Above His Proper Station (23 page)

“They know me as Dyssan, my lord,” Anrel said.

“Ah, of course. Dyssan, then.” He nodded. “You would deliver not merely any news you may have heard, but also a report on what you judge the mood of the city to be—are the people happy or miserable, angry or resigned to their fate? Do they blame their miseries on themselves, or the Father, or the emperor, or the burgrave, or the Grand Council? That sort of thing.”

“I understand,” Mieshel said.

“We can do that,” Shoun said.

“Also, I am looking for a Kerderian fellow by the name of Revard Saruis, from a place called Darmolir. He is getting on in years, but I'm afraid I can give little more description than that. Any news of him will earn you an extra penny or two.”

“Revard Saruis.” Mieshel nodded.

Anrel recalled that Lord Blackfield had asked him about this Master Saruis, as well. He wondered what the Quandishman's interest in him was.

“You haven't heard of him?” Lord Blackfield asked.

Mieshel, Shoun, and Po exchanged glances. “No, my lord,” Shoun said.

“Ah, well,” the Quandishman said. “There would be additional payments for any additional duties, of course, and you would always be free to refuse a given assignment, though should that happen I would not take it amiss if you suggested someone who might undertake it in your stead.”

Po did not seem to follow this sentence and started to ask a question, but Mieshel shushed him quickly. “Fair enough,” Shoun said.

“Should you ever find yourself without any other recourse, and your funds, for whatever reason, insufficient to feed you, you will always find a meal here—though probably not a dinner like this so much as a little something from the servants' table, handed to you at the back door. Should you ever need shelter, or a way out of the city, I will do my best to arrange it, but do not expect to be welcome guests here.”

Anrel hardly thought that last needed to be said, and judging by the expressions on the other faces, Mieshel and Shoun had considered it unnecessary, as well. Po, on the other hand, appeared disappointed.

“And finally, while I'm sure this is obvious, I am going to say it all the same, so that you cannot ever claim ignorance. This is all confidential. You are not to ever mention to your friends, or for that matter to anyone else, that you know me, that you have spoken with me, that you are in my employ.”

“Of course, my lord!” Shoun said.

“Runners with good ears and closed mouths,” Mieshel said. “I'm good for that, my lord.”

“How long is this for?” Po asked.

“For as long as I am in Lume,” Lord Blackfield replied. “
Whenever
I am in Lume—if I leave and return, we will pick up where we left off. Does that suit you?”

Po threw Shoun a wary glance, then nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Then you're hired. Mieshel?”

“I'm good for it.”

“That's two. Shoun?”

“I would be honored, my lord.” The boy made a sketchy attempt at a bow, complicated by the fact that he was seated at the table.

“Excellent! Then let us see what confections Harban and Mistress Uillea have for us to round out our meal.”

Harban and Mistress Uillea proved to have a glittering pink and white sugar cake, which was quickly devoured. As it was consumed Lord Blackfield began questioning the boys about the mood in the streets, taking their first reports; Anrel listened with interest.

If what he heard was accurate then the people of Lume were even more unhappy than he had realized, and placed the blame for their unhappiness on two parties—the emperor, and the sorcerers responsible for the famine. It seemed to be taken as an established fact that the mistakes of sorcerers were indeed responsible for all the crop failures of recent years, and not just the ruined harvest in the Raish Valley. Anrel did not know how much truth there was in this, but it was clearly widely accepted.

There were rumors that Lume was not the only place that had experienced outbreaks of violence in recent days, though Anrel was unsure how much credence to give these reports, either.

The last dishes had been cleared, Po and Mieshel had run out of news, and Shoun was struggling to find a few more tidbits to report, when a knock sounded somewhere. Anrel glanced up as Harban slipped out of the dining room, and a moment later he heard low voices, followed by departing footsteps and the click of a latch.

Then Harban stepped back into the room and coughed quietly. Shoun stopped in midsentence—Anrel thought he looked relieved, as the sentence had not seemed to be going anywhere useful. Lord Blackfield turned and looked at his servant.

