He looked at her, and once again, she noticed that same odd quality in his gaze. "I hope you don't mean tonight. At the risk of you curling up your lip and calling me 'old man' again, I have to say that after what we've been through, I've had enough cold weather and exertion for a while. I'd rather repair to one of those shabby little inns along the harbor, and tackle the rest of the Quippers tomorrow."
She smiled. "I must confess, I'm not quite as young as I once was, either, and I daresay that's not such a bad idea."
Chapter 13
Bileworm had spent much of his existence in proximity to colossal fortresses built of iron, basalt, and sorcery, but even he had to admit that the playhouse called the Wide Realms presented a pleasing spectacle, if only in a tawdry, terrestrial sort of way. The entrance to the theater, a ring-shaped structure with a tiring house and stage at the rear and a pair of multi-level galleries curving out and around to meet at the gate in the front, shone like a jewel in fields of magical light, as did the gaudy pennants flying and banners hanging from the thatched roof. The humbler patrons had all packed inside prior to the start of the performance, but a few aristocrats were still arriving, pulling up in their carriages, on horseback, or strolling behind torch-bearing linkboys in scarlet capes. Music, the declamations of the actors, and, periodically, applause, cheers, laughter, catcalls, and booing, drifted up through the open space in the center of the building.
Of course, Bileworm hadn't come to admire the view but to scout the disposition of the enemy, and having accomplished his task, he supposed he'd better return to Master and report. He turned and skulked along the rooftops, a shadow moving virtually invisibly against the night sky, until, lengthening and then shortening his leg, he stepped lightly down into the alley where the wizard and his mortal henchmen waited.
Garris Quinn, clad tonight in a plum-colored hat with an upturned brim and yellow plume, a loose, thigh-length mandilion overcoat in the same colors, and baggy galligaskin breeches, glanced around, discovered Bileworm leering at his elbow, yelped, and recoiled.
Not the least bit startled by his aide's outburst, or at least not betraying it if he was, Master casually turned toward his familiar. "What have you learned?" the masked wizard asked.
"They're guarding the lad," Bileworm said, "just as you expected. They have warriors hiding in four buildings adjacent to the Wide Realms, six to ten in each detachment. I imagine other guards are waiting inside the playhouse."
"Thank you for giving us the benefit of your tactical expertise," said Master, a hint of impatience perceptible in his tone. He'd been out of sorts since Thamalon Uskevren's eldest boy had escaped him earlier that day. "Then it's a trap," Garris said uneasily. Master sighed. "I'm surrounded by strategists, it seems. Naturally it's a trap. Did you think that with young Talbot's parents missing, and his brother already assaulted, his retainers would let him wander off to do his acting unprotected? But we're going to trap the trappers."
Garris nodded. "All right. Do we attack?" The bravos massed behind him stirred.
"Not yet," said Master. "Since I want to neutralize all the warriors outside without giving any of them a chance to warn their compatriots inside, Bileworm and I will attend to that particular chore by ourselves while you fellows wait here."
The spirit sniggered. "I thought you promised I could take it easy from now on."
"All you have to do is lead me to the guards," Master replied, "so it shouldn't tax your stamina unduly. Specifically, I want you to guide me to the aspects of the watch posts opposite the Wide Realms. Presumably, the soldiers are all peering out at the playhouse, and if we approach their positions from behind, they shouldn't see us coming."
Bileworm grinned. "Consider it done." He escorted Master to the improvised sentry station on the east side of the theater, a candlemaker's shop. The familiar assumed the warriors had paid the proprietor, his family, and any apprentices to clear out for the evening.
Unfortunately, the establishment had no back door. "You could climb in through a window," Bileworm whispered.
"I might make noise," Master replied, his voice equally low. "Let's try a little magic."
The wizard removed a pinch of sesame from one of the pockets in his dark blue mantle, swept his hand in an intricate mystical pass, and whispered a sibilant tercet. The air in the vicinity rippled for a moment, like hot desert air birthing a mirage, then a round hole appeared in the wall of the shop.
Master slipped inside. Bileworm followed and found himself in a storeroom, with tubs of beeswax and tallow sitting about. Voices murmured through the doorway leading to the front of the shop.
The wizard took out a blowpipe, tiptoed to the opening, raised the weapon to his lips, and puffed explosively. Bileworm watched several armed men fall unconscious; the unlucky ones who'd been standing thumped down to the floor. After a moment, two of them started to snore.
"I concocted this dust when I was young, and used up most of it before my death," Master remarked. "I was pleasantly surprised to return thirty years later and find the rest still in its jar. I guess no one else in the family knew what it was,"
"Are we going to kill these mortals?" Bileworm asked. Master sighed. "I wish you'd grow up a little. We have riper fruit to pick. Come on, we'll go back out through the hole."
As they made their exit, Bileworm reflected that Master simply lacked panache. Yes, they had no need to murder the slumbering warriors. Yes, it would require a few moments that might be spent more efficiently elsewhere. Yes, the method he had in mind would cause a stir when they'd already resolved to be stealthy. But still, with all the combustibles on hand, the candlemaker's shop could be made to burn magnificently, and the heat would almost certainly wake the soldiers up in time to perish in agony in the flames.
Deploring a squandered opportunity, the spirit led Master to the other watch posts. The warriors stationed to the south and west succumbed as easily as the first detachment, but matters fell out a bit differently at the last stop on their circuit, a fragrant perfumery, the shelves behind the counter lined with porcelain and crystal bottles. After the blowpipe discharged its contents, one warrior remained on his feet, a lean, middle-aged man with a stern, humorless mouth, pale, narrow eyes, and a grizzled widow's peak. Judging from the markings on the blue surcoat he wore over his mail, he was probably Jander Orvist, captain of the Uskevren household guard.
Though surely startled by the sudden collapse of his men, Jander nonetheless reacted quickly. He drew his long sword and charged the wizard. Giving ground, Master plucked a packet of folded paper from his mantle, brandished it, and spoke a word of power.
Jander was only a stride away from being close enough to attack when the spell took hold. A smear of slick white slime materialized beneath his boots. Slipping, he cut at the wizard anyway, a stroke that would have landed had not Master parried it with his staff. Purple radiance sizzled from the black wood, down the blade of the long sword, and into Jander's body, playing about his armored limbs as he fell.
Twitching and shuddering, Jander tried to flounder back to his feet, made it as far as his knees, and, realizing he could go no farther, drew in a ragged breath to shout. Master rattled off a brief incantation and spun his arm in an intricate gesture that ended with him planting his hand on the fallen captain's shoulder.
Magenta light and a kind of ragged darkness flickered about the point of contact. His mouth drawn in a rictus of agony, Jander convulsed and then collapsed, his sinewy warrior's body now withered to little more than skin and bones.
Bileworm leered. "He should have skipped off to dreamland with his men."