such inadequate perches. But she never lost her grip, nor did she ever come to a spot from which it was impossible to descend farther, and in a few minutes she alit on solid ground.
She felt a pang of satisfaction, but knew better than to stand about congratulating herself. A guard could still wander out onto the alure and spot her lurking at the base of the wall. She darted across the strip of frozen flowerbeds and pungent evergreens that ran along the rear of the mansion, vaulted the low wrought-iron fence, and scurried away down the street. She kept her hands inside her mantle and rubbed them together until they were warm.
Selgaunt was a city that never truly slumbered. Some merchant nobles, hoping to gain an advantage over their competitors, ran their manufactories round the clock, and there were nearly always merrymakers carousing, be they aristocrats dripping lace and jewels or ragged apprentices with scarcely a copper among them. Yet Shamur soon discerned that tonight the streets were largely empty, and the night was unusually quiet. Apparently the cold and snow had driven folk indoors.
At the first opportunity, she headed south, and as she neared the city wall, the houses and shops grew humbler, and on a few narrow side streets, downright shabby. Some of the men abroad in the night moved furtively, like mice sneaking through the domain of a cat, or wolves shadowing unwitting prey. Others strode with high heads and scornful eyes, displaying the arrogance of the seasoned bravo.
Shamur decided it would be wise to traverse this particular precinct circumspectly. She wished Larajin's cloak were black or charcoal gray, like the garments she herself had worn when committing her youthful indiscretions, but maroon would do, and at least the mantle was long and full enough to mask any trace of the white gown beneath. She swept every wisp of her pale, shining hair back into her cowl, then proceeded on her way. She didn't move on tiptoe, crouch, or dart from one bit of cover to the next. She didn't want anyone who might happen to spot her to realize she was trying to be stealthy. Still, keeping to the shadows, she blended into the darkness like a ghost. When a patrol of Scepters, the city guards, impressively martial in their black, silver-trimmed leather armor and green weathercloaks, came marching down the street, they passed within eight feet of her and never knew.
The snow was falling heavier, and the frigid breeze off Selgaunt Bay was moaning louder by the time Shamur reached Lampblack Alley. The cramped passage was as dark as its name suggested, for unlike the residents of more affluent neighborhoods, none of the inhabitants had seen fit to leave a light burning outside his door for the convenience of callers and passersby. Still, she could see that several yards down, just where the alley doglegged to the left, hung a signboard daubed with an alembic, mortar, and pestle.
Shamur strode toward the shop, and after a few paces, began to catch the telltale odor of an alchemist or apothecary's establishment: a complex amalgam of scents, some sweet, some foul, and all mixed with the tang of smoke and burning.
Light shone through the shutters, and voices murmured behind the four-paneled door as well. Pleased that it apparently wouldn't be necessary to rouse Audra Sweet-dreams from her bed, Shamur tapped with the tarnished brass lion's mask door knocker.
The voices fell silent, and the light went out. Shamur smiled wryly, for she suspected she knew what was going on. She'd lived through the same moment herself a time or two. The people inside were hastily concealing the evidence of some criminal enterprise, or perhaps even preparing to flee out another exit.
'It's not the Scepters,' Shamur called. 'It's no one who means you any harm. I need your help, and I'm willing to pay for it.'
When no one answered, she stooped to inspect the lock, and saw that it was nothing much. With her long- lost set of thiefs tools, she could have opened it in a trice, and perhaps she could manage with a hairpin even now. But it might be quicker simply to kick in the door.
A scraping sound prompted her to straighten up, whereupon she saw that dim light shone within the shop again, and a small panel above the lion's mask had opened. A pair of dark eyes peered out of the spy hole. 'What kind of help do you want?' asked a husky contralto voice.
'The answers to a few questions,' Shamur said. 'Are you Audra Sweetdreams?'
'I might be. You mentioned payment.'
