Books lay everywhere but all were organised by subject and author. No dust marred their leather and the central desk bore a stack of parchment covered in neat script. A gleaming spy-glass rested on a meticulous drawing of the night sky, and the bench by the window held herbs and flowers with detailed notes on their uses and habitats. The ink-horn sat on a small table beside quills, knife and dyes. It was a beautiful thing, a pale honey-coloured horn that I could not identify, mounted in red gold, the bands chased with delicate decoration. I reached for it and hesitated. I did not want dreams from the dark ages invading my sleep and I half wished I'd stayed ignorant about the whole affair.

Coughing from the kitchen startled me and I grabbed the piece, my heart pounding. What if he was in the middle of one of these uncanny dreams? Would moving it wake him? I shoved it back on the table like a candle dripping hot wax. My heartbeat drummed in my ears as I stared at the cursed thing.

Pull yourself together, I commanded myself silently.

I drew a deep breath, carefully picked up the ink-horn and held myself motionless, waiting for any reaction next door. I heard a blanket rustle and the creaking of the chair, then the old man's breath settled back to a rhythmic rasp. His lungs sounded bad. I wondered how he would manage the winter.

I scanned the piles of books quickly while I waited for him to return to a deeper sleep. If Geris and Shiv were searching for information about the end of the Empire, there was too much here to risk losing if he died in his sleep and the local peasants cleared the place. One small stack was devoted to the last emperors of the Nemith line so I tucked them into my tunic, drawing my belt tight. Once I was sure the kitchen was calm again, I slipped out. I took the time to relock the door, ignoring my accelerating pulse and the sweat that itched between my shoulder blades. There was no way the scholar was going to miss the theft but if there was no sign of entry, with luck the Watch would dismiss him as a confused old idiot.

Satisfied with my work, I trotted through the dark streets and out along the high road, leaving Drede to its sleep. What I had trouble leaving behind was a feeling of being somehow soiled by what I had done. Yes, I know that sounds stupid for someone like me but I couldn't help picturing the wretched old man's distress at his losses. This wasn't thieving for profit, or revenge, like taking the tankard. It wasn't even stealing out of necessity from some cream-fed cat who could afford the toll. The old boy lived in his mind more than his body, and I wondered what vivid dreams of a distant age had meant to him in his straitened life as his body and senses failed with age.

'Pull yourself together, you nanny goat!' I scolded myself. 'He could be the sourest old bastard since Misaen organised the sun and moons.'

I'd tell Geris to ask some sympathetic mentor from the University down here to take care of the old boy; he did not belong in that hovel. I increased my pace and my qualms receded with the road behind me.

The sky was paling with the first hints of dawn when I reached the inn. I walked openly but silently into the yard, wondering how I was going to find the others. I need not have worried; Darni was sitting by the carriage-house door, snugly wrapped in his cloak and comfortable on a bale of straw. His eyes opened as I approached.

'Got it?'

I nodded and handed him the purse with the ink-horn. 'Have you been out all night? Are you going to be fit to ride?'

'I got enough rest. It's a skill you learn soldiering.' His mood seemed better than before.

'Any chance of something to eat before we get started?' I was tired now the night's stimulation was wearing off.

Darni handed me bread and cheese and small beer from the floor next to his straw bale and then passed me his cloak. 'You need to rest. I'll get the others moving and we'll be off as soon as the sun's up.'

I was not going to argue with this unexpected cordiality. I wrapped myself in the good wool, still warm from his body, and curled up on the straw.

CHAPTER THREE

Taken from:

The Duke of Marker's Daughter

A Tragedy in Five Acts by Awlimail Kespre

Act Two, Scene Three

The bedchamber of Suleta

[Enter Tisell.]

Suleta Tell me, tell me, does my father yet breathe?

Tisell Oh sweet mistress, he does, but one hears the rattle of Saedrin's keys in every breath he takes. The door to the Otherworld anil soon unlock to welcome that noble shade.

Suleta I cannot bear it!

TisellFor his sake, you must bear the burdens that fall so heavily on your slender shoulders.

Suleta Alas that I was ever born to such sorrow!

Tisell Curse not your birth, dearest child, but rather the faithless jade that has so besmirched her husband's bed!

Suleta Speak not so of the Queen's grace beyond these walls, Tisell, or I will not be able to save you from the lash.

Tisell I speak the truth as all men know it, my lady. Queen she may be, but trull she has proved herself and worse, she has dragged her children through the filth of the kennel with her.

Suleta Do not remind me of my cousins' grievous sufferings! The taunt of bastard will be no less cruel a lash than that which flogged their mother naked before the rabble.

Tisell You are all goodness, my chick, to think of others when you face such a choice.

Suleta What do you mean?

Tisell Has your lady mother not spoken with you? I had thought—

Suleta I have not seen her since they bore my father home—

[Enter Albrice, Duchess of Marlier.]

Tisell Your Grace [curtseying].

Albrice Leave us, I would be private with my daughter.

[Exit Tisell.]

Albrice Your father has not yet turned his face from this world but the surgeon tells me he will do so ere dawn. No, there is not yet time for tears, dearest child, we have not that luxury. In marrying for love, I set aside my rank as princess but with one brother dead at your father's hand and the other taken in adultery with that bitch, I am alone the living child of King Heric. Now I must answer the demands of blood and family. That blood flows pure in your veins alone, daughter, and whose sheets it stains upon your wedding night will decide the fate of this unhappy land. Their Graces of Parnilesse and Draximal have claims to the throne that would weigh equal in Raeponin's very scales. It is your hand that will tip that balance to one or the other.

Suleta I am to be portioned out like so much meat?

Albrice Speak not so saucy to me, lady! Have I raised you so wanting in wit?

Suleta Draximal is a vicious sot whom three wives have already fled in Poldrion's barque, while Parnilesse treads the lady's measure with his dancing masters nightly! You tell me I must wed one of these and say I want wit when I recoil? I tell you plainly, blood or not, royal in my veins or shed upon the thirsty soil, I will have none of this!

[Exit Suleta.]