The Prisoner of Limnos

V

In the moonless shadows, Penric looked up and down the long wall that surrounded what Nikys claimed was the Xarre estate a few miles east of Thasalon. He hoped she was right in her identification; all the walls in this suburban area had looked alike to him. They’d dismissed their coach half a mile back, to conceal their destination from the curious postilion, and it had made a long, nervous trudge in the gloom.

He extended his hand to the lock on the postern gate, and thought, Des.

The heavy iron mechanism fell open to this well-practiced magic. Pen held the thick plank door ajar for Nikys, and she hoisted their luggage and slipped inside. Pen closed it as silently as possible after them.

Pen concealed their cases behind a healthy flowering bush, outlier of the extensive garden. “Can you see well enough not to trip?” he whispered.

“Not really,” Nikys murmured back. He reached for her hand and led her off down the winding paths that were not dark to him.

There were supposed to be guards, she’d told him, if more like caretakers than soldiers, and dogs let loose at night. No sign of the first, but within minutes a pair of the second came bounding up, snarling. A quick tap of nerve-tweak stopped their alarm-barks, followed up barely soon enough by a brief shamanic geas to persuade them that these intruders were not enemies, but the best of friends. So they were slammed into not by an attack, but by an attack of sociability. Tails wagged like cudgels, thumping into Pen’s thighs as the beasts swirled around them. A couple of haunches of beef might have worked as well as pacifiers, Pen thought, had he possessed them.

“These aren’t dogs, they’re ponies,” gasped Pen, fighting for his balance.

“Mastiffs,” nodded Nikys. “Ew, stop licking me, you huge thing!”

Pen fended off tongues the size of washing cloths, and a miasma of slime and dog-breath. With this unwanted, but at least silent, honor guard panting around them, they made their way to another long, blank wall, the exterior of the residence proper. In the usual Cedonian style, the manse was built around an inner court, giving a cold stone shoulder to the outside. But it was three floors high, and a lot larger than Pen was used to seeing. There were neither windows nor entries on this side of the ground floor, locked or no, but the stories above were pierced with a number of long doors opening onto wooden balconies. Golden candlelight filtered through a few of the delicate carved lattices.

Nikys squinted into the shadows and counted down the doors. “That one,” she whispered, pointing up to one of the glowing screens. “Second floor.”

The wall was entirely without handy ladders or climbing vines. “You do know my powers don’t extend to flying, right?”

“You were a mountaineer. You said?” Her look up at him was far too expectant.

“I was younger. And lighter. And stupider.” Nonetheless, he approached and studied the problem, mapping out the slight cracks and irregularities in the stuccoed surface. Maybe. Although a stone tossed up against the shutters might do to draw attention, he’d be happier to assure himself first it was the right attention.

“Could you stand on my shoulders to get a start up? You’re not that heavy a man…”

Pen disliked this picture, but there seemed no other way. He had her brace against the wall, planning his leap to linger on this prop as briefly as possible. He took a deep breath and bounded, one, two—he could feel her straining body dip beneath his feet—and just caught one hand-grip on the balcony’s edge. Then another. A foot-shove against the wall, alarming when a bit of old stucco gave way. Then heave up and over the balustrade.

He landed crouching as quietly as he could, then unfolded to tiptoe over and try to peek through the lattice. A well-appointed sitting room, it looked like, the scent of expensive beeswax candles, but he saw no identifiable figures.

He tapped cautiously on the carving. “Hello?”

Only Des allowed him to evade, narrowly, the silent thrust of a thin knife blade through the lattice.

He yelped, and yelped again as the door slammed open, bashing him hard in the nose. A swift figure, a swirl of fabrics, and he was spun about. A wiry arm snaked up through one of his own, yanking back and immobilizing it, and the blade snapped to his neck.

And stopped, although pressing alarmingly into his skin. A hot huff of breath puffed against his ear.

Don’t move! said Des, redundantly. That blade is poisoned!

All of Penric’s carefully rehearsed introductions flew wide into the night, and he gasped out only, “I’m with Nikys!”

