Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (12 page)

"Aye,
m'lord!" The boy darted off.

"I'll
need my boots." Kessa eyed the toe of her house-slipper. "I'll
be right back."

Nicia
followed, leaving Iathor with Thioso. Brague or Dayn were likely
close by, but the illusion of privacy was sufficient for the watchman
to lean against the sitting room's archway and say, "How's your
betrothed doing, then?"

"Nicia's
company seems to be helping. She's still more subdued than I've seen
her before." And blight it, he wanted her sharp-tongued temper
back. He
wanted
the woman who'd order him from her shop or
half-crawl over his desk in justified fury. He couldn't possibly be
avoiding every mistake.

"She
mentioned any suspects?"

"She
thinks that extortionist Wolf burned her shop, and the attack
coincidental. I can't agree. Have you found the driver yet, who was
supposed to wait for her?"

"He's
been on calls since before dawn, says the carriage house he contracts
to. The moment he's back, though . . . They'll hold
onto him." Thioso tugged at his beard. "They don't wish to
be included in conspiracy accusations. The city-prince doesn't like
arsonists, and I can't see the timing as coincidence either."

"The
matter's gotten to Prince Tegar already?"

"A
city block nearly burning down? If the family upstairs hadn't noticed
in time, even fire-cooling grenades couldn't have damped the flames.
As it was, there's not an apartment on that side undamaged, and a
five of them entirely destroyed."

Iathor
winced. He'd been focused on his guild member. His betrothed. The
fire, being
arson
and in an area not exclusively brick . . .
"So you're pressured to find the arsonist."

"At
least I'm not working against you, eh?"

"I'll
write to Prince Tegar and ask if he wishes the draught brewed, to
bind the arsonist. Perhaps to Watch Commander Rothsam."

"Not
you?"

"No.
Unless Kessa wants him as a man-servant. And then, he'd not be bound
to
me
."

Thioso's
gaze was direct and thoughtful. "You're an unusual man."

"Thank
you."
I think.
"Have you found any evidence of
Shadow Guild involvement?"

"In
arson? More like someone'll turn up tied and gagged, with burn marks.
Didja know there's an old law, that abetting an arsonist means
burning alive if the judge wants? Worse punishment than the arsonist
gets, if no one died."

"The
law is filled with delightful trivia. In Cym, my brother claims, an
assassin can be made dramsman to his victim or victim's heirs."

Thioso
chuckled. "A good deal for the heirs, if they do the
hiring . . ."

Iathor
leaned on the opposite side of the arch, arms folded. "I'd think
assassins would become leery of taking such jobs."

"Heh.
Like as not, if we catch the attackers and they weren't knowing
accomplices to the arsonist, they'll just be in the work-gangs for a
few months. Unless your truth potion reveals they planned murder
after fun."

"If
they do not cooperate in naming any who hired them," Iathor
said, feeling ice in his belly, "I will name them anathema to my
guild. There shall be no potions brewed to aid them, no preparations
sold or given to them, from men's tea to curatives for plague. And
any who secure alchemy or herb-witchery in their behalf shall be
likewise barred from the products of my guild, throughout Cymelia."

"Hard
to back up."

"Two
should be marked already. I'll ask Prince Tegar's permission to
inflict more lasting, obvious signs."

"All
your guild'll follow that?"

Iathor's
voice went low and hard. "I'm the Lord Alchemist. There are old
laws pertaining to
me
, and what happens to rogue alchemists
who disobey me. Ask Master Mathus what his ancestors did, when his
family held the title."

Pattering
footsteps announced Zeth, with basket and jam-roll. Nearly at his
heels came Dayn, Kessa, and Nicia in their cloaks; Iathor wondered
how much they'd overheard.

Nicia
took charge of the basket, while Thioso claimed the jam-filled bread.
Kessa stopped and stood before Iathor. She took a deep breath, gaze
fixed at his collarbones, and said, "Brague thought I needed new
boots. He asked if I'd rather visit a cobbler, or have someone
brought in."

