Stalking Darkness (24 page)

“I think he’s found someone already,” Eirual said with an amused smile. Alec nodded shyly at a slender, blue-eyed brunette in burgundy silk. “She’s very pretty.”

“Myrhichia?” Eirual shot Seregil an arch look as she summoned the woman. “He has excellent taste, this friend of yours.”

“He hasn’t disappointed me yet,” Seregil replied, giving Alec a wink.

Myrhichia glided over, wrapped in perfume and mystery. She was older than Alec had supposed, older than he, but that didn’t matter—there was something familiar about her, something that made him wave aside the offer of wine and let her lead him up the stairs to her room.

It wasn’t until she turned to speak to him over her shoulder that he realized how much she resembled Seregil, or rather Seregil as he’d looked playing Lady Gwethelyn aboard the Darter. It was an unsettling revelation and he did his best to put it out of his mind as they entered her chamber.

Looking around, Alec felt the last of his trepidation giving way to sensuous anticipation.

A fire cracked invitingly on the hearth, its flames softly illuminating the small, elegant room. The bed was high and draped with patterned hangings. Huge cushions were piled near the hearth, together with a few oddly shaped stools. An elaborate washstand was half-visible behind a painted screen in a shadowy corner.

Myrhichia stood demurely at the center of the room, offering him the choice of where to begin. “Does it please you?” she asked, cocking her head prettily.

“Yes,” he whispered. Closing the door, he went to her and loosened the jeweled pin holding her hair. It tumbled free over her shoulders in dark, sandalwood-scented waves.

Where his experience with Ylinestra had been out of his control from the first, this woman seemed content to let him direct things. He touched her face, her hair, then hesitantly brought his lips to hers.

Her hands found his face, his shoulders, then slid slowly lower.

The fastenings of her gown were no challenge for Alec’s expertly trained fingers; her clothes and his were soon in a pile at their feet.

“Shall I light a lamp?” she whispered as he took her hungrily in his arms.

He shook his head, pressing his body against the yielding roundness of breasts, belly, and thighs, letting the feel of her envelop him. “The fire’s enough.”

Still holding her, he sank down onto the cushions by the hearth. The warring sensations of the long, confusing evening seemed to coalesce and clarify as he at last abandoned himself to the powerful simplicity of desire.

Eirual was half Zengati, Aurenen’s traditional enemy. It was that, together with the dark beauty of her race, that had first attracted Seregil. Though hardly more than a girl at the time of their first meeting, she’d been a fiery lover and he’d entertained notions of taking her away for himself.

She’d been the one who’d dashed that plan; she liked her work, she’d told him firmly. What’s more, she planned to own a brothel of her own one day, just as her mother and grandmother had before her. Although his pride had been somewhat jarred, Seregil had respected her wishes and over the years they’d become friends.

She’d achieved her dreams. She was now the owner of one of the city’s finest and most nobly patronized pleasure houses. This often brought interesting bits of information her way and, though she was no gossiping whore, she was aware of Seregil’s supposed connections to Rhiminee’s mysterious “Cat” and had often found it lucrative to pass on certain facts and rumors.

Their reunion this night had been spirited in spite of Seregil’s earlier activities. Afterward, they lay tangled together in the damp, disheveled sheets and laughed together over little things.

Presently she sighed, then said, “You know, I saw something rather odd a few weeks ago.”

“And what was that?” he murmured, contentedly admiring the contrast of his skin against hers as he stroked her thigh.

“I entertained a new visitor last week, a stranger. He was well turned out and behaved himself, but I could tell from his way of speaking and the state of his hands he wasn’t upper class, just a common fellow who’d come into gold and meant to treat himself. You know the sort.”

“But he was handsome and broad-shouldered and smelled of honest labor,” Seregil teased. “Sounds delightful. Let’s have him in.”

“As if I’d share you! But I admit I was intrigued at first, though he turned out very ordinary in the end. No, I think you’d be more interested in what fell out of his coat than what fell out of his breeches.”

