He must have felt me watching him. He looked down at me, his dark eyes unreadable in the alley’s faint light.
“What are you thinking?” His voice was a husky whisper. Raising your voice in this part of the waterfront was never a good idea. Maybe he knew that. Or maybe it was just for me. Either way, it was a very nice whisper.
“Nothing,” I lied.
“You were smiling.”
“Was not.”
One corner of his mouth turned upward. “Yes, you were. What is it?”
“I was wondering if you’re ever off duty.”
“I am.”
“Do you ever act like it?”
His blue eyes shone in the half-light. “I’ve been known to. Is that what prompted the smile?”
“It was. I just can’t imagine you being anything other than a Guardian.”
“I don’t know what you may have heard about me,” he began.
“By the book and all business.”
The smile broadened slightly. “I do hold myself and my men to a higher level of accountability than some of my predecessors. It’s earned me a reputation that has its uses. Sometimes it makes my job, and the jobs of my men, a little easier.” The smile faded. “I take my position—and my responsibilities—very seriously. You’re in danger because of an object that is my responsibility, something I’m asking you to help us find.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “My reasons for agreeing to help aren’t exactly honorable, you know. I’m one big bull’s-eye for a lot of bad people until I can get this thing off of me, so I have a vested interest in helping you get what you want.”
“That doesn’t lessen the danger you’ll be in over the next few days, nor does it lessen my appreciation for your help—and my admiration of you.” The Guardian paused awkwardly. “Mistress Benares?” His voice was oddly formal.
“Yes?”
“I would like it very much if you would call me Mychael.”
I felt a smile coming on. I didn’t try to stop it. “I think I can do that.”
If the light had been better, I would have sworn he had blushed. I felt a little warm myself.
Now for the question of the night. “Do you have a plan?” I asked, my voice small and quiet even to me.
Mychael seemed genuinely puzzled. “Pardon me?”
“A plan. Say Ocnus actually knows where the Saghred is, and we get him to cough it up. Do you have a plan that’s going to get this thing off my neck while leaving my head attached to my shoulders?”
“I do, but the details depend on where the Saghred is.”
Now for the question I really didn’t want to ask. “What if the weasel’s lying? What if he doesn’t know a thing, and he just tried to con the wrong people? It wouldn’t be the first time. What then?”
Mychael was silent for a little too long.
“You are a seeker—and your father’s daughter.”
I thought it’d be something like that.
He moved a step closer to me. I didn’t move, and I didn’t mind.
His voice was low. “If there is the possibility, however remote, that Ocnus Rancil knows where the Saghred is, I would prefer to get that information from him and then confirm it through more mundane means.”
I swallowed. “Because the Saghred’s dangerous.”
“That’s one reason.” Mychael paused uncomfortably. “No doubt you are a fine seeker, but your father had the beacon created to his skill level. He was an exceptionally gifted mage, one of the best our order has ever produced. He knew how to use the beacon to keep track of the Saghred. Unfortunately, that information vanished with him. But I am knowledgeable of how a beacon such as yours works—”
“So you can walk me through it, if necessary.”
He smiled slightly. “If necessary. Hopefully it won’t be.”
“What are the chances that Eamaliel Anguis is my father?” I finally asked. “Really.”
“From the beacon’s reaction to you, almost a certainty.”
I was quiet for a longer moment, for an entirely different reason.
“A nine-hundred-year-old elven Guardian is my father.” I said it as much to myself as to the much younger elven Guardian standing in front of me. Like saying it would make it more believable. Or less terrifying.
“He was connected to the Saghred,” I said. “I’m connected to the Saghred. He’s nine-hundred-years old and still alive. I’m going to be…?”
“Just fine,” Mychael assured me.
“How do you know that?”
“Eamaliel had nearly continuous, daily contact with the Saghred for almost two years before he ever had the beacon made. And he wore the beacon for nearly a decade before anyone noticed he didn’t seem to be aging. You’ve never touched the Saghred, and you’ve only worn the beacon for two days. We’re going to find the Saghred, get the beacon off of you, and you’re going to be just fine.”
“No magical leftovers?”
Mychael was silent.
“You’ve been reassuring until now,” I said. “More of the same would be nice.”
“There could be some residuals.”
“Residuals?”
“When Eamaliel keyed himself to the beacon, he essentially keyed himself to the Saghred. The beacon acted as a conduit, and transferred some of the Saghred’s power to him. You experienced a taste of that last night with the Magh’Sceadu. With beacons and objects of power, any link is usually severed when the beacon is removed.”
“Usually.”
“With something as powerful as the Saghred, the residuals can be significantly more than mere magical leftovers.”
“So some of what I can do now could stay with me?”
“It’s possible that all of what you can do now will stay with you.”
“Great. Every couple of hours I’m finding something new I can do.” I had a thought, and it made me faintly queasy. “Would Sarad Nukpana know this?”
“He is a leading Saghred scholar,” Mychael said. “Yes, he would know.”
I didn’t need to know that.
Phaelan’s low whistle came from the alley. Show time.
I slipped into the alley next to Phaelan. Mychael stayed around the corner. I’d told him before we’d left Sirens that I wanted a shot at Ocnus first. I was the one he had set up; I was the one with the beacon stuck around my neck. I felt that earned me certain rights and privileges. Before tonight, I’d never thought of strangling Ocnus as a right or privilege, but the past few days had been full of firsts.
I looked around. No Ocnus. “Where is he?”
Phaelan’s smile flashed in the dim light. “He’s finishing off his last pint now. I had Norleen giving him free ale. He’ll have to stop here before he leaves.”
“Here?” Understanding dawned, and it didn’t smell good.
Phaelan grinned. “Yeah, right here.”
“Am I standing in…?” I looked down at my boots in disgust.
His grin grew to wolfish proportions and he tapped his own boot in something wet. “Highly likely. Payback is hell, cousin. From Nigel’s stinking alley to Ocnus’s.”
Now I remembered why I avoided alleys in this part of the waterfront. I was glad it was a cool night. In high summer, the smell would have been unbearable.
Never think a night can’t get any worse. There’s all kinds of worse.
“Who’s Norleen?” I asked, trying in vain to keep my mind off my feet.
“The brew mistress here. I knew her when she worked at the Beggar’s Back. Brews fine ale, but the dwarf who owns this place is too cheap to sell the lady’s nectar at full strength. He thinks he can make more profit if he waters it down. But I understand you can get it full strength if you slip Norleen a little extra.”
“Ocnus is no use to us drunk,” I reminded him.
“No problem. Norleen made sure he filled his bladder before his brain. He’ll be just relaxed enough to make him receptive to questioning.” He grinned. “Or you could always speed things up and do a mind link.”
My expression and accompanying gesture let him know what I thought of that. Doing a mind link on someone like Ocnus was akin to turning over a rock and finding squishy things underneath. With Ocnus, finding something squishy was always guaranteed.