A hesitation, thank the Bastard, though the grip didn’t slacken. “On your knees,” came an edgy tenor voice, sounding as sharp and dangerous as the blade. “Face the light.”

Pen descended at once, free hand going up palm-out in surrender. Or prayer, either one just now. The steel grasp released him. Quick steps circled him, and Pen looked up past fine linen trousers and a fall of an embroidered silk outer robe to a beardless, scowling face as pale as the absent moon. Thick white hair was drawn back from the brow in some queue or braid.

A female voice sounded from within the chamber: “Sura, what is it?”

“An intruder. It seems.”

“Visitors, I assure you!” protested Pen.

“You pick an odd way of presenting yourself.”

“We are on an odd errand.”

The other leaf of the lattice swung open. “Stay inside, Lady Tanar!” the man commanded.

Ah, said Des. At least we seem to be in the right place. Good.

Disregarding this, the woman emerged. Slender, a little shorter than Nikys, also hung about with rich fabrics, loosed in the cooling late-summer night. She evaded the man’s half-hearted attempt to strongarm her back within, instead tripping to the balcony rail and peering over into the shadows. “Nikys?”

“Tanar?”

“I thought you were in Orbas!”

“We were. We got your note to Adelis. And traveled as quickly as we could. Can you come and let me in before your dogs drown me in drool? We probably should not be seen before we can talk.”

“Oh, dear. Stay there, I’ll be right down.”

Lady Tanar darted back inside. The white-haired man made a futile noise of protest, half jerking in her wake, but then turned back to guard his prisoner, the unknown threat. He’d recognized Nikys’s voice, apparently. Pen tried to feel reassured by that.

“Can I get up now?” he asked humbly.

The man thought about this for a moment. “Slowly.”

Pen complied, entering the sitting chamber at his gesture. One pale hand made the knife disappear inside his robe, and the man rolled his shoulders, allowing his murderous air to dissipate.

He’s carrying four blades concealed, Des reported. And every one is poisoned. She considered. Drugged, anyway. They are not all the same.

In the better light from the mirrored wall sconces, Pen could see the man’s irises were a thin carmine; likely they showed pink when the pupil contracted in daylight. His pinched eyebrows, too, were white. His face was fine-boned and regular, if tense. An old scar puckered the left side of his mouth, giving an impression of a permanent smirk, belied just now by the downturned right. His snowy braided queue, tied off with colored silk, reached halfway to his waist.

My word, said Des. That one’s almost as pretty as you, Pen.

Pen ignored this. But he bid a glum goodbye to his prior mental image of the pudgy, timid eunuch secretary, swapping it out for this overdressed white snake of an assassin standing taut before him. “Master Bosha, I presume?”

A short nod. “And who are you?”

“My name is Penric. I’ve taken the duties of Madame Khatai’s courier for this journey.”

“Do you know what this journey is in aid of?”

“Yes.”

The carmine eyes narrowed. “I see.” He reached into his robe—Pen tensed—but the manicured hand emerged holding only a fine cotton handkerchief. Ironed and scented. He handed it blandly across to Pen. “Don’t drip on the carpet.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Pen mopped at his upper lip, wet with blood. His price for the shamanic compulsion on the dogs, but let Bosha assume it was from the violent encounter with the door; maybe he’d feel guilty. Likely it was the result of both. The cloth grew saturated before the trickle stopped, at about the same time the door onto the courtyard gallery opened and Lady Tanar slid through, followed by Nikys.

Nikys pressed her hand to her breast and sighed out relief as Tanar closed the door and locked it, as though they had reached a safe refuge after their arduous journey. Pen was not so confident.

Urgently, Tanar turned to Nikys. “How is Adelis? Where is Adelis? We heard he was blinded in Patos, and then we heard he’d turned up somehow in Orbas, and none of it made sense.”

Nikys took a breath as if to answer this, but then looked imploringly at Penric.

He managed, “The seething vinegar was inadequately applied, and thanks to his sister’s good nursing, he recovered his sight. As soon as that was apparent, he fled to Orbas to save the emperor’s agents from coming back and trying again.” The official story. That Penric had rebuilt the young general’s half-boiled eyes with the most delicate and difficult week of uphill medical magics he had ever brought off was not something he wished to confide. Here or anywhere.

