"It is as we feared," he told them.
"A second forged letter has been delivered to the Viceregent, this one dated the sixth of Erasin. Ironically, the original was one that Seregil handed over to Ghemella as part of his scheme to entrap the forger."
"The sixth of Erasin?" Alec counted back.
"That's just after we met. We were still out on the Downs then."
"Bloody hell!" growled Micum. "Either the bastards know about Seregil's work or they struck lucky in the dark. Either way, they've fixed it so he either has to rig up some lie or reveal himself. And that could prove a death sentence in itself."
"I could say he was at Ivywell," Alec offered. "We've already set up the story that he brought me down from there. He was telling everyone at the party about it."
"I fear not," said Nysander. "That tale serves well enough in some circles, but would not bear up under the scrutiny of the Queen's inquisitors. At the very least, witnesses would be sent for from Mycena. When none appeared, you would find yourself as deeply implicated as Seregil. Besides, there is no time.
Idrilain has given us just two days' grace. I fear our best recourse is to pursue Seregil's original plan regarding Hind Street."
"I've been thinking about that," mused Micum. "It took Seregil a week to find Alben, and he's not even certain he's the right one. Assuming that we do find a cache-that there is one— what if he's not our man after all? It could take us weeks to run down information that Seregil could come up with in a few days' time."
Nysander spread his hands resignedly. "True. Yet at the moment I can think of no other option."
"If only he'd had another day," Alec exclaimed bitterly. "He was all smiles about it tonight, as if he had all the time in the world."
"It occurs to me," said There, who'd been quiet for some time, "that Alec's absence at Wheel Street this evening will surely have been remarked upon. Perhaps an appearance at the prison would not be out of place-expressions of outrage, bewilderment, and the like? While it would not be politic for Nysander to be seen there, who would question Lord Seregil's young ward bringing his protector a few necessities for the night? A blanket, perhaps, and some clean linen—"
"A lock pick!"
Thero spared Alec a withering glance. "Only if you want to guarantee your place on the gibbet beside him. My thought was that if they allowed you to see him, he might be able to pass along some helpful information. If not, what have we lost?"
"You've a bit of the spy in you after all," said Micum.
Thero looked slightly offended. "It's simple logic. My thinking is unclouded by emotion in this matter."
"Nonetheless, it is a fine idea," said Nysander, giving the young wizard an approving look. "Well done, Thero."
Alec rose and reached for his cloak. "I'll go right now! Are you coming, Micum?"
Nysander raised a warning hand. "A moment first, both of you. It is imperative that you recognize the magnitude of our actions. Should anything go awry, we will have forfeited any credibility we have left with the Queen. We could all find ourselves in the Red Tower, or worse."
Having said what was necessary, he was proud to see no signs of wavering in the others. "Very good. I must add that any misstep will reflect most disastrously on the Queen; that must be the final consideration in any decision. If this does stem back to the Lerans, any cock-up on our part would play right into their hands. Nothing would please them more, I am certain, than the appearance of a widespread conspiracy that includes myself. With that in mind, I pray for Illior's favor to grant us all luck in the shadows."
"I'll second that," said Micum. "Come on, Sir Alec. We've got work to do."
A dank wind whipped up from the harbor as Alec and Micum rode up to the prison near the southern wall of the city. The main tower was a squat, ugly structure ringed by a bailey wall. Dismounting in the outer yard, Alec wrinkled his nose at the dismal stench of urine and burning tallow that hung over the place.
"It's hard to believe I woke up at Watermead this morning," he whispered, clutching the little bundle he'd thrown together.
"More like yesterday morning now," sighed Micum.
"What if they don't let us in?"
"Just be as persuasive as possible and have some gold ready, throw back your cloak so they can see you're a gentleman."
Following Micum's advice, Alec pounded at the gate.
A bearded face appeared at the door grille.
"What's your business at this hour?"
"A man was brought in tonight," said Alec. "His name is Lord Seregil. He's my protector and I've brought some clothing and blankets for him. May I see him, please, just for a moment?"
"That dark-haired blade?"
"Yes, that's him."
"It's damned late, you know."
"Inconvenience has its price." Alec held up a gold half sester. "We'd be very grateful."
Micum stepped closer behind him. "They haven't given an order against visitors, have they?"
The guard eyed Alec's coin, then turned to confer with someone else. The gate soon swung open.
"I suppose there's no harm in the lad going up," the guard said, taking the coin and leading them into the warder's room. "But just him and only for a minute. You can wait here by the fire if you like, sir, while he goes. And I'll have a look through that bundle first."
Satisfied with the contents of the parcel and a second coin, the chief warder turned Alec over to another guard, who led him into the depths of the chilly edifice.
The walls seemed to press in around Alec as he followed the warder up flight after drafty flight of stone stairs. His time in Asengai's dungeon had left him with an indelible hatred of such places.
Stopping at one of the low cell doors, the guard peered through the tiny grille. "Visitor, your lordship!"
A muffled reply came from within.
"You'll have to speak to him through here," the warder told Alec. "Don't pass nothing through, not even your hand. I'll see to it that he gets this package."
Taking Alec's bundle, he moved off far enough to give them a modicum of privacy.
The grille was set deep in the thick wooden door. Light from the nearest lantern in the corridor slanted through the bars, illuminating a crescent of profile and one glittering eye.
"Are you all right?" Alec whispered anxiously.
"So far," Seregil replied. "It's damn cold, though."
"I brought a blanket, and some fresh clothes."
"Thanks. Any news?"
Leaning as close as he dared, Alec quickly told him the details of their conference at the Cockerel.
"Nysander thinks finding evidence against your forger may be our only chance. Micum and I'll have to do it, I guess, but we're not certain how. God, I wish all this hadn't happened!"
"I know how you feel. Is the guard still well away?"
"Yes."
"Then pay attention." Seregil cautiously reached the fingers of one hand through the bars, signing something about Micum.
It was too quick. Alec shook his head. "I can hardly hear you. What did you say?"
"I said it's a dead end. Nothing to be gained,"
Seregil said, raising his voice for the guard's benefit as he signed again, more slowly this time.
His fingers were somewhat hampered by the bars, but Alec got Tell Micum silver fish.
"I don't understand!" Alec whispered, convinced he must have gotten the nonsensical message wrong.
"I won't leave you here to rot!"
"Don't fret," Seregil replied, locking eyes with him. "There's a lucky moon tomorrow night. Fortify yourself with prayers to the Lightbearer and all will be well. In the meantime, I entrust you to the care of Micum Cavish. Heed his wisdom; he's a man of many parts."