Casket of Souls

cautious step backward. As he’d feared, Tall Fellow advanced.
    “Are you sure, my lovely? Just a few silken strands and I’ll give you something for luck.” But that sword said otherwise.
    Seregil brought a hand up to his covered head. “I’m afraid you might cut off too much with that big blade of yours.”
    The man raised the sword and Seregil took to his heels, holding up his skirt with one hand again and clutching the shawl with the other. The man caught the end of the latter and nearly pulled him over backward. Seregil let go of it and ran for all he was worth, ducking around a pony cart and leaping over a collection of pots an old woman had displayed on a sodden blanket. Behind him, he could hear the bastard shouting something about having been robbed, as if expecting someone here to give enough of a damn to stop Seregil. He pelted on, dignity a bit dented. The man had been playing with him, and he had the sinking feeling that he’d been sussed.
    Once he was sure he’d thrown off pursuit he slowed andheld his skirts in a more womanly manner as he circled back through the cold mud to where he thought the old man might be; he’d managed to lose both shoes in his escape.
    The rain was coming down in earnest now, driving people from the street. Splashing through ankle-deep puddles, he finally gave up and went to meet Alec in the Sea Market. Alec was waiting for him at the fountain, and his grin promised better news than Seregil had to share.
    “The boy talked to you?” he asked as they set off through the downpour for the inn.
    “Better than that.” Alec showed him a yellow rock crystal. “This is what the old man traded him.”
    “Well done! How did you get it away from the boy?”
    “I bought it off him for a few pennies. What about the old man?”
    “I lost him.”
    “You lost an old man?”
    Seregil gave him a sour look. “There was a distraction. Several, actually.”
    “What?”
    “A near rape, and a big masked fellow with a sword who offered to cut my hair for me—somewhere below the chin. I think he might have been in league with the old man. A bodyguard, perhaps.”
    “Probably a good idea in there. Masked, you say?”
    “Yes. Not that I’d expect to find many honest men in that part of the Ring, but I’d bet a sester that the tall bastard was a professional.”
    “The old man didn’t look like he could afford much in the way of protection.”
    “The professional could be part of this raven tribe, with a different role to play. Considering the areas of the city they’ve been working, they may all go out with partners who stay out of sight until needed. And somehow I got the wind up him. I don’t often get noticed, tracking.”
    “Maybe he’s a nightrunner, too.”
    Seregil let out what started as a derisive snort but turned into a sneeze.
    “What happened to your shawl?” asked Alec.
    “Spoil of war.”
    Alec untied his own and draped it over Seregil’s shoulders. Seregil didn’t argue; the woolen shawl was soaked, but still held in some warmth. He was chilled to the bone and depressed now that the excitement was over. Walking wasn’t quite enough to keep him warm.
    Alec patted the stone in his wallet. “At least we have this to show Valerius and Thero. Maybe they can get something from it.”
    “Hopefully.” As they splashed along, Seregil found himself thinking more of the tall man than the old one; something niggled at the back of his mind, but he wasn’t quite sure yet what it meant.
    Atre crouched in the shadows inside a derelict shanty, stripping off the fake whiskers, wig, and putty nose. Using a clean corner of his sodden cloak, he rubbed at his face to get off the last of the cosmetics. He was nearly done when Brader stepped inside and pulled the mask from the lower portion of his face.
    “What was that all about?” Atre whispered.
    “You had an admirer,” Brader replied, looking more dour than usual.
    “That old beggar woman?”
    “Not so old, and no beggar. I saw her take down a man twice her size in the blink of an eye and nearly cut his throat. I’m not completely certain it was even a woman.” He sat down on a box and kept watch while Atre stripped off his beggar’s clothing to the plain garb underneath and wadded the whole disguise into a sack.
    “Oh, don’t glower so. You’ve always liked this part of our arrangement,” Atre wheedled.
    After a moment Brader said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s happening again.