Nikys’s mouth compressed in silent disagreement with this reticence, but she yielded to his tacit wishes. “Duke Jurgo employed Adelis at once, and has sent him off to command his expedition against the Rusylli incursion in Grabyat. Adelis having defeated the Rusylli once before, to no imperial thanks. I can only hope Jurgo will do him better. He could hardly do him worse.”

Bosha’s lopsided lip seemed to twist in a real smirk, contemplating the gratitude of princes. He stood back with his arms folded, his attention never straying far from Penric.

“Adelis was weeks gone by the time your note came to my hand,” Nikys went on. “In exchange for not distracting him with the news, the duke supported Penric’s and my journey to try to get our mother out of Cedonia, and then to Orbas with me. Somehow.” She looked back and forth between Tanar and Bosha. “I don’t know how much aid you can give without danger to yourselves, but whatever help you can spare, I beg it of you now.”

“Of course!” cried Tanar, notably not seconded by Bosha. “You poor dear. All the way from Orbas, so swiftly? Here, you must be exhausted, come, sit. You should drink something.” She looked more doubtfully at Penric. “You too, ah, Master Penric.” A vague courtesy title, flattering if he were a mere servant. Pen didn’t think she took him for a mere servant. But he followed Nikys to the small round table with chairs placed to the side of the room, suitable for two people to take a light repast. Bosha, without comment, set two more chairs around it, brought a carafe of sweet red wine and a pitcher of drinking water from a sideboard, and served out glass goblets of the mixture all around.

That’s not poisoned, is it, Des? Pen asked in worry.

Not so far, she returned darkly. I’ll stand sentinel.

Tanar touched her lips, and asked in a lower tone, “Was he terribly burned?”

Pen watched Nikys struggle not to answer with the truth, Hideously. “It was not good. He was in dreadful pain for a while. But the scars are healing mostly flat, and confined to the upper half of his face, and the redness is supposed to fade in time. Except for his eyes; they didn’t come back brown. They are a kind of garnet color now. It unnerves people, but he says that’s fine, given his profession.”

Tanar’s own gaze flicked to Bosha and away. “That’s all right. I’ve always thought red was a lovely color for eyes.”

Bosha spread his hand on his heart and offered her an ironic seated bow, which she dismissed with an amused quirk of her lips.

“And if he has already taken up a new command, he must have made an excellent recovery.” She smiled in relief, sitting more upright.

“I thought it miraculous, myself,” said Nikys, steadfastly.

No remark, Pen? murmured Des, preening a trifle.

Hush.

Nikys turned more intently to Tanar. “What more have you found out about my mother? Does she know what happened to Adelis and me? Is she still on Limnos? Has anything worse chanced?”

“And how did you find out about her?” Pen put in.

Tanar glanced at Bosha much the way Nikys had lately glanced at Pen, seeking some permission. So, the two shared their secrets?

Bosha, after a contemplative sip of watered wine, chose to answer Pen: “My elder sister is an acolyte of the Daughter’s Order on Limnos. I visit her now and then. She was thus aware of Lady Tanar’s interest in General Arisaydia, so when Madame Gardiki was brought in, she sent me a private note.”

“I didn’t think men were allowed to enter the Order’s precincts,” said Pen, confused.

Bosha cast him a head-tilt, and said dryly, “That is correct.”

Pen gulped back an apology, in a dim notion that it would just make things worse. Likely so, murmured Des. He flushed slightly. Bosha seemed more grimly amused than offended at his discomfiture.

Bosha added to Nikys, “Your mother is still at the Order. Unharmed as far as we know. We haven’t followed up with further inquiries, because such are dangerous should they fall into the wrong hands.”

Penric wondered just whose hands those were, and what weapons they held. He supposed he’d find out in due course. Preferably not the hard way.

Bosha addressed the air between Nikys and Penric: “So what is your plan for freeing her?”

