Stalking Darkness n-2

by Lynn Flewelling

  "You're mistaken, though I suppose you set them after us anyway?"

  "By the Old Sailor, I did not!" Rhal retorted angrily. "I might have saved myself the loss of a fine ship if I had."

  Certain disturbing questions had occurred to Seregil during this exchange, but before he could ask any the three of them were startled by a sudden commotion behind them at the mouth of the alley.

  A gang of back alley toughs materialized out of the shadows armed with swords, cudgels, and daggers. Seregil saw in an instant that there were enough of them to be trouble.

  To his surprise, he found Rhal at his side, sword leveled at the newcomers. Alec cast him one questioning look, then fell in beside the captain as the ambushers charged in at them.

  Rhal took the center, striking right and left with workmanlike efficiency. Seregil had just time enough to pull the poniard free of his boot before he found himself fighting two-handed against a ruffian wielding a quarterstaff.

  The alley made for close quarters fighting and the three of them were soon being forced back inch by inch toward the dead end at their backs.

  "Trouble above!" Rhal bellowed as a hail of stones and roof tiles clattered down from overhead.

  "Press the bastards!"

  A heavy tile struck his arm, jarring his sword from his hand. A tall footpad closed in, but Seregil whirled and buried his poniard between the man's ribs. Beside him, Alec struck another across the face. Rhal rolled hastily out from under their feet, scrambling through the dirty snow for his weapon.

  More stones rained down but thanks to the darkness or someone's poor aim, most of this load landed among the attackers. In the resulting confusion, Seregil and the others broke free to the street, the gang hot on their heels.

  Freed from the confines of the alley, he rounded on the man nearest him and ran him through, then blocked a swing from a quarterstaff. He'd lost sight of Alec, but a fierce yell just behind told him the boy was holding his own.

  Seregil was just facing off with two of the footpads when the shrill alarm of a Watch trumpet rang out nearby. A moment later a Watch patrol galloped into sight down the street, weapons drawn. The footpads left off at once and melted away into the shadows like sea smoke before a freshening breeze.

  "Come on!" Seregil hissed at Alec and Rhal, and bolted off in the opposite direction.

  "What are we running for?" Rhal panted.

  "So we don't spend the night inventing lies for some thickheaded bluecoat," Seregil snapped.

  Dodging into the next side street, he spotted a sagging bulkhead at the base of a tenement just ahead.

  Hoping for the best, he yanked up one of the flat doors and tossed in a lightstone. Worn steps led down to a disused cellar.

  "Down here!"

  Alec and Rhal dove for cover and he followed, pulling the door shut overhead again.

  Crouched tensely in the musty darkness, they listened as the Watch made a cursory search of the area and then moved on.

  Seregil looked over at Rhal. "Now, you were saying?"

  For the space of a few heartbeats Rhal stared blankly back at him, then burst out laughing.

  "By the Mariner, I came here to stick a knife in you and now I'm indebted to you for my life. You two had no call to cover me as you did just then."

  "You had no call to let us go that night on the Darter"

  Seregil replied, picking up the light and heading for the stairs. "But you did, and here we are. The boy and I have some business to attend to just now, but I'd like to continue our earlier discussion. Meet us at the inner room of the Bower in Silk Street, say in an hour's time?"

  Rhal considered the invitation, then nodded. "All right then. An hour."

  Seregil lifted the bulkhead door cautiously, then climbed out with Alec close behind.

  "Are we really going to meet him?" Alec asked as they hurried away.

  "He tracked us to Wheel Street. I think we'd better find out how he managed that, don't you?"

  Seregil scowled, making no effort to mask his concern. "And who it was that came to him looking for us, although I think I can guess."

  The answering look of fear on Alec's face told Seregil that he could, too.

  Their unanticipated run-in with Rhal had sapped every ounce of enjoyment from the night for Alec. He floundered through the job in a daze of apprehension.

  Seregil had said nothing more on the matter so far, but he couldn't shake the conviction that his own callow ignorance aboard the Darter had somehow led Rhal to them after all these months. And if he'd tracked them, then why not Mardus?

