Cascet of souls

CHAPTER 19. Picnics and Partisans

ALEC, at least, must have made a good impression on the princess. A few days after the shooting match, he and Seregil were invited shooting again, and then to a picnic on one of the islands in the harbor. In the invitation, the princess reminded Alec to bring his bow.

It was hardly an intimate affair. Princess Aralain and her three younger daughters came along, as well as Duke Reltheus, Alaya and five young ladies-in-waiting, and a score of courtiers, most of whom Seregil recognized from the archery contests. Selin had not been included, he noticed.

There were also a host of servants in charge of the hampers and cushions, minstrels, and a bodyguard of twenty. Elani took Reltheus’s arm to ascend the gangplank of the sleek caravel moored at the royal quay. She was dressed in a blue summer dress today, but her shoes were sturdy. She wore no jewels, and her fair hair was caught back in a brightly colored ribbon under her broad-brimmed sun hat.

The minstrels struck up a lively tune as they set sail under a clear blue morning sky and a few of the guests danced on the deck. Elani and her women remained at the rail with Reltheus, and she beckoned for Seregil and Alec to join them.

“My lords, welcome again,” she said, offering her hand. “My uncle mentioned to me that you are a gifted harpist and a fine singer, Lord Seregil. I hope you will contribute to the entertainment.”

“I am, as always, yours to command, Highness,” Seregil said with a bow. “And Alec here has a very pleasing voice.”

Elani smiled at Alec. “You have many skills, it seems.”

“A few, Highness,” Alec replied.

When the minstrels paused in their playing Seregil borrowed a harp and he and Alec found themselves the center of attention for some time, singing love songs and war ballads. Seregil even managed a few of the songs he’d heard in the theater, which won him much applause.

“Lords Seregil and Alec are patrons of that new company in Gannet Lane,” Reltheus generously informed the party.

“Indeed?” sniffed Count Tolin, the young blond man Alec had seen at Kyrin’s. “I prefer the Tirari myself.”

“Then you are denying yourself a great pleasure,” Reltheus told him. “Their lead actor is a marvel.”

“He entertained at my salon, Tolin,” added Alaya. “I’ve since been to his theater and really, it’s as good as anything I’ve seen in the Street of Lights. The plays are quite original.”

Tolin bowed to them. “Perhaps I shall try it one night, then.” But he sounded less than enthusiastic.

The ship skimmed across the harbor to a secluded cove on the seaward side of a wooded island just beyond the outer moles. Sailors rowed them ashore and Elani led the company up to a pretty wooden pavilion that stood in a clearing just above the shingle. Its ornately carved posts and railings were weathered silver with age and decked with flower garlands. While the servants prepared the midday meal and the older courtiers settled down to gamble and gossip, Elani, her ladies and sisters, and the younger nobles wandered the trails that wound through the woods to various vantage points overlooking the sea.

Seregil found himself revising his view of Elani. She’d been bored at Alaya’s salon until the talk had turned to hunting and bows, and had been cheerful and friendly at the lists. This island was clearly a special place for her, and she seemed much more her age as she held her youngest sister, Princess Leali, by the hand and led the party to gulls’ nests that covered the ground on the leeward side to see the fuzzy grey-and-white chicks, and on to a shadowed glade where

rare pink and white saphis flowers bloomed, the frilled, slipper-shaped blossoms swaying gently on their long stalks. There was a pond, as well, stocked with huge, precious gold-and-white-striped fish that rose greedily to eat the crumbs the girls scattered for them.

Duke Reltheus occupied a favored place at her side. He made her laugh, and she occasionally took his arm. Seregil and Alec, however, found themselves at the back of the pack among the lesser courtiers.

“Her Highness certainly seems fond of the duke,” Alec remarked to Earl Stenmir.

“She’s fonder of the father than the son, they say,” Tolin murmured, keeping his voice down. Then, without much warmth, “And you seem to have made quite an impression in a very short time, Lord Alec.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, but you have. Wouldn’t you say so, Lord Seregil?” Stenmir insisted with a somewhat nasty grin.

