The Master of Heathcrest Hall (49 page)

Panting as he resumed the count, Eldyn made like the rat and crawled forward along the drain. A wan glow appeared ahead, and he let the illusory light perish. Using his hands as much as his feet, he propelled himself the last of the distance.

Just inside the mouth of the culvert, he paused to listen and heard the echo of boots. The guards were approaching, but had they come around the corner into view of the culvert yet? Perhaps he should risk hiding in the tunnel. Only what if they paused to shine their lantern inside? He could draw the shadows around him, but they might grow suspicious if the light of their lamps did
not carry. What if they were to thrust a bayonet inside to see what was blocking the way?

“Two hundred eighty-six,” he whispered, “two hundred eighty-seven.”

No, he did not dare remain inside the drain. He still had enough time. Gripping the edges of the culvert, Eldyn pulled himself out and then staggered onto the bottom of Wickery Street—

—just as the first of six soldiers marched around a corner of a building and into view. Eldyn could only stare. The affair with the rat had caused him to miscount. He did not have enough time. Rather, he was utterly out of it.

“Hold!” one of the two leading soldiers called out. He raised the lantern he carried and peered toward the mouth of the culvert. “Who’s there?”

“What are you looking at?” said the redcrest behind him.

“I thought I saw something move.”

The other soldier took a step forward and looked around. “Have you been at the rum again? You know what the captain says about having a nip before duty.”

“I haven’t been at the rum! I saw something move, I’m sure of it. It might be a rebel sneaking about.”

“Aye, and look—there it is!” exclaimed his compatriot, gesturing with his rifle.

Beside the drain, swaddled within the cocoon of shadows he had hastily woven around himself, Eldyn froze. The bayonet fixed upon the end of the rifle was pointed directly at him. Despite his shroud, the soldiers had seen him. He reached into his coat, wrapped his fingers around the leather tube, and began to squeeze. Only just then something wriggled out of the mouth of the culvert to scuttle along the base of the wall.

It was the rat that had bitten Eldyn—or another one just as fat.

Guffaws of laughter rose from the men. “There’s your rebel. Go on then, arrest him!”

“Oh, shut your trap,” the other replied. “At least I’m keeping an eye open, unlike you louts. Now come on.”

The patrol turned about, then marched back up Wickery Street
and out of view. Eldyn let out a breath as the shadows fell away. His fingers gripped the leather tube so tightly it was difficult to unclench them.

He forced them to do so, then made like the rat and scurried away down the lane.

A
QUARTER HOUR LATER, Eldyn descended the steps of Butcher’s Slip. Two tall, thick-necked fellows stood by the dormitory door. They leaned against the wall with arms crossed, as if merely loitering about, though Eldyn knew they would leap into action in a moment and block the way if someone they did not know attempted to enter.

One of them gave Eldyn a nod. He returned the gesture, then headed into the dormitory. At the end of the long corridor, he found Orris Jaimsley in a room with two others. Knowing them all to be in Jaimsley’s confidence, he reached into his coat and took out the leather tube.

“I don’t know if it’s angels that watch over you or daemons,” Jaimsley said with a laugh as he reached across the table where he sat and took the tube. “Either way, there’s none better at giving the redcrests the slip. You get by them every time. How do you do it?”

Now that the ordeal was over, Eldyn’s prior alarm vanished, and he could not help feeling an immense satisfaction. “I’m just lucky, I suppose.”

“Oh, I have a feeling it’s more than mere luck that helps you escape the notice of the soldiers.”

Now Eldyn’s dread suddenly returned. He felt a compulsion to glance down and see if some of the shadows still clung to him, but he did not dare. “What do you mean?” he said carefully.

“I mean,” Jaimsley replied with a crooked grin, “that you are far too modest, Garritt. It’s not luck that gets you past the soldiers. It’s cleverness and skill. Your feet are nimble, and so are your wits. I should have seen at once that you were suited for this sort of work.”

Eldyn let out a breath, his pleasure returning. “I’m just glad I can be of help to Somebody.”

Jaimsley did not open the leather tube, but instead put it in a drawer. “And if we all can serve his cause as well as you, then I’m sure Somebody will soon be here in Invarel to thank us all himself.”

“And to buy us a drink!” one of the other young men said. He had a boyish face and sandy hair.

