“It’s very good,” she managed to say.
Reisz’s smile was tight as he watched the sudden flush brought to her face by the liquor. As he continued to stare at her, his smile deepened and the battlefield of scars on his face joined with the deeply driven age lines surrounding his eyes and mouth; together they bunched up as if they were an army of warriors raising clenched fists to the sky. He could not look away from her.
“You’ve had almost a day to think about it,” Reisz said as he moved to Myrmeen’s side in the darkened chamber. “Have you come up with a suitable identity yet?”
Myrmeen looked away and sighed. She was almost too exhausted to think about it any further after the busy day she had endured. Burke and Varina sat on the floor, cuddling like children who believed they had invented the concept of love. The bearded man with pale blue eyes gave his wife a quick kiss, then said, “Reisz is right. You’re the one who insists on using another name. Let’s hear it.”
Myrmeen tried to appear brave as she said, “Magistra, the mage, teller of men’s fortunes, diviner of their souls.”
She gestured with a weak flourish and tried to convince herself that it was the poor wine that had inspired this lame attempt at creativity. Silently cursing herself for mentioning this one out loud, especially in light of the blank stares she received from her friends and allies, Myrmeen thought of the half dozen scribes and poets whom she could boast as lovers. She wished she had possessed the foresight to have assigned one of them to this task before she had left Arabel. Merely rolling around in passionate embraces with them had not, apparently, led to any of their inventiveness rubbing off—not with words, anyway.
“And you’re the one who’s supposed to be leading us?” Ord said with a bitter laugh. “Your name’s not that uncommon. Just use it.”
Burke placed his head in his wife’s lap. “I’m afraid the boy’s right. That was perfectly dreadful. Better than most you’ve come up with today, but still dreadful.”
“Tact, husband,” Varina countered as she lightly slapped his forehead. “Tact.”
“He was being tactful,” Reisz said. “I mean, the phrase ‘cow dung’ didn’t enter into his evaluation, now did it?”
Ord raised an eyebrow. “From the way you smell, old man, I’m not surprised that’s one of your preoccupations.”
Reisz sniffed himself under the arm and sadly agreed. Myrmeen joined the others in a healthy round of laughter. Soon the moment passed and Myrmeen took advantage of the conversation’s lull to bring up their purpose for coming to the city in the first place: “If everyone’s rested enough, I feel we should think about making some inquiries about this baby merchant that my ex-husband mentioned.”
“Yes, I certainly hope that all divorces aren’t conducted as such in Arabel,” Ord said, the wine beginning to affect him. Burke said the boy’s name in a tone of warning, and Ord looked away with a casual shrug.
“There’s no better time to start gathering information than at night, when the city’s foulest scum come out,” Myrmeen said, trying to ignore the boy’s words.
“That’s a profound observation,” Ord added as he rolled his eyes. “Tell me again, how long has it been since you’ve performed this line of work?”
“Child, I’m warning you,” Burke said gravely, “you could be back on your parents’ farm, working in the fields, if you would prefer.”
“My parents are dead,” Ord said coldly. “Or don’t you remember how I came to you?”
“They might be gone, but their fields are still waiting,” Burke said. “Now keep your impolite thoughts in your head. If I want to hear your wit and wisdom, I’ll come over there and shake them out of you. Am I making myself understood?”
Ord lowered his head. “Indeed, sir.” Without raising his gaze, Ord said, “My apologies, mistress Lhal.”
“No harm done,” she said softly. “You have a right to your opinion.”
“No, actually he doesn’t,” Burke said. “Just trust me on this, will you?”
Myrmeen shook her head, surprised at the unexpected turn in the relationship between the Harpers. Burke obviously had assumed the role of Ord’s surrogate father, and from the subdued manner of the formerly nasty and boastful young man, it was a responsibility he took quite seriously.
“Besides,” Burke said, “we can’t go yet. We have to wait for Cardoc to make contact with us.”
“Yes,” Myrmeen said, anxious to move away from the tense exchanges between Burke and Ord. “You mentioned him briefly. He’s to be our mage for this mission.” Frowning, she said, “Do you really think it’s wise to bring in another body? There are enough of us already that we’re going to draw some attention.”
“This city is filthy with magic,” Reisz said darkly. “Doing business in Calimport is one of the rare times when I welcome any help we can get, even if it comes from a damned spook like him.”
“What are you talking about?” Myrmeen asked. “What’s wrong with Cardoc?”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with him,” Varina said as she stroked her husband’s lustrous hair. “He’s just a very private person. And the last thing you have to worry about with him is his getting in the way or drawing attention to himself. He’s very good at what he does.”
“And what is that exactly?” Myrmeen asked, suspicious.
Burke sighed heavily. “Some things about Cardoc have to be seen to be understood.”
“That is true,” a voice said from the darkened corner of the room. Myrmeen whirled in surprise as a tall, dark man wearing a shining black vest, a white shirt, and black leggings and boots appeared, several cloaks in his arms. With alarm she noticed that the coat rack had vanished the instant he had made himself visible.
“That can’t be done,” Myrmeen said in astonishment, though what she really meant was that Cardoc’s spell could not have been achieved easily. During her reign, she had been showered with magical items as gifts from admirers, and before that she had been witness to mystical sights that would have driven a lesser woman insane. She simply could not accept that Cardoc had so easily deceived a room full of the Realms’ finest defenders.
Myrmeen rose from the bed and introduced herself. She quickly learned that such niceties were totally wasted on the man, whose stoic expression made him appear part of the furniture even when he was visible. Cardoc was a tall, dark man in his forties, with rich brown eyes, sharp features, and full brown hair. He took her hand and bowed slightly.
“I vow that I will do all I can to help reunite you with your daughter,” he said in a deep, sensuous voice. Despite her initial disquiet, Myrmeen was thoroughly charmed.
“Is Cardoc your only name?” she asked.
“No,” he said softly. “I am called Lucius.”
“Humph,” Burke muttered. “I didn’t know that.”
Cardoc looked over to the man. “You never asked.”
Ord stared at his plate and mumbled, “So that’s where that damned piece of sweetbread with honeyed jam went.”
Burke hugged his wife and rose from the floor. The blond woman took his hand for support and sprang to her feet, too. “We should split off into teams if we want to make the most of our time here. We need to learn all we can about this Kracauer gentleman. Varina will come with me. Ord, you go with Reisz. Cardoc—Lucius—if you would accompany Myrmeen, I would appreciate it.”