  Luckily for him, the burglary was not a particularly challenging one. Evidently a smug, unimaginative fellow, Makrin had hidden the letters in a locked box behind a bit of loose woodwork in his study. Seregil spotted it while Alec was still sorting through the contents of the writing table. With Lady Isara's letters in hand, along with a few other items of interest, they stopped briefly at Wheel Street to deposit the goods, then set off on horseback for the Bower.

  This was a discreetly respectable establishment Seregil often used for assignations. A yawning pot boy led them to a room at the back. Rhal was already there, but not alone; Alec immediately recognized the two men with him as the helmsman and first mate from the ill-fated Darter.

  They recognized him as well, and returned his greeting with guarded nods, weapons close at hand.

  Rhal pushed a wine jug over to them as he and Seregil joined him at the table.

  Seregil poured himself a cup, then said without preamble, "Tell me more about Gresher's Ferry."

  Rhal eyed him knowingly. "As I said, a pack of armed men was laying for us there."

  "A rough-lookin" crew," the helmsman, Skywake, added darkly, "They didn't have no uniforms, but they sat their horses like soldiers."

  Alec's heart sank still lower, though Seregil's face remained a carefully neutral mask.

  "They came asking after two men and a boy, said they'd stolen the mayor's gold up in Wolde," Rhal continued. "When I told 'em I hadn't carried any three such as they described, they pulled swords and swarmed all over my vessel, bold as you please. Then their leader—a big, black-bearded son of a whore with an accent thick as lentil porridge—he laid into me, calling me a liar and worse in front of my own crew. The more he went on, the less I liked it. By the time he stopped for breath, I'd sooner been drowned than give him satisfaction. So I kept mum and finally they rode off.

  "We went on downriver and I thought that was the end of it, but that same night a fire started in the hold and burned so fierce we couldn't even get down to douse it. Everyone got off, but my ship lies burnt and broken against the mud bank below Hullout Bend. That's just a bit too much of a coincidence for my taste, especially since we were carrying silver and bales of vellum that voyage."

  "Not the most flammable of cargoes." Seregil regarded Rhal impassively over the rim of his cup. "And so you came looking for us."

  "You're not going to tell me you were traveling in disguise just to make a fool of me?" Rhal snorted.

  "No."

  Nettles slammed his fist down on the table. "Then it was you they was looking for!"

  "I don't know anything about that," Seregil maintained. "What I'm interested in is how you found me."

  "Not much trick to that," Skywake told him, jerking a thumb at Alec. "This boy of yours asked around amongst the crew how to get to Rhiminee just before you got off."

  Idiot! Alec silently berated himself, his worst fears confirmed.

  "Who did he talk to?" asked Seregil, not looking at him.

  "There were a bunch of us on deck that day, as I recall," Nettles replied. "Skywake, you was there, and the cook's boy."

  "That's right. And Applescaith. He was the one wanted him to go overland the whole way, remember?"

  "Aye. Him, too. And Bosfast."

  Alec sat staring down at his wine cup, mouth set in a grim line. How could he have been so green?

  He might just as well have drawn their pursuers a map. />
  Seregil took another sip of wine, considering all this. "And so, with nothing more than a few tenuous suspicions, you chuck everything and head off for Skala to stick a knife in me?" He shook his head in evident bemusement. "Rhiminee's a big place. How in the world did you expect to find us?"

  Rhal scrubbed a hand over his thinning hair and gave a short chuckle. "If you aren't the damnedest creature for brass. All right then, I'll tell you straight. You're looking at a ruined man. All I came away with was my instruments and this."

  Rhal held up his left hand, displaying a large garnet ring on his little finger. Alec recognized it as the one Seregil had worn while playing Lady Gwethelyn, but what was Rhal doing with it? Looking at Seregil for a reaction, he saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his friend's mouth.

  "With the Darter beyond fixing and winter coming on, I didn't see too many prospects for me in the north," Rhal went on. "I was a deepwater sailor in my youth. I took up the Folcwine passage when my uncle willed me his ship and the chance to be my own master. Now with the war brewing up for spring, I figured I maybe could sign on with the navy.

