Mercedes Lackey - Take A Thief

When he told the boy that he could arrange for him to hear words spoken in tones of condescension, he had not been promising more than he could deliver. Although these people had worked together for Orthallen's cause, they had not forgotten rank and perceived rank and all of the tangle of quarrels that had made it so difficult to get them to work together — they had merely put those things aside for the moment. And although they were now basking in the unanticipated presence of Royalty, those things still remained. Where the Queen gazed, all was harmony, but the moment that she took her attention away, the claws were unsheathed, though subtly, subtly, with a care not only for the Queen's presence, but for the watchful eye of her guardian.

Who might misinterpret what he saw. And in Alberich's case —

Well, no one wanted Alberich to misinterpret anything.

So rather than bared claws and visible teeth, there were mere hints of rivalries and competitions, mostly carried out in tone and carefully chosen words.

Oh, there would be condescension in plenty, among those able to read tone and words so exactly that they could choose to ignore what they heard or exaggerate the offense. Small wonder the crude bully Jass hadn't heard what the boy had read in his master's tone. The wonder was that the boy had read it so accurately.

Well. Every Herald, every Trainee, is a wonder, small or great.

It could be that this boy was — or would be — more of a wonder than most. There were still those — not Heralds, mostly — who doubted the wisdom of having a thief as a Trainee. And the boy was not yet committed to becoming a Herald; Alberich, so apt at reading the unspoken language of gesture and tone, knew that better than any. If it had been a case of trusting to the boy by himself to come around, to learn to trust, to understand what it was they were doing, Alberich would have been the first to say, “No. He is a danger to us, and cannot be trusted past his own self-interest.” But there was more than that; there was the Companion. And so, Alberich was always the first, not the last, to say “Peace. He will be ours, soon enough.”

The boy was good; very good. Alberich had no difficulty in imagining him moving through a crowd of just about any sort of folk save, perhaps, the highest, and remaining completely unnoticed. He was, after all, a pickpocket; that was the way of the game. The unobtrusive prospered; the rest wound up in gaol. Watching the boy was the only entertainment he had, though, and in the end the reception was, as such things generally were, deadly dull. These people were small; in the normal course of things, no matter how wealthy they were, they would never have seen Selenay except from the back of the Audience Chamber, or at most, stood before her for a few, brief moments while she passed some judgment in their favor or against them. They would never have watched as she bent that cool, thoughtful gaze on each one alone, never have heard her inquiring as to the details of their lives. For that moment of reflected glory, they were content to be restrained and to keep their masks firmly in place, their smiles unwavering.

And although the boy had shown a moment or two of hesitation, there was no sudden recognition. The reception came to its predictable end when Selenay had had a private word with each and every one of Orthallen's guests, and withdrew, along with Talamir and Alberich. And after that, the guests would depart swiftly, there being nothing there to hold them. The boy Skif would have to extricate himself from the toils of the Page Master as best he could.

And when he did — just as swiftly as Alberich had reckoned he would — he found Alberich waiting for him in his own room.

Alberich had taken some thought to the needs of boys and had brought with him something other than the things, good though they were, that lay in Mero's free pantry. He had gone down to the Palace kitchen, and commanded some of the dainties that Selenay's Court feasted on. He calculated that having had such things paraded beneath his nose all night, the boy would not be emotionally satisfied with bread and cheese, however good those common viands were, and if he was anything like Alberich had judged him, he had not filled himself at dinner.

So when Skif pushed open his own door, there was Alberich, beneath a lit lantern mounted on the wall, sitting at his ease in the boy's chair, the covered platter beside him on the desk.

The boy started, but covered it well. “Didn' think t'see you afore the morrow,” he said matter-of-factly as he sat down on his bed.

“Good service demands immediate reward,” Alberich replied, and uncovered the platter.

Then pulled out the two glasses and half-bottle of wine from beneath the chair. The boy gaped at him — then shut his mouth and looked at the wine. There was a brief flash of greed there. But thankfully, no need. Good. That was one thing that Alberich had worried about. Trouble with drink started early among those who lived near Exile's Gate. Alberich had seen children as young as ten caught by the addiction of drink, there.

“I didn' think we was allowed — ” Skif began, though his nose twitched as Alberich uncorked it, and he was young enough that his yearning showed, a little more. He must be getting very weary of the spring water, fruit juice, ciders, teas and milk that were all the Trainees were ever offered.

“It is only half a bottle, and I intend to share it with you,” Alberich replied, pouring the glasses full and handing him one. “That is hardly enough for even an innocent to be drunk upon. I suspect you've had a deal stronger in your time, already.”

The boy accepted the glass and to his great credit, took a mouthful and savored it, rather than draining the glass. “So this's what all the fuss is about,” he said, after he allowed the good vintage to slip down his throat. “This is what the good stuff's like.”

“It is,” Alberich agreed. “And now, I fear, it is spoiled you'll be for the goat piss that passes itself off as wine near Exile's Gate.”

“Dunno how you drunk it, and that's for certain-sure; I allus did my drinkin' a little higher up the street,” Skif replied, putting his glass down and reaching for the nearest tidbit, a pasty stuffed with morels and duck breast. Of course, he didn't know that until he bit into it, and as it melted on his tongue, the boy's face was a study that very nearly made Alberich chuckle. He didn't, though; children's dignity was a fragile thing, and this lad's rather more so than others.

“They been passin' those under my nose all night, and if I'd known how they tasted — ” Skif shook his head. “This is too much like reward, Weaponsmaster. The plain fact is there were three men that sounded something like the one we want, and not one I'd be willin' t'finger.”

“Reward is not exclusively earned by accomplishing a task,” Alberich noted, pushing the platter toward the boy, but taking a pastry himself. He hadn't eaten any more than the boy had, though Selenay had nibbled all evening, and he wanted something in his stomach to cushion the wine. “Sometimes reward is earned just in the making of the attempt.”

“Huh.” Skif chose a different dainty, and washed it down with wine. “Now what d'we do?”

“I will try and find another opportunity to put you where you can observe some of the ones I suspect,” Alberich told him. “If I do not, it is that you will go to hunt on your own. Yes?”

Skif shrugged, but Alberich read in the shrug that he had considered doing so, if he had not already made an attempt or two. “I got cause,” was all he said, and left it at that.

“Meanwhile — I hunt in a place you cannot, for no boy, however disguised, would be permitted to the discourses of the Great Lords of State,” Alberich continued.