The Bronze of Eddarta by Randall Garrett Page A

notation of it having been kept. Yoman and Rassa must have left before then.” She looked up at me and smiled. “You are thinking that the High Lord’s wife should have a new dress for this occasion?” I nodded. “But
she
will have to send for Rassa. How will she know—?”
    “I’ll tell her,” I said. “It seems that each Lord has his own private guard. Whether that’s traditional, or a defense against assassination by the next in line or another Lord, I don’t know. But I should be able to get inside Lord City to talk to somebody about hiring on.”
    Her head tilted to one side. “That would leave you the entire city to search. Could Yoman and Rassa not simply present themselves at the gate with—say, a
gift
for Zefra or Pylomel?” Tarani suggested.
    “They might. Do we
have
such a gift, or could you make one in less than a day?”
    She shook her head.
    “No, I didn’t think so, and if my calculations are right, Gharlas will be here tomorrow or the next day. It’s important that we get inside that city before he arrives.
    “I’m going up this morning to try to get a job as one of Pylomel’s mercenaries. That will get me into the right area. I’ll just have to bet on having a chance to talk to Zefra, and I’ll ask her to send for you.”
    “I could come with you, Rikardon. If I projected the image of a man—”
    “You need to conserve your strength, Tarani.” I remembered how she had looked just after we arrived in Yoman’s shop—washed-out, haggard.
    She remembered, too. She nodded, reluctantly. “What if the guards are watching for you?” she asked.
    “They won’t be. That’s one thing I’m pretty sure of. Gharlas has no army of his own, and Pylomel wouldn’t do him any favors.”
    I hoped I was right. As I stood up I felt the surge of tension and alertness that made Markasset the excellent fighter he was.
    “The sooner we get free of Yoman and Rassa, the better I’ll like it,” I said. “I’ll go up to the gate. You just sit tight, and don’t open the shop. If customers come by, make the excuse that you’ve just returned from a long journey, and Yoman is still recuperating. Promise them you’ll be open tomorrow. If we aren’t both inside Lord City by tomorrow, we may have to take up tailoring for a living.”
    She stared at me, then smiled a little, and finally chuckled, shaking her head. “There is surely no other like you in Gandalara,” she said. “This seems less a plan than merely the start of one—but it does seem to be our only choice. I will spend the day selecting fabric samples to take with me when I receive Zefra’s summons.”
    “The one major hitch to this plan,” I said, “is that I may have to
take
that guard job, and I might get stuck inside the city. If I
don’t
return tonight, and you don’t hear from Zefra tomorrow, don’t panic. Just sit tight, play Rassa, and cover for Yoman. If you haven’t heard from me or Zefra by the time Thymas gets here, make whatever plans seem right. You’ll have to find another way to get inside, but I’ll be watching for you, and trying to get a line on Gharlas.”
    She stood up, and for a second or two I thought—hoped—she would cross the few paces between us and let me hold her once more before we went our separate ways. But if that had been her impulse, she controlled it by stepping backward and hugging the ledger to her chest.
    “Be cautious at every step, Rikardon,” she said. “Eddarta is an unhappy place, and full of treachery. I feel it.”
    “Thank you for the warning,” I said.
    “I give it for my own sake,” she said. “You … are important to me.”
    A foolish happiness washed over me. I had thought I’d destroyed whatever feelings Tarani was beginning to have for me. But those few simple words, spoken from all the way across the room, were a promise of another chance.
    “As you are, to me,” I said, and left the room.
    I nearly ran down the stairs and out into the street. Then I paused to