“Maybe he’s with Bane.”
“The other is with my son. Haplo, the man with the blue skin. And if Haplo is with Bane, Alfred is not. They’re bitter enemies. I can’t explain, Hugh. You wouldn’t understand.”
Hugh flung his pipe to the floor. Reaching out, he caught hold of her, gripped her arms hard.
“You’re hurting me,” she protested.
“I know. I don’t give a damn. You try to understand, Lady,” said Hugh. “Imagine you’ve been blind from birth. You’re content in a world of darkness, because you know nothing different. Then, suddenly, you’re given the gift of sight. You see all the wonders you’ve never even been able to imagine—the sky and trees, clouds and the Firmament. And then, suddenly, the gift is ripped away. You’re blind again. You’re plunged back into darkness. But this time, you know what you’ve lost.”
“I’m sorry,” whispered Iridal. She started to lift her hand, to touch his face.
Hugh flung her back. Angry, ashamed, he turned away.
“I agree to the bargain,” she said softly. “If you do this for me, I’ll do what I can to help you find Alfred.”
Neither spoke for a moment, neither was able.
“How much time do we have?” he asked gruffly.
“A fortnight. Stephen meets then with Prince Rees’ahn. Though I don’t think the Tribus elves know about…”
“The hell they don’t, Lady. The Tribus don’t dare let that meeting come off. I wonder what they had in mind before that kid of yours fell into their hands? Rees’ahn’s smart. He’s survived three assassination attempts by their special guard, the ones they call the Unseen. Some say the prince is being warned by the Kenkari…”
Hugh paused, pondered. “Now that gives me an idea.”
He fell silent, felt about his clothing for his pipe, forgetting he’d thrown it from him.
Iridal reached down, picked it up, handed it to him. He took it from her almost absentmindedly, fished some stregno out of a greasy leather pouch, and stuffed it into the bowl. Walking to the fire grate, he lifted a glowing coal with a pair of tongs, touched the coal to the bowl. A thin trail of smoke rose, bringing with it the acrid odor of the stregno.
“What—” Iridal began.
“Shut up,” Hugh snapped. “Look, from now on, Lady, you do what i say, when I say it. No questions. I’ll explain, if I have time, but if I don’t, then you have to trust me. I’ll rescue that kid of yours. And you help me find Alfred. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” Iridal answered steadily.
“Good.” He lowered his voice, his glance going again to the door. “I need two monks in here, no one watching. Can you manage that?”
Iridal walked over to the door, slid aside the panel. A monk stood in the hallway, probably ordered to wait for her.
She nodded. “Are you capable of walking?” she asked loudly, in disgust.
Hugh took the hint. He placed his pipe carefully near the grate, then, catching up the wine bottle, he smashed it on the floor. He kicked over the table, tumbled down into the puddle of spilled wine and broken glass, and rolled about in the mess.
“Oh, yeah,” he mumbled, trying to stand and falling back down. “I can walk. Sure. Let’s go.”
Iridal stepped to the door, rapped on it briskly. “Go fetch the Abbot,” she ordered.
The monk left. The Abbot returned. Iridal unlocked the door, opened it.
“Hugh the Hand has agreed to accompany me,” she said, “but you see the state he’s in. He can’t walk without assistance. If two of your monks could carry him, I would be extremely grateful.”
The Abbot frowned, looked dubious. Iridal removed a purse from beneath her cloak. “My gratitude is of a material nature,” she said, smiling. “A donation to the Abbey is always welcome, I believe.”
The Abbot accepted the purse. “Two of the brethren will be sent. But you may neither see nor speak to them.”
“I understand, Lord. I am ready to leave now.” She did not look back at Hugh, but she could hear the crunch of broken glass, heavy breathing, and muttered curses.