house there were no trees or convenient drainpipes close enough to the balconies to be of any use. However, the ground floor was lined with tall glass doors overlooking a terrace and an ornamental fishpond. He’d have preferred a kitchen or pantry window, but the sides of the house were walled off. There was no choice but to take the risky way in across the terrace into the lower level, where it was more likely that some servants could still be underfoot.
But he wasn’t about to give up the job he’d had to fight for.
There was no sign of a watchman, but there could be a dog. Or dogs.
He took out the bit of sausage he’d found in Ema’s pantry and tossed it toward the house. It was an idea he’d had the last time a dog surprised them, and it worked. There was a single bark, then a huge brindle hound ambled from the shadows and went for the sausage. Alec whistled softly and when the hound looked his way Alec raised his left hand, first and little fingers extended, and made the turning motion of the thief’s cantrip, whispering,
Alec shifted the rope and climbed down into the garden. The dog trotted over for a scratch behind the ears, then disappeared into the shadows again. Avoiding the shell paths, Alec made his way to the terrace and sidled up to one of the tall glass doors. All was dark inside, but the faint moonlight spilled across a patterned carpet and the slender curved legs of what looked like a dining table. It was unlikely that servants would be sleeping there, so he picked the lock and slipped inside.
At the far end of the room a set of double doors was outlined in some faint illumination, probably a night lamp. Alec waited to be certain the light was not moving-a lantern carried by some watchman-then stepped out into a long corridor. To his left he could see part of a receiving hall, the source of the light, and a corridor continuing on from there. The place was huge, and he sent up a silent plea to the Lightbringer that whatever there was to find was down here somewhere. This was a two-man job, though he wasn’t about to admit it to Seregil later. He didn’t have to prove himself again, he knew. He just had to prove to Seregil that he could let Alec out of his sight and not lose him again. He had no intention of getting caught.
The back of the house was taken up with the dining room, several sitting rooms decorated in different styles- none of which contained any sort of secret hiding place that he could find-a larger dining room, two garderobes, and the kitchen.
From there a plain stairway led up to what was most likely the servants’ quarters. The corridor past the receiving hall led to a lavish ballroom.
In the receiving hall, a marble staircase led up to the part of the house he next needed to explore. He judged he’d already been at it for nearly an hour, and wondered fleetingly how Seregil was doing keeping Laneus and the others occupied.
Night lamps burned along the upstairs corridors, as well. Shoes set out for cleaning along the upper corridor showed him which rooms were occupied-five in all. Avoiding those rooms, he discovered a huge library and a large, mostly empty room that served for sword practice, judging by the various styles of blades in racks on the walls.
At the far end of the corridor he at last found what appeared to be a man’s study. It was rather small and by far the coziest room yet, with a pretty fireplace and a jumble of books, scrolls, and male bric-a-brac on the shelves that lined the room. It was tempting to take some small item as a present for Seregil, but he didn’t want to chance leaving the slightest sign of his visit.
The writing desk under the window overlooked the top of the garden wall and the side of the neighboring house. He took out his lightstone and fitted a leather cone around it to shield it from anyone happening in. Rifling the locked correspondence box first, he found a half-finished letter. As he read it his eyebrows arched in dismay.
There was no signature, but comparing it with other letters in the box, it appeared to be in Laneus’s hand. He debated taking it, then decided against it and instead copied the letter out. His script was far less elegant and clear than Seregil’s and he blotted a few places in his haste, but it was soon finished. There was also a sealed letter addressed to General Sarien.
Alec carefully pried the seal loose. The letter was wrapped in the sheet with the general’s name on it. The letter itself had no date or salutation, just a few lines in Laneus’s bold script.
There was nothing overtly damning in it, but knowing what he did and whom it was addressing, it wasn’t too difficult to guess what was really being said.
This bore out their concern that arresting the principal players would cause the unknown followers to scatter.
He rubbed the bottom of the sealing wax with his thumb to soften it, then stuck it back down and turned his attention to the desk, and then the room. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t find any secret caches of papers, though he searched every available surface except the ceiling and wiggled anything he could lay hands on, looking for a trigger for a secret space, or a passageway like the one Seregil had found at Kyrin’s house. Nothing.
At Eirual’s brothel, Seregil found the lady in question still in her dressing room. The little chamber was filled with the sweet fragrances of expensive perfumes and powders. She was admiring herself in a long mirror as her maidservant adjusted the folds of Eirual’s pale green silk gown. Several pairs of fancy shoes were lined up for inspection in front of the wardrobe.
“You’re just in time, my love!” the courtesan greeted him, smiling at Seregil in the mirror. Lifting two ornately woven jeweled necklaces from a casket on the dressing table, she turned and held them up for him to judge. “Pearls or the peridots?”
Seregil struck a thoughtful pose. “Pearls, I think. They look so cool and inviting against your skin.”
“Pearls it is.” She handed the necklace to Seregil and lifted her black ringlets from her neck.
Seregil dutifully fastened the heavy strands and brushed his fingertips playfully down her nape. “Hmmm, yes. Most inviting.”
She turned and kissed him on the cheek. “Such a tease. I do miss you, you know. You were always one of my favorites.” She noticed the black armband he wore as she reached for one of the pearl hairpins on the dressing table. Her coquettish smile faded. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Nor I.”
Eirual shook her head as if repelling sadness and began decorating her elaborately braided hair with pearl hairpins. “And where is the fair Alec? Still downstairs?”
“No, he’s not well tonight. I’ll be escorting both you lovelies myself, and will be the envy of all who see me.”
“You always are, I suspect.”
Myrhichia hurried in with a white silk girdle embroidered with pearls. “I thought you might want this,” she said, draping it around the older woman’s shapely hips. “What do you think, Seregil?”
“Perfect! The pair of you are a vision of loveliness not to be outdone by all the titled heads of Rhiminee.” Indeed Myrhichia looked as beautiful as her benefactress in midnight-blue silk stitched with crystal beads, and matching hairpins glittering in her dark hair. “You look like the night sky in Bokthersa, full of stars and mystery,” he told her, kissing her cheek.
“But where is Alec?”
“Indisposed, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, and I was so looking forward to teasing him a bit!”
When the women had completed their adornments to their mutual satisfaction, the three of them strolled arm- in-arm to the Red Hart, glittering among the evening crowd and drawing admiring glances from many they passed. At the elegant tavern the master of the house escorted them to the private room Seregil had reserved for the evening.
Laneus, Malthus, and their ladies soon joined them, and introductions were made all around. Malthus and Ania knew the two courtesans, and greeted them warmly, as did Laneus and his young wife. Eona seemed particularly thrilled to meet the famous Eirual.
They dined on poached butterfly fish, jellied eel, raw oysters, warm sesame bread, dishes of olives and pickled vegetables, and a rare Mycenian white wine of excellent prewar vintage.
