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the shirts and trou- sers, then topped the pile with the Mylar sheeting and
the monocular and the Swiss Army knife, binding it all with line from the
fishing kit into a square bundle that he could carry.
It left some things out. Like the Paratool. Of all the combination tools the
Leatherman, the Gerber Multiplier, SOG's ToolClip and MicroToolClip it was
Uncle Hosea's favorite. He could open it one-handed, and the needlenose pliers
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had almost perfect registration.
The tool selection was the best: not only did it have the two knives and
bottle/can opener, but no fewer than four screwdrivers, a serrated saw blade,
and a file strong enough to take the rough edge off a piece of sheet metal and
smooth enough to even out a small bump in unfinished wood. Perhaps best of
all, the various blades were removable with a pair of nut drivers, and that
had given Uncle Hosea the chance to replace the small knife the large one came
to a fine enough point and the largest screwdriver with a couple of long, bent
pieces of stiff wire, useful in resetting hidden lockwork or opening hidden
catches.
Torrie held the closed Paratool in his hand. Closed, it was about the size of
a roll of quarters, except flatter, easier to conceal.
Conceal. He smiled.
Now, back at home, a bureau with drawers like this concealed the hidden panel
between Torrie's room and the Guest Room. You could pull the bureau away from
the wall it would stick for just a moment and even stick a piece of wire into
the small gap between pine panels that covered the hidden way, but you'd never
open the panel, because the catch wouldn't give unless the weight of the
bureau, sitting on the small projection at the junction of wall and floor, was
holding the panel down.
Torrie took another look at the built-in bureau. The wall was rough, more
hewn than finished, pitted naturally, as though a thousand stone-eating worms
had idly chewed through it. There was a tiny pit on the wall, near the
juncture of the top drawer and the wall, although it had long since been
clogged up with dust or some other
Nah. A chill ran down his back.
Torrie opened the pick, locked it into place, and pushed it into the pit,
pushing away whatever it was that had blocked it, feeling the end of the bent
piece of wire fitting into a hidden catch, just the way it had hundreds of
times at home.
A twist, a pull, and a whole section of wall swung out on silent, hidden
hinges.
Holy shit.
A puff of stale air brought smells of ancient mustiness to his nostrils, as a
dark corridor loomed in front of him.
Torrie shook his head. This wasn't just in the style of Uncle Hosea, this
washim. The hole was at the same height as the one at home, and the hidden
lockwork not only worked the same way, but felt the same way it had that same
worked-smooth-without-being-oily slickness that everything Uncle Hosea made
seemed to have.
He knelt at the entrance. The floor inside was covered with dust, but only
lightly, and the dust was smooth and unmarked. It felt like it had been unused
for a long time.
Footsteps sounded outside in the corridor; he pulled the Paratool out, and
quickly pushed the secret door shut, then folded the Paratool and tossed it on
the bed like it was too hot to handle.
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There was a knock on his door.
"Torrie?" Maggie's face peered in.
"Come on in," he said, beckoning.
God, she looked good. Vestri servants had twisted her short hair back and up,
fastening it into place with a hundred small pins topped by tiny pearls. Her
dress, made from something silken and sky blue, and edged in silver and black,
was cut low in front and fell full to the floor, sweeping the floor as she
moved.
"Where were you?"
She smiled. "Tea and Whimsy with the girls again," she said.
"You seem to have made some friends quickly."
A shrug. "Well, they're racing each other trying to figure out where I belong
in local society. The winner gets either to ride my coattails partway up the
next rung if I turn out to be above them, to shame the others by being the
first to drop me if I'm below, or to be my lifelong friend if it's neither."
"Is it really that. . . much?"
"Well, yes and no." Maggie's mouth twitched. "I mean, technically speaking,
Emberly and Geryn are senior to Dortaya, all three are ordinary families,
which should make them junior to Beliana her father is a major, but he married
a common girl and has to handle his money himself, so it depends " she let
herself trail off. "It's complicated."
"You've picked up a lot in a couple of afternoons," he said, impressed. Most
of the stories Torrie had been told had been about politics and honor, not
about money and status. That was
"Oh, I'm awful bright for a girl."
"I didn't mean it that way."
" 'Course not. I just like having you on the defensive." Maggie's smile
broadened. "Branden del Branden stopped by to pay his respects."
"Oh?"
"Yes. He'll be looking for us this evening, he said."
"I'd expect so. He and Ivar del Hival are supposed to escort us over." Dad
clearly didn't want any part of this reception, but Torrie was looking forward
to it. A chance to get out, to learn more about what was going on. He found
that he was jealous of Maggie; she seemed to make friends easily
But, then again, she wasn't Thorian del Thorian the Younger. There were
reasons why he hadn't been approached.
She cocked her head. "You look like you're thinking deep thoughts."
He shrugged. "Not very." He forced a smile. "You look great, by the way."
She smiled. "Better than that road-dirty wretch they dragged in here?" She
came into his arms and held him tight.
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Well, why not? She smelled of summer and sunshine, with no trace of anything
under the dress, and her breath was warm in his ear.
"Would you get your hands off my ass for a moment?" she whispered. "We might
be overheard."
Torrie shook his head. "I doubt it," he said, quietly. "The secret passage
hasn't been used for a long time."
She made a face. "Secret passage?"
He held up a finger for silence, then walked to the door, pausing silently.
Nothing.
Well, if he was going to be indiscreet. . .
He opened the Paratool, extended the bent wire, and pulled open the secret
door.
Maggie's mouth opened and closed, then opened and closed again. "Who where
does it lead?"
Torrie shrugged as he shut the door. "Somewhere. Anywhere." No. He knew more
than that. "Probably everywhere. This place is going to be honeycombed with
secret passages and hideaways, and many of them not all are going to
interconnect."
Not all; Uncle Hosea would have built a few equivalents of the safe room
under the northwestern corner of their living room, a safe place for secreting
people or stuff that didn't lead anywhere else, but that wasn't what this felt
like.
It was a way out, although how and where it led was something that he
couldn't figure. There was surely another door before it joined up with the
main passage, just as at home the "priest's hole" that led from the main
bathrom to the crawlway under the porch was hidden at the crawlway end behind
a false wall.
"How do you know?"
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