Seregil and the other “slaves” were leaving most of their gear behind, but he and Alec kept their tool rolls, in spite of the danger of being caught with them. For now they were stored at the bottom of their small traveling packs, but Seregil and Alec both had a medium-sized lock pick sewn into a seam of their tunics. Weapons presented another challenge, and they had a heated discussion about that with Rieser behind closed doors in their cabin.
“Even if you’re only presenting yourself as a horse trader, wouldn’t you have armed men to protect the string?” Rieser demanded.
“You have to play every role to the last detail,” Seregil explained. “Slaves caught carrying weapons will get their master into some serious trouble, not to mention what would happen to them. If we get backed into a corner, we’ll either steal some or use whatever comes to hand.”
“Or run very fast,” added Alec.
“It’s usually better to avoid a fight altogether,” said Micum.
Rieser raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re afraid to fight?”
“No,” said Seregil, “but fighting attracts attention, and that’s something we want to avoid at all costs. Still, we won’t go in without any protection. Micum has his sword, and no one will question him carrying Alec’s bow. If he can’t get it to Alec in time, Micum’s a very good archer. Does that satisfy you? Or are you afraid?”
“I fear nothing, but dying won’t accomplish our purpose.”
“None of us plans to die. Just follow our lead when the time comes. This is what we’re good at.”
“I caught you easily enough,” Rieser reminded them.
“And we escaped just as easily.”
“The first time.”
“That’s enough!” said Micum. “It’s settled: no swords or knives. We each play our role. That should be protection enough.”
For clothing, the ship’s sailmaker was able to alter some of their clothing and some loose trousers traded from the crew into outfits befitting a well-to-do northlander’s slaves. They would wear shirts under the usual sleeveless tunic, but with sleeves loose enough to readily display the slave brands. Seregil sewed plain veils for each of them out of some of the ribbon and fine lady’s handkerchiefs Rhal had plundered from a Plenimaran ship.
When it was all fixed, Alec modeled it for them.
Seregil frowned. “It’s not perfect.”
“It’s good enough for a foreigner’s slaves,” said Micum. “The brands and collars should be enough to convince anyone.”
That night Seregil and Alec sat down to map out all that they recalled of the alchemist’s villa. Alec had seen only a bit of the cellar under the house where his cell had been, and the way from there to the workshop with its two gardens. Seregil had been kept in an upper room overlooking the inner garden, and then in the same cell that Alec had been in, but he had been unconscious for the transitions. The night he’d escaped with the Khatme nurse, it had been dark and she’d been in the lead, but he had some sense of the direction she’d taken, leading him down through the dining room into the central courtyard. The workshop garden lay just beyond. He’d also spent a night in an attic overlooking that same garden.
Alec knew the workshop best, and sketched it, marking the forge and athanor, tables and other structures, including a small ornate tent at the far end. “And here’s where the tunnel begins, under the anvil nearest the door,” Alec said, showing Rieser.
“And you can’t just go in that way?”
“I considered that, but I don’t think we could lift the trapdoor with that anvil bolted on top of it,” Seregil explained. “I almost killed myself getting it closed last time.”
“Perhaps with my help—” Rieser began.
“You won’t be there.”
“You are not going to get the book without me.”
“Oh, yes, we are. We know what we’re doing and don’t need you there, bumping around and knocking things over in the dark. If you want the book, then you damn well better leave it to us.”
“He’s right,” Micum told Rieser. “You and I will have our own task.”
“And I’ll find out what that is later, I suppose?”
“The night I got out and hid in that attic, I overheard the guards talking about a gully behind the workshop’s garden wall,” Seregil told them. “That might be a good route in, if the workshop backs up to it.”
“What about the tunnel?”
“Repeating ourselves would be dangerous. Unless something better presents itself, I think a straightforward burglary by way of the gully is the best plan for now. If all else fails, then we can use the tunnel, but I’d rather not.”
“You seem to be leaving a lot to chance,” Rieser noted.
Seregil grinned. “We don’t know how else to operate.”
They reached a small wooded island on the afternoon of the third day out. Alec and the others went ashore while the sails were changed for the black-and-white-striped ones and the figurehead was removed and stowed away. The sails were a bit of a risk, since meeting a Skalan ship was a very real possibility in these waters.
“I’ve done this before,” Rhal had assured them. “And I haven’t encountered the warship, Skalan or Plenimaran, that my Lady can’t outrun.”
It was peaceful here. No one lived on the island. There was only the sound of the waves, the wind, and the cries of gulls and ospreys. Alec drank it all in, knowing this was likely to be their last respite for a long time.
Seregil picked up a flat stone from the beach and sent it skipping across the surface of the cove toward the Lady with a practiced snap of his wrist.
“How much longer until we reach Plenimar?” asked Rieser, watching the progress with the sails.
“Three or four more days, according to Captain Rhal.” Micum sent a stone skimming after Seregil’s. It went a few skips farther.
Alec watched the two of them compete, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The Skalan coast had dropped below the horizon yesterday. He was feeling very far from home—and from that waterfall where Rieser’s Ebrados were supposedly waiting for them. “Sebrahn could be halfway to Cirna by now.”
“I gave you my word,” Rieser replied calmly. “My riders will not disobey my orders, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
And to Alec’s surprise, the man picked up a flat stone half the size of his palm and sent it skipping farther than any of the others.
The striped sails went up quickly, and they were under way again before sundown.
Alec stood by himself at the rail as the coast of Plenimar came into view on the horizon, distracted by old memories. Gazing north, he pulled absently at the collar he now wore and wondered how far they were from that distant stretch of ledges where they’d battled Duke Mardus for possession of the Helm. His eyes stung a little as he said a silent prayer for Nysander.
Micum joined him and must have read his thoughts on his face, for he rested a hand on Alec’s shoulder and said, “Seems like it wasn’t that long ago, doesn’t it?”
“Sometimes. I haven’t dreamed about it for a while, but Seregil still does.”
“I doubt he’ll ever quite get over it. How could he?”
Alec sighed and went back to studying the distant shore. It was open country here, similar to what they had trekked through after their escape from Yhakobin. At least it wasn’t raining this time.
Rhal put in at a deserted inlet south of Riga, and Alec and the others readied to disembark.
“I figure it will take us at least four days to find the book and get back here, if all goes well,” Seregil estimated.
“I’ll sail back in then. But what if you’re not there?”
Seregil thought a moment. “Come back again in two days, and then again until we either show up or a few weeks go by.”
They changed into their slave clothing and stout sandals, and let the carpenter fix the collars around their necks with lead rivets that could be cut with a knife if necessary. Rieser’s collar was made of bronze; the slaves Rhal had liberated had belonged to wealthier men than Micum.