Partly because he did not have anywhere else to go and half his mind kept toying with visiting some Unformed land, Pasgen Gated to the house of Fagildo Otstargi. Automatically he assumed the appearance of the mortal magician, cast a quick glance in the mirror to be sure he was unremarkable, and went downstairs. From the office, he rang for the servant who showed not the slightest surprise at seeing him.
Since he had not been back to the mortal world in years, the lack of response was unexpected, even in this dull creature. Pasgen touched his mind, found it wide open and scarred by cruel and indifferent handling. That annoyed him. He was not tenderhearted, but to damage a useful tool when it was unnecessary was stupid.
Pasgen was gentler but just as thorough and was soon learning everything the servant knew. He was uninterested in Vidal's dealings with Wriothesley. It must be Vidal, he thought, although of course the person the servant imaged was the Otstargi disguise; however, Pasgen did not think there were any other Dark Sidhe capable of withstanding the overall malaise caused by the iron everywhere in the mortal world.
Idly Pasgen wondered whether Wriothesley had retained his position, but knew even as the thought crossed his mind that it was irrelevant. He had no intention of mixing himself into Court politics. His ignorance about who would rule as regent for the child king was only equaled by his lack of interest in the subject. For a moment he found himself wondering why Rhoslyn thought being in the mortal world could distract him from the lure of the possibly intelligent Chaos Land. No, if it was intelligent he could no longer name it a Chaos, could he?
He was aware that thinking about those unfinished-looking constructs was dangerous; they grew less chilling and more intriguing each time he thought of them—and suddenly his attention was fixed by a name that now was dominating the servant's thoughts. Albertus. But the image in the servant's mind was not the elderly mortal healer. It was a person of late middle age and much different appearance. But Albertus? In Otstargi's house? Had Aurilia cast him out?
No, Pasgen realized, concentrating again on the servant's mind. From the way Albertus had suddenly appeared in the house, not coming to the door and entering in the ordinary way, the mortal healer had been Gated in. Pasgen bit his lip. Did that mean that Vidal had used Pasgen's own Gate? That was something that merited strict examination. True, the Gate to this house was from the Bazaar of the Bizarre, but how had Vidal found it? And could he somehow trace the path from it to Pasgen's domain?
There was no way to investigate that through the dull and damaged mind of the servant. Pasgen continued to follow the creature's thoughts and soon enough discovered that Albertus was currently in the house and had ordered a nuncheon of cold meat and salad. Pasgen dismissed the servant to serve the meal and went softly up the stairs to Otstargi's bedchamber.
He was aware immediately of the feel of a Gate, which he had not noticed when his own delivered him to this chamber. Now that he felt for it, he could feel its power. Pasgen wrinkled his nose. It was Vidal's work, no doubt of that, and he suspected from the amount of power that it was directly connected to Caer Mordwyn. He started to reach into it and checked himself with a slight snort.
Vidal would know from the servant that an Otstargi who was not himself had been in the house. Pasgen knew that if he touched the Gate, Vidal would be able to detect his touch; if he did not, however, Vidal would be left wondering whether Pasgen had been clever enough to leave some trap in the Gate while concealing his meddling. He found his own Gate as he had left it, quiescent, barely noticeable.
A wry smile twisted Pasgen's lips as he fell prey to the very doubts he had anticipated for Vidal, wondering whether the Gate had escaped Vidal's notice or had been subtly altered. It was true that he had just used the Gate to come to the mortal world from Underhill—but the trap would not be on the mortal side. Pasgen racked his memories for ways to detect meddling, but a sound drew his attention. Albertus had left his room.
Pasgen glanced in the mirror and frowned. Should he retain the Otstargi disguise? Likely Vidal would know he had been in the house when the servant's mind showed Otstargi at a time when Vidal knew he had not been Otstargi. Then Pasgen grinned. Why not add confusion to doubt. If he now were seen by the servant as himself, would not Vidal be wondering who the other Otstargi was? The next moment showed Pasgen in his own form, long ears, oval pupils, golden hair and elegant elven dress.
He stepped out of Otstargi's bedchamber and, seeing the man the servant's mind had imaged about to step off the stairs, called, "Oh, Albertus, there you are."
