For an instant a small tremor disturbed the masklike composure of her face. It was the first time in years Nysander had seen her show the hint of any strong emotion other than anger. It passed as quickly as it had come, however.
"Barien went to Teukros and confronted him, wanting to know why he'd continued an association with the forger," she went on. "Apparently Teukros denied everything having to do with the Leran plot and Seregil, but did admit to using Alben's talents to facilitate some shady shipping deals."
"The secret of his fortune, I suspect," said Nysander. "I should hardly have given him credit for such ability, yet it seems we may have underestimated the wretch after all. General Phoria, do you think Barien arranged to have Teukros killed the night of his own death?"
"He said nothing of the kind to me."
"Did you arrange to have Teukros killed?"
"No." For the first time in some minutes Phoria locked eyes with him and Nysander found no reason to doubt her words.
"Is there anything else you can tell me of this business with the Hart?"
"Nothing beyond the fact that Barien could never ascertain exactly what happened to the gold. Herleus ceased his demands for money, and a few months later he was dead. Nothing was mentioned of it during the disposition of his estate, but that's hardly surprising. I suppose his heirs have lived rather well off their secret reserve."
"Perhaps," said Nysander, unconvinced that the answer would be that simple.
Armed with Nysander's report from the Palace, Seregil and Alec disappeared for the rest of the day.
They returned to the tower before dark, however, still dressed in the hooded robes of professional scholars and smudged with fine bookish dust.
Micum, who'd spent the afternoon with Nysander, exchanged a grin with the old wizard; Seregil and the boy both had the happy look of hounds on a warm scent. It was the most cheerful either of them had looked in days.
"Herleus had no heirs!" Seregil cackled happily, warming his hands at the workroom fire.
"None at all?" Nysander raised a shaggy eyebrow in surprise.
"Not only that," the boy added excitedly, "but his entire estate was impounded for debt right after he died. There was no sign of any gold."
"You have been to the city archives, then?"
"And down to the lower city again," said Seregil.
"Oh, we've had a busy afternoon, Alec and I. We're off to Cirna tomorrow."
"Hold on now, you've lost me," Micum broke in. "What were you looking for in the lower city?"
"Shipping records," Seregil replied. "The White Hart is listed as belonging to a shipping line owned by the Tyremian family of Rhнminee, but it turns out she was based out of Cirna, so that's where all her manifests would be kept, if they've been kept."
Micum nodded slowly. "Then you believe there's some connection between that stolen gold and the plot against you?"
"It appears that the same people were involved in both plots, and that they're probably Lerans. If I'm wrong, then we've damn—all to go on."
Micum narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "This is another one of your 'instinct' things, isn't it?"
"Even so, I believe he may be correct," Nysander said. "Teukros' falling into debt with a suspected Leran smacks of a conspiracy. What greater coup for them than to ensnare Barien's compliance through his beloved nephew? We must, at all costs, try to determine the ultimate destination of that gold. Assuming, as Seregil has noted, that the evidence still exists."
"There's always a chance," said Seregil. "You coming north with us, Micum?"
He shook his head. "Doesn't sound like you need me, and I imagine Kari's eager to get me back. I'll ride as far as Watermead with you, though. You can break your journey with us, if you like."
"I'd rather push on, thanks all the same. Depending on what we learn, I may stop by for you on the way back, though."
"I'd better not mention that to Kari." Micum gave a comic grimace. "If you just come calling for me out of the blue, I can lay the blame off on you. How long do you think you'll be gone?"
"Depends on what we find. The Hart was a coastal trader working both sides of the isthmus. If we have to go off to some distant port, it could be weeks."
Pausing, he turned to Nysander. "There was one other thing— How many Queen's Warrants would it have taken to reroute that gold?"
"Only one, I suppose. Is there some significance in that?"
"Perhaps," mused Seregil. "As I recall, you said that Alben confessed to forging two Queen's Warrants, but nothing of the sort was recovered from Teukros' house. That leaves one very powerful document, probably complete with seals, unaccounted for."
Nysander frowned as he considered the myriad implications of this revelation. "Oh dear!"
35 Cirna
Alec fought his way out of yet another nightmare, the stench of the charnel house strong in his nostrils.
Throwing back the bed curtains, he found the first light of dawn brightening his window. What he'd smelled was nothing more than the scent of sausages flying downstairs.
"Thank the Maker!" he whispered, running a hand over his sweaty face.
He'd slept badly again that night, tossing fitfully through frantic dreams in which a threatening black figure stalked him through the charnel houses.
The oppressive feel of the dream dogged him as he dressed and headed downstairs.
Seregil and Runcer were in the main salon discussing the disposal of a collection of traveling cases.
"Lord Seregil" was leaving the city on a journey to recover from the shock of his ordeal, taking Sir Alec with him. Luggage sufficient for a lengthy undertaking had to be seen leaving with them.
"We'll leave all this off at Watermead," Seregil was saying as Alec joined them.
"And how shall I respond to those inquiring after you and Sir Alec, my lord?" asked Runcer.
"Tell them that I was too shaken to predict my return. Oh, good morning, Alec. We'll leave as soon as you get some breakfast. Eat fast."
"And Sir Micum is returning home?" asked Runcer.
"Yes, I am." Micum appeared at the dining-room doorway in his shirtsleeves. "You can tell any callers that I've gone home to the loveliest woman in Skala, and that I'll set the dogs on anyone who disturbs us for the next week!"
Runcer bowed gravely. "I shall convey the sentiment, sir."
Seregil paced restlessly around the dining room as Alec wolfed down his sausage and tea. "We'll set up back at the Cockerel when we come back."
"Suits me," Alec said happily. He'd had quite enough of fussy manners and overly attentive servants. Finishing hastily, he followed Seregil and Micum out to the street where their mounts and small baggage train stood ready under Runcer's watchful eye.
They'd dressed as gentlemen to be seen leaving the city, and the groom had saddled Cynril and Windrunner, but Patch and Scrub were ready among the pack horses.
It was a brisk, fine day for riding, and they arrived at the byway leading up to Watermead just after midday.
Crossing the bridge, Alec and Seregil dismounted and ducked into a thicket to change clothes. From here they would travel as merchants.
"You're heading for the Pony tonight?" asked Micum as they emerged again.
Seregil glanced up at the sun. "We should be able to make it if we push on."
"Say hello to Kari and the girls for me," said Alec. Looking up the valley, he saw a pale ribbon of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney at Watermead and imagined the warm scents of hot bread, roasting meats, and drying herbs there.
Changing mounts, Seregil roped the Aurлnen horses in with the pack animals.
"Expect us when you see us," he told Micum, handing him the lead rein.
"Good hunting to you," said Micum, clasping hands with them both. "And take care on those damned goat paths they call streets up there in Cirna. One wrong step and it's ass over tippet into the bay before you know what happened!"