Lhind the Thief (32 page)

“Ill-gotten? I would call my stash nippily-gotten! This is
the cash the Duchess paid that innkeeper for our capture, so she really does
owe it to us,” I said, digging into the knapsack. “Here are some imperial
silvers. I’ve heard everybody takes them, whereas I don’t know about lecca this
far north.”

“Good thinking,” Hlanan said, as I poured coins onto his
palm.

By now the morning traffic had increased steadily, most of
it people heading in to market. Hlanan slipped in among them. Before he was out
of sight beyond a hill full of wildflowers, I saw him in conversation with a
wool merchant and an aproned girl carrying a basket, Tir flitting high
overhead.

Silent, stealthy,
unseen
, I reminded myself as the market traffic increased steadily.
No magic. Remember to make a pinhole so Tir
can find me.

As the morning light strengthened, taking on the peculiar
white glare preparatory to a storm, I shifted uncomfortably on the grass behind
my shrub. My skin itched, especially my hair, confined as it was in the cap.
Why had I ever thought disguises were fun? My eyelids burned with tiredness as
the heat became oppressive.

Midmorning, I was thinking about moving just so I wouldn’t
fall asleep sitting up when a pair of tired, foam-flecked horses appeared on
the road, the man and woman riding them looking hot and uncomfortable. Between
the pair, they carried enough weapons for half an army.

This had to be my courier and partner.

I got up, drifted into the crowd, and began to follow them.
I remembered to make a pinhole long enough to let Tir know I was moving, then
shut the inner door. I was far too tired to listen mentally and walk without
getting dizzy.

As it happened, the journey was not long. Keshad was built
along the curve of a ridge above a loop of the river. The royal castle took up
a great portion of the riverside, built largely of limestone, which looked
translucent in the glaring white light. Its roof was made of many-colored
tiles.

The royal garden behind the castle abutted a vast square
flagged in geometric patterns, around which were built many grand houses of
three and four stories, each with carved balconies with fanciful vines and
leaves and on the eaves, gargoyles to scare away bad luck.

The grays crossed the square to a singularly grand house.
Surrounded by a high lime-washed stone fence topped by sharp ironwork spikes,
this house was also made of limestone, with eight double chimney-stacks on the
beautifully edged roof, two to each alabaster wall.

As soon as I saw the great gate with its gatehouse above, I
knew there’d be no sneaking past that. Not without a shimmer, and I couldn’t
use my magic.

So I slunk along the fence until I came to a portion
overreached by leafy green branches of a chestnut tree. There were gardens to
either side of the house, crowded with fragrant fruit trees, and sky-sweeping
chestnuts to further block the unsightly windows of the neighboring mansions.

By the time the couriers had passed inside the gate and
dismounted at the stable, I had leaped up and ghosted over the wall. I
light-footed through the garden and peered between sweet-berry vines in time to
catch the couriers treading up stone stairs to the servants’ entrance.

They vanished. I surveyed the kitchen court: water being
hauled from the well, clucking and pecking chickens, a bored urchin about my
size turned fresh fish on a spit over an open fire next to a bake house.

Another urchin, a girl, came out with a basket and trod to
the henhouse. They definitely hired youths, then.

I pulled off my locksmith apron, leaving me in my dirty but
otherwise unremarkable clothes not unlike what I saw in the kitchen helpers. I
looked around, spotted the well, and walked out to grab a pail. I dipped it and
carried it toward the kitchen, my heart pounding; everybody in a busy kitchen
always needed more water than they had. I would carry that pail as long as I
could, until someone noticed me. Maybe, with luck, someone would set me a task,
and I could listen the more.

But I’d no sooner made this plan as I lugged my sloshing
pail inside than I overheard a pair of apprentices, both wearing the red caps
of bakers, complaining in a side room as they worked over a flour-dusted prep
table.

“. . . who she thinks she is, ordering Vilik
around like he’s a slavey? If she treats artisans like that, what will happen
if she sees us?”

“We’ll be put to mucking out the pigs, no doubt. What kind
of a mage is she, anyway? You’d think anyone who knew real magic would be able
to magic up her
own
food. What good
is magic for, if you can’t do something that simple? ‘Fetch me a cold
drink . . . fetch me hot bread . . .’”

