A thin smile touched Wellhyrn's face. "Vadami, oh, so -humbly asked if I'd seen you. He seems to think you're a friend of Duran's."
"Gods."
Wellhyrn chuckled. "Anyway, I didn't shatter his delusion and asked him to join me. I said I might be seeing you later in the day and if he had a message, I'd be happy to pass it along."
"So?"
Wellhyrn lifted an eyebrow. "Vadami had been ministering to some poor creature in Old Town last night and was on his way back to the Temple. He happened to be walking up Smithy Street by 'The Swimming Cat,' when he noticed—of all things—that old Sabirn from the tavern—and that Sabirn kid—"
"—his grandson, by my sources."
Wellhyrn's handsome face was alight with malice. "Both of them at Duran's door. Him and this young boy. Now I ask you why. I ask you why Duran let them in and shut the door fast."
Ladirno frowned. "Puzzling."
"Isn't it?" Wellhyrn's mood changed: all humor had fled from it. "It makes me damned nervous, Ladir. What in Dandro's hells is going on in that shop, that's what I'd like to know! Why's Duran buying good ale of a sudden—eating beef like a gentleman? Did you catch that?"
"Did Vadami hear anything?"
"In a storm like the one last night? Hardly. He was afraid of being seen, and only got close enough to make sure he saw what he thought. Then he retreated to shelter at the front of 'The Swimming Cat' to watch what happened next."
Ladirno swirled the wine in his glass, watching the lamplight in it. "I'd give a lot to know what was going on in there."
"So, dear colleague, would I." Wellhyrn stretched in the chair, his movements graceful and refined. "I'm very much afraid that Duran might be involved in something."
"Such as?" Ladirno asked.
"Sabirn secrets. Such as—hidden knowledge. One wonders what he's doing—and what the Sabirn's price is."
"He's been talking to that old man for years."
Wellhyrn took a sip of wine. "Doing gods know what for years."
"Fah! I think there's no secret to be had. If that old man knows secrets like that, if any Sabirn does—why are they so damned poor?"
"I can know many things," Wellhyrn said softly, his voice smooth, "but if I don't have the tools to make use of what I know, I might as well not know it."
"Gods. You don't think—"
"What better cover for a wizard than to appear as an old beggar?"
"Now you are grasping for straws. I'd believe Duran capable of searching for Sabirn secrets—but credit him with wanting to bring down the kingdom . . . For gods' sakes, Wellhyrn . . . he's an Ancar noble!"
Wellhyrn sneered. "Was an Ancar noble. His father was -banished—for treason."
"Treason being the old duke's whim, by what I hear, not Hajun's. And Duran's still Ancar. I can't believe any Ancar—"
"Would do what? Consort with Sabirn? Think about it. Obviously he's after something from the Sabirn. We think it's alchemical secrets. It could be worse. But even if it's only the one, they provide him with alchemistic secrets we can only dream of—if only to keep him on the string. And where would that leave us, and the other members of our profession?"
Ladirno stared at Wellhyrn, and rubbed his forehead, fighting down a headache.
"Now you're beginning to see it," Wellhyrn said.
Ladirno stared at the rain-washed window. "I suppose," he murmured, "we'd better brave the storm. It's time both you and I had another conversation with our little priest. I want to get to hear his story for myself."
Vadami stood in the doorway of "The Golden Shoe," abhorring the thought of going out into the rain and wind of Old Town, but if word of his loitering got back to his superiors, they would take his hours here for softness. He sighed deeply in resignation, took a long breath, opened the door, and nearly ran head-on into a dripping Ladirno accompanied by an equally sodden Wellhyrn.
"Ah, Father Vadami," Ladirno said, thrusting the hood of his cloak back and smiling. "The very person I wanted to see. What luck to find you here."
Vadami pushed his own hood back, bowed slightly, and kept a smile on his face, unsure whether he was being mocked.
"A table for three," Wellhyrn said to a serving-boy. "And your best half bottle of wine."
Feeling caught up in something he did not understand, Vadami followed the two alchemists to a table at the rear of the common room, far from the crowd near the windows. Seating himself across from the two hosts, he unclasped his cloak and let it hang over the back of the chair.
"How may I help you, Sori?" he asked, trying to read the expression on their faces, but their smiles never wavered. Hladyr bless! If only he could be as important as these men. If only the Shining One would bless him with the luck . . . would bring his love of the gods and his work to the attention of his superiors.
And get him out of Old Town.
"I got your message," Ladirno said conversationally, leaning back in his chair. The waiter brought a carafe of wine and three glasses to the table, left them unpoured at the wave of Ladirno's hand.
"My . . . message, yes." Vadami watched the lamplight glitter on Ladirno's gold neck chain. "About Duran—"
Ladirno tilted his head, implied invitation.
"I'm getting increasingly worried, Sori. He doesn't want to listen to me—and—considering you have some concern for him—rather than go to Temple authorities, you understand—"
"We appreciate this," Ladirno said.
"I thought maybe you'd be able to talk some sense into him. After all, you're his—" Cough. "—friend in the Guild—"
"You mean about his visitors last night."
Vadami nodded. "He's endangering his soul, consorting with the Sabirn. It's become extremely serious—this business on the west end—"
"We understand that," Wellhyrn said smoothly. "Necromancy is a very serious charge."
"I'm trying to rescue him. I can't make any headway with him, though gods know I've tried. He doesn't believe they're dangerous."
"What was the old man talking about?" Ladirno asked, pouring Vadami a glass of wine, then filling his and Wellhyrn's glasses. "Did you hear anything at all? Can you guess anything?"
"No." Vadami took a sip of the wine, marveling at its smoothness. "I couldn't get that close. But whatever it was—it undoubtedly had to do with the dark arts."
"You think so?"
"What else would a Sabirn be talking about? They're devils! What can they want but to snare the innocent? I've tried to warn him, Sor Ladirno. Duran's soul is in my care, it's my duty as a priest of Hladyr to keep him from falling into darkness."
"Could the old man have been telling Duran secrets?" Wellhyrn prompted, running a languid fingertip around the rim of his glass. "Things the Sabirn might—remember?"
"No one could know. The old man usually tells tales at the inn. But people have seen Duran writing while he talks."
The two court alchemists exchanged a brief look, one full of obvious concern. Vadami's heart warmed: these were good people. It was good to know that men so powerful still had concern for a friend in danger. Maybe, with their help, he could talk Duran into leaving the Sabirn alone.
Maybe—with their help—and a good outcome for this affair—he could find friends at court—
It was very wise of him—to have gone to them and not his superiors.
"I am concerned." Wellhyrn shook his handsome head. "Have you noticed this old Sabirn talking to anyone strange?"
Hladyr bless! Sorgun orders me to tell him if this old man ever talks to anyone who lives outside of Old Town. Now I get the same question from these eminent alchemists. . . .