Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor (32 page)

Instead, he went on with his own double life. He taught his students, and drilled those Heralds and Guards who came to him for extra tutoring and practice by day. And when his work for the day was over, and everyone assumed he was resting in his own quarters, he went out into the city by night in one of his assumed personae.

There was one distinct improvement in his clandestine tasks, however, and that was that the City Guard and constabulary were back up to full strength. He no longer needed to ferret out ordinary criminals; they had their
own
agents for that again. In fact, he knew one or two City Guards who did such things by sight, and they knew him. If he spotted them in one of his haunts of a night, he would move on to a different spot, knowing that they were probably on the trail of something or someone, and the very best thing he could do would be to get out of their way. There was, after all, no point in spoiling someone else's hunt, and too many hunters in one spot sometimes made the “game” shy of being around.

And he suspected that they did the same, on seeing him.

At any rate, with the Tedrel Wars over and Karse busy with its own internal problems, the market for information on Valdemar's strengths and weaknesses had dried up somewhat. He also suspected that the market for information of interest
to
Valdemar was not what it had been. For now, anyway, there just was not as much trafficking in that sort of thing going on. Now the highest prices were being paid for more mundane information—usually having to do with who was in possession of what valuable goods, and how strongly a treasure was guarded, and so on. The most interesting trafficking he saw now was the manufacture of new identities, and he had the strong suspicion that the people who were buying these identities had once called themselves “Tedrels.” How they managed to get as far north as Haven he could not imagine; even he hadn't done it without having a Companion. The journeys must have been terrifying. He was not, however, concerned. Selenay was in no danger from them; there were no Tedrel leaders for her to be taken to as hostage or as forced-bride, and he doubted that any of the men purchasing new lives for themselves wasted a moment of thought on her.

Well, as long as they stayed on the right side of the law, he'd be hanged if he turned any of them in, or the people who were helping them (for a price) either. And if they broke the law, well, he might be the one to catch them, but it was up to the Guard and constabulary to deal with it.

Information trafficking was mostly going the other way now, and even those prices were deflated. He could almost feel sorry—almost—for the fellows whose sole stock in trade was in intelligence.

On the other hand, this made two of
his
personae very popular fellows with those selling information about Valdemar's neighbors, since both those personae were still buying. Though for information about Karse, he was relying on Geri and the informal network that the Sunpriests who had escaped to or been born in Valdemar had built over the years.

As a consequence, he had known well in advance of today that one of the younger Princes of Rethwellan was arriving “secretly” with the intention of paying court to the Queen. He had told Talamir, and neither of them had seen any reason to spoil the surprise by informing Selenay. “Let her have a little romance,” Talamir had opined, and his opinion was seconded by Herald Kyril. “She is sensible enough to know that whatever courting or romantic attention he pays her is only an illusion, and that he is here purely for the purpose of making an advantageous alliance. She will bear in mind, I am sure, that he would pay her the same compliments if she was stooped and squint-eyed. This will amuse her, and she has had little enough pure amusement since the Ice Festival.”

Illusion or not, romance was not in Alberich's area of expertise, nor were the doings of princes. He would leave that to Talamir, and had said as much. His personal opinion was that the arrival of this princeling was a damned good thing for
Talamir.
Between the discovery of the ciphered papers and the advent of the Rethwellan Prince, Talamir was looking more centered than he had since the Coronation.

Alberich had filed that observation away for further thought, but there was one conclusion to be made from it that was obvious—Talamir needed real things to do, too, things he could get his metaphorical teeth into, things that focused him on what was going on around him. Alberich made up his mind to find more such tasks.

Now, following that actor fellow—
that
was something he could do.

Though once the weather turned and spring was well and truly in bloom, he began to wonder where the man got his energy, and whether he
could
manage to follow him without dropping over.

It wasn't only that Norris was performing every evening with the full company at the inn and rehearsing new productions every afternoon—

That is, when he wasn't performing with a reduced company at special private performances of an afternoon—

No, it was that once those evening performances were over, he scarcely had time to wipe the paint from his face and change out of his costume before he was off somewhere. Most of the time it was with a female. Alberich couldn't call them “ladies,” though some of them had that title, even if they acted more like cats in heat. When he wasn't with a female, he went roistering off with a gang of male friends, drinking and carousing through several taverns—and usually then ended up in a woman's bed in some bawdy house anyway.

It was astonishing. Because then, no matter how late he'd been out, there he was again, looking alert and fresh and ready to go, no later than noon, to rehearse with the company.

“I know not how he does it,” Alberich said, as he accompanied Myste, in his guise as “her friend from the Army, the carter,” back to the Companion's Bell where she was ostensibly staying. They had just watched Norris drink enough to make Alberich's head reel, then take three whores up to his room. Only one thing was certain; he wouldn't be going anywhere tonight. Thank the Sunlord. Alberich didn't think he could have made another late night of it himself.

“Nor does anyone else,” Myste admitted. “Especially not his head for drink! That man can drink any three under the table, and I am not exaggerating, because I've seen it with my own eyes. And the next day, you'd never know he'd taken a drop.”

Alberich licked his lips thoughtfully. “A useful talent, for an agent.”

“Damn right it is.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, and adjusted her lenses. “What's more—and this is a woman's intuitive observation, so take it with whatever grains of salt you choose—I don't see that he has anything that you could exploit as a weakness. Not even for women.”

Alberich gave her a dubious glance. “Pardon?”

