Above His Proper Station (4 page)

If he really wanted to avoid pursuit perhaps he should seek shelter in the Pensioners' Quarter itself, rather than here on its periphery—but then, he was not eager to venture into those streets alone any more than the watchmen were.

He was not particularly eager to stay in the Elbow, either, but he was here, and he had paid for a meal and a bed, and he did not think anyone would find him here.

That assumed that he was being pursued at all; he did not really know that he was. He had been condemned originally by the Lords Magistrate of Naith, but Lume was not Naith, and his accusers had no direct authority here. He had incited a riot in Beynos, which was at least close by, but again, the burgrave of Beynos did not hold sway in Lume.

Despite all that had happened between them, every cause they had to hate each other, Lord Allutar, landgrave of Aulix, had not particularly wanted Anrel to be apprehended. He intended to marry Anrel's cousin, Lady Saria Adirane, and had not cared to complicate their betrothal with Anrel's capture—but that had been before the incident in Beynos. The landgrave might have changed his mind.

Or he might not.

The more he thought about it, the more Anrel suspected that he was not, in fact, the target of serious pursuit. Probably Lord Diosin, the burgrave of Beynos, had sent word to the Emperor's Watch, and Anrel's name would be added to the long list of people they should apprehend should the opportunity arise, but a concerted manhunt was not very likely at all.

There was almost certainly no need to resort to the Pensioners' Quarter, or even to a cesspit like the Emperor's Elbow. He regretted paying that sixpence; he could have stayed somewhere respectable.

But he was here, he hadn't found anywhere more respectable, he
had
paid, and the innkeeper was approaching with a plate of stew and a mug of wine. He would stay one night here, and in the morning he would go looking for better and more permanent lodging, and seek employment that would allow him to pay for it.

The stew was bland, and he was not entirely certain whether the grayish meat was mutton or a poor cut of pork, but it was warm and filling and really not bad at all; when he had cleared his plate he stared at the remaining smear of broth and wished there were more.

The wine, on the other hand, was just as bad as he had feared. For the first time in his life Anrel wished the innkeeper
had
watered the wine. The best he could say for it was that its foul odor did seem to partly obscure the stink from the rushlights.

When he had eaten, Anrel rose, tugged at the innkeeper's sleeve, and asked to be shown to his bed.

The man grunted, and led the way up a steep, narrow stair to the second floor, which was presumably his own residence, and across a narrow landing to a stair so steep and narrow it was effectively a ladder. This led to an attic where half a dozen straw-stuffed mattresses were tucked close under the rafters. The smell in this upper chamber hinted that the chamber pots hadn't been rinsed in some time, and although there was single small window high in the far end, at this hour the only illumination came from a rushlight the innkeeper carried. Still, it was reasonably warm, with no obvious drafts, and the beds were far enough apart that Anrel need not worry about being bumped should one of his neighbors turn over in his sleep.

Not that he had many neighbors; only one bed was occupied, by a boy of ten or twelve who lay curled into a ball, apparently already asleep. Anrel took the mattress farthest from the boy, and settled onto it with a sigh of relief, ignoring the suspicion that the rustle he heard was made up of fleeing vermin as well as the crunch of straw.

There was no sensation of something flowing beneath the floor up here, of course, which was a relief—but curiously, there
was
a very faint hint of some arcane activity, like the lingering traces of an old spell. Anrel could not say whether it had once been a warding, or a binding, or something else entirely, only that it was very old and weak.

Well, the inn was centuries old; probably a witch or sorcerer had stayed here once and set a few wards, and these traces still remained. Or perhaps the place was haunted.

Whatever the cause, Anrel was not interested. He wanted nothing more to do with magic of any sort.

“Breakfast is a penny,” the innkeeper said. “Twopence with egg.”

“Of course,” Anrel replied.

“A rush is a penny.”

“I will manage without one, thank you.”

The innkeeper shrugged. “As you will, then.” He turned and clambered back down the ladder.