  "To tell you the honest truth, I didn't really expect to find you. Then I caught sight of your boy back around the time you had all that trouble with the law. Since then, we've kept watch on that fancy house of yours, hoping to have a quiet chat, as it were. You're a hard pair to track down, though."

  "It was you that chased me that night," said Alec.

  "That was us." Rhal rubbed a knee with a rueful grin. "You're a tricky little bugger, and fast. I'd figured you two for soft gents and didn't think you'd give us much trouble. After seeing the way you handled yourselves in that alley, though, I believe I'm glad those footpads showed up when they did."

  Seregil gave him the crooked grin. "It may be good fortune for all of us, meeting up again."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "You two" — Seregil turned to Skywake and Nettles—"do you fancy signing on as common sailors with a war coming?"

  "We go where our captain goes," Skywake replied stoutly, though it was clear neither he nor the former helmsman were enthusiastic about the prospect.

  Seregil looked back to Rhal. "And you, Captain—I'd think it would be difficult to serve after having a vessel of your own."

  Alec began to suspect where this conversation was headed.

  "Of course, I'd be the last person to discourage anyone from fighting the Plenimarans," Seregil drawled, "but it seems to me there are more rewarding ways of going about it. Have you considered privateering?"

  "I've considered it." Rhal shrugged, studying the other man's face with a sharp trader's crafty interest, "but that takes a strong, swift ship and more gold than I'm ever likely to see."

  "What it takes," Seregil said, reaching into his belt pouch, "is the proper investors. Would this get you started?"

  Opening his hand, Seregil showed them an emerald the size of a walnut glowing in the hollow of his palm.

  It was one of many such stones Seregil kept handy as a conveniently portable form of wealth.

  "By the Sailor, Captain, did you ever see the like of that!" Nettles gasped.

  Rhal glanced down at the stone, then back at Seregil. "Why?"

  Seregil placed the stone in the center of the table. "Perhaps I appreciate a man with a sense of humor."

  "Skywake, Nettles, wait outside," Rhal said quietly. As they left, Rhal made a questioning gesture in Alec's direction.

  Seregil shook his head. "He stays. So, what do you think of my offer. It won't be repeated once we leave this room."

  "Tell me why," Rhal repeated, picking up the gem. "You've heard my story and told me nothing, yet you offer me this. What's it really paying for?"

  Seregil chuckled softly. "You're a clever man, away from the ladies. Let's understand one another. I've got secrets I prefer to keep, but there are surer ways than this to protect them, if you take my meaning. What I'm offering you, all I'm offering you, is a mutually beneficial business proposition. You find a ship, see to the crew, the provisioning, everything. I provide capital, in return for which I receive twenty percent of the take and passage wherever I say, whenever I require it, which will most likely be never. The rest of the profits are yours to be divided in whatever fashion you see fit."

  "And?" Still skeptical, Rhal put the stone back on the table.

  "Information. Any document confiscated, any rumors from prisoners, any encounter that seems out of the ordinary—it all comes to me directly and not a word to anyone else."

  Rhal nodded, satisfied. "So you're nosers, after all. Who for?"

  "Let's just say we consider Skalan interests to be our own."

  "I don't suppose you have any proof of that?"

  "None whatsoever."

  Rhal drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop for a minute, calculating. "Ship's papers in my name alone, and I run my vessel as I see fit?"

  "All right."

  Rhal tapped the emerald. "This is a good start, but it won't pay for a ship, nor get one built before midsummer."

  "As it happens, I know of a vessel being refitted at a boatyard in Macar. The principal backer's been having second thoughts." Seregil produced a stone identical to the first. "These should be ample evidence of good faith. I'll make arrangements to have all further funds paid out to you in gold."

  "And what if I just slip the cable tonight with these?"

  Seregil shrugged. "Then you'll be a relatively wealthy man. Are we to say done to it or not?"

  Rhal shook his head, looking less than satisfied. "You're an odd one, and no mistake. I've one last condition of my own, or it's no deal."

  "And that is?"

