"So?"
Laying a hand heavily on the boy's shoulder, Seregil raised a meaningful eyebrow. "So why would anyone pay to ship two heavy blocks of fine carving stone to a stone quarry?"
"Bilairy's Codpiece! That's it!"
"Perhaps, unless it really was marble in those crates, shipped back for some reason we have no way of determining. Still, it is suspicious."
"So where does that leave us?"
"At the moment?" Grinning, Seregil gathered up the manifests and rose to leave. "It leaves us in a cheap alehouse with six-to-a-bed accommodations upstairs. I believe we've earned a tidier hostel and a good
supper. Tomorrow we'll see what we can turn up at the docks."
"What about the quarry, that Ilendri pit? Shouldn't we go there?"
"As a last recourse, maybe, but it's a week's journey there and back, and it's certain they won't have the gold there now. I doubt they ever knew they had it. No, I suspect we can find our answers a good deal closer to home."
36 Trouble on the Highroad
They spent the next few days on the windswept quays, tracking down ships running the White Hart's old routes. Though they located several vessels, none of their inquiries resulted in much useful information. On their fourth day there, however, a stout little coaster with the unlikely name of Dragonfly wallowed into port with a load of stone.
Alec and Seregil lounged against a stack of crates as they watched the deckhands hoisting blocks of various sorts onto the quayside. Rough slabs of building stone were encased in heavy rope nets to prevent them from grinding against one another during the voyage. Finer, more fragile blocks were protected by wood and canvas framing.
"She must have stopped at several quarries on her run," murmured Seregil.
"Let's hope Ilendri was one of them," Alec whispered back.
Strolling up to the quay, they began looking over the various pieces as if considering a purchase. They were still dressed as gentlemen merchants and their respectable coats soon drew the interest of the Dragonfly's captain.
"Are you in the market for stone, sirs? I've got some lovely blocks today," he called from the rail.
"So I see," Seregil replied, smoothing his palm over a slab of glittering black granite.
"I'm looking for marble, statuary grade."
"You're in luck there, sir!" The man clumped down the gangway and led them over to a group of crates. "I've got a good selection today: pink, black, grey, and a lovely white pure as a dove's breast. Let's see now, where was that Corvinar piece? That's an especially good one."
Consulting various emblems branded into the sides of the crates, he pried up lids here and there. "Here's a fine black, sir, and some of the white. Did you have something special in mind?"
"Well," Seregil drawled, peering down into a crate, "I don't know a lot about it, to tell you the truth, but I've heard that Ilendri marble is particularly fine."
"That may have been true in your father's day, sir, but precious little comes out of there now," the captain told him with a hint of condescension. "The Ilendri's mostly played out, though they do still cut some smaller blocks. I've a few pieces back here, as it happens, but I think you'd be better pleased with this other."
"Perhaps," said Seregil, cupping his chin in one hand, "but I'd like to see the Ilendri-if it's not too much trouble."
"Suit yourself." The captain hunted through the crates until he found a small box half hidden behind several others. Opening it, he showed them a small block of greyish marble shot through with rusty streaks.
"As you can see, the grade's inferior."
"The quarry's owned by Lord Tomas, isn't it?" Seregil asked ingenuously, inspecting the stone with apparent interest.
"No, sir, an old fellow by the name of Emmer. He and his nephews make a small living out of it, cutting blocks like this. It goes mostly for road markers and such like."
It was a small crate and Alec had to step around the captain to get a look inside. Doing so, he saw for the first time the emblems burned into the side of it; one of them was very familiar—a small, curled lizard.
"What do these stand for?" he asked, trying to mask his sudden excitement.
"Those are shipping marks, sir. We use them to keep track of the cargo. The dragonfly mark is mine, put on when I took the box aboard. The next is from the quarry foreman—"
"And that little lizard?"
Seregil stole a quick glance at Alec, sensing more than casual curiosity.
"That's the quarry's mark, sir. The Ilendri newt, we call it."
"It's an interesting design-stone, I mean." He had to get Seregil away from the captain without attracting undue attention. "I think it would do nicely, don't you, brother?"
"In the garden, perhaps," Seregil said, playing along. Chin in hand, he narrowed his eyes appraisingly. "Though I know Mother had something larger in mind for the niche in the great hall. And you know how she favors the white these days. Suppose we take this piece and the white one the captain recommends?"
Alec hovered impatiently as Seregil paid for the stone and arranged for delivery, then drew him off down the quay.
"What was that all about?" Seregil whispered.
"Ilendri or not, that rock isn't worth—"
"I didn't mean for you to buy it!" Alec said, cutting him short. "It was the mark—that Ilendri newt—I've seen it before!"
Seregil slowed to a halt. "Where?"
"At Kassarie's keep. It was on some of the old tapestries in the main hall, like a maker's mark. I don't know why it caught my eye particularly, except that I liked the look of it."
"And you're certain the tapestries were old? Perhaps several generations back?"
"The tapestries?" Alec asked in disbelief, this was no time for one of Seregil's artistic tangents.
"Well, I think so. They were like the old ones you showed me at the Orлska, with the fancy patterns around the edges. I remembered you saying you liked that style better than the new ones."
Seregil threw an arm around Alec's shoulders with a delighted chuckle. "Illior's Fingers, you've got the same rat's nest of a memory I do! You're certain this lizard thing was just the same?"
"Yes, but why do the tapestries have to be old?"
Alec asked, still puzzled.
"Because new tapestries might have been purchased and the mark would be pure coincidence. Very old ones are more likely to have been made by someone in Kassarie's family, someone who lived in the keep and wove them there and used the newt as her signature. Care to place a wager on who owned this Ilendri quarry before it was clapped out?"
"I'll bet you a block of ugly marble it was Lady Kassarie a Moirian!"
A quick word with the Dragonfly's captain proved Alec right. According to him, Lady Kassarie had awarded the failing enterprise to an aging retainer five years ago in appreciation of his long service. The old fellow still used the «newt» out of respect for his former mistress.
"Looks like we're headed south again," Seregil said, rubbing his gloved hands together with a satisfied air as they went back to the inn to collect their horses.
"We don't need to go to the quarry?"
"No. Thanks to your everlasting curiosity, I think we've found the key to our little problem. We can make Watermead before midnight, then it's Rhнminee tomorrow, and on to Kassarie's. Looks like that warmhearted little kitchen maid of yours is going to prove useful after all."
"You're looking forward to this, aren't you?" Alec asked with a grin.