Stalking Darkness

the smiths in that part of town. Most outsiders were actively discouraged by that close-knit fraternity, who considered the alehouse their personal sanctuary and unofficial guildhall, but no one objected to the little wayfaring minstrel who came in out of the storm that evening. Such musicians, hardly more than beggars, were common enough in the city, playing for pennies in taverns and market squares. His cloak, stitched all over with scraps of colored cloths and cheap beads, and the flutes protruding from various pockets granted him entrance and a place near the fire.
    Selecting a long wooden flute, Seregil piped out a simple tune and then sang the verse in a voice that would have made Rolan Silverleaf cringe. Fortunately, his present audience was less discriminating and a small crowd had soon gathered at his end of the room. Rythel was not among the company, but he soon found Alec, looking the perfect bumpkin with his homespun tunic and scrubbed, beardless face. The boy gave a slight nod, signaling that all was well.
    From his seat by the fireside, Seregil could see that Alec had been adopted by a group of drinkers, and that the woman they’d spoken with at Quarin’s shop was among them. Judging by how they included him in their jests, he had obviously made a favorable impression.
    Seregil piped on, keeping an ear open for useful tidbits of conversation around him until Alec left. He played a few short ditties, collected his coppers, and followed.
    Alec was waiting for him at the public stable where they’d left horses. Stripping off their disguises in the shadow of an alley, they put on plain clothes and rode to a dram house near the north wall of the Ring.
    “I didn’t have much luck, unless you want to know the current price of pig iron,” Seregil said as they sat down at a corner table. “How did you make out?”
    “You were right about noses being out of joint among Quarin’s people,” Alec told him. “Maruli and some of the other smiths gave me a real earful. Not only is Rythel Quarin’s nephew, but he hasn’t been with him that long. He had a shop of his own down inKedra, but it burned four months ago. That’s when he showed up here.”
    “Is Quarin fond of his nephew?”
    “Not anymore. Old Alman Blackhand told me things were friendly at first, but that there’ve been hard words. Quarin’s hardly spoken to him since he handed him the sewer job. And some think it’s strange that Rythel lodges apart from his uncle.”
    “Interesting. Were any of those you spoke with part of Rythel’s crew?”
    “A few, and they don’t much like him either. He has a sharp tongue and treats them like first-month apprentices, always looking over their shoulder. Early on in the job he found fault with the way the grates were being secured. Now he does most of the final fitting himself.”
    Seregil raised an appraising eyebrow. “I’ll just bet he does.”
    “They’ve been at it for a little over three weeks. All the old grates had to be pulled out and the masonry knees repaired. That’s why the guards are there. They’re putting in the new grates now. Alman is in charge of measuring the part of the sewer tunnel where the grate will be, so that the flange pins and holes will set in properly, but Rythel does the final seating and pinning. And the grates are fixed, not gated. That’s about it, except that I’ve been told to see Quarin about an apprenticeship.”
    “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
    Alec leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you think Rythel could be tampering with the grates?”
    “Judging by his behavior, we can’t afford to overlook the possibility. The question is how, and whether any of the other workmen are in on it. And who’s backing this whole thing, of course.”
    “It’s got to be the Plenimarans.”
    “I mean specifically who, and whether or not Rythel knows who’s running the show. We’ve got to move very carefully, Alec. We don’t want another cock-up like the raid at Kassarie’s. We got the big snake there, but all the little ones slithered safely away. We’d better go talk to Nysander. This looks to be Watcher business.”
    He must still be keeping company with Ylinestra
, Alec thought wryly as Thero let them into Nysander’s tower. Several longscratches were visible on the young wizard’s neck just above the collar of his robe. She’d left similar marks on Alec during their single encounter.
    He’s welcome to her
, Alec decided.
    Having let them