Anrel watched him go, and watched the light fade away to nothing. Then he rolled over, arranged his velvet coat into an improvised pillow, and fell quickly asleep, without even bothering to remove his boots.

3

In Which Anrel Makes New Acquaintances

Anrel was a restless sleeper, given to tossing and turning in his bed; nonetheless, it came as an unpleasant surprise when he felt his head thump onto bare wood. He came fully awake in an instant, blinking up through the near-total darkness at the shadowy rafters, and without thinking about it groped for his coat, meaning to tuck it back under his head.

It wasn't there.

He sat up and flung his arm about, first on one side, then the other, and then simultaneously heard a creak and a rustle, and saw movement. He stared into the darkness.

A faint glimmer of light came from the lone window, and by that Anrel could see someone swinging around to climb down the ladder, someone small who was clutching a shapeless something in one hand, something that Anrel guessed was the missing coat—his coat that had his entire fortune, thirty-nine guilders, in the pockets and lining.

He almost cried out, raising an alarm, but then he caught himself. Calling for help in catching a thief might mean talking to a watchman, and that prospect did not appeal to him. Furthermore, he did not know whether there was anyone other than the thief who would hear, and even if the other mattresses had been filled while he slept, calling out in this darkness might only create confusion that would aid in the thief's escape.

Instead he lunged out of bed toward the ladder.

He tried to move quietly, but the figure on the ladder looked up at his approach and hastened his own descent, half sliding, half falling down the steep slope, still clutching the velvet coat.

Anrel reached the ladder and swung around, hurrying down the steps, but could not match the thief's speed. He had a vague fear that the thief would stop on the second floor and take refuge in the innkeeper's quarters—it did not seem impossible that some member of the landlord's family was dissatisfied with honest income—but that concern proved groundless; the figure did not pause on the landing, but sped down the steep stairs to the ground floor.

The rushlights had long since burned out; the entire inn was dark. Anrel found his way as much by sound and feel as by sight. When he reached the bottom of the stair he stumbled, disoriented for a moment, then heard his quarry's fleeing footsteps and followed them, through the inn's main room, where a faint orange glow still emanated from the banked fire on the hearth, to the front door.

For the first time Anrel gained ground, as the thief had to pause to draw the bolt and lift the latch, and Anrel thought he was almost close enough to grab a shoulder when the door swung open and the thief dashed out into the street.

Anrel followed close on the thief's heels, and was startled to find himself in a new world, completely unlike the warm, still darkness of the inn. The two had run out into a snowstorm, where the low gray clouds overhead and the smooth white powder that blanketed the city suffused their surroundings with a faint colorless glow, a glow compounded of diffuse and reflected light from those portions of the capital where lamps still shone. The air was cold and fierce, wind tearing at Anrel's ears and cheeks, but he could see again, albeit only dimly. He had not expected that.

The streets were deserted, silent save for his own breath and the thief's snow-muffled footsteps; Anrel did not know what time it was, but it was plainly well after midnight, yet still hours before dawn. White flakes drifted everywhere, but the only other movement was the two of them.

The thief, Anrel could now see, was no more than a dozen feet ahead. Though it was difficult to make out any details in the dimness, Anrel thought he was very young, wearing a ragged dark tunic and breeches, with feet wrapped in rags. The light was insufficient to see colors, and of course Anrel could not see the thief's face while the youth was running away, but he was fairly certain this was the boy who had been asleep at the far end of the attic earlier.

Anrel's velvet coat, its brown color faded to dark gray in the snowy gloom, was tucked under the boy's right arm. The thief was running as fast as he could down the street to the southeast—toward the Pensioners' Quarter—with Anrel close on his heels.

They ran under a watchman's arch, and the sudden transition from snow to dry cobbles caused the boy to stumble, but he barely slowed. Still, Anrel was gaining, by virtue of his longer legs.

“Drop the coat and we're quit,” Anrel called, his voice ringing out unnaturally loud in the nocturnal silence and echoing from the stone arch.

