Hecht nodded. 'Warn them. So he doesn't see the connection right away.'
Ferris Renfrow did not turn up next morning. Hecht asked a few questions but soon stopped. Questions about fellow guests were not well received. He assumed questions about himself would find equally small favor.
Renfrow did not reappear till the ownership opened the evening pot.
Prepared meals could be had any time but cost extra. Budget-minded guests lived out of the bottomless porridge and goulash pots. The ingredients of the latter varied according to what leftovers from custom cookery were available. One had to beware small bones.
Renfrow drew a portion and retreated into the same shadows as the night before.
Hecht had assumed his place in his own dark clot a half hour earlier. His day had been unproductive. The children had discovered nothing-though they did feed his suspicions of the men he and Ghort had tagged as probable villains. They were from farther north or west, by their accents. They had horses stabled behind the inn. The stable boys had been paid to keep their tack ready for instant use. They prayed a lot. Pella considered that the most damning thing about them.
Hecht told Pella to arrange for some of that tack to disappear.
The suspects did not seem unusually wary.
Sometime during their second morning there the Knight of Wands began to buzz. A Grolsacher mercenary force, supposedly armed with letters of marque from Sublime V, had come to a bad end in the Connec. Only a handful survived-by running faster than Count Raymone Garete could chase. One survivor was a dastardly coward of a bishop, Morcant Farfog of Strang. The band's captain, Haiden Backe, had been among the first to fall. Prisoners willingly betrayed the Patriarch's role in their bad behavior. Documentary evidence had been thin in the Grolsachers' camp, however. The actual letters of marque had vanished. Of course, they were extremely valuable instruments.
Ghort whispered, 'Your boss is a raving madman, Pipe. What the hell was he thinking? That Raymone Garete was one of the guys who made the Calziran Crusade work. What kind of gratitude is that?'
'Typical gratitude. The gratitude of kings. Sublime has never been out of Brothe. He's never been outside his tiny little clique of family and associates. He only hears what they think he wants to hear. He honestly believes that most of the world thinks just like he does. That they're longing for a champion who'll lead them into the fray. He thinks big things will go his way because little things have ever since he was in diapers. He's absolutely convinced of his divine right and of Patriarchal Infallibility. I don't think there's any way to scrape the scales off his eyes. I've tried. Though I never get close enough to actually talk to him.'
'People like that mostly end up prematurely dead.'
'Now we know why Sublime and his gang weren't worried about money.'
'Plundering the heretics was always part of his plan.'
'It won't work out any better in the Connec than it did in Calzir. There's a lot of wealth there. That country has been peaceful for so long. But most of the wealth will get destroyed or disappear during the getting.'
'Shit,' Ghort murmured. 'This news is gonna get back to Brothe before we do. Our asses are gonna be in a sling when they can't find us.'
Hecht thought so, too. There would be a lot of running in circles, screaming and shouting, once this news reached the Mother City. Though it should not have much practical impact. 'We might've made a bad career move, sneaking off.'
'Maybe this guy will give us a job.' He meant Ferris Renfrow, who was headed their way.
Renfrow said, 'You've heard the news from the Connec.'
Hecht nodded.
'You should know that while the results delight me, neither the Emperor nor I contributed to Haiden Backe's embarrassment.'
'That makes it all right, then.'
Renfrew grinned. Hecht had not seen that before. 'Sublime… No. Mustn't show disrespect to the Father of the Church. But I have to wonder about a man who'd hire Grolsachers-and Backe in particular-after all the disasters involving those people the last ten years. It'll be a fearsome hard winter in Grolsach, for sure.'
Ghort said, 'He hired Haiden Backe because he couldn't find anybody else stupid enough. Never minding Sublime's genius. Grolsach is terrible. Not so bad to be from, though, on account of nobody expects a lot from you.' More to himself, Ghort muttered, 'Any Grolsacher tries to change their luck, he screws up and it just gets worse.'
'Spoken like a man who knows whereof he speaks.'
'Smart guys get out and find work somewhere else. Which helps them and Grolsach both because then there's fewer mouths to fill.'
'If the smartest people emigrate, what does that say about those who don't?'
Ghort shrugged. He did not know Ferris Renfrow. He did know the man's reputation. The Imperial fancied himself the cleverest man around. And liked to show it in pointless debates.
Renfrow turned to Hecht. 'You've got a couple of kids you're towing around. How come?'
'Cover. Plus, somebody has a soft streak.' He nodded at Ghort. 'Says one of them reminds him of him.'
'Ugly kid?'
'First shot. They have their uses. Eyes and ears. Though the smaller boy is a mute.'
'You came from Sonsa.' Not a question.
Hecht nodded. Renfrow knew.
'What's going on there?'
'We weren't there long.'
But long enough to collect a couple of street urchins, Renfrow said with his calculating gray eyes.
Ghort said, 'The dump's a ghost town. I expected more people and more business. Guess they ain't never recovered from the Deve uprising.'
'Perhaps.'
Hecht knew Renfrow wanted to keep talking, but every question he asked revealed information as well. Which was why, in turn, Hecht did not ask about Vali Dumaine.
If anyone did know that story, Renfrow would.
So Hecht asked, 'How much support will Lothar give the Duke of Clearenza?'
Renfrow chuckled. 'What will the Patriarch do in response to fon Dreasser coming to his senses?'
Hecht smiled back.
Renfrow saw something that interested him. Startled and disturbed him, perhaps. For a flickering instant. 'He wouldn't have delusions of…'
'Plenty,' Ghort said. 'Illusions, too. He's loony as a band of rock apes on fermented fruit.'
What did that mean? Hecht said, 'We wouldn't be here if he was serious about that, would we?'
Renfrow grunted, headed out the front door.
A man went out after him. Hecht said, 'That would be the man he hoped we wouldn't notice.'
Ghort agreed. 'Yes. And now I'm curious. Because that was Lyse Tanner.'
'Don't know the name.'
'He's from Santerin. One of the ones who ran out after their last succession squabble. He tried to get a commission from the Patriarch. His brother is a bishop. He didn't get the job.'
'So he went to work for the Emperor?'
'He was probably on Renfrow's payroll first. Let's keep an eye on him. See who his associates are. If he brought any. Think Renfrow knows we caught it?'
'He won't assume we didn't, I expect.'
'Pipe, I'm getting a little anxious. Things are going on around us. And we ain't got a clue what they are.'
'That's the story of my life. I'd be worried if I thought I was getting on top of everything.'
Hecht and Ghort were eating supper with the children when the deserters arrived. 'That's them,' Ghort whispered. He handed his bowl down to Vali, who pushed it under the bench. She was more relaxed but had not yet spoken. Ghort stared at the floor, letting the shadows disguise him.
Hecht whispered, 'Pella. The men who just came in. Go outside and wait for them to come back out. Keep track. Don't be obvious.' He glanced over. Ferris Renfrow had not yet crept into his evening shadow.
The children headed out the back way, Pella blathering about outhouses. Nobody paid attention. The brats