“They’re both archers,” Seregil said with a shrug.

Neither answer seemed to satisfy the count. “Of course, you’re some relation to the princess, aren’t you, Lord Seregil? Odd that we haven’t seen more of you at court. Is it true that you’re in trade?”

“I amuse myself with a few investments now and then,” Seregil replied with an easy smile, not rising to the bait of what was clearly intended as an insult.

“And with Lord Alec,” a young countess said with a laugh.

“A lucky thing for our friend Reltheus,” Duke Solis, a friendlier sort, noted, nudging Alec good-naturedly with his elbow. “He wouldn’t welcome any competition for a certain person’s hand.” He shot a meaningful look in Reltheus’s direction that no one missed.

“Do you think his hopes are well founded?” asked Seregil.

“I hear the son has caught the queen’s eye in the field,” Earl Stenmir sniffed. “And the princess royal is said to have been taken with Danos during a hunt. The young man is pleasant enough, but the father is quite the social climber, don’t you think?”

“I am honored to call the duke my friend,” Seregil replied

stiffly, recognizing a gossip trap. “I will thank you to keep such insulting opinions to yourself, my lord.”

Stenmir was clearly taken aback, given Seregil’s lower social rank. “I was merely making an observation.” With that he walked quickly to the head of the line and struck up a conversation with a marquis. The others who’d been walking with them moved away, as well, and that was the end of conversation for a while.

“You drew a little blood there,” Alec whispered in Aurenfaie.

Seregil chuckled. “At least it drove them off,” he replied in the same. “Tiresome lot. But I think we’ve both made a name for ourselves among them.” He nodded at Tolin, now walking with Elani. Reltheus had fallen back and was laughing with a portly duke. “I expect a bit of bad-mouthing is going on-in the most veiled way, of course. ‘I had no idea Lord Seregil was in trade.’ ‘My, but that lover of his is very young, don’t you think?’ ‘I’m surprised the queen hasn’t kept him at court. Isn’t that interesting?’ ”

Alec smothered a laugh. “You don’t think the princess is really interested in me, do you?”

“She’s a young girl, tali, surrounded by women and old men. I expect any handsome young fellow would at least catch her eye.” He slipped his arm through Alec’s and kissed him on the cheek for the benefit of those stealing glances back at them and added in Skalan, “Not that I’m in any way discounting your natural charms.”

The air in Dyer’s Street reeked of various pigments and their fixatives, mingled with the heavy odor of wet wool. Thero held up the hem of his blue robe as his horse splashed through a red puddle. The gutters here often overflowed, filling the street with swirling pools and rivulets of color-stained water and making islands of the cobblestones. A narrow boardwalk ran down each side of the street, for the benefit of those who had to pass through on foot.

Without an apprentice to send on errands, Thero did his own shopping. He happened to enjoy it, and welcomed the opportunity to get out of the Oreska House, something he

didn’t do often enough these days, as Seregil most annoyingly insisted on pointing out whenever he saw him. Alec wasn’t much better, always after him to come to the gambling houses with them, or the theater. These days the younger man was constantly talking about some actor he admired, the one Thero had missed meeting at his party. Thero had no interest in gambling, and little time for pointless pleasures.

Turning the corner, he left the puddles behind for the equally stained cobblestones of Painted Lane, the pigment dealers’ street. It was late morning and the street was crowded. There were dozens of shops here catering to artists, ink makers, mixers of cosmetics, and the occasional wizard. Thero needed a particular shade of purple ink for a spell and he knew just the shop to find the necessary dried thorn berries and another for the finest ink-making gums.

