concluded and
Arren was the first to leap from his seat.
Arren!’ called Master Guiles. ‘Is this really the way of the gentleman? Lady Siedra is to your left – how is she to regard your bounding from her company with such
haste?’
Arren bowed. ‘My apologies, Siedra.’
Siedra smiled and flicked her hair from her eyes, a gesture she had been practising a great deal of late. ‘I take no offence, Arren. I know how eager you are to visit the Viatory before
bed.’
‘Really?’ said Viator Sleech. ‘I myself am stepping across to the Viatory. Perhaps you would care to accompany me through the dark streets.’
Siedra sniggered. Arren said: ‘Ordinarily I would be honoured, but I find an unpleasant griping of the guts which I must attend to on the instant. I would show Viator Sleech no honour in
sharing such delicate pangs. I feel sure that Guigot would make a more suitable companion.’
With this he scampered from the room. He could hear Master Guiles saying: ‘Arren’s conduct is worthy of censure. First, he has insulted the good Viator Sleech; second he impugns the
capacity of the cook; and third he lies poorly.’
But Arren was out of the room and free. A rebuke on the morrow from Master Guiles was a small price to pay.
12
It was a still night with only a sliver of moon. Arren made his way through the streets of the Old Town. Everyone knew that raiders were on the way, and with faulty if
understandable logic, locked their doors and their shutters early.
Arren loved the city when it was deserted. He padded through the market square, normally thronged with people. Tonight even the gallows was empty: the cutpurse Lord Thaume had hanged last week
had putrefied with a rapidity which made the credulous whisper of omens and portents, and Thaume had ordered the corpse cut down before more adverse comment was heard.
He slipped down the alleyway between two houses into the communal vegetable garden shared by the several houses on the plot. He looked around for Foulque’s deserted house. It would be
embarrassing, and potentially dangerous, to enter the wrong one. At this time of night, all the houses were dark, but his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom and he was able to pick his way
past a familiar cluster of thunderberry bushes.
Foulque’s house appeared secure to a casual inspection, particularly in the dark, but Arren knew better. He snaked his arm into a gap between two planks and reached around for the boss he
knew was there. On finding it, he pulled his hand back to release the catch. The door swung open a fraction with a creak. Widening the gap as little as possible he slipped inside the house.
Foulque had inherited the house from a creditor who had become so drunk on Foulque’s fine Garganet wines that he had fallen down a well in the night and drowned before anyone realized he
was gone. He had died in debt to Foulque for the very case of wine which had caused his death, and Foulque had wasted no time in claiming the house in settlement. He had never subsequently lived
there, having a much smarter residence near the Viatory. Already an air of decrepitude began to hang over it, and a thick film of dust coated the worn furnishings. At night the house was not so
much unsettling as cheerless.
‘Eilla!’ he called softly. ‘Are you there?’
There was no reply. Had she come at all? He was later than usual, and even if she had been here, she could not have been confident that he would come. How would he see her before he left for
war?
He sat on a knobbly chair to consider his options. He could go to her house and ask for her; he had known her father Jandille since he was a boy. He realized that her good opinion still mattered
to him. For all his courtly training and elevated deportment, he had never been happier than when he scampered in the streets with her, Clottie and Matten. If he respected Master Sleech he would
have asked him what this meant for his journey towards
Arren was the first to leap from his seat.
Arren!’ called Master Guiles. ‘Is this really the way of the gentleman? Lady Siedra is to your left – how is she to regard your bounding from her company with such
haste?’
Arren bowed. ‘My apologies, Siedra.’
Siedra smiled and flicked her hair from her eyes, a gesture she had been practising a great deal of late. ‘I take no offence, Arren. I know how eager you are to visit the Viatory before
bed.’
‘Really?’ said Viator Sleech. ‘I myself am stepping across to the Viatory. Perhaps you would care to accompany me through the dark streets.’
Siedra sniggered. Arren said: ‘Ordinarily I would be honoured, but I find an unpleasant griping of the guts which I must attend to on the instant. I would show Viator Sleech no honour in
sharing such delicate pangs. I feel sure that Guigot would make a more suitable companion.’
With this he scampered from the room. He could hear Master Guiles saying: ‘Arren’s conduct is worthy of censure. First, he has insulted the good Viator Sleech; second he impugns the
capacity of the cook; and third he lies poorly.’
But Arren was out of the room and free. A rebuke on the morrow from Master Guiles was a small price to pay.
12
It was a still night with only a sliver of moon. Arren made his way through the streets of the Old Town. Everyone knew that raiders were on the way, and with faulty if
understandable logic, locked their doors and their shutters early.
Arren loved the city when it was deserted. He padded through the market square, normally thronged with people. Tonight even the gallows was empty: the cutpurse Lord Thaume had hanged last week
had putrefied with a rapidity which made the credulous whisper of omens and portents, and Thaume had ordered the corpse cut down before more adverse comment was heard.
He slipped down the alleyway between two houses into the communal vegetable garden shared by the several houses on the plot. He looked around for Foulque’s deserted house. It would be
embarrassing, and potentially dangerous, to enter the wrong one. At this time of night, all the houses were dark, but his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom and he was able to pick his way
past a familiar cluster of thunderberry bushes.
Foulque’s house appeared secure to a casual inspection, particularly in the dark, but Arren knew better. He snaked his arm into a gap between two planks and reached around for the boss he
knew was there. On finding it, he pulled his hand back to release the catch. The door swung open a fraction with a creak. Widening the gap as little as possible he slipped inside the house.
Foulque had inherited the house from a creditor who had become so drunk on Foulque’s fine Garganet wines that he had fallen down a well in the night and drowned before anyone realized he
was gone. He had died in debt to Foulque for the very case of wine which had caused his death, and Foulque had wasted no time in claiming the house in settlement. He had never subsequently lived
there, having a much smarter residence near the Viatory. Already an air of decrepitude began to hang over it, and a thick film of dust coated the worn furnishings. At night the house was not so
much unsettling as cheerless.
‘Eilla!’ he called softly. ‘Are you there?’
There was no reply. Had she come at all? He was later than usual, and even if she had been here, she could not have been confident that he would come. How would he see her before he left for
war?
He sat on a knobbly chair to consider his options. He could go to her house and ask for her; he had known her father Jandille since he was a boy. He realized that her good opinion still mattered
to him. For all his courtly training and elevated deportment, he had never been happier than when he scampered in the streets with her, Clottie and Matten. If he respected Master Sleech he would
have asked him what this meant for his journey towards
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