The door directly across the corridor was closed, as well, and no one in the rooms on either side seemed to be paying any attention. Micum shielded Alec as best he could while he pulled a pick from under his kerchief and jiggered the simple lock. No sooner had he touched the latch, however, than the door was jerked violently open and Micum jumped back just in time to miss being brained by an iron poker. As it was it caught him a glancing blow across the left shoulder, the barb on the end of the poker tearing his shirt but missing the skin below.
He thrust Alec out of the way and blocked the next swing with his stout cudgel.
“Thieves!” the man cried, trying to drive Micum back but hampered somewhat by the door frame. “Housebreakers!”
Micum knocked the poker from his hands and gave the fellow a light thump in the belly with the end of the cudgel, just enough to set him back on his ass. A woman screamed. Alec looked around nervously. They were attracting far too much attention.
“Where’s my mother!” Micum bellowed. “I know she’s here!”
The man blinked up at him. “Mother? What in Bilairy’s name makes you think I’ve got your damn mother here?”
“I have it on good authority that she was brought to this place,” Micum growled, apparently using aggression in place of making any sense. Giving the man a shove in the chest with his foot, he stepped into the room and the woman screamed again.
“Help!” the man shouted.
“What’s going on ’ere?” a very large man with a stout, spiked club demanded from down the hall.
Micum backed quickly from the room and faced him down. “My own mother has been carried off, and I was told this man had her.”
“Nakis? What would he be doing with your poxy mother?” The man started down the corridor after them, club at the ready. “Get out of here, the pair of you, before you get your heads stove in!”
Other men were emerging from other rooms, some of them armed. Micum and Alec beat an ignominious retreat back to the street, but with the knowledge that the old woman had eluded them.
“Go on, git!” the man shouted down from his room, shaking his fist. “I’ll have the bluecoats on you!”
“Damnation!” Micum muttered as they hurried off the way they’d come. “Seregil isn’t going to like this.”
As they rounded the corner behind the house they very nearly collided with the man himself, who was carrying a basket containing a few bruised pears and pippins.
Seregil noted their expressions and Micum’s torn garment. “I take it things didn’t go well.”
“I doubt she was in there in the first place,” Alec growled. The man with the pipe who’d given them directions was nowhere in sight.
“Did you see a blond man with a bandaged head, by any chance?” Seregil asked.
“Yes. He told us—” Alec gave him a rueful look. “Blond hair! Damn, do you think he was a raven?”
“He was someone who didn’t want to linger,” Seregil told him. “I was at the back of the building, trying to find my man, who’d slipped down this direction, and saw One Eye climbing out of an upstairs window and up the back stair to the roof like a scalded cat. By the time I got up there he’d disappeared among the chimney pots and gables. I cast around but couldn’t find any sign of him.”
“And the masked swordsman?” asked Micum.
“My guess is he’s not only the guardian, but the lookout. It’s no wonder they scarper off so quickly. They’re certainly good at evading the quarantines here, too.”
“What about the old woman?” Alec asked impatiently. “If she didn’t crawl out a window, where did she go?”
“She’s most likely still in there.” Seregil hefted his basket on one hip.
“And where did you get those?” asked Alec.
“I made a street seller very happy. Stay here. I’ll go take a look. You keep an eye on the back of the house.” With that, Seregil sauntered off around the corner, calling out his wares.
He was gone a long time, but when he returned Alec knew at a glance that he’d been as unsuccessful as they’d been at anything but selling fruit. He had a smudge of dirt beside his nose and a few cobwebs caught on his hat brim.
“Well?” Micum asked.
Seregil sighed and tossed the basket away. “I’ve had the life story of half the tenants, but no word of the woman and no one will own up to knowing anything about the ravens. I even managed to sneak up in the attic and down into the cellar, but there’s no sign of her.”
“Damn!” Alec growled. “Could she have gotten out the back without you seeing her?”
“I don’t think so. This is a blind alley, so I’d have met her coming out. Unless she went over the roof, too. Pretty spry for an old girl. And cunning. I’m developing a certain grudging admiration for these people. They’re tricky, these ravens, and they’re smart.”
They wandered among the tenements and markets for the rest of the afternoon, and returned to the Stag and Otter in defeat.
“We don’t even know how many of them there are,” Micum said from the bedroom as he washed his face and changed clothes.
Still in his woman’s kit, Seregil sat in one of the hearth armchairs, tapping one foot restlessly against the ash shovel. “We’ve heard of a young, one-legged man, seen a blond beggar, and seen the old man and woman. She interests me the most, with all those things on her belt.”
“I still feel like a fool for being taken in,” Alec said glumly. “And we paid the bastard to gull us, too.”
Micum ruffled Alec’s hair as he joined them in the sitting room. “Worth it, to have another of them to recognize. And this is the closest we’ve gotten to them so far.”
Seregil slid from his chair suddenly and rummaged under the couch until he found a large rolled city map tied up with a green ribbon. Blowing the dust off it, he carried it to the table and unrolled it, weighting the edges down with books already lying around on the table and chairs.
As the others watched he placed pennies on the Lower City, the southeast section of the Ring, the slums north of the Temple Precinct, the Street of Lights, and the warren of twisting streets behind the inn.
