Luck in the Shadows

reference. She can have her pick of situations. Think you can live with that?"
    Alec nodded, abashed. "I guess I just didn't—"
    "Come to think of it, perhaps we could take her on at Wheel Street," Seregil added ruthlessly. "What with you taking such an interest in her welfare and all."
    "That's not exactly what I had in mind."
    "No?" Grinning, Seregil threw an arm over the boy's shoulders as they headed back up the slope. "Now there's a surprise!"

39 The Tower
    Alec crouched in the shadows near the postern gate, watching the sky. The stars had wheeled to midnight.
    It hadn't snowed after all. Instead, the skies had cleared at sunset and the temperature had dropped bitterly. Without a fire, or Seregil to share warmth with, as they'd had to the past few days, he was chilled to the bone. And worried.
    The lights in the keep had gone out ages ago and he was beginning to worry that she'd either been caught, or was too scared to come for him. Or had gone to sleep in a warm bed and forgotten her promise to come for him.
    But he held his position and finally heard the soft patter of footsteps somewhere beyond the wall. A moment later Stamie inched the postern door open and waved him in. Moving with exaggerated caution, she led him in through the kitchen to a dark pantry.
    "I'll come down again before the others wake," she whispered ecstatically, pressing his hand to the bosom of her shift. "Oh, I can't wait to be free of this place!"
    Alec felt ribs jutting beneath the coarse fabric, and the rapid tripping of her heart. Determined to play his role better, he took her in his arms.
    Kissing her just below the left ear, he whispered an endearment Seregil had suggested. The girl gave a shiver and pressed closer.
    "Where's your room?" he whispered.
    She giggled softly. "In the servant's attic, you naughty pup! I sleep at the foot of Aunt's bed."
    "Have you a window to watch the sky?"
    "There's a dormer just over me. I'll prop the shutter open."
    "Come to me when the stars begin to fade."
    "When the stars fade," the girl breathed. Giving him a last squeeze, she hurried off.
    Alec stayed put for a time, fearing she'd find some pretense to come back. The wait was hardly an onerous one; after two days without a fire, even the warmth of a banked hearth was something to be grateful for.
    The pantry also smelled wonderfully of smoked meats. It was too dark to see, but his groping hand soon found a rope of hard sausage.
    Creeping out at last, he spied a long shawl hanging on a peg by the kitchen door. Throwing it on for a bit of extra camouflage, he tiptoed out to the postern and unbolted it. Seregil slipped in with their swords and Alec bolted the door after him.
    Safely in the kitchen, Seregil eyed Alec's makeshift disguise and wrinkled his nose.
    "You been eating garlic, gramma?"
    "There's a nice bit of sausage, if you want some." Alec said returning the shawl to its peg.
    "Take off your boots," whispered Seregil.
    "Bare feet are quieter still for this sort of work. Don't forget your dagger, though. We need it."
    Leaving their boots out of sight behind a row of cider casks, they padded off in the direction of the main hall.
    The stairways of the keep were contained in the towers, so as to be easily defensible in case of attack. It was the southeast they wanted, and they soon found a narrow passageway in that direction.
    An archway at the far end let into a small antechamber. Using the lightstone, they found a heavy oak door at the back. Seregil lifted the latch ring and eased it open.
    Inside, they found a small, windowless landing. The back of the tiny chamber and what must have been the stairwell was completely blocked by broken stone and dusty, shattered. Alec took a step in, then froze in terror as a light, eerie caress stroked along his cheek. The touch came again, accompanied this time by a low moan and a chill draft of air.
    "The ghost!" Alec's voice came out a strangled whisper.
    "Ghost, eh?" Seregil waved his hand in the air above his head, then held it to the lightstone for Alec to see. Long black filaments, fine as spider web, hung tangled from his fingers.
    "There's your ghost-black silk combed fine and hung in a draft. As soon as I heard Stamie's tale of ghostly touches I suspected as much."
    "But the cold draft?"
    "We're in the stronghold of master masons, Alec. There are tiny air channels somewhere in the walls here. They let in drafts from outside and those mysterious moans are the sound of it. We'll need to be very