Барб Хенди - Dog in the Dark

After nightfall, as Leesil prepared to leave with Magiere, he was still suspicious of Brot’an’s change in attitude. The old assassin seemed far too willing and helpful in devising a plan, though he refused to take an active role—not that Leesil would have wanted him along anyway. Besides, someone had to watch over Wayfarer and now Paolo.

Chap was another matter, and Leesil already had a headache from the dog’s badgering.

“Are the rope and hook packed in easy reach?” Magiere asked.

“Of course.” But Leesil checked again and made certain all other gear was accounted for, stowed away in his pack. Their plan was sound, though there were always risks—more so this time.

Chap rumbled where he lay on a rug near the bed.

“No more!” Leesil growled back. “And you know why you’re staying behind.”

The dog snorted twice in place of huffs or barks, but raised no memory-words in Leesil’s head.

In fact Chap had stopped talking to anyone. That wasn’t a good sign. He was to remain behind to help guard the young ones in case anyone came searching for Paolo. More to the point, tonight’s attempt to rescue a ship full of slaves was going to involve climbing up the hull. They didn’t have time to hoist an oversized wolf in complete silence.

It had taken both Leesil and Magiere to argue this point, with Chap nearly throwing a full tantrum and calling up memory-words that had previously been shouted at him ... and shouting the words back in pieces that suited his own point. It was the most bizarre, irritating, tiresome argument Leesil had ever had. One more reason to give Wynn a kick—or two—for teaching Chap such a trick.

The real problem wasn’t that Chap wanted to come along; he didn’t want anyone going at all.

“You can change now,” Wayfarer said.

The girl laid out two sets of clothes on the bed. Brot’an had somehow borrowed them from Mechaela that afternoon. However, Magiere frowned as she looked over the new attire.

“What makes you think we might be watched or followed?” she asked Brot’an.

“You should take precautions, regardless,” he answered. “This establishment is busy at night with people coming and going. In those clothes—and in following my instructions—you should reach the waterfront unnoticed and then return as someone else to any watchful eyes.”

Magiere frowned, unconvinced.

Leesil would never admit it, but he found Brot’an’s suggestions sound. He began unbuckling his hauberk as he joined Magiere beside the bed. A stylish black velvet tunic, well-tailored breeches, a charcoal cape, a hat, and a polished walking stick awaited him.

Wayfarer politely turned around while he and Magiere began assisting each other in removing their hauberks. Once he was in the tunic and breeches, she helped arrange the cape. Then he sat down on the bed, and she twisted his hair into a tail and tucked it all up under the hat.

Paolo stood by, watching all this with quiet interest. He’d said little all day but had eaten every bite of food offered.

Magiere studied Leesil. “You look like a dandy.”

“That’s the idea,” he answered. “Your turn.”

Her mouth tightened under a scowl.

They’d both agreed not to wear any armor. If things went badly, they’d have to jump overboard and swim for it. And they needed absolute silence while skulking about—a creak of leather or click from hauberk rings or studs could give them away.

“Only down to your shirt and breeches,” Wayfarer told Magiere. “Step into this, and I will fasten it.”

Wayfarer picked up a voluminous skirt of purple silk, and Magiere reluctantly obeyed, glowering the whole time while Wayfarer dressed her. Once the skirt was in place, the girl draped a crimson velvet cape over Magiere’s shoulders and closed the front so that it covered the white shirt. The skirt wasn’t quite long enough, but at least it covered most of Magiere’s high leather boots.

Wayfarer turned for the last item on the bed.

“I’m not wearing that,” Magiere warned through her teeth.

“Oh, yes, you are,” Leesil warned back. “Now sit down!”

Fuming, Magiere dropped onto the bed’s edge.

Wayfarer arranged Magiere’s long, loose hair around her shoulders and picked up a delicate silver tiara. The girl set it atop Magiere’s head and began pinning it into place.

At night, her red tints wouldn’t show much except in some lantern’s light. Leesil had already noted a number of lovely, overdressed, pale-skinned women floating in and out of the hotel. Up close, Magiere wouldn’t likely be mistaken for one of them, but someone watching from afar wouldn’t notice any difference.

Brot’an had advised that if they tried a full hood, she might stand out as someone attempting to hide. Dressed like this, she fit in as a patron—or someone who worked here—leaving for the night.

“Perfect,” was all Leesil said, appraising her disguise.

Without answering, Magiere rose, so Leesil grabbed his prepared pack and the walking stick. He almost thanked Brot’an for the arrangements but then thought better of it. The notion that Brot’an was up to something still nagged him. Instead, Leesil turned and found Wayfarer watching him with worried green eyes.

“If we’re successful,” he said, “this shouldn’t take long. We’ll be back before the mid of night.” He looked to Chap. “We’ve managed worse than this, and you know it.”

Chap didn’t respond, and Leesil headed out. Nothing was going to stop him from freeing those slaves. Magiere pulled the door closed, and they made their way to the stairs.

Once they reached the front desk and retrieved their weapons, Leesil strapped on both of his blades beneath his cape. They were still visible to anyone looking closely enough, but most “gentlemen” here carried weapons.

Magiere put her battle dagger at her back inside the velvet cape, but there was no way she could completely hide the sword as well. Leesil held on to her falchion under his cloak, and they were ready.

“You’re up first,” she said.

“You know the tavern Brot’an mentioned?”

She nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

Mechaela looked over the front desk and assessed her attire.

“Very nice,” he offered.

Leesil swallowed hard, hoping the man didn’t get punched. Leaving Magiere behind, he walked out the front door and headed off into the night. Events were under way.

He carried the walking stick in one hand and clutched Magiere’s sword beneath his cape in the other; he carried his pack over one shoulder. Half a block down the street, he spotted three well-dressed young men coming toward him. They were a bit loud and wandering in their course.

He instantly affected the dandified movements of an overbred nobleman who’d had too many drinks.

“Gentleman,” he slurred. “One of you ... help?”

Taking in the sight of him, they stopped, swaying a little.

“Can you point ... Three-Leg Horse ... tavern?” he asked.

The second one, the most steady on his feet, raised an eyebrow.

“Are you certain, sir? That is too uncouth a place ... by the look of you. And you are obviously not from around here.”

Perhaps that one wasn’t as drunk as he’d seemed. Leesil blinked twice, feigning a bit of trouble in understanding. In truth he did have trouble understanding some of those words, but he nodded.

“A ... lady ... wait for me,” he whispered. “We do not”—and he faltered—“want be see by others.”

At an added wink by Leesil, the third young man choked back a snicker, slapped the second on the back of the shoulder, and nearly missed.

“Oh, for the sake of saints, just help him out, Ogas.”