"Why not?" Deveren uncorked the vial and sniffed gently. There was the faintest whiff of rum and the not-so-pleasant fragrance of the bitter, earthy herbs themselves.
"Because if you take more than I tell you to take, you'll be sleeping for a week. As I said, strong."
"Just what I need. How much?" Deveren reached into his bulging pouch, rummaging among the gems and gold kings for more common coinage. A few items tumbled to the hard-packed earth that served as a floor for the shop. Deveren knelt and hastily picked them up, glancing toward the door as he did so.
"Death's breath, Fox!" hissed Rabbit, his parsimonious nature offended by Deveren's cavalier treatment of valuables. "Empty the damned thing once in a while, will you? Our group isn't quite the noble robbers that you'd like us to be, at least not yet!"
Before the apothecary could blink, a slim, needle-sharp dagger had appeared in Deveren's hand. It seemed to have materialized from nowhere. A second later the weapon quivered in the wooden countertop a fraction of an inch from the startled Rabbit's left hand-exactly where the leader of the thieves had aimed it.
"I've got good reactions," drawled Deveren. "But don't think the friendly advice isn't appreciated. Now, how much?"
Shaking, Rabbit clutched his nearly missed hand with his right one. "Uh… two princes, Your Lordship."
The man's face was milk pale, and Deveren regretted his impulse to show off before Rabbit. After all, the apothecary was more or less on his side to begin with. He badly wanted to bring the price up to a king-a gold piece-by way of apology, but he knew such generosity would merely further damage his reputation in Rabbit's eyes. Thief leaders were expected to be fair, perhaps after a fine haul even generous, but they never overpaid.
So he contented himself with dropping the two silver princes on the counter, thanking Rabbit, and leaving the poor man alone for the day.
Alone in his solar, Deveren worked the fresh-scented pine soap into a lather and proceeded to bathe his entire body and hair. As his fingers scrubbed his scalp, his mind went back, as it did every time he sat in this tub, to the last night that Kastara was alive. Even after the passage of seven years, the pain always caught him by surprise. It was nowhere near as overwhelming as in the beginning, of course. Nor was it as constant a thread running through the fabric of his day-to-day activities. But occasionally an odd phrase, or image, or scent, would come to whisper her name to him, and Deveren would feel his heart actually ache, as though squeezed by an unseen hand.
And for some reason, this innocuous wooden tub seemed to be the one thing that always triggered her image in his mind.
You don't have very long to get ready.
I told you, I'm not going.
It's a premiere. You're expected to attend premieres, love. That's why you 're called a patron.
I won't enjoy it without you. I don't like leaving you alone here while I'm off enjoying myself. It doesn't seem fair.
We'll be fine.
Oh, but she hadn't been fine, had she, not she, not the child she carried. Gods, he could almost hear her, could almost feel her smooth little hands washing his back…
The soft plop of a teardrop landing in the soapy water jolted him out of his reverie. Deveren took a deep, shuddering breath and bathed his face with the soap.
Kastara was gone. He had mourned her, and would, he felt certain, continue mourning her for the rest of his life. But now he had other people who depended upon him. He had come to the thieves thinking to expose and kill a murderer. He had stayed to help them, and had made them a promise. If he failed at his Grand Thefts tonight, someone like Freylis would take over the group. Everyone, from Pedric to Clia to little Allika, would suffer then.
No. He rose, shook off his moodiness, and began to towel himself dry. Experimentally, he took a sniff at his forearm. "I feel like a forest in springtime," he quipped, the old sense of humor that had come to the rescue so often in the past returning to him now. He truly did smell like an evergreen forest, at least to his own nose. He only hoped the three large, rather unfriendly dogs that guarded the Vandaris home would agree.
The Councilman's Seat was located in the heart of the Garden. Deveren could see it from his window as he finished dressing-a beautiful, large building that was as much a landmark in Braedon as the Godstower. The upper level hosted the current Head Councilman and his family, complete with dining rooms, gaming rooms, wine cellar, and a huge hall that would, tonight, serve as the stage for The Queen of All. Well below the finery were the cells in which prisoners awaited judgement. Deveren had always though it ironic that the only time a commoner could see the Garden was if he were sentenced for a crime. On the other hand, it was terribly civilized that Braedon's criminals had a pleasant view while they waited for sentencing.
He toyed with the idea of riding, and decided to walk. He might need to slip off without being noticed once the thefts were completed, and didn't want to have to worry about retrieving Flamedancer from Vandaris's stables. Besides, it was a lovely summer evening.
So Deveren selected breeches and boots rather than slippers and hose. Instead of clothing that he wore often, tonight Deveren chose a blousey red silk shirt and over-tunic that he had tucked away in a chest of cedar wood for several weeks. It would be less likely to retain his scent.
He grinned a little. Cedar and pine, how refreshing.
There was nothing he could do about his walking boots, save hope that there was more of Flamedancer about them than Deveren Larath. As he adjusted his pouches, making sure that the false bottoms wouldn't reveal the second space beneath, he mentally reviewed his challenge. Part of the "test," he assumed, lay in deciphering the code and figuring out just exactly what it was "his" thieves wanted him to acquire. Or it could be simply a case of young Pedric having a little fun-well, a lot of fun-at his expense. Deveren hoped that he wouldn't be disqualified if he, for some reason, didn't steal the correct items. Freylis would be overjoyed.
The thought of the big man erased any hint of a smile from Deveren's lips. Others were attending the theatrical performance for pleasure. He was certain they would find it- The Queen of All was a fine play. He, however, had a job to do.
He was glad he had chosen to walk. The air was thick with the scents of the Garden, which bloomed almost all year round with one sort of plant or another. Only in the dead of winter was the Garden anything less than redolent with fragrance. Now, in summer, the scent was almost as intoxicating as wine.
The play wasn't due to start for a while yet, and Vandaris's guests milled about, enjoying the balmy evening. They stood on the magnificent stone steps, draped themselves across the finely carved wood-and-stone benches, walked in groups or pairs through the paths. As Deveren approached the entrance, he was met by one of Captain Jaranis's men.
"Good even, Lord Larath," said the guard courteously. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to submit to a search, sir. What with the deaths of them three councilmen and all…"
"Of course," Deveren replied smoothly. The guard patted him down gently, respectfully, and halfheartedly, clearly not expecting to find anything. He glanced briefly into the pouches and nodded, indicating that Deveren might proceed.
This boded well. He'd been able to smuggle in nearly all of his tools — the larger tools, such as heavy metal crowbars he had, of course, been forced to forgo-and hadn't aroused the slightest suspicion.
The Councilman's Seat was surrounded by a stone wall. Within was Vandaris's private garden, a section of the Garden allotted for his personal use. There was even a maze, smaller and far easier to navigate than the main one in the center of the larger Garden. The dogs weren't out yet; Vandaris would wait until all his guests were safely inside before loosing the beasts.