Luck in the Shadows (54 page)

Leaving off, he gave the kitchen door a wide berth and set to work on the left side of the house, though with no more success than before. He was about to give up when he noticed a faint glow of light from a balcony just overhead. The ornate stonework surrounding a first-floor window afforded ample fingerholds. Climbing up, he eased himself over the balustrade. There was a small table on the balcony. Two wine cups stood there, and a warm pipe.

The balcony door had been left ajar; peering in, Alec discovered an elegantly appointed bedchamber lit by a single lamp. Another door stood open across the room, and through it came the sounds of a heated argument. There were two male voices involved, one strident with anger, the other shrill in its protestations of innocence.

“How can you accuse me of such a thing?” the higher voice demanded.

“How can you look me in the face and deny it?” boomed the other. “You greedy, bungling idiot. You’ve destroyed me! You have destroyed this family!”

“Uncle, please.”

“Never let me hear that word in your throat again, you viper!” shouted the other. “From this day forth you are no kin of mine.”

A door slammed forcibly, and Alec shrank back as a young man entered the bedchamber and collapsed into a chair. His elaborate surcoat showed him to be the master of the house. He was fair-skinned, with a small blond chin tuft that he fingered nervously as he sat.

A nagging tingle of recognition stirred in the back of Alec’s mind as he studied the haggard profile. He couldn’t immediately place the man, but he felt certain he’d seen him before.

The man was clearly agitated. Gnawing at a thumbnail, he lurched to his feet again, then beat a fist against one thigh as he paced up and down the room.

The significance of the balcony table occurred to Alec almost too late. The man swerved suddenly, heading out to settle his nerves with wine and tobacco. Clambering back over the railing, Alec caught hold of two carved balusters and hung by his fingers. The evening drizzle had thickened to sleet and the polished marble felt slick as lard in his hands as he clung doggedly on, feet dangling twenty feet above the ground. Glancing sideways, he saw that he could probably reach the cornice of the downstairs window with his left foot but he didn’t dare chance the noise. To make matters worse, his side of the balcony overlooked the street; it would be the most natural thing in the world for the man to lean on the railing just there, glance down—

Looking up, Alec could see the side of the man’s silken slipper less than a foot from his rapidly whitening knuckles. Cold fire ached down through his wrists and arms, weakening his grip, numbing his fingers. Melting sleet trickled down over his face and ran down his sleeves into his armpits. Biting his lip, he gripped the posts harder, scarcely daring to breathe.

Just when it seemed he’d have to chance dropping and running, a knock came at the chamber door. Tappng his pipe out on the railing above Alec, the man disappeared back into the room.

Alec shook the hot ashes from his hair and found a foothold
on the window cornice. Bracing his shoulder in the angle of the balcony, he flexed his stiffened fingers. The balcony door had been left open again and he could hear the conversation inside quite clearly.

“Any difficulty with Alben?” This was the nobleman, calmer now and speaking with authority.

“Not exactly, my lord,” replied the newcomer. “Though he didn’t seem quite himself, somehow. But I did get the documents and these, as well, while I was out.”

“Well done, Marsin, well done!”

Alec heard the metallic clink of coins changing hands.

“Thank you, sir. Shall I deliver it now?”

“No, I’ll go. My horse is already saddled. See to it that the house is locked up for the night and inform Lady Althia that I’ll be returning tomorrow.”

“I will, sir, and a good evening to you.”

Alec heard the servant leave, and a moment later the light was extinguished. Climbing down, he hurried back to the street in time to see a man galloping out the front gate on a white horse.

“We’re losing him!” he exclaimed as Micum appeared out of the shadows beside him. “I think he’s off to deliver the forged letters!”

“Deliver them where?” Micum asked, scanning the neighborhood for quickly obtainable horses. There were none.

“I don’t know,” Alec replied in an agony of impatience. The rider had already disappeared around a corner and the sound of hooves was fading rapidly. “Damn it, now we’ve lost him!”

“Can’t be helped. At least we’ve got a connection to work with and that’s a start. And you’ll never guess who else came riding out of that gate a short while ago.”

“Who?”

“Only the Lord Vicegerent himself. You should have seen him! I didn’t know the old fellow could ride like that.”

“Barien?” Alec’s eyes widened as a memory snapped into place. “Maker’s Mercy, that’s it! This is Lord Teukros’ house. The Vicegerent’s
nephew
! I knew I’d seen him before, that day I rode around the Ring.”

“The nephew, eh? By the Flame, that looks bad—though I can’t imagine Barien mixed up in anything disloyal to the Queen!”

“He was cursing Teukros when I first got there,” Alec told him. “He called him a viper and disowned him.”

“Well, that’s a strike in the old man’s favor. Come on, we’d better go let the others know.”

Still smarting over the loss of Teukros, Alec was in a dour mood by the time he and Micum reached Nysander’s door.

“Good hunting?” the wizard inquired, letting them into the workroom.

“In a manner of speaking,” Micum replied. “Is Seregil back?”

“No, he was up to something in the vicinity of the Palace when I last checked. Come downstairs and warm yourselves. You both look quite damp.”

Standing before the sitting room fire, Alec carefully recounted their evening’s work. Nysander made no effort to hide his dismay over what they’d learned and sat silently for some moments after he’d finished.

“What do you think?” Alec ventured. “Could Barien be mixed up in something like this?”

“It is difficult to imagine. Young Teukros is another matter, however. In spite of his obvious wealth, Teukros í Kallas is not known for his perspicacity. Whatever his involvement in this, I would wager that he is acting at the direction of another.”

“We’d have found out if we could have followed him tonight,” grumbled Alec.

“Patience, dear boy. It should not be difficult to obtain that information. You said Lord Teukros’ pretty wife is at home tonight?”

“Yes, but we can’t just knock on the door and ask her.”

“Of course we can! What do you say, Micum? An urgent message carried by a servant of the Orëska House, one which must be delivered into Lord Teukros’ hands at all costs this very night?”

Micum grinned wolfishly. “That should do the trick.”

Going to his desk, Nysander quickly penned a cordial dinner invitation for the following evening.

“What happens when he shows up for dinner?” asked Alec, peering over the wizard’s shoulder.

Nysander chuckled darkly. “Assuming that he does, I shall be afforded an opportunity to give closer attention to this enterprising
young spy.” Sealing the missive with an impressive array of ribbons and wax seals, Nysander sent Wethis off to deliver it.

Seregil arrived soon after. He was smeared with mud, and sported torn breeches and a ragged scrape across the back of one hand.

“Illior’s Eyes, Seregil, what have you been doing with poor Thero’s body?” asked Nysander, handing him a clean robe.

“You’d think he could at least climb a garden wall!” Seregil said in disgust, shucking the filthy breeches off to show them an angry bruise on one of Thero’s pale, hairy knees. “Never mind that, though. Micum, Alec, you’ll never guess where our little serving maid led me! Straight to the house of the Vicegerent.”

He paused. “What? What is it? Neither of you look very surprised.”

“That’s because our man led us to Teukros’ villa,” Micum informed him. “Alec overheard him and his uncle having quite an argument.”

“The man we followed tonight was Teukros’ servant, by the name of Marsin. He brought the forged documents to Teukros,” said Alec. “Then Teukros took off on horseback to deliver them, but we don’t know where. Nysander’s sent Wethis off to find out.”

“I hope he does,” said Seregil. “That prat Teukros certainly can’t be at the bottom of anything like this! Incidentally, Barien came home after you saw him. I hung around to make certain the girl wasn’t coming out again and saw him arrive. Anyway, a few minutes later a messenger goes across to the Queen’s Park gate and tells the guards there he has a message for the Princess Royal. This same messenger is out again a few minutes later with someone wrapped up in a dark cloak and hood. I couldn’t see her face, but it was Phoria; I know that stiff-legged stride of hers. I went over the wall to see what was up—that’s when I fell—but I couldn’t get a look at them.”

He was interrupted by Wethis, who’d returned from his errand.

“Lord Teukros wasn’t home to receive the message,” the young servant reported. “Lady Althia says he’s gone out to Lady Kassarie’s estate and isn’t expected home until tomorrow afternoon. Shall I ride out?”

“That is not necessary, Wethis, thank you. I shall not be needing you again tonight.”

Micum raised a skeptical eyebrow as Wethis went out. “Kassarie? What would she want with a strutting cowbird like Teukros?”

