absolutely nothing to do with Durrel’s predicament, but I’d seen those strange guardsat Charicaux — the ones Durrel hadn’t known anything about — and besides, there was still an hour to go until curfew. I’d rather be out in the night air, chasing after Lord Ragn, than stuck at the teriza trying to make conversation with the lady in pink. I’d come to Hobin’s to see him, after all. So see Lord Ragn I would.
He left the teriza on foot, which was unusual; most genteel Nob Circletraffic was by water, so the nobs didn’t have to break a sweat in the summer heat. I let him get a few dozen paces ahead of me, quickly realizing the impracticality of my impulse; I was not dressed for a stealth tracking job. I was, in fact, apparently clad in the loudest garment possible; jester’s bells couldn’t have made these rustling skirts any noisier. But Lord Ragn’s attention was clearlyfocused on whatever was before him, not who might be behind him.
Out of the grand homes of Nob Circle, under the Oss Bridge, past a public circle patrolled by Green Army soldiers, I followed Lord Ragn doggedly, though the night grew no less sticky the farther away from the water we got. We were headed vaguely uphill, toward the city wall and the Pilgrims’ Gate, well away from his own partof town. I imagined he was going somewhere illicit, intriguing — a gambling den, perhaps, or a courtesan’s house. But as I recognized the streets and the neighborhood, I slowed down, stumped. What was Lord Ragn doing here ?
He crossed down one wide, empty, cobbled road, moving with purpose toward a squat, square building that I recognized. I didn’t have to see around the back of that warehouseto know that its neighbor, across a narrow strip of alley and behind a low stone wall with an unlocked gate, was an abandoned house technically owned by Lord Ragn’s imprisoned son.
He’d led me to the warehouse behind Bal Marse.
I froze at the mouth of the alleyway and hung back behind the corner as Lord Ragn withdrew a key from his doublet and let himself in through a narrow back door.I scurried down the alley after him, but he’d locked the door behind him, and I didn’t dare take the risk that he was standing just inside , if I tumbled it.
What was his business here? I supposed it was completely possible he was here for some legitimate purpose — but he’d come alone, by night, with no light, after having an upsetting conversation about his murder-suspect son. I couldn’tbe sure those things were related, of course. But I wouldn’t like to wager on it.
I gave the perimeter of the warehouse a good once-over, but it was windowless, the other doors closed fast, nothing at all to give up Lord Ragn’s purpose here. I waited a discreet distance away, tucked behind a barrel at the end of the alleyway, but he did not reappear, and eventually my feet went numb in myred silk shoes. If I didn’t get home soon, I really would miss the curfew, so I reluctantly gave up my hold on Lord Ragn, and headed back across town to the bakery.
As I walked, I tugged at threads in the scraps of information I’d collected, hoping one might pull loose. Durrel had mentioned Talth’s business, and Barris had seemed touchy when I’d asked him about his mother’s affairs. And now Lord Ragn showed up at one of his dead daughter-in-law’s properties, practically in the middle of the night. I needed more information about Mistress Ceid’s enterprises. Fortunately I knew just the person to consult.
The next afternoon, after sleeping off Lord Hobin’s party, I headed down to the Big Silver, where the Ceid controlled some of the dockyards and shipping houses. I was wearingholes in my good shoes, with all this crosstown running about. Still, it wasn’t the Ceid I’d come to see today.
Eptin Cwalo, distinguished merchant and shrewd businessman, was a smallish, unprepossessing fellow who kept an elegant little storefront in the Spiral, that part of the city where lovely,
He left the teriza on foot, which was unusual; most genteel Nob Circletraffic was by water, so the nobs didn’t have to break a sweat in the summer heat. I let him get a few dozen paces ahead of me, quickly realizing the impracticality of my impulse; I was not dressed for a stealth tracking job. I was, in fact, apparently clad in the loudest garment possible; jester’s bells couldn’t have made these rustling skirts any noisier. But Lord Ragn’s attention was clearlyfocused on whatever was before him, not who might be behind him.
Out of the grand homes of Nob Circle, under the Oss Bridge, past a public circle patrolled by Green Army soldiers, I followed Lord Ragn doggedly, though the night grew no less sticky the farther away from the water we got. We were headed vaguely uphill, toward the city wall and the Pilgrims’ Gate, well away from his own partof town. I imagined he was going somewhere illicit, intriguing — a gambling den, perhaps, or a courtesan’s house. But as I recognized the streets and the neighborhood, I slowed down, stumped. What was Lord Ragn doing here ?
He crossed down one wide, empty, cobbled road, moving with purpose toward a squat, square building that I recognized. I didn’t have to see around the back of that warehouseto know that its neighbor, across a narrow strip of alley and behind a low stone wall with an unlocked gate, was an abandoned house technically owned by Lord Ragn’s imprisoned son.
He’d led me to the warehouse behind Bal Marse.
I froze at the mouth of the alleyway and hung back behind the corner as Lord Ragn withdrew a key from his doublet and let himself in through a narrow back door.I scurried down the alley after him, but he’d locked the door behind him, and I didn’t dare take the risk that he was standing just inside , if I tumbled it.
What was his business here? I supposed it was completely possible he was here for some legitimate purpose — but he’d come alone, by night, with no light, after having an upsetting conversation about his murder-suspect son. I couldn’tbe sure those things were related, of course. But I wouldn’t like to wager on it.
I gave the perimeter of the warehouse a good once-over, but it was windowless, the other doors closed fast, nothing at all to give up Lord Ragn’s purpose here. I waited a discreet distance away, tucked behind a barrel at the end of the alleyway, but he did not reappear, and eventually my feet went numb in myred silk shoes. If I didn’t get home soon, I really would miss the curfew, so I reluctantly gave up my hold on Lord Ragn, and headed back across town to the bakery.
As I walked, I tugged at threads in the scraps of information I’d collected, hoping one might pull loose. Durrel had mentioned Talth’s business, and Barris had seemed touchy when I’d asked him about his mother’s affairs. And now Lord Ragn showed up at one of his dead daughter-in-law’s properties, practically in the middle of the night. I needed more information about Mistress Ceid’s enterprises. Fortunately I knew just the person to consult.
The next afternoon, after sleeping off Lord Hobin’s party, I headed down to the Big Silver, where the Ceid controlled some of the dockyards and shipping houses. I was wearingholes in my good shoes, with all this crosstown running about. Still, it wasn’t the Ceid I’d come to see today.
Eptin Cwalo, distinguished merchant and shrewd businessman, was a smallish, unprepossessing fellow who kept an elegant little storefront in the Spiral, that part of the city where lovely,
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