The King’s Own tossed him a small saddlebag as he stood up, and Mags caught it. Since Nikolas was still in uniform and he was not suggesting that Mags change now, presumably the saddlebag held a change of clothing, and they would assume their disguises elsewhere. Mags felt his stomach tense up a little. He reminded himself that this was not the first time he’d gone into Haven in disguise for Nikolas.
But it was the first time he was doing so as Nikolas’ partner. He shivered a little, despite the still sultry heat.
“Rolan and Dallen are saddled and ready. I’ve already established myself as a pawnbroker and clandestine receiver of stolen goods,” the Herald said, holding open the door into the stable. “Time to add you to the mix. Now, it’s been my experience in these situations that the simpler the story is the better, and the more you can get people to assume things, the stronger your disguise will be. Your notion of playing deaf fits into that perfectly. No one can question you, and you can listen to whatever is going on and no one will ever suspect you of eavesdropping. I’d prefer if you were mute as well—” He paused, waiting for an answer to the unspoken question.
“I’d already recked t’do thet.” Mags nodded. “Bein’ mute means I ain’t got nothin’ I need t’keep straight. Ev’body ’spects lad what’s deaf t’be mute anyroad. We jest wiggle our finners at each other an’ Mindspeak what we’re sayin’, an’ nobuddy th’ wiser.”
He followed Nikolas out into the stableyard where Roland and Dallen were waiting. Mags noticed something he hadn’t, before. This groom was very familiar—in fact, every time that he recalled Nikolas going out clandestinely, it had been this groom who’d prepared Rolan. And now that he knew Nikolas had a special circle of assistants—
He’d be daft not t’hev a special groom.
They mounted up and rode out into the dusk. Fireflies danced over the lawns—it looked as if the King had planned for the Court to remain indoors tonight. Only lovers would be in the gardens at this hour.
The Companions’ hooves chimed softly on the road, but there were always Companions going up and down at most hours. No one would notice two more. The evening breeze was just beginning to cool things off. In a way, Mags regretted this. It would have been a fine night to just laze about . . .
Once they were on their way, Nikolas resumed the conversation.
“I am going to tell anyone that asks a different story about who you are and why I have you,” he continued, as they passed a Gatehouse with two Guards keeping a watchful eye on both sides of the wall. “The one thing I will never say is that you are my son. This will mean, of course, that virtually everyone will be sure that you are. If anyone calls you my son, I will deny it furiously, which will only cement their certainty. Willy Weasel is not the sort of man who would take in a deaf-mute for the sake of charity; only being my son could possibly prompt me to do such a thing.”
Mags had to chuckle at that name. “Willy Weasel? Where’d ye git thet name?”
“Allegedly I look like a weasel,” Nikolas replied, with an amused glance at him. “I am also very good at what they call ‘weaseling a bargain.’ People don’t win unless I let them.”
They were among the homes of the highborn and wealthy now. There were little garden parties going on in several. Mags was glad he had eaten, as savory scents wafted over the wall from one garden all lit up with tiny lanterns. One whiff and his mouth was watering a little even though he’d had dinner; if he’d been hungry, it would have driven him insane. “Aight. I be yer son, on’y ye ain’t gonna say so. What else am I?”
Nikolas pondered that for a moment. “The Weasel wouldn’t have a woman about, because he doesn’t trust them, so your mother must either have abandoned you or is dead.”
Mags shrugged. “Tell it both ways,” he suggested. “Let ’em guess. Hev ye ever talked ’bout me afore?”
“I actually have spoken of you now and again,” Nikolas said, and he turned slightly so Mags could see his grin. “I’ve been planning on getting you on this from the beginning. I’m usually grumbling that you are not there when I have taken in a piece of jewelry, or that you are asleep in the loft of the shop when I want something taken down off a high shelf. So you have been established as a young relative with an uncanny power for judging gemstones. No one will be particularly surprised to see you with me tonight. Although—” now Nicolas chuckled “—at least one person will be very disappointed. He has been passing me what I suspect to be inferior gemstones. You will put a stop to the practice.”
“Should be able to, sir.” Mags affirmed. Here he knew he was on firm ground. No one was going to be able to get a flawed sparkly past him. And as long as he had one thing he was sure of, for now, that was enough.
“All right then.” Nikolas and Rolan both nodded. “We’ve got enough of your persona roughed in that we can do a credible job of inserting you into my operation. Time for the next step in your education.”
Chapter 5
Mags was not quite sure what to expect at this point. Where would they don their disguises? How would they get to where they were going—they certainly couldn’t take Rolan and Dallen with them. And where were Rolan and Dallen supposed to stay?
But going off to an inn, especially a very popular inn, instead of delving into the seedier side of town did not fit in with anything he would have anticipated.
It was the very large, very noisy inn that had featured the actors and players that they had been to last night. He assumed that Nikolas had a good reason to take them there, so he held his peace and asked no questions. Nikolas glanced curiously at him once when they had left Rolan and Dallen in a special area of the inn stables reserved for Companions but seemed satisfied with his silence.
Nikolas took a table in the common room; a small one right in the corner and out of the way, but well lit. He ordered drinks for both of them, looked very much like a man who was enjoying a rare night out, and spent about a candlemark talking to people he knew who came by the table.
“And this is Trainee Mags,” he would say, as soon as the conversation allowed. “You will probably come to hear about him as a famous Kirball player if you haven’t already, but he and I are getting acquainted away from the overly curious ears of my darling daughter.” Then he would get an arch look on his face as Mags flushed. Then the newcomer would look at Mags, look at Nikolas, and get the “Oh—aha!” look on his (or sometimes her) face and say something like, “So that’s the way the wind is blowing, eh? Well, she’s of age for it—” and Mags would blush even redder.
That it was all true—except for the getting acquainted part—only made him more embarrassed. Which was, he supposed, the point, at least for Nikolas. Not that Nikolas specifically wanted him embarrassed, but that Nikolas wanted a consistently genuine reaction, since some of the people they were greeting were Heralds. And just when Mags was starting to wonder when they would actually get around to doing what they allegedly came down into Haven to do, one of the actors from the previous evening hailed them from across the room.
The man came to the table at Nikolas’ gesture. “Niko, Arianna wants your opinion on her farce,” he said. “We want it to be funny, but we don’t want a repetition of the Bochter incident. Eh?”
Nikolas made a face. “No one wants to repeat that. It took the Constables most of the night to clear the inn. I can certainly help make sure no tender sensibilities are trodden on, nor tempers raised, nor insults taken.” He stood up. “Come on, lad. We get to be theater critics today.”