“My lord, Delegate li-Parsil is downstairs and wishes to see you,” Harban said. “He says it's urgent.”

Lord Blackfield turned to Anrel. He said nothing, merely gave his guest a questioning look.

“I think perhaps I should take these boys out the back way,” Anrel said.

The Quandishman nodded. He rose, and offered Mieshel his hand. “Your company has been a delight, sir, and I look forward to working with you—come back for your first report the day after tomorrow. Harban, see that each of these young men has sixpence as an advance on his salary, and then go bring up the delegate.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Coins appeared in Harban's hand as if by magic, and were swiftly distributed; as they were, Lord Blackfield shook Shoun's hand and told him, “I expect to see you four days from now. Come to the rear entrance and Harban will admit you.”

Harban, having paid the three, somehow manifested Po's cap out of thin air and placed it on the boy's head. Then he vanished as Lord Blackfield squeezed Po's hand. “Six days from now.”

“Yes, my lord,” Po said in a squeaky whisper, clutching his coins tightly with one hand and straightening his hat with the other.

Then Anrel gathered the three boys and herded them out; he glanced back as he did, and saw Lord Blackfield opening his wine cabinet.

Night had fallen, and the courtyard and alley were dark; Anrel hesitated before sending his former roommates out into the gloom. A thought struck him.

He did not want Derhin to know he was living as Lord Blackfield's guest, so he did not want to reenter the rooms until Derhin had left, but he had no idea how long that might be. What's more, he did not want to watch the front door himself; Derhin might spot him and recognize him when he emerged, and in general, someone standing around watching the front of Dezar House might well attract unwelcome notice.

That could wait, though. “Do you know where you're going?” he asked.

The boys exchanged glances. “No,” Mieshel admitted.

Anrel frowned. He did not like the idea of sending the boys out onto the streets for the night, but he did not really see any practical alternative. Each of them had sixpence, a tenth of a guilder—perhaps they could find a room for that much.

But then what would they do tomorrow? No, they would have to make do, as they had for the past several days, ever since the Pensioners' Quarter burned. There was nothing Anrel could do for them.…

Well, almost nothing. He had a few pence of his own, carefully hoarded. Perhaps he could do something to add a little more money to their meager store—not enough to matter, really, but a little.

“Listen, I want to know when Lord Blackfield's guest leaves—Delegate li-Parsil. I'll pay a penny for one of you to watch the front door and let me know when he emerges.”

The three looked at one another; then Shoun said, “I'll do it. Mieshel can keep an eye on Po.”

“I don't need anyone watching me,” Po protested.

“You have me anyway,” Mieshel said. “Come on.” Then he looked at Shoun. “Same as last night?”

“Unless you know somewhere better.”

“Same place it is. See you later, then. Come on, Po. Good night, Dyssan. Give Lord Blackfield our thanks.”

“Of course.” Anrel bowed, and watched as Po and Mieshel trotted off into the night, Mieshel's hand-me-down clean white blouse gleaming. Then Anrel turned to Shoun. “I'll wait here,” he said. “You go watch. Try not to let him see you.”

Shoun gave Anrel a look that he could read even in the dim glow from the shuttered windows, a look that plainly said he was an idiot to think Shoun needed to be told to stay out of sight; then the boy slipped away into the darkness.

Anrel watched him go, then sat down on the rear stoop, wondering what Derhin wanted with Lord Blackfield.

He also wondered what he would do with himself. Living as the Quandishman's guest was all very well, but he could hardly stay on indefinitely. He had spent a season as a swindler and thief, but he had no desire to return to that line of work, even if he could—and he had rarely worked alone, in any case, but usually with a partner. With no way to find Doz, or another partner he trusted, and with their homes in smoking ruin, Anrel did not see how he could resume his criminal career.

Before his arrival in Lume he had spent a season as a witch in training, but he knew from conversations with Mother Baba and others that he would not be welcome in that trade; Lume had its own witches who did not feel any need for additional competition.

Before
that
he had been a student, living off his uncle's generosity and his inheritance, neither of which could he draw on now that he was an outlaw.

