Stalking Darkness

presented him with a wooden cup of the Dog and Bell’s best lager. “Let’s go home. Rythel’s unlikely to stir out for another couple of nights yet.”
    Alec took a grateful swallow of the watery beer as they headed back to the court where they’d left their horses. “Then you did get something out of the grandson?”
    “Our smith appears to be equally disliked by almost everyone who knows him, with the exception of his landlady, who judges her tenants solely by how punctual they are with their rent. Her grandson, young Parin, has had a few run-ins with him around the house. Apparently harsh words were exchanged when Parin entered the smith’s rooms unexpectedly one day. ‘Mind you’ ”—grinning, Seregil mimicked Parin’s somewhat slurred complaints—“ ‘he was only messin’ about with some drawerings. Not like he was tupping nobody or nothin’. Just drawerings, for the love a’ hell! He’s a queer one, and a miser, for all his high and mighty ways.’
    “A shrewd judge of character, our Parin,” Seregil said with a chuckle. “He wasn’t much help about the nature of the ‘drawerings,’ but he did tell me that Rythel always keeps to his rooms on work nights, but come end of the week he goes on a regular spree.”
    Alec’s hunter instincts stirred. “Tomorrow night.”
    “That’s right. According to Parin, he appears downstairs in gentlemen’s clothes, sends Parin next door to hire a horse, tips like the miser he is, and rides off not to be seen again until dawn or the next night.”
    “That explains how he came to be in the Street of Lights.”
    “And I’m willing to bet he makes a few other stops along the way. I think it’s time Lord Seregil put in an appearance.”
    Alec shot him a sharp look. “Just him? What about me?”
    Seregil threw an arm around his shoulders and playfully ruffled his hair. “Well now, if Master Rythel is out gambling and whoring all night, what better time for a bit of housebreaking?”
    •  •  •
    The following evening Rythel rode out from Sailmaker Street just as expected. The streets were busy, making it an easy matter for Seregil to follow him up to the main city. A heavy cloak masked the fine surcoat and breeches he’d put on for the evening’s role.
    The smith rode easily, apparently enjoying the evening air, and ended up at the Heron, a stylish gambling house on the eastern fringe of the Merchant’s Quarter.
    That’s a lucky turn
. Seregil grinned to himself, watching from a distance as Rythel disappeared inside. Lord Seregil was well known at the Heron from the days when he’d made his living in such dens. And gaming-house friendships were easy enough to manage.
    Leaving Cynril with a groom, he strode inside. The elderly doorkeeper took his cloak with a bow.
    “Good evening, my lord,” the old man said. “It’s been some time since we last saw you. Will anyone be joining you?”
    “No. A canceled engagement has left me at loose ends.” Pausing, he slipped a discreet coin to the man, murmuring, “Any new blood tonight, Starky?”
    Stark palmed the bribe and leaned closer. “A few, my lord, a few. Young Lady Lachia has become quite addicted to bakshi since her marriage, but her husband’s with her tonight and he may know you rather too well from times past. There’s a country knight, Sir Nynius, with plenty of gold and a passion for eran stones who plays badly as a rule. And there’s a third, a newcomer. Not noble, but well turned out. Calls himself Rythel of Porunta.”
    “How will I know him?”
    “He’s tall and fair, with quite an impressive beard. I expect you’ll find him in the card room. A bold player, as I hear it, though not always clever. He’s become a regular over the past month or so and takes both wins and losses philosophically.”
    Seregil slipped him a second coin and a wink.
    “Illior’s luck to you, my lord.”
    The Heron was a modestly opulent establishment divided into a number of large rooms. Those near the front featured various sorts of games open to all comers; smaller rooms at the back were reserved for private affairs.
    Seregil found Rythel in one of the latter, settled down to a round of Rook’s Gambit with several rich merchants and a few officers of the Queen’s Archers. A number of them knew Seregiland invited him to join in. He took the empty chair nearest Rythel and set his purse on the table.
    “Good evening, Lord Seregil,” Vinia the wool merchant greeted him, gathering up