Iathor
said, "Which would you prefer?"

Her
silence might've been thoughtful, perplexed, or the blankness of a
student asked an unanswerable question. Iathor added, "I've no
objections to either. If you wanted to stop somewhere today, Dayn can
ask Loria for recommendations and get the coin for it. If you'd
rather a boot-maker come in, the additional expense should be
negligible."

"Here . . .
would let Loria and the others keep me longer for adjusting clothing.
So I'd have something sooner, for that ceremony or witnessing or
whatever it's called."

"Normally,
it's part of the wedding rituals. I've no aversion to simplifying
those." There'd be enough stress without irrational worries that
he'd somehow made a mistake after all. "Should Loria have the
cobbler come, say, tomorrow morning?"

Kessa's
little chuckle was more bitter than he liked. "I've no outings
planned."

He
lightly put his palms, fingers spread, against her shoulders. "I'll
see to it." He wanted to kiss her forehead or nuzzle her hair,
but wasn't brave enough to risk it.

Her
arms crossed between them as she laid fingertips against his wrists.
"Ah. Thank you."

He
almost dared draw her close . . . But the door's bell
rang. Zeth opened the door on a buggy driver. The man said, "I'm
to transport Miss Nicia Greenhands?"

Nicia
waved a hand. "Yes, and two others, please."

Iathor
slowly lowered his hands. "Safe journey."

Kessa
smiled, raising her chin with her eyes closed. "I'm sure Dayn
will watch over us. I'll try to be back before dinner."

"As
will I. If I fail?" He snorted. "Then I'm likely at the
guild offices, answering stupid questions and trying to get real work
done."

"Then
safe journey to you, too."

"My
thanks."

She
turned and left, Thioso following, and probably didn't guess Iathor
wanted to cancel everything, keep them both at home, and rub her
feet, or hands, or back until he dared finish his sentence from
breakfast.

I
like
you.

Chapter
VIII

T
he
alley was cold, even through Kessa's new, borrowed cloak and the good
cloth of the altered dress. Something in her was shamefully grateful
for even the
thought
of new boots.

The
hospice wasn't far from the guild offices, so they'd let the buggy go
after they got there. It'd been overcrowded anyway. Thioso'd taken
them to two other streets first, and had Kessa walk them. But this
one . . . she'd recognized the overturned, broken
crates she'd tripped over in the darkness. A right turn. A left. The
dead end. Darting out, to the left. Being cut off by the cart.
Running for the dead end again, hoping the brick of it could be
climbed.

Slick
tile shingles; no purchase when one of the men grabbed her leg. In
the light, the tiles were golden-brown, a shade lighter than the
reddish bricks below them.

Her
fingertips ached, despite yesterday's healing draught.

Nicia
was at the open part of the dead end, breathing fast enough that
Kessa'd asked Dayn to watch over her. Kessa stood two body-lengths
away or so, and vaguely wished Brague was there instead, so she could
break down again.

Thioso
shuffled around, kicking at debris half-hidden under a thin layer of
snow. "So, you leave anything here?"

"My
cloak." She'd left it in someone's grasp. "A knife."
The scabbard strapped to thigh, under her skirt, had been empty. "A
paper-wrapped dose of herbal Purgatorie."

"Naught
else? Money pouch?"

"No.
They didn't try to take it."

"What
was the cloak like?"

"Patchy
brown. Mended here and there."

"And
the knife?"

"A
hand's length long. Small guard, small handle. Cheap." Kessa
tried to steady herself, concentrating on her breathing. "I sold
dry tea, watchman. Maiden's-blood, that reliably potent, would be
expensive."

"What
about the poison you had?"

"I
took my only dose." Bitter, green bile . . . She
took another breath, concentrating on the winter sting of the air and
the smell of leaves being burnt for good luck.

"Paper
wrapped, like the Purgatorie?"

"Yes."

