Micum was seated already, with Seregil's two Zengati hounds lying to either side of his chair. Apparently they held no grudge over his recent burglary. At his approach they merely raised their gleaming white heads, heavy tails brushing the floor in welcome.
Micum pushed a plate of sausage his way.
"You'd better eat something. Myrhini will be here any minute."
They'd barely finished their hasty meal when Runcer ushered in the tall captain.
"This had better be fast. I've got inspection in an hour," she warned, mud-spattered cloak billowing about her legs as she joined them at the table.
"How's Klia taking the news of the arrest?" asked Micum.
"Oh, she's livid, but worried, too. Queen's Kin or no, Viceregent Barien's out for blood, and pissed as hell that Idrilain granted a grace period before the questioning starts."
"Nysander expected that," said Alec. "Does Barien have a grudge against Seregil?"
Myrhini held up her hands. "Who knows? According to Klia, he thinks Seregil's a bad influence and has never liked his being friends with her and the twins."
Elesthera and Tymore, thought Alec. Seregil had drilled him mercilessly on the royal family. The twins were Klia's older brother and sister, Idrilain's other children by her second consort.
"Did you tell Klia you were meeting us?" asked Micum.
"No and she'll ream me for it when she finds out. But I agree with you that it's best not to involve her until we know which way die wind's going to blow. So, how can I help?"
Micum poured more tea and settled back in his chair. "There's a man in Hind Street, a forger, who
probably fabricated the false documents that put Seregil in the Tower. Seregil had planned to go after him himself tonight; he wants us to go ahead without him."
"But the evidence can't come from us," added Alec.
"Barien could say we made it up just to clear Seregil's name."
Myrhini looked out at the grey sky brightening above the muddy garden. "What you need is someone to tip off the bluecoats. Someone who won't ask too many questions."
"That's about the size of it," said Micum. "Of course, there's a certain amount of risk involved. I'd understand if you wanted no part of it."
Myrhini waved the warning aside with a disgusted look.
"As it happens, there is a certain captain of the Watch who'd be happy enough to do me a favor. And Hind Street just happens to be in his ward-to catch a forger squeezing nobles would be a proper feather in his cap."
Micum grinned knowingly. "Enough said. We'll send word as soon as we're certain of our man. When we do, you speak to your bluecoat captain. Alec and I will play the flushing hounds and he can have the kill.
We'll need you there, though. Your captain can't see us or know we're involved."
"I'll be there." Myrhini rose to go. "Having one of the Queen's daughters as best friend and commander does have its occasional advantages, you know."
Alec made his way through a cold winter drizzle to Hind Street an hour later. It was a neighborhood of plain, respectable tenements: five-story wood and stone buildings constructed around small interior courtyards.
Dressed as a country lad of good family, he made a show of great agitation as he asked directions along the street. He was directed to a whitewashed building in the third block. Hurrying into the courtyard, he spotted a brass mortar hung over a door on the ground level. The shutters were open. With a silent prayer to Illior of the Thieves, he lifted the latch and burst into the little shop.
The low room reeked of herbs and oils. A young boy stood heating something over a lamp at a table near the back of the shop.
"Is this the apothecary's?" Alec asked breathlessly.
"Aye, but Master Alben's still at his breakfast," the boy replied without looking up from his work.
"Call him, please!" cried Alec. "I've been sent for medicine. My poor mother's had an issue of blood since last night, and nothing seems to stop it!"
This galvanized the apprentice. Setting his pan aside, he disappeared through a curtain at the back of the room, returning a moment later with a balding man with a long grey beard.
"Master Alben?" asked Alec.
"That's me," the man answered brusquely, brushing crumbs from the front of his robe. "What's all this fuss about, first thing in the day?"
"It's my mother, sir. She's bleeding terribly!"
"Durnik told me that much, boy. We've no time to waste on hysterics," snapped Alben. "Does the blood come from her mouth, nose, ears, or womb?"
"From the womb. We're in from the country and didn't know where to find a midwife. They said at the inn that you might have herbs—"
"Yes, yes, Durnik, you know which jars."
The apprentice fetched three jars from one of the crowded shelves and the apothecary set to work measuring the herbs and powders into a mortar. Alec wandered to the window, wringing his hands with simulated impatience.
In the courtyard outside he saw other tenants of the place setting out for their day's business. Micum was just across the way, strolling around the court as if looking for a particular address. Seeing Alec at the window, he sauntered over in the direction of a refuse pile in a corner of the yard.
Alec paced back to the worktable. "Can't you hurry?" he implored.
"A moment!" snapped Alben, still grinding. "It's of no use at all if it isn't correctly mixed—By the Four! Is that smoke?"
At that moment a cry of "Fire!." went up in the courtyard, followed by a scream and the sound of running feet. Dropping his pestle, the apothecary rushed to the door. The rubbish heap was in flames.
"Fire! Arson!" he shrieked, going white.
"Durnik, fetch water at once! Fire, fire in the courtyard!"
By now the shout had been taken up through the building and doors flew open as people hurried out to douse the blaze.
Young Durnik ran for the well, but his master disappeared back through the curtain. Following him, Alec discovered a comfortable sitting room behind the shop. Alben was hovering at the hearth, gripping one of the carved pillars supporting the mantel with one hand, and pulling nervously at his beard with the other.
Seeing Alec in the doorway, he snarled, "What are you doing in here? Get out!"
"The medicine, sir," Alec ventured meekly. "For my mother?"
"What? Oh, the medicine! Take it, take it!"
"But the price?"
"Bugger the price, you idiot! Can't you see there's a fire?" Alben gasped furiously, making no move to abandon the hearth. "Get out, damn you!"
Backing out through the curtain, Alec dumped the contents of the mortar into a parchment cone and hurried out past the crowd that had gathered in the street. A few blocks from the tenement Micum stepped from an alley to meet him.
"Well?"
"I think it worked," Alec told him. "As soon as it started he went right to the room behind the shop and wouldn't be moved from the hearth."
"We've got him, then! It's just as Seregil said the first time we pulled that trick on Old Silverfish: "Shout «Fire» and a mother will race to save her child, a craftsman for his tools, a courtesan for her jewel box, and a blackmailer for his hoard of papers."
"So now we tell Myrhini?"
"Yes, and pray to Illior this is the right forger!"
That night, Seregil found himself with nothing to do but worry. The cell's tiny slit of a window was too high to look out of; he gauged the passage of time by listening to the prison go quiet around him. Hunched miserably on the hard stone sleeping shelf with his blankets pulled tight around his shoulders, he worried.
Have they gone out yet?
In truth, he had no way of knowing if Alec and Micum had understood the import of his message.