Casket of Souls

  It was too risky to go exploring the back rooms, not knowing what servants there might be lurking about, including the scribe. You couldn’t always get away with saying you were looking for the toilet—especially here.

  So he made small talk with the other guests and kept a surreptitious eye on Reltheus, but the duke’s conduct was above suspicion.

  Seregil and Alec were taking their leave late that afternoon when Reltheus caught Seregil by the sleeve. Seregil’s heart skipped a beat, wondering if he’d been seen spying after all. Instead Reltheus said, “What would you and Alec say to a bit of gambling at the Three Dragons?”

  “I haven’t been there in years.” Seregil gave him a self-deprecating smile. “That establishment is a bit above our station.”

  “You’ll be my guests, of course.”

  “Then we’d be delighted.”

  “Excellent. General Sarien is coming along as well. Will you join me in my carriage?”

  “You’re most kind.”

  “Very good! If you’ll wait a moment, I will make my farewells to the ladies.”

  “You’re looking pleased with yourself,” Alec noted as they waited for Reltheus and the general in the corridor.

  “Tell you later,” Seregil replied, nodding slightly in the direction of the watchful footmen. “By the way, I hope you didn’t mind me accepting Reltheus’s invitation on your behalf.”

  “Of course not. You know the Three Dragons?”

  “I’ve been there a few times. You’ll need plenty of money if you want to gamble. That’s not why I accepted, though.” He lowered his voice. “With any luck, I can finagle us another invitation back to his house afterward.” He wanted a look at the letter Reltheus had gotten from the scribe.

  Alec leveled an accusing finger at him and whispered, “I’m not getting drunk again!”

  Seregil grinned, making no promises. “And did you and Elani have an interesting conversation?”

  “We did. She more or less admitted that her heart is set on Danos. According to her, he’s not only handsome, but a poet and an excellent archer. And he makes her laugh.”

  “Good marriages have been made on less. What about the attentive young officer today?”

  “Apparently her mother thinks highly of him, and keeps throwing him and others in the princess’s way. It didn’t sound like anything more than that.” Alec shook his head. “It’s going to ruin Danos’s chances, isn’t it, if his father’s arrested?”

  “I expect so.”

  Alec cast a sad look back in the direction of Elani’s chambers. “If she really does love him, that will break her heart.”

  “It’s duty first for royalty, Alec. So long as she makes a respectable marriage and produces a girl baby or two, she can take a second consort when she likes, or lovers. Even Danos.”

  “It’s not the same, though, is it?”

  “No, talí, it’s not,” Seregil said, taking his hand. Alec hadn’t been much older than Elani was now when he’d fallen in love with Seregil, and Seregil with him. If they’d been separated by circumstance? He shook off the dark thought. “But we didn’t make this mess; Reltheus did.”

  “MY lord, it’s said that there is no way to cheat at bakshi, so I can only assume you are using magic,” Duke Foris growled that evening as Seregil slapped down one of his carnelian pieces and captured the duke’s spear.

  The Three Dragons gambling house stood a few doors down from the Drake and was even more opulent, attracting a clientele made up of higher-ranking nobles. Young Selin had been invited, as well, and several other nobles Seregil knew only slightly; General Sarien was also there in the crowd that had gathered to watch the battle being played out between Seregil and Foris. Seregil’s reputation was well known up and down the Street of Lights, as was that of Foris, a young rake with a reputation of his own—one that had gotten the man banned from several of the brothels here in the Street, including Eirual’s, as it happened. Seregil was enjoying besting the man very much.

  “No magic, Your Grace, just Illior’s luck,” Alec drawled, leaning on the back of Seregil’s chair.

  “I’ve played him enough myself to agree, Foris,” Reltheus told the man. “He’s just damn good, and lucky.”

  “It’s all right,” Seregil said, sliding one of his carnelian pieces into place in front of Foris’s lapis one to blunt another spear. Picking up the captured stones one by one, he glanced up at the duke with a cold smile. “I’m sure it wasn’t your intent to impugn my honor.”

