my meaning.”
Dauneth frowned. “But who does she work for? Is this truly from Princess Alusair?”
The merchant poured himself more wine. “Lad, living high is the art of finding out answers to questions like that without ever asking anyone else… d’you see?”
Dauneth sighed. “That’s right,” he said, picking up his own glass, “go all wise and graybearded on me.”
The merchant shrugged. “You had to have a woman show you how to get into the palace. I know of more than a dozen secret ways into that place, and I’m no war wizard nor courtier, O young wet-nosed conspiracy sniffer!”
Dauneth glared at Rhauligan for a moment, then slowly grinned. “All right, sir merchant. Your sword finds the gap.” He sipped firedrake wine and then frowned again. “More than a dozen?”
Whatever answer the merchant might have made was lost forever in the sudden appearance of the waitress, who leaned over their table-making Dauneth swallow, and try not to stare-to light the candles that were descending on fine chain from the ceiling. She shook her taper to extinguish it and turned to smile at the young nobleman.
Just for an instant, an azure mask seemed to cover her apple-cheeked features, and she said, in a voice not her own, “The corner back booth at Urgan’s Best Boots, as soon as you can get there.” Then her face seemed to waver and was bare again, and she gave Dauneth a wink and glided away.
Dauneth blinked. “Did you hear?”
“Spellcraft for sure,” the merchant said, draining his glass and pointing at Dauneth’s own. “You’ll be needing a guide there. Come on!”
Evening was when most shops in Suzail rolled down their shutters, set their door bars, and blew out their lamps, but down this short and apparently nameless side street, Urgan’s Best Boots still showed a light over its door. Rhauligan clapped Dauneth on the shoulder and said, “I’m off, lad. Try not to get into too much trouble.”
Dauneth nodded, replied, “You, too!” and, taking a deep breath, put one hand on his sword hilt and the other on the door handle.
He cast a last look around before entering. Rhauligan had already vanished, as if swallowed up by magic. The street was deserted. The young noble frowned, shrugged, and went in.
Urgan seemed to have vanished, too. The shop was lit but deserted. Dauneth looked around suspiciously, spotted the curtained changing booths, and headed for them, almost trembling with excitement.
He parted the curtain of the corner booth cautiously, using the hilt of his scabbarded sword. Inside stood a woman in a blue gown, her back to him. One of her legs was planted on a stool, and she seemed to be in the process of disrobing.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Dauneth muttered. The woman turned her head as swiftly as a striking snake. Emerald eyes gleamed out at him, her other features obscured by an azure mask.
“What for? Your swiftness is commendable,” was the calm reply as the woman turned to face him and let fall her gown, to reveal breeches and a tunic of the same sea-blue hue. “If you are Dauneth Marliir, I am very interested in working with you.”
“I-have the good fortune to be Dauneth Marliir, good lady,” Dauneth said, bowing low. He cast a look behind him as he rose, but the shop was still bare of Purple Dragons or anyone else. “And you are-?”
“A friend of the crown,” the masked woman replied smoothly. Her voice was not Emthrara’s, but it had a similar husky tone. The masked woman plucked up her gown from the floor and hung it on a wall hook. “I know you went to the palace earlier today. Will you accompany me there again?”
“Lady, I will,” Dauneth said without hesitation. This didn’t look like Princess Alusair, either, but then he had never seen her all that closely.
The woman seemed to know his thoughts. “I am not of royal blood,” she said, “but I am loyal to the crown. Are you?”
Dauneth met those green eyes steadily and replied, “Lady, I am. I am prepared to swear by whatever you choose, if you will it so.”
“I want nothing so dramatic. A man’s word is enough if it is the right man.”
Her words made the scion of House Marliir feel good indeed. He grasped the hilt of his sword hard, smiling in pride that lasted only for an instant. The masked woman moved a table aside as if it were made of paper, rolled back the edge of a rug with her foot, and put two fingers into a hole in the floor. She pulled, and a square of wooden flooring rose. A trapdoor common to such shops, usually used for storage.
