Part 20 (1/2)

”Yes. I suggest you send someone down to the marketplace and see if my horse is for sale or if a horse of that description sold yesterday. Dark bay, looks black from a distance, touch of white on the off rear pastern. Well-built, no brands or other marks. If he's there, he knows my call-better the whistle that was in my pack, but that's conveniently gone. My pack would be easy to lose down any cistern.”

”If you believe it is someone from here, I cannot send anyone,” the Marshal-General said. ”If you're well enough, let's go.”

”Now? In these?” Arvid glanced down at his flower-embroidered front.

”They will not recognize you,” she pointed out, but she was laughing at him; he could see it in her eyes. ”We will let your kteknik kteknik gnome know where you've gone, and then see if your horse was sold, while others look for the missing boys.” gnome know where you've gone, and then see if your horse was sold, while others look for the missing boys.”

In those clothes Arvid felt as conspicuous as a cow in a kitchen, despite seeing at least half the population dressed similarly. A disguise, yes, but he preferred concealment by shadow, in the night, not this.

The first of the horse-dealers specialized in teams; Arvid left the Marshal-General chatting with the man and strolled through the barn...no, his horse was not concealed in a back corner or in the yard where an old swaybacked roan dozed in one corner. The second, nearer the east gate, had more saddle horses, including a dark bay with three stockings and a thin stripe, drinking from a stone trough alongside two chestnuts and a gray. ”There he is,” Arvid said.

”You said white only on the off hind.”

”So I did. That's not natural white-it's whitewash.” Arvid pursed his lips and whistled. The horse jerked up its head and looked around.

”Well, that looks-” The horse dipped its head again. ”-like a horse that alerts to whistles,” the Marshal-General said. ”So how do you propose to prove it's yours?”

”Soap and water,” Arvid said. ”It's an amateurish job. I can tell that from here.”

The horse-dealer protested. ”It can't be stolen. That Marshal told me-a Marshal from up there.” The man pointed his thumb up the hill. ”He said it was his, and he wanted something quieter, not so flashy.”

”Did he say why he bought it in the first place?”

”No...t'horse was jerking on the lead. I thought maybe he was heavy-handed.” The horse-dealer watched Arvid scrubbing at the white on the near fore. ”I swear, Marshal-General, I didn't know...he was a Marshal; I never even thought about it-”

”There we go.” Arvid spoke up. Patchy black showed through the white now. ”See that?”

”Yes.” The horse-dealer grimaced. ”And I paid...” His voice faltered as Arvid looked at him. ”Two gold crescents.”

”I'll wager he didn't haggle,” Arvid said.

”No, but I thought...he's a Marshal, see.”

”Did you record the purchase?” the Marshal-General said.

”Yes, Marshal-General, just like the Code says.”

A full gla.s.s later, Arvid's horse was back in a stall at the Gird's Hall stables and the gnome was back at his side; he had finally told Arvid his name, Datturatkvin. ”But for humans, Dattur alone is enough,” he said.

Arvid nodded. ”Thank you, Dattur, for the gift of your name.” He turned to the Marshal-General. ”Are there other stables here, or just this one?”

”The knights have their own, and so do the paladins and paladin-candidates,” the Marshal-General said. ”Why?”

”Would someone instantly notice an extra saddle and bridle, do you think?”

”Not with all the concern focused here,” she said. ”I'll go with you.”

Dattur found Arvid's saddle stuffed into a grain bin in the knights' stable; Arvid recognized his bridle in a tangle of those awaiting mending in the tack repair area. ”Someone is clever,” Arvid said. ”He-or she-had limited time to suggest I was guilty...to dispose of my horse, tack, pack in only a few turns of the gla.s.s, without being noticed. I wonder, how many non-knights come into this stable? Would the stable help know if someone did?”

”In daylight, certainly. At night, there's a watch going the rounds, but no specific guard.”

From her tone, this might change. Arvid nodded. ”So anyone who knew the watch schedule could come in here, dispose of the tack...What about the guest stables?”

”The same. But do you have any idea where the boys might be, if they weren't killed?”

”No. I don't know this city. You've tried cisterns, I suppose, and granaries...any place big enough to hold boys and secure enough they couldn't get out?”

”Not yet. Not all of them.” She looked pale; Arvid realized she must feel responsible for the boys' safety.

”If I were the thief,” Arvid said, ”I'd be busy enough disposing of that horse and my tack-that must've been done while the horse-dealer was still up, willing to make a deal. Then finding a hiding place for the necklace. I don't think I'd waste time putting the boys anywhere difficult...just enough to keep them out of the way while I escaped. It would take a hard man to kill two boys who happened to see him, which is what I suspect happened.”

”Would you?” she asked.

”No,” Arvid said. ”I might knock them on the head enough that they'd be silent. Put them in a pantry or something.” He thought a moment longer. ”Say the boys were in the School, as they ought to have been, and heard something-saw something-maybe my things being taken from my room. They're discovered-maybe they didn't think to conceal themselves. It's not easy to silence two boys and then carry them any distance. I'll wager they're still in the School barracks.”

”n.o.body's reported anything.”

”Let me look.”

As they came into the forecourt, Arvid called over two boys carrying a barrel slung from a pole. ”When you don't want to be found, where do you go?”

They glanced at each other, then at the Marshal-General.

”It's important,” she said. ”We think Baris and Tamis are hurt.”

”Well...there's the back cellar. We're not supposed to go there, but Baris found a trap-door.”

”Show me.”

There they found the two boys, bound and gagged, both with bruises suggesting they'd fought hard and unsuccessfully and been knocked unconscious. Tears had left streaky tracks down their dusty, bruised faces.

Baris, as soon as the gag was out, said, ”It was a Marshal-a Marshal of Gird-I couldn't believe-”

The other boy, smaller, said nothing; he seemed scarcely aware.

”Get him to the infirmary,” the Marshal-General said. She turned to Baris. Arvid had cut his hands free, and the boy was rubbing his wrists. ”So, Baris, can you walk? Or shall we carry you upstairs for a good meal?”

”I-I can walk,” he said. He staggered with his first step, but his gait steadied. He accepted help on the stairs, but beyond the bruises and paleness, he seemed unharmed.