Lhind the Thief (15 page)

“All three have been secured by the Steward, all asleep.”

“Ah yes! Give Kenned his money, then . . .
see him off. You will know how.” Geric’s voice went soft as a snake’s back.
“Or, have the others do that. You must find the thief, kill him, and bring me
everything he carried upon his person. Everything, missing out no coin or
jewel. Am I understood?”

The soldier bowed. “As you will, my lord prince.”

Geric turned toward me, and once again he smiled, then
enunciated slowly in Chelan, “It seems that I shall be entertaining you for a
time,” said he. “My servant reports that our hosts all seem to be occupied with
other matters, and bid us wait. I wonder how this might be brought to advantage
us both?” He brought the tray forward, and set it down on a side table.

He moved to block the tray from my view, and made a
flourishing act of pouring out two glasses of cider. Ice burned along my arms
and down inside to pool inside me. I leaped high and noiselessly, peeking over
his shoulder as he opened a ring and emptied a pinch of something into one
goblet.

I landed, my hair swirling gently, as Geric brought the cup,
bowed, and put it into my hands.

I held it up as if admiring the craftsmanship.
Secured—asleep—Find the thief, kill him.
If the traitorous steward, Kenned, came in now, he’d be able to point me out as
The Thief.

Geric bowed, the other glass in hand. “Drink, my honored
guest. I will propose a toast—to our excellent hosts, and may they find the
future they so richly deserve.”

I raised my glass to my lips, and took a sniff. On the
surface was the pungent smell of very good cider. But underneath, the
unmistakable tickle of liref in my nostrils: not a smell so much as a sense.
Liref. Not poison, but an herb that sent people into sleep.

What to do, what to do?

“Do you not drink?” he asked, still smiling, but question
began to quirk his eyes.

“Yess!” I watched his gaze lift to my swirling hair as I
walked toward him. Deliberately, while his gaze was distracted by my hair, I
slid on the rug and then stumbled against him. I tried to dump the cup, but his
fingers shot out and steadied my hand so only a little of it spilled. His other
arm clasped around me and held me against him.

His grip was strong. I knew I wouldn’t break it easily, and
struggling would give me away, so I let my hair whip into his face as I
exclaimed, “Oh! My! Bad, me!”

He let me go, laughing a little. “Bad
me
, for I must say, I wouldn’t mind you falling into my arms
again.”

I set my cup on the tray as I made a business of brushing
off my clothes. “Oh! Bad!” He was watching me lazily, so I spread my hands.

Now what? A small shadow flitted past the windows—Tir was
back! That gave me an idea.

I let out a shrill cry. He looked up quickly, wary and
dangerous. I pointed at the window, gabbling earnestly in what I hoped sound
like a Hrethanish language, and when he strode to the window to peer out, I
switched the silver cups. And when he leaned out, I snatched the goblet from
the mantel behind me and topped that evil potion just for good measure.

I set the golden goblet behind a side table a heartbeat
before he turned around and said with pardonable exasperation, “It was just a
bird.”

“
Evil
bird? Scare
me. Red eyes!” I sent a mental apology to Tir, in case the aidlar was listening
to this exceptionally witless masquerade.

Geric might want to flirt, but only when convenient for
him
. He signaled his intent by picking
up what he thought was the drugged cup and pressing it into my hands.

I lifted my goblet, saluting him. As I’d hoped, he mirrored
my movement in his pretense of politeness—and when I gulped down my wine, he
took a good drink of his own.

Another gulp—he drank—he set his goblet down, and so did I.

“Shall we take a tour?” he asked, holding out his arm to me.
His smile showed the edges of his white teeth. “Perhaps this is the way to become
better acquainted, ah, with not only each other, but with
the . . . altered circumstances now obtaining—” He stopped, and
frowned.

My eyes flicked to my bundle, resting beside my stool. Among
my tools was a little bag of liref, enough fine-ground leaves to knock half an
army out for a week. I knew how fast it could act, when added to any distilled
or fermented drink.

