Closer to the Chest (36 page)

They entered the Fellowship Hall, which looked not unlike the Dining Hall at the Collegium, except with stone walls instead of wood. Like the Dining Hall, it was packed with wooden benches and trestle tables, with the food and drink being served at the back. Mags got some of both, as did Teo, and he led his friend to one of the tables at the front of the room, where Novices sat, mingling with men who were known to them. Mags had been setting this up for sennights now, and he was ready to see what he could catch with the right bait.

“Ah, Pakler,” said one of the Novices. “We didn't see you today. Or indeed, for several days.”

“Tha's cause I got work, sor,” Mags said, with a little duck of his head and tugging on his hair since he didn't have a hat to doff. “I got me some
connections
up to Palace, an I bin' doin' a sight'uv fetchin' an' carryin'.”

Well, that got the interest, not only of the Novice that had recognized him, but two more down the table. “Indeed?” the Novice said smoothly. “Why the need for extra porters up at the Palace? I would have thought they would have more than enough servants.”

Mags shrugged. “Highborn movin' out,” he said. “Dunno why. Too many of 'em fer them up-nosed servants uv their'n t'do all the totin', so they hired from town.” He took a bite of the bread—which he suspected was half flour and half
sawdust—and washed it down with the sour watered wine. “M'second cousin on Pa's side's a potboy i' one uv th' kitchens. 'E put me wise to't t'when they was takin' lads at th' gate. I wuz there, afore dawn, you bet!”

It was true enough. There
had
been temporary hiring at the front gate for people to load up the belongings of the courtiers that were fleeing the Poison Pen. Of course, the one place no thief in his right mind would attempt would be the Palace in broad daylight, with Heralds and Companions all over, so it was a good bet only the honest were applying for the work.

“And what have you been seeing of the Palace?” the Novice asked smoothly, with
just
the right amount of indifference.
Oh, he's good.

“They got me hoppin' all
over,”
Mags asserted, boastfully. “T'other lads they got, they ain't
pushin'
it like I be. I mean ter get all the work there is up there. I be in ever' place but where the Royals be, afore day's over.” Then he made a face. “Work ain't bad, 'cept fer the wimmen. Them highborn wimmen, they's needin' some proper men t'show'em their place, I reckon. Niver seen sech a lotta yammerin' hens i' m'life. Aye, Teo?”

Teo grunted, and continued slowly eating his bread.

“Got Teo up there yestiday, but 'e left it.”

“Cain't abide pushy bitches,” Teo muttered.

“Fascinating,” said the Novice, and turned to the other two. They got their hooded heads together for as long as it took Mags and Teo to finish their first pieces of bread and start on a second. Then one of the Novices got up and left, while the first one turned back to Mags and Teo and—with a much friendlier demeanor—engaged them in a conversation about the highborn women they had encountered.

Mags did the best performance he could manage of a fellow who was just bright enough—and just enough in need of money—to put up silently with slightly hysterical highborn women who were fussing all over their belongings and making
impossible demands of the porters. But of course, a true Sethorite—which he was supposed to be, after all—would have been seething inside at how the women were ordering him about, when
he
should have been telling them to
sit down, shut up, and it'll get done when it gets done.
So he put in some asides about that, and about how the weak-spined highborn should be doing more to teach their women their proper place.

And, of course, as the Novice drew him out further, he waxed eloquent on how vain and empty-headed they were, how flighty, how hysterical, how they all seemed to be in fear of some unnamed
thing
haunting the Palace. He even named a couple of names, knowing that would only help him to be more convincing.

He and Teo had finished their bread and were drinking the last of their wine when the missing Novice returned. But instead of sitting down, he gestured to Mags. “We believe, Brother Pakler, that you may be ready for the next stage in your service to Sethor. Will you come with me?”

Mags glanced over at Teo. The Novice followed his glance, and smiled sympathetically. “Alas, Brother Teo. We have room only for one recruit at this time. Would you care to wait for Brother Pakler here, or in the Sanctuary?”