  The duke, however, was a little drunk and not put off by the veiled threat. Lord Seregil was better known for avoiding duels than fighting them. “Nine rounds in a row? You must have a charm on you somewhere!”

  A murmur went through the crowd; it was a serious charge.

  Seregil leaned back in his chair and spread his arms. “Search me, Your Grace. I swear by Illior you’ll find nothing of the sort.” He looked around at the crowd with the slightly inane grin he affected when dealing with situations like this among the nobles. “Why, the rest of you can wager on it, but I say your money is best laid on me!”

  “I’ll take that wager. Have him strip!” one of the ladies cried, holding up her silk purse, and the cry was quickly taken up by the crowd.

  Foris’s smile was mean. “Yes, I’ll take that wager. Fifty gold sesters says he has a luck piece or mark on him. What say you, Lord Seregil? Will you stand by your offer?”

  “I suppose I must,” Seregil said with a shrug.

  “You can’t be serious!” Reltheus murmured, raising a surprised eyebrow.

  “It’s a matter of honor,” Seregil said firmly.

  “But how will we know it?” the general asked. “A charm could be anything. Is there a wizard here?”

  “Here’s one!” someone at the back of the crowd shouted.

  Old Reneus, one of the senior Orëska wizards, was none too pleased to be pressed into service for such a menial task, but with some cajoling and a fresh cup of wine he finally consented.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Alec muttered as Seregil handed him his sword belt and pulled off his boots and socks.

  The wizard took each one with evident distaste and quickly handed them back. “No magic here.”

  “Better than a duel,” Seregil whispered back, then climbed onto his chair so everyone had a good view of him. “Really, Foris, you’re throwing your money away.” He slipped off his coat and dropped it into Alec’s waiting arms. The wizard took it and searched through the pockets. Seregil pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside with a flourish.

  “There, you see? Nothing,” said Seregil, turning for the crowd to inspect his bare torso.

  Foris smirked up at him. “There are still places to hide something. Keep going.”

  “Perhaps he has it hanging from his cock!” one wag suggested loudly.

  “I’d like to see that,” the woman who’d placed the first bet concurred. “Come on now, Lord Seregil. Out with it!”

  One thing Seregil had never managed to master was blushing at will, but he made a good job of looking comically outraged. “You’re not serious? Really now, Your Grace, I’ve left those days behind me.”

  “A wager is a wager, my lord, unless you’d rather settle this on the plain?” said Foris.

  “I’m afraid he’s within his rights, my lord,” Sarien reminded him with an avid look in his eye. Seregil made a mental note to find out what sort of brothels the man frequented, if any.

  Dueling was not allowed inside the city, but a blind eye was turned on whatever went on outside its walls, and killing someone in a formal duel there was not considered murder. It had been some time since Seregil had fought for his honor.

  “Very well, then.” He unlaced his leather trousers and pushed them and his linen down with a graceful flourish. The crowd exploded in applause and laughter. Those closest to Alec slapped him on the back. Seregil climbed off the chair and stood grinning, hands on hips, as his trousers were inspected, then took them back and dresse
d as carefully as if he were in front of his looking glass at home, smoothing out every wrinkle. Money changed hands around him; it was clear that public sentiment was on his side, for whatever reason.

  “Bravely done, young man!” General Sarien said, clapping Seregil on the shoulder before wandering off in the direction of the wine servers.

  Taking his place again, Seregil raised his chin and grinned across the gaming table at his opponent. “Shall we continue, Your Grace?”

  More applause erupted at the duke’s expense.

  Caught, Foris had no choice but to finish—and lose—the game. With gritted teeth he paid off the wagers, swept his stones back into their fancy embroidered bag, and strode off with all the dignity he could muster.

  Seregil looked around at his admirers. “Next?”