“See the pattern?” he asked. “They get pushed out of one area by the quarantine and just move to the next nearest hunting ground. They avoided the Temple Precinct, apparently, but they could have made their way through the Street of Lights on their way here.”
“And Myrhichia could have given something to one of them, thinking they were just a beggar,” Alec noted.
Seregil frowned down at the map, trapping his forefinger against his chin as he thought. “Except that there hadn’t been any report of them this far north in the city before she was stricken.”
“Someone could have picked her pocket,” Micum suggested.
“Thero thinks the item has to be freely given,” Alec explained. “That’s why they trade.”
Seregil threw himself down on the couch, glaring at the empty hearth. “Conjecture! That’s all we have until we catch one of the bastards.”
“That still doesn’t explain how one of them got to her,” said Micum, absently stroking his moustache as he looked down at the map.
“Never mind how, for now. The question is, why her? Why leap from the poorest of the poor to a wealthy courtesan with friends who care about her—powerful friends.”
“The opportunity must have presented itself,” Micum reasoned as he went to the sideboard and poured three cups of wine from the decanter there. “Maybe she was the first wealthy person they could get near?”
“Yes, but when?” Alec insisted.
No one had an answer for that.
Alec and Seregil were debating whether they should return to Wheel Street for the night when Thero’s face appeared in front of Seregil, startling all of them.
“I hate it when you do that!” Seregil exclaimed.
Thero frowned at him. “Archduchess Alaya is dead. Murder has not been ruled out.”
Seregil rested his face in his hands for
a moment. “Bilairy’s Balls!”
“She was a harmless old woman,” Alec groaned.
“And she was one of the closest to the princess royal,”
Thero replied. “Elani is inconsolable and the prince is more furious than he was before.”
“Are you certain it was murder?” asked Seregil.
“I’m not, but the prince thinks so, in light of recent events, though none of the conspirators in the Tower seems to know anything about it. Alaya was dining with the royal family and he saw with his own eyes when she fell back in her chair, dead. Once again no poison was detected, or magic, but Valerius could find nothing physically amiss, either.”
“Poor Elani!” Alec exclaimed softly. “She loved Alaya like a grandmother. Do you think her death is related to the others?”
“At this point, nothing would surprise me. Perhaps we did miss some conspirators, and they’re still at large and carrying on.”
“So what are the chances that the two different cabals would use the same undetectable poison?” asked Micum.
“Tit for tat?” Seregil shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about this doesn’t make sense. They’ve spent all their energy killing each other off, rather than making another attempt on Klia, or on Elani. If someone could get close enough to poison Alaya, then why not Elani, too?”
“The same thought occurred to me,” said Thero.
“Does Elani know about the conspiracies?”
“Korathan explained it to her, apparently in an effort to get her to leave the city. She refuses to go.”
“That could be exactly what the assassins are hoping for,” said Seregil. “She’s more vulnerable than ever out on the road, even with an armed escort.”
“You’re probably right. For now, she remains in Rhíminee, but in her quarters under heavy guard and a ready supply of food tasters.”
“I was afraid of this,” Seregil said with a sigh. “If the arrests haven’t stopped the killing, then something or somebody important was missed.”
“If they were using professional assassins, and I daresay they were, then they may still be under orders,” Thero replied.
“My informers inside the guild say that only Kormarin and Nerian were contracted.”
“Tit for tat, indeed,” said the wizard. “So who’s killing the others, and how?”
“We’ll keep our ears open, Thero, but we haven’t made much of a job of it so far.”
“That’s all?”
“For now. In the meantime, we’re going to keep hunting the ravens.”
Thero began to sputter but Alec said firmly, “We still have Myrhichia to avenge.”
Atre lit the candle in his dank little workroom and pulled a silver ring from his pocket. A pretty little bauble, he thought with a thin smile, and one he hadn’t really considered using. In fact, he’d forgotten all about it in all the fun of toying with the nobles, killing them off here and there as it suited him and enjoying the rising panic, until he recognized Alec and that Micum Cavish fellow during that near miss at the tenement. Humming to himself, he pulled an empty phial from the rack and dropped the ring in.
DESPITE Korathan’s continuing displeasure, Seregil and Alec were allowed to pay their respects at court the following morning. Elani sat with Alaya’s other relations by the old courtier’s bier in one of the great halls. All were dressed in rich black, with jewels of jet and onyx. Elani was dry-eyed as the mourners streamed past, but very pale. It was clear she hadn’t slept.
She gave them a sad smile as they reached her. “So kind of you to come. Alaya liked you both very much.”
“She was a great lady, Highness,” said Seregil.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Highness,” Alec added, looking down at the dead woman’s waxen visage. Alaya was dressed for court, and her hands were crossed in front of her, rings glittering on every finger, but none of that allayed the wreckage of sunken eyes and too-prominent bones.
“So much death this summer, and the whole war,” Elani murmured. “Grandmother Idrilain, and my aunt and uncle. And now this.”
Unable to offer any meaningful comfort, they stayed long enough to be polite, then bowed and took their leave.
