Seregil picked up a sextant from one of the tables and fidgeted absently with it. "What about these others? I've never heard of them."
"Minor nobility with minor commissions. Lady Royan oversees the port of Cadumir on the Inner Sea just north of Wyvern Dug. The commission is an hereditary one appended to her holding. Young Sir Birutus was recently appointed to a post with the sutler corps—something to do with meat, I believe."
"They don't sound like the sort to bring the government toppling down," Micum said, perplexed.
"And just where was all this damning evidence found?" asked Seregil, coming to a momentary halt by the desk.
"An interesting point, that," Nysander said with a mirthless smile. "Everything had been concealed beneath the floorboards of Teukros' bedchamber."
"The floorboards," Seregil exclaimed in disgust. "Bilairy's Codpiece, even a green thief knows better than that. You might as well nail it to the front door! This snarl of events just isn't making sense. Barien certainly had access to the royal seal, but to have handed it over to such a dolt as that? It's absurd."
"You said he had a blind spot for his nephew," Alec reminded him.
Seregil stabbed a finger at Barien's letter. "A man who composes as cold-blooded a suicide letter as that would never be so careless. Mark my words, there's more to this than we're seeing."
The four fell silent for a moment, mulling the seemingly contradictory evidence.
"What about those servants we followed?" Alec asked at last.
"What about them?" Seregil muttered, still scowling down at the letter.
"Well, I don't know about the girl, but that man of Teukros' seemed to know where to deliver the papers. He offered to go, remember? But Teukros said he'd do it himself."
The others stared at him a moment, then exchanged chagrined glances.
"By the Light, how did we ever overlook such an obvious point?" cried Nysander. "The members of both households have been taken into custody. They are all being held in Red Tower Prison. Come along, all of you!"
"Bless the day I dragged you out of that dungeon," laughed Seregil, throwing an arm around Alec's neck as they dashed for the door.
Nysander had the Queen's authority to question the prisoners and, as Seregil was still in Thero's form, no one challenged his right to accompany his master. Leaving them to their task, Alec and Micum went off to see how the real Thero was faring.
As luck would have it, the warder was the same one whom Alec had met on his first visit to the Tower.
"Poor fellow!" The warder shook his head regretfully. "Prison's been damned hard on 'im, Sir Alec. First day he was gracious as you please, a real gentleman. But he's gone sort of sour since. We've hardly had a word out of him in a couple of days, and what he has said ain't been hardly civil."
Reaching the cell, he took up his post at the end of the corridor. "Visiting rules same as before, young sir. Keep your hands away."
Alec peered through the grille. "Seregil?"
"Alec?"
"Yes, and Micum."
A pale face appeared at the bars and Alec experienced a familiar sense of incongruity. The features and voice were Seregil's; the expressions and intonation were not. The overall effect was reminiscent of Seregil's Aren Windover persona.
"How are you holding up?" asked Micum, standing with his back to the guard.
"It's been a most unusual experience," Thero replied grimly. "They've left me alone for the most part,
though, and Nysander sent some books."
"Have you heard about Barien?" whispered Alec.
"Yes. Frankly, I'm not certain—"
"Good news! Good news, Lord Seregil!" the warder interrupted, heading their way with a bailiff in tow.
Thero pressed his face to the bars. "Is that my release?"
"It is indeed, my lord." The warder rattled the lock open with a flourish.
Standing by the cell door, the bailiff unrolled a scroll and droned out, was "Lord Seregil i Korit Solun Meringil Bokthersa, now of Rhнminee, the charge of treason laid against you has been rescinded. Your name is cleared of calumny. By the Queen's grace, step forth and be free."
"I can't tell you how happy I am, sir," the warder said as Thero stepped blinking into the relative brightness of the corridor. "It would've been damned hard to give you over to the inquisitors, like they was talking at first. Damned hard, sir."
"Harder for me than you, I'm sure," Thero snapped, striding off without a backward glance.
Cocking an eye at Alec, the warder spread his hands. "You see what I mean, sir?"
Alec and Micum caught up with Thero on the stairs.
"You might have handled that a bit more smoothly," Micum whispered angrily. "You're supposed to be Lord Seregil, after all."
Thero shot him a sidelong glare. "After two solid days of rats and platitudes, I doubt he'd have been a great deal more gracious."
For appearance's sake they went directly to Wheel Street. Runcer met them at the door with his usual lack of surprise.
"We had word, my lord," he said gravely. "Your bath has been prepared, if you'd care to go up?"
"Thank you, Runcer, I will," Thero replied, attempting Seregil's easy manner. "Let me know the minute Nysander arrives."
Runcer's wrinkled face betrayed little as he watched Thero march off up the stairs, but Alec thought he caught the hint of a cryptic frown before the old servant doddered off toward the kitchen.
Upon their return from the Tower, Seregil and Nysander found the others just starting on a hot supper at Seregil's bedroom table.
Face-to-face for the first time since the exchange of bodies, Seregil and Thero inspected each other in silence.
Seregil slowly circled his counterpart, amazed by the sight of his own familiar face settled into Thero's guarded expression.
"Say something," he prompted at last. "I want to hear what I sound like with someone else doing the talking."
"This throat's been doing a great deal less talking since you've been gone," Thero retorted. "I suppose I'll be quite hoarse when I get my body back from you."
Seregil turned to Alec. "You were right. The timbre of the voice is the same, but the speech patterns make all the difference. What an interesting phenomenon!"
"But one which we have no time to explore," Nysander interjected. "You must both be restored to your proper forms."
Joining hands with the greatest eagerness either of them was ever likely to exhibit, Seregil and Thero stood motionless while Nysander performed the spell.
The magic was indiscernible, the effect instantaneous. Restored to his own body, Seregil went a clammy greenish-white.
Releasing Thero, he staggered to the fireside armchair and sank down, head between his knees. Alec grabbed up a bowl and hurried to his side.
Thero doubled over, too, grimacing as he grasped his leg.
"What have you been up to?" he demanded, pulling up his robe to examine the swollen knee.
"Up to?" Seregil managed a faint laugh between gasps. "It was more the down part we had trouble with."
Flexing his long fingers, he rubbed his hands over his smooth cheeks and hair. "By the Four, it's good to get back into my true form! And I've had a bath and clean clothes, too. I'm in your debt, Thero. I just hope you didn't enjoy the soaping up too much."
"You've little enough to be vain of," Thero shot back tartly, returning to his supper.
Still grinning, Seregil tugged at the lacings of his shirt. "I don't know why you have to wear everything so tight, though—"
Alec was the only one who noticed the momentary faltering of his friend's smile. Before the boy could ask what was wrong, however, Seregil locked eyes with him, discreetly motioning silence.
"What did the two servants have to say?" Micum was asking, impatient for details.