Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor Page 23

  Well, as long as they stayed on the right side of the law, he’d be hanged if he turned any of them in, or the people who were helping them (for a price) either. And if they broke the law, well, he might be the one to catch them, but it was up to the Guard and constabulary to deal with it.

  Information trafficking was mostly going the other way now, and even those prices were deflated. He could almost feel sorry—almost—for the fellows whose sole stock in trade was in intelligence.

  On the other hand, this made two of his personae very popular fellows with those selling information about Valdemar’s neighbors, since both those personae were still buying. Though for information about Karse, he was relying on Geri and the informal network that the Sunpriests who had escaped to or been born in Valdemar had built over the years.

  As a consequence, he had known well in advance of today that one of the younger Princes of Rethwellan was arriving “secretly” with the intention of paying court to the Queen. He had told Talamir, and neither of them had seen any reason to spoil the surprise by informing Selenay. “Let her have a little romance,” Talamir had opined, and his opinion was seconded by Herald Kyril. “She is sensible enough to know that whatever courting or romantic attention he pays her is only an illusion, and that he is here purely for the purpose of making an advantageous alliance. She will bear in mind, I am sure, that he would pay her the same compliments if she was stooped and squint-eyed. This will amuse her, and she has had little enough pure amusement since the Ice Festival.”

  Illusion or not, romance was not in Alberich’s area of expertise, nor were the doings of princes. He would leave that to Talamir, and had said as much. His personal opinion was that the arrival of this princeling was a damned good thing for Talamir. Between the discovery of the ciphered papers and the advent of the Rethwellan Prince, Talamir was looking more centered than he had since the Coronation.

  Alberich had filed that observation away for further thought, but there was one conclusion to be made from it that was obvious—Talamir needed real things to do, too, things he could get his metaphorical teeth into, things that focused him on what was going on around him. Alberich made up his mind to find more such tasks.

  Now, following that actor fellow—that was something he could do.

  Though once the weather turned and spring was well and truly in bloom, he began to wonder where the man got his energy, and whether he could manage to follow him without dropping over.

  It wasn’t only that Norris was performing every evening with the full company at the inn and rehearsing new productions every afternoon—

  That is, when he wasn’t performing with a reduced company at special private performances of an afternoon—

  No, it was that once those evening performances were over, he scarcely had time to wipe the paint from his face and change out of his costume before he was off somewhere. Most of the time it was with a female. Alberich couldn’t call them “ladies,” though some of them had that title, even if they acted more like cats in heat. When he wasn’t with a female, he went roistering off with a gang of male friends, drinking and carousing through several taverns—and usually then ended up in a woman’s bed in some bawdy house anyway.

  It was astonishing. Because then, no matter how late he’d been out, there he was again, looking alert and fresh and ready to go, no later than noon, to rehearse with the company.

  “I know not how he does it,” Alberich said, as he accompanied Myste, in his guise as “her friend from the Army, the carter,” back to the Companion’s Bell where she was ostensibly staying. They had just watched Norris drink enough to make Alberich’s head reel, then take three whores up to his room. Only one thing was certain; he wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. Thank the Sunlord. Alberich didn’t think he could have made another late night of it himself.

  “Nor does anyone else,” Myste admitted. “Especially not his head for drink! That man can drink any three under the table, and I am not exaggerating, because I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And the next day, you’d never know he’d taken a drop.”

  Alberich licked his lips thoughtfully. “A useful talent, for an agent.”

  “Damn right it is.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, and adjusted her lenses. “What’s more—and this is a woman’s intuitive observation, so take it with whatever grains of salt you choose—I don’t see that he has anything that you could exploit as a weakness. Not even for women.”

  Alberich gave her a dubious glance. “Pardon?”

  “He uses them,” she elaborated, “but he has no use for them. I think, they’re like food for him—he satisfies his appetite, and he does have a hearty appetite, but once he’s through, he pays no more attention to them than he would to the shepherd’s pie he just finished eating. He pushes away the leftovers, and wants them cleared away. I’ve watched him with his women, remember. Quite a lot more than he thinks I have, actually. I have yet to see him show any emotional attachment to anyone, woman or man. He acts as if he does, says all the right things, and it is superb acting, yes—actually quite a bit better and far more subtle than anything he does on stage. But so far as I can tell, there’s nothing genuine behind the words and the gestures.”

  “Well,” Alberich said thoughtfully. “Well, well, well. I think it is good that I have never tried to come too near to him, or I might have been swiftly found out. But that makes me concerned for you—”

  She nodded. “It makes me concerned for me, too, believe me, and the only things I have in my favor are that he thinks I’m besotted and under his thumb, that I’m not ornamental to look at so he spends as little time as he can get away with doing so, and that he does not think that women in general are particularly intelligent. I expect,” she added thoughtfully, “that he regards me rather in the line of a trained dog. Quite clever at performing the tricks I’ve been taught, and utterly devoted to my masters, but not really capable of thinking for myself.”

  “Which would make, I think, other women his lap dogs,” Alberich pointed out, continuing the analogy. “Good for ornament, and sensually pleasant, but otherwise utterly useless.”