The following morning, they went out again with Micum wearing different disguises and searched the neighborhood where they’d nearly caught the old woman and her guardian. No one had seen any sign of them, though, and Seregil grumbled about the timing of Alaya’s death. The scent seemed to have gone cold. Given the ravens’ previous pattern, Seregil expected word of them being on the far side of the Harvest Market next and had Kepi spread the word to his compatriots that any news would be worth a silver half.
When they returned to the inn late that afternoon, Seregil noted at once that the horse yard was empty except for one exhausted, lathered black, and that there was no smoke coming from the kitchen chimney. Nor was there any of the usual bustle and noise coming through the open windows of the front room. Bad old memories of another too-quiet inn knotted his belly.
“That’s Kari’s horse,” Micum noted in surprise.
“I don’t like this,” muttered Seregil.
“Neither do I,” whispered Alec.
They approached the front of the house cautiously and peered in at the windows. The great room was empty, dishes and tankards still on the long tables as if everyone had left in a hurry.
Moving quietly, they went down the servants’ corridor to the kitchen and found Tomin whittling in front of the fire. He jumped to his feet as soon as they came in and Seregil saw a small pack at the innkeeper’s feet.
“What’s going on?” asked Alec.
Tomin fiddled nervously with his knife as he took in their beggar garb. “A woman came here with a little girl, and brought the sleeping death with her. Claimed she knew you, my lords. The house cleared as if it was on fire. I sent Ema and the baby to her mother’s house.”
“Where are the woman and girl?” Micum demanded.
“I put them in the front room upstairs.”
Micum was gone before Tomin had finished speaking, thundering up the front stairs. Seregil and Alec ran after him and caught up in time to hear their friend’s anguished cry.
Illia, dressed for play in the Watermead fields, lay on the bed, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Micum fell to his knees by the bed, clasping one of his daughter’s small hands in his big, callused ones.
Kari sat by the bed, pale as a ghost, her dark hair wild around her shoulders and dull with dust, as were her riding clothes. She looked not at her husband, but at Seregil. “How could this happen?”
“It’s—impossible!” Alec gasped.
“Clearly not,” Seregil managed. “Kari, how long has she been like this?”
“I found her like this in her bed yesterday morning. Nothing we did could bring her around. We sent for the drysian and she told us of the sickness here in the city. She said—” Kari swallowed, throat so dry that Seregil could hear it click across the room. “She said no one has survived more than a few days. I thought perhaps if Valerius could see her, he might be able to do something. Seregil, you’ll send for him, won’t you?”
Seregil glanced at Micum, but he was silent, head bowed over Illia’s hand as if he were silently praying. Perhaps he was.
“Valerius hasn’t found a cure. Thero suspects magic.” The words felt like shards of glass in his throat as Seregil watched the fragile hope die in Kari’s dark eyes, just as it had in Eirual’s. “Have there been any strange beggars at Watermead?”
“Beggars? None that I’ve seen.”
“Are you certain? Could Illia have met someone on the road while she was out riding?”
“I suppose so. Seregil, what do beggars have to do with this?”
It was Micum who answered. There were tears on his stubble-covered cheeks, but his voice was deep and steady as ever. “There are beggars here, called the raven folk, who trade odd things with people, things they use to work this foul magic.”
She stared
at her husband. “Is that what Seregil called you into the city for?”
“Yes.”
Fury suffused her pale cheeks as she rounded on Seregil. “Knowing all that, you brought Micum into the midst of it?”
“It doesn’t spread through the air,” Seregil told her gently. “We haven’t made any trades, and neither has Micum. It’s those who do that who fall ill. That’s why I asked about the beggars.”
Kari shook her head in disbelief. “If you’d only warned us, I could have told the children to beware of them. You could have said, Micum! You could have sent word!”
Seregil clutched the door frame as the weight of the words struck home. Another failure. “Micum didn’t know before he got here.”
“We thought they were only in the city,” Alec said softly, voice trembling.
Raw pain coursed over the bond to Seregil. He knew Alec must be feeling the same from him. Illia! That, combined with Kari’s anguish, and Micum’s, threatened to unman him.
“We will find a way to fix this,” he told her, but the words sounded weak and hollow.
“Then get out and find it!” she cried. “If Illia dies, I’ll never forgive you. Any of you! Get out!”
“Go on,” Micum told them, not moving from his daughter’s side. “I’ll be up later.”
Seregil and Alec climbed the steps to their rooms in silence except for Seregil’s strained voice whispering the words of passage past the glyphs.
Striding into the bedroom, Seregil threw off his disguise and pulled on a shirt and breeches.
“Maker’s Mercy,” Alec said as he did the same. “If Valerius had heard of any spread of the sickness outside the city, wouldn’t he have told us about it?”
“Yes. Something’s very strange here. First Myrhichia, now Illia. Does anything strike you about that?”
“The first time the sleeping …” Alec couldn’t bring himself to say the word. “Those are the only times it’s happened outside the poorer quarters.”
“Yes, but also to people associated with us.” Seregil squeezed Alec’s shoulder, then headed to the door. “Elsbet should be here with her mother. I’ll send Tomin for her.”