  The woman who’d championed the wager took the chair Foris had vacated and poured her stones into the polished tray in front of her. They were made of blue opal, and she held one up, showing him Illior’s crescent inlaid in silver on the back of it. “The Lightbringer will have to decide between us, my lord, for I’ve been known to have the Immortal’s favor, as well. Or would you like to inspect my clothing for charms first?”

  “A tempting offer, Marquise, but your honor is above reproach.”

  “You’re very gallant, Lord Seregil, but now I’m disappointed,” she said with a teasing smile. “Well, you had your chance. Shall we play?”

  They were still arranging their stones for the first round when a young page made his way through the crowd and whispered something to Alec. He, in turn, leaned down and whispered in Seregil’s ear, “Kepi’s outside.”

  “Nothing too serious, I hope?” said Reltheus.

  “A messenger,” Seregil told him. “Alec, be a dear and deal with him, would you?”

  “I promised Palmani I’d make an early night of it, and it’s nearly midnight,” Reltheus noted after half a dozen rounds.

  “Oh, I’d rather hoped we could get in a few more games together,” Seregil told him.

  “Come to the house, then, you and Alec, when you’ve finished your business. I believe I might have another bakshi game or two in me.”

  “In that case, I hope you have a few coins left in your purse. Just let me go see where Alec has gotten to, and I’ll meet you at the house.”

  He found Alec and Kepi on the pavement near the entrance to the gambling house, under the watchful eye of the doorman, who clearly disapproved of such an unsightly character in the Street.

  Seregil hustled them both quickly out of sight into the shadows beyond the reach of the street lanterns.

  “What is it?” Seregil demanded.

  “It’s Atre,” Alec told him. “He’s gone and gotten himself stabbed.”

  “That actor fellow’s a friend of yours, ain’t he?” asked Kepi, looking pleased with himself.

  “How in the world did you know that?”

  Kepi just winked and grinned.

  “Bilairy’s Balls! What happened?” asked Seregil.

  “Don’t know the particulars, only that he’s over in Brass Alley, back of the Skulpin. I just heard of it and I come straight up to tell you.”

  “The Skulpin? What was he doing there?” The gambling house was in the unfashionable—and at this hour, dangerous—area near Atre’s old theater and catered mostly to locals. There were plenty of cutpurses, bawds, and footpads about at this time of night, ready to relieve the unwary of their winnings.

  “Is he alive?” asked Alec.

  “He was when my friend heard about it. I went to your house and they told me you was here. I come straight on.”

  “Good lad. We’ll deal with it.” Seregil took half a dozen coppers from his purse and gave them to the boy. Kepi made him another ill-formed bow and took off at a run, darting between horses and carriages. He was soon out of sight among the evening crowd.

  “Damnation!” Seregil scrubbed a hand back through his hair. He needed to find out what the scribe had given Reltheus, but he could hardly abandon the actor in such circumstances.

  “I’ll see to Atre,” Alec told him. “You go with Reltheus and make some excuse for me.”

  “All right. As soon as you’re finished, come to his house, or send word to me there if you won’t be coming.”

  They walked in silence to the nearby stable to collect Alec’s horse. A groom led Windrunner out. As Alec went to mount, Seregil caught him by the arm and brushed his lips over Alec’s. “Take care, talí.”

  Alec gave him a knowing look. “You know I will. And you.” He swung up into the saddle and rode out into the throng. Trying to ignore the knot of tension in his belly, Seregil went back inside to find Reltheus.

  Alec road to Brass Alley at a gallop and found the actor alive and groaning on a couch in a poorly lit back room of the gambling den. He was dressed uncharacteristically plainly without a jewel on him—an apparent attempt to fit in with his surroundings. Or perhaps he’d been robbed.

  A small crowd of ne’er-do-wells and doxies were peering in from the doorway, but parted for Alec at the sight of his fine clothes and sword.

  A drysian was with Atre, tending to a wound on his belly. The actor was white-faced and looked frightened, but at least he was conscious.

  “What happened?” Alec asked, kneeling down beside him and taking the man’s hand.

  “Oh, my lord!” Atre gasped, clinging to Alec’s hand with both of his, which were sticky with blood. “How did you know?”