Geric took a step toward me. His eyes narrowed, and his
teeth showed again as he said, “Magic or mere trickery, Honored One?” His speech
slowed, but somehow he forced himself to continue. “We shall—”

And I heard the finishing thought as clear as if he’d
spoken:
We shall meet again, I promise
you that.

Then he stumbled to a chair, his head thrown back, his hands
clenched into fists as he fought against the double dose of liref, but his
limbs went loose, his eyes gradually closing. When his breathing deepened, I
sprang forward to search him. My time as a pickpocket made me good at that: I
relieved him of his knife, two rings, and from an inner pocket in that
beautifully tailored battle tunic, a curiously carved piece of bone that made
my fingers tingle warningly.

I threw all this into my bundle, tucked it under my arm, and
faced the doorways, uncertain what to do next. Rescue Hlanan and the others?
That was the instinctive response, for though my trust had been broken, I could
understand why Hlanan had done what he’d done. He really had not intended to
hurt me, I understood that much. This Geric, his reasons seemed both mysterious
and far more threatening.

I had no idea where to begin my search, but maybe Mardi
would. Surely I could find that kitchen again—

The curtains stirred as a white bolt shot through the
window.
Flee! Flee
! Tir’s voice in my
head was nearly as shrill as sound would have been.

“What about Hlanan? Shouldn’t I do something about them?” I
asked.

Tir’s thoughts were confusing, more image than words, then I
remembered that order to ‘kill the thief.’ And Kenned knew what I looked like
as both thief and Hrethan.

All right. Time to get away and plan.

I crossed to the window. Tir flew out again as I peered
around. The tree branches stretched welcomingly near; an easy leap, another,
and a short time later I stood on the ground in a lovely park, wondering what
to do next, as Tir was a mere dot against the sun, wings beating as the aidlar
fled northward.

From somewhere beyond a tall stone wall horse hooves
drummed in the pattern of a trot. I crossed a hedge and leaped to the top of
the wall, lying flat, and watched a double column of gray-clad, armed riders
gallop into the park.

Rajanas and the others had landed themselves into a nasty
quagmire. Maybe it was related to the same quagmire we’d escaped before.

I slid off the wall again, and crouched behind a thick dark
green shrub. Unrolling my bundle, I stared down at my wrinkled clothing. Grease
stains, dirt, and the remains of many hastily-eaten meals met my eye; the
herb-scented air of the park was overwhelmed by the odor I’d cultivated for a
year.

Though I’d been perfectly content in those clothes until
noon, I found that I was distinctly reluctant to resume them now. And they
wouldn’t be safe, anyway. That traitor of a Steward had seen me before I
changed as well as after, so the searchers would have both descriptions.

The alternative was a third disguise. My new tunic and pants
were common for these parts. Assuming I could hide my tail and hair, maybe I’d
get by. Except I still had my old problem: where to put my stash?

When in doubt, wear it. I’d learned that long ago.

Working fast, I separated into three piles my burglary
tools, my take, and the bits of food I’d stashed. Remembering the variety of
headgear I’d seen on the citizens of Imbradi on our ride into the city, I
wrapped the tools tightly into a corner of the sash. I flexed my scalp and neck
so that my hair twisted tightly into a knot on my head. Around this I wrapped
the other portion of the sash, making a turban. The jewels and rings I strung
on the cord from my old knickers, and I slung this around my waist inside the tunic.
My tail had to go inside the trousers, my knife in my waistband, and I resolved
to get a cloak as soon as I could.

Last thing, I buried the old clothes and the bits of stale
food that I’d stashed. Though once I would have cherished every bite, I’d eaten
so well these past few days that the mashed, dirty bits no longer looked
appetizing.

I slipped over the wall and ran toward the town, hiding
every time I heard a horse approach. Twice gray-clad warriors rode at a flat
gallop either to or from the palace. And when I reached the city, I heard far
off the shouts and metallic clashes of fighting.

The streets were nearly empty. Once again I’d be
conspicuous, unless I went to ground, and quickly. But where?

I tried to think over what Hlanan and Thianra had said about
this city. Not much.
Tir!
I squeezed
my eyes shut and yelled in my mind.
Tir?
Where are you?

