As Thero joined them Seregil handed the articles to him. “Thero, look at these.”
The wizard took the pieces and closed his eyes for a moment. “Myrhichia, certainly,” he said, holding out the hairpin. “And Kylith-but the impressions are very weak.”
“I think Atre used these to kill them, then saved them as trophies.” Mouth set in a grim line, Seregil moved on to the
first of the clothes chests, rifling down through the layers of fine wool and silk but finding nothing. He did the same with the next one. Nothing unusual there, either.
Meanwhile Alec had been rummaging about in the wardrobe. Taking out the last of the boots and shoes, he tapped on the wooden panel in the bottom of it. “Hollow.”
Thero drew the orange sigil and they watched as it floated in tendrils past Alec’s shoulder and disappeared through the bottom of the wardrobe.
Alec ran his fingers around the edges of the panel. A moment later Seregil heard the snap of a device and Alec lifted up the panel to reveal the hidey-hole beneath it.
“Ha! Thought so,” Alec muttered. Underneath were a large rectangular leather case and a small strongbox with an ornate lock plate.
“I don’t need a spell,” whispered Thero. “I can feel the magic from here.”
Alec lifted the leather case out first. The padlock securing it was easily picked. Inside, it was divided into twelve sections padded with thick felt, nine of which contained sealed bottles; the remaining three bottles were empty.
“You were right, Seregil,” Alec whispered. “This is how many you thought were missing from Basket Street.”
Seregil pulled out one of the full bottles and held it to his light. It contained a lock of black hair. “Master Atre is very exact in his counting, which is all the more reason to worry about him noticing the missing bottles.”
Thero frowned. “It couldn’t be helped. Without them-”
“I wasn’t criticizing, Thero, just taking stock of the situation. Look for Illia’s ring.”
Seregil picked up another bottle and something clinked inside-a simple unglazed clay bakshi stone, the sort one could find in any of the poorer booths in the marketplaces. It must have been prized by someone. The liquid was clear. He handed it back to Thero, who inspected the wax seal.
“Same as the others,” the wizard murmured. “The ones with no symbol in the center are still clear. And the magic feels the same as those we found before.”
“So you could let the souls out of the clear ones?” whispered Alec.
“Hopefully.” Thero put them back in the case with obvious regret.
Of the other bottles, two were clear: one contained a colorful snail shell, the other a lock of red hair. The others were marked with the central symbol and cloudy, but Seregil could make out a cheap copper earring, a glass bakshi stone, a piece of broken clay with lines scratched into it, and a bit of frayed ribbon.
Thero slid the last one back into place with a sigh. “No ring.”
“We’re not done yet.” Alec carried the casket to the dressing table and held his light close to inspect the lock plate. “I think it’s trapped. Stand back.” Wrapping his hand thickly in the corner of his cloak, he gently inserted the tip of a bent pick into the lock hole. The trap released instantly, and several small needles flew out, propelled by powerful springs or magic. Two caught in the cloth around Alec’s hand. The others flew past him. Thero suddenly cried out and staggered.
Seregil turned in time to see the wizard raise a hand to his neck and begin to fall. Catching him, Seregil lowered him to the floor. A short steel needle protruded from Thero’s neck and Seregil yanked it out, but Thero’s eyes were already glazing over.
“Not much-of a nightrunner-am I?” the wizard gasped.
“I said stand back!” Alec exclaimed.
“What do we do?” Seregil slapped the wizard’s cheeks lightly as the man’s eyes slid shut. “Thero, isn’t there some spell to slow poison?”
“The box,” Thero mumbled. “Open it.”
“We’ve got to get him to Valerius!” said Alec, kneeling beside the wizard and feeling for his pulse. “His heart’s hardly beating.”
“Go fetch Micum.”
Alec dashed away.
“The box,” Thero rasped, and something dark trickled
from the corner of his mouth into his short beard. “Please. Must know.”
With the horrible feeling that he might be granting his friend his last wish, Seregil finished with the lock and opened the casket. Inside were three bottles. He gathered them up and knelt beside Thero. The man’s pupils were huge, his face deathly pale. More of the black liquid ran down his cheek.
“There are three,” Seregil told him, holding them up. “Two are milky and labeled. One says TANIA and the other is EONA. Bilairy’s Balls, Lady Tania died a week ago, now he’s killed Laneus’s widow.”
“Last symbol,” Thero choked out. “Do they have it?”
“Yes.”
“Seals-the soul.” Thero coughed and black spittle speckled his lips and chin. His breath was rattling in his throat. Clutching Seregil’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, he rasped, “Find Illia’s-before he can-”
“Before he can seal it with the final mark. I understand. But what if he does?”
“She’ll die.” He coughed up a black gout and began to choke.
Seregil got an arm under his shoulders and lifted Thero so he could breathe more easily. “Don’t die! You’re just getting the hang of all this.”
The wizard managed what sounded like a chuckle, but he was shivering badly.
Alec hurried in. “Micum’s gone for his horse. He’ll need our help getting Thero on it.”
“What about the watchman?”
“Micum said he’d deal with him.”
They carried the wizard down and found Micum already at the back door with his tall grey.
“Maker’s Mercy!” he exclaimed softly. “Get him over Stormy’s withers so I can keep a hold on him.”
“We’re going to kill him!” whispered Alec.
“He’ll die if we don’t get him to Valerius,” Seregil grunted, helping him sling Thero over the horse like a sack of grain.
Micum swung up into the saddle and took a firm grip on the back of Thero’s coat. “I’ll come straight back.”
“Where’s the watchman?”
Micum winked. “Napping. What are you planning to do?”
Seregil gave him a humorless smirk. “It’s time to drive our prey. Micum, as soon as you get Thero to Valerius, have him send a messenger to deliver this to Korathan.” Seregil gave him the phial with Eona’s name on it. “Tell him to close the city gates and arrest the other players. Atre still has Elani’s jewelry.”
He put a hand on Thero’s shoulder. “Remember what I said. Don’t die.”
Thero’s eyes were closed and more of the black liquid was dripping from his parted lips. But they moved and only Seregil was close enough to hear his parting words: “Save them!”
Back in Atre’s room, Seregil and Alec set about putting things back where they’d found them. When they were done, Seregil set the leather case in the middle of the bed and took out the bottles that were still clear.
“What are you doing?” whispered Alec.
“These children can still be saved. The others can’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s what Thero thinks. Here, you take one and I’ll take one.”
They tucked the bottles under their belts inside their shirts and put the final things right.
Seregil took a last look around the room. “Finding that case out should be enough to flush him.”
“Where do you think he’ll go?”
“Hopefully to wherever he has Illia’s elixir hidden. And I don’t think he has enough of these bottles to last him for very long unless he goes back to his Basket Street cache. In his place I’d gather up as much as I could. If he’s on the run, it will probably be some time before he can reestablish himself in-”