::I do.:: Nikolas “showed” him the location, not in terms of a map, but the streets he would follow to get there. ::Going by rooftop?::
Mags grinned at him. Of course he was going by rooftop. On the unlikely chance that someone had followed that thief here, the only person he would have to follow would be the same thief.
Nikolas nodded at a ladder in the corner. ::Hatch at the top.::
Mags trotted over to the ladder and skittered up it, feeling quietly gleeful that Nikolas trusted him to go after this woman. There was indeed a hatch at the top, bolted from this side. He pulled it up and dropped it down, poking his head up into the darkness above.
It was an attic. He hauled himself up into it, and in the light coming up from below, he saw the outlines of a roof-door.
::Find the door?:: Nikolas asked.
::Aye. Lemme git ’er open, then ye kin close up from below.:: The door to the roof opened outward; he checked and saw that it would lock again when he closed it. ::Aight. I’m good.::
He heard the ladder creaking, then the hatch closed and the bolt shot home. He was on his own. He levered himself out onto the sloping roof and shut the door quietly. No use alerting anyone to the fact that there was someone crawling about on the roof.
He took his bearings and started out, moving as quickly as he could. He just hoped that when he got there, he’d have figured out an excuse to talk to her. Or Nikolas would have.
Hmm. When he’d been snooping around as the blind beggar, he’d noticed that not all “house” girls stayed in the House to practice their trade. Trusted ones were allowed to visit clients. ::Maybe Peg’ll send ’er girls out, fer a price.:: he suggested to Nikolas.
::If the price is right, I am certain she would send her girls out to entertain performing bears,:: came the cynical reply. Mags snorted. From what he knew, Nikolas was probably right.
::I c’ld be errand boy, settin’ somethin’ up then.:: That would make sense; a man with the means to hire a girl for the evening would also have the means to hire a boy to go out and make the arrangements for him.
This was an excellent part of town for roof-running. The buildings were crammed too close together for anything bigger than a rat to pass between them. Mags could basically scuttle along without anyone seeing him, as long as he didn’t make more noise than a large cat. This was all very familiar: the feel of slates and tiles and the occasional thatched roof under his hands and feet, balancing on the slope, basically going on all fours with three points of contact on the roof at all times—
Since these roofs were inspected yearly for chimney issues—a fire in this part of town would be a complete disaster, because it would spread for blocks in no time at all—they were in good repair, even if the interiors left a lot to be desired. There weren’t a lot of thatched roofs here; they were more prone to fires. Mags vaguely remembered that house and shop owners were being pressured to get rid of them. A pity, since they were easier to scramble across.
Then again, that was probably a reason that could be used to get them replaced. If he could do it, a thief would find it ridiculously easy.
Nikolas sent him another thought. ::There’s money sewn in the hem of your jerkin. It’s enough to get Peg’s attention. See if she’ll send Senla to the Owl and Firkin. It’s close, and I can be there soon enough. The Weasel has gone out to a tavern for food now and again on a slow night.::
Mags gave his wordless assent. These roofs were absolutely ideal for what he was doing, even the ones that weren’t thatched. Although they were steep, they were also broken up by chimney pots and dormers, to make the most use of the attic space. There was more than enough light for him to see his way up here, with a full moon and no clouds. He didn’t even have to fight chimney smoke; any cooking was over and done with at this time of night.
He was mortal glad to get out of that stuffy shop and out in the fresh air.
And he took his time. It wasn’t more than a few blocks to this house, and there was no real hurry to get there, so he could test each foot- and handhold, making very sure of them before he trusted his weight to roof or handhold. Down below, there were still a few people out and about. This part of Haven actually came to life after dark. Those who lived here worked from dawn to dusk and only had time to get their own business done when the sun went down.
