The Two of Swords: Part 11 Read Online Free Page B

two strays and handed the box back.
    “You’re absolutely positive,” Axeo said. “We can’t come back again, you know that. It’s got to be right.”
    “It’s them.”
    Well, Musen was the expert; which was to say, he was the only specialist thief available who knew what the wretched things were supposed to look like. Damn all rush jobs and emergencies. “If they’re not, I’ll kill you.”
    “I told you, it’s them.”
    “Good enough for me.” Axeo reached to put the box in his coat pocket, then remembered that his coat was serving as a blackout. “Kill the lantern,” he said. “Come on, quickly.”
    The two guards were still dead to the world in the laundry room. “We need a new story,” Axeo muttered, dragging dirty washing out of a big wicker basket. “All this making stuff up is incredibly stressful for me. I’m basically a very truthful person.” He held up a long black priest’s robe, then saw the vomit stains on the lower skirt. “This is no good, it’s mostly women’s clothes. What we want is a couple of those beige sack things the clerks wear.”
    “Like these?”
    Axeo swung round, then sighed. “They’re the wrong colour, and they’re
frocks
. God preserve me from provincials. Just a moment, though.” He shoved Musen out of the way and rummaged. “In the gold,” he said, “score ten”, and held up a pale blue scholar’s robe. There were wine stains on the bottom hem. “How would you like to be drunk?”
    “I don’t think so. I don’t drink.”
    Axeo thought for a moment. “It’s a very hard thing to pretend to be,” he said. “All right, I’m the drunk and you’re a servant taking me to sleep it off.” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a gold star on a fine silver chain. “This is actually mine,” he said. “I’m entitled to it. Order of Academic Merit, second class. They don’t give these things away at weddings.” He stripped off his coat, retrieved the silver box and put it down on the laundry basket, then slipped and wriggled into the gown. It was slightly too long for him, but not to worry. He hung the gold star round his neck, then tucked the silver box safely in the deep sleeve of the gown. “Watch and learn,” he said. “I’m good at this.”
    A noisy, aggressive drunk who also happens to be a high-ranking scholar is the sort of bad news a sentry can do without. “Would you mind keeping it down, sir?” he asked, ever so politely; in response, the drunk took a swing at him, and only prompt action by the drunk’s enormous servant stopped him from making contact, which would have obliged the sentry to report the incident and made trouble for everyone. The servant rolled his eyes apologetically; the sentry nodded. “Get him out of here,” the sentry said imploringly. “And for God’s sake stop him singing.”
    No such luck. For an intellectual, the drunk had fairly basic taste in music; mostly romantic and scurrilous ballads by Oida, with a few old army favourites thrown in. People came out of their rooms to look, saw the blue gown and the servant’s split lip and closed their doors quickly. A captain of the guard came bustling up as the dreadful pair weaved their way across the inner cloister, caught sight of the gold star and ducked behind a column. The drunk started to sing “Soldier’s Joy” in a loud, clear voice that would have been quite attractive if not for the tendency to roar.
    Their luck stuttered at one point when they found themselves face to face with another blue gown, draped over a short, stocky man with a long white beard. “Name and college,” he roared; the drunk lunged at him, but the servant tripped him neatly and he went sprawling. The short man took a step back. “I don’t recognise him,” he said to the servant. “Who is he?”
    The servant gave him a weak grin. “Just arrived, sir. With the dogs. Doctor of Natural Philosophy.”
    The short man grunted disgustedly. “Get him to bed before anyone sees