Changes

hard work. Now, Mags knew that not all households were like that of Master Soren, where the servants were treated fairly, and if she’d been treated as a slavey, well, he could sympathize. But she’d come up from the country in the first place because she’d been under the delusion that being a maid in the city meant huge wages (compared to the country) and a life of ease... after all, there could be dozens of servants in a household, and with that many hands, she had told herself that no single one would have to work very hard.

Guess’t musta come pretty shockin’ when she was put i’ scullery, he thought ruefully, arranging himself in the shadows above the door and watching for movement up and down the street. He himself had firsthand experience of what working as a scullery drudge was like. And just because there were dozens of servants in a household, it didn’t follow that this was going to make for leisure. Not when the master and mistress would entertain thirty or forty guests at a time, when they constantly had houseguests, and when the houses themselves were so big. Only when the highborn and wealthy were away from their town manors, off in the country on their estates, did things slow down, and the skeleton staff left behind could expect some of that leisure.

Well, he just hoped that the poor old fellow in charge of such things managed to find her someplace where she would be content. He rather dreaded to think that it might be another establishment like Mistress Peg’s.

But he didn’t have any time to think about it now, not when the two men he had been told to watch for had just come around the corner. One of them was holding something.

He went very still. ::They’re ’ere,:: he warned Nikolas.

He did not like the way they moved; they were aware of everything around them and prepared to attack at the first sign of trouble. But at the same time, they held themselves with an unconscious arrogance, as if the assumption that they would prevail in any fight was something so ingrained in them that it was unconscious. Their walk said all of that. It was... it was the walk of a predator. It was the way the man who had nearly slaughtered a stableful of Companions had walked.

That alarmed him. If they even suspected that Nikolas was not what he seemed—the previous lot had proved they would kill without thinking twice about it. Quickly he passed that information on to Nikolas. ::Amily’d never f’rgive me if—::

::And she would equally never forgive me if anything happened to you,:: Nikolas replied somberly. ::I have a knife on me and I’ve bolted the door. There’s a shutter I can slam down over the pay-window if I need to, and that will give me time to come up the hatch and join you.::

The men had reached the shop. Mags froze, not even breathing. Unlike Selna, they were making a quick scan of everywhere, including up, before either of them even touched the door. Mags knew he was in full shadow. He knew that at most, only the top of his head showed from where he was crouched. But he felt a cold chill spread over him as their gaze raked the roof, and he didn’t relax at all when they finally opened the door and entered the shop.

Assuming all went well in there... he was going to have to be very, very careful when they came out.

Carefully, he opened his awareness some. Not like dropping shields at all, but enough to see if he could just read something on their surface.

He couldn’t, not like he could with ordinary folk. There was something in the way, and he pulled back. This was not the point at which to make them wary, because men like these two reacted swiftly and decisively when something made them wary.

At least he had not felt that bewildering kinship with either of these men, the way he had with the rage-filled assassin. Nor did there seem to be any inexplicable link with them. He still had no idea what could have caused such a link. It had almost been as if—

—no, that was utterly ridiculous. And he had better not let his thoughts wander, not now, not at this juncture.

He didn’t move, not a muscle, as he concentrated on sensing what he could, passively, without letting his shields down too far, and without impinging on Nikolas. The last thing the King’s Own needed right now was to get his metaphorical “elbow” jiggled.

Well... they were talking. Small things leaked past those shields-that-were-not-shields. There was no sense of animosity... a bit of contempt for the lowly creature who was purchasing their information. Information... they wanted to be known? They were planting this information?

He couldn’t shake that impression. Whatever it was these men were here for, they wanted what they were selling to be generally known. Generally? No... no they wanted it to be known to the people who were interested in it. Now, since “it” was the whereabouts of the foreign assassins, it followed that they wanted the people who were trying to track them down—the Heralds, the Guards—to know this deceptive information. Of course. They were trying to throw the Heralds and Guards off the trail. That, at least, made sense.

Now they were amused, as Nikolas reacted to a bit of intimidation with fear he tried to cover with bluster. The bargaining concluded quickly after that. They pushed something through under the bars. Nikolas pushed a great deal of silver back, and he added the Shin’a’in brooch that had told them nothing on top.

They didn’t react to the brooch. They gathered it up and left. The emerged into the street, examined the entire area for anyone who might be following, and turned and walked away, going in the opposite direction from which they had come.

Mags watched them. He was going to keep as far back from them as he could.

::What’d they say?:: he asked Nikolas, as the two strode off, positioning themselves in such a way as to cover each others’ blind spots.

::That the spies left Haven,:: came the reluctant reply. ::They say they arranged passage with a traders’ caravan going into the East, into Hardorn. They said that the foreigners had paid them with almost everything they had, and they sold me another one of those poetry books and a few odds and ends.:: Nikolas hesitated. ::It’s a very plausible story. Why don’t I believe them?::

::’Cause yer smart.::

::Or I have good instincts.::

::Wut I think I got from ’em is thet this’s tryin’ t’throw us offen th’ trail. They got that funny shield t’other one had, so I cain’t be sure. I got little bits, ’cause whatever thet shield is, I dun want it pickin’ up on