  "If I'm to keep faith with you, then I want your names, your true names."

  "If you've tracked me to Wheel Street, then you've already heard it; Seregil i Korit Solun Meringil Bokthersa."

  "That's a mouthful by half. And you, boy. You got a fancy long hook, too?"

  Alec hesitated, and felt Seregil's foot nudge his own beneath the table. "You'll have heard mine, too. Alec, Alec of Ivywell."

  "All right, then, I'm satisfied." Pocketing the gems, Rhal spit in his palm and extended his hand to Seregil. "I say done to it, Seregil whoever-you-are."

  Seregil clasped hands. "Done it is, Captain."

  Alec was very silent as they rode back to Wheel Street. Passing through the glow of a lone street lantern, Seregil saw that he was looking thoroughly miserable.

  "It's not as bad as all that," he assured him.

  "Anyone looking for Lord Seregil knows where to find him."

  "Sure, but what if it hadn't been Wheel Street he followed us to?" Alec shot back bitterly.

  "We're much more careful about that. No one's ever tracked me there."

  "Probably because you were never stupid enough to give them the damn directions!"

  "Still, considering the circumstances—me too sick to think straight, you not knowing the country—I don't know what else you could have done, except maybe have waited until we were off the ship to ask the way. You didn't know any better then. You do now."

  "A fat lot of comfort that'll be when some other old mistake of mine catches up with us," Alec persisted, looking only slightly less miserable.

  "What if the next one who shows up is Mardus?"

  "Even if those were his men that boarded Rhal's ship—and I admit, it sure sounded like them—he didn't tell them anything."

  "Then you think we're safe?"

  Seregil grinned darkly. "We're never safe. But I do think if Mardus had tracked us down, we'd have heard from him by now. I mean, he'd have to be insane to hang about in Rhiminee for any length of time the way things are now."

  10

  Sarisin wore into Dostin, tightening winter's embrace on the city. Snow gusted down out of the mountains, only to be followed by icy rain off the sea that reduced it all to thick, dirty slush and churned ice, treacherous underfoot. Smoke from thousands of chimneys mingled with the fog and hung
in a grey haze over the rooftops for days at a stretch.

  Preparations for war continued amid a constant stream of rumor and minor alarms. Skalan merchants were harassed in Mycenian towns, warehouses were rifled or burned. Plenimaran press gangs were reported on the prowl in ports as far west as Isil. Word circulated that more than a hundred keels had been laid down in Plenimaran shipyards.

  No major host could be raised before spring, but the forces already billeted in Rhiminee were more visible than usual as they worked on the city's defenses and drilled outside the walls. Seregil and Alec often rode over to view the Queen's Horse at their maneuvers, but their friends there seldom had time for more than a brief hello.

  At Macar, Rhal's ship was progressing rapidly under the captain's sharp eye. As Seregil had anticipated, once assured of the good faith between them, Rhal looked out for his silent backer's interests as if they were his own.

  It would be another two months before the vessel could be launched, but he already had Skywake and Nettles combing seaports up and down the coast for sailors.

  The one subject he kept silent on was the vessel's name. When Alec asked, Rhal only winked, telling him it was bad luck to say before she was launched.

  Though by no means oblivious to the import of the events unfolding around him, Alec moved through the grey midwinter days in a state of increasing contentment. He'd gradually settled into the role of Sir Alec and had lost most of his awkwardness around the nobles. He was happiest, though, honing his more illicit skills as he worked side by side with Seregil as the Rhiminee Cat or on Watcher business for Nysander.

  He also came to appreciate the amenities of life at Wheel Street. In his former life, wandering the northlands with his father, winter had always meant hardship—slogging up and down trap lines, sheltering in brushwood huts, and the snowy solitude of the forest.

  Here, fires burned at all hours against the ever-present damp and cold. Thick carpets covered the floors, food and wine were there for the asking, and warm baths—for which he had finally acquired a taste—could be had at any hour in a special room just down the hall. Some of his fondest memories of those days would be sitting by a snug fire on a stormy day, enjoying the sound of the rain lashing against the shutters.