The Yellow Silk - Don Bassingthwaite [72]
Smiles and winks covered up a case of nerves as bad as he had ever had.
He found the leatherworker's shop. Four steps took him down into a shadowed stairwell opposite a heavy door-strangely heavy for a simple shop. There was an iron knocker set in the door's center. He lifted it and knocked sharply.
A hatch in the door opened and eyes peered out. "Yes?" asked a woman's voice pleasantly. Tycho gave his best smile.
"I've come about a saddle," he said. The eyes looked him over and disappeared as the hatch shut. A bolt was drawn and the door opened. The woman on the other side looked as tough as a piece of the leather that filled the cellar beyond her. She gestured him inside. Tycho entered, pausing just inside the door to let his eyes adjust from the brightness of the street. The woman hissed at him.
"In or out, make up your mind."
"In," Tycho replied and took another step forward. The woman shut the door behind him. A tall man appeared through an interior door as she returned to a workbench. He gave Tycho another looking over and pointed at the long, fabric-shrouded bundle the bard carried.
"That a sword?" he asked. Tycho nodded. The tall man grunted. "Leave it here."
"I can't. It's what I came about." He flipped back the cloth to reveal the hilt of Li's saber. "I understand the Hooded has an interest in exotic weapons." The tall man's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Tycho smiled at him. "No one," he said. "I'm just here about a saddle."
"Sweet chum right you are." The tall man held out a meaty hand. "I'll carry the sword." Tycho hesitated for a moment, folded the cloth back over the saber, and handed it to him. The tall man hefted the weapon like an expert and grunted approvingly at the weight. "This way," he said, turning back to the inner door. Tycho followed him through. He held the door wide for a moment.
"You don't often see an inside door this heavy," he commented.
The tall man paused on a flight of stairs leading up. "No, you don't. But if you're lucky, you'll see it again on the way back out. Now close it." Tycho shrugged, pulled the door shut, and stomped up the stairs after him. They would be on the main floor of the house above the leatherworker's shop now, he guessed. The stairs, however, led into a short hallway with murder slots in one wall-he wouldn't have wanted to come up the stairs unannounced. A crossbow bolt fired through one of those slots would probably put a hole right through a person. The tall man led him past the slots confidently, though, and up to an open doorway. He stood aside and let Tycho go ahead of him.
The doorway led into a large, bare room. The walls were undecorated plaster. Tycho could see the faint outlines where windows had been boarded up and plastered over. The room was lit by two lanterns that rested on its only piece of furniture: a heavy table. Seated on the other side of the table was a man in thick robes. A loose, baglike leather hood covered his face. Tycho nodded to him respectfully. "Olore, Hooded."
There were three visible holes in the hood: two narrow ovals for the eyes and an even narrower slit over the mouth. Tycho saw dark eyes flicker through the ovals. The Hooded nodded to him in return and he caught the barest murmur of a whisper.
"Olore, Tychoben Arisaenn." Standing beside the Hooded, a young woman spoke his words out loud. Just as Jacerryl had said: an interpreter. Tycho caught himself thinking of Magistrate Vanyan and his self-important aide, Dorth. Unlike Dorth, the young woman at the Hooded's side seemed like nothing more than a shadow. She stood perfectly still, moving only her lips and eyes. Her hair was pulled back tight, her skin was pale, and she