Starting at the right side of the building, he worked his way from window to window, pulling himself up by the sills to peek in. Most of the rooms were dark or unoccupied, except for a salon toward the front where two pretty young women sat before a blazing hearth. One was working at an embroidery frame while her companion plucked listlessly at a lyre.
Leaving off, he gave the kitchen door a wide berth and set to work on the left side of the house, though with no more success than before. He was about to give up when he noticed a faint glow of light from a balcony just overhead. The ornate stonework surrounding a first-floor window afforded ample fingerholds. Climbing up, he eased himself over the balustrade. There was a small table on the balcony. Two wine cups stood there, and a warm pipe.
The balcony door had been left ajar; peering in, Alec discovered an elegantly appointed bedchamber lit by a single lamp. Another door stood open across the room, and through it came the sounds of a heated argument. There were two male voices involved, one strident with anger, the other shrill in its protestations of innocence.
"How can you accuse me of such a thing?" the higher voice demanded.
"How can you look me in the face and deny it?" boomed the other. "You greedy, bungling idiot. You've destroyed me! You have destroyed this family!"
"Uncle, please."
"Never let me hear that word in your throat again, you viper!" shouted the other. "From this day forth you are no kin of mine."
A door slammed forcibly, and Alec shrank back as a young man entered the bedchamber and collapsed into a chair. His elaborate surcoat showed him to be the master of the house. He was fair-skinned, with a small blond chin tuft that he fingered nervously as he sat. A nagging tingle of recognition stirred in the back of Alec's mind as he studied the haggard profile. He couldn't immediately place the man, but he felt certain he'd seen him before.
The man was clearly agitated. Gnawing at a thumbnail, he lurched to his feet again, then beat a fist against one thigh as he paced up and down the room.
The significance of the balcony table occurred to Alec almost too late. The man swerved suddenly, heading out to settle his nerves with wine and tobacco. Clambering back over the railing, Alec caught hold of two carved balusters and hung by his fingers. The evening drizzle had thickened to sleet and the polished marble felt slick as lard in his hands as he clung doggedly on, feet dangling twenty feet above the ground. Glancing sideways, he saw that he could probably reach the cornice of the downstairs window
with his left foot but he didn't dare chance the noise. To make matters worse, his side of the balcony overlooked the street; it would be the most natural thing in the world for the man to lean on the railing just there, glance down.
Looking up, Alec could see the side of the man's silken slipper less than a foot from his rapidly whitening knuckles. Cold fire ached down through his wrists and arms, weakening his grip, numbing his fingers.
Melting sleet trickled down over his face and ran down his sleeves into his armpits. Biting his lip, he gripped the posts harder, scarcely daring to breathe.
Just when it seemed he'd have to chance dropping and running, a knock came at the chamber door.
Tappng his pipe out on the railing above Alec, the man disappeared back into the room.
Alec shook the hot ashes from his hair and found a foothold on the window cornice. Bracing his shoulder in the angle of the balcony, he flexed his stiffened fingers. The balcony door had been left open again and he could hear the conversation inside quite clearly.
"Any difficulty with Alben?" This was the nobleman, calmer now and speaking with authority.
"Not exactly, my lord," replied the newcomer.
"Though he didn't seem quite himself, somehow. But I did get the documents and these, as well, while I was out."
"Well done, Marsin, well done!"
Alec heard the metallic clink of coins changing hands.
"Thank you, sir. Shall I deliver it now?"
"No, I'll go. My horse is already saddled. See to it that the house is locked up for the night and inform Lady Althia that I'll be returning tomorrow."
"I will, sir, and a good evening to you."
Alec heard the servant leave, and a moment later the light was extinguished. Climbing down, he hurried back to the street in time to see a man galloping out the front gate on a white horse.
"We're losing him!" he exclaimed as Micum appeared out of the shadows beside him. "I think he's off to deliver the forged letters!"
"Deliver them where?" Micum asked, scanning the neighborhood for quickly obtainable horses. There were none.
"I don't know," Alec replied in an agony of impatience. The rider had already disappeared around a corner and the sound of hooves was fading rapidly.
"Damn it, now we've lost him!"
"Can't be helped. At least we've got a connection to work with and that's a start. And you'll never guess
who else came riding out of that gate a short while ago."
"Who?"
"Only the Lord Viceregent himself. You should have seen him! I didn't know the old fellow could ride like that."
"Barien?" Alec's eyes widened as a memory snapped into place. "Maker's Mercy, that's it! This is Lord Teukros' house. The Viceregent's nephewl I knew I'd seen him before, that day I rode around the Ring."
"The nephew, eh? By the Flame, that looks bad-though I can't imagine Barien mixed up in anything disloyal to the Queen!"
"He was cursing Teukros when I first got there," Alec told him. "He called him a viper and disowned him."
"Well, that's a strike in the old man's favor. Come on, we'd better go let the others know."
Still smarting over the loss of Teukros, Alec was in a dour mood by the time he and Micum reached Nysander's door.
"Good hunting?" the wizard inquired, letting them into the workroom.
"In a manner of speaking," Micum replied.
"Is Seregil back?"
"No, he was up to something in the vicinity of the Palace when I last checked. Come downstairs and warm yourselves. You both look quite damp."
Standing before the sitting room fire, Alec carefully recounted their evening's work. Nysander made no effort to hide his dismay over what they'd learned and sat silently for some moments after he'd finished.
"What do you think?" Alec ventured. "Could Barien be mixed up in something like this?"
"It is difficult to imagine. Young Teukros is another matter, however. In spite of his obvious wealth, Teukros i Kallas is not known for his perspicacity. Whatever his involvement in this, I would wager that he is acting at the direction of another."
"We'd have found out if we could have followed him tonight," grumbled Alec.
"Patience, dear boy. It should not be difficult to obtain that information. You said Lord Teukros' pretty wife is at home tonight?"
"Yes, but we can't just knock on the door and ask her."
"Of course we can! What do you say, Micum?
An urgent message carried by a servant of the Orлska House, one which must be delivered into Lord
Teukros' hands at all costs this very night?"
Micum grinned wolfishly. "That should do the trick."
Going to his desk, Nysander quickly penned a cordial dinner invitation for the following evening.
"What happens when he shows up for dinner?" asked Alec, peering over the wizard's shoulder.
Nysander chuckled darkly. "Assuming that he does, I shall be afforded an opportunity to give closer attention to this enterprising young spy." Sealing the missive with an impressive array of ribbons and wax seals, Nysander sent Wethis off to deliver it.
Seregil arrived soon after. He was smeared with mud, and sported torn breeches and a ragged scrape across the back of one hand.
"Illior's Eyes, Seregil, what have you been doing with poor Thero's body?" asked Nysander, handing him a clean robe.