The man started slightly and turned. He frowned when he saw Pasgen but not as if he were puzzled about who had called him by name. "I am not doing any business from this house," he said defensively. "Lady Aurilia should know I would not disobey her. There was no reason for her to send you to oversee me. Merely I eat and sleep here." He made a disgusted grimace. "The accommodations where I must go to hire men for the task she set me are beyond reason repulsive."
So Aurilia, not Vidal, had put the disguise on Albertus. The voice was that of the mortal healer. Just to make sure, Pasgen said, "Yet that was where I found you."
Whereupon the man confirmed his identity by his immediate understanding of Pasgen's remark.
"And that was why I leapt so eagerly at your offer," Albertus said. "Nor have I regretted it for one moment. I came here only because my lady ordered it, and you can go back and tell her that I will obey her implicitly."
Pasgen laughed. "I am glad that you are so satisfied with the bargain you made with me. No, Lady Aurilia does not distrust you. I did not come to oversee you. I came to discover how you progress and whether I can do anything to help speed matters along. I will join you for your nuncheon and we can talk."
He had no idea what task Aurilia had set the mortal healer, and he did not dare touch Albertus' mind; Aurilia would know that at once. But if Albertus assumed that Pasgen was also Aurilia's servant—as might seem reasonable since he was the one who had found Albertus and brought him Underhill to Aurilia—it should be easy enough to learn what Albertus was about.
Albertus hesitated at the door of the parlor, where a table had been set up with one chair and one place setting. Then he waved Pasgen ahead of him and told the servant to bring another chair and another plate. It was apparent to Pasgen that Albertus was not sure of their relative status in the hierarchy. Since Pasgen wished to establish his right to ask questions and receive answers, he strode forward as a superior would and seated himself in the chair.
Neither spoke again until Albertus was seated and the platters of cold meat, cheese, and bread were set on the table. Pasgen helped himself first and nodded to Albertus.
"I am sorry if Lady Aurilia feels I am moving too slowly," Albertus said apologetically. "When she told me what I was to do, I thought it would be easy. All I had to do was hire a few bravos."
"But now that is not enough?" Pasgen invited further explanation.
"No. Something has made the household wary against attack. I am reasonably sure that there are men watching the house from across the road, at least at night."
"Obviously not your men. Did you find out who had hired the watchers?"
"No. My men never thought to be secret and try to take them. All they cared about was driving the others away. That was when I still believed four or five strong thugs could break in and do the business. In any case the others slipped away as soon as my men approached, as if secrecy was very important, but it was too late. The household was alert. And did you know that the servants are all Low Court—" Albertus suddenly coughed and raised a hand to his throat where a gold chain glittered.
Pasgen realized immediately that the chain was bespelled to prevent the mortal healer from speaking about Underhill, thus understood that the house Albertus had been ordered to invade must be Denoriel's. Only Denoriel could be using Low Court Sidhe as servants. What did Aurilia want in the house?
"Are they?" Pasgen said. "How interesting."
"Yes, well, there is no bribing such servants and they can speak little or no English so it is impossible to learn anything from them." He went on to explain what he had learned about Denoriel's household from discreet inquiries in the neighborhood, ending with "And the doors are not only locked and bolted but barred. That much I learned from going to the house myself. Once I waited in the entryway for a parcel and once I came begging to the kitchen door."
"Such devotion!" Pasgen smiled slightly. "I will tell Lady Aurilia how devoted you are to her service."
"I am also eager to get back Und—"
This time when Albertus' voice was cut off, he made a gargling sound, and began gaping, eyes bulging, mouth open. After another few minutes he was able to breathe again and, shivering, seized his mug of ale and drank.
"Perhaps you had better just tell me what you have done here and now and how this will affect your task."
Albertus nodded, trying to insert his fingers between the chain and his neck, but what he said was, "When I saw the difficulties, I realized that I needed men with brains and skill, not just strength and indifference to blood. And the ones who have brains . . . if they know how to get into a house so closely guarded, they are too clever to kill."
Kill! The word lay heavy in Pasgen's mind. He had been thinking that Albertus was to steal something or arrange for something to be found in Denoriel's house that would disgrace Elizabeth. Some token to betray her connection to a common merchant, even if he were very rich and claimed to be a foreign nobleman, would create a scandal. Vidal's and Aurilia's purpose was to prevent Elizabeth from coming to the throne. Denoriel's death could not advance that purpose.
"It means," Albertus was continuing, "that I must choose the men very carefully indeed and find some way to control them lest they decide they can profit more by betraying me before they have blood on their hands."
