Those catwalks made a network overhead that stretched farther out and higher up than Kalev could see. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he caught glimpses of stairways traveling up and down, and arched doorways leading to darkened corridors.
You could hide an army in here, Kalev thought.
Kalev was also very aware that despite standing in shadow, as the only one present without any clear purpose, he stuck out like a sore thumb. It was only a matter of moments before someone noticed him. He shifted his demeanor so he projected confidence and strode to the second stair on the left leading upward. As long as he didn’t do something clod-brained, like getting in someone’s way, he would probably be ignored.
He hoped.
The third door after the first right had the name Vixana Fairlight scrawled on it in chalk, a sign of how quickly things turned over in the Arena. Kalev knocked, but did not wait for an answer before he walked in.
Vix, in her guise as a dark-haired human woman, started to her feet.
“Get out of here!” she cried. “I don’t need more trouble!”
“Neither do I, but…”
Footsteps sounded outside. Vix swore and shoved Kalev backward behind a folding screen draped with layers of dresses and cloaks. “Keep quiet!” she hissed.
The space smelled of old perfumes and powders. Kalev stepped back from the screen to keep his silhouette from showing, and breathed shallowly. He heard a faint swish as the door opened on well-oiled hinges.
“There you are, Vixana,” said a rough male voice. “What’s the news?”
“Nemar.” Vix sounded anything but glad. “It’s good. I’ve almost tracked down the… it.”
So, this Nemar was Vix’s employer. “Almost tracked it down!” Nemar exploded, then he seemed to remember he didn’t want to be overheard. “I told you where it was!” he hissed.
“Unfortunately, Duke Arisor got himself murdered by a skulk,” replied Vix evenly, but her voice was taut as a harp string. “Which stole your precious item.”
“A skulk stole something?”
“Yes,” replied Vix coldly. “Strange, don’t you think? A creature that has no place in Fairhaven shows up and kills the duke shortly before I got to his study.”
“None of your lip, thief.” Nemar’s voice turned truly ugly. “You swore you’d have it for me tonight!”
“I’ll get it.”
“You’d better.” Heavy footsteps crossed the floor, cloth swished and wood creaked. Kalev tensed. He didn’t want to show himself but he wouldn’t stand by and let Vix be hurt. “You’ve got one too many secrets to fail, you and that warforged lummox.”
“Leave Sheroth out of this!”
“I’ll say what I like, Vix,” sneered Nemar. “You just be sure you finish your job.”
The door opened and shut, and footsteps walked away.
Kalev emerged from behind the screen. Vix said nothing, just sat down at the table of cosmetics and slowly began opening boxes and jars.
“Who is Nemar?”
Vix dipped her fingers into a paint pot and spread bright red cream across her lips. “He’s the manager for stage eight. My employer.”
“And your blackmailer, if I don’t miss my guess. How’d he find out you were a changeling?”
“I took a fall one night,” she murmured, watching her reflection. What’s it like to stare into your own false face? Kalev wondered. “Almost broke my leg. The pain was bad. It’s harder to hold a shape when you’re hurting. He… caught me changing.”
“And are you a thief?”
“I used to be.” She wiped her fingertips on a towel. “No one hires changelings, so I fell in with a pack of adventurers. But I like living more than I like gold, so I came to Fairhaven to try to make a new start.”
Kalev thought about the ugly snarl in Nemar’s voice, and how he was the one who sent Vix after the Memory Eye. If a changeling thief was caught in a room with a corpse, how much further would the city guard look to find the murderer? “And Sheroth?”
“If you want to know his business, you can ask him,” she snapped.
“I see.”
“Do you?” She glowered at him in the mirror. Kalev made no answer, just met her gaze.
Vix blinked first. “I’ve got a performance.” She got up and made to brush past him.
“You’ve got more than that,” he said. “The skulk’s in the theater somewhere.”
“What!”
“It got in through one of the roof trap doors. It’s in here, and it’s got the Memory Eye with it.”
For a moment, Kalev saw the changeling’s pale coloring through the human’s warmer flesh tones. “What in the name of all the hells is going on?” she demanded.
“That’s a very good question,” Kalev agreed. “Do you know what Nemar’s connection to the Memory Eye is? Or Duke Arisor?”
Vix shook her head. “I never asked.”
Then, thought Kalev, that’s what I need to find out next.
Vix narrowed her eyes at him, as if she could read his thoughts. “Are you planning on spying on him?”
“I’m afraid I must.”
He waited for her to protest, but she just sighed. “Don’t get caught. I’ve got enough problems.”
“I’ll do my best. Sheroth’s also on the case. He said to meet him by door twelve after your act. We can all rendezvous there once you get off stage, and plan our next move.”
“You invite yourself along very easily.” Vix snorted. “Why should we trust you?”
“Because you’re in trouble, and there’s no one else to help you.”
Vix pressed her lips together in a hard line but he could tell she realized he was right. “My set lasts exactly fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you at door twelve.” She grabbed a spangled cloak and marched out the door.
Which left Kalev with one problem-how to find this Nemar in the Arena’s labyrinthine backstage without being noticed and thrown out. He scanned the dressing room, hoping for inspiration. He found it on the broken writing desk that had been shoved into one corner of the dressing room.
Kalev buttoned his black coat all the way up to his throat and pulled his breeches out of his boot tops. He tucked his gloves into his pockets and dipped his right index finger into the inkwell. He plucked up a pen and ink pot and strode purposefully to the door. Now, if anyone spared him a glance, they would see nothing but a clerk, and who ever gave a clerk a second thought? It was almost as good as being invisible.
He emerged from the dressing room in time to peer over the railing to the main floor and watch Vix join a gaggle of sparkling costumed dancers all heading in the same direction.
“Now that’s a beautiful sight.”
Kalev jumped. A man stood beside him, a half-elf by the look of him. He’d moved into place so silently and easily, that for all his skills Kalev hadn’t even noticed him. Then, Kalev realized he recognized him.
The half-elf was Gledeth Shore, the lead actor of the Arena. Kalev had seen him in his new drama less than a month ago, before the murders started. He had the fine-boned structure of a Valenar war prince combined with the lively energy of a charming human male. On stage, it was a lethal combination.
Kalev remembered his character of fussy clerk and sniffed.
Gledeth laughed and slapped his shoulder. Kalev flinched as if the blow was too hard, which only made Gledeth laugh harder. “Just don’t get caught staring too long,” he said, his eyes suddenly serious. “Or you might wind up in trouble.” Then chuckling once more, he strolled off.
Kalev watched him go, thoroughly disquieted. What did the most famous actor in all of Fairhaven care what a clerk did or did not stare at?
Kalev wavered and cursed silently. He hunched his shoulders and shook his head so his hair flopped down across his brow, and started down the stairs. If Nemar was the stage manager, he would be in the wings, ready to line up the members of the dance troupe and give them their cue. Kalev would know the man as soon as he spoke and then…
“You!” shouted a furious voice. Kalev froze on the last step. A woman clad in a long black coat and carrying a huge ledger under her arm shouldered her way through the bustling stagehands. “Where do you think you’re