He was coming out of Master Syin’s shop with the berries when a strange, crawling sensation ran up his spine. It was familiar, though it took him a moment to place it; he’d felt a hint of it at Alec’s birthday party. He looked around, trying to decide where in the crowd it was coming from. A tall, red-haired man with several large parcels under his arms caught the wizard’s eye; Thero only had a glimpse of a long, stern face and broad shoulders as the man wended his way deeper into the passing crowd. Leaving his horse tethered by Syin’s shop, the wizard shouldered his way through the crowd, stepping on the occasional foot in his haste to catch up to the man, but to no avail. By the time the crowed spilled out into the Sea Market, the fellow was nowhere to be seen. Thero could have cast a wizard eye, but it was difficult to concentrate in the commotion of the marketplace and the strange feeling was gone, leaving no trace to follow. He walked awhile in the direction he thought the man might have gone, but found no sign of him. Giving up, he went back to his shopping and soon forgot about it.

There was an archery list just beyond the pavilion and Elani and Alec shot for a while with some of the young courtiers. The shatta Alec had given the princess hung from

her quiver, and similar ones from the quivers of some of the other archers, made of jewels and coins.

“You’ve started a fashion,” Seregil noted as Alec stood waiting his turn.

At midday everyone gathered in the pavilion for the luncheon picnic. There were cold aureoles and pheasant, bits of beef in a fiery red sauce, cardamom bread, strawberries and clotted cream, and plentiful wine and cider. Afterward the servants spread blankets on the ground and most of the courtiers sought out a shady spot for a nap through the hot part of the day. Seregil was about to do the same when Alaya came to him. “The princess has heard about your bakshi playing, Lord Seregil, and would like a game with you.”

“Of course,” Seregil said. “Are there stones? I didn’t bring mine.”

Stones were found and he joined the princess at one of several lichen-crusted marble tables under an ancient spreading oak.

“I’ve heard a great deal from Reltheus about your skill at gaming,” Elani said, pouring her stones into the tray.

“Alec can shoot. I can gamble, Highness,” Seregil said with a smile.

“Perhaps you can teach me a thing or two, then. I don’t have much luck, but everyone except Alaya and Reltheus always tries to let me win.”

“Just as they do at shooting?”

“Alec told you that, did he?”

“Yes. And I assure you, I play to win.”

She grinned. “Then you’re both honest men. I like that.”

“If I may, Highness, you seem like a very direct young woman, yourself.”

“Do I?” She seemed pleased. “Mother says I’m too blunt.”

“Just another word for being honest. The queen herself is very-honest.”

Elani laughed as she placed her first stone. “Yes, she is, but I think that’s part of what makes her such a splendid warrior and queen, don’t you?”

“I do indeed, Highness.”

They began to play in earnest, with Seregil giving advice

now and then. In spite of his help, however, he won three games in a row.

“I see your reputation is well deserved,” Elani laughed. “You have the Lightbearer’s luck, as they say. But you would, wouldn’t you, being ’faie?”

“We’re not all lucky, Highness, and my luck only runs in certain ways, none of them very useful.”

“But I hear that you back privateer ships. That’s very useful. May I ask you something?”

“Of course, Highness. Anything.”

“We’re said to be distant kin. Why aren’t you at court?”

Grinning, Seregil flipped a bakshi stone in the air and caught it. “Because I’m not very respectable, Highness.”

“But you were at court for a time?”

“When I was very young.”

“I’ve heard that you were friends with Aunt Phoria and Uncle Korathan.”

“I was. I think I can say that I’m still on good terms with your uncle.”

“And Aunt Klia. That’s why I wondered-But you’ve already said. So why aren’t you on good terms with the queen?”

How to answer that? “Well, as I said, I’ve become a bit of a wastrel over the years.”

“You don’t seem like a wastrel at all. And Lord Alec certainly doesn’t,” she said, then blushed.

“I’m afraid I’m rather a bad influence on Alec. And I suspect your mother and aunts would agree.”

“That’s not what Aunt Klia says. She says the alliance with Aurenen would never have been struck if not for you. And that you and Lord Alec helped save her life when she was poisoned.”

“She honors us. We only helped.”

The princess surprised him with an unexpectedly shrewd look. “If she trusts you, then you both are worthy of trust. I won’t forget that when I’m queen.”

Reltheus wandered over just then, carrying a three-legged stool. “You two are looking very serious over a game,” he said, sitting down beside the table.