He was literally on the roof of the house next door to Peg’s when he heard a commotion below him. There was an altercation going on at the front door—but that wasn’t what was interesting. What was interesting was that a few moments after the to-do started, he saw a back door open from the inside. A big, burly man held it open while a woman carrying a pack slipped out. It looked to him as if the altercation was being staged—there was a lot of shouting and some wild swinging of fists going on, but he wasn’t sensing anger, and none of the swings were connecting. A distraction to keep anyone from going to see what was happening at the back door?
If it was, then the woman was leaving with the cooperation of at least some of the other inmates of the house.
Acting on a hunch, he followed her. She kept to the alleys, and from the way she was moving, she was trying very hard to keep from attracting any attention.
If that ain’t Senla, I’ll eat Dallen’s hay.
::You stay out of my hay!:: He sensed Dallen peering down through his eyes. ::I would say you are correct.::
::Now why d’ye think she’d be runnin’?:: he asked.
::More to the point, why would one of the ‘house enforcers’ be helping her? The proprietors of such places tend to make sure that the loyalty of their men is firmly with the owner and not the women. After all, if there are going to be any disputes, the owner wants the ones with the muscles enforcing her will, not siding with the hirlings.:: He sensed Dallen thinking some things over. ::I’d have to say the owner knew about what just happened. There is no way it could be kept quiet. Not with all the shouting at the front, and the mock-fight.::
::Then this Peg person had t’ hev ordered ’im t’help ’er git. An’ ordered up yon fight, so’s t’distract any’un what was watchin’.:: That seemed the only possible conclusion.
::Exactly so.:: Dallen went silent for another moment, probably thinking. ::Mind, it was probably not altruistic. If the woman was bringing trouble to the house, or even had the potential to bring trouble, it makes sense to be rid of her.::
And thet might could be why th’ thief was a-feared. The guide had definitely been murdered. The thief might think the same people would come after him. Perhaps because he had enquired about the woman?
Reckon th’ gel thinks she’s in danger, anyroad. Mags made a split-second decision. ::Kin you git outa there?::
Dallen clearly found the question amusing. ::Easily. Rolan tells me our waiting places are deliberately made so we Companions can get out and come assist if we are needed. I see through your eyes where you are, I’ll meet you somewhere. Just keep following her, and I’ll intercept you at some point.::
Mags oozed over to the next roof, and crept along the edge, keeping her in sight. She was moving so slowly and so furtively that it wasn’t hard, even though the alley was in deep shadow. She was wearing light-colored clothing . . .
Not thinkin’ real hard, I reckon.
He was very glad he had decided to try to get her himself; she obviously had no idea of how to get away from potential danger—other than sneak out a back door. And that might not even have been her idea.
She wasn’t even looking up. From everything that he had experienced with the foreigners—if, indeed, they were from the same place as the killers who had tried to murder the Companions—they were skilled killers. They could just as easily have been up here on the roofs as he was.
With that alarming thought, he took stock of his surroundings, thinning his shields just the slightest bit. The quickest way to find out if there was someone lurking was to see if there were any thought-presences near him that were giving out bits of roof-image.
A moment later he w
as able to relax that part of his vigilance. No... no, there was no one there. All the human presences that he could sense nearby were definitely inside, and most of those were asleep; the only creatures on the roofs were cats and rats.
Dallen interrupted his thoughts. ::I’m almost there. I’m going to stop her at the end of the alley she is in now. Drop down behind her. We’ll get her between us, so that she can’t easily run.::
::Gotcha.:: He worked his way down the side of the building, which was in such a shabby state that there were plenty of finger- and toeholds. It was probably just as well that the inhabitants had so little worth stealing, because a thief who could climb would have no trouble breaking in. He clung to the side of the building and waited for Dallan’s signal.
He never had been able to figure out how they did it, but when they wanted to, Companions could move like ghosts on the wind. One minute the end of the alley was clear. The next, it was full of a large, white beast.
The woman stopped dead in her tracks, her posture showing shock and uncertainty. She started to turn—
And Mags dropped down behind her, trapping her between himself and Dallen.
