The Red Wolf Conspiracy by Robert V S Redick

it, learn from it, live with the danger of possessing it. Or take it to the authorities and condemn the Mother Prohibitor to death.”
    “You're a big help.”
    “Moral choice is not my sphere of instruction.”
    Thasha's face lit up suddenly. “Hercól! When can our fighting lessons start again?”
    Hercól did not return her smile. “Not soon, I'm afraid. Much is happening in this city, and for good or ill I have become a part of it. The fact is I must leave you in a few minutes, and before that I have something to say. Something it were best you told your father, and soon.”
    He led her away from the river and into a dark stand of firs. Stopping by a large tree, he crouched low and motioned for her to do the same.
    “Your family is being watched, Thasha,” he whispered. “The admiral, the Lady, Nama and the other servants—now you as well. Somehow they knew you were leaving the Lorg tonight. If one good thing came of your rash plunge into this park, it is that you lost your watcher. You very nearly lost me.”
    “Watching us? Why?” Thasha was astounded. “Is this about what the ward-sister mentioned? An ambassadorship?”
    Hercól shook his head. “Don't ask me to speculate. And the fewer people you speak to about your father's business, the better. Come now, if you tarry longer they will know you met someone in the park.”
    They rose and walked on, fir needles crunching underfoot. Ahead, the glow of fengas lamps pierced the trees.
    “Hercól,” said Thasha, “do you have any idea who they are?”
    Hercól's voice was uncertain. “There was one, a man I thought I knew, but that is hardly possible—” He shook his head, as if dispelling a bad dream. They had reached the edge of the firs. “Tell your father,” he said. “And Thasha: tell him when he's alone, will you? Quite alone?”
    Without Syrarys, she supposed he meant. Thasha promised she would.
    Hercól smiled. “I nearly forgot—Ramachni sends his compliments.”
    “Ramachni!” Thasha gripped his arm. “Ramachni's back? How is he? Where has he been?”
    “Ask him yourself. He is waiting in your chamber.”
    Thasha was overjoyed. “Oh, Hercól! This is a good sign, isn't it?”
    Again her teacher hesitated. “Ramachni is a friend like no other,” he said, “but I would not call his visits a good sign. Let us say rather that he comes at need. Still, he was in a jolly mood tonight. He even wished to come out into the city, but I forbade it. His greeting could not have been as … inconspicuous as my own.”
    “Inconspicuous!” Thasha laughed. “You tried to kill me!”
    Hercól's smile faded at the word kill . “Walk straight home,” he said. “Or run, if you wish. But don't look back at me. I shall visit when I can.”
    “What's happening, Hercól?”
    “That question troubles my sleep, dear one. And I have no answer. Yet.”
    He found her hand in the darkness and squeezed it. Then he turned and vanished among the trees.
    The old sentry at her garden gate bowed with the same flourish as two years ago. Thasha would have hugged him if she hadn't known what embarrassment the man would suffer. Instead she hugged Jorl and Suzyt, the blue mastiffs who waddled down the marble stairs to greet her, whimpering with impatience at their arthritic hips. They were her oldest friends, and slobbered magnificently to remind her of it. Laughing despite herself, she finally broke away from them and faced the house again.
    In the doorway above her stood the Lady Syrarys. She was beautiful, in the lush Ulluprid Isles way of beauty: dark, smoldering eyes, full lips that seemed on the point of sharing some delicious secret, a cascade of straight black hair. She was half the admiral's age, or younger.
    “There, darling,” she said, as those gorgeous lips formed a smile. “Out of school for one hour and you're muddier than the dogs themselves. I won't kiss you until you've washed. Come in!”
    “Is he really going to be an ambassador?” said Thasha,