At once a flash of mental-image entered my mind: myself,
seen from high above. I looked up in the sky, and just barely made out an
indistinct bird-shape against the white of sailing clouds.

You are sought,
came Tir’s mental voice.

Who?
I sent back,
ducking fearfully through an archway into a narrow street.

Kuraf seeks you. And
these.

Again I ‘saw’ from the bird’s view: not one, but three
separate search parties. Two were groups of those gray-clad warriors, one of
which moved perilously near. I waited, crouching behind someone’s wash strung
between walls, until I heard the clash and jingle of their mail and weapons as
they marched by.

The smallest group comprised two men and a woman, who worked
their way steadily down a street from the other direction. They stopped every
so often to talk to the increasingly rare citizens passing by.

Question: were Kuraf’s folk friend or foe?

Tir?

Their words carry no
danger to you.

This decided me in favor of the three searchers. Maybe
Kuraf’s folk would give me some idea what was going on.

I vaulted the wall behind me and ran along it until I came
to a low roof. Leaping onto that, I ran lightly over the rooftops, springing
from one to another until I reached the end of the row.

Then I jumped down directly behind the three searchers. They
whirled around, hands going to weapons.

“Looking for me?” I asked, reaching up to pull the turban
free—taking care to keep hold of my tools still bundled in the sash.

They watched my hair cloud as from all sides a small crowd
of people emerged from the shuttered houses and stepped into the street to ring
us. One of the searchers bowed to me, and said, “Will you join us, Honored
One?”

“Happy to,” I said. “Lead on.”

The three silently closed ranks around me; the people who
lived on the street withdrew into their houses, shutting doors and windows. No
doubt watching from behind the shutters.

Led by my new companions, I began a fast journey through the
twisted, narrow streets of the inner town. I was soon hopelessly lost, and we
moved too fast for me to try contacting Tir to find my position.

Abruptly we halted at a nondescript house in the middle of a
row of such. One of the men remained on guard outside the door as the other two
led the way inside.

We went up steep steps, and entered a small room with low
furniture made with the same pleasing lines as that I’d seen in Rajanas’s
palace, though this was much plainer. Two people waited quietly, a man and a
woman. The man was young, the woman old. It was to the woman my guides turned.

“Here is the Hrethan. She comes freely.”

“Good.” The woman nodded, gestured to me. “We will have food
brought, and drink.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” I asked.

The woman smiled briefly. “We wait for nightfall. Then we go
to Kuraf. She will answer your questions—and ask you some, I expect.”

She stopped talking as someone brought in some steaming tea,
and several plates of food.

They tried to make me comfortable; I was never really sure
whether I was a guest or a prisoner. Somehow I was never alone and couldn’t try
that door. And Tir had flown out of range of my thought-reach.

At nightfall we left again. Entering another house, we
descended to a cellar. There, hidden cleverly in the brick, was a secret door.
This opened onto a tunnel. Silently my guides led me into this, two before me
and two following behind. While we walked in the utter darkness, I used the
opportunity to tie my stash securely under my tunic, hoping it wouldn’t bulge
when light found us again.

When we emerged into the cool night air, I smelled rain on
the way. We stood in a thick wood, and horses were brought. Still in silence,
we mounted up and then rode for some time.

I could see little of the path ahead. The darkness was not
absolute but very near it. Still, we did not stop for quite a while, and that
was only long enough for the lead rider to light a torch. By then the rain had
begun, soft but steady. The cool, wet air woke up my tired mind, and excitement
coursed through me. I tried hard to follow the sense of our path, but all I
could see was the uneven red flicker of the hissing torch, and smoke streaming
behind.

Judging by my horse’s labors, we rode a distance upward into
mountains, then at last descended a narrow path into a valley. Steep cliffs
blocked the clouds on either side. The rain had lessened by the time we
dismounted, and I was bade to climb.

“Climb?” I repeated. The darkness was thick, and the torch
had been put out.

“This.”

Rope, a rope-ladder, was put into my fingers.