Exile's Valor

“I’m not usually good at this, but I heard a footstep that I know just before I said something. It’s Norris.”

Well, that put a different complexion on things. “So the three bawds—?”

“A ruse. Maybe he isn’t as sure of me as I thought. So—hmm. Now what do we do?”

“You go up to your room, and I say good night. Then I see what your friend does next.”

They had, because Alberich always liked to plan for every possible contingency, planned for this one as well. Myste did have a room here—in fact, it was one of several that Heralds could use if they needed one; if, for instance, there was a major convocation of Heralds and all the beds at the Collegium were full. They were very spartan in nature, hardly more than closets with bunks in them, identical to the servants’ rooms and exactly the sort of thing that a clerk would get in trade for his services to an inn. So when they reached the door of the Bell, they parted company as old friends rather than anything more intimate, and Myste used her key to the side entrance where the long-term residents and inn servants had their rooms. Alberich clumped off, made certain that their follower hadn’t followed him, then reversed his coat to the matte-black side, and ghosted back.

Sure enough, there was Norris, hidden, and hidden relatively well, in a shadow across the street. After a moment, one of the little windows in the garret rooms glowed as a candle was brought inside. Alberich was about to suggest to Myste with Mindspeech that she go to the window, when she did just that without his needing to prompt her. She not only went to it, she opened it, and sat in it for several moments, as if enjoying the warm, spring night. Even though she was probably dying to peer down into the street to look for their follower, she did nothing of the sort; instead, she took off her lenses, rubbed her eyes as if she was tired, and sat back with her head against the side of the window frame and her eyes—as far as Alberich could tell—closed.

:Is the kitty still stalking me?:

:Yes, he is,: Alberich replied.

:Persistent beast. I don’t suppose you can think of anything that will make him go away?:

:I am working on just that,: he told her, although in truth, he was coming up rather dry as to ideas.

After all the times when his admirers have been a nuisance to get around, this is one time when I wish some of them would appear, he thought crossly.

:How many would you like?: came Kantor’s interested query.

He blinked. :Why do you ask?:

:Because there is an entire table full of young women from the audience this evening here. They wanted to get a table there, but you know how it is—:

Yes, indeed, Alberich knew very well how it was. Norris’ company was, by far, the most popular in Haven in a very long time. On the nights when there were plays, it was impossible to get a table in his inn, either before or after the play. The innkeeper had taken to doing the unheard of—making reservations for tables. There were people who had waited as long as three weeks before being able to take their pre-play dinner or after-play supper in Norris’ presumed presence.

:—at any rate, all they’ve done is talk about Norris since they got here. They’re very loud, and I think, a bit tipsy.: There were distinct overtones of snigger in Kantor’s voice. :I can’t imagine how they’d be useful to you, though.:

:Oh, I can—:

He slipped away from his hiding place, went into the alley, in through the secret room at the back of the stables, and changed into, not his clothing, but his uniform. This was not even his gray Weaponsmaster’s garb, but the Heraldic Whites that he seldom, if ever, wore. He had kept a set down here for just this reason. He wanted to be noticed this time, but he wanted all the attention to be on his clothing, not his face.

Then he strolled openly into the Bell, and listened for the sound of female voices. It didn’t take him long to hear them, for as Kantor had said, they were both loud and tipsy, the latter probably being the cause of the former.

:All right, Myste,: he Mindspoke. :Yawn, stretch, put out your candle and go to bed. You shouldn’t have to stay there much longer.:

:I’m alive with curiosity.:

The Bell had more than one public room; there was the main tavern area, and several supper rooms that were intended more for eating in than drinking. He entered the room where the young—and not so young—women were, as if looking about, possibly for a place to sit.