No, none of his previous occupations would serve. He would need to find an entirely new career. But what?

He had no money to invest—at least, no money he could reach. He had no personal connections to draw upon, or at any rate none for which he saw any obvious utility. His skills, such as they were, had their uses, but did not immediately suggest a profession he could pursue while under sentence of death. He had intended to become a lawyer or clerk, but neither of those was open to someone who had been condemned to hang.

He had not yet come up with any new options when he heard a hiss and found Shoun peering at him from the alley.

“He's gone,” the boy said.

“Thank you,” Anrel said. He stood up and fished in his pocket for the promised penny.

“Didn't stay long.”

Anrel had to some extent lost track of time, but now he realized that the boy was right. “No, he didn't, did he?” He found what he was after, and tossed the coin to Shoun, who caught it in midair.

“See you another time, Dyssan,” Shoun said, and then he vanished into the night.

Anrel stood for a moment staring at the spot where the boy had been, then turned and headed back up the stairs.

He found Lord Blackfield in the sitting room, comfortably settled in his favorite chair, a glass of wine in his hand and his head tipped back as he contemplated the ceiling. He lifted his head to look at Anrel.

“Join me in a glass, Master Murau?”

“I would be delighted, my lord.”

A moment later Anrel was seated as well, sipping a pleasant Lithrayn red.

“I'm sure you're wondering what the delegate wanted,” Lord Blackfield said.

“I am,” Anrel admitted.

“He was hoping I could tell him where his friend, Delegate tel-Kabanim, might be.”

Anrel looked puzzled. “Amanir tel-Kabanim?”

“The very one, yes. The man we spoke of earlier. It seems our Hot friend received word from Lord Allutar requesting a meeting—Delegate li-Parsil says that the note was carefully phrased to imply that the landgrave wished to discuss terms of a surrender, though it did not say so in so many words. Tel-Kabanim agreed to meet him, against the advice of li-Parsil and others, and went off this afternoon for this private discussion, and hasn't been seen since.”

That did not sound encouraging. “Why come to you, my lord?”

“Li-Parsil had thought I might have served as a neutral party in arranging the meeting. Rest assured, I did not. I had my own plans for this evening, as you know.”

“Indeed.”

“He also thought that perhaps, as a sorcerer, I might have some magic that could locate his friend. I regret to say that I do not, and I told him as much. If I had known I would want to locate tel-Kabanim I could have placed a spell upon him that would lead me to him, but I did not know that and did not prepare such a spell. If I had some bit of him—a lock of his hair, for example—I could use that to locate him, but I do not. If I knew his true name, I could find him, but to the best of my knowledge he does not
have
a true name, since he is no magician.”

“I understand.”

Lord Blackfield stared at Anrel for a moment, then said, “You know Lord Allutar—what do
you
think he's up to?”

“My lord?”

“Do you think he intends to surrender himself for a trial of some sort, as the Hots demand?”

“No, of course not,” Anrel replied without thinking.

“Then why request a meeting?”

“To destroy Amanir,” Anrel answered immediately. “Or at any rate, to remove him as a threat. Through blackmail, perhaps. Lord Allutar is a great believer in silencing his foes, and is not particularly scrupulous about his methods.”

Lord Blackfield nodded. “That was my own opinion, as well, but you've known Allutar Hezir longer than I have.”

“Unfortunately, I have.”

“Have you any guess as to what method he might employ to ensure an end to tel-Kabanim's harassment?”

Anrel shrugged. “Whatever he believes he can get away with.”

“Enchantment?”

“Oh, certainly. Or worse.”

“Spells can be broken.”

“I wouldn't know.”

“You are the son of a sorcerer, are you not?”

Startled, Anrel acknowledged, “Yes, I am. I had not realized you were aware of it.”

“I try to stay abreast of the news, as I would think my conversation with tonight's dinner guests demonstrated.”

Anrel nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

Lord Blackfield gazed silently at him for a moment, then said, “Not all my informants live on the streets,” he said.