“Keep out of sight,” Walegrin told his companion before he climbed the steps to rap loudly on the door.
“Be gone wi’ you!” a voice called from inside.
“It’s the Prince’s business! Open up or we’ll break through the door.”
There was a long silence, the sounds of two heavy bolts being drawn back, then the door cracked open. Walegrin smacked the heel of this hand against the upper part of the door and threw the weight of his hip against the lower. It gave another few inches but not enough for Walegrin to enter. He looked down at the house guard.
“I want to talk to the Mistress zil-Ineel. Call her.” He emphasized his request with another shove, but the house guard was braced as securely as he was and the door didn’t budge.
“Come back in the morning.”
‘Wow, fat man.”
“Let him in, Enoir,” a woman called from the top of the stairs. “What’s Eevroen done now?” she asked wearily as she descended.
Walegrin gave the hapless Enoir a leering smile and pushed his way into the open room. “Nothing unusual,” he told the woman. “I’m here to see you.”
“I haven’t done anything to warrant a midnight visit from the garrison,” she retorted with enough fire to convince Walegrin that he had indeed come to the right house.
He softened his stance and his voice. “I need your help. Or, rather, a young girl in the Shambles needs your help.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re Masha zil-Ineel; you were Mashanna sum-Peres t’lneel until your uncles went bankrupt and married you off to Eevroen. You lived on Dry Well Street in the Maze until somehow you got lucky, disappeared for almost a year, and came back to buy this place.”