The boy did not bother to reply, and did not drop the coat. Instead he suddenly dodged to the right, through a ruined gate into a yard. Anrel followed, hand outstretched ready to grab, but was startled to see a light, a spot of bright color in the pale world of the snowy night. A small, smoky fire was burning somewhere ahead, and the boy was running directly toward it.

Anrel felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with running coatless through the snow. Where were they, and what was that fire? He tried to remember how far they had come from the Emperor's Elbow, and what lay down this street.

He thought he knew.

“Give me my coat!” he shouted, hoping to frighten the lad into dropping it; Anrel wanted to get his coat and get out of this place. He lunged for the thief, but the boy shook off his hand and kept running.

As Anrel had feared, shapes stirred in the shadows at the sound of his voice. The two of them were not alone in this court.

“Come
here
!” Anrel said, making another grab.

This time he got a good, firm grip on the lad's upper arm, and the two of them went tumbling forward onto a patch of dead, snow-covered weeds. Anrel snatched at the coat, but the boy held on to it with grim determination.

He heard shuffling and murmuring in the darkness around them, and a glance toward that fire thirty yards away showed half a dozen shadowy figures surrounding the little blaze. Most of them were moving.

“I don't want any trouble,” Anrel said. “Just give me my coat and I'll go.” He took a good hold on the garment in question and pried it loose.

The boy, who still had not said a word, released his prize at last and fell back on the snow, looking silently up at Anrel.

This sudden surrender was not reassuring; in fact, it frightened Anrel. He knew where he was.

He was in the yard of the old, long-abandoned Pensioners' Hospital, the entrance to the Pensioners' Quarter.

The name was a relic. The Pensioners' Quarter and the Pensioners' Hospital had not held pensioners for half a century. The quarter's original inhabitants had gradually died out, and rogues and outlaws of every description had replaced them. The hospital had been abandoned and fallen into ruin, and the tangle of streets and alleys beyond had become forbidden territory to the city's ordinary citizens. Watchmen never ventured down from their arches and walkways here except in well-armed groups with a specific goal in mind. The emperor ruled these streets only in name, and it was generally thought that no sorcerer had set foot in the quarter in Anrel's lifetime.

And Anrel was here alone, in the middle of the night, chasing a young thief who had run into the quarter seeking sanctuary. The dagger in Anrel's boot was not likely to be any use in defending himself; in fact, drawing it at this point might well be suicidal.

Anrel got quickly to his feet and pulled on his coat, aware that several pairs of eyes were watching him from the surrounding gloom. Then he turned back toward the gate. “I'm going now,” he said quietly.

“I think not,” a man's voice said, and although he had not seen or heard anyone that close, Anrel felt a faint pressure on his back, just to one side of his spine. He froze. He was fairly certain that it was the point of a knife. An arm swung around and across his throat, and Anrel could feel warm breath in his ear. “Not without a little explanation for your presence at this hour. What brings you to our neighborhood?”

The man's tone was calm and conversational, as if the two were seated at a table together, rather than standing in the snow in the middle of the night, one holding a knife to the other's back. Still, the threat was obvious and real, and Anrel did not think an accusation of theft was wise.

“It would seem I dropped my coat,” Anrel said, trying to speak just as calmly.

“Oh?” The voice seemed friendly enough, but the point of the knife did not move. A faint scent of onions reached Anrel's nose, seeming oddly incongruous in the cold, snowy gloom.

“Yes,” Anrel said. “And this young man found it. I would be happy to reward him with a penny or two.”

“One or two?”

Anrel tried to remember exactly what coins he had in his pockets. “Perhaps fourpence?”

“Do you suppose that to be fair compensation for the lad's efforts, on a night such as this?”

The man was willing to bargain; Anrel suppressed a sigh of relief. If this person had intended to kill him anyway, there would be no reason to discuss prices. “Why, then, what would you think fair, sir?”

“I scarcely know. I do not know how far he ran through the streets, trying to return your fine garment.”

“From the Emperor's Elbow, sir, no farther.”