severity. Painted a lovely rose color, it lacked the usual overdone bric-a-brac and garish paint. Coming from the overly ornate realms of Karsus, this refreshingly plain house was like a breath of fresh air.
His admiration grew when they passed through the main doors-with no guards barring assassins-to a large, open room painted a plain white and decorated mostly with green plants and flowers. At the far end, sitting at a small glass topped table, sat his hostess, who rose to meet him.
'Good day, Master Candlemas. I am Lady Aquesita. So kind of you to come.'
Never good at court manners, Candlemas bowed awkwardly, briefly kissed her hand, and accepted a seat in a delicate ironwork chair. Shrewdly, he studied his hostess, wondering what she wanted of him, while she fussed with tea and raspberry tarts.
She was no beauty. Plain, round face, dimpled mouth, with brown hair piled on her head, she had a figure blocky as a barrel, and pudgy hands. But her smile seemed genuine, and she was not slathered in makeup as were most women and men in this place, nor were her eyes two different colors; the latest fashion, he'd been told. And her clothes were rich but severe. She plied her sunny smile so much Candlemas began to worry. She must want a powerful lot. Candlemas accepted herbal tea and a tart, and tried to guess what.
A person's chambers told much about the occupant, he knew, so he put his keen scientist's eye to observing. What he found was a pleasant surprise. This and adjoining rooms were light and airy, and faced out on a long stone balcony overlooking gardens that ran out of sight to hedges and rose bushes, outbuildings and gazebos. The high doors were wide open, admitting sunlight and breeze and the breath of flowers. There were almost as many plants inside the room as outside, and the effect was to surround one with natural beauty. Scattered about the room too were many gorgeous artifacts such as Candlemas himself collected (had collected) back in Castle Delia. A graceful muse arched grapes over her head. An illuminated book lay open on a rosewood stand. Carved lions flanked the doorways. Glowing tapestries covered the walls. A crystalline dragon spun in the breeze, a goat between its front claws was a tiny clapper giving off bell-like tones.
Stunned by this quiet beauty, Candlemas kept turning, making new discoveries. A faint giggle. 'You admire my trinkets?'
Flushing like a country bumpkin, Candlemas jerked upright in his seat, slopped rose hip tea on his robe. 'Oh, yes, yes. Very much. I, uh, collected things like this, uh, long ago.'
She was pleased by his admiration. 'The cream of the empire, I hope. Most folks follow the latest fad, discarding what was new last year for newer trash this year. I pick and choose, seek out the Neth's finest works, and keep them here, safe. Years from now, I like to think, people will know what was beautiful and appreciate my efforts.'
'Yes, I'm sure,' he agreed. She made Candlemas nervous, though he couldn't think why. 'That's, uh, noble of you.'
'Or selfish?' she countered. 'Trying to buy my way to fame? But someone needs to tout the empire's better side. Don't you agree?'
'Yes, of course.' Candlemas agreed again, nodding like a dog begging a treat. 'Uh…'
'Why have I requested you visit?'
Embarrassed by her directness, he fumbled with his cup. Even it was exquisite in a simple way, paper thin, painted with a single songbird so real it looked alive. She laughed, and he liked the sound. Looking up, he studied her more closely. It was then that he really noticed her eyes: a soft golden brown.
'You've found me out,' she teased. 'I'm cousin to Karsus. His only living relation.'
Ah, thought Candlemas, but then, what could she want? Surely she could have anything in the city with a snap of her fingers.
'I know you're Karry's special friend, at least for now. Gossip travels faster than hummingbirds through this castle. But I won't ask much. It's just that, as his only family, I like to keep abreast of what he's doing.'
'You want me to, uh…' Candlemas fumbled for a polite word.
'Spy? No. No secret knowledge between us, no sneaking around. No, all I ask is that, while you're his friend, I might ask his progress. What he's thinking, what he's up to. I'm responsible for him, in a way, because he's not really responsible for himself.'
That Candlemas knew. Karsus was a lunatic, albeit a genius.