“Lord Seregil is teaching me strategy,” she told him. “But you were right about his luck.”

Reltheus chuckled. “Seregil, you better mind your manners or you’re likely to end up in the Tower again.”

“I’d forgotten that,” said the princess. “But Grandmother did let you out.”

“I’d rather not take my chances there again,” Seregil replied with a wink.

“I won’t send you there, at least not for beating me at the stones. Reltheus, will you give me a game so I can try out my new skills?”

Seregil rose and bowed. “May you have Illior’s luck, Highness.”

He was aware of jealous eyes on him as he searched out Alec, who was dozing under a birch tree. Seregil sat down with his back against the white trunk and settled himself as if for a nap, then kept watch under his eyelashes.

Presently Elani stood up from the bakshi table, laughing over something Reltheus had said, and joined her ladies to nap in the shade. Reltheus sat where he was, looking pensive, until Tolin and Stenmir joined him and the three strolled off into the forest.

Seregil waited until they were out of sight, then stood and stretched, and ambled off in the opposite direction. As soon as he was in the cover of the trees, however, he quickly skirted the clearing and soon caught sight of Reltheus’s red coat. The three nobles were standing on the path, heads together, deep in conversation. Seregil had worn his brown coat for just such a chance. Keeping low, he stole silently closer to a hiding spot behind a fallen tree.

“How could you be so careless?” Tolin hissed.

Reltheus gave him a dark look. “It was intercepted from the courier before it ever reached me. There was little I could do about that.”

“What are we going to do? Are you certain the duke has it?”

“Yes.” Reltheus started off along the path again, deeper into the woods, and Seregil followed, staying just close enough to hear what was said.

“We must get it back!” Tolin hissed. “It’s not just your head on the block if he goes to the prince with it. Have you told Kyrin?”

“Of course I have.”

“Any more word from the north, Reltheus?” asked Stenmir.

“No, and nothing at the Palace. I suspect if they’d been successful in killing her, we’d have heard about it by now.”

Killing her, Seregil thought, shocked at the words. There was only one “her” he could think of that they would be speaking of. If there had been an attempt, how could Thero not know?

They passed through a clearing, and Seregil lost the thread of the conversation as he had to skirt wide to avoid being seen. All he caught were bits and pieces of some argument between Reltheus and Tolin. Stenmir said little, listening more than he spoke. The men stopped again and Seregil heard Reltheus say something about “the cat.”

Seregil’s heart skipped a beat at that, doubting the conspirators would be discussing someone’s mouser. A stop in at the Stag and Otter might be in order when he got back to the city.

He shadowed them back to the others, but their conversation had turned to the war and Phoria.

“I would wish no harm on her, of course, but it might simplify things,” Tolin observed, and he seemed to be still speaking of the queen.

Simplify what for whom? Seregil wondered. The most obvious answer was that Phoria’s untimely demise would clear the way for Elani to take the throne, and assure Reltheus’s interests if the girl wed Danos. If that were the case, and he suspected it was, then Phoria’s life might be in as much jeopardy as Klia’s.

“Enough of that. We’re too close,” Reltheus warned. Then, raising his voice a little, “Tolin, do tell me about that new kestrel of yours. You must bring her to my next hunt.”

Seregil faded into the trees and hurried back to his place beside Alec before Reltheus and the others appeared on the far side of the clearing.

Alec cracked an eyelid as he sat down and murmured, “Find what you were looking for?”

“Mmm,” Seregil replied noncommittally as he signed yes. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

When the heat of the day had passed, the courtiers roused themselves and there were games, more shooting, and wading at the shoreline to catch shrimps and collect periwinkles and black mussels.

Alec won a few shatta and purposely lost a few, too, to avoid bad feelings. There was no question that the more time either he or Seregil spent in Elani’s presence, the more they were regarded as interlopers of low degree.

As night fell, the servants built a bonfire on the beach and everyone gathered around to eat mussels boiled in wine and spices and sing under the stars. Seregil was loaned a harp again and sang a love ballad in his lilting tenor, then called on the company to join him in more love songs and warriors’ lays, finishing with a few ballads celebrating the queen’s battles.