“Oh?” Seregil raised a questioning eyebrow, knowing better than to hurry her. She always enjoyed spinning out a tale.

“He’d thrown his clothes every which way, so when he was snoring afterward—which was all too soon, I might add—I decided to tidy up a bit. A letter fell from his coat when I picked it up. The ribbon had come loose and I took a quick peek. He stirred a moment later and I had to put it away, but I had time to recognize the handwriting, and the seal at the bottom.”

“Did you, you clever girl? Whose was it?” “Lord General Zymanis.”

“Really?” Zymanis had recently been appointed to oversee the defenses of the lower city. “How do you know it wasn’t a forgery?”

Eirual traced a playful finger around his navel.

“Zymanis is a very dear friend of mine, as you well know. Two months ago he knocked his ring against that bedpost there behind you and chipped the stone seal. It was a tiny piece, really, but he made such a fuss over it! Quite spoiled the mood. This chip makes a tiny flaw in the impression, so tiny that most people wouldn’t even notice it. But I knew what to look for and it was his, all right. What do you think of that?”

Seregil cupped her full breast in his hand like a goblet and kissed it reverently. “I think, in your place, I’d have found some way of inquiring where this lover of yours could be found again.”

Eirual pressed closer with a luxuriant sigh.

“Sailmaker Street in the lower city. A tenement with a red and white lintel. His name is Rythel, a big, blond fellow with a lovely soft beard, very handsome.”

“And you don’t think this visitor of yours ought to have such a letter?”

Eirual shook her head. “For starters, it was addressed to Lord Admiral Nyreidian. I’ve never met the admiral, but I’d bet a month’s gold he doesn’t have fresh calluses on his hands and stained fingernails.”

“Or a yellow beard,” mused Seregil, thinking of the man he’d met at the Mourning Night ceremony. Nyreidian had spoken of his own commission from the Queen, too, overseeing privateering ships.

“Zymanis wouldn’t let a fellow like this step on his shadow, much less write letters to him.” She gave him a sly sidelong glance. “I thought maybe your friend the Cat might be interested?”

“He just might.”

“I could tell him myself,” she wheedled, not for the first time. Over the years the unseen Rhiminee Cat had taken on a glow of romance for many, who envied Seregil his apparently favored status.

Seregil kissed his way slowly across her chest.

“I’ve told you before, love, he’s not what you think. He’s a nasty, weedy little man who spends half his time wading through the sewers.”

“Last time you said he was a hunchback,” she corrected, stroking his head.

“That, too. That’s why he keeps out of sight, you see, because he’s so hideous. Why, his boils alone are enough—“

“No more!” Eirual laughed, admitting defeat. “Sometimes I think you’re the Cat, and you just make all the rest up to hide it.”

“Me? Wading through sewers and running errands for bored nobles?” He pinned her down, feigning outrage. “Fancy me mincing across the roof slates!”

“Oh, yes,” Eirual gasped, giggling helplessly at the thought. “You’re the terror of the town.” “You’ve pegged me wrong, my girl. There’s only one thing I put that kind of effort into.” “And what’s that, may I ask?” Seregil leered down at her. “I’ll show you.”

The candle had burned to a stub when he slipped from her bed. Eirual stirred drowsily. “Stay, love. I’ll be cold without you.” He drew the comforter up under her chin and kissed her. “I can’t tonight. I’ll send a nice present tomorrow.”

“All right, then.” She smiled, already half asleep again. “Something with rubies and I might forgive you.” “Rubies it is.”

He dressed quickly and blew out the candle. Closing her door quietly behind him, he headed for Myrhichia’s room down the corridor.

He had to knock several times to get a response.

She opened the door a few inches at last, peering out with a resentful pout.

“He’s sleeping,” she informed him, pulling her dressing gown closed.

“How inconsiderate.” Pushing past her, Seregil strode into the bedchamber. Alec lay sprawled on his back in the bed, his sleeping face the picture of weary bliss.

Looks like he managed to enjoy himself after all, he thought with a mix of pride and wistfulness, glancing around at the disordered room.

