If he spoke slowly and took care with his syntax, despite the odd accent he still had, he’d be taken for a farmer or craftsman—or, just possibly, a country squire—from some agrarian part of Valdemar with its own regional accent. It was a fine guise, and very useful for what he was about to do—which was to buy used clothing.
Such was easy enough to acquire, and it was easier to put mending and patching onto gently-used clothing than it was to repair clothing that was getting far past its useful lifespan. It was easier to put on stains than remove them. That so-helpful, completely invisible accomplice at the Companion’s Bell was quite literate, as Alberich had proved to himself by leaving some instructions with one of those disguises, and returning to find that those instructions had been carried out to the letter. So he would buy appropriate outfits, and leave instructions on how the items were to be abused if they looked insufficiently used.
And finally he would have things that fit him, rather than Dethor. His predecessor had been slightly shorter and significantly broader in the waist than Alberich, with much shorter legs.
It will be good not to have to wear my breeches down around my hips to keep them from looking too short.
He spent a very profitable morning, going from shop to stall to barrow, examining items with all the care that any thrifty fellow from the hinterland would use, exhibiting all the suspicion that he was being cheated by a city sharper that any Haven merchant would expect from a shrewd bumpkin, eager to get his money’s worth. He never bought more than one piece from any one place at the same time—though he did come back, later, if he’d seen more than one item that he wanted. In this persona, Alberich was not particularly notable. There were several men like him, engaged in similar errands, up and down the quarter where used clothing was sold. Most were alone, though a few had wives or older children with them. Whenever he had a collection of three or four items, he went back to the Bell, and left them, so that he was never observed carrying great piles of clothing.
By doing this, he was able to acquire disguises for a good dozen personae, including one or two that were just a touch above his current character; good, solid citizens who would be welcome in any decent house or tavern in the city. Anything else, he’d get from the Palace; he had a notion he’d like to have a set of Palace livery, perhaps a Guard uniform, and clothing appropriate for the lower ranks of the highborn.
And, under the guise of purchasing something for his wife, he bought some women’s clothing as well. Not that he’d ever tried to impersonate a woman, but—well, he might need to.
:You’ll never pull it off,: Kantor said critically as he stowed these last purchases away, hanging them up, rather than putting them in the chest, as even with all of the old guises taken out and left with a note to get rid of them, there was no more room in that chest. :You’d need a wig. And how would you hide that face of yours?:
:I’ve seen plenty of ugly women in this city,: he objected.
:I’m sure you have, but none that looked as if they’d been through a fire, then fought in a dozen bars and a war,: Kantor argued. :And you don’t act like a woman; you don’t know how to act like a woman. If you need to find out something only a woman can, then get a woman to do it. Myste would probably fit those skirts.:
:But—: he started to argue—then stopped. Myste would fit those skirts. And she was a native of Haven. And she’d come into the Heraldic Circle as an adult, which meant that she was used to being a civilian, acting like a civilian, and she had all the knowledge that an ordinary citizen of Haven had. He wouldn’t want to take her down into the area around Exile’s Gate, but—
:But she’d go if you asked her to. Think about it anyway. There’s Herald Keren, too. She’d go, and she’d fit in anywhere that was rough, including around Exile’s Gate. Good gods, some of the clientele of those fishers’ taverns in the ports of Evendim would frighten the whey out of the loungers in the Broken Arms!: Kantor sounded very sure of himself, but Alberich saw no reason to doubt that he was right. Keren was a tear-away of the first order, and back in the day, if the Sunsguard had permitted women to take up arms, he’d have had no objection to her in his cavalry unit. She made a fearless bodyguard for Selenay.
:I’d have to find a way to persuade Ylsa to stay away, though. The two of them together would be a dead giveaway to anyone who knows anything about the Heralds.:
:Pointing that out ought to be enough to persuade Ylsa,: Kantor replied with a hint of humor. :Wild they might be, stupid, they aren’t.:
Well. Two excellent ideas in one morning, one from his own mind, and one from Kantor!
:And didn’t I tell you, back when we first came here, that you and I were a good match?: Kantor asked smugly.
:So you did. And you were correct. So very correct that I don’t even mind hearing you say ’I told you so.’:
Kantor’s only reply was a sort of mental snicker.
Alberich finished writing notes on what he wanted done—or not—to each of the new disguises, left them piled atop the chest or hung up on pegs around the room, went to the stable-side door, and blew out the lamp.
:Don’t worry, you won’t be seen. No one here but us Companions,: Kantor told him, and he slipped the catch, moved out into the stable, and shut the door carefully behind himself. It locked itself with a soft click.
There were, indeed, two other Companions in stalls with Kantor. One was partnered with Herald Mirilin, who was one of the two Heralds assigned permanently to dispense justice within Haven. The other assigned to that duty was Jadus, who, since losing his leg, could not ride for very long or very far—but whose insight and understanding of human nature made him very suitable for this job. Jadus’ Companion was not here, though; the third Companion was not one he recognized.
:Not a Herald you know either. Someone just in off circuit, and an old friend of Mirilin’s.: And something about the tone of Kantor’s mind-voice told Alberich that the “old friend” was female and that neither Mirilin nor the newcomer would be found in the common room. But that they would be found with each other.
Heh. So Mirilin was human, after all. Mirilin, with a woman! Now that was a thought to hold onto. From the way that Mirilin usually acted, Alberich had the idea that he’d be very embarrassed if he was caught playing truant with a woman—and no matter if the woman was another Herald.
:I believe,: he said, as Kantor turned his head to wink one blue eye at him, :That I will have one of the Bell’s delicious pigeon pies. And I believe I will linger over it.:
It would do him no end of good to see the expression on Mirilin’s face when the Herald finally did emerge. . . .