“Indeed, he’ll owe us that much,” Jaimsley said. “But in the meantime, we’ll have to manage on our own. I do think this occasion calls for a drink. Can you aid us, Brackton?”

The sandy-haired fellow took a bottle and a cup out of a cupboard. He filled the cup, and they passed it around. The whiskey was fiery, but Eldyn took a big swallow anyway, and felt his nerves settle a bit.

“Good man,” Jaimsley said, handing the cup back to Brackton. Then he smiled and gave a wink. “Now, I think you and Miggs here have some business to attend to, am I right?”

Evidently they did, for the two departed at once, leaving Jaimsley and Eldyn alone. Now it was Eldyn’s turn to be impressed. Jaimsley wasn’t much to look at: skinny, already balding, and possessed of a nose that was as large and bent as were his teeth. All the same, he had been the most popular man at St. Berndyn’s College, and it seemed nothing had changed in the interim.

“All you ever have to do is grin,” Eldyn said with a laugh, “and everyone readily commits to whatever bit of mischief you’re scheming. They all happily follow your lead and do as you say.”

Jaimsley did not return Eldyn’s laughter. Instead, he looked down at his hands. “Talinger and Warrett didn’t do as I said.”

“Perhaps,” Eldyn replied, his voice solemn. “But they did follow your lead, didn’t they?”

“I told them to stay away from Covenant Cross that day, that I had a feeling things were going to take a bad turn. Only they just couldn’t listen, damn them. No, they had to go there.”

“Because
you
were going there. As I said, they were following your lead, just like we all do. Besides, I’m sure Talinger was determined to face off against the soldiers, what with that hot Torlander blood of his.”

“No, it wasn’t Talinger who was the instigator,” Jaimsley said, looking up with blue eyes. “I think, if it had been just him, he would have listened to me. It was Warrett who was bent on going that day, and once it was clear he was, Talinger wouldn’t be left behind. When the redcrests showed up, I told them to keep behind the crates. But then the soldiers fired the first shots, and a man from Highhall went down. When that happened, Warrett ran out from behind the barricade.”

Furrows appeared on Jaimsley’s brow. “It was the strangest thing. You know Warrett—there was no one as mild, or as bland, I might say. But at that moment there was a look on his face, a fury such as I’ve never seen before. I suppose anger can stir even the dullest man into passion. He ran straight for the soldiers even as they were reloading their rifles, as if to tear them apart with his bare hands. Talinger ran after him, brave idiot that he was, calling out and trying to stop him. Then the soldiers fired, and I saw both of them fall not ten feet away from me. Warrett’s face was half gone, and Talinger had a hole in his chest you could have put a fist through. God, but it was an awful sight.”

He drew in a breath and fell silent. Eldyn felt a chill creep up his neck. It seemed impossible that a man usually so placid as Dalby Warrett could be moved to such a violent fervor. In a way, it terrified Eldyn to consider it. How many other men who had heretofore seemed dull and ordinary would now be stirred into action of the most extreme sort? And how many of them would lose their lives like Warrett and Talinger? Again Eldyn saw the flashes of light, the clouds of smoke, and the bodies crumpling to the ground.

“I saw the blood on the cobbles,” Eldyn said softly, “but I had no idea it was theirs.”

Jaimsley looked up, his frown deepening. “Were you there, Garritt? If so, you never told me.”

“I mean I saw it in the impression, that’s all,” Eldyn said hastily. “The one that was published in
The Swift Arrow
.”

“Of course,” Jaimsley said. “I’m not sure what I’ve ever thought of that sort, though I suppose it was nothing kindly. But if I met
the illusionist who made that, I’d shake his hand. That picture brought more than a few lads who were sitting on the wall over to our side of things. It’s one thing to read about something, but to see the soldiers standing there over the corpses—well, it made more than a few realize they couldn’t just stand on the side anymore. They had to join the fight.”

Eldyn stared, trying to think what to say.

“Well, go get some rest, Garritt,” Jaimsley said first. “You’ve earned it. I have no idea if tomorrow is to be a short or long lumenal. I suppose only God knows these days, if even he really does. But either way, I’m sure I’ll have more work for you once it gets dark.”

“Get some rest yourself,” Eldyn said.

