Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [89]
“Now? In these?” Arvid glanced down at his flower-embroidered front.
“They will not recognize you,” she pointed out, but she was laughing at him; he could see it in her eyes. “We will let your kteknik gnome know where you’ve gone, and then see if your horse was sold, while others look for the missing boys.”
In those clothes Arvid felt as conspicuous as a cow in a kitchen, despite seeing at least half the population dressed similarly. A disguise, yes, but he preferred concealment by shadow, in the night, not this.
The first of the horse-dealers specialized in teams; Arvid left the Marshal-General chatting with the man and strolled through the barn … no, his horse was not concealed in a back corner or in the yard where an old swaybacked roan dozed in one corner. The second, nearer the east gate, had more saddle horses, including a dark bay with three stockings and a thin stripe, drinking from a stone trough alongside two chestnuts and a gray. “There he is,” Arvid said.
“You said white only on the off hind.”
“So I did. That’s not natural white—it’s whitewash.” Arvid pursed his lips and whistled. The horse jerked up its head and looked around.
“Well, that looks—” The horse dipped its head again. “—like a horse that alerts to whistles,” the Marshal-General said. “So how do you propose to prove it’s yours?”
“Soap and water,” Arvid said. “It’s an amateurish job. I can tell that from here.”
The horse-dealer protested. “It can’t be stolen. That Marshal told me—a Marshal from up there.” The man pointed his thumb up the hill. “He said it was his, and he wanted something quieter, not so flashy.”
“Did he say why he bought it in the first place?”
“No … t’horse was jerking on the lead. I thought maybe he was heavy-handed.” The horse-dealer watched Arvid scrubbing at the white on the near fore. “I swear, Marshal-General, I didn’t know … he was a Marshal; I never even thought about it—”
“There we go.” Arvid spoke up. Patchy black showed through the white now. “See that?”
“Yes.” The horse-dealer grimaced. “And I paid …” His voice faltered as Arvid looked at him. “Two gold crescents.”
“I’ll wager he didn’t haggle,” Arvid said.
“No, but I thought … he’s a Marshal, see.”
“Did you record the purchase?” the Marshal-General said.
“Yes, Marshal-General, just like the Code says.”
A full glass later, Arvid’s horse was back in a stall at the Gird’s Hall stables and the gnome was back at his side; he had finally told Arvid his name, Datturatkvin. “But for humans, Dattur alone is enough,” he said.
Arvid nodded. “Thank you, Dattur, for the gift of your name.” He turned to the Marshal-General. “Are there other stables here, or just this one?”
“The knights have their own, and so do the paladins and paladin-candidates,” the Marshal-General said. “Why?”
“Would someone instantly notice an extra saddle and bridle, do you think?”
“Not with all the concern focused here,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”
Dattur found Arvid’s saddle stuffed into a grain bin in the knights’ stable; Arvid recognized his bridle in a tangle of those awaiting mending in the tack repair area. “Someone is clever,” Arvid said. “He—or she—had limited time to suggest I was guilty … to dispose of my horse, tack, pack in only a few turns of the glass, without being noticed. I wonder, how many non-knights come into this stable? Would the stable help know if someone did?”
“In daylight, certainly. At night, there’s a watch going the rounds, but no specific guard.”
From her tone, this might change. Arvid nodded. “So anyone who knew the watch schedule could come in here, dispose of the tack … What about the guest stables?”
“The same. But do you have any idea where the boys might be, if they weren’t killed?”
“No. I don’t know this city. You’ve tried cisterns, I suppose, and granaries … any place big enough to hold boys and secure enough they couldn’t get out?”
“Not yet. Not all of them.” She looked pale; Arvid realized she must feel responsible for the boys’ safety.
“If I were the thief,” Arvid said, “I’d be busy enough disposing