“Magic door! You can buy anything in Hub if you have the money.”
That was sorcery, not magic, but a large number of such occult gadgets in operation would explain the steady vibration Rap sensed in the ambience. With sighs of relief, he and Gathmor entered and thumped their loads to the floor in unison. The dingy little room was bare except for a shabby rug and a row of pegs holding a few assorted hats, cloaks, and a couple of lanterns. The only lighting came from a small transom, grimy and barred, plus a few chinks in the door; the staircase ahead was inky dark. Andor closed the door carefully, then fumbled with flint and steel.
“This is an odd place,” he said. “What my associates and I like most about it is that it has entrances on three different streets. Thinal and I have been known to come in a skylight, also.”
Rap’s farsight was already exploring an astonishingly complex series of rooms and hallways and staircases, a human-scale ants’ nest carved out of a dozen adjoining homes by the simple process of stealing away a room here and a room there. Only by tracing out the pathways through the maze could he determine which chambers belonged to this residence and which did not. Even the neighbors might not realize that this labyrinth existed in their midst.
He easily detected the hand of Sagorn—room after room filled with books, rolled charts, hermetic apparatus, and piles of bizarre paraphernalia—but he also noted several walk-in closets completely stuffed with gentleman’s clothing, and an attic workshop littered with artists’ equipment and parts of musical instruments. Thinal seemed to be represented only by a small secret cupboard under a stair tread, half full of gems and gold trinkets—nothing but the best, of course. Of Darad there was no sign at all, but Darad would have no reason or desire ever to come to Hub.
The lantern flickered into life, casting a golden glow on weary faces.
“The place needs a good cleaning,” Andor admitted. “We hire a servant every ten years or so, for a few months. We’re overdue. It may not be the style to which you are accustomed, ma’am, but it does provide a very suitable lair for a group of men bearing an ancient curse.”
“You did not design it yourselves?” Rap asked. Andor had turned toward the stair. He turned back, as if reading something in Rap’s tone. ”No. It’s very old. We were lucky enough to hear of it when it came on the market, and Sagorn purchased the freehold. Why?”
“About two-thirds of it is shielded. I suppose the rest of it was added in later, but the original was the work of a sorcerer.”
For once Andor was at a loss. Then he laughed uneasily. “Our lucky word at work?”
“Certainly,” Rap said. “You probably owe your lives to it, because all of you jostle the ambience at times. It’s always seemed like a miracle that you have escaped detection for so long . . . so, here’s the miracle.”
“Gods! We do? Then you will show me which parts are safe before you leave?”
“Gladly.”
Andor shrugged, visibly unnerved by the news. Then he again headed for the stair, holding the lamp high and offering his arm to the princess. In silent consent, Rap and Gathmor moved to opposite ends of the same trunk and hefted it between them, leaving the other for a second trip.
Settling in was a brief process. Andor assigned bedchambers to everyone; the other men delivered baggage and then brought buckets of water from the pump in the cellar, which was itself ankle-deep in runoff that day. Cleaned up and refreshed, the visitors gathered in the main drawing room and discovered that their host was no longer Andor.
Long and gaunt in a silvery robe, Sagorn was leaning against the mantel and surveying the room with the supercilious sneer that meant he was displeased. He was wearing a black skullcap, an affectation Rap had not seen on him before.
The chamber was large but sadly in need of cleaning: the fireplace full of ancient ashes, tables thick with dust, shelves festooned with cobwebs. Rap did not know how much detail the others could make out in the gloom filtering through the grubby windows, but the smell of dirt was unmistakable and the princess’s expression unusually bleak. Sagorn himself was making no move to light the candles.
He nodded to Gathmor as he entered, the last to do so. “Take a seat, Captain.”
“Think I’ll stand.” The sailor folded his arms and scowled. The princess had perched on a straight-back chair. Rap had let himself sink into a cushioned divan, to see if it was as soft as it looked. It was, but smelled unpleasantly of mildew.
“I assume that Andor called you so we could have a strategy meeting?” the princess said.