Shamur reached behind her back, unfastened her pouch, extracted a coin, and held the white round up for the apothecary to see.
The panel bumped shut, and Shamur heard whispering, though as before, she couldn't make out the words. After a minute, the lock clicked and the door creaked open. 'Come in,' Audra Sweetdreams said.
The apothecary was a short, round-faced dumpling of a woman who, Shamur now saw, had needed to climb up on a stool to peek through the spy hole. She appeared to be in her fifties, and might have looked harmless, like some child's doting grandmother, if not for the slyness in her dimpled smile. She wore a slovenly brown gown covered with stains and burn marks.
In the corner lounged a dull-eyed fellow clad in a grimy scarlet doublet with the points undone. His skull was oddly shaped, pointed like an egg, and as if proud of this peculiarity, he'd shaved his head. He looked Shamur up and down, leered in approval, and casually saluted with the half-eaten chicken leg in his hand.
The shop itself was a chaos of crates and kegs. Bundles of dried, aromatic herbs and desiccated lizards dangled from the rafters. Animal teeth, bits of bone, dead beetles, and mushrooms caps lay scattered about the bases of a series of ceramic jars. On the same shelf reposed half a dozen empty green bottles, formed by a glassblower into slender whorled shapes of surprising beauty. Shamur surmised that Audra must use the vials for expensive compounds concocted for aristocratic patrons.
Compounds like poison and patrons like Thamalon, perhaps.
'What do you want to know?' Audra asked.
'First off,' Shamur replied, 'I want to know if you've ever concocted a venom lethal to women but harmless to men.'
Audra's eyes widened in astonishment, or at least a simulation of it. 'Mistress, this is a reputable establishment. How can you imagine I would ever deal in poisons? Well, to rid a home of rats and other vermin, but never for any sinister purpose.'
Shamur tossed the platinum sun onto a stone table laden with retorts and an oven like those employed by potters. The coin shone in the light of enchanted bronze burners capable of producing a steady, adjustable jet of flame, which the apothecary evidently used like simple candles when not mixing remedies and elixirs. The noblewoman then brought out her blue leather purse, showing how fat it was. The money inside clinked.
'It's all platinum,' Shamur said, 'and all yours, if you help me. But don't waste my time. Do you brew such a poison or not?'
The plump woman hesitated. 'I know it exists. I might be able to make it.'
'I need to know if you ever have made it.'
Audra grimaced. 'Please understand, I don't know you, Mistress, nor do I know how you found me. I just might find my hand on the chopping block if I speak the wrong word in the wrong ear.'
Shamur's mouth tightened. 'Do I look like an informer?'
Audra shrugged. 'I haven't yet decided what you look like.'
'I assure you, I don't care about anything you've done recently, any affair in which the Scepters might still be interested. I want to find out about something that happened nearly thirty years ago, to Shamur Karn, daughter of Lindrian. No harm will come to you-'
Something smashed into the back of Shamur's head, and even as she fell forward, she realized what it must have been. She'd kept a wary eye on the shaven-headed lout in the corner, but unfortunately, Audra had another confederate in the room. Someone who'd hidden before Shamur ever came in, sneaked up behind her while the apothecary held her attention, and clubbed her.
At first she hadn't felt anything except a kind of shock, but as she sprawled on the floor, the pouch tumbling from her grasp, pain roared through her skull. It was so fierce that she wasn't sure she could move, but she knew she'd better try. She couldn't withstand a second such blow. If Larajin's thick wool cowl hadn't cushioned the first, she would no doubt be unconscious already.
A man bent over her, a sap in his hand. Her vision was blurry, but she could make out a braided black beard and the stained, uneven teeth exposed by a malicious grin. She wrenched herself onto her back, drew her legs up, and drove her feet into her attacker's gut.
Blackboard grunted and stumbled backward. Shamur rolled under a table and into the next makeshift aisle haphazardly snaking its way through Audra's heaps of possessions.