“Follow me,” she directed simply and slid into the dark opening. Dauneth did so, finding stone steps leading down into a small room that smelled of old leather. He had a brief glimpse of shelves and shelves of boots in the radiance that suddenly bloomed into life in the palm of the woman’s hand. She was a mage!
Emerald eyes met his, and then, without a word, the woman strode away into the darkness. Dauneth followed hastily along a narrow, stone-floored tunnel. Such a tunnel was not usually common for such shops, and this one smelled of earth and nearby cesspits. The tunnel went on for a long, long time before it met with a second passage. Dauneth and the masked woman turned left, took a few paces, and then turned right again and went on. The walk was even longer this time, ending in a few worn steps that led up before they emerged in a room full of dusty cobwebs and boxes.
The masked mage turned to Dauneth, her radiance dimmed by the simple method of pressing her palm against the base of her neck. “Keep close to me and be very quiet,” she murmured. “We’re in the under-court cellars, beneath the Noble Court.”
The noble nodded, keeping a hand on his blade to prevent it from swinging and scraping against or knocking anything over. They passed through a succession of dark and dusty rooms, seeing glimmering lanterns in the distance twice, and then the woman in blue held up a hand to halt him and peered around a corner. Satisfied, she waved him on, and together they stepped past the sprawled forms of two guards, dice and cards strewn around them. “They won’t sleep all that long,” she murmured. “We must move briskly.” Beyond the guards were steps, leading to an iron-banded door, barred on their side. Dauneth and the woman lifted the bar down together, and the masked woman touched the lock with one finger. The door clicked once and shifted open a little.
Beyond was another tunnel. “I could come to master these tunnels were there not so many of them,” Dauneth muttered. The emerald eyes of the masked woman seemed to smile in answer as her head turned briefly. They went on along a dusty passage that seemed to hold a statue or something ahead.
As they drew nearer, Dauneth saw that it was a stone block, almost as large as a man, that had fallen from the roof above. He glanced up. The cavity it had come from fitted it perfectly, and a dust-covered chain descended from the darkness of the cavity to the block itself. This had been no crumbling misfortune, but a deathtrap. He looked down and saw yellow-brown bones protruding from under the stone and a skeletal arm, reaching vainly for somewhere safer. Somewhere forever beyond its reach.
He looked up to find the masked face watching his. “Don’t walk this way without me,” she said in a low voice. “There are two more of these ahead.”
Dauneth nodded soberly, and they went on. At a certain spot that to the noble looked no different than the rest of the passage, the masked mage stopped and turned to the wall beside her. She touched something and then simply stepped into the wall, her body passing into the solid stone as if it did not exist.
The young noble stared, fascinated, at the hand that reappeared out of the solid wall and beckoned to him impatiently. He went to it, clasped it with his own, and was drawn through-nothing. They were in a side passage. He blinked at the masked face and the glowing hand that went with it, and then turned to look back. A sort of veil or misty curtain seemed to hang across the mouth of the tunnel they now stood in. He extended his hand through it and waved his fingers. There was no resistance. The veil must be some sort of magical illusion, an image of a stone wall that concealed this opening.
A firm hand came down on his shoulder. He turned and followed the masked mage again until she led the way up a steep, narrow stair and into a room, where she stopped and turned to face him.
“We’re in the palace now,” she explained, “or rather under it, in the vaults that the crown princess ordered sealed. We took this last, hidden way to avoid a guardpost. I can’t risk this light any longer stand still.”
The radiance faded, and Dauneth had a last impression of her fingers weaving intricate gestures before two cool fingertips touched his eyelids. Startled, he stepped back, blinking, only to find that he could see clearly in what must be utter darkness.
Those emerald eyes seemed to be smiling at him again. Emboldened, he asked, “But if these are the royal vaults, how are we to get around? The bards always say only the Lord Vangerdahast and the royal family have keys!
