Luck in the Shadows (47 page)

Sliding his arm into each of the three spaces, Alec pressed and tapped with no success. As he sat back in exasperation, wondering what Seregil would do, his gaze wandered to the dispatch box. A memory leapt to mind; Seregil toying with a similar box during their burglary in Wolde, finding a secret mechanism.

Running his hands slowly over every surface of the desk, he finally located a tiny lever concealed next to the right front leg. When he shifted it, however, nothing seemed to happen, not even a telltale click. Perspiration beaded his upper lip as he knelt and inspected the interior of the desk again.

This time he noticed something he’d missed before. The unfinished wood on the bottom of the central drawer track showed the parallel wear marks that one might expect to find; these he’d seen. But halfway in, toward the center of the panel, a faint, curving scuff could just be made out, arcing from a point midway between the two more pronounced marks and terminating abruptly at the right-hand divider. Looking closer, he realized that there was also the tiniest hairline gap between the lower edge of the partition and the bottom of the desk. If not for that arcing scratch, he might have passed it off as nothing more than the result of the wood shrinking in the dry winter air, causing a joint to pull apart.

He pressed the hidden lever again, at the same time pushing firmly against the edge of the partition closest to him. Pivoting on unseen pins, the partition swung into the central opening and out over Alec’s lap, revealing a small triangular compartment attached to the far end. Grinning in silent triumph, Alec lifted out a leather folder and heard the muffled crackle of parchment. Cramming it into the front of his coat, he quickly put everything else back the way he’d found it.

Back in the corridor, he locked the study door again for thoroughness’ sake. No sooner had the last ward fallen into place, however, when he heard footsteps on the staircase behind him. There was no time to unlock the door or retreat to the bedchamber at the far end of the hall; the light of a candle was brightening rapidly toward the head of the stairs.

In desperation, Alec tried the door of the room next to the
study; the handle turned smoothly under his hand. Ducking inside, he put his eye to the crack of the door.

Two women had just reached the top of the stairs. One carried a candelabra and by its light he could see that both were expensively dressed and quite beautiful.

“He said to look on the second shelf to the right of the door, a thick folio bound in green and gold,” the younger one said, peering around the hallway.

“This is a lucky night indeed, Ysmay,” remarked her companion. “One so seldom has a chance to visit his library. But which room is it? It’s been so long since I was last up here.”

Jewels winked in the dark coils of the young woman’s hair as she turned Alec’s way. More jewels sparkled in the intricate necklace that covered her chest. In fact, Alec saw, the necklace was very nearly the only thing covering her breasts. The bosom of the dress was cut so low the top of one nipple peeped out from the fretwork of gems and gold.

“I must thank you again, dear aunt, for bringing me tonight!” the girl exclaimed. “I nearly swooned when you presented me to him. I can still feel his lips on my hand.”

“A fact I pray your esteemed father never learns,” her aunt replied with a low, musical laugh. “I felt just the same the first time I met him. He’s one of the most charming men in Rhíminee, and so handsome! But take care, my dear. No woman has ever held his fancy for long, or man either. But now for that excellent manuscript. Which room is it?”

“This one, I think,” replied the girl, making straight for the room where Alec was hiding. He pressed back against the wall behind the door, hoping for the best.

“La, this isn’t it,” the aunt exclaimed as the candles illuminated a bedchamber similar to the one at the back of the house.

“Is it
his
room?” breathed Ysmay, stepping toward the bed.

“I shouldn’t think so. See that painted chest there? Mycenian work. Not his sort of thing at all. Come, my dear, I think I have my bearings now.”

As soon as the women had disappeared into a room down the corridor, Alec bolted silently for the first bedchamber. Not daring to chance the lightstone again, he found the dim outline of the little window and made for it.

He hadn’t gone three paces when a large, callused hand
clamped over his mouth. Another seized his right arm, pinning it behind his back as he twisted and struggled.

“Hold him!” a voice hissed from somewhere across the room.

“Got him!” a deep voice rasped next to Alec’s ear. The hand across his mouth clamped tighter. “Not a sound, you. And quit yer wigglin’!”

A lightstone appeared and his captor swung him roughly about to face it. Alec gave another convulsive twist, then froze with a strangled grunt of astonishment.

