Luck in the Shadows

she wore a thick embroidered shawl over her woolen gown. The briskness of her voice belied her gnarled appearance, however. Rapping out orders over the hectic clatter from the scullery, she kept servers, cooks, and kitchen maids scurrying about under her shrill direction.
    She seemed strangely familiar to Alec; after a moment's puzzled thought he realized that she must have been the model for the disguise Seregil had assumed when he booked their passage in Boersby.
    "How many leeks did you put into the stew, Cilia?" she was demanding of a buxom young woman stirring a pot. "It smells weak to me. It's not too late to add another. And a pinch more salt.
    "Kyour, you lazy pup, get that platter out there! Those draymen will box your ears for you if you make them wait any longer for their supper, and so will I! Has the wine gone out to the merchants in the side room?
    "Cilia, has it?"
    Everyone in the kitchen seemed accustomed to their mistress' sharp tongue and bustled about their duties with an air of busy contentment. Cilia, the apparent second in command, moved serenely among the servants, pausing occasionally to look into a cradle near the hearth.
    Motioning for Alec to follow, Seregil made his way around the long tables without either of the busy women noticing his approach. Coming up behind Thryis, he surprised her with a quick peck on the cheek.
    "By the Flame," she exclaimed, pressing her free hand to her cheek. "So here you are at last!"
    "It's only been half a year," Seregil replied, smiling down on her.
    "If only you'd sent word I'd have had something special for you! All we have tonight is red fire beef and lamb stew. The bread is fresh, though, and Cilia's made mince tarts. Cilia, fetch a plate of tarts for him to start with while I put together something."
    "There's no need for that just yet. Both of you come into the lading room for a moment."
    Catching sight of Alec, Thryis paused and looked him over with a sharp eye. "Who's this?"
    "I'll explain in a moment." Taking a small lamp from the mantel, Seregil led Alec and the two women through a side door into the lading room. The broad door Alec had seen from the outside stood barred at their left. To the right, a wooden stairway led to the second floor.
    "Thryis, Cilia, this is Alec," Seregil told them when he'd closed the kitchen door.
    "He'll be living upstairs now."
    "Welcome to the Cockerel, Lord Alec,"
    Cilia greeted him with a warm smile.
    "It's just Alec," he said quickly, liking her kind face at once.
    "Is that so?" Thryis said, giving him a decidedly sharp look, though Alec couldn't imagine why she should be suspicious of him.
    "Alec's a friend," Seregil told her. "Everyone here will accord him the same respect that they do me, which in your case is little enough. He'll come and go as he pleases and you'll answer no questions about him to anyone. Inform Diomis and the others."
    "Just as you wish, sir." Thryis gave Alec a final dubious glance. "Your rooms are just as you left them. Shall I send up wine?"
    "Yes, and some cold supper." Turning back to Cilia, Seregil wrapped an arm about her waist, making her blush. "I see you've regained your maidenly shape. How's the baby?"
    "Young Luthas is well. He's a sweet one, no trouble at all."
    "And the business?"
    Thryis pulled a long face. "A bit slack. But Festival time isn't far off. I'll have an accounting ready for you in the morning."
    "Don't trouble yourself." Seregil turned to head up the stairs, then paused. "Is Ruetha around?"
    "That animal!" Thryis rolled her eyes.
    "Disappeared soon as you left, same as always. I even put out cream for her this time, but the ungrateful wretch never showed so much as a whisker. Now that you're back, she'll probably be in by breakfast like always."
    "Thryis never changes," Seregil said with a hint of fondness, leading Alec up the back stairs.
    "Whether I've been gone for two days or six months, she always tells me I should have let her know I was coming, which I never do; apologizes for the menu, which is never necessary; promises an accounting, which I never look at; and then complains about my cat."
    At the second floor, the stairs turned sharply and continued up to what appeared to be an attic. A short, dimly lit corridor, broken only by a few closed doors, ran in the direction of the main building.
    "That door at the end opens into the main inn." Seregil pointed down the hall. "It's kept locked at all times. This door closest to us is a storeroom, the next are