"I can see your difficulty," Pasgen said slowly, trying to calm himself by thinking that Denoriel would be very hard to kill. "Since you cannot ensure discretion by such means as that." He gestured toward the gold chain.
"This is the first time!" Albertus exclaimed bitterly. "You are one of us. I thought I could speak openly to you. With others I am more careful."
Pasgen shrugged. "It is not possible to explain fine differences to inanimate objects," he said blandly, but he was allowing a frown to grow on his face, and then he shook his head and sighed. "I am not at all certain I agree with Lady Aurilia about having Lord Denno killed. He has close connections with the Court and a great outcry will be made."
"I do not care for that," Albertus said, lips thinned. "I intend to carry out Lady Aurilia's order. And beside, I have already planned a way to avoid exposure. I will invite the men to a celebratory drink when I pay them—a drink laced with a slow-acting poison. It will take them several days to die and they will have their full wage, so there will be no trail leading back to me."
"You do not think you might want them again?"
"There are plenty more where these will come from. I have another more serious problem. I discovered this Lord Denno and the woman—he claims she is his cousin, Lady Alana—are seldom in the house at the same time."
So Aurilia planned to have Aleneil killed too! Rage flickered in Pasgen. He did not love Denoriel and Aleneil; he would not hesitate to play some nasty and embarrassing, possibly even painful, tricks on them but . . . but they were blood of his blood, his father's get! They were not meat for such as Aurilia to dispose of.
But why did Aurilia want them dead? He did not dare ask Albertus, who was only forthcoming with his plans because he believed Pasgen already knew everything. Pasgen realized he would have to find and talk to Rhoslyn but meanwhile he had to delay Albertus. He blinked and shook his head.
"You will not succeed in having the house invaded more than once no matter how clever and skilled your hirelings are. And if all those who did a task for you are soon dead, you may have difficulty in finding other clever men." Pasgen chewed his lips gently to appear to be thinking hard. Finally he said, "It really would be better if the whole business were completed at once. I will go home and explain to Lady Aurilia the need to somehow get Lord Denno and Lady Alana in the house at the same time—and ask her advice about how to proceed. She will not blame you for the delay."
Albertus' face showed relief. "Ah, thank you, Lord Pasgen. That will make my task easier and more certain of a happy conclusion."
Happy! Pasgen thought. He pushed away the remains of his meal and rose from the table with a word of parting. He had considered killing Albertus where he sat, but instead he went quietly into the corridor and up the stairs. Killing Albertus when the servant's mind could be stripped of his presence in the house would accomplish nothing—except to expose him to Vidal and Aurilia as an open enemy.
That would only increase the danger to Denoriel and Aleneil. Vidal and Aurilia would merely find another tool to accomplish their purpose and doubtless take good care to hide that tool from him. Pasgen slammed the door to Otstargi's bedchamber, but he did not go to either his Gate or Vidal's. He sat quiet, listening. In a short while he heard Albertus' voice and the servant's mumbled reply. Somewhat later he heard the door of the house open and close.
All the while he had waited for Albertus to leave, the back of his mind had been wondering what to do. There was no way he could stop Albertus without bringing more danger on his half sister and brother. Yes, sister and brother by blood. He knew them only slightly, but they were all the family he and Rhoslyn had . . . Llanelli had lost her mother, and her father too, in the fall of Alhambra and she had never had siblings. It had been the loss of her parents that made her so desperate to have a child that she violated Sidhe law and custom, forcing human and Sidhe mages to work the Life-for-life spell that created fertility in her and in Kefni.
Pasgen shivered. His father had saved Aleneil and Denoriel but left him and Rhoslyn to be raised by the Unseleighe . . . left them to misery and pain . . . No. That was unfair. That was what Llanelli said, but Llanelli had never forgiven Kefni for leaving her and using the remnant of the spell to impregnate his lifemate.
But no. No, he had learned better since. Kefni had not left him and Rhoslyn willingly. He had died with them in his arms when he was overtaken by the Unseleighe who were pursuing him. Pasgen realized, although Llanelli and Vidal never admitted it, that Kefni had been trying to bring Rhoslyn and him into Seleighe lands.