'If it's a bother,' she went on, 'please forget I asked. It's just that, with no other family, and servants being deferential, and seekers currying favor, it's hard for me to get the truth about my own cousin sometimes. An honest opinion would be so helpful. And you seem forthright-'
'I'll do it,' Candlemas blurted, though he wasn't sure why. For some reason he wanted to help while she, unmarried and childless, looked after the mad genius like an older sister. 'I'd be glad to come see you-no, I mean-'
'Thank you,' she interrupted. A soft hand touched his wrist. Cool, it sent tingles down his spine like an enchantment. 'I would be very grateful.'
'It's no trouble. You're welcome. I'll come, uh, soon. As often as you wish.'
Something sparkled in her eyes. Amusement? Mirth? Was she laughing at him? He couldn't tell. He finished his tarts, wishing there were more so he might linger, but finally excused himself.
The page girl had to take his hand to lead the way back. Candlemas couldn't understand why he was befuddled. Had she potioned his tea? Cast a spell on him? Clouded his mind with some illusion?
'What a remarkable woman!' he told the page girl as they walked, really speaking more to himself than to the servant. 'Keenly intelligent, conscientious, noble, sacrificing, handsome in an unadorned way, with not a speck of decadence! It's like finding a flower growing in a rubbish heap! Imagine…'
The page girl was only ten, and said nothing, but she hid a woman's smile as they passed up the gravel path.
Grunting, shifting his groaning burden while his shoulders were rubbed raw, Sunbright followed the ragtag thieves deeper and deeper. To where, he had no idea.
Trotting down an alley, they'd taken an abrupt right through a broken wall into blackness, dropped into a cellar beneath what smelled like a disused tannery, scurried behind a mound of dirt and dropped to their knees-the blind giant barely fit, and Sunbright had to push the injured man before him-to clamber through another broken wall, then turn tightly and drop beneath even the cellar. Stooping, Sunbright tripped down a sloping tunnel until they reached a natural cavern.
A blue-white light came from their leader, the woman with the eye patch, who'd set aglow her leather vest with strokes of her hands. A thief's cantra, Sunbright assumed, in a city where even dung shovelers used spells.
As the cavern narrowed, they passed through a cleft, then walked a rounded pipe that would accommodate a coach-and-four inside. And so on, twisting and turning until the barbarian was thoroughly lost. There were pipes, drains, tubes, caves, cracks, shelves, platforms, iron staircases, troughs, tunnels, pits, stone steps, and more.
Eventually they passed from a tunnel onto a sheer drop-off like a square cliff. Fifty feet down winked oily wetness reeking of sewage. All of the party panted except Sunbright, so the leader called a halt, silenced them while she listened (cupping her ears in a queer way that suggested another cantra) then demanded to see Lothar, the yellow-haired man with the broken leg. He had gone limp from pain and Sunbright laid him down, straightened his limbs, and untangled the weighted chain wrapped around his arm. The blind giant, the tiny girl, an old crone, the twin girls, and a boy all ate, digging out stolen corn cakes, breaking, and sharing them.
The one-eyed woman striped her hands around, causing leather and stone and even flesh to glow eerily, then ordered the giant to hold Lothar down while she worked on his leg. Even unconscious, the man groaned in pain. As she sweated over the leg, probing the break and hissing under her breath, Sunbright studied her.
She wore only leather: a tightly laced calfskin vest and breeches, and she went barefoot. Her only jewelry was the knucklebone cradled between her small breasts. The jewel-like glitter of metal came from the solid brass knuckles with cruel serrated edges that she wore on her right hand. Scars told the story of her life. Dozens of them crisscrossed her arms, striping her dusty feet, and spotting her face like chalk marks. One deep scar split her right temple, no doubt the slice that had ruined her eye and necessitated the leather eye patch. Her chin and nose were small, her dark hair unkempt and cut short, and when she tilted her head, Sunbright noted the slight points at the top of her ears. That, and a hint of slant to her eyebrows, told of elven blood. In only the short time he'd been in this city, he knew how people of mixed blood were treated. Short and slim, she barely came to his breastbone, not