At last they were rowed back to the ship and sailed home across the glittering harbor. At the quay Elani bid them good night and rode off with her court.

Collecting their horses from a public stable, Alec and Seregil started for home through the backstreets of the Lower City.

“You wouldn’t mind staying at the Stag tonight, would you?” Seregil murmured.

“No, why?”

Seregil’s grin flashed pale in the starlight. “Just a bit of business, if we’re lucky.”

As they turned into Cod Street, Alec noticed a young bawd sprawled awkwardly near the open doorway of a tavern. He first supposed she was either drunk or murdered, until he saw that her eyes were wide open and that she was still breathing. He reined in and dismounted.

“What are you doing?” Seregil asked impatiently.

“She’s alive.” He touched her brow with his palm. “Like that boy we found.”

Seregil joined him and pressed two fingers against the inside of her wrist. “Her pulse is strong.”

“You there! What are you up to?” a man demanded, and Alec turned to find a blue-coated sergeant of the City Watch regarding them with obvious suspicion.

“We just found her like this,” he explained.

“Oh, pardon me, my lords,” the man said, taking in their fine clothing. Then, looking down at the woman, he shook his head. “Sakor’s Flame, another one?”

“You’ve seen this before?” asked Seregil.

The man came a bit closer, but Alec could tell he was nervous. “Mostly back away from the merchants’ streets. It’s the sleeping death, all right.”

“The what?”

“Some new sickness here around the waterfront,” the bluecoat explained, taking a step back. “We’re seeing a lot of it, here in the dog days. A person will just be walking along, then all of a sudden they stagger and go down, then just lie there. After a while, they die. Leave her. The Scavengers will see to her.”

“But she’s not dead,” said Alec.

“The Scavengers are the only ones who’ll handle these poor beggars, except for the drysians. It’s spreading, you know, though folks aren’t talking about it, on account of what could happen.”

“Quarantine,” said Seregil.

“Yes, if there are enough cases reported that it’s deemed a contagion, the whole Lower City could be cut off. And you can bet the traders don’t want that. Not on account of a few whores and their brats falling sick. Things are bad enough already. Now you two move on, and see that you wash your hands. I’ve heard it said these sick ones are unclean.”

“If that’s the case, then shouldn’t there be a lot of dead Scavengers and drysians, too?” asked Seregil.

The sergeant snorted. “The Scavengers are bred to filth. Ain’t nothing that kills them but each other. And the drysians

have their Maker to protect ’em. Go on, now. You’d best be on your way, my lords.”

Seregil swung up into the saddle and gave Alec a surreptitious wink. “Clearly, there’s nothing we can do for her.”

They rode slowly around the block, giving the sergeant and his men time to move on, then circled back. Alec carried the woman and Seregil led the horses as they took her to the little Dalnan temple where they’d taken the boy. People they passed along the way shied away from them, and some made warding signs against ill luck and sickness.

They rang the bell and, after a time, a sleepy-looking young drysian looked out, then quickly opened the gate so they could bring the woman in.

“How many of these people have you seen?” Seregil asked the drysian when they were inside.

“A boy was brought in yesterday, but I’ve heard of more,” he replied. He took the woman in his arms and led them through the temple, with its stone hearth altar carved with sheaves and fruit, to an inner room beyond. A young boy with dark brown hair and eyes lay on a straw pallet, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

The acolyte spread a pallet for the young woman and covered her with a blanket.

“I’d like to speak with the priestess, Brother,” Alec told him.

“Of course, my lord.”

The man disappeared, and a moment later the priestess they’d spoken with before joined them.

“This one’s from one of the Hake Street houses,” she said as she bent over the stricken woman. “I’ve cured her of the usual things a few times. I suppose this is a kinder end for her than many she could have come to.”

“You’re probably right.” Alec reached into the purse at his belt and gave her two new-minted silver sesters.

The drysian took them with a weary sigh. “Maker’s Mercy on you, for your kindness and generosity.”

