Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (18 page)

Laita
laughed, startled from her seductive pose. "Kessa? She doesn't
nurture
grudges. She puts them in cages and pokes them with
sticks to keep them mean!"

"Then
I wonder why you proposition her betrothed."

That
expression was pure mischief glazed with shallow beauty. "She
granted permission."

A
test? A ploy to let Laita be his concubine? An indication of how
little Kessa wanted him? Or of how much she'd give her family?
Slowly, he said, "I believe I'd rather hand you coin."

Laita
put her fingers to her lips again, as if she'd a fan to hide her
face. "Usually people try to buy my kisses. I've never had
someone offer payment to avoid one."

He
stood solely to bow to her. "Miss Laita, you are indeed lovely
and your presence would be a boon to any man. However, I'm to be wed
soon, and unless my betrothed speaks plainly that she'd rather I went
elsewhere . . . I'll not give her reason to feel my
heart is cold to her."

She
regarded him a moment, with her little smile. "Good. I'll see
what I can find. You can provide what coin the results are worth."
More soberly, she added, "But if you leave her alone with your
brother . . . She'll not be the only one with a grudge
in a cage."

He'd
not harm her
died on his lips. Iasen'd already been
unconscionably
rude
, and Kessa'd not forgive seeming betrayal.
"I won't."

Laita
nodded. "Thank you." Her empty courtesan's smile returned.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, Master Kymus?"

He
stirred Aldra's mix pensively. "Likely not." He was tempted
to go sniffing every preparation there, but it was Keli's workroom,
not his. Nicia was too sensible to leave deadly brews around. "Though
if your sister and the Herbmaster's daughter
are
making secret
potions together, I'd like . . . someone to know
besides them. Myself. Keli. Both. It would be more appropriate if
they confessed rather than being found out."

"I'll
see what I can do. Perhaps it's related to that
other
potion
Kessa's making. Or do you know what it is now?"

"Nothing
I'd tasted before. Do
you
know?"

She
dimpled at him prettily. "Yes. And I'll give no clues."

He
snorted. "Well, if it's harmless, I'll hope that's all she and
Nicia might research and brew together." He gave Aldra's brew a
final stir and stood, offering Laita a hand. "If there's naught
I can provide to you, I should be going to lunch – or
confronting my brother, perhaps."

Laita
accepted his aid gracefully. "Leave that to the watchman, Master
Kymus. Don't go out of your way to meet with Master Iasen alone. It
would fret Kessa."

"She'd
care?" He walked her to the stairs, where Brague went up before
them.

She
dimpled at him before she started the climb. "Well, unless your
will already grants her a widow's portion, she'd be upset if you
turned out wrong and got yourself killed."

"I'll
have my secretary arrange something, though with luck, it won't need
to last over a month."

"That
soon till a wedding? Mm. If nothing else, I get to play lady's maid,"
Laita said firmly.

And
he'd be left wondering where her brother might be, or which other
crèche-siblings snuck in. "Agreed," he said, as they made
their way back to the shop part of the building.

Chapter
XI

A
nother
two days, and Iathor took a light-work day to prepare for the night
patrol. Unlike the journeymen and alchemists' relatives who made up
his little group, he got little benefit from the alchemical
stimulants the others used to keep alert in the night.

He'd
contributed old clothes to Kessa before – or, rather, to the
"young man, Kellisan." He'd not checked his wardrobe, but
suspected he'd be missing more old clothes, too worn to keep using,
but not damaged enough to become rags.

After
being woken from his nap, Iathor meandered, yawning, into the dining
nook. There, he found a surly-seeming half-breed eating stew ladled
over chunks of bread – and for half a heartbeat, actually
wondered when Kessa'd found a blood-sibling. The unsettling confusion
passed quickly. He'd seen Kessa pose as a man before, on patrols.
However, neither the Crimson Birch nor Emerald Cat were so well-lit.

Kessa
normally kept her hair down to hide her eyes; "Kellisan"
pulled it into a tight horse-tail behind the neck. It showed her high
cheekbones, perhaps slightly less angular after regular meals, and
dark eyebrows that were oddly startling without her hair intersecting
them.

