Luck in the Shadows

told he was spending the night here,"
    Alec pressed, trying to act like a servant who'd just learned he'd ridden a long, hard way for nothing.
    "Don't know about that," the man grunted, starting to swing the gate closed again.
    "Wait," called Alec, dismounting before the heavy door could slam in his face. "I've got to take some answer back."
    "That's nothing to me," said the gatekeeper, eyeing Alec's purse meaningfully.
    A discreet coin rendered the man instantly more agreeable.
    "Perhaps you'd be wanting to speak with our lady?" he suggested.
    "I probably should."
    Alec followed the man across the yard, taking in as many details as he could along the way. Three fine horses stood saddled and ready near the front door. Two of them had panniers tied behind the saddles. The third was caparisoned for a lady's hunting.
    At the keep door, an elderly house servant eyed Alec disdainfully, asked his business, and left him standing in the middle of the hall with a look that said as clearly as words, Don't steal anything while I'm gone.
    The furnishings of the vaulted hall were costly and in excellent condition. Silver urns and bowls gleamed on the mantelpiece without a hint of tarnish, and the rushes strewn over the floor were crisp and fragrant.
    Splendid old tapestries covered the stone walls and these, too, had been lovingly maintained. Alec turned slowly, admiring as he always did the Skalans taste for fantastic landscapes and creatures. One in particular caught his eye; it was designed to look like a window casement, out of which one could see a pride of griffins prowling an orchard against a mountainous backdrop.
    The piece was over twenty feet wide and bordered with elaborate designs. Scanning it with admiration, Alec was surprised to find one discordant element embroidered in the lower right-hand corner, the stylized figure of a curled lizard.
    Looking around, he saw that many of the other hangings had some sort of device in one corner, like a maker's mark-a rose, a crown, an eagle, a tiny unicorn, the curled lizard—a number of the larger ones had several marks together in a row. He was just bending down to study these more closely when he sensed movement behind him and turned, steeling himself to face the old manservant's renewed disapproval.
    There was no one there.
    It might have been a draft, Alec reasoned, taking a second glance around. Then again, any of the larger tapestries could easily conceal a passageway. Whatever the case, he suddenly had an uncomfortable sense of being observed.
    Unsure if it was instinct or fancy, he nonetheless did his best to appear as innocuous as possible, just in case.
    The old man soon shuffled back in to announce his mistress, the Lady Kassarie a Moirian.
    Kassarie swept in behind him, pulling on a hawking gauntlet as she entered. She was somewhere over forty years of age, with a broad, stern face and a manner to match. Alec stooped forward at once in a halting bow.
    "What's all this about Lord Teukros?" she demanded impatiently.
    "I've a message for him, my lady—" Alec began, showing the packet again.
    "Yes, yes," she snapped. "But what possessed you to seek him here?"
    "Well, my lady, I called at his house first thing this mornin' and was told by Lady Althia that he'd meant to ride out here last night. That's as much as I know of it."
    "Dear me, that doesn't bode well," she said with evident concern. "He certainly never arrived, nor did I receive any word from him that he meant to come.
    Did you see anyone on the road this morning?"
    "No, my lady."
    "How very puzzling. I must send word to Althia at once. You can carry it back for me, boy. Who sent you, by the way?"
    "Master Verik of Canvass Lane," Alec replied. Seregil had given him the name; Verik, a merchant of genteel but common birth, was a business associate of Teukros'.
    "Very good, then. I'll just dash off that note."
    Having settled the matter to her own satisfaction, Kassarie turned briskly to the old retainer still hovering at her elbow. "Illester, take the lad to the kitchen while I prepare the letter. He ought to at least have a bit of hot food for his troubles."
    Illester turned Alec over to a younger servant and sent them both outside again to come in at the back door.
    "He's a sour old stick," Alec remarked when they were out of earshot.
    "That's not for the likes of you to comment on," the servant returned stiffly.
    Passing several small herb beds and a great black kettle hung steaming over an open fire, they