Things moved very swiftly then. Her eyes went huge and round, he heard her intake of breath. Without waiting for her to let it out in a scream, he rushed her, ramming her up against Dallen’s chest and slapping a hand over her mouth.
She wasn’t accustomed to fighting; she went limp, eyes terrified. Her hands were trapped by the bundle she refused to drop. If he actually had been there to kill her, it would have been ridiculously easy. She wouldn’t even have put up a token fight.
“Whoa-up,” he said softly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ye. Ye knows whatta Companion is, aye?”
Her head moved under his hand, nodding.
“This here’s a Companion. My Companion. Name’s Dallen.”
Dallen curved his neck around and nudged her with his nose. He did that thing that Companions could do and made himself glow slightly, so she could see him clearly in the dark. Her eyes went bigger. “I’m Trainee Mags,” he continued. “We come here t’help ye. I’m agonna take m’hand away. Don’ scream, aye? There’s on’y th’ two on us, an iffen ye got trouble on yer tail, I ain’t sure jest the two on us kin keep ye safe.” He took his hand away from her mouth. She didn’t scream, though she was shaking in every limb. He looked her over as best he could in the shadows of the alley. She wasn’t as slatternly as the women who had sold their stolen finery at the shop, but it was fairly clear what her profession was. Under the huge shawls she had wrapped about herself, her tawdry—and scanty—outfit was a clear advertisement for her services.
“Yer Senla, aye?” he asked. Her eyes widened again, and she nodded. “Aight. I know ’bout that guide whut was yer reg’lar, an’ whut happen t’him. Here now—don’ cry!” he added, with alarm, as her eyes brimmed with tears. “We ain’t got time fer cryin’! I’m agonna git ye somewhere safe, so no cryin’ till I does!”
He knew that Dallen would have been keeping Rolan apprised of the situation, and Rolan would have been keeping Nikolas up to date. So he simply Mindspoke Nikolas without a second thought. ::Got ’er. What d’I do?::
::Take her to the actor’s inn. Keep her in the stable until I get there.::
Well, that was clear enough. And it was a good thing that he and Nikolas had left the Companions under saddle and bridle. He hauled himself up into the saddle, then held out a hand to Senla, pulling her up behind him. She weighed next to nothing. He revised his estimation of her age downward. ::All right, you. Ghost us outa here. Make damn sure cain’t nobuddy see us.::
He felt Dallen’s smirk. ::As if I couldn’t. Hold on.::
“. . . so when they murdered Giels, I knew they were gonna come after me,” Senla sobbed, both hands wrapped around a mug of wine she held onto as if she were afraid she was going to drop it. “I told Peg. She told me she’d help me, but I had to leave, I couldn’t bring trouble on the House.”
Cleaned up, she was an entirely different person. Prettier, in Mags’ estimation. He guessed she was about three or four years older than he was—but although in some ways she acted and thought as if she were much more experienced than her age, in others she was rather childlike. Annoyingly childlike. He had never quite realized how much he liked being around girls who thought for themselves instead of passively sitting there and waiting to be told what to do.
“Did you ever see these men?” Nikolas asked her.
She shook her head. “Giels told me that they spoke no language he recognized, and he’s guided people all over the south, right down to that city the horse-people go to when they want to sell horses. Katashin’a’in, that’s what it’s called, I think.”
Nikolas and Mags exchanged a look.
“He told me they had a lot of things he thought were poisons,” she continued. “They’d put out baits when they thought he wasn’t watching, and they’d check to see if the animals that took ’em had died. That was why when he just dropped dead in the street, I knew they had done it.” She shivered. “I knew they knew about me, and I figured they’d guess Giels had told me about them.” She started crying again. “Mistress Peg, she always likes her girls to make a nest egg an’ get married, and Giels, he always said that was what we’d do. ‘You make a nest egg, an’ I’ll make a nest egg,’ he’d say, ‘An’ when we got enough that we can have that little tavern, you’ll quit, an’ I’ll quit guidin’, an’ we’ll sell beer, an’ you’ll wait on the custom, an’ we’ll have a grand old time of it.’ That’s what he said, and now—” She burst into tears.
