Claw stared at George for a long moment, his single pale eye unreadable. Finally he turned and snapped to his henchmen, “Why are you goggling at me? Get a cloth or something, and mop up this mess.” His eye swiveled back to George’s face. “Welcome back, Majesty.” He ignored one man’s clumsy efforts to wipe the ale from his breeches. “I trust your journey home was uneventful.”
“A bit chilly.” Claw had lost his initiative, but it still paid to take no chances. George accepted a tankard of mulled wine from Solom without looking at the old man. “Has all been quiet here?”
“Quiet as the Black God’s temple.” At last Claw moved away from the table, his men at his back.
“Don’t go,” George said, waving an expansive hand. “Sit with me and tell me what’s passed, these weeks I’ve been away. ’Twould be a pity if I’d patched up my trouble in Port Caynn to find it fostered here.”
The one-eyed thief hesitated, and George hoped that the man would be mad enough to refuse. It would be all the excuse he needed, and Claw could never hope to equal him with knives. Then Claw snapped at one of his men, “Get me a clean chair!”
The man hurried to obey as George realized, Claw talks like a noble.
“Let me buy you a drink.” George smiled, beckoning Solom over. “I’ve a bone to pick with you, my friend.”
Claw shook his head when Solom offered him wine, and with a shrug the innkeeper refilled George’s tankard. “What could I have done to give offense, Majesty?” Claw asked, his face blank and innocent.
“You cleared a maidservant to wait on me and mine in Port Caynn, and she tried to poison me. Surely you looked into her background, Master Claw?”
“A maidservant? I sent no maidservant to wait on you,” the other thief replied.
George slid the grimy slip of paper across the table for Claw’s scrutiny. The one-eyed man looked it over carefully, turning it this way and that in the light as he pursed his lips. At last he shook his head and returned the paper. “It’s a truly excellent forgery,” he announced calmly. “But it is a forgery, nonetheless. I never wrote this letter.”
“You’re certain?” George asked quietly. “Best think hard, for I’d not appreciate hearin’ otherwise at some future date.”
“Ask anyone in this room,” Claw offered, gesturing widely to their staring audience. “Did I ever send a serving woman to wait on his Majesty at the Port?”
Heads were shaken slowly as George realized (with some admiration) that Claw had found the perfect excuse. With no witnesses and the woman dead without having named her sponsor, he was in the clear.
“You’re lucky, Friend Claw,” he told the younger man. “Mayhap you’ll always be so lucky: to be innocent of the plots of others, of course.”
“I hope to be, Majesty,” Claw replied with a tiny smile. “I do not wish to become involved in any losing propositions.”
When morning dawned, the common room had emptied of all but the people George knew to be loyal. He had learned nothing from Claw, although he had kept his rival at his side all night. That was to be expected. The learning would come now from sources he trusted.
One by one he sent his people out on errands, to talk to other thieves, to find those who had not been present and to learn why, to learn who was Claw’s and who was not. He sent them in pairs, warning them to watch their backs. Shem returned to Port Caynn with a note asking Rispah to return as soon as Alanna and Coram were on their way. George needed her when it came to dealing with the women who followed the Rogue. They obeyed him, for his looks and his charm, but Rispah knew their secrets.
Finally only Scholar was left. Even Solom had retired to his upstairs room, exhausted with the night and its anxieties.
“Be discreet, but find me Sir Myles of Olau,” George told the old forger. “I’ll need him here, disguised, by nightfall.”
Scholar nodded and polished off the last of his mulled wine. “I know where he’s to be found. And, Majesty—” George looked up, surprised to see tears in the old man’s eyes. “It’s glad I am you’re back. That Claw’s a bad ’un.”
As the door closed behind Scholar, George permitted himself a heartfelt sigh. Ercole moved out of the shadows, looked as tired as his chief. “Do we sleep here?”
George shook his head. “I don’t propose givin’ Claw my head on a platter. We return—discreetly—to my mother’s house.”
“And tonight?”
“I’ve a better hideaway in mind for tonight.” Standing, he clapped Ercole on the shoulder. “Let’s go. I want to see how Marek’s doin’.”
