"Of what?" demanded Alec. "What does the Shaft do? If Nysander has the disk and the crown, then the Plenimarans aren't going to get them and whatever they're part of can't happen, right?"
"I guess that's the idea. But why would you be having these dreams now, if that's all there is to it, eh?"
"Do you think Mardus could still be after us? Bilairy's Balls. Seregil, if Rhal could find us, then why not him?"
Seregil shrugged. "It's not impossible. He didn't strike me as the sort who gives up easily. But why hasn't he shown up yet? It's been months now, and if he had any idea that we have the crown as well, then he or somebody like him will be certain to come after it sooner or later. There's something else, too. You remember Micum's description of the ritual sacrifice he found up in the Fens?"
"All those bodies cut open," Alec said with a small shudder.
"I found the same sort of thing with the crown. All the bodies were ancient there, but the mutilations were the same, breastbone split, ribs pulled back like wings. Now Nysander claims that all this may come to nothing, that there have always been Guardians and Shafts and so forth chosen just in case. But he didn't sound all that confident. That's why I'm telling you this, and why we've got to warn Micum. I want you to ride out there tomorrow and tell him just what I've told you."
"What about you?"
Seregil smiled darkly. "There are a few old mates of Tym's I'd like to have a chat with. If Plenimarans are getting into Rhiminee, then someone has got to know about it."
"They covered their tracks pretty well with that business in the sewers," Alec reminded him.
"Except for Rythel. There's almost always a Rythel in any plot. When you get to Watermead, what I've told you is for Micum's ears alone. Do whatever you can to get him alone but try not to raise suspicion. Kari usually knows when something's up. And ask him about his dreams while you're at it, although I expect he'll scoff.
"It's a lot to take in, I know. Like I said, Nysander claims this may all come to nothing, but I don't think he really believes it. I know I don't."
Half-realized images whirled through Alec's mind, too chaotic to grasp. Yet bits and pieces seemed to stand forth from the general maelstrom, like branches in an eddy. "So Nysander has at least two pieces of whatever this thing is: the disk and the crown. But there must be something else, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if he's been the Guardian all these years, then what's he guarding?"
Seregil's eyes widened in surprised realization.
"That's a good question. But somehow I doubt we'll ever know."
Resuming their roles of Lord Seregil and Sir Alec for the day, they emerged from the Wheel Street villa at midday and rode down to the lower city to inspect a certain privateering vessel anchored just beyond the quays. They found Rhal's man still waiting at the Griffin. A day and night spent in a tavern notwithstanding, he was still sober enough to row them out to the ship.
"That's 'er," he said proudly, nodding over one shoulder as he rowed them toward a sleek, twin-masted raider. The Green Lady sported fighting platforms fore and aft. Even to Alec's untutored eye there was no mistaking her prime purpose.
"Bilairy's Balls, what's that supposed to be?" Seregil asked as they crossed beneath her prow. Fitted under the bowsprit was the painted statue of a woman.
"Figurehead," Welken replied. "Lots of the new ships has 'em. Said to bring luck. Captain Rhal got the best carver in Iolos to do our lady there; she's even got a real golden ring on her finger with a great red stone winking in it.
Captain says her round belly'll bring us a full hold."
Dark hair streamed over the woman's shoulders and the carved skirts of her emerald-green gown flowed back from a rounded, pregnant belly. One outstretched hand pointed ahead; the other lay modestly over her heart.
Alec broke into a broad grin as he squinted up at the painted wooden face; it was not fine work, but the resemblance to Seregil was obvious to anyone who'd seen him playing a Mycenian gentlewoman aboard the Darter.
Still staring up, Seregil swore pungently under his breath.
Alec stifled a snort of laughter and asked innocently, "Does she have a name?"
"Oh, aye. Captain calls her Lady Gwethelyn."
"It suits her," Alec observed, still fighting to keep a straight face.
"Charming," muttered Seregil.
Climbing a rope ladder, they found Rhal waiting for them on deck. After a brief tour, he ushered them belowdecks to his aft cabin. Though by no means luxurious, it was a far cry from the cramped quarters he'd entertained them in aboard the Darter.
"I hope that figurehead of yours brings you luck," Seregil remarked dryly, taking a chair.
"Aye, and I don't doubt we'll be needing it soon," Rhal said, pouring wine for them. "The weather is settling out early this year. With the old Overlord dead, there isn't much to hold the Plenimarans back now. Of course, his son Estmar isn't Overlord yet. According to Plenimaran custom, there's a month of official mourning before he can be crowned. That should give us another few weeks."
Seregil shook his head, frowning. "I wouldn't count on it. There have been rumors of Plenimaran scouts sighted as far west as the Folcwine River."
This had come as troubling news, Alec reflected.
The swift— moving units of the Queen's Horse Guard were scouting there, too, but there'd been no word from Beka in weeks.
"Well, whatever happens, the Lady and her crew are ready," Rhal assured them stoutly. "She sailed easy as a swan coming up from Macar and as you saw, we're fitted out with grapples, catapults, and fire baskets. When we set off raiding I'll have twenty archers among my crew and ten more hired on special."
"Impressive. When do you sail?" Rhal stroked his dark beard. "Soon as we get the Queen's Mark."
"The only thing that separates privateers from pirates," Seregil interjected for Alec's benefit.
"That, and the percentage of the take appropriated for the royal treasury," Rhal added. "I figure we'll do coasting trade until the war breaks out in earnest; goods loads, transporting soldiers, that sort of thing. The crew needs a proper sea run.
Word is there's already plenty of activity down around the Inner Sea and the Strait, lots of fat Plenimaran merchant ships carrying supplies and gold up toward Nanta. And of course, I stand ready to honor our bargain, though I don't see how you'll find me if you need me."
"We thought of that," Alec said, flipping him a silver medallion. "It's magicked. Just hang it up in here somewhere and a wizard friend of ours can sight off it wherever you are."
Rhal studied the emblem of Illior stamped into the face of the disk. "This has a lucky feel to it, too, and we can use all of that we can get."
"Then the best of it to you," said Seregil, rising to go.
"I hope your ship's belly is as full as your figurehead's before long."
Rhal scratched his head sheepishly. "Oh, you noticed that, did you? She was a fine-looking woman, that Gwethelyn. Thinking back to that night I caught you out, I don't know if I was more angry or disappointed. But in the end I'd say meeting you brought me luck, so there she is. The Green Lady's a fine ship and she'll do us all proud."
Since they were already dressed for the part, Alec and Seregil put in a suppertime appearance at Wheel Street, then slipped back to the Cockerel after dark. Once there, Seregil went straight to his room and rummaged out his tattered beggar's rags.
"Are you going out tonight?" asked Alec, leaning in the doorway as Seregil changed clothes.
"There are some thieves and nightrunners I want to speak with. I'm not likely to find them in daylight. I probably won't be back before you go, so get some rest and leave early. Before I go, though, let's hear what you're going to tell Micum. Things happened pretty fast today. I want to be sure you've got everything straight."