “And they have a decent slave pen, too.”

  They made their way to a large, prosperous-looking inn with a friendly innkeeper who obliged Micum with a back room, away from the noise of the street. The room’s single window overlooked a cheerless yard with sheets drying on a line stretched between the back of the inn and the sturdy shed that served as a slave pen. Beyond that, a low wall blocked what appeared to be an alleyway.

  “What about these?” the man asked, jerking a thumb at Alec and the others. “I can take them out to the pen for you, if you like, and see that they get a decent meal.”

  “In a bit,” Micum replied. “I need them for a few things first.”

  “Ulan has a house near the waterfront,” Micum told them as soon as the man was gone.

  “Then it’s time to get rid of our unwelcome follower,” Seregil said. He leaned out the window for a moment, then turned back to the rest of them. “There’s no one around right now.”

  Slinging on their packs, the four of them went out the window and over the wall. Micum grunted as Alec gave him a leg up.

  “I miss the days when I didn’t need the help,” he muttered. Fortunately the wall was low enough for him to drop down on the other side without assistance.

  The alley was littered wi
th rotting fruits and vegetables that stuck to their shoes and sent up a sour stink. At the far end was a marketplace full of farmers’ carts and booths. They scuffed their shoes clean against the cobbles, then doubled back to the waterfront and the street Micum’s idlers had pointed him to. There was no sign of the man who’d followed them.

  “Who do you suppose set him on us?” Micum wondered, still keeping his voice low and a sharp eye out. “No one knows we’re here. Even if that man at the alchemist’s house got a good look at you, there’s no way he’d know you in that getup.”

  Seregil’s grey eyes were serious above the veil. “I don’t know, and I don’t like it.”

  “If he did, he’d probably have set the slave takers on us, rather than following us,” said Alec. “How are we going to get the horses back?”

  “They’re safe for now,” Micum replied. “Once it’s dark, we’ll go back and claim them.”

  With Micum in the lead, they strolled down the quays to a street that ran along the harbor’s edge. The houses here were like the walled villas of Wheel Street, except that the dressed stone walls were much higher, hiding the houses inside completely. Two guards wearing the sen’gai of Virésse flanked the gate of a house midway down, on the water side. Ulan’s pennant fluttered on a short pole set into the stonework.

  “So there you are, you old fox,” muttered Seregil.

  “He must be held in high esteem, to be safe staying here so close to the slave markets,” Rieser whispered back.

  “Virésse trades with Plenimar. Always has. I didn’t expect him to have a house here, though.”

  Ulan was in the library, recovering from a particularly bad coughing fit, when Ilar came in without knocking and closed the door behind him. Ulan quickly balled up his bloodied handkerchief and kept it hidden in one hand.

  A hectic flush colored Ilar’s cheeks as he stood shaking with barely contained excitement. Closing the door, he hugged himself and whispered, “They are here, Khirnari! Your man at the north gate saw them come in this afternoon.”

  “Do they have the rhekaro with them?” Not even the pain still lingering in his chest could spoil this heartening news. It was the first news he’d had of them since his spy aboard the Lady had gone silent.