Luck in the Shadows

the rest of your life sleeping in the kitchen. Damn, I've forgotten the key."
    Producing a pick, he threw the lock and stepped out onto an attic landing. A wooden tray lay on a crate at the top of the stairs; on it were two bottles of wine, a plate of tarts, cheese, bread, and an enormous, long-haired cat. At their approach the cat left off gnawing at the cheese and padded over to Seregil with a loud trill.
    Purring raucously, she wound about his ankles, then rose on her hind feet to thrust her head against his hand.
    "So there you are!" Seregil grinned, scooping the cat up. "Alec, meet Ruetha. Ruetha, this is Alec. Don't eat him in the night, he's a friend."
    Dumping the heavy creature unceremoniously into Alec's arms, Seregil picked up the tray and headed back the way they'd come. Still purring, Ruetha regarded Alec with lazy green eyes. She was a handsome creature. Her silky coat was striped with black and brown except for a white ruff and feet. One ear was deeply notched; otherwise she was immaculate.
    Back in the sitting room Seregil rummaged a moment in his pack, then retrieved his cloak from the mermaid and headed for the door.
    "Where are you going?" Alec asked in surprise.
    "There's a little matter I need to look into tonight. Make yourself at home. Here's the key to the attic door. You don't know the command words yet, so if you need to leave just use the back way. Don't go out unless you absolutely have to, though. You won't be able to get back in without me. Don't even try. You could get badly hurt. I'll probably be gone most of the night, so don't wait up. Oh, damn!"
    Seregil paused, frowning. "I forgot to have them send up a bed for you. Use mine for tonight, and we'll figure out something tomorrow. Good night!"
    Alec stared at the door for a moment, stunned by Seregil's abrupt and unexpected departure. For weeks they'd seldom been out of each other's sight, and now this! Left so unceremoniously by himself in unfamiliar surrounding, he felt abandoned.
    He wandered aimlessly through the rooms for a while, trying to interest himself in the various oddments scattered about. This pastime only made him feel more like an interloper, however. Under different circumstances, he might have gone down to the bustling warmth of the kitchen again, but Seregil's warning about the glyphs ruled out that slight solace. The thought of lying alone in Seregil's ornate bed was equally intimidating.
    The same unsettled loneliness he'd experienced at the Orлska House came flooding back all at once. Blowing out the lamps and candles, he settled morosely on the couch by the hearth. With Ruetha purring contentedly on his lap, he stared into the flames and wondered yet again what he was supposed to do with himself in this incomprehensible place.
    Riding through the darkened streets, Seregil was glad he'd resisted the urge to take Scrub on the trip north. He'd gone through half a dozen mounts during his travels and it would have pained him to have lost so good an animal. Scrub's gait matched his nature: solid, dependable, and easy to get along with.
    And of course, thinking about Scrub was far more comfortable than acknowledging the growing gnaw of guilt in his belly. Not only over what he was about to do in the way of disobeying Nysander, either. It took several minutes of determined riding before he was ready to face the fact that seeing Alec standing there in his own private sanctuary, he'd suddenly panicked.
    And fled.
    It had nothing to do with Alec himself, of course. But it still wasn't a very pleasant feeling. Better to ignore it, he decided.
    He made a quick circuit of several places where word might be left for the "Rhнminee Cat" that the services of a thief were required.
    The first was the Black Feather, a brothel owned by an old sailor who liked gold well enough not to ask questions. A carving of a ship stood on the mantel in the front room of his establishment; if the proprietor was holding a message for the Cat, the prow would be turned to the left. Rhiri usually collected the sealed missives, but Seregil often made the rounds to see if any signals were showing.
    As he approached, a group of drunken men came boiling out roaring heartfelt farewells to their weary paramours. Through the open doorway Seregil saw that the little vessel on the mantel faced to the right. Other signals at a Heron Street tavern and a respectable inn near the Queen's Park were equally disappointing.
    The wind gusted down the street,