He could picture Seregil pacing impatiently downstairs, waiting for him, but Myrhichia was putting up a persuasive argument under the covers.

"Well," he sighed, letting her push him back against the bolsters, "maybe not right this second."

Seregil had the bones of a workable plan in mind by the time he got downstairs. Strolling into the cloak room, he found it conveniently unattended.

He soon had what he wanted; he returned to the salon with an officer's mantle and a wineskin concealed beneath his own cloak, Alec's sword belt and cloak over his arm.

To his surprise, Alec had still not come down. Rather annoyed, he settled in a chair near the door to wait.

It was late now. A few girls remained in the salon, playing bakshi to pass the time while they waited for whatever late-coming patrons might show up. Having seen Seregil come down, they paid little attention to him.

Minutes passed and still no Alec.

Seregil was just about to leave without him when the boy came down the staircase. His loose shirt flapped around his legs as he struggled with his coat, one sleeve of which appeared to be inside out. Getting himself more or less sorted out at last, he hurried to join Seregil.

"Delayed, were you?" Seregil inquired with a smirk, tossing him his cloak and sword.

"Myrhichia isn't very happy with you," Alec grumbled, flushed and out of breath. He wrapped his sword belt around his hips and fastened the buckle. "I'm not so sure I am, either. If this is just another silly lover's token—"

Seregil tugged Alec's collar straight, still grinning. "You think I'd ruin your fun for that? Come on, I'll tell you about it on the way."

Outside, he glanced around quickly, then whispered, "I think Eirual may have put us onto a spy."

Alec brightened up at once. "That's worth getting out of bed for."

"Did you ride?"

"No."

"Good, we'll hire horses and abandon them if we have to. I'll explain as we go."

Leaving the warm glow of the lanterns behind, they hurried into the embracing darkness.

"Where are we going?" Alec asked as Seregil headed west through the dark streets.

The quickest way to the lower city was down the Harbor Way.

"I need a very special horse for this one," Seregil explained. "There's an ostler over by the Harvest Gate who's likely to have what I want, and still be hiring out at this hour."

Pausing, he opened the wineskin and took a sip, then sprinkled a more liberal libation down the front of his surcoat. Evidently satisfied with the effect, he passed it to Alec.

Grinning, he did the same. "Drunk, are we?"

"Oh, yes, and I'll be worse off than you. You'll be playing the sensible friend."

"Don't I always?" Alec took another fortifying sip and capped the skin.

A lantern was still burning in front of the ostler's stable. Seregil fell into a loose, unsteady walk as they stepped into the circle of light.

"Ostler!" he called, striking an arrogant pose, fists on his hips. "Two gentlemen need mounts. Show yourself, man."

"Here, sirs," a man replied, opening a side door a crack for a wary look at the late customers.

Seregil shook his purse at him. The ring of coins had the desired effect; the ostler swung the stable doors wide and held the lantern while they inspected the half-dozen horses inside.

Alec quickly found a decent mare and the man saddled her for him.

Seregil was longer at it. After much pacing and muttering, he finally settled on a rawboned grey.

"I'm not one to tell a lord his business, but he's made a poor choice with that one," the worried ostler whispered to Alec. "Old Cloudy there has been off his feed for days and Jias a cough. If you'd speak to your friend for me, I'll see to it he has the best of my stable."

Alec gave him a reassuring wink and counted out a generous stack of silver. "Don't concern yourself. We're going to play a joke on a friend and your grey is just what we need. We'll take good care of him, and have them both back before dawn."

They set off at a trot, but before they'd gone a quarter of a mile Seregil's cob stumbled to a halt, nearly throwing him over its head. Jerking its head down, it let out a hollow, braying cough.

"Poor old fellow." Seregil patted the animal's neck. "You're better than I could have hoped for. We'll have to send a drysian to look at him."

"What do you think this spy of yours is up to?"

Alec asked as they continued at a walk.

Seregil shrugged. "Hard to say yet. Eirual thinks this fellow Rythel has some documents that he shouldn't. I want to see if she's right."

"Do you think he's a Plenimaran?"

"Too soon to say. At times like this it's best to keep an open mind until you have hard facts. Otherwise, you just run around trying to prove your own theory and overlooking important details that may turn up in the process. It could be there's nothing to it at all, but it's more interesting than anything else we've seen in the last few weeks."

Well-dressed, slightly intoxicated lords heading down to the lower city for a roister were of little concern to the guards at the Sea Gate. The sergeant-at-arms waved them through with a bored look and returned to the watch fire.

At the bottom of the Harbor Way they rode east along the waterfront past the custom houses and quays into a moderately respectable street lined with tenements.

A few lights showed behind shuttered windows, but most of the neighborhood was asleep. A dog howled mournfully somewhere nearby, the sound carrying eerily through the streets. Seregil's horse twitched its ears nervously, then let out another rattling cough in a jingle of harness.

"Here's Sailmaker Street," said Seregil, reining in at the mouth of an unmarked lane.

Unclasping his mantle, he threw it to Alec and shook out the mantle he'd brought from Eirual's.

It belonged to a captain of the White Hawk Infantry and bore a large, distinctive device.

"Who'd you steal that from?" Alec asked, watching him put it on.

"Borrowed, dear boy, borrowed," Seregil corrected primly.

Alec peered up and down the poorly lit street.

"That must be the house there," he said, pointing to one at the end of the lane. "It's the only one with a striped lintel."

"Yes. You hang back and be ready for trouble. If it comes to any sort of a chase, I'd better ride with you. I don't think poor old Cloudy has much run left in him."

Seregil emptied the last of the wine over his mount's withers, bunched the mantle awkwardly over one shoulder, and pulled one foot loose from the stirrup. Settling into a loose, drunken slouch, he nudged the horse into a walk. Riding up to the door, he kicked loudly at it.

"You! In the house!" he bawled, swaying precariously in the saddle. "I want the leech, damn him. By Sakor, send out the bastard son of a pig!"

A shutter slammed back just above his head and an old woman popped her head out, glaring down indignantly.

"Leave off with that or I'll have the Watch down on you," she screeched, swinging a stick at his head. "This is an honest house."

"I'll leave off when I've got his throat in my hand," Seregil yelled, kicking the door again.

"You're drunk. I can smell you from here!" the old woman said scornfully. "Who is it you're after?"

Just then, the grey jerked its head down in another racking cough.

"There, you hear that?" Seregil roared. "How in the name of Bilairy am I supposed to explain this to my commander, eh? Your leech has ruined the beast. Gave him a dose of salts and half killed him. I'll run my sword up his arse, that pus-faced clod of shit! You send out the leech Rythel or I'll come in after him."

"You whoreson drunken mullet!" The old woman took another swing at him with her cudgel. "It's Rythel the smith that rooms here, not Rythel the leech."