Stalking Darkness n-2 Read online

  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.

&nbs
p; "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.

  15

  "Where 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.

  "I'm not one to tell a lord his business, but he's made a poor choice with that one," the worried ostler whispered to Alec. "Old Cloudy there has been off his feed for days and Jias a cough. If you'd speak to your friend for me, I'll see to it he has the best of my stable."

  Alec gave him a reassuring wink and counted out a generous stack of silver. "Don't concern yourself. We're going to play a joke on a friend and your grey is just what we need. We'll take good care of him, and have them both back before dawn."

  They set off at a trot, but before they'd gone a quarter of a mile Seregil's cob stumbled to a halt, nearly throwing him over its head. Jerking its head down, it let out a hollow, braying cough.

  "Poor old fellow." Seregil patted the animal's neck. "You're better than I could have hoped for. We'll have to send a drysian to look at him."

  "What do you think this spy of yours is up to?"

  Alec asked as they continued at a walk.

  Seregil shrugged. "Hard to say yet. Eirual thinks this fellow Rythel has some documents that he shouldn't. I want to see if she's right."

  "Do you think he's a Plenimaran?"

  "Too soon to say. At times like this it's best to keep an open mind until you have hard facts. Otherwise, you just run around trying to prove your own theory and overlooking important details that may turn up in the process. It could be there's nothing to it at all, but it's more interesting than anything else we've seen in the last few weeks."

  Well-dressed, slightly intoxicated lords heading down to the lower city for a roister were of little concern to the guards at the Sea Gate. The sergeant-at-arms waved them through with a bored look and returned to the watch fire.

  At the bottom of the Harbor Way they rode east along the waterfront past the custom houses and quays into a moderately respectable street lined with tenements.

  A few lights showed behind shuttered windows, but most of the neighborhood was asleep. A dog howled mournfully somewhere nearby, the sound carrying eerily through the streets. Seregil's horse twitched its ears nervously, then let out another rattling cough in a jingle of harness.

  "Here's Sailmaker Street," said Seregil, reining in at the mouth of an unmarked lane.

  Unclasping his mantle, he threw it to Alec and shook out the mantle he'd brought from Eirual's.

  It belonged to a captain of the White Hawk Infantry and bore a large, distinctive device.

  "Who'd you steal that from?" Alec asked, watching him put it on.

  "Borrowed, dear boy, borrowed," Seregil corrected primly.

  Alec peered up and down the poorly lit street.

  "That must be the house there," he said, pointing to one at the end of the lane. "It's the only one with a striped lintel."

  "Yes. You hang back and be ready for trouble. If it comes to any sort of a chase, I'd better ride with you. I don't think poor old Cloudy has much run left in him."

  Seregil emptied the last of the wine over his mount's withers, bunched the mantle awkwardly over one shoulder, and pulled one foot loose from the stirrup. Settling into a loose, drunken slouch, he nudged the h
orse into a walk. Riding up to the door, he kicked loudly at it.

  "You! In the house!" he bawled, swaying precariously in the saddle. "I want the leech, damn him. By Sakor, send out the bastard son of a pig!"

  A shutter slammed back just above his head and an old woman popped her head out, glaring down indignantly.

  "Leave off with that or I'll have the Watch down on you," she screeched, swinging a stick at his head. "This is an honest house."

  "I'll leave off when I've got his throat in my hand," Seregil yelled, kicking the door again.

  "You're drunk. I can smell you from here!" the old woman said scornfully. "Who is it you're after?"

  Just then, the grey jerked its head down in another racking cough.

  "There, you hear that?" Seregil roared. "How in the name of Bilairy am I supposed to explain this to my commander, eh? Your leech has ruined the beast. Gave him a dose of salts and half killed him. I'll run my sword up his arse, that pus-faced clod of shit! You send out the leech Rythel or I'll come in after him."

  "You whoreson drunken mullet!" The old woman took another swing at him with her cudgel. "It's Rythel the smith that rooms here, not Rythel the leech."

  "Smith?" Seregil goggled up at her. "What in the name of Sakor's Fire is he doing dosing my horse if he's a smith?"

  Lurking in the shadows at the mouth of the street, Alec shook with silent laughter. It was as good a performance as any he'd seen at the theater.

  "Half the men on the coast are called Rythel, you fool. You've got the wrong man," the old landlady sputtered. "Smith Rythel is an honest man, which is more than can be said for you, I'm sure."

  "Honest man, my ass!"

  "He is. He works for Master Quarin in the upper city."

  She disappeared and Seregil, no doubt with knowledge born of long experience, reined his horse out of the way just as she emptied a chamber pot over the sill at him.

  Seregil made her an ungainly bow from the saddle. "My humblest apologies for disturbing your rest, old mother."

  "You'd best sleep on your belly tonight," the old woman cackled after him as he rode unsteadily away.