Myles peered at Claw through the peephole in the false wall of the common room. Behind him George waited. Old Solom would draw Claw into talk as they sat in front of that very spot, and Myles would be able to hear every word.
After a second the knight drew back and nodded. Silently George led him away from the hidden spot, taking him upstairs to the chambers where he lived in more peaceable times. There he poured Myles a brandy, waiting till the older man had refreshed himself before asking, “Well?”
“No doubt about it,” Alanna’s foster-father replied. “Claw was born noble and was well educated, for a time, at least.” He frowned, shaking his head. “The problem for me is that I know his voice. I’ve heard Claw speak before, and not as a thief, either.” He held his glass out for a refill. “Perhaps my daughter is right: I should stop drinking.”
George grinned. “Let me congratulate you, sir, on adoptin’ Alanna. ’Twas a kind-hearted thing to do.”
“It was kind of her to let me,” Myles demurred. “If only she could straighten things out with Jonathan; no offense to you, George, but I do miss having her at Court.”
“As I miss havin’ her here,” the thief reassured him. “Speakin’ of my lass—have you any idea what it was that precious brother of hers was up to, at All Hallow?” He told Myles what had happened to his mother.
The knight sighed and shook his head. “I know that a number of people in the palace with the Gift were angry with Thom for days afterward. I’ve been hearing some odd rumors—” He stopped for a moment, as if unsure of what to say, then went on. “I have reason to believe Thom may have been trying his hand at—raising the dead.”
George didn’t try to mask the horror in his eyes. “The dead! Is the lad insane? The dead are meant to stay so!”
“I overheard some conversations he had with Lady Delia,” Myles went on. “She seemed to be taunting him, saying that if he were truly the most powerful wizard living, he could raise the dead, as Kerel the Sage was said to have done. A number of the younger people in the palace have been trying to ascertain the full extent of Thom’s powers. I think they regard it as a game.”
“A game?” George whispered. “A game of settin’ the world by its ears, callin’ on power no man should use for casual purposes?”
“That is what I believe,” Myles agreed somberly. “Perhaps I’m wrong, George. I tried to talk with him, but I think his pride was offended when I made his sister my heir. He taunted me with half-truths and stories, nothing definite, not even an outright lie. I know you have weighty matters on your mind, but—”
“What could be weightier than such as you believe?”
A smile crossed the knight’s face; and for the first time George realized how frightened Myles must be. The smile took ten years off his age. “If you would approach Thom? Being that you are—who you are—”
“And as respectable as I am?” George suggested with a grin.
Myles grinned back. “As a matter of fact, yes; Thom may talk to you, or at least reveal more of the truth.”
“And I have my own grievance to make with the lad,” George reminded him, remembering his mother’s worn face. “As soon as I get a hold on what passes here, I’ll be up to the palace.”
Myles rose, gathering up his cloak. “I’ll start inquiries about Claw,” he promised. “Injuries such as he has, particularly the acid scars, are difficult to come by. They are even more so when you’re nob
ly born.”
George gripped Myles’s hand. “You’re a good friend, Sir Myles. Be assured I won’t forget.”
After showing the knight out, George returned to hold court once more at the Dancing Dove. Once again he stayed there all night, seeing who was there, being seen. Bits and snippets of information came to him over the next few days as Rispah and Shem returned and went to work. No further attempts on his life occurred, although word of a costly jewelry theft that had not been cleared with him reached his ears. After a week had passed since Rispah’s return, he gathered all those close to him in a room hidden beneath the streets that formed the marketplace.
As they compared notes, the picture the thieves saw forming was a bleak one. “He’s got nearly half our people, with bribes or fear,” George summed up. “He must’ve been plannin’ this a long time, before he came to the city, even. He’s been workin’ through the likes of Zorina the Witch and Nave the Fence, gettin’ his hooks into us.” He sighed. “We’ll have to move slow, then. Buy our folk back, and destroy the secrets he’s got against them.”
“Why?” Marek wanted to know. “Why not just kill him and be done with it?”