Exile's Valor

Now, Alberich knew he was no expert when it came to women’s dress, especially not here in Valdemar, but there were some commonalities among the ladies of negotiable virtue everywhere, and this lot showed every one of the sartorial signs. There were flounces and ribbons and curls and painted cheeks and lips, all done to excess. Colors were bright (including hair color, for all three sported hair of colors not normally found in nature), there was a great deal of cleavage, a great deal of bare arm and shoulder, and even a scandalous amount of leg showing. Jewelry was positioned the way a general arranged his best troops, with the intent of directing the enemy’s sight to a particular object.

“Well, my lovelies,” Norris said genially, as they clustered around him like gaudy butterflies around a tall flower. “What brings you here?”

By this time, Norris had the attention of everyone in the room, and very well knew it. He was playing for the crowd, and the crowd sensed it was going to get a free show—short, maybe, but nonetheless, free.

“You,” said the boldest, flirting acid-yellow hair at him. “We’ve a bet on that you can’t take all three of us at once.”

The entire room howled with laughter, in which Norris joined, throwing back his head and roaring. “In that case,” he shouted, and Alberich at last looked up with an affronted expression on his face, “You’re doomed to lose, my bawd!”

“In that case,” cried the second of the trio, with hair the same blue-black as a raven’s wing, boldly twining herself around him, “we win!”

In the barrage of laughter that followed that sally, Norris seized the bold one, picked her up in his arms, and trailing the other two, went straight up the stairs to his room.

Now it was entirely possible that all that had been a ruse to cover Norris’ exit through a window, but Alberich didn’t think so. For one thing, that new corner room would be cursed difficult to get out of without being seen. For another, Norris had looked as surprised as anyone else with the whores’ replies. So there it was. He might as well go home, since not even Norris could—Well, it would take him the rest of the night, if he was going to make good on his boast and not lose the bet. And that was one sort of bet that a man like Norris could not bear to lose.

He shut his book and went over to “his” room. He took off his tunic and turned it inside-out; now it was brown moleskin. He stuffed the hat in the satchel of books and papers. Now he looked like a well-off working man, probably enjoying a night out. He saturated a rag with sendal oil and used it to take off his “wrinkles,” then doused his head in the basin to wash his hair clean of the streaks of gray he had painted in. He rumpled up the bed, making sure it looked slept in, and left other signs of recent occupation. And when he was certain that no one was watching, he went out the window. The room was already paid for. No one would raise a hue and cry, finding it empty in the morning. He had told them that he expected to be away by first light. They’d simply assume he had been as good as his word.

Still, he did have one thing; that rather sordid business about the unknown young woman. There might be something in that worth investigating later.

I suppose I can get some sort of list of wealthy young women who have full rights to their fortunes somewhere, he reflected. And whichever one posts the banns in the next moon or so would probably be the one I’m looking for.

He was so involved in his own thoughts that he actually wasn’t even thinking about his Companion—until Kantor himself startled him.

:Great good gods!: exclaimed Kantor in his mind, surprising him so much that he stumbled over his own two feet. He recovered without falling, but he was thoroughly irritated when he answered back.

:What?: he snapped.

:The masquerade!: Kantor exclaimed. :Selenay—at the masquerade —she just picked Karathanelan in front of everyone at the masquerade!:

:Picked him for what?: Alberich began with even more irritation, and then, of course, it dawned on him. Kantor would hardly be this shocked over the young Queen choosing a dancing partner. :She chose the Prince of Rethwellan as her Consort? But—: Now he was bewildered a little, by all that he did not know about Valdemar. :Can she do that? Just pick someone like that?:

:She can, and she has,: was Kantor’s reply. :We had better get back up the hill and quickly. Every Herald in Haven is going to want to say something about this.:

Since Alberich was already moving as fast as he could without being obvious, he saved his breath for running. Which he did when he got into the alleys where no one was there to see him. It seemed to take forever before he was safely in his little room at the back of the Bell’s stables, though he knew rationally that he’d made good time.

In a remarkably short period of time, Alberich was back in his gray leathers, and they were cantering through the streets, heading for the Collegium.

:What happened, exactly?: Alberich asked, moving easily with Kantor’s gait, and keeping a sharp eye out for unwary pedestrians.