Nicks scrubbed her fingers through her curls, in disarray after the day’s travel. “All my mind has been fixed on just getting here. We get out to the island somehow, get her out somehow. Penric thinks we should make the return journey by sea, being already there.”

“By choice not on a Cedonian ship,” Pen put in. “Adriac, with luck”—Nikys shot him a sharp look—“but it will depend on what we can find most swiftly to hand.”

“Will that be the safest course?” said Tanar doubtfully. “I mean… storms. Pirates.”

“Storms I can do nothing about,” Penric granted. “Pirates are no problem.” Once they drew close enough, anyway. Letting a chaos demon loose to do her worst in some other ship’s rigging than the one they were on ought to have remarkable results.

Oh, yes, murmured Des, in gleeful anticipation; Pen gathered she’d be disappointed if pirates didn’t show up.

Nikys nodded untroubled understanding at this last. Tanar and Bosha stared, startled.

After a moment, Bosha went on, “So, you arrive, you leave, and in between, what? A miracle occurs? Your plan seems to be missing its middle.”

“I have never been to Thasalon before,” said Pen, carefully not saying, You are its middle. He suspected Bosha suspected this. “I must rely on Nikys and local knowledge for this part, but I’ll do all I can in support of her.”

“Penric smuggled Adelis and me out of Cedonia to Orbas the first time,” Nikys put in, “and he’d never been there before either. He is not without skills.” Of course, not saying what kind rather left this assertion dangling in air.

Tanar nodded, accepting this without question. Bosha as plainly did not.

Tanar rubbed her delicate neck. Her girlish figure could not compete with Nikys’s lush build, but her shining hair, braided up on her head in a complex weave with a glimmer of pearls, had reddish highlights in the candle-glow that Pen thought might show auburn in daylight, and her eyes were a clear hazel tending to the gold side. Fine skin, good teeth. It seemed it was not just her fortune that had attracted Adelis to her, and besides, at the time of his late courtship, his wealth had matched hers. Penric had more trouble imagining what had attracted Tanar to Adelis.

Oh, come, Pen, Des scoffed. Adelis is a very compelling man. Profoundly irritating at moments, I’ll give you that, but when not being an ass, and you must allow he’s had a great deal to throw him off-balance of late, ladies might find him quite magnetic.

Even disfigured as he is now? Stripped of his Cedonian properties?

Of course. Really, after eleven years with us, I should think you would understand women better.

Lady Tanar still seemed to care about him, anyway, which was entirely to their benefit.

More interestingly, in two years no other suitor has nipped in and carried her off, Des pointed out. I can’t imagine it’s for lack of trying, not with her purse.

Tanar placed a small, decisive fist upon the table. “It’s plain we can do nothing more tonight. I think it’s best if you stay right in here with us, Nikys, concealed. You can sleep with me. Sura can find a place for your, um, traveling companion.” She eyed Pen more doubtfully, but gestured at them both. “Is this all you came with?”

Pen thought of the duke’s coins, sewn in hems or otherwise concealed about both their persons, but said only, “We left our luggage in the outer garden.”

“Won’t there be servants about?” asked Nikys. “Can they be trusted?”

“Sura will keep them out from underfoot,” said Tanar, with an assured nod. “He generally does anyway.” She rose, and the rest of them perforce followed.

“Best not to involve them yet,” said Bosha. “That being the case, do show me to your belongings, Master Penric.”

“Certainly, Master Bosha.”

Bosha lit and took up a small glass candle lantern, and guided Pen out into the darkened gallery. His footfalls moved soft across the boards, and Pen tried to match the quiet as he followed the eunuch down the end stairs, through a crooked passage, and to a door in the outer end wall, locked and barred for the night. Pen wondered if Nikys had guided them in this way, might he not have come so close to being knifed? He studied Bosha’s pale braid, swinging down his back as they followed through what was no dark to Des, and gave it no better than even odds.

They wound through the garden to the concealing bush. Pen collected his medical case himself, and his other satchel, leaving Bosha to take up Nikys’s valise. Bosha lifted it and gazed thoughtfully around.

“How did you gain entry through the outer wall?”

“Nikys knew of the postern door.”

