Hobbling toward the warmth of the forge, he settled himself on the stool and turned his one good eye to her. It had always offended her sensibilities, the way that bright, clear eye glittered in such a face, like a precious Borian sapphire glittering up from a clod of dung.
"So many pretty things!" the old relic wheezed, fingering a half-finished statuette on the workbench.
"You're looking prosperous as ever, dearie mine."
Ghemella kept her distance. "What are you selling tonight, old man?"
"What would I have to sell to such a rich woman?" replied Dakus, giving her the ruins of a leer.
"What except the occasional bit of information that these old ears glean as I beg at the back doors and waste heaps of the more fortunate? Are you still in the market for secrets, Ghemella? Fresh, shiny secrets? I've offered them to no one else as yet."
Slapping a few sesters down on the bench in front of him, she stepped back and folded her arms across her broad leather apron.
The old man pulled a copper vial from his pouch.
"Baron Dynaril has murdered his lover with poison bought from Black Rogus. His manservant made the purchase at the Two Stallions a week ago."
Ghemella produced a gold coin for this and Dakus placed the vial on the workbench.
"Lady Sinril is with child by her groom."
The jeweler snorted and shook her head.
Nodding agreeably, Dakus reached into his tattered tunic and produced a sheaf of documents.
"And then there's these gleanings of a poor beggar's wanderings. More to your taste, I think."
"Ah, Dakus!" the jeweler purred, taking the sheets eagerly and sorting through them. The pages differed in size and quality and several were wrinkled or stained. "Lord Bytrin, yes, and Lady Korin. No, this is worthless, worthless, perhaps this-and this!"
Choosing out seven documents, she set them apart.
"I'll give five gold sestets for these."
"Done, and the blessings of the Four be showered on you for your generosity!" cackled the beggar. Sweeping up the small pile of coins and rejected papers, he shuffled out into the night without a backward glance.
Ghemella barred the door after him and allowed herself a sly smile. Nudging aside the stool Dakus had sullied with his deformed backside, she drew up another and settled down to peruse the stolen papers more closely.
Meanwhile, the crippled beggar hobbled down Dog Street and into the deeper shadow of a deserted alleyway. When he'd made certain that no one else lurked there, he pulled a flat clay amulet from around his neck and knocked it against the wall until it shattered. A wrenching spasm gripped the frail old body for an instant as the magic drained away, leaving Seregil young and whole again.
Retching dryly, he rested his hands on his knees and waited for the accompanying wave of nausea to pass.
A number of major magicks had this residual effect to one degree or another, just one more delightful side effect of his baffling magical dysfunction.
Straightening at last, he felt for the reassuring smoothness of his face and limbs, then took out a shielded lightstone and shuffled through the papers Ghemella had rejected.
He'd provided a tempting selection: documents, personal correspondence, declarations of illicit love, all from various influential persons. Most were old, things he'd picked up on various nocturnal excursions. Salted through these, however, were three half-finished letters from the pen of Lord Seregil. Knowing the method of his would-be detractors, he'd taken care to make them suitably ambiguous. Ghemella had taken all three.
Smiling darkly, Seregil headed back to the jeweler's shop to begin his patient vigil.
24 Watermead
Alec slid his blade away from Beka's and jumped back, leaving her off balance. For the first time in half an hour, he managed to get past her defense and score a touch.
"That's right! Hold her, hold her!" Micum cried. "Now pull back the way I showed you. Just right. Again now!"
It had been snowing heavily since early morning, so they'd cleared the hall for a practice area. Alec had made good progress over the last three days and neither he nor Micum wanted to chance losing ground.
Kari had been patient about it all, merely insisting that the tables be moved to protect the tapestries. She and Elsbet had then retired to the kitchen for the morning, but Illia remained perched beside her father, cheering gleefully every time Alec bested her sister. It hadn't happened often so far.
Beka rubbed her side with a rueful grin. "You're improving, all right. I think Seregil will be pleased."
Her face was flushed under its freckles and her eyes sparkled with the same gleam Alec had seen in Micum's and Seregil's during mock battles.
She looked older with her hair braided back, and the close-fitting jerkin showed the gentle swell of her breasts more than the shapeless tunics she usually wore.
As she raised her sword again, he found himself so distracted by the deadly grace with which she moved that her sudden overhand swing took him completely off guard and cost him a new bruise on his shoulder.
"Damn, I did it again!" Grimacing, he assumed a more wary stance.
"Concentration," Micum advised. "Watch your opponent, look wide, see everything. A flick of the eye, a change in balance, the way she holds her mouth, anything that can tell you what she's thinking of doing next. And don't tense up; it makes you slow."
Trying to keep all this in mind, Alec worked backward, drawing Beka, making her follow him.
The bound wire grip of the hilt felt warm and familiar against his palm as he executed a respectable attack of his own. Catching her blade in the curve of one quillon, he twisted hard and almost succeeded in disarming her.
"Hooray for Alec!" Illia crowed, clapping her hands in delight as her champion pressed his advantage.
Beka knew that trick, however, and quickly taught him one of her own. Hooking his ankle with her foot, she pulled one leg out from under him. Alec fell heavily backward as his sword spun away across the flagstones.
Beka pinned him none too gently with a foot on his chest and rested the tip of her blade lightly against his throat. "Cry mercy!"
"Mercy!" Alec dropped his hands in submission.
When she released him, however, he grasped her other ankle and brought her tumbling down beside him. Leaping astride her, he pulled the black dagger from his boot and rested the flat of it against her throat.
"Cry mercy yourself," he gloated.
"You cheated!" sputtered Beka.
"So did you."
"Seregil will be pleased!" Micum groaned, shaking his head.
"It sounds like someone's slinging anvils around out here!"
Kari laughed, striding in with an armload of trenchers. "The pack of you go find somewhere else to make your racket. I've got a meal to get on."
Servant and laborers quickly filled the hall for the midday meal. Stamping snow from their feet, they pulled out the tables and soon everyone was seated over a hot meal.
Micum spent most of the meal planning a new saw pit with the reeve. It did not escape his notice, however, that Alec and Beka had their heads together in some discussion of their own. Judging by the evident disinterest of Elsbet, who sat on Alec's other side, the subject probably revolved around swordplay or archer's tack.
Kari leaned close, following her husband's eye. "You don't suppose she's falling in love, do you?" she whispered.
"With a commission to the Queen's Horse in her pocket?" Micum chuckled. "Our Beka's too hardheaded for that."
"Still—he's a good lad."
"Don't give up hope," Micum teased.
"He's too wild for Elsbet's taste, but Illia would have him in a minute. She says so at least twice a day."
Kari gave her husband a good-natured nudge in the ribs. "Get on with you! The last thing I need in this family is another man with wandering feet. And if Seregil's taken this boy up, you can bet your head he's got them."