"Mm-hm."
Thioso scuffed around a bit more, as if hoping he'd kick something
up.

The
jar they had,
Kessa finally realized.
Could they've dropped
it? Left it on the ground to be kicked over? Does he have it?

The
question gnawed at her. She watched more than his watch-issue boots,
reddish brown to match the stylized bricks on his watchman's tabard.
He was in winter pants now: a darker hue of brown with less red to
them, covering his boot-tops where she'd once seen a knife-hilt. His
coat matched the pants, swinging low enough to hide the tabard if he
tied it closed. Thioso had the broad features of a country boy, with
a straw-colored beard and short hair, but Kessa thought his blue eyes
weren't so dull as he'd want people to notice.

He
looked up, and caught her staring. His hand went for the small baton
under his coat, and she turned her head quickly so her hair was a
screen between them.

The
moment stretched, feeling longer than it was. Thioso let his hand
come away from his short club, snorting. "I see why you don't
look at people."

Kessa
shivered under her cloak. "Yes."

The
watchman edged closer, so he could lower his voice. "I've asked
some questions. You're right about the immunities."

"You've
no idea," she said, trying not to sigh, "how much I'd have
liked to be wrong."

"Then,"
he asked, voice as soft as he could make it in the still, cold air,
"why're you marrying him? And why's he marrying you?"

"I
suppose having a legitimate heir is important to him." She still
felt numb, as if she spoke of someone who lived in a faraway city.
Perhaps even across the ocean, in the old empire.

"And
in return, he'll protect you. From the shadows. From the law."

Blighted
clever watchman. She watched the snow. More was beginning to fall, in
thin, delicate sparkles. "On the one hand, that moneylender's
disminding was none of my desire. And on the other . . ."
She glanced over her shoulder; Dayn and Nicia chatted quietly. "Kymus
won't give me enough rein to terrorize the city, even if my heart
were blighted and my hand soaked in poison. He's his quirks, but he's
not stupid."

She
fancied she could feel Thioso staring at her. Finally, he said, "A
good match. You're as odd as he is." He walked past, announcing,
"I think this is all I need. Any buggies to flag down?"

Dayn
went to check – though staying in sight of Kessa. She hoped it
wasn't because he feared she'd climb the wall and flee over the
rooftops. She was too soul-tired for that.

The
dramsman called back, "I don't see any. There'll be some at the
guild offices, if not near the hospice."

Kessa
sighed for her cold feet and cracking boots, but shuffled along
beside Nicia as they traipsed out of the alley. "You all right?"

The
younger girl nodded, after a moment's hesitation. "Just a little
cold."

She
lies badly.
"At least the hospice will be warm."

"Mm."
Nicia perked up, and walked a little faster.

There
wasn't much Kessa wanted to talk about, so she pulled her cloak
around her face and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the
other. Thioso and Dayn walked behind, the watchman asking Dayn
questions that might've been from idle boredom, or might've been
sidling around a mystery for the sake of uncovering it. Dayn wasn't
bothering to hide his answers: he was the most recent of Kymus'
dramsman (as she'd known from Tania), and the middle boy of a footman
who served an earl in Shoaleigh, a city near the capital.

Something
about how he spoke of his father made Kessa wonder if Dayn was a
dramsman's son. And if so . . . Which draught had his
father taken? The older one, that filled up the heart? Or the newer,
that Tania'd said was Iathor's masterwork, with its lighter binding
of emotions?

At
least they were unlikely to come into conflict, so far from each
other. One dramsman alone was fodder for any number of theater
tragedies. Two, bound to different masters, could fill a library with
pain.

A
block from the hospice, Thioso waved down a small buggy for hire, its
driver riding the horse. Since sorting everyone into the small, open
compartment would take half the time of simply walking and not be
much warmer, Kessa suggested they simply part ways. Nicia took a few
seconds more to agree, but waved with determined cheer. Thioso gave
her a wave back, as the driver twitched the animal's side with his
crop and sent it into a trot.