It was not really strange or unnatural that their father had gone for the babies of his lifemate first, Pasgen thought. Llanelli always spoke bitterly of the choice Kefni had made, and Pasgen realized he had absorbed that bitterness and painted Denoriel and Aleneil with it. Perhaps they were self-righteous prigs, but they were still his sister and brother and he did not intend to see them die for some idiot whim of Aurilia's or Vidal's.
Only how was he to save them? He could not stop Albertus from hiring henchmen. To frighten, drive away, or even destroy those whom Albertus chose would merely expose his attempt to save Denoriel and Aleneil. He needed to know what Albertus planned and must seem to help, not hinder him. Then he had to work from the other end. He had to protect Aleneil and Denoriel.
At that point Pasgen laughed. He could imagine how his brother and sister would react if he suddenly appeared as a protector. Even if they did not attack him and drive him off on sight, they would never believe him. They would be sure his warning was some kind of a trap. But warn them he must. Pasgen shivered again. If they should die . . .
He would not be able to live with that in his mind, with the guilt that would choke his senses. And if Rhoslyn learned . . . He remembered the intensity—the hidden longing—with which she had spoken to him of the Bright Court and her meetings with Aleneil. Rhoslyn had forgiven him his attack on the child Elizabeth because it had not succeeded and because Elizabeth had hurt him, but she would not forgive him Aleneil's death.
First he must deliver a warning. It seemed from what Albertus said that Denoriel's household had already faced some problems. Those could not have been of Albertus' making; he had not yet made any attempt. An attack that failed by Vidal's or Aurilia's forces? Possibly. It did not matter except for influencing just how Pasgen should deliver his warning.
As himself, he decided. Denoriel would not attack him physically in his own house, even less with magic—not that he feared Denoriel's magic. Denoriel had a man of business who lived in the house and merchants came and went doing business. It was too public a place to use magic or even for an open attack on a stranger.
Pasgen's eyes narrowed. Perhaps—perhaps the best arrow in his quiver was the clear, unvarnished truth. He could say that he was doing a favor for Rhoslyn, who was grateful for Denoriel's kindness to her changeling. He would simply tell Denoriel about Albertus' hiring of mortal henchmen and leave. He frowned a moment trying to decide whether to attempt to answer any question that Denoriel asked or simply say what he had to say and go. Either way Denoriel would not believe him; Pasgen smiled bitterly. Denoriel's doubts about Pasgen's purpose would increase his alertness, which would probably be enough.
Having decided, Pasgen went to the mirror and cast only the most necessary illusions—round ears, round-pupilled eyes, and simple, sober clothing. Then he went out and walked to Bucklersbury, his steps slowing as he neared. In the end, he went right by the house, feeling heat in his face as he contemplated rejection, perhaps ignominious expulsion. He had no profit or pleasure ever from Denoriel and Aleneil; why should he open himself to shame, likely to derisive laughter? Would Underhill be so much damaged by their loss?
At the corner of the street, he stopped and looked down into the dirty gutter. Not Underhill. Underhill, Oberon's creation, would continue without noting the loss of two, or two hundred, or two thousand Sidhe. Underhill was truly eternal. But he . . . Pasgen did not like to contemplate being laughed at or rejected, but he would be like the gutter, full of slow-moving filth if he issued no warning.
For his own sake, Pasgen went back down the street and knocked briskly on Denoriel's door. There was a small brass plate affixed. It said adjoran and below that mercer and factor nothing more. The door opened before Pasgen could have second thoughts, and a tall, muscular manservant stepped back to invite him in.
"Whom shall I say, sir?"
So briefly he hoped the manservant, being human, would not notice, Pasgen hesitated. The one thing he had forgotten when deciding to go as himself was that he might have to give a name. Well, it would be stupid to try to hide that.
"Pasgen Silverhair," he said. "I would like to speak to Den . . . ah . . . Lord Denno Adjoran."
"A moment," the servant said. "May I take your cloak?"
"It is not necessary. I do not expect to be here long."
"Yes, sir."
The servant bowed and took only a few steps along the corridor. He scratched at the first door on the left and went in without waiting, closing the door behind him. Pasgen could not help but grin, imagining the expression on Denoriel's face when he heard the name and preparing to wait some time while Denoriel made up his mind whether to have him thrown out or to receive him. But the door opened almost as soon at it closed. The servant stepped out, holding the door open.
"Please, sir." He gestured for Pasgen to enter.
