A Young Man Without Magic (40 page)

No, he would be better off not drawing any attention from the inn's staff, and without any added burden. That sword had been of very little use to him, and he did not see that as likely to change in the immediate future. He still had the dagger in his boot, but his best weapons were his words, his ability to sway others; he had been trained in rhetoric, history, and oratory, not in swordsmanship. Most of his money was still in the lining of his coat, and he could replace anything he left with the Lirs. He turned to the left and hurried out the inn's front door. On the way he passed a drowsing Dorrin and did not disturb him.

The cold outside was almost like a physical blow; Anrel had not realized just how pleasantly warm the saloon was. He was not wearing his jacket, only his velvet coat, though fortunately, in his haste to inform the family of Reva's misfortune, he had never taken off his hat or scarf.

He hurried across the forecourt and out through the iron arch, then along the brief length of Cobbler Street and onto the high street. Between the cold and the lateness of the hour the streets appeared entirely deserted, save for himself. Clouds hid the stars, and there were no street-lamps, so the only light came from shop lanterns and lit windows, and there were not many of either; he was alone in shadowy gloom.

Now he had to decide where to go. He could head directly for Lume—but leaving Beynos at this hour would be suspicious, and the gates were manned. For that matter, the city gates of Lume might well be closed; these were troubled times. And while the distance between the two cities was not great, still, the night was overcast, and he might lose his way in the darkness—he had no lantern.

No, best to stay in Beynos for tonight, and make for Lume in the morning. Obviously, he could not stay at the Boar's Head; he would need to find other lodging. He had a guilder or two in his pocket, which should serve to pay for a room without requiring him to disturb his coat's lining; all he had to do was find a suitable establishment.

The two customary locations for an inn were by the gate and in the center of town; he had not noticed any other lodgings near the gate where he had entered Beynos, so he turned his steps toward the town square, just a few dozen yards away.

The Sunrise House was closed and dark, its lantern extinguished.

The Flying Duck, if that was indeed what the signboard indicated, was no better; he tried the door there, and knocked, but received no answer. Anrel was beginning to shiver with cold, and to worry that he might run afoul of a night watchman if he wandered the streets much longer.

Then he heard something worse than a watchman—a party of men was marching down a street, and some of them wore gear that creaked and jingled, indicating that they were armed. He ducked into the mouth of an alley, listening intently.

They were west of the square. Anrel listened for any exchange of words that might help identify them, but no one spoke; he heard only the tramp of boots, and the rattle of armor and weapons.

They turned onto the high street, Anrel judged, and turned
away
from the square—but then turned again. Into Cobbler Street, he was fairly sure.

Those were obviously the men Lord Allutar had sent to apprehend him. If not for Tazia's warning he would be waiting for them in calm ignorance, rather than listening to their passage from the temporary refuge of the alley.

He wondered whether the landgrave himself was accompanying them, and whether Garras was with them, but he was not curious enough to take a look. Certainly he could not hope to stage an ambush, alone against a company and armed only with a dagger.

Then the sound was gone, out of earshot, and he emerged from the alley. Finding shelter was now more urgent than ever—when they found he was not at the Boar's Head they might well come seeking him elsewhere.

They might check the other inns, Anrel realized, feeling foolish for not having thought of that sooner. Perhaps it was just as well he had not yet found lodging.

If the inns were all closed to him, he would need to find some other shelter; even if Lord Allutar's men were not looking for him, he could not sleep in the street in this weather. He looked around the square, hoping for inspiration.

One side, the south, was open to the river, and the magnificent bridge across the Galdin, with its elaborate railings and grand lampposts, served as a centerpiece. To east and west stood inns, taverns, and shops. To the
north, grand houses lined the side, not unlike Lord Allutar's house on Bridge Street Hill, though these were all smaller and less ostentatious. Anrel looked at them, and a crooked smile spread across his face despite his shivering.