“How long has the boy been here?” asked Seregil.

“His mother brought him to me two days ago.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, he’s the candlewick maker’s son, Teus.”

“You handle these people without any fear, it seems. No gloves. No bird beak masks full of herbs.”

“It didn’t occur to me to do so, when the first one was brought to me,” she explained. “By the time others came, I was quite certain it was not a contagion spread by touch.”

“That’s not what the bluecoat we just met said,” Alec told her. “And some of the folk we met on the way treated us like we had plague.”

“I’m beginning to think it might be one,” she replied. “But you, young sir-you carried her with no thought of danger?”

“The same as you, Sister. We’ve encountered this before and I didn’t catch anything.”

She patted his arm. “You’ve good hearts, my lords, to stop for such a girl.”

“We’re all one under the Maker’s eye, Sister,” Alec replied.

“You’re a Dalnan?” she asked in surprise.

“Raised one.”

“Good! Not enough of us down here in the south. Those flame and moon worshipers could learn a thing or two from us. Maker’s Mercy, my lords.”

“And to you.”

They rode up through the deserted Harbor Way and through the Sea Market.

As they threaded their way through the poor neighborhood beyond, Alec turned sharply in his saddle, peering down a side street and reined his horse around.

“What is it?”

“I could swear I just saw Atre pass under a street lantern down there.”

Seregil shrugged. “His old Basket Street theater isn’t far from here.”

“What would he be doing back there?”

“Who knows? Come on.”

The Stag and Otter was shuttered for the night. They approached carefully, making sure not to be seen coming here in noble dress.

Entering the darkened kitchen, Seregil went to the broad

mantel over the hearth and took down the large painted pitcher that stood in the center of it. Inside were two folded parchment packets, both sealed with wax that bore no emblem.

Alec shook his head. “More work! Just what we need.”

Upstairs they lit a few lamps. Seregil sat down on the couch and told Alec all he’d heard on the island.

“You think they tried to assassinate Klia?” Alec exclaimed. “By the Light, Seregil, how could Korathan not know? The news should have been all over the city!”

“Not if he didn’t want it to be. As vicegerent, he has to keep the peace and he doesn’t need any fuel being heaped on the fire of unrest he’s already contending with. I just can’t imagine Thero not knowing. It will be interesting to see what he has to say about it. But now to these.”

Alec leaned over Seregil’s shoulder to read with him as he opened each letter.

“Another bauble delivery,” Seregil said as he read the first one. Tossing it aside, he opened the second and showed it to Alec. “Just as I thought.”

“Someone wants us to burgle Malthus’s house?”

“Yes, and look at this clever phrasing. For ‘any missives of interest to the queen.’ ”

“That must have been what you heard Reltheus and the others talking about.”

“I’d say so. Reltheus must have sent this before we sailed this morning. Does the handwriting look familiar to you?”

“No, but the sender might have had someone else write it for them.”

A great cloak of secrecy surrounded the workings of the Cat, requiring any message back and forth to pass through a number of trusted hands. Not only did this system protect the Cat from being unmasked, but it made their noble patrons feel safe dealing with them. Whatever they found would be passed to one of several people, who would pass it on to others, until it reached the agent of the person buying their services. Money changed hands in the same manner.

“It’s risky. If he caught us, knowing who we are?” Alec shook his head doubtfully.

“It’s riskier for Malthus if we don’t, though, Alec. If the Cat doesn’t take the job, whoever sent this will just employ a less sympathetic, and probably less discreet agent. And it’s hardly the first time we’ve burgled the house of someone we know. The Cat would be out of a job if we made such distinctions!”

“I suppose so.”

Seregil went to the desk, took out a piece of charcoal he kept for the purpose, and scrawled Yes in crooked letters across the missive. Resealing it with tallow from a cheap candle, he disappeared downstairs to return it to the pitcher for delivery. Ema’s husband was the first of many couriers, taking the Cat’s replies to a run-down tavern called the Black Feather, where Seregil, in disguise, of course, had an agreement of many years with the landlord.

And so it began.