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This was no time for me to be less than fighting fit, I concluded reluctantly, rebandaging it as best I could one handed and resisting the temptation to scratch the stitches that were itching as the cursed things always do. I’d have to ask Demoiselle Avila for some healing. Temar was right, loath as I was to admit it. I couldn’t turn down help I needed just because it came from Artifice. I only hoped the lady would be in a better mood this morning. She and the Sieur had arrived at nearly the same moment the night before, and the last I’d seen of Temar, Avila had been scolding him back to the residence, her consternation at the loss of the artefacts blistering his ears.
But the housemaids wouldn’t even have unshuttered Avila’s windows yet, so that would have to wait. I walked out of the gatehouse, sorely tempted to send round to the stables for a coach. No, the fewer people who knew what I was about the better. At least it was all downhill to the Spring Gate, and once I’d climbed the steps to the walls of the old city I had a cool salt-tinted breeze to clear my head.
As with most things, the old walls of Toremal hold up an example many lesser cities would have been wise to follow. Cities like Solland and Moretayne are both protected by a ring of masonry topped with a parapet three men wide, watch turrets set at every angle. But Solland fell to Lescari raids three times in the days of Aleo
The walls of Toremal have never been breached, not even in the worst excesses of the Chaos. On the outer face an immense wall of massive stones carries towers at regular intervals, each big enough to hold a fighting troop and close enough to reinforce its neighbours. They’re backed with a colossal rampart of raised earth, levelled and reinforced in turn by an i
But I was too early for the elegant gigs and smartly groomed horses that carry the wealthy and fashionable around the walls in these peaceable times. The nobility don’t lead their cohorts in defence of the walls these days, they come to see and be seen, to flaunt their status and compete with their rivals far above the heads of the common folk. The serious business of socialising would start when the heat of the day had passed, so this early in the morning the rampart was deserted but for a few individuals taking a walk. I followed the neatly swept earthen path, grass on either side clipped short around fragrant trees planted to shade benches for discreet conversation or safe flirtation. Passing the sharply pitched roofs of the old city on the one hand and the sprawling mass of newer building on the other, I looked briefly inside the Flemmane tower. Along with several others, it had been transformed into an elegant summerhouse where a lady might take a tisane or perhaps a little chilled wine carried up by dutiful servants.
There was no one inside. Where was Charoleia? I finally found her as the ramparts approached the Handsel Gate, where the Prime way leaves the city for the road to the north. Her elegance was unmistakable even draped in a sedate dun cloak. She was talking to some maidservant clutching a creamy shawl over a brown gown smudged with ash. I walked past, pausing some way beyond to examine a statue. It turned out to be Tyrial, Sieur D’Estabel, Adjurist to the Convocation of Princes under Bezaemar the Ca
“Good morning.” Charoleia appeared at my side. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at home when your message came.”
I smiled at her. “This morning’s soon enough.”
“Shall we walk?” She looked for me to offer a gentlemanly arm.
I did so with some reluctance. “Please mind my hand.”
She tucked her hand lightly through my elbow. “I heard about your exploits in the practice ground. Most impressive.”
I wondered if she were teasing me. “Have you heard anything? Who put out the challenge in my name?”
“I’ve heard nothing beyond discreet satisfaction that you put Den Thasnet’s man down. That’s not a popular Name at present.” Charoleia shook dark hair dressed loose in glossy ringlets and I caught the same alluring, elusive scent that had perfumed her letter. She wore a light, rose-coloured gown beneath her cloak and a single ruby ring graced her delicate hand. “So what did you want? Your boy told Arashil it was urgent.”
A Relshazri name; that must be the maid. “Thieves broke into the residence last night. We snagged one, the other got away and, Dast drown it, he was the one with the loot.”
“Naturally.” Charoleia’s fingers tightened. “What do you want of me?” She was looking apparently idly from side to side, her shrewd violet eyes marking every individual taking the morning air up here.
“We had valuable artefacts stolen, Old Empire work.” I hesitated. “They’re bound to the colony and its enchantments. We have to find them if we’re to restore those still sunk in sleep.”
“So when you say valuable, you actually mean priceless?” Charoleia turned guileless eyes to me, framed in the flawless beauty of her face.
“To us, yes,” I admitted. “To whoever stole them, well, they may have no idea what they’ve got. The man we’re holding doesn’t seem to know much beyond Master Knife paying him enough gold to outweigh the risks.”
Charoleia laughed. “Master Knife? Who might he be in his own coat? Come to that, who’s pulling his strings? Do you think this was just theft for profit or another move to embarrass your Sieur?”
“All good questions and I want answers,” I said bluntly.
“Without Livak to turn over the stones where these people hide, you’re my best hope.”
Charoleia frowned, a delicate cleft appearing between finely plucked brows. “What’s more important? Catching the thief or recovering the spoils?”
I chewed my lip. “I’ll trade the thief’s neck for the artefacts if I have to. We must get them back. I’d certainly like to get a line on this Master Knife, but I don’t suppose he’ll have left any loose threads.”
“If I help, I want your word you’ll keep my name out of this.” Charoleia sounded dubious. “I mean it, Ryshad. I can’t have your Sieurs or Esquires even knowing I exist, let alone anything more about me.”
“On my oath,” I promised.
“Are you prepared to pay?” Charoleia was all business now. “To ransom the goods?”
“If we must,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll stand surety for anything you spend.” Gold won from my slavery would be well spent securing others’ freedom.
“It all depends who’s got the goods.” Charoleia pursed inviting cherry red lips. “They may have already sold on the decent pieces, to be broken up or melted.”
“Saedrin save us.” Cold knives between my shoulder blades made me shiver with revulsion. What would happen if an artefact were destroyed? Would the hapless sleeper simply fall oblivious into the shades? Would they feel the furnace consuming their mind?
“Are you all right?” Charoleia was looking at me with concern. “You’ve gone very pale.”
“It was a late night,” I offered lamely.
Charoleia pulled at her cloak falling away from one shoulder. “What else do you know?”
“This Master Knife, he recruited our man Drosel and whoever his partner was, in a tavern called the Valiant Flag.” I grimaced. “That’s all. Naer took a troop down there last night and turned the place inside out but all he got was lice for his trouble.”
“Hardly surprising,” commented Charoleia with disdain. “All right, I’ll ask a few questions in the right quarters. I might hear something.”
“Send word to the gatehouse as soon as you do,” I urged her. “Tell them to get a message to me at once.”