“They have some common shipping interests, I believe,” said Nysander.

“How interesting if Kassarie
was
mixed up in all this,” Seregil speculated, looking pensive. “She’s rich, powerful, and fairly influential among the more conservative nobles. To my knowledge she’s not part of the Queen’s inner circle, but—”

“Who’s Kassarie?” asked Alec.

Seregil steepled his fingers before him in a manner that generally presaged one of his encyclopedic recitations. “Lady Kassarie ä Moirian is the head of another of Skala’s oldest families. Like Barien, she can trace her lineage back to the Hierophantic migration. And, I should add, without a drop of foreign blood sullying her august veins. Her ancestors made their fortunes in stonework at Ero, and prospered again providing Queen Tamír with stone and masons to build her new capital. Her estate lies up in the mountains about ten miles or so southeast of the city.”

Nysander rose to pace the small room. “Be that as it may, I find it inconceivable that Barien should be involved with such a plan. Illior’s Eyes, I have known that man for fifty years! And Phoria? That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“I can’t imagine what she and the Lerans would have to gain from each other,” Micum concurred. “In their eyes, her blood is as tainted as her mother’s.”

“She wouldn’t be the first noble to be duped into a betrayal of some sort without realizing it,” warned Seregil. “And if her dear close friend Lord Barien was in with the Lerans, he’d be just the man to do it.”

“But why would he betray her?” snorted Nysander.

“Who knows? Alec and I could probably slip in and—”

“Absolutely not!” Nysander paused, rubbing his eyes. “I agree, dear boy, that we must examine this matter closely, but you must leave Barien and the Princess Royal to me. For the time being, you three are to confine your investigation to Teukros and Kassarie. It is not yet midnight; could you begin tonight?”

“Oh, I suppose we could drag ourselves out again, if we have to,” Seregil drawled, exchanging a wink with the others.

“Excellent. I shall arrange a pass and see that your horses are
saddled. Take whatever else you need from here. You must excuse me now, for I have work of my own to begin. Illior’s Luck to you all!”

Alec let out a sigh of relief. “At least I don’t have to go back to Wheel Street tonight. Runcer treats me like the master of the house, and I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do.”

“I know how you feel,” said Seregil, stretching restlessly. “I’ll go mad myself if I have to be cooped up in here much longer.”

Watching his friend scratch irritably at Thero’s bearded cheek, Alec wasn’t certain if “in here” meant Nysander’s tower or the assistant wizard’s body.

R
ed Orëska livery for Alec and Micum, together with a pass presented by “Thero,” got the three of them through the Sea Gate without challenge. Once outside the walls, they followed the highroad south along the cliffs below the city. A few miles farther on, they turned aside onto another route that climbed into the hills.

Just like old times. Everybody knows the way but me,
Alec thought resignedly.

This road climbed into forest to twist along the top of a broad river gorge. The ice-laden boughs of fir trees gradually closed in on their left; the rush of the river followed them on the right.

After several miles, Micum motioned for them to halt. Climbing down, he cast back and forth with a lightstone.

“See anything?” inquired Seregil.

“Not much. The mud must have stayed frozen all day up here.”

Riding on, they caught a glimpse of watch fires ahead. Lady Kassarie’s keep stood on a high cliff overlooking a bend in the river. Sheer cliffs rose behind it, and a high bailey guarded the front. Working their way stealthily around the periphery of the wall, the three spies climbed a wooded slope and climbed into the branches of a tall fir overlooking the place.

There seemed to be nothing amiss: an unremarkable collection of small outbuildings—sheds, wood stacks, and stables—cluttered the yard.

The keep itself was an imposing structure. Tall, square-built, and smooth-walled, it had no windows except for arrow slits below the third level. Square, flat-topped towers stood at each of the four corners, and watch fires burned on all but the one overhanging the gorge.

“Tight as a soaked barrel,” Seregil muttered, craning his neck for a better look.

“Appears so,” Micum agreed, shifting restlessly on his branch. “Looks like we’ll do better tricking our way in.”

“Too late for that now,” said Alec. “It can’t be more than a couple of hours to morning.”

“True.” Frowning, Seregil climbed down again. “Looks like we’re spending a cozy night right here.”