“Sanct'ary,” grunted Teo. “But might come back here iffen it takes too long.”

The Novice actually chuckled. “There is only so long that a red-blooded man can spend on his knees, indeed. Come, Brother Pakler.”

Mags followed the Novice deeper into the Temple, past the Sanctuary, down a long corridor with a lot of little closed doors on it, and to a small, bare stone room, where one of the priests waited, sitting behind a table. Not a high ranking one, which was a little disappointing, but Mags covered his disappointment easily. There was no place to sit, so he stood, as the Novice closed the door to the room and stood a little aside.
Once again, he bobbed his head, a bit deeper this time, and tugged the front of his hair. “Sor,” he said, humbly. “Ye reckon Sethor's gotta use fer me?”

“Aye, Brother Pakler, the Great God has, this very night.” The priest regarded him steadily, out of deceptively mild eyes. “There are women in this town, stealing the bread from the mouths of men and their families.”

“Aye, sor, there are,” Mags agreed resentfully. “Not me, s'much,” he added. “Ain't no fool bitch kin lift an' tote like a man. But plenny other stuff they be doin' thet a
man
should.”

“It is the mission of certain chosen among the followers of the Great God to deliver unto them proper chastisement, so that they will give over their vainglory and the aping of their betters, and return to the proper place of women as helpmeets and followers,” the priest continued. “Tonight, we have chosen you for a trial of your faith in the deliverance of that justice to one such harlot. Should you successfully complete your mission, you will be rewarded, and not only by the Grace of Sethor, but in silver.” Mags started, and the priest smiled at his reaction. “And should you complete this mission
well
, there will be greater things in store for you.”

The start of surprise had been entirely natural. The last thing that Mags expected was to discover that the Sethorites were so bold as to arrange the vandalism like
this.
He'd thought they were using their own people, not recruiting outside their ranks. He had to simultaneously repress his excitement and his fear.

“Sor, yessor,” Mags repeated, bobbing. “I'll do m'best, sor.”

“Good. Do you know Goose Lane?” the priest asked, watching him closely.

Have I given myself away?
He strove to look eager and earnest. “Aye, sor. It be comin' off Goldoak Street, almost t'Balcher's tavern.”

“So it is. And do you know the herb shop across from Gerand's 'Pothercary?” the priest continued.

Mags furrowed his brow.
Best not to act as if I know every nook and corner of Haven.
“I know 'Pothecary. Reckon I kin find 'er.”

“Excellent. Then this is your mission.” The priest leaned foward on the table, and the hood of his robe fell back, revealing an uncomfortably intense man with chin-length hair and a beard that looked scraggly, even though it was neatly trimmed. “You will enter that herb shop. You will destroy everything in it. You will return here. All without being detected.” The priest smiled thinly. “Do not concern yourself over being detected from within. The whore that owns it, and steals bread from the mouth of Gerand, sleeps elsewhere, and it is only locked, not guarded.”

Well, of course it ain't guarded. Goose Lane's a good neighborhood, an' it's patrolled by the Watch.

Now, Goose Lane was
outside
the area where the previous shops had been vandalized.
They're moving further afield. Not good.
“I kin do thet, sor,” he promised, though inwardly he was sick at the idea that he was about to wreck another woman's livelihood.

But there it was. Proof positive that it
was
the Sethorites behind the trail of destruction. Now if he could just find the one orchestrating things up at the Palace!
They said there's better things if I pull this off. Maybe it will have something to do with that.

“Well, go tell your friend he's free to go home, or stay and wait for you. Then get on with it, Brother Pakler.” The priest jerked his head, and Mags took that as the signal to leave. He followed the Novice back out as far as the Sanctuary, where Teo was dutifully occupying a pew, and miraculously not falling asleep. The Novice tapped Teo on the shoulder, and he followed them both to the Fellowship Hall.

“I gots a job I gotta do fer Sethor,” Mags told Teo. “I dunno 'ow long I'll be.”

Teo grunted. “I don' mind waitin'.” He looked around, and
noticed a few men dozing, stretched out on the benches against the walls. “Likely I kin catch a nap.”

