Chapter 15

Sgaile neared the end of the district outside of Bela's third ring wall. He slipped off his cloak and reversed it. The inner lining, now outward, was evening blue and, though as dark as the rest of his gray-green raiment, broke the conspicuous monotone of his attire. His features would be eyecatching enough. He disassembled his shortbow, lodging the pieces in the back of his belt.

Humans moved about the street, but with his cowl up, few took notice of him. He slowed has pace as he approached the gatehouse through the outer ring wall.

Beneath the raised portcullis were four white-surcoated city guards, watching each passerby, and several other armed men in plain dress. Upon the wall top, more guards paced the rampart in both directions into the distance. There were more than expected, and he wondered what had forced an increase in the day watch.

A guard lowered a prong pike across his path. "What's your business here, master treeborn?"

The man was tall for a human, almost as tall as Sgaile, with a close-cropped beard spiking from his chin and small eyes beneath the ridge of his plumed helmet. Human facial hair had always been somewhat repugnant to Sgaile.

"I am delivering a letter to kin," he answered.

After a moment's appraisal, the guard held out his gloved hand. "Let's have a look."

Sgaile withdrew a folded paper from his vestment. The guard took it and roughly snapped it open with one hand, squinting as he stared at the inked scrawling upon it.

It was merely a letter from Sgaile's brother on a journey down the coast. As it was scripted in Sgaile's own tongue, it was doubtful this simple guard would know the difference.

"There has been a death in our clan," Sgaile lied. "I am here as the bearer of sad tidings for a kinsman."

The guard shook his head, trying to read the letter, and then handed it back.

"Move along," he ordered.

Sgaile gave a curt nod and passed through the gatehouse archway.

In this lower district, few people moved about the filthy streets. The denizens of the city called this place Chatruche Zastup-Hovel Row-and its packed stench confirmed its name. Little was given attention in such a place, which was why the one he came to see would be found here.

Upon arrival he ignored the dwelling's shabby appearance and directly approached the front door. His knock was light and sharp, and he hoped the occupant was at home.

The door cracked ajar, and it was dark inside. A figure appeared back in the shadows through the opening.

Thin, with sharply peaked ears and long, sand-blond tangled hair, the man hid his attire beneath a faded dun-colored cloak. His large amber eyes widened, and there was the barest hint of joy in his soft smile for the visitor upon his porch.

"Kinsman," he whispered.

The door opened fully, and Sgaile quickly stepped inside.

Something tugged Leesil's bare foot. He opened sleepy eyes to see Vatz hanging on the bunk's edge, glowering at him.

"You all right?" Leesil mumbled.

"I got to find my uncle," Vatz answered. "And tell him about the inn."

"The whole district knows by now," Leesil said, coming fully awake. "I'll get you back. He's probably worried, wondering where you are."

Vatz slowly blinked hazel eyes too large for his face.

"Naw, but he'll be mad about the inn, and I got to tell him what happened. And you shouldn't be there when I do."

Leesil heard Magiere stir, and she rolled out of the bunk below him.

"Of course we should," she said. "You don't have to deal with this. None of it is your fault."

"No, he'll take it better from me," Vatz said, shaking his head adamantly. "Just stay and help that Wynn girl track down the vampires from all that stuff she's reading. I'll be back soon to help fight. I've a notion what you might be getting paid, so I ain't working cheap."

"Now you hold on," Leesil growled.

The boy's ardor for his fancied new trade was getting out of hand. Before Leesil could tell Vatz to put such ideas out of his head, Magiere turned the subject aside.

"Tell your uncle I'll request that the council pay to rebuild the Burdock, and if they refuse, we'll take care of it somehow."

"Good enough." Vatz nodded in satisfaction. "You're okay,… though I still should have charged you more on the pier." He strode out of the room on his short legs.

Leesil's yawn ended in a sigh. "Have we inherited a child?"

"He won't take no for an answer," Magiere replied. "So we make sure he gets no opportunity for trouble."

"Ratboy." Leesil leaned back again. "He knows quite a bit about us. That may change the way we handle this."

The sight of Ratboy had been unsettling, to say the least. Of all possible places across this land, it seemed nearly impossible that Ratboy should reside in two places that he and Magiere were called to for different reasons. But the pieces slid together in his mind last night while he'd been ministering to Magiere. It bothered him that they'd been played so easily into this blood-soaked mess. Taking Ratboy's head would end that problem, much to his pleasure.

Magiere leaned down to check on Chap. At her hesitant touch, the dog yawned deeply, and then rolled off the bunk, limping but surprisingly able to hobble about. She roughed up the fur on his head.

"He heals even faster than I do."

Leesil watched, unnoticed, as Magiere lifted the side of her shirt enough to inspect her ribs. The yellowed mottling was still visible, but no black and blue remained beneath.

"Chap can't track yet," Magiere added. "So we might as well look in on Wynn. I don't read well, but you do, and perhaps we can narrow down what she's looking for."

Leesil looked down at himself. "We need to find me some clothes. Boots and a shirt, at least."

Her expression seemed troubled, as if in looking at him she was now uncertain of something. Did it bother her that much to look at him?

"Stay here," she said, "and I'll see what I can find."

The only clothing Magiere found was a shabby gray hand-me-down sage's robe and a guard's old, faded surcoat. Leesil chose the surcoat, which he sliced off just below the belt and sashed around his waist with the remaining strips. It didn't cover the stilettos strapped to his smooth brown arms. The soldier's boots were too large, so he wore a pair of sage's sandals instead.

Once he was decent, of course, Leesil gave little thought to his attire. Magiere found the effect worse than his previous shabby shirt, as he would stick out wherever they went. There would be no more arguments about new clothes. She was reoutfitting him at the first opportunity, including some additional raiment she had in mind.

Magiere led them back to the old sergeant's chamber now used as the sages' study. She liked it, with its glowing cold lamps, shelves and tables, parchments and books. A peaceful place of thought, even if she couldn't read most of what was stored here. To her mild surprise, the place had changed. Casks, crates, and stacks of parchment were piled around the far table, and Wynn was shuffling through documents. She smiled widely at Magiere.

"It would appear both the city guard and the local constabulary consider me part of this investigation. I've received almost everything I asked for in the way of records."

Magiere sat down on a stool. "They're finally listening to us. Hopefully, this will all be over soon, but we're still uncertain how many undeads we're tracking. The number keeps growing."

Leesil followed more slowly with Chap, looking over the room with mild surprise, taking in the sight of rolled parchments and a few leather-or wood-bound sheaves and books. He glanced out one of the small windows in the room with concern.