Standing there, one arm propped on the corner of the mantel, was Seregil. At his waved command, the man holding Alec released him and he spun to find himself facing Micum Cavish.

“By the Flame, boy, you’re worse than an eel to hang on to!” Micum exclaimed softly.

“Did you get the case?” asked Seregil.

“Yes, I got it,” Alec whispered, casting a nervous glance in the direction of the door. “But what are you doing in here?”

Seregil shrugged. “And why shouldn’t I be in my own bedroom?”

“Your own—
Yours?
” sputtered Alec. “I went through all that to burgle
your
house?”

“Not so loud! Don’t you see? We wanted to make sure you had a proper challenge.”

Alec glared at the two of them, cheeks aflame, all his careful work reduced to a ridiculous charade. “By breaking into your own house? What kind of a challenge is that?”

“Don’t take on so,” Seregil said in honest consternation. “You just got into one of the most difficult houses in the city! I admit, I removed a few of the more deadly wards, but do you think just any common tickler could have gotten past those locks you found?”

“This is the last place we’d send you into if we didn’t think you were ready,” added Micum.

Alec chewed this over angrily for a long moment, arms locked across his chest. “Well, it was pretty hard. The study door was nearly the end of me.”

“You see!” Seregil cried, throwing an arm around Alec’s shoulders and giving the boy a rough hug. “For plain housebreaking I’d say you acquitted yourself boldly. In fact, you surprised us both by weaseling in through that little window. Remind me to
see to that tomorrow, will you? And that was a quick bit of thinking when the ladies wandered through.”

Alec pulled back, eyes narrowing suspiciously again. “You
sent
them!”

“Actually, that was my idea,” said Micum. “You were having such an easy time of it. Admit it now, it will make a better story later on with that.”

“So what now?” asked Alec, still wary. “Tonight, I mean.”

“Tonight?” Seregil’s grin went crooked. “Why, tonight we have guests to attend to.”

“The party? This party? Now? You said before you were doing that in a couple of days!”

“
Did
I? Well, it’s a lucky thing we’re already dressed for the occasion. By the way, how did you like your new room?”

Alec grinned sheepishly, recalling the woman’s remark about the painted Mycenian chest in the room where he’d hidden. “From what little I saw of it, it seems very—useful.”

Reluctantly following Micum and Seregil downstairs, he found himself faced with a room full of elegant strangers.

Dozens of thick candles lit the room, their honeyed scent like the distillation of long-dead summers. Their radiance was given back everywhere in the flash of jewels and the sheen of silks and polished leather.

The salon itself was no less elegant than those who occupied it. The high walls of the room had been painted to look like a forest glade, the tops of life-size oaks extending up across the vaulted ceiling overhead. Garlands of brightly flowering vines adorned the trees, and between their trunks distant mountains and ocean vistas were visible. Musicians played on a carved balcony overhead.

Seregil paused halfway down the great staircase and laid a hand on Alec’s arm.

“Most honored guests!” he called, assuming the formal manner he’d used while playing Lady Gwethelyn aboard the
Darter
. “Allow me to present my ward and companion, Sir Alec of Ivywell, lately of Mycena. Make yourselves known to him, I pray you, for he is new to our great city and has made few acquaintances.”

Alec’s mouth went dry as dozens of expectant faces turned to him.

“Steady now,” whispered Micum. “Just remember who you’re
supposed to be.” Slipping the boy a covert luck sign, he moved off into the crowd.

At the bottom of the stairs, a servant stepped forward with a tray of iced wine. Alec took a cup and drained it in a hasty gulp.

“Go easy with that,” Seregil murmured, propelling him gently forward. Playing the gracious host, he made a circuit of the room, moving smoothly from one knot of conversation to another.

The guests seemed to be mostly minor nobles and wealthy merchants associated with “Lord Seregil’s” business interests. There was much talk of caravans and shipping, but the most popular topic was clearly the possibility of war in the spring.

“I hardly think there can be any question,” sniffed a young nobleman introduced to Alec as Lord Melwhit. “Preparations have been going on since summer.”

“Indeed,” a portly lord grumbled over his wine cup. “You can hardly come by a decent stick of lumber these last few months with the requisitioners snapping up everything in sight. I doubt I shall be able to complete my solarium before spring!”

