Part 17 (1/2)
As the two men sipped cautiously from their tankards, Arclath's firm demands of the serving maids were reluctantly obeyed; the owner of the club was summoned from her bed somewhere in the labyrinthine loft overhead.
Eyes hooded from the clinging edge of sleep, barefoot and clad in a very old and well-worn robe that looked as if it had once been someone's rather magnificent carpet, Tress looked somewhat different than the vision in dark and clinging leather Arclath was used to.
She gave him a rather unfriendly look, yawned, and asked pointedly, ”You required my servile presence, Lord?”
Delnor buried his face behind his tankard, trying to look as if he weren't there. Arclath gravely tendered his apologies for rousing Tress at such an hour and asked her the name of the dancer who'd performed for him the previous evening, and if it would be possible to speak with her. Immediately.
”No,” Tress said simply. ”She's not here.”
”And her name would be-?”
”The Mysterious Dancer You Seek,” Tress announced flatly. ”She'll be performing on yon stage again at dusk tonight and thereafter until near dawn, unless trade's too paltry to make it worth her pay.” She yawned again.
Arclath dipped into another purse-Delnor blinked; just how many did the man have, anyway?-scooped out a heaping handful of gold coins, and held it up. ”Her real name?” he asked quietly.
Tress frowned and shook her head. ”I won't give, Lord Delcastle. I'm sorry, but unless you have a Crown warrant or someone I know to be a senior war wizard asking that for you, you won't learn it from me. I must protect my girls.”
”So must we,” Arclath murmured, waving a hand to indicate he and Delnor were a team.
Tress snorted. ”Against getting cold from being all alone when they're bare in their beds?”
She turned away, adding over her shoulder, ”Come back at dusk and ask her yourself. You'll need all those coins and more, if I know her. Her company can be had at compet.i.tive rates, but her name she guards-and why shouldn't she?”
Arclath and Delnor exchanged glances, shook their heads at each other soberly, then looked up at Tress and tendered their thanks.
She merely nodded, looking as if she was sliding right back into sleep again, while still on her feet. They rose, bowed to her, took a last swig of broth each, and made for the door.
Tress roused herself. ”Your coins, Lord!” she said sharply, pointing at the pile on the table.
Arclath gave her a smile and a wave. ”Consider them a donation for your hospitality, and some fumbling reparation for so clumsily attempting to bribe you,” he said lightly, and he departed the club, Delnor smiling apologetically in his wake.
Tress watched the door close behind them and shook her head. ”Now just what what was all that about?” she asked softly. ”Stlarn it.” was all that about?” she asked softly. ”Stlarn it.”
”n.o.bles are crazy,” the maid who'd awakened her offered helpfully.
Tress sighed. ”So they are, Leece. So they are.” She padded back toward the loft stairs. ”Yet they always have been-and they don't all come to my club with callow young palace messengers every morn, asking after my best dancer.” She sighed again. ”I have a bad feeling about this.”
The magic faded at last, leaving the long-bearded wizard and the curvaceous silver-haired woman free to curse heartily.
They did so with enthusiasm, though Elminster spat out his words at a trot.
”We've lost the night and some of the morning,” Storm added, lengthening her stride to keep up with him.
”I know know that, stormy one,” El snarled. ”I also know just how careless I was to fall afoul of a dolt-simple war wizards' trap, so ye can refrain from commenting on that, stormy one,” El snarled. ”I also know just how careless I was to fall afoul of a dolt-simple war wizards' trap, so ye can refrain from commenting on that that, too!”
”Hmm. Someone's very touchy this morning,” Storm told the ceiling.
Elminster made a rude sound popular with small boys, turned a corner, and started along the corridor even faster.
”What if she turns willful and impatient?” Elminster asked suddenly, as they rushed along the damp and dark pa.s.sage together. He shook his head. ”She could do so much damage...”
Storm snorted. ”And we, down the years, have not?”
”Ye know what I mean, la.s.s. Goes wrong, like Sammaster and-well, too many others. The Realms could be in real real trouble.” trouble.”
Storm put a hand on Elminster's shoulder. His muscles were as tight as drawn bowstrings. ”Then we'll have to destroy her,” she said softly. ”As we've had to destroy bright weapons we forged before. The needs of the Realms demand, and we must meet those needs.”