Mage?

“Hush,” the first speaker said, lowering her voice. “If
she
said we wait on the mage, we wait on
the mage.”

“I hear you,” the second muttered. “Besides, with our luck,
that witch’d turn us into doorknobs as soon as look at us. I’ve no doubt she
knows how to do
that
.”

Mage? Why did the duchess have a visiting mage? Because
‘she’ had to refer to the duchess. The two didn’t say the word with hatred,
more like with the emphasis you give to someone whose words, interests, and
moods are all-important.

I cast a glance inside the kitchen, which was frantic with
activity. There seemed to be two sets of actions going on: the preparation of
enormous amounts of food, and stacks of plain, shallow dishes. That had to be
for the guards. At the far end, a man wearing the tall yellow hat of a master
cook directed the finishing touches to a meal, with beautiful porcelain dishes
waiting on silver trays.

Ahah!

I lugged my pail in, scanning the workers. Red hats: bakery
and pastry. Yellow: cooks. Between the busy workers darted youngsters in gray
tunics and trousers, with gray tasseled caps. Pages!

I dodged around busy people, and followed one of these pages
until I spotted the linen chamber. Here were not only table clothes and napery,
but aprons, hats . . . and gray tunics and caps. And, tucked
under the shelf of aprons, several sets of servant slippers, all with quiet
soles.

I plucked up tunic, trousers, cap, and shoes, ducked behind
a cupboard of serving dishes, and hastily shed my old outfit. Using my water, I
washed myself off as best I could, getting rid of my carefully applied rotten
onion and horse sweat. Then I donned the page’s livery, making sure to hide
every vestige of my hair under the cap. I made sure the last of my horse hair
(which I’d been shedding without noticing) hung down my back, covering my
hairline over my neck.

I folded my old clothes and stuffed them inside the
waistband of the gray trousers, which were too large. And then I slipped out,
lurking beside the silver trays as the last dishes were set on them.

The master cook glanced at me, and made a shooing motion.
“What are you waiting for? Take that up to the rose chamber before it gets
cold! Do you want a flogging, boy?”

I gulped, and then a large hand reached past me to pick up
one of the trays. “Come on, stupid,” a tall, skinny boy said, his voice
cracking. He frowned, looking at me a second time. “You new?”

I ducked my head in what I hoped was an obedient nod as I
picked up the second tray.

“Well, come along, and don’t dawdle.
She
hates loiterers.” We sped up carpeted stairs to a beautiful
hallway with climbing roses painted inside the archways, and beyond to a
chamber overlooking the side garden.

We set our trays on a buffet, me copying every movement made
by my guide. I dared a glance at the occupants of the great wing-backed chairs
at either side of the two tall windows. In one sat a woman of about fifty, her
gray-streaked dark hair plainly dressed. I sensed magic somewhere about her,
but she could have been wearing some kind of spell-laden charm. She wore a
simple gown of such a deep purple it was nearly black.

In the other chair sat a red-haired woman wearing paneled
silk robes embroidered with cherry blossoms, her curling hair dressed with
sticks of pure gold.

“. . . the weather in the valley is quite
breathless, Morith,” Purple Robe was saying. “If you insist upon a
demonstration so we can get on with this, may I suggest we get it done? I find
this climate insalubrious.”

Morith?

The red-head turned, and languidly snapped her fingers.
“You, there. Open the windows.”

She hadn’t looked at either of us, but it was clear from her
manner that she expected to be obeyed. That one was Morith, I was sure.

The skinny runner leaped to obey. The duchess said, still
without looking, “We’ll serve ourselves. Shut the door after you, and do not
disturb us until I ring.”

Stealthy and silent I’d managed as promised. Now to get
myself unseen. There was no chance they were going to talk business with us
there . . . but outside those two open windows was the chestnut
tree.

I made it outside in the count of twenty. Three people had
shouted orders at me on my way down. I’d nodded and bowed each time, and kept
on running.

When I reached the tree, I climbed as high as I dared.

They were not speaking Allendi, but a language I knew by
their clashing accents and their slow, considered speech was neither woman’s
native tongue. Later I discovered it was Elras, that spoken in the empire of
Charas al Kherval.

