catch attention, stepped softly so that the kiss of leather to stone would not give him away. Nonetheless, his blood raced at the thrill of risk. There was little question that if Pinch was discovered, Vargo would find some excuse to let his sadistic underling play.
Precaution and skill carried the rogue to the blind safety of the other colonnade. Once there, he quickly flitted from pillar to pillar until he was so close he could have reached out and poured a sample of Vargo's wine.
During the time it took to reach his new position, Pinch had been focused on silence, not words. The conversation had gone on without him. Vargo was asking something, a question in response to Iron-Biter's plottings.
'And what makes you certain I will be king?'
The huge dwarf bent his knees in the best imitation of a bow that he could manage. 'Are you not the most worthy ruler of Ankhapur, milord?' The flattery was oily and insincere, though it did not presume on Vargo's talents. The lie was couched in the vagaries of the choosing, for even a priest could not attest to the will of the higher powers and the creaking wheel of fortune.
'Besides, milord,' Iron-Biter continued, fully knowing the weakness of that explanation, 'there will be no other choice. The test be damned. You will seize the throne as is your right. Throdus is a coward. Before the masque, he will have heard one hundred reasons not to challenge you.'
Vargo nodded agreement but held out a finger in caution. 'True enough, though it must not be too obvious. The lords who support him have considerable backing.'
'It shall be discreet, milord.'
'And Marac? He has more spirit. My youngest brother will not be bullied so easily.'
Iron-Biter shrugged, his massive shoulders grinding like a builder's cranes. 'Perhaps you are a better judge of him than I.' The words held a cocksure arrogance, not quite openly challenging the lord. 'His power is weak, his support thin among the nobles and the army. Most of the guests at the masque will be your vassals. Challenging you at the festival will be impossible, complete folly. If you act forcefully and proclaim yourself king by right of possession alone, Marac will not dare challenge you.'
'What about Bors-and Cleedis? The troops are more loyal to him than anyone.'
From where he was hiding, Pinch could barely see Iron-Biter grin. 'Bors is an idiot. Even the gods wouldn't choose him. Let him take the Cup if you want-but only after the other two have declined. When Bors fails, it will only confirm that you were meant to be king.
'As for Cleedis-well, he is only the chamberlain. If he protests, I will kill him for you. After all, he will be a traitor to the state, won't he?'
Pinch couldn't see him, but he heard Vargo chuckle. There was a clink as another glass of wine was poured. 'The Feast of Wealth.' Vargo's thin hand came into view, holding a glass
The dwarf accepted the drink. 'To your coronation, Your Highness.'
Pinch smoothed himself against the cold, polished column as the two left the hall. He understood so much more now. The masks made sense and so did Manferic's haste. The Carnival of Wealth was coming, that time of year when the city erupted into riotous gaiety. He'd been away too long, forgotten the days, the dates, and the order of things. Every year the city celebrated its greatest resource and its greatest benefactor-gold-in a three-day celebration of greed and cunning. There would be drinking in the taverns, feasts sold in the markets, dances and celebrations, and all culminating in the Great Masque held at the royal court itself.
And this year, it would be the scene of a royal coup. Pinch had to admire the plotting, the sheer boldness of the crime. In all his years as a rogue, he'd stolen just about anything that had come across his bow, but never had even he imagined a robbery as bold as this. Vargo proposed to steal an entire kingdom, to rob his brothers of even the chance at their heritage. Oh, Pinch dearly wished that he could someday plot such a crime.
The festival had to be soon. Feeling chagrined to have forgotten it at all, now memory rushed in. He remembered it was always on the new moon. That part was clear, for the fat purses he found on those dark nights had always meant good takings for him, a youth learning the cutpurse's trade. After fifteen years, though, he'd lost track of the dates and must have assumed the festival had already passed. It could surely be no more than a week or less away.
That did not leave much time for plans or action. There were too many players in this game for Pinch's taste, and too many unexplained things. What was the voice he'd heard in the tunnels? Who had saved him from death? Was Manferic truly something undead, or was this a trick on Cleedis's part? Did Manferic or Cleedis or both suspect Vargo's plans? What was their reason for switching the regalia anyway? Should he betray them to Vargo? Or should he betray Vargo to them?
And how did he stay alive and on top, when all was said and done?
Pinch puzzled away at these as he resumed his mission through the morning-chilled halls.
Therin's strong hand seized Pinch's doublet just as the thief came even with the bottom rail of the balcony.
'Up you are, then!' the Gur grunted as his fingers dug into Pinch's shoulder and, with a strained heave, he hauled the regulator half onto the platform.
Pinch was hardly surprised that Therin was there and waiting. Climbing was never the regulator's strong suit, and he'd made enough noise to sound like a bull elephant to a thief's trained ears. Sure enough, Therin, Sprite, and even Maeve-looking clearer-headed than usual-were there to greet him.
With a certain lack of dignity, Pinch kicked his legs over the rail and flopped to the wooden floor of the balcony. Easy climb or no, the effort, combined with a full day and night of no sleep, was exhausting.
'Gods, dearie! You've been hitting the blackjacks a bit, haven't you?' Maeve exclaimed. The regulator was a sight, at least by his own standards-rumpled clothes, bleary eyes, and a full day's crust of grime. He hardly looked their leader, the one who kept himself urbanely polished and clean.
'Found himself a woman, too, I'll wager,' Sprite added with merciless glee. It wasn't often he got to pluck such fun at his senior.
Pinch struggled against the urge to yawn and lost. 'Found more than you know, furry foot,' he finally shot back as he made a grab for the halfling's curly toes. Sprite skipped out of reach, giving Pinch enough space to heave to his feet and stumble inside. Yesterday's, last night's, and today's adventures fell on him as he collapsed into the largest chair he could find.
Arms flopped over the rests, he looked at the three sideways as they filed in and stood semicircle around him: Sprite amused, Maeve curious, and Therin with the clear gaze of suspicion. Someday, Pinch thought to himself, someday that Gur is going to get it in his head to challenge me.
'We've work to do.' Sprawled in the chair, the regulator hardly looked serious, but his companions knew to judge by the tone of his words, not simple appearances. 'How have you come on finding a bolt hole?'
'Slipping the ring here's no problem, Pinch,' Therin bragged. 'Like you said, the door's always watched but the balcony's easy. We can avoid those cursed hellhounds by climbing up instead of down and taking out over the roof. Once we get up there, it's an easy scramble to the wall. Then we just watch the guards and go over the side.'
'What about you, Maeve? Can you keep up with these two monkeys?' Pinch knew the wizardess wasn't trained in acrobatics like the other two.
'We'll help her along,' Therin assured, before she could say a word.
The woman glared at the big, cocky Gur and added, 'I've got spells, too. Don't you go worrying about me.'
'Well laid, then.' Pinch cut their bickering short. 'Use it tonight. Go to the ordinary across from the lower end of the fish market. It's run by an old man named Sarveto. He'll have rooms for you.'
'What's the job, or are you just running us off, Pinch?' Therin posed suspiciously.
'Work.' Pinch glared at his lieutenant. Ever since starting this journey, the man had been insolent. After this, Pinch decided, Therin may have to go. Without taking his gaze from Therin, the regulator continued.
'Sprite, you've an eye for the stones. Find me an artificer of cunning hands, one who's hungry or likes the women too much. Just as long as he does good work and keeps himself quiet.'
'Aye, Pinch. What'll his commission be?
'I want a copy of the Cup and the Knife. He'll know what I mean.' The man leaned back and rubbed his eyes.
