She discreetly approached the garden wall, which had a limited view of the back of Ciredor's rented tallhouse. Most of the buildings nearby were tallhouses, stone edifices hard to distinguish from one another. Tazi hoped her information was correct, that she had got what she paid for. If not, she would probably help herself to a few sundry items from whoever's residence this was. Later she could throttle the old man back at the Kit.
The garden wall, still in fairly good repair, was about twice her height. The garden beyond was dense with trees and little else. Through their leaves, Tazi observed a little of the household. Two of the upper rooms had small balconies jutting out over the greenery. Several others appeared to be dimly lit, probably by some kind of continuous light spell. Tazi watched those rooms for several long moments. When she saw no shadows cross them, she deduced the house was empty of its master. At this time of night, the few servants she knew Ciredor had retained would most likely be in the kitchen or pantry, drinking ale. Tazi knew from experience that her own family's butler, Erevis Cale, kept a small supply of brandy in his own pantry, a brandy she had warmed herself with in his company more times than she could remember.
Tazi wasted no more time lost in memories. Deftly and soundlessly she scrambled up the side of the wall. She had picked a spot covered by tree branches and, when she arrived at the top, crouched there motionless for a time. With her dark hair and clothing, she was another thin shadow. The garden appeared to be empty, but it paid to be cautious. Some of these houseowners kept great, lumbering hounds and Tazi had learned quickly that dogs were not creatures she wanted to tangle with. Her right wrist still bore the scars of her first encounter with just such a beast. This garden, though, contained only trees. Across the lane, the dark figure watched Tazi and waited.
Unaware of being observed, Tazi swung herself down and slipped through the garden. She caught some movement in one of the rooms on the first floor, toward the west end of the house. The servants, no doubt, in the pantry, she thought. Tazi made her way stealthily to a set of double doors to the east, doors that opened onto what was probably a sitting room. She reached into the sleeve of her shirt to the slim wire tools tied to her forearm. Tazi had carried such lock picks with her since she was fifteen. A quick twist of the wrist and she heard the gratifying click of the lock disengaging. She smiled to herself and added another number to her mental tally of successes.
As the tallhouse was in such good condition, the door inched opened smoothly without a hint of sound. Now the sands were running. Tazi started her search of the house.
She moved easily from the first floor with its receiving rooms, actively avoiding the kitchen and pantries, and slipped up the stairs to the next floor. They were austerely furnished, and it looked as though Ciredor had not traveled with many of his own possessions. That added to the puzzle. The merchants Tazi knew never traveled so lightly. There were few wall decorations, save for the rich drapes that hung at the windows, and no ornamentation or personal trinkets anywhere else.
Tazi slid skillfully from one room to another, looking for a strongbox or jewel casket. She'd burgled the tallhouse of rich merchants before, and knew all the tricks: the secret alcoves, false stones that moved aside, hollow doors, and the obligatory traps. But each of the spots in which she expected to find such things was empty. Frustrated, she kept searching.
While searching in the bedroom Tazi was startled by something. The room was littered with many small, obscene carvings and pagan statues. "Interesting," she thought, with not a little distaste. A cursory glance revealed nothing of any monetary value, but Tazi began to wonder about the kind of man Ciredor was.
Her sharp eyes caught the glint of silver on his bed-table. Tazi slipped the shiny object out from under one of the shameful carvings. It was a badge with silver swans against a backdrop of green. Tazi knew this coat of arms all too well.
"The Soargyls," she whispered harshly. "What does Ciredor have to do with them?"
Knowing that the longer she dallied, the greater her chance of discovery, Tazi left the bedroom, frustrated by her lack of progress. Her mind raced. He must have a study somewhere, since there was no office attached to the tallhouse. Perhaps there she could discover what kind of connection existed between Ciredor and her family's most hated enemies-enemies whose motto was "Always even in the end." Ciredor would regret any association between himself and that loathsome brood, of that Tazi would make certain. No one threatened her family and walked away.
The only place she hadn't searched was the cellar. Tazi hated cellars; they were dead ends and, therefore, traps. Reaching the cellar would also mean sneaking through the occupied pantry, but she would be damned if she was going to leave empty handed.
She wound her way more quickly now back down the stairs and moved close to the kitchen. The room was dark. She could see pots and skillets hanging near the windows. Obviously the servants had cleaned up and were enjoying the emptiness of the household. As she passed the window, Tazi gave a quick squint to see if she could anything or anyone outside. As far as she could tell, Tazi thought she only had to worry about the men in the other room. In the blackness, she did not make out the figure crouched on the garden wall. But he saw her.
As she neared the pantry, Tazi plastered herself against the wall. She could hear the low voices of a few men coming from the room. At the edge of the doorway, Tazi glanced inside. A single, ancient oil lantern cast a dim light in the room. Evidently Ciredor's manservants didn't rate the same light spells as the rest of the house. There were three of them huddled around a table in the far corner of the room, lost in whispered conversation. There was something furtive, almost secretive in the manner in which they were speaking. Perhaps, Tazi thought cheerily, they were planning to rob their temporary master. Wouldn't that be terribly ironic, she wondered delightedly?
The lighting and the location of the table made her next move much easier than she'd anticipated. Most of the pantry was in shadows, and Tazi slid slowly along the wall. She had done this before, but the nearness of the men and the possibility of discovery made her heart pound harder. She felt as if it might burst through her fitted vest at any moment.
Four steps and she was at the stairs. Part of her still felt uneasy at searching the cellar, but now she was committed. She had her family to protect. Carefully avoiding the well-worn center of each step, Tazi made her way down with almost no sound. Pleased with her skill, she took a few steps and was suddenly hard pressed not to gag. The room was filled with a powerful stench of mold and decay. She could almost taste the dampness. The room reeked of it. The odor was so overpowering, she almost changed her mind. The challenge was irresistible to her, though. Resolutely she pressed on, one hand clamped over her nose and mouth.
Tazi noticed many footprints in the grime on the flagstones of the floor. Too many, she thought, for just the normal traffic of servants fetching liquor. Ciredor hadn't been in town that long, and hadn't hosted any large gatherings, as far as Tazi knew, to warrant such a substantial supply of spirits. Something else must have drawn him here. She began a careful search of the room.
Along a back wall, Tazi found what she had been looking for: a secret door near some ale casks. She knew from experience not to blunder through. To the right of the door, were stacked several crates. She climbed on top of them, her head practically pressed into the low ceiling. From this angle she was better able to check for traps or wards along the door. Strangely enough, there weren't any.
"Is he that arrogant," Tazi whispered incredulously, "to think no one would get this far? My, my, he's got a lot to learn about life."