"Sorry, young sir, that's all the time I can give you," the guard called.
"Damn!" muttered Alec, still convinced he'd misinterpreted a crucial message. Pretending to brush back
a stray strand of hair, he signed Silver fish?
To his surprise, Seregil nodded emphatically.
"Come along, sir!"
Alec held Seregil's gaze a moment longer, heart pounding painfully in his chest. What he could see of Seregil's mouth tilted up suddenly in the old reassuring grin.
"Why the long face?" Seregil whispered. "You're not alone in this, you know. Everything's going to be fine!"
But Alec felt anything but fine as he followed the guard back down the stairs. Much as he wanted to believe Seregil's brave assurances, he thought he'd heard a hollow note in his friend's voice.
They were in a bad spot, and a good deal of it was up to him to solve. The consequences of failure were too awful to bear thinking about.
His face must have given something of this away, for the guard said kindly, "There now, sir, perhaps it'll all come right in the end. He seems a good enough fellow."
Sensing a potential ally, Alec managed to work up a few tears by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs. In fact, they came with surprising ease.
As soon as they were out of sight of the prison Alec passed on Seregil's strange message. For a moment Micum looked disconcertingly blank.
"Silver fish?" Stroking the corners of his mustache, he shook his head. Then suddenly he broke into a broad grin. "By the Flame, he must have meant silverfish, like the insect!"
"That means something to you?" Alec asked, still doubtful.
"Oh, yes! In fact, our sneaky friend has given us our whole plan of attack. I'll explain when we get home-home being Wheel Street tonight."
Runcer met them at the door. "The guests have departed, Sir Alec, and I have laid a fire in your chamber. Will you be requiring anything else tonight?"
"No, thank you," Alec replied, feeling a bit confused. The elderly servant's manner conveyed the impression that he had served Alec all his life.
He was hovering in a manner that suggested he expected further orders. "Well, I think I can manage. You should go to bed, ah—"
"Runcer," Micum whispered behind him.
"Runcer, yes. Go to bed. It's late. Thank you."
Runcer's wrinkled face betrayed nothing but respectful attention as he bowed good night.
Retreating hastily upstairs, Alec found his new bedchamber brightly illuminated.
"He's refurbished it," Micum remarked dryly, looking the place over. "It's very-Mycenian."
"Is that what you'd call it?"
The cabinets, chests, chairs, and tall, carved bedstead were all brightly painted with garish fruit and game motifs. The bed hangings, though faded, were richly embroidered with a pattern of pomegranates and wheat. The overall effect was rather overwhelming, even to Alec's untutored eye. The only familiar oh jects in the room were his sword and bow, which lay across the bed.
"I supposed I'll get used to it," he sighed, drawing a chair up to the fire. "Now tell me about the silverfish."
"Old Silverfish was a name we gave to a slippery customer Nysander had us track down a few years back," explained Micum. "He was another blackmailer and, like his namesake, he had a talent for disappearing into the woodwork. Seregil had a hell of a time finding his cache. He finally did, though, and I never saw a prettier bit of coggery."
"How did he do it?"
"We'll get to that. What else did he tell you?"
"To depend on you, and that there'd be a lucky moon tomorrow night when I should pray to Illior. I think he means we do the burglary then."
"Right. We'll pay a daylight visit to Master Alben's shop, look the place over, then do the real work after dark."
"And if he's right? The bailiff who arrested Seregil had my name, too. If I show up with evidence they'll never believe us!"
"Probably not. Which means we have to make certain it gets to the Queen some other way. The City Watch, for instance. I daresay they'd welcome the opportunity to arrest a traitor."
"Sure, but why would the Watch believe us any more than the Queen's Bailiff?"
"They wouldn't," Micum said with a sly smile. "But Myrhini will."
"Who?" Alec was too tired to place the name immediately.
"Princess Klia's friend. She's a captain of the Horse Guard."
Alec, rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his palms. "Oh, yes, the one who took me to the barracks for a pass that day Seregil had me robbed."
"The day he what?"
"Never mind. You think Myrhini will help us?"
"For Klia's sake, if not for Seregil's. I'll send a message, but I don't expect we'll see her before dawn. You try out this new bed of yours in the meantime. I have an idea tomorrow will be another long day."
Alec gave a humorless laugh. "I don't think I've seen a short one since I met Seregil!"
27 Hind Street
Opening his eyes the next morning, Alec was startled to find Runcer bending over him. "Forgive me for the intrusion, Sir Alec, but Sir Micum sent me to wake you." Moving with fossilized dignity, the old man set a steaming pitcher on the washstand.
The promise of a watery grey dawn filtered in at the window. He couldn't have been asleep more than a few hours. Sitting up, Alec watched the old servant moving about the room at what were apparently his morning duties. After laying out the bath items, he fetched clean linen and a fresh shirt from a clothes chest and laid them out on the foot of the bed.
Unaccustomed to such ministrations, Alec watched with growing unease. His experiences at the Orлska baths had left him wary of servants.
What if the man wanted to help him dress? It was unnatural, having another person doing things for him as if he were a child or an invalid. The man's respectful silence only made matters worse.
"You manage the household, don't you?" Alec asked as Runcer proceeded to brush his cloak. How much, he wondered, did this wrinkled old man know of his real background-or Seregil's, for that matter?
"Of course, sir," Runcer replied with no discernible change of expression. "Lord Seregil has left instructions that you be made comfortable. Breakfast has been laid in the dining room and Captain Myrhini is expected shortly. Shall I lay out your clothes, sir?"
"I suppose so."
Runcer went to another chest for breeches, then creaked to a halt at the wardrobe. "And which coat would you prefer today, sir?"
Having absolutely no clue as to the contents of the wardrobe, Alec hazarded a guess. "The blue, please."
"The blue, sir." The old servant took out an outrageously ornate coat stitched with gold beading.
"Well, maybe not the blue," Alec countered hastily. "I'll decide later."
"Very good, sir."
To Alec's dismay, Runcer did not leave but instead gave him another of those expectant looks. After a long, chagrined moment Alec realized he was waiting to be dismissed.
"Thank you, Runcer, I don't need you."
"Very good, sir." The old man bowed and left the room.
"Bilairy's Balls!" Jumping out of bed, Alec stalked to the wardrobe and inspected the surcoats hanging there. The blue was by far the gaudiest. Pawing through the others, he found a plain russet and hurried into his clothes. Not surprisingly, they all fit as if he'd been measured for them, even down to the boots.
Seregil did this while I was in Watermead, Alec thought with a pang. A nd none of it will be worth adamn if we don't get him out of the Tower.
He headed downstairs and followed the smell of sausage to a pleasant room overlooking the garden.