  She laughed aloud at that. “Oh, I wish some of his light’o’loves could hear you say that of them! How he manages to keep them from tearing him to bits in jealousy is beyond me.”

  “Perhaps they are in truth as utterly besotted as he thinks you to be,” Alberich observed. “Or else, he has the gift of golden speech.”

  “Both, I think.” She shook her head. “You know, as often as I see it, I’m still amazed at how self-deluded a lot of women are. A man says one thing, and does something else, and they believe the words and not the actions.”

  “That behavior is not restricted to women,” Alberich pointed out. “Are his fellow actors not equally deceived in thinking him a grand fellow?”

  “Hmm. That’s true enough.” They were nearly at the Bell, but neither of them made the turn that would take them into the alley and the back way. “Alberich, I don’t believe we’re alone.”

  “So you have noticed.” Someone had been following them for some time. Alberich had been certain of it about a third of the way back.

  “I’m not usually good at this, but I heard a footstep that I know just before I said something. It’s Norris.”

  Well, that put a different complexion on things. “So the three bawds—?”

  “A ruse. Maybe he isn’t as sure of me as I thought. So—hmm. Now what do we do?”

  “You go up to your room, and I say good night. Then I see what your friend does next.”

  They had, because Alberich always liked to plan for every possible contingency, planned for this one as well. Myste did have a room here—in fact, it was one of several that Heralds could use if they needed one; if, for instance, there was a major convocation of Heralds and all the beds at the Collegium were full. They were very spartan in nature, hardly more than closets with bunks in them, identical to the servants’ rooms and exactly the sort of thing that a clerk would get
in trade for his services to an inn. So when they reached the door of the Bell, they parted company as old friends rather than anything more intimate, and Myste used her key to the side entrance where the long-term residents and inn servants had their rooms. Albench clumped off, made certain that their follower hadn’t followed him, then reversed his coat to the matte-black side, and ghosted back.

  Sure enough, there was Norris, hidden, and hidden relatively well, in a shadow across the street. After a moment, one of the little windows in the garret rooms glowed as a candle was brought inside. Alberich was about to suggest to Myste with Mindspeech that she go to the window, when she did just that without his needing to prompt her. She not only went to it, she opened it, and sat in it for several moments, as if enjoying the warm, spring night. Even though she was probably dying to peer down into the street to look for their follower, she did nothing of the sort; instead, she took off her lenses, rubbed her eyes as if she was tired, and sat back with her head against the side of the window frame and her eyes—as far as Alberich could tell—closed.

  :Is the kitty still stalking me?:

  :Yes, he is,: Alberich replied.

  :Persistent beast. I don’t suppose you can think of anything that will make him go away?:

  :I am working on just that,: he told her, although in truth, he was coming up rather dry as to ideas.

  After all the times when his admirers have been a nuisance to get around, this is one time when I wish some of them would appear, he thought crossly.

  :How many would you like?: came Kantor’s interested query.

  He blinked. :Why do you ask?:

  :Because there is an entire table full of young women from the audience this evening here. They wanted to get a table there, but you know how it is—:

  Yes, indeed, Alberich knew very well how it was. Norris’ company was, by far, the most popular in Haven in a very long time. On the nights when there were plays, it was impossible to get a table in his inn, either before or after the play. The innkeeper had taken to doing the unheard of—making reservations for tables. There were people who had waited as long as three weeks before being able to take their pre-play dinner or after-play supper in Norris’ presumed presence.

  :—at any rate, all they’ve done is talk about Norris since they got here. They’re very loud, and I think, a bit tipsy.: There were distinct overtones of snigger in Kantor’s voice. :I can’t imagine how they’d be useful to you, though.:

  :Oh, I can—:

  He slipped away from his hiding place, went into the alley, in through the secret room at the back of the stables, and changed into, not his clothing, but his uniform. This was not even his gray Weaponsmaster’s garb, but the Heraldic Whites that he seldom, if ever, wore. He had kept a set down here for just this reason. He wanted to be noticed this time, but he wanted all the attention to be on his clothing, not his face.

  Then he strolled openly into the Bell, and listened for the sound of female voices. It didn’t take him long to hear them, for as Kantor had said, they were both loud and tipsy, the latter probably being the cause of the former.

  :All right, Myste,: he Mindspoke. :Yawn, stretch, put out your candle and go to bed. You shouldn’t have to stay there much longer.:

  :I’m alive with curiosity.:

  The Bell had more than one public room; there was the main tavern area, and several supper rooms that were intended more for eating in than drinking. He entered the room where the young—and not so young—women were, as if looking about, possibly for a place to sit.

  They were, so far as he could tell, not highborn. But they definitely were prosperous; their gowns were all new, of good quality, and they wore a moderate amount of silver jewelry. Middling well-off merchant or craft families, he guessed; the younger ones had probably persuaded their families to let them see the players, and the older ones had come along as chaperones, and they all had fallen under the spell of the handsome leading man. They were already planning their next outing to see him perform.