Jaimsley nodded, but then he began looking over the maps and letters on the table, and Eldyn doubted that he would. Leaving his friend to his work, Eldyn headed out of the dormitory. A different pair of men stood by the door. One touched a finger to his brow in salute, a gesture which Eldyn returned, though he felt a bit peculiar doing so. It was not as if he was a soldier.

Except he supposed that he was, even if it was messages he carried rather than a rifle. Important information could turn a battle, just like a well-aimed shot. Besides, if he was caught in his night work, he would be hung just like any rebel who wielded a gun.

Eldyn climbed the steps of Butcher’s Slip, then pulled the shadows around himself as he walked down University Street. He might not be carrying secret messages at present, but he still had no wish to be accosted by soldiers and questioned as to why he was out at this hour. No doubt he could have found a place to flop down at the dormitory, but despite the late hour and the swig of whiskey he felt peculiarly awake. He was tempted to stop at a tavern to see if another drink or two might rectify the problem.

Only the taverns would all be closed by now. By order from the Citadel, all drinking houses were to close four hours after dark, no matter how long the umbral might be.

It was just as well. He should get back to the theater. Riethe
had been sitting with Master Tallyroth when Eldyn left, and though the bighearted oaf would never admit it, Riethe was sure to need a break by now. They had all taken turns staying with Tallyroth lately, for his breathing had grown labored. Often he needed help sitting up on the chaise so that he could get air in and out of his lungs.

Just as Eldyn turned onto Durrow Street, a pale glow appeared in the east. The sky hardly had time to linger upon gray before it was painted with pink light. Just like that, the night changed to dawn, as quick as it might onstage during an illusion play.

Eldyn went around the back of the theater, said good morning to one of the large fellows they had hired to watch the door, then went upstairs. It was not Riethe who was with Tallyroth, but rather Hugoth.

“I sent Riethe to bed a few minutes ago,” Hugoth said. “I was afraid he’d nod off and fall out of his chair.”

“That was good of you,” Eldyn said. “It would be like Riethe to land on his face and break his nose.”

“Not that it could make him any homelier,” Hugoth said with a grin. “But I wouldn’t want the clatter to wake Master Tallyroth.”

Eldyn’s gaze went to the chaise. The master illusionist reclined upon a heap of fringed and embroidered pillows, his thin form covered with numerous blankets. His eyes were shut.

“How is he?” Eldyn said quietly.

“Resting. His breathing has been a little easier tonight. I don’t know what Madame Richelour put in the last potion she gave him, but it seems to be working. I think he’s been dreaming about conjuring illusions. His hands keep moving beneath the covers.”

Eldyn could only smile. “He’s probably directing us in a bit of new staging. Would you like me to sit with him for a while?”

“No, I’m fine. You go get some rest, Eldyn. Who knows how long the day will be? And we have a performance tonight.” The older illusionist sighed. “Or rather, we might have one.”

Hugoth didn’t have to explain further. The Citadel had already limited the times when taverns could stay open, and coffeehouses
as well. No doubt they were seen as likely incubators for the seeds of revolution, or places where illicit thoughts might flourish. Many felt it was only a matter of time until Lord Valhaine shut them down completely. And if the taverns were shut down, could the theaters be far behind?

So far, though, no such order had come down. Not that it would matter if business continued to dwindle as it had these last days. Ever since the news of Huntley Morden’s landing, the soldiers in the city had been too busy to attend illusion plays. If the ticket receipts didn’t improve soon, the theater would have to shut its doors no matter what the Citadel might order. Already several more theaters on Durrow Street had gone dark. Less than half the number of houses were open compared even to just a few months ago.

Hugoth returned to the chair to sit next to Master Tallyroth. Eldyn left them and went up to his little room on the topmost floor. The excitement of the night’s work had finally faded, leaving him weary at last. As he opened the door of his room, he could not help for just a moment picturing Dercy lying on the bed. No matter how tired Eldyn might be, anytime he saw that sight he had been filled with renewed energy.

But the room was empty, and chilly from the night. Eldyn took off his boots and laid on the bed, alone. He shivered, but before he could bother to pull the covers up, he was asleep.

W
ARM SUNLIGHT was streaming through the window by the time Eldyn woke. He put on his boots and went to the sideboard. There he poured some water from a clay pitcher into the basin and splashed it against his face. After that, he surveyed his appearance in the small silver mirror on the wall. How long he had been asleep, he did not know, but by the state of his hair, it had been some time.