Mags patted her hand, awkwardly. He wished that Giels had told his girl a little more than he had. Right now, given that there was a dead body in a Healer’s hands and the Healer couldn’t identify the poison used to kill the man, it was reasonable to figure this was the same lot as the ones that had tried to murder Mags and the King earlier this year.
That was really not good. Poison was definitely an assassin’s weapon. Everyone around the King would have to be even more careful and alert about what he ate and drank now.
Giels had been commendably close-mouthed if he was trying to protect her. The only things she knew was that they were “foreign” and that there were no fewer than three of them.
“All right,” Nikolas sighed. “Haven is not safe for you. We’ll have to send you away.”
She mopped at her eyes with the handkerchief he gave her. “Where?” she asked timidly.
“I don’ know yet,” Nikolas admitted. “You’ll be safe enough here for a few days. I’ll be back later today with someone who’ll help you figure out where you can go and what you can do. Until then, don’t let anyone in. All right? Open the door only to me. That was why I had food and drink brought up for you. You won’t starve in the time I’m gone.”
The girl nodded bleakly. Mags felt horribly sorry for her. But what could they do, really? They couldn’t bring the guide Giels back. He hoped that there was something she could do besides sell herself, but in her rambling story she’d said more than once that she’d joined Mistress Peg’s establishment when she’d come up from the country because she’d hated being a servant. So what else was there for her?
He and Nikolas went down to the stables and retrieved Dallen and Rolan, after changing into uniforms in the secret room. “What’re we gonna do wi’ ’er?” he asked Nikolas on the way back.
“I have no idea, and fortunately, that is not my problem,” Nikolas replied, with just a hint of irritation. “Personally, I cannot think of anything she’s suited for. I’ll be bringing old Lord Kennely down with me after I get some sleep. It’s his job to work out problems like this when we have someone whose life is in danger and who is assisting the Crown. He’ll figure out what her skills are, find a place for her to go outside of Haven, and see to it she gets there safely. At least she doesn’t have a huge family that has to be resettled along with her.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he rode. “I tell you, Mags, it’s times like this that I
am mortally glad that I am not the one that has to make these decisions.” He sighed. “I don’t regret rescuing her. I just wish she’d told us more that is useful.”
“Well... least we know one thing sure,” Mags pointed out. “We know we got more’n the first lot ’ere now.”
“Yes. And we know that this second lot is definitely not handicapped by being unable to read their orders.” Nikolas’ tone was grim. “You and I are going to have our work cut out for us now.”
Chapter 7
“Where’s Lena?” Mags asked Bear as the latter sat down next to him with a tired thud. Mags passed him the bowl of butter and the loaf of bread without being asked. Across the table, Pip passed over a bowl of pickles, and Gennie stood up to snag a plate of cheese before it vanished down to the other end. Bear made himself a little ploughman’s lunch and tucked in. “Driving herself to silliness in this heat,” he said, in between bites. “Seriously. When she isn’t in class, she’s either playing or writing. And when I manage to drag her out, all she can talk about is Marchand’s pet and sit there and fret because she wants to hate him and can’t. Turns out the feller is all right, dead serious, dead grateful to Marchand for finding him. His family don’t have two pins, they’re from some stony spot on the Border, and he’d been learnin’ on any sort of instrument that anyone would let him borrow. Now, coming up to Bardic, that means his family gets that family-stipend, which I guess is more money than they’ve ever seen, and he gets, well, Bardic.” Bear finished what was on his plate and reached for the bowl of baby carrots—a rare treat, since you only got them when the young carrots were thinned out to allow the biggest to grow. “Off stage he’s shy. Shy! Unbelievable.” Bear shook his head. “So of course she can’t hate him, so all she can do is try and figure out how to make Marchand take notice of her instead of the pet. I keep trying to tell her that she’s wearing herself out for nothing, but she doesn’t listen.”
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