White Road

everyone respected the treaty between Plenimar and Virésse. As several of Micum’s drinking companions were glad to tell him, once you got their head rags off and got a brand and collar on, who could tell one ’faie from another? And who was going to take the word of a slave if they tried to tell? A mile or two inland no one gave a damn about Virésse; a slave was a slave and they all lied.
    He returned the second night to find Seregil and Alec in the midst of an argument made up of hand signs and whispers.
    “What’s going on?” Micum asked.
    “He says I’m not going in!” Alec whispered, and it was clear it was an effort to keep his voice down.
    “Why?”
    “We were nearly caught last time,” Seregil told him. “If he gets you and the book?” He gave Alec a meaningful look that was half order, half plea. “It’s too risky.”
    In the end Alec gave in, but he wasn’t happy about it.
    One more day and Rhal should be there to meet them. That night, Micum waited until the house was asleep, then took up a pack and stole out to the slave pen. He lifted the bar as quietly as he could and let the other three out. Behind them, Micum could just make out two bodies prone on the thick straw that covered the floor. Another man with slaves had come to the inn that afternoon.
    “Quick, the rope!” Seregil hissed. Micum pulled it from the pack and Seregil cut four short lengths of it. He and Alec quickly tied up the unconscious slaves. That done, they gagged them both with rags.
    “I hate to do that to them,” Alec murmured as they stole away from the inn. “They have a hard enough life as it is.”
    “There’s no help for it,” Seregil said.
    The groom in the stable woke while they were saddling their horses, but a quiet word from Micum and a coin or two was enough to make him think they were getting an early start on a long ride.
    They made their way to a small side street behind Ulan’s villa. There they tethered their horses in front of an abandoned house just up the street and moved silently back to the wall. All was dark up and down the street. There were no trees to climb, or sturdy vines, and the stonework didn’t offer much purchase, either. They’d have to chance the muffled grapple again.
    Seregil scanned the top of the wall for torches and sentries, but saw neither. “That’s odd.”
    “The man must feel safe behind his high walls,” whispered Rieser.
    “Just because there isn’t light doesn’t mean there aren’t any guards,” whispered Alec.
    “I hope this isn’t a fool’s errand,” muttered Micum.
    “So do I.”
    Seregil spun the grapple on the rope and sent it flying up to the top of the wall. It missed and nearly brained Rieser when it fell. The second try was successful, but the hooks of the grapple grated against stone as they found purchase. They pressed up against the wall, waiting for an outcry, but nothing happened. Micum would almost have been happier if there had been. At least they’d know where the guards were.
    Seregil checked that his tool roll and Micum’s knife were tucked securely in his belt under his shirt, then slung the loose cotton bag over one shoulder. With a kiss for luck from Alec tingling on his lips, Seregil quickly scaled the wall, his bare feet making hardly a whisper against the rough stone.
    Pausing just under the top of the wall, he listened carefully, but heard nothing except the faint tinkling of bells. He chanced a look over, and found there was no parapet. Aformal garden filled the space between the wall and the back of the house, a white crushed-shell path bright between the dark clipped hedges and flower beds. The sound of bells must be wind chimes hung somewhere in the garden.
    Dark windows like accusing eyes lined both the lower and upper stories, and torches burned on either side of a central door framed with two imposing pillars that seemed too big for the plain façade. It wasn’t Aurënfaie architecture, and he couldn’t be certain it was similar to a Skalan villa, either, which meant he’d have to be doubly careful, and probably take more time finding what he wanted. At least in Skala the houses usually followed a somewhat similar plan.
    From here he could also see that the sides of the house stood apart from the surrounding wall—just the sort of place to find a side door.
    There were no watchmen or dogs in sight. Pulling the rope up, he reset the grapple and slowly paid the rope down into the shadows below. Seating the