Chapter 8
::When I proposed this business, I thought you would be sitting here in the shop with me, not climbing about rooftops all night,:: Nikolas said, ruefully. ::Mostly, I thought you would be watching me work these people, and watching out for my back. And you have done that. But I never imagined I’d be putting you out there on your own.:: He was not happy with this, but... and this had given Mags such a thrill that he almost forgot how dangerous this was going to be... he had not argued at all.
::Somebody gots t’be i’ shop, buyin’ what-all,:: Mags replied briefly, with a glance down at Nikolas’ worried face, as he pushed open the hatch in the ceiling. ::Somebody gots ter foller th’ lads as sells ye th’ words. Nobody’d b’lieve ye’d leave me i’ charge’v shop, even if’n I weren’t s’posed t’be deaf, so reckon I gotter foller.::
Nikolas was going to start second-guessing himself in a moment, if Mags didn’t say something to lighten the mood. He climbed up into the attic space and dropped the hatch back in place. ::Asides, yer too big t’climb ’bout like yon roof-rat.:: The “word” he used was “big,” but the mental shading that came with it was unmistakably “fat.”
::Oy!:: Nikolas replied, with mock outrage. ::I’m not that big!::
::An’ yer jest not limber ’nough, either. Reckon yer bones git creaky. Cain’t hev ye breakin’ yon tiles an’ fallin’ through some’un’s ceiling,:: Mags continued, mockingly. ::That’d land ye in gaol fer certain-sure, they’d figger ye fer a thief. An’ then whut?::
::And would you dare take me and Rolan in a challenge race, you unwashed brat?:: came the “growled” reply.
::Nossir,:: he said promptly. ::Wouldn’ dare, sir.::
::Because you know we’d beat you like a hand-drum,:: Nikolas told him.
::Nossir. Cannot lie, sir. ’Tis cause yer not on’y big, yer me elder. Wouldn’ be fittin’, t’ challenge a gran’ther, sir.::
Not only “fat,” but “old.”
He suppressed his giggles at Nikolas’ reaction of outrage. He wasn’t just goading Nikolas for the sake of it. The King’s Own was seriously worried about him, and if he had to do his part of this evening’s work with an undivided mind, he had to shake off his concern for Mags. It was true, he did have a dangerous job. He was going to lie in wait above the door until a couple of men who said they had information to sell about the foreign spies arrived, sold their information, and left. Then Mags was going to follow them. It wasn’t the full moon now, it was the dark of the moon. And he wasn’t merely making his way across the rooftops to get from one place to another, he was going to have to follow someone, which meant keep up with people walking on the flat, open street, and it wasn’t going to be people as oblivious as Selna.
Wunner whut happened t’ Selna . . .
Further talking with her had uncovered the rather disconcerting information that she’d gone into the “profession” with Mistress Peg because she’d come up from the country to be a serving maid and hadn’t liked all the hard work. Now, Mags knew that not all households were like that of Master Soren, where the servants were treated fairly, and if she’d been treated as a slavey, well, he could sympathize. But she’d come up from the country in the first place because she’d been under the delusion that being a maid in the city meant huge wages (compared to the country) and a life of ease... after all, there could be dozens of servants in a household, and with that many hands, she had told herself that no single one would have to work very hard.
Guess’t musta come pretty shockin’ when she was put i’ scullery, he thought ruefully, arranging himself in the shadows above the door and watching for movement up and down the street. He himself had firsthand experience of what working as a scullery drudge was like. And just because there were dozens of servants in a household, it didn’t follow that this was going to make for leisure. Not when the master and mistress would entertain thirty or forty guests at a time, when they constantly had houseguests, and when the houses themselves were so big. Only when the highborn and wealthy were away from their town manors, off in the country on their estates, did things slow down, and the skeleton staff left behind could expect some of that leisure.
Well, he just hoped that the poor old fellow in charge of such things managed to find her someplace where she would be content. He rather dreaded to think that it might be another establishment like Mistress Peg’s.
But he didn’t have any time to think about it now, not when the two men he had been told to watch for had just come around the corner. One of them was holding something.
He went very still. ::They’re ’ere,:: he warned Nikolas.
He did not like the way they moved; they were aware of everything around them and prepared to attack at the first sign of trouble. But at the same time, they held themselves with an unconscious arrogance, as if the assumption that they would prevail in any fight was something so ingrained in them that it was unconscious. Their walk said all of that. It was... it was the walk of a predator. It was the way the man who had nearly slaughtered a stableful of Companions had walked.
That alarmed him. If they even suspected that Nikolas was not what he seemed—the previous lot had proved they would kill without thinking twice about it. Quickly he passed that information on to Nikolas. ::Amily’d never f’rgive me if—::
::And she would equally never forgive me if anything happened to you,:: Nikolas replied somberly. ::I have a knife on me and I’ve bolted the door. There’s a shutter I can slam down over the pay-window if I need to, and that will give me time to come up the hatch and join you.::
The men had reached the shop. Mags froze, not even breathing. Unlike Selna, they were making a quick scan of everywhere, including up, before either of them even touched the door. Mags knew he was in full shadow. He knew that at most, only the top of his head showed from where he was crouched. But he felt a cold chill spread over him as their gaze raked the roof, and he didn’t relax at all when they finally opened the door and entered the shop.
Assuming all went well in there... he was going to have to be very, very careful when they came out.
Carefully, he opened his awareness some. Not like dropping shields at all, but enough to see if he could just read something on their surface.
He couldn’t, not like he could with ordinary folk. There was something in the way, and he pulled back. This was not the point at which to make them wary, because men like these two reacted swiftly and decisively when something made them wary.
At least he had not felt that bewildering kinship with either of these men, the way he had with the rage-filled assassin. Nor did there seem to be any inexplicable link with them. He still had no idea what could have caused such a link. It had almost been as if—
—no, that was utterly ridiculous. And he had better not let his thoughts wander, not now, not at this juncture.