  A Herald always got noticed, even in Haven, and when he entered the room, they all looked up and at him. He concentrated very hard on his words, and his accent. This was not the time to sound like a foreigner. If Norris went to the effort of trying to track back who betrayed him—Alberich just wanted to be “a Herald.” He gave a little bow, and said, “Your pardon, my ladies. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your party—”

  One of the older ones giggled; it was one of the young ones who called out, “Oh, that’s quite all right, Herald, you weren’t interrupting anything. We were just talking about the play we’ve been to.”

  “The play be hanged!” said one of the tipsier ones. “It’s that actor Norris’ way of filling out tights that we were talking about!”

  Some of them laughed hilariously, some with embarrassment, and Alberich smiled. “He’s a fine actor, that one,” he said agreeably. “Very impressive indeed. I think all of us managed to get to one or more of his performances during the Ice Festival.” Then he added, as if the idea had suddenly struck him, “He wouldn’t be waiting for any of you, would he?”

  Oddly enough, it was one of the drunker ones who caught the implications of that last question, which slipped right by most of them. “What d’ye mean, waiting for one of us?” she asked, not quite slurring her words. “Y’mean, now? Right now?”

  “Why, yes,” Alberich replied, feigning surprise. “I saw him just across the street, lingering in the doorway, as if he was waiting for someone to come out of the Bell—”

  Well, that was all he needed to say, and the only thing he needed to do was to press himself against the wall to get out of the way of the avalanche of gowns heading for the door.

  They piled past him and rushed for the front exit. A moment later, and there was something like a little chorus of squeals as they tumbled out into the street. “Is that—” “It is!” “It’s him!”

  :You wicked, wicked man!: Myste chortled, as the sounds became a bit inarticulate and much louder.

  There was a single, masculine voice, saying desperately over the torrent of giggles and little shrieks, “Ladies! Ladies!” and the owner was clearly getting nowhere.

  Alberich strolled out to the door, and stood there with his face in shadow, leaning against the doorpost with his arms crossed, enjoying the havoc he had created. Norris was in the center of a tight knot of women, all of them breathlessly telling him of their admiration at the tops of their lungs, all of them trying to elbow each other aside to get closer to him. He looked like a very desperate man at the moment.

  :Oh, this is choice,: Myste said. :I can’t resist.:

  From overhead and to the right came her familiar voice. “Will you please be quiet?” If Alberich hadn’t known Myste so well, he would have been certain that she was angry, not trying with might and main to hold back gales of laughter. “People are trying to sleep!”

  Her window slammed shut.

  Then Myste’s plaint was joined by several other, genuinely irritated voices, calling down to the gaggle of women surrounding to shut up! and go away! and I’ll get the constables on you, see if I don’t!

  And it wasn’t long before a constable did appear, and suggest to Norris (as the apparent center of the disturbance), that “It would be very nice, sir, if you and your friends were somewhere else right now.”

  And there was nothing else that Norris could do at that point, except to bow to the inevitable. He was going to be stuck with these women for the next candlemark at least. And the only way he was going to get rid of them was back at his own inn, where he knew the ground, and could slip away from them under the guise of attending to nature’s call or something of the sort—or getting one of the cast to find one of his regular bawds to come down and drag him back to his room. The one thing that would embarrass them enough to go away even in their present state of intoxication would be the presence of a real whore.

  But it would have to be done there, not here—

  Somehow, perhaps by sheer force
of personality, he got the group moving, and away they went, still surrounding him on all sides, chattering like a flock of noisy little birds, and he with the look of a man being nibbled to death by ducks.

  When they were all out of both sight and hearing, he Mindcalled up to Myste. :I think you can come out now.:

  :Just a moment. I was not exactly dressed. I wanted to add some verisimilitude to the illusion that I had gone to bed.:

  Now he wished he’d looked up when she leaned out of her window.

  Then it struck him; there’d been a hint of—something—in her mind-voice. Was it what he thought it was? Should he? Did he dare?

  :If you didn’t read that as an invitation, you’re denser than I thought,: said Kantor.

  He couldn’t clear his throat in mind-voice, but he managed a combination of eagerness and diffidence. :I don’t suppose you would care for me to come up instead?:

  He heard the purr in her mind-voice, and almost tangled his own feet together, trying to whip himself around and head for the stairs. :Ah, yes. Indeed I would. Please, do.:

  13

  THE journey back up to the Palace was surreal. Dream-like, as the four of them made their way through peace-filled, cool air scented with honeysuckle. Alberich held onto the moment fiercely; no matter what had happened in the past, or what would happen in the future, he’d had this night, this time. His heart was, for the moment, at peace, and he could not have been more content with his lot. He hoped—he thought—Myste felt the same.

  They parted with a touch of lips and hands at the branching of paths, one leading up to the Heralds’ Wing at the Palace, the other to the salle. He and Kantor moved off into the velvet night.

  :I told you that you were worrying too much,: Kantor said, when he and Alberich were finally settled back in their respective “beds,” in, and beside, the salle.

  :Hmm. You were right.: Still—no, there was no “still.” Kantor was right. The benefit of being Gifted; there was no question of how one’s partner felt. There had been a little initial fumbling, but—