"Seregil says most of them sound like they're talking through a mouthful of wet leather when they try. He's making certain I get it right.

"Makir y'torus eyair. How's that?"

"Korveu tak melilira. Afarya tos hara'beniel?" she replied, wheeling her horse and kicking it into a gallop.

Assuming it had either been an insult or an invitation to another race, Alec galloped after her.

Dusk was settling outside the windows of Seregil's bedchamber when Alec strode in with flushed cheeks and new snow melting in his hair. The sweet tang of a cold ocean wind still clung to him.

"Tell me we don't have to dress up tonight!" he pleaded, dropping down on the hearth rug by Seregil's feet.

Seregil laid his book aside and stretched lazily. "You look like you've had quite an afternoon."

"We rode for miles! I should have taken my bow—we ended up in the hills and there were rabbits everywhere."

"I may have some other hunting for you." Seregil pulled a small scroll from his belt and brandished it between two long fingers. "This was left at the Black Feather for the Rhiminee Cat. It seems Lady Isara has lost some compromising letters and she wants them back. She thinks Baron Makrin's study is a good place to start looking."

"Tonight?" Alec asked, all weariness instantly forgotten.

"I think that's best. It's a pretty straightforward burglary, nothing fancy. Midnight's soon enough. We'll have to wait until the household's settled down, but I don't want to be out in the cold any longer than we have to."

The wind tugged at their cloaks as Seregil and Alec set off for the baron's villa on the west side of the Noble Quarter. They wore coarse workman's tunics, and old traveling cloaks covered the swords slung out of sight over their backs.

They'd gone only a few blocks when Seregil suddenly sensed someone on the street behind them. Touching

Alec lightly on the arm, he turned a corner at random and caught a hint of motion in the shadows behind them.

"Just like that time I was chased into Silvermoon Street," Alec whispered, glancing back nervously.

"I had the same thought, though it's probably just someone out for a midnight stroll. Let's find out."

Leaving the baron for later, he turned right at the next corner, heading east into the heart of the city.

A slice of moon broke free from the clouds, giving just enough light for Seregil to make out a large, dark form trailing them from a discreet distance.

Not so innocent after all, he frowned to himself. Keeping up a steady pace, he strode on into the increasingly poorer streets of the southeast quarter. Their man still kept his distance, but matched them turn for turn.

"Do you hear that?" Alec asked softly.

"Hear what?"

"That little scraping sound, when he walks over a patch of bare cobbles. I heard it that other time, too."

"Well then, we'd better let him introduce himself."

Wending his way into a disreputable warren of darkened tenements and warehouses, Seregil spotted a familiar alleyway. Pretending to stumble, he reached out and grasped Alec's elbow and signed for him to follow.

Ducking into the alley, he quickly tore off his cloak and tossed it behind a pile of refuse, then pulled himself through a crumbling window frame overhead. Alec was up beside him in an instant. From this vantage point, they watched as their man hesitated, then drew a falchion and went slowly on into the shadows of the alley. From this angle, Seregil couldn't make out his face.

An amateur, but persistent,

Seregil thought, watching as he went half the length of the alley before realizing that it was a dead end, and that his quarry was nowhere in sight.

As he turned, Seregil and Alec dropped lightly to the pavement and drew their swords.

"What do you want?" Seregil demanded.

Undaunted, their pursuer took a step forward, weapon at the ready. "If ever you called yourself Gwethelyn, Lady of Cador Ford, and Ciris, squire of the same, then we've a matter of restitution to discuss."

"Captain Rhal!" Alec examined.

"The same, boy."

"You're a long way from the Darter," said Seregil, hoping he didn't sound as shaken as he felt.

"And a good thing, too," Rhal retorted stiffly, "seeing that she lies rotting at the bottom of the Folcwine River."

"What's that to do with us?"

Rhal advanced another step, flinging his hat aside. "I've traveled a long way to ask you that. Two days below Torburn we put in for water at a little place called Gresher's Ferry. A pack of swordsmen were waiting for us there, and who do you suppose they wanted?"

Alec shifted uncomfortably beside him.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Seregil replied. "Who were they looking for?"

"Two men and a boy, they claimed, but it was you they meant, sure enough. If I hadn't caught you out of your woman's riggings I might not have tumbled, but it was you."

"You're mistaken, though I suppose you set them after us anyway?"

"By the Old Sailor, I did not!" Rhal retorted angrily. "I might have saved myself the loss of a fine ship if I had."

Certain disturbing questions had occurred to Seregil during this exchange, but before he could ask any the three of them were startled by a sudden commotion behind them at the mouth of the alley.

A gang of back alley toughs materialized out of the shadows armed with swords, cudgels, and daggers. Seregil saw in an instant that there were enough of them to be trouble.

To his surprise, he found Rhal at his side, sword leveled at the newcomers. Alec cast him one questioning look, then fell in beside the captain as the ambushers charged in at them.

Rhal took the center, striking right and left with workmanlike efficiency. Seregil had just time enough to pull the poniard free of his boot before he found himself fighting two-handed against a ruffian wielding a quarterstaff.

The alley made for close quarters fighting and the three of them were soon being forced back inch by inch toward the dead end at their backs.

"Trouble above!" Rhal bellowed as a hail of stones and roof tiles clattered down from overhead.

"Press the bastards!"

A heavy tile struck his arm, jarring his sword from his hand. A tall footpad closed in, but Seregil whirled and buried his poniard between the man's ribs. Beside him, Alec struck another across the face. Rhal rolled hastily out from under their feet, scrambling through the dirty snow for his weapon.

More stones rained down but thanks to the darkness or someone's poor aim, most of this load landed among the attackers. In the resulting confusion, Seregil and the others broke free to the street, the gang hot on their heels.

Freed from the confines of the alley, he rounded on the man nearest him and ran him through, then blocked a swing from a quarterstaff. He'd lost sight of Alec, but a fierce yell just behind told him the boy was holding his own.

Seregil was just facing off with two of the footpads when the shrill alarm of a Watch trumpet rang out nearby. A moment later a Watch patrol galloped into sight down the street, weapons drawn. The footpads left off at once and melted away into the shadows like sea smoke before a freshening breeze.

"Come on!" Seregil hissed at Alec and Rhal, and bolted off in the opposite direction.

"What are we running for?" Rhal panted.

"So we don't spend the night inventing lies for some thickheaded bluecoat," Seregil snapped.

Dodging into the next side street, he spotted a sagging bulkhead at the base of a tenement just ahead.

Hoping for the best, he yanked up one of the flat doors and tossed in a lightstone. Worn steps led down to a disused cellar.

"Down here!"

Alec and Rhal dove for cover and he followed, pulling the door shut overhead again.

Crouched tensely in the musty darkness, they listened as the Watch made a cursory search of the area and then moved on.