“It should have been locked.”

“I’m good with locks.”

“Is that so.”

They’d just started back when the dogs came rushing up again. Still barkless, fortunately, although they managed a growl at Bosha, returned in kind. Enough of the geas lingered that they still fawned around Pen.

“Our dogs are not normally so useless, either,” said Bosha, wading through them after his uninvited guest.

“Animals like me. And I think they recognized Nikys,” Pen offered.

As the main house loomed before them, Bosha added in a cool tone, “You should not have been able to defeat that lock. Past the lock, you should not have slipped by the dogs. Past the dogs”—he turned his head—“you should not have been able to mount the balcony. On the balcony, you should not have been able to evade my knife. Yet you somehow did all of these things, Master Penric.”

“…Madame Khatai did not chose me for her courier for no reason, sir.”

“Hnh.” Bosha added after a moment, “I quite dislike being troubled to be the last man between the hazards of the world and Lady Tanar. It takes the maids so much effort to scrub the blood out of the floorboards.”

Was that a jest? Pen cleared his throat. “It’s a rich estate. Are thieves a common problem for you here?”

Bosha shrugged. “Ordinary thieves are a task for the other retainers. Lady Xarre’s mandate to me is more exclusive.”

“Is her daughter Tanar under some special threat?”

“Say constant, rather. One too-persistent rejected suitor, last year, actually tried a more direct abduction. Why he thought he would gain forgiveness, after, I cannot imagine. Or that his hirelings would keep his secrets. We left the bodies at his front gate to be found in the morning. I believe he took the hint.”

Not a jest, then, murmured Des. Pen would rather she didn’t sound so pleased.

“I see,” said Pen, wondering what hint he was supposed to be taking.

Oh, I think it’s quite clear, said Des. …You know, I’m beginning to like this fellow. If there are any markers for a child of the Bastard he has missed, I can’t picture them. Now I am curious about his birth.

We’re not asking, Des.

Back in the sitting chamber, Bosha knocked on an adjoining door, evidently to the lady’s bedchamber. Tanar opened it brightly, received Nikys’s case, and bade them both a cheery goodnight. Pen could hear her and Nikys’s voices, quietly speaking, as the door swung shut again. Bosha led to a matching door on the opposite inner wall, opening it to another bedchamber.

He lit a brace of candles, and Penric took in a carved writing table, shelves crammed with books and papers, chests and a wardrobe along the walls, a washstand, and a narrow bed piled with folded clothing. Bosha removed the garments perfunctorily to the tops of a couple of the chests, and gestured. “You can have my bed.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Where I usually do.” He plucked nightclothes from a hook on the inside of the wardrobe and vanished back to the sitting room, shutting the door behind him.

Nonplussed, but mortally tired, Pen took advantage of the washstand, then changed into his own nightshirt. He poked briefly around the room. Bosha seemed to own a great deal more clothing than an average servant, much more finely made. The books and papers were too many to take in, but seemed mostly of a utilitarian nature—apparently, he really was Tanar’s secretary. Among his other more disturbing duties. A number of drawers and chests were locked, which wouldn’t have slowed Pen down had he further reason to pry.

Curious, and concerned because while the eunuch had put himself between Pen and Tanar, fair enough, he had also put himself between Pen and Nikys, Pen cracked the door to the sitting room and checked. Bosha, wearing a nightshirt of fine lawn, was just unrolling a wool-stuffed linen mattress down before Lady Tanar’s door. An unsheathed short sword with a chased blade sat propped by the doorjamb.

Is that one tainted too, Des?

Seems to be. I long to ask him what he is using, and how he compounds it. You ought to find that professionally interesting as well.

Do you think he brews up his own drugs? Those locked chests were suddenly more interesting.

Do you imagine he doesn’t?

A faint sound of feminine voices penetrated from the closed door beyond. Pen bet Bosha wasn’t above putting his ear to it.

Nor are you, Pen dear, but it seems the position is taken.

Pen was too exhausted to fret further tonight. Judging that they were both about as sincere as two strange cats, he exchanged polite nods with Bosha and withdrew.