"Faen!" Naoni called.
Her sister stepped back into the kitchen, her smile so open and guileless that none might guess she'd been gossiping.
None but Naoni, who sent her a narrow, knowing look.
Lark smiled. Her elder mistress was no fool-save, perhaps, when it came to her taste in men.
"Jivin's lurking in the herb garden," Naoni told her, "doubtless come early in hopes of a morning mug of ale. Take him some, then send him to summon a carriage."
Faendra's blue eyes grew round. "A carriage?"
"I'm certainly not going to walk to Helmfast Hall! I've far too much work waiting to waste a half a day or more on this foolishness."
Faen's eyes misted at the grand image of an ornate conveyance, all gilded upswept ornamentations and tossing-headed matched horses… Oh, yes. "A carriage… I'm coming with you."
"As am I," Lark put in, her voice every bit as firm as Naoni's. "If you want no word of this to get back to your father, you must make sure no servant gossips. I know the man who keeps the Helmfast gate by day; his wife's a laundress, and they both serve tables at the Black Flagon of an evening, when they've need for extra coin. He's a decent sort, and our best chance of departing Helmfast Hall without rumor racing like wildfire behind us."
Naoni's unsmiling lips pressed together in a thin line as if to hold back an argument she knew she could not defend. When they opened, it was to tell Faendra, "Have Jivin hire a conveyance large enough to carry three in comfort."
"Of that," her sister replied with relish, "you can rest assured."
The carriage that rolled up to the Dyres' doors proved to be almost as large as Lark's rented room and far more comfortable. Its velvet seats were somewhat the worse for wear, but the padding was only slightly lumpy and the cloth had been brushed clean.
Faendra settled back into a corner with a deeply contented smile. "Life hands me far too few excuses to visit North Ward. 'Tis so beautiful; as I gawp at all the finery, I'll dream of living there someday!"
As they rolled through ever-widening streets, Lark had to agree with that judgment of North Ward, even if she didn't share Faendra's ambitions.
Here the city's wealthiest new-coin citizens traveled streets of cobbles so smooth the carriage seemed to glide. The glittering folk dwelt behind ornate iron gates, in grand homes fashioned from gleaming marble, white-stone, and fine woods. Stately trees shaded all, and the gardens surrounding the homes displayed flowing plants in frames of sculpted hedges, rather than the practical herbs and vegetables crowding the Dyre's tiny backyard plot.
Helmfast Hall was a grand affair, with a sweeping iron arch soaring above its gate. Flanking the arch stood two small fore-houses, of the same pale-gold stone as the mansion beyond. One was little more than a covered bridge, and in it stood a coach, liveried staff gentling the harnessed horses, awaiting Helmfast whims. The other was the gatehouse, and Lark was relieved to see the black-bearded man seated within was her friend from the Black Flagon.
As the carriage rumbled to a stop, Lark hastened out and down. "Good morn, Stroamyn."
"And to you." The guard glanced at the hired carriage. "You've not come to serve, not in that rolling ship. Are you a ladies' maid?"
"In a manner of speaking," Lark replied. "My mistresses wish to speak with Lord Korvaun. Know you one of the staff who can be trusted to carry that message to his master and no other?"
Stroamyn snorted. "In this house? You know grand folk can buy everything but discretion, yet by the luck-fall of Tymora's dice, it happens Lord Korvaun's not in residence."
"Can you tell me where he is?"
The guard gave her a considering look. "I'm not one to tell tales."
"Nor am I," Lark said firmly. "For that matter, I doubt anyone'll think to ask how I came by the information. Lord Korvaun carries so many magical trinkets he's probably come to think of them as commonplace. He'll no doubt assume my mistresses found him through a seeking spell or some such foolishness. His sort never think others can't drop coins as freely as they do."
Stroamyn nodded ruefully and tugged at the neck of his tabard, revealing a green tunic beneath. "One of Lord Korvaun's brothers asked me why I wear this several times a tenday, as if all men could cast coin away on ten tunics of every hue in a rainbow!"
Thus bonded by common disdain, they leaned heads together and talked. Stroamyn imparted the address of Lord Korvaun's new and very exclusive club, as well as the password Helmfast servants gave that establishment's doorguards. Lark thanked him, left best wishes for Rosie and the children, and hurried to give Stroamyn's directions to their hired coachman.
"We're off to Dock Ward," she told the Dyre girls as she climbed back into the carriage. "It seems Lord Korvaun's an early riser."
Faendra winced. "Father'll be livid when he gets the bill for this."
"I've my own money," Naoni said firmly, the first words she'd spoken since they'd left home.
The other two joined her in silence until the carriage stopped outside a ramshackle warehouse not far from Redcloak Lane. As Stroamyn had warned, a heavily armed guard stood grimly at its open door-a tough old sailor who kept his hands on ready weapons. The tattoo of the Ice Dancer stood out clearly on one brawny forearm.
Lark knew that mark well; sailors from the Dancer had frequented the dockside tavern where she'd been born and raised.
Perhaps her mother had entertained this man. Perhaps…
Cheeks flaming, she forced herself to look away from the man's impassive face as she followed her mistresses through the doorway and up the stairs.
Four men were lounging in the open-to-the-rafters room at the head of the stair: Korvaun Helmfast, Taeros Hawkwinter, and two others. The one who wore a glittering black cloak was exceedingly pale, his long, narrow face framed by lank black hair. The other was a small man with neatly shorn brown hair, mild blue eyes, and well-cut but simple brown garments. Lark assumed his cloak was the fall of rose-hued gemweave hanging on a peg beside more familiar cloaks of blue and amber.
They all looked up, and then rose, as the three women stepped into the room.
"Mistress Naoni," Korvaun said slowly, his eyes only for the red-haired woman at the fore. "This is a most unexpected pleasure."
"Perhaps you should hear me out before saying so," she replied quietly. Lifting her chin, she added, "You hired a man to follow us. I insist on knowing why."
Korvaun frowned and took two quick steps toward her, hands rising, before he caught himself and halted. "A man's been following you?"
Naoni frowned. "You pretend to know nothing of this?"
"'Tis no pretense, Mistress," Korvaun replied grimly. "I hired no man to follow you. Unless…" He glanced at Taeros.
The Hawkwinter lord shook his head. "No. I followed our plan."
Naoni's face darkened as she looked from one man to the other. "Plan? Tell me."
Korvaun nodded to Taeros.
The Hawkwinter lordling sighed. "Actually, it was Lark we wanted followed." His gaze went to the maidservant's face then swiftly away again. "I didn't hire a man. We thought an alternative might be… less conspicuous."
"Ezriel," Lark murmured. "The elf at the Notch." She stared at him incredulously. "You thought an elf would be less conspicuous serving in a South Ward inn?"
Taeros shifted uneasily from one foot to another. "I had other reasons for my choice."
Lark stared at him for a moment. When the answer came to her, she burst out laughing. This fool thought to distract Elaith Craulnober with a pretty elf female! Ye gods, did all men keep their brains in their codpieces?
"I fail to understand your amusement," Taeros said stiffly.
"Really! What a large surprise!"
"Lark," murmured Naoni in gentle admonition.
The servant nodded to her mistress and put away her grin. Indeed, now that her first mirth was spent, she found this more troubling than humorous. If she was correct about Hawkwinter's motive for hiring Ezriel, it meant he'd seen a link between her and Elaith Craulnober.