There was one place in Beynos that no one would ever look for Alvos of Naith, one place besides the Boar's Head where he had already been made welcome. He turned and trotted northward out of the square, up Bridge Street.

Naturally, there were lights still blazing in Lord Allutar's house; there were probably still dozens of guests enjoying the landgrave's hospitality. A few carriages stood in the drive below the steps; Anrel could see their drivers huddled in a little group in a corner out of the wind, chatting amongst themselves as they awaited their employers.

One driver was seated upright upon his bench, ignoring the others and seemingly oblivious to the cold; Anrel took a closer look at this individual and realized it was a homunculus, rather than a human being. He had never heard of anyone but the margrave of Kallai using homunculi as drivers—horses were said to dislike them; the margrave of Kallai was said to enchant all his horses to tolerate them—and wondered whether this might mean the margrave was attending the reception.

It hardly mattered, though. He hurried past the line of vehicles and up the steps to the grand entrance.

A footman was tending the door; Anrel said, “I'm Dyssan Lir. I was here earlier, and I believe I've left my walking stick.”

“Yes, sir, just a moment,” the footman said, consulting the guest list. “Dyssan Lir—yes, I see. Shall I send someone to fetch your stick?”

“I'm not sure just where it is—might I just come in and see if I can't retrace my steps and find it?”

“Of course, sir.” The footman stepped aside and admitted him. “I believe the festivities have largely moved upstairs to the drawing rooms.”

“Thank you.” He hurried in, not giving the homunculus tending the cloakroom more than a brief glance. He found it reassuring that the creature was back at its post, though, and not standing guard over Reva somewhere.

The foyer was empty of guests; the grand ballroom beyond was almost deserted as well, though the chandeliers still blazed, and an elderly fellow in a wine-stained jacket was asleep on a chair against the wall. Empty plates and other such detritus were the only other evidence of the gathering that had filled the room a few hours earlier. The corner where the harpist had played now held a semicircle of four chairs, but no musicians occupied them, and no instruments remained visible.

Anrel crossed the empty dance floor, glancing into the brightly lit salon where half a dozen guests were scattered on the chairs and couches, talking quietly; he considered joining that party, but decided against it. He had no reason to make idle conversation with these people, and while it was unlikely any of them would recognize him, there was no reason to take even such a small risk. Instead he crossed to the door where Lord Allutar had made his grand entrance, and where Reva had been taken away.

He had no real hope of finding and rescuing the witch, but if an opportunity presented itself, neither would he ignore it. He had come here not to set Reva free, but only to keep
himself
free—he was fairly certain this was the one place in Beynos where no one would look for him once he was found to have departed the Boar's Head. He intended to blend in with the remaining guests, and settle in a quiet corner for the night as if overcome by an excess of wine. In the morning he would leave as early as he could, and see about petitioning the Grand Council for a pardon for Reva.

He was not optimistic about such a petition—if only he had more time! But he saw no better alternative. He had done nothing to help Urunar Kazien, and very little to aid Lord Valin li-Tarbek, but he would not stand by this time and let Reva Lir die without making
some
attempt to prevent it. He just could not think of anything that would be effective in saving her.

Beyond the door, as he had expected, he found a dining hall, where
an elaborate candlelit buffet had been thoroughly picked over. A young couple was whispering to each other in one corner, but the room was otherwise abandoned by the revelers. Anrel found an apple that had somehow been overlooked and took a healthy bite as he looked around.

Double doors stood open at one side, revealing a well-lit marble-floored hallway and a broad white marble staircase. That was obviously the next stage of the public rooms; the other doors were small and closed, clearly intended for servants. Anrel judged that the hallway would also connect to the salon, which made sense. He ambled in that direction, his boots loud on the marble.

He could hear voices from upstairs, men speaking and women laughing. The only open doors off the hallway on this floor led to the dining hall and the salon; the rest of the party was clearly on the next level up, as the footman at the door had suggested. He started up the wide steps, in no particular hurry.