That was too quick, entirely unexpected. Before he thought, as he stepped forward, Pasgen raised his shields. Then, stopping himself from shrugging, he walked inside—where, just inside the door he checked abruptly.
A man—certainly not Denoriel, totally human, Pasgen's senses told him—had risen from behind a table littered with papers, cloth samples and a myriad of other oddments. Behind him were shelves on which thick ledgers stood and beyond them books, bound in leather and buckram. A quick glance around showed a surprisingly luxurious room. The floor was covered by a thick, intricately woven carpet. To the right, a hearth with a lively fire was flanked by two cushioned chairs; to the left were two windows facing the street with a handsome writing desk between them.
The man himself was soberly dressed, but Pasgen took in the rich, if discreet embroidery across the yolk of the doublet, the points of a heavy silk shirt peeping above the doublet's neck, the general high quality of all the fabric. This man of business was doing very well for himself . . . and did not need to hide that success from his master.
"I beg your pardon, Master Silverhair," the man who had stood to greet him said, "but Lord Denno is not here. My name is Joseph Clayborne and I am Lord Denno's man of business."
"I really need to speak to Lord Denno himself," Pasgen said. "I know he is a busy man, but I am . . . ah . . . a fellow countryman of his. I think if you send my name to him that he will be willing to see me."
"No, truly, sir," Clayborne said, "Lord Denno is not in the house. In fact, I think he is not in London." He smiled slightly, then sighed. "Lord Denno is seldom here, but I am fully empowered to do any business you might have."
"It is not a matter of business," Pasgen said. "It is a personal matter. Is . . . is Lady Alana here?"
"No, sir." Clayborne looked surprised. "She does stay here from time to time, but not often and she has sent no message that we were to expect her."
Pasgen frowned. "It really is important that I see either Lord Denno or Lady Alana—"
"Sir, neither of them is particularly exclusive or proud. I assure you that I have no instructions, not even to ask if a visitor could see them personally. And I believe that if either were here they would be willing to speak to you." Clayborne sighed. "I do not even know when Lord Denno will return. I wish I did."
Very gently, very carefully, Pasgen pushed into the man's mind and discovered immediately that he was not lying. He did not know for certain where Denoriel was, but believed he was with Lady Elizabeth, who was moving from Enfield to Chelsea that day or the next. Just as carefully, just as gently, Pasgen withdrew. Clayborne had frozen for the moment that Pasgen invaded him but his expression had not changed. Clearly Denoriel made no habit of stripping the mind of his man of business. Pasgen hoped Denoriel would not notice his assault on such an obviously favored servant.
A wave of frustration flooded him, and he clenched his fist under the sleeve of his gown to prevent himself from raising his hand and blasting Clayborne simply for relief. In the next moment he almost began to laugh. Albertus was seeking bravos in London and had been working out how to get into the house. So, as long as Denoriel and Aleneil were not in the house or, at least, not in London, they were safe.
"May I write Lord Denno a note then?" he asked.
It would be safe enough to state his warning clearly. Even if the man of business were empowered to open Denoriel's letters, which seemed to be the case from a pile of opened documents on the table, he would learn nothing since Pasgen intended to write in Elven.
"Certainly, sir." Clayborne came out from behind the table to lead Pasgen to the writing desk between the windows. "Paper," he pointed to a drawer. "Pen and ink." He bowed and withdrew, returning to his table where he bent his head over a pile of papers compressed by an odd-looking stone.
Pasgen glanced at the stone as he opened the drawer of the writing desk and then bent his perception on it more fully. When he concentrated, the aura of the stone came clear. It was from Underhill!—a sovereign remedy against poison and bespelling. A favored servant indeed.
Withdrawing a sheet of heavy paper from the drawer, Pasgen seated himself, dipped quill in ink, and began without salutation: Because Rhoslyn is grateful to you for the kindness you showed to her changeling, she asked me to pass to you a warning. For some reason unknown to me or to Rhoslyn, both Prince Vidal and his lady desire not only you dead but Aleneil also. Vidal is gone from Caer Mordwyn, I know not where, but Aurilia has ordered a mortal servant to arrange for your death. I came upon him by accident and he, thinking me in Aurilia's confidence, told me that he is hiring men whom he believes will be capable of invading your house despite your precautions and murdering you and Aleneil. Believe me or not as you choose. Pasgen Peblig Rodrig Silverhair.