Storm Warning

to divine Solaris' position from Karal's attitude, and to keep up the illusion that Solaris was still undecided, Karal was forced to be distinctly cool to the poor man. It took all of Karal's ability to keep from revealing the whole trick with his reaction to the poor fellow's disappointment in learning nothing.

He eliminated the next few 'fishers' on grounds that they were not likely to have a pretext that would let them move in and out of private rooms at will. Then came another long, dry spell; his sober face and black robes seemed to put people off, making their expressions of sympathy hurried and nervous.

He resigned himself to a fruitless, boring evening.

Ah, well, at least I tried—

'Master Secretary?' said a squeaky voice at his elbow.

He turned, and had to think long and hard before he could identify the fellow who had greeted him. He was utterly nondescript to begin with, and had the demeanor and apparently the personality of a mole—

'—ah, my condolences, Master Secretary,' the mole said, squinting at him and twisting his hands nervously together. 'You probably wouldn't recall me, I suppose, I'm not important or wealthy or—'

The spot of green paint caught in the cuticle of one finger gave him away.

'Of course I recall you, sir,' Karal replied, in a properly subdued manner. 'Master Celandine, is it not? The painter?'

'The artist, yes, and I was terribly grieved to hear about Master Ulrich, terribly,' the mole replied, his fingers knotting together until his hands resembled a nest of worms. 'I hope—I pray—that your gracious mistress will not take this incident badly—oh, dear, no—that would be dreadful, dreadful—'

'I suppose from the Valdemaran point of view it would,' Karal replied, with careful neutrality. There was something about this man... something nagging at the back of his mind.

'Oh, I'm not from Valdemar, but it would be personally dreadful for me all the same,' Celandine replied. 'My pigments—so difficult to obtain, you understand, and before the Alliance so terribly expensive—'

A tiny thread of warning slipped down Karal's back, and his hands went cold. He's always sending people off after pigments and colors, I remember him saying that when Ulrich sat for a portrait. He must have at least one package coming in every fortnight or so! Could it be? Oh, surely not! This fellow was so ineffectual he couldn't possibly be their quarry! Everyone at court made fun of him and his pretensions of genius!

Then again, came the nagging response, wouldn't that make him ideal for the part? How better to observe people than when they think you're insignificant?

'—I wondered if your mistress would still be interested in that official portrait, or if she would prefer to wait until the next envoy was assigned or even have your little sketch turned into a portrait instead?'

Bright Sunlord! Didn't An'desha say the mage must have had something personal in order to set the weapons, or some kind of image? This man paints portraits, he sketches people in Court circles all day long and no one ever thinks anything about it!

:Karal,: said Altra carefully, :I think you may have something in this one. Can you get him to take you to his studio? I may be able to find real evidence, rooting around like a cat.:

'Perhaps,' he said, assuming more dignity. 'I have been given to understand that if the Alliance continues, the latter would be the most likely option.'

The mole's tiny black eyes lit up, but before he could say anything else, Karal continued.

'That portrait of my—my Master, though, the one you mentioned,' he continued, and it did not take any acting at all for his eyes to mist over. 'I would like to have it for myself. Is it anywhere near completed?'

'Oh, yes! Yes, it is!' The mole was positively babbling. 'Would you care to come to my studio to view it?'

:Excellent,: Altra applauded. :I'll warn Florian and he can warn Kerowyn through Sayvil. Go with him now, before he changes his mind!:

'I would very much like to see it,' Karal said in complete and sincere honesty as he wiped his eyes. 'Please.'

The mole eagerly led the way down the hall toward the quarters of those who were not quite highborn, but were not servants, either. Altra padded along behind, tail in the air,