Lynn Flewelling - Cascet of souls

“Father’s not here,” she called out at last. “I’ll go find him.”

Alec heard the inner door open and shut. He waited a few breaths, then cautiously peered out from his hiding place. The other women remained on the balcony, making it impossible to leave.

He leaned back against the wall again, resigning himself to a long wait. He wanted a look inside that locked cabinet.

It was hot behind the tapestry, and dusty. As Lady Mallia went on about some other play just outside the window, Alec’s nose began to itch. He squeezed it between two fingers, hoping to kill the urge to sneeze, but that only made it worse. Still holding his nose, he pressed his other hand to his mouth and choked back a short succession of sneezes, nearly at the expense of his eardrums.

And still the women talked on. His back began to ache from pressing himself as flat as he could against the wall behind him, and he could feel his overtaxed arm muscles beginning to stiffen up. Worse yet, he had to sneeze again.

As he stood there wishing them all to Bilairy’s gate, the door opened again and he heard someone moving around the

room. Little by little, the room went dark and he heaved a silent sigh of relief. It must be a servant. A moment later the door closed again. Better yet, the women finally went indoors.

As he sidled out from behind the tapestry, the shoulder of his shirt caught on something. He took out the lightstone and discovered a small door set into the wall at about eye level, with a tiny handle and a brass lock plate. The plate looked solid, but when Alec ran a sensitive fingertip around it, he discovered two tiny holes on either side of the keyhole, tamped with wax. This usually meant that a poisoned dart or spring lurked inside, waiting for the unwary burglar to tackle the workings of the lock. Standing to one side, he probed the lock at an angle with a small pick and heard the snick of the trap releasing. Two slender steel barbs shot out, five inches long-long enough to pierce the hand of an unwary thief. Their tips were coated in some dark poison, too. Working carefully around them, he soon had the small door open.

Inside was a metal box, similar to a military dispatch box. Holding the lightstone handle between his front teeth, he squatted down with the box and quickly got it open. Inside were three small scrolls. The first was a list of names, including Klia, Lady Kylith, Seregil, Duke Laneus, Duchess Nerian, their friend Malthus, and himself, Lord Alec of Ivywell. He felt his heart turn over at the last name-Prince Korathan’s-with a question mark after it. There was no heading to hint at what the list meant. The other two were ordinary shipping manifests, though some of the items included were gold and gems from Aurenen. At the moment all gold was going to the war effort, making any private hoard contraband. Alec wondered if Seregil’s Uncle Akaien was smuggling again.

There were no writing materials in the room, so Alec had no choice but to replace the documents in the box and lock it away. When the tumblers fell back into place the needles retracted, but the tiny wax plugs had been lost. Hot and dusty, Alec slipped out from behind the tapestry and pinched a dab of still-warm wax from one of the candles placed on stands around the room and used it to seal the needle holes again.

Once the lock plate was buffed clean with his shirtsleeve, there was no sign that it had been disturbed.

The cabinet across the room was fitted with the same sort of trap. In addition to the scroll, there were some leather cases containing various pieces of expensive jewelry and household documents of no interest. The scroll he’d seen Kyrin put away was nothing more than a love poem. He scanned it briefly, then put it back.

He returned the rest of the contents, locked the cabinet, and replaced the wax, as he had with the hidden cupboard, then went to the inner door and put his ear to it. There were still people talking and moving about somewhere close by. Going to the balcony door, he stepped out and quickly scanned the garden for watchmen or guests. For the moment it was empty.

The marquise’s salon was dark now, but the window next to it showed light. Moving silently, he glanced in around the casement and saw that it was a bedchamber, fortunately empty at the moment. He hurried past and crouched by the drainpipe just as the watchman came out with his lantern and took a turn around the garden, then went back inside.

Alec shinnied down the drainpipe and kept to the shadows until he was in reach of the large gate.

The lock on the chain that secured the gate was too large for any of the picks he’d brought with him, but the wooden crossbars were thick enough to give him a toehold. He quickly climbed over it and headed for the Stag and Otter.

He was halfway up the secret stair when the door opened and he saw Seregil standing there with a lamp.

“Bilairy’s Balls, Alec, where have you been?” he demanded as he stepped aside to let Alec into the box room. “I went to Reltheus’s house but there was no sign of you. I was beginning to think you’d been taken up.”

“Sorry.” Alec gave him a quick kiss, then took off his head cloth and pulled the night’s implements from his braid. “I had a bit of luck following him to Marquis Kyrin’s house.”

“Kyrin? He’s Korathan’s secretary-” Seregil paused and gave him a pained look. “You’ve been in the sewers.”

“I left my shoes outside. I didn’t think I’d been down there long enough to pick up the smell.”

Seregil followed him into the bedroom and sat on the bed while Alec washed himself from head to toe with tepid water in the basin and told him of the night’s events, making light of his near capture by the bluecoats. Seregil let it pass, but Alec had the distinct impression that his lover had been more worried than he let on.

“From the sound of things, they are ill-wishing both Klia and Phoria,” said Seregil, frowning.

He grew more serious when Alec got to the mention of the potential spy, Danos, and the contents of the box from behind the tapestry and the cabinet. Seregil had him write down all he could remember of the list of names.

Alec tapped his chin with the goose-feather quill, picturing the list in his mind, then began to write.

Princess Klia

Duke Malthus

Duchess Nerian

Marquis Areus

Lord Thero

Lord Seregil the Aurenfaie

Lord Alec of Ivywell

Marquise Yrin

Prince Korathan?

“Good,” said Seregil. “And the scroll?”

“The scroll was just a love poem.”

“Didn’t it strike you as strange that Kyrin would be showing his friends a love poem in the midst of that other conversation?”

“Uh-not at the time.”

Seregil sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That may have been the most important thing there. If only you’d held it up to a lamp.”

Alec smacked his forehead. “Bilairy’s Balls! It didn’t even occur to me.” Some hidden messages were done in pinpricks over the letters of a seemingly innocent document. All one

had to do was hold it in front of the light and copy down the letters to reveal the message.

Seregil made a noncommittal noise as he turned his attention to the list. “Korathan. Our friend Duke Malthus, one of the queen’s exchequers. Marquis Areus, Duchess Nerian. Thero. Us. What do all of these have in common?”

“Except for us and Thero, they’re all high-ranking nobles.” Alec frowned down at the list. “And at least some of them are friends of Klia.”

“Very good. But you missed one important correlation. With the exception of us and Thero, they all hold high positions in the Palace. You had a good start on the night’s work.”