Sagorn chuckled cynically. “Only partly. Our fastidious friend was shamed by the quarters he had to offer you. He decided that as it had been my idea to bring you here, I ought to take the blame.” He raised a hand to forestall her denial. “And he was right! I apologize wholeheartedly, ma’am. I had failed to notice in the last few years how neglected the place has become. I tend to become lost in my studies, you see . . . The house is a disgrace.”
“Well, we shan’t hurt for a day or two,” the princess said cheerfully. “What do you propose we do now?”
“Food, I suppose,” Sagorn said. “And information. How real is this war? Has Inosolan arrived in Hub, and have her djinn companions? They may have been forced to turn back, you know. What of Krasnegar? What rumors of the Four? And we might try to ascertain which of your friends and relations are in town, ma’am. The same for my political cronies. When we have answers to those questions, we shall have more questions to answer!”
“And how can I help?”
“I’m not sure! There are taverns not far away where Thinal can often pick up gossip. Andor can visit some of his acquaintances.” His raptor eyes swung around to look at Rap. “Our mage should be able to gather news by occult means.”
“Only by eavesdropping,” Rap said. “But that’s safe enough.”
“And mastery. If Andor can worm out secrets, I’m sure you can.”
“I suppose so,” Rap said unhappily.
“You might interview a legionary or two. And the captain . . .” Sagorn eyed Gathmor doubtfully.
Gathmor sneered. “The captain stays home and makes things shipshape. Filthy, lubberly crew you are!”
“Then I shall be cook and homemaker,” the princess said.
“Ma’am—”
“No, truly!” She beamed up at him, amused. “I love cooking, and I very rarely get the chance. But I can’t produce a meal from an empty larder.”
All eyes went to the darkening windows. The markets would be closing, or closed.
“This place is shielded.” Rap had just discovered he was ravenous. ”How about chicken dumplings?” He was remembering a very special treat his mother had made for him maybe twice or three times in his childhood, the best thing he had ever tasted. With his occultly flawless memory he could recall that taste exactly, and his mouth was suddenly watering like the weather. It was the nicest sensation he’d known in days. Maybe, just once in a while, it was good to have powers beyond the mundane.
“Of course!” the princess exclaimed. “You can make food appear by magic, like Sheik Elkarath did!”
“Oh, yes. I’m not sure what happens afterward, though. We may all wake up very hungry in the night.”
“Well?” Sagorn snapped. “Why stop with such plain fare? I am sure her Highness would prefer, say, fricassee of pigeon breast in truffle and caper sauce.”
“Anything at all,” Rap said. “If you let me know what you want it to look like, I’ll produce it. But it’s going to taste like chicken dumplings.”
2
Along every great highway of the Impire, the horse posts were numbered. In her letter to Senator Epoxague, therefore, Inos had suggested that Post Number One on the Great South Way would be a suitable place to meet. She knew the road would go that far, but she had no idea where it went within the city. What she had not anticipated was just how large a staging post could be.
The letter had been borne on ahead by the next passing courier, and a message to a senator was sure to receive dispatch treatment. Azak had set a gentler pace thereafter—to be less conspicuous, perhaps, or to let the letter arrive and produce results. That night the innkeeper had called in soldiers to inspect his suspicious guests, but the elvish passport had worked again. Inos kept expecting it to fail.
And at noon the next day, it did.
South Post Number One was huge, enormous. Not only the Great South Way began here, but the Pithmot Way also, and a spur of the Great East Way. Here the stagecoaches and the Imperial mail began and ended their runs. Here private travelers arriving could turn in their posters, then hire cabs for transport within the city; the outgoing could rent mounts or whole equipages of horses and coaches and servants. Halls and yards and paddocks and stables sprawled like a small township, bustling with couriers and messenger boys and porters and ostlers and cutpurses. There were a thousand horses there, and almost as many people, all seemingly milling around in the rain, all shouting. Wheels rumbled and splashed. The air was thick with the smell of wet horses. There were also soldiers.