The Novice smiled. That seemed to be the right answer. “All right, Brother Pakler. On your way. Don't make your friend wait too long.”

Aha. Now I see why he let Teo stay. Using that as a way to get me to move faster.
Mags nodded, and headed out the door at a trot.

The streets were lit brightly by the moonlight—moonlight which would also reveal him, and would have been a problem for anyone but Mags. Mindful of the fact that whoever was behind this might just have Farsight, and might just be watching, Mags took himself into the alleys, and once he got to Goldenoak Street, took to the roofs. It would do him absolutely
no
harm with these people if they knew he knew the thief's high road.

He found the herb shop easily enough, and dropped down off its roof into the tiny alley behind it. The lock was nothing to someone of his skills; he easily forced the door with almost no noise. And once inside—well, it was an herbalist. The fastest way to wreck it was to throw everything off the shelves into the middle of the room and grind it all to powder under his boots.

Because it was an herb shop, the counter was right at the door; you came in, said what you wanted and how much, and the herb-woman measured it out for you into small paper packets. It was heartbreaking how easy it was, and how little time it took, to turn a prosperous shop with excellent stock into a worthless, empty store. A candlemark, a candlemark and a half at most.

Then he was back out, up and over the roofs again, dropping down into an alley far from Goose Lane, after making sure there were no telltale bits of dried leaves or stem clinging to him. The Watch came along just as he started his stroll back. They eyed him but he looked them in the face, and gave
them that nod-bow, and they moved on, satisfied he was no threat to anyone.

:Dallen,:
he said, as he walked at the sober pace a tired man returning home from a hard day's work might take.
:I won't be coming home tonight, and probably not for several nights. Tell Rolan to tell Amily. I'll talk to her myself once I've got a place to sleep and some privacy. And tell her to make sure that herbalist gets help from the Prince and Princess.:

:Done,:
said Dallen.
:I've been keeping Nikolas apprised as well.:

That left him only to get back to the Temple without calling attention to himself. The best way to do that was to walk as he was doing, head down, shoulders slumped, looking like a man who only wanted to get to a bit of soup and a bed. And every time he came across members of the Watch, he would look up, meet their eyes, nod-bow, and move along. The fastest way to draw the attention of the Watch to yourself was to look uneasy around them.

He was met at the entrance by the Novice, who clapped him on the back, confirming his suspicion that he had been watched with Farsight. How else would they have known he was coming, or when he would arrive? “Well done, Brother Pakler,” the Novice said, cheerfully. “Well done indeed! Precept Darent would like to have a word with you again before you go talk to your friend.”

“Yes, sor,” Mags said, and followed the Novice back to the office. It was, indeed, the same office, and the same intent man behind the same table.

This time there was a chair waiting for him, and Mags dropped heavily into it with a mumble of gratitude. “Brother Pakler,” the Precept said, both hands clasped in front of him on the table. “You showed a remarkable set of skills tonight. We were impressed.”

All right. How to act? Be impressed and afraid that they
kin see me, or act as if I knew they could all along? I don't wanta oversell this . . .

Settle for being unsettled. “Ye saw me?” Now with a touch of suspicion. “How? I didn't see none uv ye!”

The Precept chuckled. “Well, the God grants us the ability to do many things, Brother Pakler. We need not be present to oversee our Brethren.”

That's all but admitting to Farsight. And it's as much warning as anything else. But they can't be watching everyone all the time, or they'd have more Farseers than all the Temples and such in Haven put together, and that ain't likely.
Mags switched back to being unsettled. “Aye, sor,” he mumbled.

Now the Precept leaned over his hands, staring at Mags intently. Suddenly Mags knew what the Precept's eyes reminded him of. There was a highborn, Lord Kallian, who'd lost an eye, and rather than covering it over with a patch like a sensible person would, he'd had a very expensive replacement made of glass. It unnerved so many people with its cold, inhuman gaze that finally he'd discarded it and gone back to the patch.