"Confession, great Queen, confession!" croaked Alben. "I don't know the man's name and I never asked. He had the look of a noble but I'd never seen him before and he hadn't a Rhнminee accent. But it was the same one both times, for the letters-forgeries, that is-against Vardarus and Lord Seregil."
"The truth so far, my Queen," announced Imaneus.
"What other forgeries did you execute for this man?" demanded the Queen.
"Shipping manifests, mostly," quavered Alben, staring miserably at the floor. "And—" He faltered to a halt, trembling more violently than ever.
"Out with it, man. What else?" barked Barien.
"Two-two Queen's Warrants," whispered Alben, naming the document that allowed the bearer access anywhere in the land, including the Palace itself.
"You admit to forging the signature of the Queen herself!" Phoria burst out furiously. "When was this?"
Alben quailed miserably. "Three years ago, it must be now. They weren't any good, though, when I delivered them."
"Why not?" Barien's voice betrayed nothing, but Nysander was surprised to note that the Viceregent had gone quite pale. Phoria also seemed shaken.
"They hadn't any seals yet," whined the wretched man. "I don't know where he meant to get them. I never kept any copies of the warrants, Your Highness, I swear! Let this wizard be my witness, I knew better than to mess with those!"
"And they never got no Queen's Seal from me, I swear by the Four!" Ghemella chimed in. Again, Imaneus indicated that the truth had been spoken.
"When did this occur?" Barien asked again.
"Three years ago last Rhythin, my lord."
"Are you certain? Surely you've done hundreds of forgeries. How is it that you recall this particular one so clearly?"
"It's partly the warrants, my lord. It's not every day you get a chance at something like that," Alben quavered.
"But there was the manifest business, too. One of them was for a ship called the White Hart, registered out of Cirna. I recall it because I did a favor for my neighbor, putting his lad's name on the crew list. Only, you see, the ship went down with all hands in the first of the autumn storms less than a month later. The boy was lost."
"You're certain of the name? The White Hart " asked Phoria.
"Yes, Highness. I don't recall the other vessels, but I know that one. I watched the port lists for months, hoping she'd turn up and the boy with her. My neighbor's never spoken to me since over it. Anyway, this man who came to me? He wanted a few other things over the years, manifests mostly, until last spring. Late one night in Nythin he came saying he had a letter he wanted altered and could I do it? The very letter you have there, Majesty, belonging to Lord Vardarus. For one hundred gold sesters I made him two copies with the changes. Ghemella did the seals, like always."
"And you made copies for yourself," interjected Nysander. "In case you might use them yourself for future gain?"
Alben nodded silent admission.
"And did this man provide you with the letters of Lord Seregil?"
Alben hesitated. "Only the first one my lord. The rest came to me from Ghemella just recently and I sold them to that same man."
"I bought them off chars," the gem cutter put in hastily.
"What's she saying?" asked Phoria.
"'Char" is the street parlance for a dealer in stolen papers," explained Nysander.
"That's so, your lordship," Ghemella said, determined not to leave out any detail. "I got them from an old cripple named Dakus."
Ah, Seregil, you outfoxed yourself that time! Nysander thought resignedly, knowing well enough who this «Dakus» was and where the second damning letter had originated.
"This fellow doing all the buying, he was pleased with the work I did," Alben continued. "He said he'd pay well for any letters from nobles whose lineage went outside Skala."
"Lord Vardarus' great-grandfather was a Plenimaran baron." Idrilain frowned, tapping the hilt of her sword. "And Seregil— well, that was certainly no secret!"
"And so you made the forgeries for him and once again kept copies for yourself," Barien said. "What was his purpose in securing these documents?"
"He never said, my lord, and I never asked," Alben replied with a hint of skewed dignity. "You'll pardon me for putting it so, but a forger doesn't last long without discretion."
"That is all you can tell us, then?" Barien looked to the wizard still standing over the accused pair.
"It's as much as I know of the matter, my lord," Alben assured him.
Imaneus nodded again but Nysander forestalled him.
"A few salient points remain to be established, the first being when the latest forgery was to be delivered and to whom. The second is whether or not the prisoners know of any Leran connection with this whole affair."
"Lerans!" Barien grasped angrily at his heavy chain of office. "What have the Lerans to do with this?"
"I don't know anything about Lerans," Alben cried out, looking imploringly up at Idrilain. "I'm loyal to the throne no matter what your blood is, great lady! I wouldn't have anything to do with that sort of thing."
"Nor I, your ladyship, nor I!" Ghemella sobbed.
"They speak the truth," said Imaneus.
"Their loyalty is so noted," Idrilain observed sarcastically. "But what of Nysander's first question? When are these new forgeries to be delivered, and to whom?"
"Tomorrow night, my Queen," said Alben. "There were three this time, those you have there done up in the yellow ribbon. There's a letter of Lord Seregil's, one from a Lady Bisma, and another from Lord
Derian."
"All with foreign connections," noted Phoria.
"I wouldn't know about that," Alben maintained. "The gentleman only said I was to give them to no one but himself, just as before. He always comes alone at night. That's the end of it, my Queen, and by the Hand of Dalna, I can't think of a thing I've left out now!"
Idrilain turned her icy gaze on the jeweler.
"Have you anything to add?"
"I bought the papers and made the seals," Ghemella whined, tears dripping down over her quivering jowls. "I swear by the Four, my Queen, I knew nothing more than that of the whole business!"
When the prisoners and officials had been dismissed, Barien rounded on Nysander.
"What's all this about Lerans?" he demanded. "If you have any evidence of such activity in the city you must share it with me at once!"
"I should certainly have done so," Nysander replied.
"At this point it is simply a theory which makes a great deal of sense."
"Poor old Vardarus," Idrilain said sadly, pulling a letter from the box. "If only he'd spoken up—"
"You had no choice, given the evidence," Phoria insisted staunchly. "It all seemed irrefutable. At least Lord Seregil's come to no harm."
"Ah yes, Seregil. And what of him, Nysander? By rights I can't hold him. Yet if I release him the traitorous bastards who've concocted all this will surely bolt."
"That is certain," the wizard agreed. "He must remain where he is for now and we must hasten to allay suspicion at the apothecary's house. The neighbors will be gossiping of the night's events, and word travels all too quickly to evil ears. Our only hope lies in tracking this buyer of forged papers when he comes for the next packet. Alben could be put back in place—with all suitable restraints, of course—for the time it takes to apprehend our man."
"It must be done quietly," cautioned Barien.