with narrow sleeves and a lacy collar, under a dark plum velvet doublet with gold buttons and a high collar. And on the right side of my chest there was a coat of arms skillfully embroidered in silver thread: a plow turning over the soil in a field.
The breeches were rather tight, and therefore not very comfortable. High boots with an embroidered design, a belt that was one-and-a-half hands wide, a dagger of singing steel in an expensive sheath, with a handle of bluish ogre-bone—this absurd finery was topped off with a long satin cloak with a black lining, three ruby rings, a wide- brimmed hat with a green plume, and a massive plaited gold chain. If I fell in a river wearing that chain, there was no way I would ever surface again. Eel’s costume was a lot richer than mine, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
I looked at Kli-Kli and he opened his mouth to share his impressions with me.
“Not a word!” I said, cutting him short.
“But I—”
“Shut up!”
“All right, Harold.” Kli-Kli submissively folded his little hands together like a priest of Silna.
To my mind I looked like a scarecrow in a vegetable garden. I could have gone off and started scaring crows straightaway. Clothes like this were definitely not for me.
“And how do you like my little outfit?” asked Kli-Kli, pulling off his cloak and spinning round on the spot.
The goblin had dressed himself up in something made out of scraps of blue and red and stuck a cap with little bells on his head.
“Colorful.”
“Then it’s just what’s required!”
When we walked down into the hall of the inn, strangely enough no one laughed at my outfit.
“May the gods be with us. Let’s go.” Miralissa caught my glance of surprise and explained. “I’m going with you; I have to check the house for magical traps.”
She had changed her usual gray and green elfin scout’s outfit for a very stylish purple silk dress with a black iron brooch shaped like the moon. Her invariable braid of ash-gray hair had been transformed into a tall hairstyle in the fashion of Miranueh, and round her neck she was wearing a string of smoky-yellow topazes, which harmonized beautifully with the color of her eyes. From a professional point of view I can say that a set of stones like that would buy five years of good living, spending money like water on daily sprees and drinking sessions … but if you looked at her with an unprofessional eye, she looked absolutely stunning.
“Take this,” she said, handing me the ogre bracelet. “When Balistan Pargaid asks Eel about the bracelet, you be there and give it to him.”
“What?” I asked in amazement.
“It’s no great loss, it has no value for us. But this is a chance to get close to the Key, if you can win our count’s favor.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” I said with a frown. “Why should I have the bracelet, and not Eel?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“The carriage is ready, Lady Miralissa,” said the innkeeper, darting across to us.
“Thank you, Master Quidd,” the elfess said with a gracious smile. “You have been a great help to us.”
“Don’t mention it, I do it for my deceased uncle’s sake. You took revenge for his soul, and my entire family is indebted to you.”
“Remember, Harold,” the elfess told me as we walked to the magnificent carriage with a team of six Doralissian horses that Quidd had somehow managed to find, “we shall be in the house of a servant of the Master.”
I just had to hope that everyone at the reception was a bonehead and no servants of the Master happened to remember that a goblin left Avendoom in the company of elves.
We were hoping for a miracle, making a Vastar’s bargain with destiny. In the house of a servant of the Master. There was no need to remind me. I was only too aware of that.
8
Duke Ganet Shagor’s Dralan
It was already dark and the carriage drifted through the emptying streets and parks of Ranneng like a phantom ship from the old sea legends. Kli-Kli, the elves, Eel, and I were sitting on the soft benches, Lamplighter and Arnkh had taken on the job of driving our carriage, and Deler, Hallas, Honeycomb, and Uncle accompanied us on horseback.
Miralissa had strictly forbidden the Wild Hearts to bring any weapons with them except for daggers. The Nightingales were too afraid of spies and assassins from the Wild Boars and Oburs to allow strangers to enter their house with any large sharp objects hanging on their belts. Deler had immediately asked the Elfess in a peevish, discontented voice: “But couldn’t you avert their eyes, Tresh Miralissa, the way you did with the Ranneng guard, after we rescued Master Harold and Eel?”
On that occasion it had cost the elfess a serious effort to ensure that the guardsmen would not notice the weapons sticking out from under our group’s clothes while they were riding through the town. The dwarf received a polite and chilly refusal, and he had to leave his beloved poleax at the inn. I hardly need to say that Deler was not particularly happy about this.
We came closer to the Nightingales’ estate and I began feeling calmer as the nervous trembling that I usually suffer before starting any job passed off.
After all, I’d been in all sorts of risky situations before, hadn’t I? Being a dralan for a while is a lot less dangerous than stealing the reward for my own head from the house of Baron Frago Lanten, the leader of the Avendoom municipal guard. And it’s nowhere near as dangerous as taking a stroll through the Forbidden Territory or a going down into the burial chambers of Hrad Spein. Jumping into a pit swarming with vipers and then climbing back out—surely that’s the very test for a master thief?
“As soon as you sense the Key, let us know and make your way to the exit,” Egrassa warned me, checking the edge of his crooked dagger with his thumb.
“Got you.”
He’s right, there’s no point in taunting demons any longer than necessary. The longer we hung about in the house, the more chance there was that we’d run into some kind of trouble.
I prayed hard to Sagot that there wouldn’t be any bright spark at Balistan Pargaid’s house who knew the real Ganet Shagor in person, or we’d find ourselves in a real mess that not even Miralissa’s shamanism could get us out of. And we couldn’t afford to forget about my old friend Paleface, either. He might have left the city without trying to settle scores with me, but … That piece of scum could turn up at the most inappropriate moment just as suddenly as he had disappeared.
“What are you thinking about?” asked the fool, jangling his little bells.
“The vicissitudes of fate and various possible kinds of trouble,” I answered.
“Don’t you worry, Dancer in the Shadows, I’m here with you!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“We’re losing days,” Miralissa said in a dull voice as she tidied away a lock of hair. “It’s August already, and we haven’t crossed the Iselina yet. If things carry on like this, it will be September before we reach Hrad Spein.”
“You are mistaken,” Egrassa disagreed. “The Black River is two days’ hard riding from Ranneng, then it’s two weeks to reach the Border Kingdom, and another three days from there to Zagraba. And then a week in Zagraba until we reach Hrad Spein. So we should be there in late August.”
“These are not our lands, cousin,” the elfess sighed. “The eastern gates of Hrad Spein lie in the territory of the orcs. We do not know how long it will take us to get through the Golden Forest.”
And we don’t know what we might run into on the way, either. Or how much time I’ll need in Hrad Spein. Or if I’ll be able to get the Doors open. Or if I’ll be able to find the Horn in the labyrinth of the Palaces of Bone. Or get back out with it.