“He
uses
them,” she elaborated, “but he has no
use
for them. I think, they're like food for him—he satisfies his appetite, and he does have a hearty appetite, but once he's through, he pays no more attention to them than he would to the shepherd's pie he just finished eating. He pushes away the leftovers, and wants them cleared away. I've watched him with his women, remember. Quite a lot more than he thinks I have, actually. I have yet to see him show any emotional attachment to anyone, woman
or
man. He acts as if he does, says all the right things, and it is superb acting, yes—actually quite a bit better and far more subtle than anything he does on stage. But so far as I can tell, there's nothing genuine behind the words and the gestures.”

“Well,” Alberich said thoughtfully. “Well, well, well. I think it is good that I have never tried to come too near to him, or I might have been swiftly found out. But that makes me concerned for you—”

She nodded. “It makes
me
concerned for me, too, believe me, and the only things I have in my favor are that he thinks I'm besotted and under his thumb, that I'm not ornamental to look at so he spends as little time as he can get away with doing so, and that he does not think that women in general are particularly intelligent. I expect,” she added thoughtfully, “that he regards
me
rather in the line of a trained dog. Quite clever at performing the tricks I've been taught, and utterly devoted to my masters, but not really capable of thinking for myself.”

“Which would make, I think, other women his lap dogs,” Alberich pointed out, continuing the analogy. “Good for ornament, and sensually pleasant, but otherwise utterly useless.”

She laughed aloud at that. “Oh, I wish some of his light'o'loves could hear you say
that
of them! How he manages to keep them from tearing him to bits in jealousy is beyond me.”

“Perhaps they are in truth as utterly besotted as he thinks you to be,” Alberich observed. “Or else, he has the gift of golden speech.”

“Both, I think.” She shook her head. “You know, as often as I see it, I'm still amazed at how self-deluded a lot of women are. A man says one thing, and does something else, and they believe the words and not the actions.”

“That behavior is not restricted to women,” Alberich pointed out. “Are his fellow actors not equally deceived in thinking him a grand fellow?”

“Hmm. That's true enough.” They were nearly at the Bell, but neither of them made the turn that would take them into the alley and the back way. “Alberich, I don't believe we're alone.”

“So you have noticed.” Someone had been following them for some time. Alberich had been certain of it about a third of the way back.

“I'm not usually good at this, but I heard a footstep that I know just before I said something. It's Norris.”

Well, that put a different complexion on things. “So the three bawds—?”

“A ruse. Maybe he isn't as sure of me as I thought. So—hmm. Now what do we do?”

“You go up to your room, and I say good night. Then I see what your friend does next.”

They had, because Alberich always liked to plan for every possible contingency, planned for this one as well. Myste
did
have a room here—in fact, it was one of several that Heralds could use if they needed one; if, for instance, there was a major convocation of Heralds and all the beds at the Collegium were full. They were very spartan in nature, hardly more than closets with bunks in them, identical to the servants' rooms and exactly the sort of thing that a clerk would get in trade for his services to an inn. So when they reached the door of the Bell, they parted company as old friends rather than anything more intimate, and Myste used her key to the side entrance where the long-term residents and inn servants had their rooms. Albench clumped off, made certain that their follower hadn't followed
him,
then reversed his coat to the matte-black side, and ghosted back.

Sure enough, there was Norris, hidden, and hidden relatively well, in a shadow across the street. After a moment, one of the little windows in the garret rooms glowed as a candle was brought inside. Alberich was about to suggest to Myste with Mindspeech that she go to the window, when she did just that without his needing to prompt her. She not only went to it, she opened it, and sat in it for several moments, as if enjoying the warm, spring night. Even though she was probably dying to peer down into the street to look for their follower, she did nothing of the sort; instead, she took off her lenses, rubbed her eyes as if she was tired, and sat back with her head against the side of the window frame and her eyes—as far as Alberich could tell—closed.

:Yes, he is,:
Alberich replied.

:I am working on just that,:
he told her, although in truth, he was coming up rather dry as to ideas.

After all the times when his admirers have been a nuisance to get around, this is one time when I wish some of them would appear,
he thought crossly.

:How many would you like?:
came Kantor's interested query.

He blinked.
:Why do you ask?:

Yes, indeed, Alberich knew very well how it was. Norris' company was, by far, the most popular in Haven in a very long time. On the nights when there were plays, it was impossible to get a table in his inn, either before or after the play. The innkeeper had taken to doing the unheard of—making
reservations
for tables. There were people who had waited as long as three weeks before being able to take their pre-play dinner or after-play supper in Norris' presumed presence.

:—at any rate, all they've done is talk about Norris since they got here. They're very loud, and I think, a bit tipsy.:
There were distinct overtones of snigger in Kantor's voice.
:I can't imagine how they'd be useful to you, though.:

He slipped away from his hiding place, went into the alley, in through the secret room at the back of the stables, and changed into, not his clothing, but his uniform. This was not even his gray Weaponsmaster's garb, but the Heraldic Whites that he seldom, if ever, wore. He had kept a set down here for just this reason. He wanted to be noticed this time, but he wanted all the attention to be on his clothing, not his face.

Then he strolled openly into the Bell, and listened for the sound of female voices. It didn't take him long to hear them, for as Kantor had said, they were both loud and tipsy, the latter probably being the cause of the former.

:All right, Myste,:
he Mindspoke.
:Yawn, stretch, put out your candle and go to bed. You shouldn't have to stay there much longer.: