tarts.'
They had to wait several minutes before a sleepy voice sounded on the other side of the door. 'Go away, Tombor. I won't have you calling in the middle of the night. You only want something to eat.'
Tombor looked slightly embarrassed. 'I've-uh-guests with me, Silavia. We need the oil press. It's for Lady Yanseldara.'
Silavia hesitated a moment, then asked, 'Truly?'
'Truly,' replied Ruha. 'The matter is urgent, I assure you.'
'Very well.' Silavia sounded more put-upon than curi- ous. 'Let me throw on an apron.'
From inside the building came several moments of bustling and whispering, which elicited a resentful scowl from Tombor. When a muffled thump finally announced the withdrawal of the bar, the cleric pushed the door open and stepped inside, where a stout, tousle-haired woman stood in a nightshirt and crisp white apron. The flickering taper in her hand illuminated an ashen, moon- shaped face with a bottle nose and plump-lipped frown.
Tombor dropped his sacks inside the door, then snatched the candle from the cook and went to light sev- eral others. A flickering yellow glow soon filled the room, revealing a neatly kept chamber filled with cutting tables, kneading troughs, and spice barrels. The embers of several spent fires glowed in three different fireplaces, one with a roasting spit over the hearth, one with soup cauldrons sitting in the firebox, and one built beneath a brick oven. Silavia's sleeping pallet lay behind a dough bench, where a burly, black-bearded man stood looking down at a half- eaten honeycake and two empty mead pitchers.
Tombor glared at the embarrassed man for a moment, then growled, 'You'd better get yourself to the gate, John.
There's a wounded horse there, and Pierstar's looking for you.'
'My thanks for telling me so, Tombor.' The farrier, looking happy for any excuse to leave, started toward the door.
Tombor watched the man leave, then turned to Silavia
'What was he doing here?'
'It's none of your concern who I give my honeycakes to!' Silavia retorted. 'Not that there wouldn't be some foi you, if you ever came around at a decent hour.'
'It's this trouble with Yanseldara's catalepsy!' the cleric protested. 'I've been busy.'
'So have I,' Silavia snorted. She led the way to a small storage pantry and unlocked the door with a key from her apron. 'The oil press is in here, if you want it. Don't expect me to help you with it.'
Tombor motioned to Fowler, who dropped his ylang blossoms beside the cleric's and followed him into the little room. Ruha put her own sacks on the floor and tried not to yawn as Silavia glared at her.
Tou a friend of Tombor or Tuskface?' the cook asked.
'I am closer to Fowler. I do not know Tombor very well. Is he an important person in Elversult?'
'You could say that,' Silavia replied proudly. Tombor's the one who saved Vaerana when the assassins first got after her. He's done the same twice since-at the risk of his own life, I might add.'
The witch smiled, anticipating the apology she would be due when she exposed Tombor's heroism as a cull ploy
'I had not realized he is so well thought of.'
Fowler emerged from the storage pantry, carrying a small oil press in his arms. The device was a mere frac- tion the size of the screw press in the spicehouse at the
Ginger Palace, being small enough so that a single cook could move it without help. Tombor followed a moment later, holding a small, empty cask beneath one arm. The two men set their burdens on a vacant table, then the cleric motioned Silavia to his side.
'How do I work this thing?'
Silavia fetched a large bowl from a shelf, then set it beneath the drainage spout. 'It's simple enough. First you put the raw goods in here.'
She pulled the handle, raising the platen and display- ing a small wooden box. The bed had a grid of channels cut into the bottom, and it was tilted so that the oil would run into a collection trough at one end.
'Then you lower the top plate, and it squeezes the oil out.' Silavia demonstrated, then stepped aside. 'And when you're done, you clean up after yourself.'
Tombor cast a wary eye at the eight bags of ylang blos- soms, then looked to Ruha. 'How much oil do we need?'
'Enough to cover Yanseldara from head to foot,' she replied. 'I suggest you press all of the blossoms.'
Silavia smiled at the cleric. 'It looks like you're going to be here a while. Maybe I can find some honeycakes for you.'
Tombor's eyes lit up. 'That would make our task more enjoyable.'
'If I may be excused, I shall leave it to you to press the oil.' Ruha did not bother to stifle the yawn that came over her. 'I am very tired. Perhaps Captain Fowler can show me to Pearl Tower.'
Silavia raised her brow. 'Pearl Tower? I think not.
Jarvis isn't likely to let a pair of strangers in there.'
'No, but you can take her, Silavia.' Tombor tried to remove a gold ring from his chubby finger, but had to moisten the knuckle with saliva before he could tug it off.
'Show this to Jarvis, and hell know you speak for me.'
Scowling at the imposition, Silavia accepted the ring and threw a cloak over her shoulders. Ruha retrieved the small satchel she had taken from her horse, then waved at Fowler to come along and followed her guide into the gloomy courtyard. They passed several dark sheds simi- lar to the kitchen before turning onto a serpentine path of white crushed rock.
The witch paused there and allowed Silavia to march a dozen paces ahead, then whispered to Fowler, 'You must return to the kitchens and help Tombor with the blossoms.'
The half-ore frowned. 'You couldn't tell me that before we left?'
'I could not. Tombor is a cult spy.'
'What?'
'I lack the time to explain, but I am certain. He and Wei Dao were working together.' Ruha pushed the half- ore back toward the kitchen. 'Now, return to the kitchen. When he opens the last sack of blossoms, come get me.'
Fowler did not move. 'Why?'
'So we can follow him to Yanseldara's staff, of course.'
Ruha whispered. 'Go!'
'We?' he grumbled, starting back toward the kitchen.
'Collecting the gold you owe me's getting to be as much work as stealing Storm Sprite in the first place.'
'You stole your ship?' Ruha gasped.
Fowler frowned. 'Aye-you don't think I could've bought a ship like her, do you?'
'Truthfully, I had not given the matter much thought.'
Ruha turned to find Silavia waiting fifteen paces up the path, hands on hips.
'Are you coming or not? I thought you were tired.'
'I am tired-extremely tired.' Ruha scurried to catch up. 'That must be why it did not occur to me to leave Captain Fowler with Tombor. I'm sure his work will go faster with an assistant.'
'Not much,' snorted the cook. 'You can squeeze oil only so fast.'
Ruha followed Silavia down the path, past several intersections to a slender tower faced with gleaming abalone shell. To reach the building's entrance, they had to climb a detached stairway to the second story, then cross a small drawbridge to an open portcullis. A pair of Maces stood beside the entrance, fully armored in scale- mail and equipped with more weapons than they could have used with six hands. As the witch and her guide approached, the guards continued to stare straight ahead.
The largest, a swarthy giant of a man with brown eyes and dark straight hair, spoke in an officious voice. 'By the order ofVaerana Hawklyn, household staff is no longer permitted in Pearl Tower.'
The two guards crossed their lances before the door- way; then the speaker scowled at the cook.
'You know that, Silavia-and especially at this time of night.'
'Don't get haughty with me, Jarvis!' The cook pro- duced Tombor's ring and shoved it under Jarvis's