“Wolde cloth?” a woman exclaimed nearby. “Don’t speak to me of Wolde cloth! With all the new tariffs, I can scarcely afford a new riding mantle. And gold? Mark my words, Lord Decius, before this is over we shall all be reduced to wearing beads and feathers.”

“And what a delightful fashion that would prove,” exclaimed her companion.

Trailing along with Seregil, Alec suddenly found himself face-to-face with the two women he’d seen upstairs.

“Allow me to introduce a very dear friend of mine,” said Seregil with a hint of his wicked smile. “Lady Kylith, may I present Sir Alec of Ivywell. Sir Alec, Lady Kylith of Rhíminee, and her niece, Lady Ysmay of Orutan.”

Executing his best courtly bow, Alec felt his cheeks go warm. Lady Kylith’s velvet gown draped a form still slender and elegant; like those worn by most other women of fashion present, it left her bosom nearly bare beneath a tissue of thinnest silk and a heavily jeweled necklace.

“What a fortunate young man you are!” purred Kylith, enveloping the boy in a languorous dark-eyed gaze that sent his heart knocking again. “Our friend Lord Seregil is one of the most cultured gentlemen in the city, well versed in all the pleasures
Rhíminee has to offer. I am certain you will find your time with him most enjoyable and instructive.”

“You flatter me, dear lady,” murmured Seregil. “But perhaps I might presume on our friendship? Would you partner Sir Alec in the first waltz? I believe the musicians have just struck up one of your favorites.”

“A pleasure,” replied Kylith with a curtsey. “And perhaps you would return the boon by partnering my niece. I did, after all, promise her an evening of wicked pleasures, and I cannot think of a greater one than to dance with you.”

Blushing prettily, Ysmay accepted Seregil’s arm. At this signal, the other guests formed couples and assembled for the dance.

Kylith extended her hand to Alec with a dazzling smile. “Will you do me the honor, sir?”

“The honor is mine, I assure you,” Alec replied. The words sounded wooden and foolish to his ears but he pressed on as best he could. “I must warn you, though, I’ve never been called a graceful dancer.”

Taking her place in front of him, she gave him another melting look. “Think nothing of it, my dear. The instruction of inexperienced young men is one of life’s unrivaled pleasures.”

Seregil set about a playful flirtation with Ysmay while keeping one eye on Alec. As expected, Kylith put the boy at ease in no time. Another dance or two under her influence, and Alec would feel like he’d moved in such society his whole life. She’d had that same affect on Seregil years before.

Beginning as a courtesan in the Street of Lights, Kylith had risen to nobility when a headstrong young lord had brooked the strenuous opposition of family and class to marry her. Over the years her beauty, discretion, and lancing wit had earned her a degree of acceptance and drawn in the best of Rhíminee society to her famous gatherings. The finest artists and musicians of the day were to be found in her house, mingling with adventurers, wizards, and ministers of the highest offices. Few outside of the Queen’s Park knew more than she of what went on in the council chambers and bedrooms of Rhíminee.

It had been for just such a reason that Nysander had introduced Seregil to her after the end of his ill-fated apprenticeship.
Charmed by his mysterious past and questionable reputation, Kylith had drawn him into her bright circle and, for a brief time after the death of her husband, into her bed. He’d never been certain if she’d guessed him to be the faceless, unpredictable “Cat” of Rhíminee fame rather than a mere intermediary, but she often relayed requests for services to him, knowing that results were generally swift.

Whatever the case, she was one of the few nobles in whose discretion he had any faith. If Alec should falter in his role to-night, she would not broadcast the fact. And Alec did appear to be enjoying her company.

Keeping up his side of the agreement, he turned his full attention on Ysmay and flirted outrageously with her until she quivered in his arms.

Alec was midway through his second dance with Kylith when Micum laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Forgive me, lady, I must borrow your partner for a moment,” he said, bowing to Kylith. “Alec, a word?”

Trouble
? Alec signed as Micum walked him toward the front entrance of the hall. The big man’s grim sidelong glance was answer enough.

In the small entrance chamber at the front of the house they found Seregil boxed in by four bluecoats. Another was binding his hands in front of him. Seregil’s old manservant, Runcer, stood wringing his hands and weeping nearby.