If he was going to play drunk, he thought, it would add verisimilitude if he could find a bottle of wine, or perhaps some stronger spirit. He had downed three or four glasses at the Boar's Head before Tazia had sought him out, but the walk in the cold had cleared that from his head quite thoroughly, and he feared it had removed the odor from his breath, as well. He had not seen any displayed on the buffet, not even empty bottles; presumably the staff had already cleared away whatever little had been left.

The stairway emerged into a spacious gallery with several doors opening off it; three men were standing near the head of the stair arguing politics, while a courting couple was discussing far more personal matters in the shadows beyond. Anrel nodded at the debaters as he passed; he did not take a very close look at them, lest one look too closely at him in response, but he did not think he knew any of them.

The first door he came to opened into a large drawing room where perhaps a score of people were still celebrating; one wit had gathered an audience of half a dozen women who were laughing vigorously as he held forth, but most of the conversations were being carried on in groups of three or four.

Lord Allutar was in one such group, talking to Mimmin li-Dargalleis
and a man and woman Anrel did not recognize. Anrel was mildly startled that the landgrave had not accompanied his men to the Boar's Head—but then, on second thought, why should he? He had guests to attend to, and apprehending a traitor was the job of the town's watchmen, not a landgrave's responsibility at all.

Besides, he probably did not want to be in a position to tell his fiancée that, yes, he had personally overseen the capture of her favorite cousin. If the burgrave of Beynos happened to take Anrel and execute him, that was unfortunate, but there was no need for Allutar to emphasize his own role to Lady Saria.

The presence of Mimmin li-Dargalleis was another small surprise. Apparently no one had made any connection between Reva and Mistress li-Dargalleis; it was obvious from their expressions that she and Lord Allutar were anything but hostile toward each other.

At least Garras was nowhere to be seen; his presence would have been disastrous. Presumably he
had
gone with the men sent to fetch Anrel; after all, they would need to have
someone
who could point out their target. Lord Allutar had presumably felt it would be inappropriate to leave his own reception on such business, but Garras could identify Anrel as well as anyone.

Even without Garras, though, Anrel dared not set foot in that drawing room; either Allutar or Mimmin might spot him. He walked on.

The next open door revealed a library—easily a hundred fine volumes stood on well-made shelves. Unlike most of the rooms Anrel had seen up to this point, the room was fairly dim; a single lamp burned on a desk.

Its light sparkled from a cut-glass decanter half full of golden liquid; that was exactly what Anrel had hoped to see somewhere. He turned his steps into the library.

A white-haired man was asleep in one of the red leather chairs, making it even more perfect. Anrel helped himself to a glass of brandy, deliberately not swallowing it quickly, then settled in another chair. He leaned his head back against the upholstery, and pulled his hat forward to cover his face.

He hoped that Lord Allutar would not disturb sleeping guests, leaving
them to wake and depart in their own time. Anrel intended to spend the night here, in this very chair, and in the morning he would make his way to Lume as quickly as he could, and seek out allies on the Grand Council. If he found them, and could arrange a pardon or at least a stay of execution, he would return posthaste to Beynos; if he could not, then he would do his best to vanish into the streets of Lume.

That would mean giving up Tazia, and the thought pained him, but how could he possibly return to her if he allowed her sister to die? He was sure that in that event Tazia would not forgive him for refusing to die in Reva's place.

He could not leave the city until the gates opened at dawn, though, and he would need to be as rested as he could contrive to be.

Staying in his enemy's own home was audacious, but he honestly believed it his best course of action. Watchmen were probably scouring the inns and taverns at this very moment, perhaps even rousing innocent citizens who might be suspected of harboring outlaws, but no one would look for him here. If his suspicion that Lord Allutar would prefer not to find him at all was correct, then even if he
was
found, it might not prove fatal. He could think of nowhere safer in all Beynos.