“. . . take Geric Lendan off the list, then?”
That was the mage.

“Why not? As you see, I won.” The duchess had a high, sweet
voice, but anger revealed itself in the quick sibilants. “And before that, he
did absolve himself with that information about Sveran Djur wanting the
Hrethan. It is always good to get an emperor on your side. Especially with so
easy a capture.”

“Lendan said the Hrethan knows magic.”

“Eh, they all do, but they don’t use it to any discernible
purpose,” Morith said dismissively. “Or they would hold power now.”

“Perhaps,” the mage said, as silver clinked against
porcelain. “Your local politics hold no interest for me. I promised you three
lives bound as you will. Three only. And then the book is mine.”

“As we agreed. But the demonstration lies outside of that,”
Morith said with a quick laugh. “I wish to see for myself that you can do what
you say you can. Only a fool would not insist on evidence. And once you have
completed what I ask, the book is yours. What use have I for such things? I
cannot begin to read it.”

The book? She had it in her possession?

I caught hold of the branch above, holding my breath lest I
rustle the branches—or fall out of the tree. Shutting my eyes, I concentrated,
made a pinhole, then sent the thought to Tir:
Book! Tell Hlanan, she has the book.

Thunder crackled in the distance, nearly smothering the
mage’s calm, low voice. “. . . tell me whose blood to use, and
we shall begin?”

A gust of cold wind whooshed through my tree, causing me to
grip my branch tighter as it undulated.

In the room, the duchess said, “I intended to use Hlanan
Vosaga’s. He is still first on the list. For your demonstration, let us use one
of my prisoners. I will send—”

Click
. She had
shut the windows.

Prisoner? Hlanan? List?

The only possible answer to those questions was:
I have to get that book.

I looked around. The first spatters of rain hit the
branches. A huge, cold drop splattered on my cheek. I slithered out of the
tree, then dashed for the kitchen again. I’d gone inside two steps when someone
smacked my head from the side, sending stars across my vision, and I fell to my
hands and knees.

My cap was my first thought, but I hadn’t been hit hard
enough to knock it loose. As I got to my feet, a man snarled, “I told you to
stack the cups!”

I thought wildly, and waved my hand toward the stairs. “I
was sent to polish . . .”

My imagination failed me, but he was too impatient. “I don’t
want to hear it. Now, get those dirty dishes from upstairs. You know what will
happen if
she
sees them sitting
around.”

I bolted upstairs, delighted with the order. The first room
I came to had obviously just been vacated. From the smell, by a crowd of sweaty
people. Dirty dishes sat everywhere. A girl of about twelve, wearing gray like
mine, was busy piling dishes onto a big wooden tray.

She looked up, relieved when she saw me. “Oh, good. Master
Dolaff said he’d take a stick to me if I didn’t get this room done at once.
They’re having another meeting.”

“Sure is busy today,” I said.

She rolled her eyes as she picked up cups and I grabbed
plates. “Are you one of the Thann pages?”

“Sure am,” I lied.

“Is
she
always
like this?” the girl whispered, leaning toward me. There was no hint of
admiration in her use of ‘she.’ “It was so nice, before
she
got here. The bossiest of ’em was Captain Parkal, but he was
all right if you remembered everything and were quick.”

“Always,” I said, nodding. “I could tell you stories,” I
began, hoping this girl would behave like most people, and be more eager to
talk than to listen.

“That’s what Vilik says! But he also says that
she
’s always on the move. But has she budged?
Not even outside, ever since she brought that horrible witch
here . . .” The girl went on babbling in a fierce whisper as I
began bringing all the dishes from the window sills and cabinet tops and side
tables to the buffet.

I heard a lot about life in the mansion, but nothing about
magic books, mages, or plans. When the tray was filled, I said, “How about I
take it down, and you stack the rest. We’ll be faster if it’s all ready for the
tray.”

“Good idea.”

I hefted the tray of dishes, and staggered out. What now? I
paused, looking down that long hall, then spied a sideboard at the other end,
under a window. A few painful steps and I eased the tray down, glancing at that
closed door where presumably the duchess and the mage were still eating and
talking about blood magic.