Ignoring the courtesan’s simmering displeasure, Seregil leaned down and shook him by the shoulder. Alec stirred drowsily, murmuring something amorous as he reached to pull Seregil into bed.

When his fingers encountered wool rather than whatever he’d been dreaming of, however, he snapped fully awake.

“What are you doing here?” he gasped, sitting up.

“Sorry.” Seregil crossed his arms, grinning. “Terrible timing, I know, but something’s come up and I may need your help.”

Alec glanced quickly from him to the girl. “A job? Now?” “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Don’t be long.”

Alec let out an exasperated sigh. Before he could get up, however, Myrhichia dropped her robe and slipped back into bed beside him. “Does he always barge in like that?”

“I hope not,” muttered Alec.

“Are you going to leave me now?” She nibbled teasingly down the side of his neck as her hand slipped up his thigh to more sensitive regions.

He could picture Seregil pacing impatiently downstairs, waiting for him, but Myrhichia was putting up a persuasive argument under the covers.

“Well,” he sighed, letting her push him back against the bolsters, “maybe not right this second.”

Seregil had the bones of a workable plan in mind by the time he got downstairs. Strolling into the cloak room, he found it conveniently unattended.

He soon had what he wanted; he returned to the salon with an officer’s mantle and a wineskin concealed beneath his own cloak, Alec’s sword belt and cloak over his arm.

To his surprise, Alec had still not come down. Rather annoyed, he settled in a chair near the door to wait.

It was late now. A few girls remained in the salon, playing bakshi to pass the time while they waited for whatever late-coming patrons might show up. Having seen Seregil come down, they paid little attention to him.

Minutes passed and still no Alec.

Seregil was just about to leave without him when the boy came down the staircase. His loose shirt flapped around his legs as he struggled with his coat, one sleeve of which appeared to be inside out. Getting himself more or less sorted out at last, he hurried to join Seregil.

“Delayed, were you?” Seregil inquired with a smirk, tossing him his cloak and sword.

“Myrhichia isn’t very happy with you,” Alec grumbled, flushed and out of breath. He wrapped his sword belt around his hips and fastened the buckle. “I’m not so sure I am, either. If this is just another silly lover’s token—“

Seregil tugged Alec’s collar straight, still grinning. “You think I’d ruin your fun for that? Come on, I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

Outside, he glanced around quickly, then whispered, “I think Eirual may have put us onto a spy.” Alec brightened up at once. “That’s worth getting out of bed for.” “Did you ride?” “No.”

“Good, we’ll hire horses and abandon them if we have to. I’ll explain as we go.” Leaving the warm glow of the lanterns behind, they hurried into the embracing darkness.

W
here are we going?” Alec asked as Seregil headed west through the dark streets. The quickest way to the lower city was down the Harbor Way.

“I need a very special horse for this one,” Seregil explained. “There’s an ostler over by the Harvest Gate who’s likely to have what I want, and still be hiring out at this hour.”

Pausing, he opened the wineskin and took a sip, then sprinkled a more liberal libation down the front of his surcoat. Evidently satisfied with the effect, he passed it to Alec.

Grinning, he did the same. “Drunk, are we?”

“Oh, yes, and I’ll be worse off than you. You’ll be playing the sensible friend.”

“Don’t I always?” Alec took another fortifying sip and capped the skin.

A lantern was still burning in front of the ostler’s stable. Seregil fell into a loose, unsteady walk as they stepped into the circle of light.

“Ostler!” he called, striking an arrogant pose, fists on his hips. “Two gentlemen need mounts. Show yourself, man.”

“Here, sirs,” a man replied, opening a side door a crack for a wary look at the late customers.

Seregil shook his purse at him. The ring of coins had the desired effect; the ostler swung the stable doors wide and held the lantern while they inspected the half-dozen horses inside.

Alec quickly found a decent mare and the man saddled her for him. Seregil was longer at it. After much pacing and muttering, he finally settled on a rawboned grey.