Intrigues

something on his part, and not when we don’t know when that is going to happen,: Dallen agreed unhappily. :Oh Mags—I am sorry.:

:Eh, ’sallright.: He actually felt a little light-headed, giddy, with the revelations of the past candlemark or so. Lena had clearly forgiven him, Amily had not abandoned him nor given up on him. The Heralds now knew—or would soon, when Dallen reported to them—that he was not “the foreigner” although he was somehow involved. That image of him with blood on his hands was troubling, but there were so many interpretations of that even as a real vision and not something symbolic that it wasn’t even remotely likely that one of them was “Mags kills the King.”

Though what evoked fear right now was the thought that it was a vision of “Mags interrupts the person that kills the King . . .”

Aye, but Foresight ain’t absolute. Ye kin change things. People do’t all th’ time.

And as Dallen had confirmed, those nightmares he had been plagued with had an explanation too. The sleeping mind was a lot more susceptible to mental links, and he could be linking to that madman every time he slept. Which was a scary thought, but not nearly as scary as the idea that he had been creating those horrible dreams himself.

:I cain’t come back,: he said slowly. :Not if them shields ain’t somethin’ that kin be taken down.:

:I don’t think most of them can be,: Dallen said reluctantly. :There are some that are as old as the Palace itself.:

:Then I gotta stay here, in th’ city. I gotta wait fer th’ next time I get linked up. I gotta either find this feller, or figger out which one he is, or figger out what he’s gonna do.: The logic was inescapable.

:Or all three. I agree,: Dallen said mournfully.

:Hellfires.: He sighed. :All right. Let’s make us a plan an’ fast, so’s ye kin tell Rolan an’ the rest an’ they kin do what they’re gonna do, an’ ye kin get drugged up.: He smiled to himself. :Ye gurt fool.:

Chapter16

THE first order of business was to find a place to wait until dawn, or thereabouts, when someone in authority could wake up and decide what to do about Mags. And up here would not do. There were too many private guards and not nearly enough places to hide.

So Mags made his way as swiftly as he could in the opposite direction to where he really wanted to go, because right now the idea of being safe in his room again was so desirable it that it was all he could do to hold to his plan. He went further down into Haven, to find a place where he could get a little sleep while he waited for dawn.

While he trotted down the alleys—because anyone who was skulking and moving from shadow to shadow would attract suspicion, and anyone who was moving without any attempt at stealth would be assumed to be here on some business—he went at the problem logically. He needed somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed, and somewhere flat so he could sleep. He needed sleep, or he’d be even more vulnerable than he already was. It had to be somewhere he wouldn’t be seen, and out of the way of traffic. At the Collegium, at the mine, that had been easy—wriggle into cover under some bushes. But this was a city, and there was nothing like that to speak of—what little there was grew in parks and private gardens. The weather was good though; he just needed some place out of the way, and flat enough that he could get some sleep.

Then a glance at one of the great houses he passed to see how high the moon was gave him the answer. Out of the way, and flat? What could be better than a roof?

Most roofs were not actually flat, of course, but he knew there were places where cornices joined and roofs butted together that would give him something he could wedge himself into and not worry about falling off.

So as he got down into the part of the city where the everyday folk lived, he started looking for an inn— because an inn had people coming and going at all hours, and a little activity around it would go unnoticed if he was careful.

It was not more than a candlemark later that he was wedging himself into exactly the sort of nook he had envisaged, and even better, it actually was flat, a flat space behind a set of four chimney pots. And as an added incentive, the chimney pots were keeping it warm, for the air was still cold at night, especially up here where there was wind whipping around the rooftops.

Now that he was up here, secure—it all hit him at once.

Mostly what hit him was a relief so profound it felt as if all his muscles went limp at once.

He had already cried far, far too much, so he didn’t begin sobbing now. Instead, he found himself smiling for the first time in—well—since the second lot of visions began. Weeks, anyway.

It didn’t matter that he had a daunting task before him. For right now, this moment, all that mattered was that he was a Trainee again. He would apologize to Bear and Lena and somehow make it up to them. Dallen was going to heal, and if Bear was right and he couldn’t ride circuits, well Mags could serve in Haven. What mattered was it really had been an accident, though they had both taken the foolish chances that contributed to the accident. What mattered was that though there was a nasty part of him, it wasn’t a monster. Rolan was right.

He yawned hugely and curled into the warm chimney pot a little more, his muscles feeling as if they were made of butter.

And the next thing he knew, it was morning.

He watched the sun coming up over the rooftops, and waited for Dallen to rouse.

:Mmrph.:

:Mornin’.:

:I am glad you did not say ‘good.’: He got a sense of the ache in Dallen’s legs, and winced.

:Talk to anybody yet?: he asked, not expecting an answer.

:Actually yes. Rolan, and Nikolas via Rolan. It will take some time to convince people outside of the Heralds up here that you are not a great villain. Nikolas wants to know if you think you can survive without direct contact from up here for a while. I think he has some concerns that our foreigners might not be working alone.:

:Ye mean if it gets out thet I kin see this feller’s mind, I could be in trouble?:

:Exactly. Nikolas wants to keep this information confined to the Companions, himself, and the King for now. He can’t get away to help you, and we certainly can’t send the King down with a packet of money and clothing.:

Mags chuckled at that image.

:And a Companion trotting up with saddlebags for you would be just as conspicuous. So can you manage on your own?:

Mags considered that. :Dunno why not. Don’ think I should try getting’ ’nother job, though.:

:I agree. Your ‘job’ is hunting down our quarry. You need to be mobile.:

:So I need somethin’ that’ll let me lounge ’round streets an’ do nothing an’ not look suspicious.: He considered that for a moment. :Blind beggar. People’ll gimme money. I kin sleep rough, an’ I kin scrounge fer more food. I ain’t picky ’bout what I eat.:

Dallen was silent. :I had thought about beggar. Blind didn’t occur to me.:

:I kin drop a liddle shield an’ use other peoples’ eyes t’ watch crowd—an’ the bandage’ll cover m’face, so if the furriners see me, might not recognize me.: He thought some more. :I kin snitch some wax an’ seal m’eyes shut w’ it, case summun snatches m’bandage off.:

The thought was the parent to the deed. He was already making his way quietly off the roof and into the stable attached to the inn as he spoke.

And on his way out of the inn-yard, he got his first stroke of good fortune. A fellow in a hurry to leave discarded half a meat pie in the dust as he mounted his horse. Mags snatched it up, dusted off the worst of the dirt,