When the servant opened the door for him, Oriseus Forar stepped out onto the porch of his mansion, took a breath of crisp morning air, and tried to take pleasure in the start of a new day.
The gods knew, he had sufficient excuse for a glum mood. After his panicky flight from Laskalar's Square, his alliance with the Red Axes was surely at an end even if Kesk had survived his confrontation with Dark Sister Sefris. Oriseus still didn't have The Black Bouquet in his possession, and he doubted he ever would.
Yet the situation wasn't entirely bleak. As far as Oriseus knew, Dorn Heldeion didn't have the book, either, which meant the fool still faced ruin. Oriseus simply had to call in the debts his proxies had bought up. Even more importantly, neither Dorn nor anyone else of importance knew of Oriseus's criminal and treasonous designs. He'd emerged from the Bouquet debacle with his reputation unblemished, free to continue enjoying all the wealth and luxuries his station afforded while pursuing his clandestine efforts to bring the entire city under his sway.
Or so he assumed. But as he descended the marble steps toward his litter, a handsome, crimson-lacquered conveyance with appointments of real gold, he spied the Gray Blades. They'd apparently been waiting in the street, inconspicuous among the scurrying crowds, for Oriseus to emerge. Their expressions hard, they advanced on him, and Miri Buckman strode along with them.
Oriseus didn't know how it had happened, but he had no doubt the Faceless Master had ordered his arrest. He was equally certain of the grim fate awaiting him if he allowed himself to be taken. Struggling against terror, he told himself it needn't come to that. His magic would enable him to escape.
He began reciting a spell, lifted a hand to sketch an arcane symbol in the air, and a fierce pain stabbed into his palm. His arm jerked, spoiling the pass. Amazed, he turned his head to discover the source of his distress. He had an arrow sticking through his flesh, the bloody, razor-edged head protruding several inches beyond his knuckles. If only he'd worn his green cloak with its enchantment against missiles! Unfortunately, he'd been worried that people had noticed a suspicious character clad in such a garment fleeing the scene of the battle the night before, and accordingly had left it in his armoire.
He started conjuring with the other hand. Smiling, Miri shot an arrow through that one, too. He tried to finish the magic anyway, but fumbled. The Gray Blades grabbed him.
Once the lawmen laid hands on Oriseus Forar, Aeron decided he and Nicos had seen enough. Muffled in their cloaks and hoods, they turned away, then squirmed and dodged their way through the mass of gawkers who had, as if by magic, assembled to watch the wealthy and prominent-and accordingly, envied and despised-merchant's downfall.
Aeron's belly felt as hollow as a whore's flattery, and he was sure that after his ordeal, Nicos could use a hearty breakfast to rebuild his strength. He led the old man to an open-air food stand under a sagging, dilapidated awning. Behind the bar, eggs, battered bread, trout, and perch smoked and sizzled in cast iron frying pans, filling the air with appetizing aromas.
"I don't know why Miri didn't just shoot Forar in the vitals," Aeron said as they claimed a pair of stools. "I doubt either the Faceless Master or Dorn Heldeion would have minded."
Nicos smirked and replied, "She figured you were watching from somewhere close at hand, so she was showing off for you."
"I knew it had to happen sooner or later," said Aeron, shaking his head. "You're finally going senile."
"You could do worse than a lass like that."
"Right, a woman who likes to sleep out in the rain and snow and thinks the point of life is to risk your neck serving others. Plainly, she and I are a match decreed by the Morninglord himself."
"Well, when you put it that way…"
A serving maid came to take their orders. After she finished, Aeron turned the conversation to more practical matters.
"What items do you need," he asked, "to undertake a journey?"
"A fresh supply of my medicines would be nice. Why, are we going somewhere?"
"Away. I don't care how many oaths Kesk swears. I've twisted his snout too many times, and if I linger within his reach, eventually he'll put an end to me."
"You don't seem too upset about needing to flee."
Aeron shrugged and asked, "What is there to hold me here? All my best friends have either died or betrayed me, and anyway, this whole town is nothing more than a black bouquet."
"What in the name of Baator does that mean?"
"I don't know, but I'm looking forward to finding out. Lately it's occurred to me that the world's a lot bigger than this one town. I've never even seen the Lake of Steam, and it's just over the next hill. Well, so to speak."
"Do we have the funds to pay for a journey?"
"We will once I lift a few purses. Afterward, we'll wander until we find a city that suits us. Someplace I can go back to thieving as a regular thing if I take a mind to."
"If you take a mind to…" Nicos chuckled. "If we want to eat, you may not have a choice."
"Well, as to that…"
Aeron stealthily opened his tunic just long enough for his father to glimpse the old, brown sheets of parchment he carried inside, then fastened it up again.
Nicos lowered his rasping voice to a whisper and asked, "Pages from the formulary?"
"Slit neatly from the center. Dorn Heldeion has plenty of recipes left. He'll never miss these few. But if the whole book is worth a vast fortune, then even a piece of it should sell for a small one, once we get it authenticated. So you see, unless we develop a yen for golden ruby-studded chamber pots and similar extravagances, we're set for a long time to come."
Nicos grinned and said, "I always hoped to steer you toward an honest, upright manner of living. I'm starting to be glad it didn't work."