Casket of Souls

the Three Dragons?”
    “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of your very interesting performance there,” Ania said with a knowing smile. “I wonder if they’ll allow you in again?”
    “Or perhaps a repeat performance will be required,” Eirual teased.
    “If the former, dear ladies, then I know I am welcome at the Drake. And if the latter, well …” He trailed off suggestively.
    “I fear we must beg off,” said Laneus, much to his wife’s disappointment. “I don’t care for such pursuits, but the rest of you go on.”
    Bilairy’s Balls!
Seregil cursed inwardly, trying to gauge how much time had passed, though the only emotion he allowed to show was disappointment. “Perhaps you’re right. I should probably go home and see how poor Alec is doing.”
    “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be asleep by now,” Malthus chided. “Come, just a few games and then we’ll let you go.”
    Duchess Ania slipped an arm through his. “Please, Seregil. I really do want to see if they’ll make you disrobe again! Marquise Rela was there, and told me you were quite the handsome sight. I won’t take no for an answer, my dear!”
    Alec was in the library, searching without much hope of success, when he heard voices outside the door.
    “I didn’t want to leave!” a woman was saying angrily.
    A male murmur answered, though Alec couldn’t make out the words.
    “He is not! And why should you accept his invitation in the first place, if you feel that way toward him?”
    Another conciliatory murmur, then Alec heard the unmistakable click of the door handle turning. He dove under the nearest table, which had only a short tapestry cloth thrown over it, and made sure the black silk over his face and the rag covering his hair were in place.
    A pair of breeches-clad legs passed by and a lamp was lit on the table above Alec’s head. After a moment he heard the slide of a book on a shelf and the riffling of vellum pages.
    Illior help me if he sits down
. Alec scarcely dared to breathe. The man left the room at last, leaving the lamp lit and the door open behind him.
    Alec crouched under the table, heart pounding, as first one servant, then another came in.
Now what?
    Choosing his moment, he crawled out from his hiding place just long enough to blow out the lamp, then quickly retreated, like a snail into its shell.
    More servants, or perhaps the same ones, bustled up and down for what felt like a very long time. Was Seregil home already, worrying about him or worse yet, regretting his decision to let Alec have this job on his own?
    Things finally quieted down. Hoping the room was dark enough to hide him if he was wrong, he crept to the window and tried the sash. Of course it would be locked! After a moment’s cursing, he realized that it was only latched. Undoing the catch, he stuck his head out to appraise his situation. Justto one side of the window there was a steep slate roof, no doubt part of a summer kitchen or well house. If he lowered himself out carefully, he might be able to get a foot over onto it, and if there were handholds …
    The sound of voices in the corridor decided him. Slipping over the sill, he swung one-handed from it and found purchase on a bit of decorative stonework under the window. Pushing away from that as hard as he could, he made it onto the roof, but immediately lost his balance and slid down the slick slates. Fortunately there was a gutter and he managed to jam his heels into it in time to keep from skidding over the edge onto the flagstones below. It was a noisy fall, and a watchdog began barking somewhere out of sight. Feet firmly braced against the wooden gutter, Alec hastily fumbled out another bit of sausage and threw it out into the kitchen yard. A huge black dog appeared, but instead of eating the offering, it began to bark at him. For the second time that night, Alec managed the dog trick successfully, but not before someone came out to investigate. As soon as he heard a door thrown open below him Alec lay back on the slates as flat as he could, praying they didn’t come too far out or he’d be seen for sure.
    “What the ’ell is it, Brute?” an old man’s raspy voice demanded.
    Alec heard the click of the dog’s claws on the flags, footsteps with them, a muttered curse, and the sound of the door closing again. He had to get out of here before someone noticed the rope hanging tellingly down the back garden wall.
    Seregil was expecting the assassins this time, and heard them coming. There were