  “Never mind that. What in Bilairy’s name happened to you?” A few patches of stage cosmetics near his hairline stood out against his milk-pale skin, Alec noted absently. He must have been in a hurry to come here.

  “It didn’t happen in my establishment, my lord,” a round-faced man in dusty velvet told him. “This is an honest house.”

  Alec doubted that.

  “It was a girl, on the street,” Atre told him. “She said she was hurt, and when I tried to help her—look what she did!”

  “It’s not as bad as all that,” the drysian scoffed as he bandaged the wound.

  “And took your purse, I suppose,” said Alec. It was a common ploy among the girl cutpurses. “What are you doing alone in a place like this?”

  “Oh, you know—” Atre was too pale to blush but he looked rather ashamed of himself.

  “Got tired of the pampered nobles and came back here, looking for a bit of rougher fun?” Brader growled as he strode into the room and stood over Atre. Apparently he’d gotten word, as well.

  The actor looked away, saying nothing.

  “This is no place for the likes of you,” the drysian scolded. “Stay with your fashionable friends and find your fun there. I have better things to do than patch up you silly thrill seekers.”

  “I will, Brother. By the Maker, I will!” Atre mumbled, then looked up imploringly at Alec. “Please, my lord, don’t leave me here.”

  “Of course not,” Alec assured him, then turned to the master of the house. “Is it possible to hire a carriage at this hour?”

  “No need,” said Brader. “I brought the cart.”

  The drysian finished with the bandage and straightened up. “There, that should hold your guts in well enough. See that you keep the wound clean and it should be healed in a week or so, if a bit sore.”

  “I have to be onstage tomorrow!”

  “That’s why you have an understudy,” Brader muttered, handing the healer some silver.

  The drysian nodded to them and took his leave.

  “Oh, Calieus will be pleased!” Atre groaned. “He hangs over me like a carrion crow, just waiting for something like this to happen.”

  Alec chuckled. “It’s his job, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed. Good night, my lord.” Brader lifted Atre in his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. Alec followed them outside and watched Brader place the wounded man on some folded blankets in the back of the cart.

  “Really, I think a carriage would be more comfortable,” said Alec
. “I’ll happily pay.”

  “No need, my lord,” Brader said gruffly. It was clear that he was angry with his friend and perhaps meant to deny him the comfort of better transport. Or that’s what Alec thought until Brader added, “With respect, we take care of our own.”

  He climbed in and snapped the reins over the grey mare’s back.

  That was a bit rude! Alec thought as the cart rattled away. I might as well have stayed with Seregil.

  He was on his way back to the duke’s house, riding past a narrow side lane, when he noticed a hand on the ground at the mouth of it, just visible in the faint light of a nearby street lantern. Reining in, he got down and hurried over to see if someone was hurt. A young, poorly dressed man lay facedown in the dirt. Checking quickly for signs of footpads, Alec rolled him over. His eyes were open, but not fixed in death. It was another of the mysterious sleepers. The man was young, with the disreputable appearance of a footpad and the odor of a gate runner. From the looks of him, he’d been lying there for a day or more. All the same, Alec felt guilty at the thought of leaving him to die in the street like a sick dog.

  With some effort, he slung the man over Windrunner’s saddle and led the horse to a nearby Dalnan temple. It was late, but temples didn’t close, at least not a Dalnan one. It would only take a moment.

  A young, brown-robed girl answered the bell and helped him carry the stricken man in.

  “What have you brought me, young man?” asked the old priestess in charge.

  “One stricken with the sleeping death, Sister.”

  “Ah, another. Bring him into the sick room.”

  “Another? You’ve seen more here in the Upper City?”

  “Only a few.”

  There were two younger boys and a man with the flattened features and slanted eyes of the god-touched laid out on clean pallets.

  Leaving the drysian and her helpers to take care of the man, Alec bent over the boys. “This one’s gone,” he said softly, resting his hand on the chest of the smaller boy.