Free A Business of Ferrets (Bharaghlafi Book 1) by Beth Hilgartner Page A

dreamed again of the thin man with the green ring. In the dream, the man sat at a table in a shabby tavern; another person joined him: Rhydev Azhere. The two were locked in serious conversation, but though he was curious, Owl could not make their voices come into his dream. Just before he woke, the scene shifted. The man with the green ring was still there, but now he was standing by the tall windows in Lady Ycevi's library. The man turned—as though at the opening of a door—and in the dream, Owl watched the changes in the man's expression, as he looked at someone for the first time. Then, Owl woke.
    He was alone. On impulse, he rose and dressed. He crept to his door and tried the handle. It wasn't locked. Using all his stealth, he slipped through the servant's dining room, down a flight of stairs, through the empty library and into the entrance hall. Then he froze. Elkhar and Cezhar, two of Lady Ycevi's bodyguards, stood by the door. Cezhar started like a hound catching a scent and turned to the boy. Lamplight traced a scar like a whip cut across his cheek. At first, Elkhar took no notice of Owl. He lounged against the door while he cleaned his fingernails with the point of his dagger; then Cezhar looked a question at him—in the unmistakable attitude of a subordinate to a superior. Elkhar shrugged. As he raised his head to meet Owl's eyes, the single silver earring he wore glinted.
    "Good morning, Owl," Elkhar greeted the boy.
    "Good morning, Elkhar, Cezhar. I thought I'd go out for a walk before breakfast."
    "Think again," Elkhar suggested.
    Owl smiled ruefully. "I think I'll go back to bed until everyone else gets up."
    "Much better."
    Owl started away. Suddenly, he looked back at the men. "One of you could come out with me, to be sure I didn't run away."
    "And leave our posts?" Elkhar shook his head. "The Lady might forgive you, but she'd flay us."
    "Do you like her—the Lady, I mean?"
    "Owl, go back to bed."
    There was enough warning in Elkhar's tone to send Owl back upstairs. He crawled back into the mound of covers he had forsaken. Though he was sure he would be unable to sleep, the next time he opened his eyes, it was really morning.

Chapter Eight—Hints
    Mouse was alone in the Trollop's scullery when Sharkbait slipped inside. The noise from the taproom was deafening; Donkey assisted with the rush. Squirrel was out, lighting someone's way; and Kitten and Ferret hadn't arrived yet. Mouse was putting finishing touches on a pen and ink portrait of Owl. Sharkbait watched her work.
    "I must show you how to sign your name," he said, striving unsuccessfully for a light tone. " Gods . Poor Owl."
    Mouse looked up at him, solemn. "How did you scar your face, Sharkbait?"
    "With a knife."
    "In a brawl?"
    "Drop it, Mouse," he advised.
    Mouse studied him in the disconcertingly intense way which made one certain she was storing the image for later use. Then she opened her leather case, removed three drawings, and laid them side by side on the dead hearth. Sharkbait's breath caught as he looked at them.
    "Oh, child," he whispered. "You play a dangerous game. What will happen to you when you stop looking so sweet and harmless?"
    Silently, Mouse picked up the middle sheet and held its edge to the lamp flame. The paper blazed up, curling and blackening. She held it until there was only a corner not burning, and then dropped the flaming sheet into the cold ashes in the grate. "Did you scar yourself? "
    A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Mouse," he warned.
    "The scar distracts the eye, but it doesn't destroy the likeness. After all, I see it."
    " Mouse ."
    "Are you related? Why are you hiding?"
    " Mouse! " He gripped the girl's shoulders, his amber eyes fierce and desperate. He lowered his voice. "It isn't safe for you even to ask those questions, much less to know the answers. Let it go. My past is dead—and deadly. Leave me as Sharkbait. Please. Please , Mouse."
    Mouse slipped the two remaining drawings into her leather case. Then,