Really, it hadn’t been a bad summer, overall.
Years away, leagues away, Seregil moaned softly in his sleep and faint spots of color rose in his pale cheeks. In the dream, Ilar came to find him, and he thrilled to the touch of those strong, gentle fingers against his cheek.
CHAPTER 15 Tricky Business
ALEC REMAINED CONFINED in the little cellar room for four more days. Ahmol brought him water for washing, took away the chamber pot, and tended the healing skin on Alec’s wrists. Alec tried to speak with him, but either the man didn’t understand or was under orders not to talk to him.
It might have seemed his new master had forgotten about him, if not for the fact that each morning Ahmol also brought him a new book to read, along with his food. They were written in Skalan, mostly collections of ancient ballads and courtly romances. The tomes were finely bound and well cared for. He tried to read them, hoping to pass the time more quickly, but his mind often wandered, worrying about Seregil, and the driving need to find some way to escape. So far nothing had presented itself. The grate over the tiny window was solidly mortared, and too small to get out of, anyway. Apart from trying to smother someone with the feather tick or strangle him with a quilt, there was nothing in the way of a weapon to be had, and Yhakobin was always well attended by burly servants. As the alchemist had pointed out, he wasn’t the first slave to be held here. And, of course, Yhakobin knew what he was.
The food was ample now, but plain. Each morning he received a generous portion of the same thin, sweet oat porridge and some fresh bread. The midday meal and supper consisted of more bread, an apple or some grapes, boiled vegetables, and thick lentil porridge flavored with onions and bay. It was filling, but he soon longed for a bit of meat and cheese. But meal after meal, he wasn’t given so much as a sausage.
All in all, it was a most baffling sort of captivity.
As he finished with breakfast on the fourth day, the men who’d dragged him here from the slave market appeared at the door. One of them held a sturdy chain and lock in his hands, the sort one tethered a dog with. Both had thick wooden truncheons hanging at their belts.
The one with the chain motioned for Alec to come to him.
Alec eyed the chain with distaste, but complied. At least he’d get out of this damned room. He stood still, hands at his sides, and let them lock the chain to his collar. The other man thrust a scrap of white cloth into his hands.
Alec unfolded it and saw that it was a sort of handkerchief, with white ribbons sewn to two corners. The guard glowered expectantly at him, then snatched it back and tied it over Alec’s face as a veil, just like the one all the ’faie he’d seen so far had worn. The man adjusted it with a few rough tugs, so that it covered Alec’s face completely below the eyes, then gave the chain a jerk and led him out.
Alec wondered if all slaves had to cover their faces like this, or just the ’faie.
He took careful stock of his surroundings as they passed along the brick corridors. It was quite a labyrinth. His guards led him in the opposite direction from the way he’d been brought in, and this time they passed open wine cellars and storerooms. After three turns, he was led up another narrow stair. At the top lay a proper passageway. There were rushes underfoot, and as they passed more open doorways Alec caught glimpses of fine rooms decorated with frescoes and mosaics of fish and wild animals.
They emerged at last into a large courtyard with a black-and-white mosaic floor. A long, rectangular pool lay at its center, with sparkling fountains down the center and statuary on both sides. The house had two stories, and formed a square around this courtyard. At the far end was a large archway, and what appeared to be gardens.
Rooms on the ground floor opened into the courtyard; on the upper, there was a pillared gallery, lined with doors and windows. Under different circumstances, he’d have found it a beautiful, peaceful place.
As they walked past the pool, he glanced through a very wide doorway and saw a large room furnished with a heavy dining table with gilded feet shaped like bulls’ hooves. There was a large bowl of flowers on a stand beside it, and the walls were painted with scenes of groves and harvests. At the far end of the room, an enticing open archway overlooked a wooded hillside. In the far distance, he could see the dark curve of the sea against the horizon.
Even this tiny bit of new knowledge gave him hope. If he could get to the coast, he could steal a boat. His handler gave the chain a jerk as Alec paused, trying to gauge the distance and obstacles.
As they continued on toward the far archway he caught a glimpse into a room where a dark-haired noblewoman sat beside a fire with an embroidery hoop. He heard a child’s voice and looked up to see two young, black-haired children on the gallery with a veiled woman. Her eyes were grey: another ’faie, perhaps, and certainly a slave. She looked away quickly, whispering to her charges.
As they neared the archway at the back of the courtyard, Alec caught the scent of meat cooking, so rich and strong that he paused again, savoring it. This time his handler cuffed him on the side of the head and nearly yanked him off his feet by the chain.
They passed under the arch and down a short flight of marble stairs into a smaller courtyard. This one was planted with trees and herbs, all ripe or gone brown with frost. On the far side stood a long stone cottage decorated in the same style as the villa. The courtyard wall to the left of it featured a large, elaborately carved fountain niche.
Lots of handholds there, thought Alec.
To his right he saw the entrance to yet another walled courtyard, where a large central fountain tinkled and splashed in a broad white basin.
His guards hurried him across to the cottage and knocked at the door. Ahmol let them in.
There were no windows; instead, skylights let in the morning sun, illuminating a large workshop that reminded Alec at once of Thero’s rooms at the Orëska House. It even smelled just as bad as they sometimes did when the wizard made fire chips: a mix of hot copper, sulfur, and shit that made his eyes smart.
The center of the room was dominated by a cylindrical brick furnace, which the Orëska wizards called an athanor. It was about four feet tall, with small windows near the top, through which the flames showed like a pair of flickering yellow eyes. A big-bellied glass retort sealed with a clay plug sat atop it. Inside, something that looked like dull green mud bubbled and roiled.
At the left end of the room, furthest from the door, stood a miniature pavilion painted with rings of symbols he’d never seen before. The right-hand wall was dominated by a brick forge. An array of iron tongs and tools hung from hooks next to it, and baskets full of rough stones and thin rods of different metals were lined up underneath these. Small ingots of gold and silver lay in neat stacks on a shelf. Several small anvils took up a bench in the corner. A much larger one stood between the forge and the athanor.
The remaining walls were lined with bookcases, workbenches, tall cabinets, and polished chests with small, carefully labeled drawers. One table held a collection of glass vessels on iron stands. Some of these were very like ones he’d seen Nysander and Thero use. A large glass distillation vessel was currently bubbling on a tripod over a brazier, half-full of a thick blue liquid. A long snout arched from the top of the vessel, guiding drops of condensed steam into a white crucible.
The largest apparatus was comprised of a pear-shaped clay vessel sitting on a heavy wrought-iron tripod. A crazy array of thin, curly copper tubes stuck up from the lid like a madwoman’s hair. Some kind of distillery, he supposed.