He heard the scrape of a stool on the floor; the sounds of someone sitting down behind him. He didn’t actually hear anything then, but the serving wench materialized, as they all did, whenever Norris summoned them, however imperceptible the signal was to anyone else. The actor ordered dinner, and when it came, there was a pause as the wench flirted a little with Norris then was summarily shooed away.

“Is it all right?” said the stranger, in a very, very soft voice.

“Safe as houses,” Norris replied, casually. “Safer than my room. Can’t tell who might be on the other side of the wall there.”

Well, thought Alberich, that’s what you get for insisting on the big corner room. Norris had recently demanded—and gotten—one of the better chambers at the inn. Even with Myste keeping a jaundiced eye on the take, the innkeeper was doing a phenomenal amount of business thanks to the ongoing presence of the actors here, and couldn’t afford to offend Norris at this point. The problem with the new room, however, was that while Norris had one of his fellow actors as a neighbor on one side, the other was a room that anyone could rent, and it was often taken by someone who wanted to be near the actor. That would practically guarantee a snoop with her ear to the wall.

“What about him?” persisted the stranger, and Alberich knew, by the prickling feeling on the back of his neck, that the man was pointing at him in some way. Probably with a little jerk of the chin; less obtrusive, unless you were watching for something of the sort.

“Hmm.” There was a scrape; Norris this time; Alberich could tell from the position of the chair.

He’s going to do something. Alberich thought he could guess what, and a moment later, it came. And now he had to do something that was against all of his instincts; he had to relax, not tighten his muscles in anticipation. The scholar would be deep in the book and would not even be aware of the rest of the world. You should be able to come up behind him and shout in his ear without his noticing.

There was the sound of a stumble, and Norris blundered into him, spilling his drink, knocking the book out of his hand, nearly knocking him over. Alberich did not try to save himself; he let the chair go over, and himself with it, as with a cry, he lurched for his book. Norris was there before him, picking it up, all apology, offering his hand, and when Alberich was on his feet, dusting him off.