”And then then what? How shall we find a successor if she's gone?” what? How shall we find a successor if she's gone?”
Storm grinned. ”Again, needs demand. You'll just have to father some new ones, won't you?”
”Ah, thanks for that broth,” Delnor said hesitantly, once the door of the Dragonriders' Club had closed behind them, leaving the two men standing in the starting-to-get-noisy street. ”Very good, that was.”
Arclath shrugged. ”Tables are like beds; far better shared.” In unspoken accord they set off along the promenade together, walking at a leisurely pace, as he added, ”So tell me more of this tumult at the palace-does the king seem agitated? Or Ganrahast? Or is it mainly courtiers fussing and hand-wringing as they contemplate favorite possible dooms?”
Delnor winced and flushed simultaneously. ”You know the palace well.”
”Well enough to spot a palace messenger looking for a way not to answer me directly, yes.” Arclath grinned. ”So give, friend Delnor. Worry not; I won't be asking you for guard deployments or whom our wizards of war are most attentively going to be farscrying. Just the general mood, and who's setting it...or trying to.”
They'd been strolling around the great arc of the promenade in no particular haste but were already within sight of where it met the city wall in one of Suzail's great gates. Arclath turned to walk into the nearest side street, entertaining the vague notion of heading to the harbor, when a fanfare of warhorns rang out at the east gate.
As the flourish had intended them to, they stopped to watch. A large group of armsmen on matching horses came riding into the city, a great clattering of many hooves echoing off the gate arch. The riders surrounded a string of richly appointed coaches.
”A n.o.ble coming to the council,” Delnor said uncertainly, peering at the pennants fluttering from lance points.
One glance at those banners had told Arclath the ident.i.ty of the arriving party. ”Lord Daeclander Illance,” he volunteered. ”Arriving early-as he does for all court events he deems too important to ignore-so as to have plenty of time for tasting the, ah, pleasures of Suzail and transacting as much shady business as he thinks he can get away with before the war wizards and highknights actually start sitting in his lap to listen in.”
He grinned. ”I imagine Rothglar will be more than a little annoyed. He has to rein himself in a trifle and behave when his father's in town. Daeclander has so run out of patience with his eldest son that disowning him might well be a positive pleasure. It's not as though Velyandra's birthed him only a few sons; Rothglar has eight brothers, last time I checked.”
The riders started to fan out, to form a broad front across the promenade to create the maximum inconvenience for others and stir up as much notice as possible; Arclath sighed in disgust and led Delnor firmly into a side street. ”We'll turn south at the next street crossing,” he murmured, and they did-but soon detoured hastily back westward at the intersection after that, as a dung wagon came rumbling toward them, bringing its reek with it.
”I knew knew there was a reason I usually tarry at the Eel until the highsun patrons start to flood in,” Arclath declaimed-and then swore as a second dung wagon came their way, goading them into ducking up the nearest alley. there was a reason I usually tarry at the Eel until the highsun patrons start to flood in,” Arclath declaimed-and then swore as a second dung wagon came their way, goading them into ducking up the nearest alley.
It was wide and relatively uncluttered and clean-smelling, as Suzailan alleys went-they could tell without looking for tall landmarks that they were close to the palace and far from the Westwall slums-but the courtier and the lordling soon came to an abrupt halt as a third third dung wagon rumbled into the muddy midyard of the city block that the alley had led them to, and came to a creaking stop, blocking their path. dung wagon rumbled into the muddy midyard of the city block that the alley had led them to, and came to a creaking stop, blocking their path.
The drover drew a knife from his boot and with its pommel struck a two-toned chime next to his head-and Arclath and Delnor were mildly interested to observe that this signal bore immediate fruit. Many sleepy figures promptly shuffled out of the lofty back balcony doorways or stout back doors of the surrounding shoulder-to-stone-shoulder tallhouses, down a rickety variety of back stairs, and out through various locked or latched gates at the bottom of those stairs to proffer a coin each to the drover-copper thumbs-and then empty their buckets of nightsoil.
Delnor looked pained. ”Let's go another way. This could take forever.” forever.”
Arclath started to nod-then stiffened, plucked imperiously at the palace messenger's arm, and pointed.
One of the weary figures who had just lowered her emptied bucket was the very dancer they were seeking. He said as much, hissing out the words.
”You're sure?” Delnor muttered excitedly.