He
sat before his own covered dish, still watching her in fascination,
and she finally looked up. He flinched, half in reflex, and made
himself hold her gaze. Unhealthy brown, marbled with sickly
yellow . . . In truth, Kessa's eyes weren't any
better, unshielded by her hair, and possibly worse. He focused on the
darkness of her pupils instead, as he'd done when she'd taken the
draught, and found himself smiling.

She
looked away, like an out-stared cat. After a moment, she asked,
"Slept well?"

"As
well as usual. The chill should clear my head. You?"

"I've
woken better. I'm out of practice."

She
sounded wary, edgy, and more normal than she had for fivedays. He was
unreasonably cheerful as he took the cover from his bowl. "How
long a route do you want?"

"I'm
out of practice
walking
anywhere. Probably best to take a
half-route, lest I wind up in bed all tomorrow."

"Indeed.
I'd be jealous – or stuck in my own and regretting it."
Belatedly, he realized that could be taken as regretting
which
bed he was in, rather than needing to be in his office.

She
slanted him an uncanny glance, but only grunted and slouched,
indisputably mannish and lower-class besides.

There
were a dozen things he could've said or asked. He put them aside, and
simply ate. She wasn't scowling, her shoulders weren't hunched; if
she'd been the young man she acted, he'd simply presume her intent
upon her own thoughts.

When
he finished his stew, he snagged her empty bowl and stacked it within
his. Kessa made an indignant noise and shoved her chair back to
follow. In the kitchen, Tania got up from her bench to take the
bowls. Dayn and Brague stood as well; the younger dramsman looked
almost smugly cheerful, while Brague had his usual pre-patrol calm.

Perhaps
it was simply excitement; normally Dayn stayed home and slept, while
Brague accompanied Iathor.

Jeck
brought the carriage to the kitchen's door, and Iathor clambered to
the driver's bench, then reached down to offer Kessa a hand. She took
it, her own hands in mittens, and climbed up to sit on Jeck's other
side.

It
was clouded over, dark enough that Jeck'd used the harness with dim
Incandescens Stones. Occasionally they stopped to pick up patrollers
wrapped in coats and cloaks. Finally they arrived at their station: a
room built into the corner of a smithy with a private niche for a
chamberpot, and a place to store their night watch sticks and the
ointments that let them see in the dark.

The
men filed into the dimly-lit room. A couple greeted "Kellisan,"
and she nodded back, eyes muted in the shadows. Another journeyman,
working for Master Fantho, did a double-take; Iathor vaguely recalled
the young man had attended the testing ceremony.

Perhaps
he'd presume Iathor's betrothed had a brother.

Perhaps
he'd realize the truth: Iathor, already eccentric for leading his
quasi-vigilante night patrols, didn't balk at including his
betrothed. Dayn's presence meant Brague wasn't enough protection for
someone
.

Once
everyone was in, they passed out the catseye ointment, the stimulant
potions, and finally paralyzing potion for the batons. (Some called
them cumbersome, bu too many of his men were alchemists to give up on
the things, even when a vial broke at the wrong time and dripped onto
someone's foot, sending him limping back on his partner's shoulder.)
Then Iathor laid out the map, ignored the slight murmurs, and
reminded himself he was bringing
Kellisan
. "We'll be
ending at the Crimson Birch tonight. As you probably know, no one's
claimed the gold flowers yet, for those involved in the arson and
assault. Keep an eye out. My group has the half-route from the inn at
Pork Run."

Finally,
everyone was ready, without any questions about Iathor's
half-barbarian betrothed and the dark-haired "man" with
him.

This
time, when he helped Kessa to the driver's bench, he stayed her with
his hands on her waist, and simply looked up at her. The vision the
ointment gave . . . bleached her eyes to marbled light
and dark: odd, perhaps even exotic, and Iathor couldn't repress his
grin. Her shocked stare gained furrowed brows, became a washed out
glare, and she snapped her teeth at him before sliding past Jeck to
the other side of the bench.

His
driver pretended he'd seen nothing.

They
dropped off over half the group in four brief stops, and the rest
climbed out at the inn. Kessa jumped down on her own, landing well
and glancing toward him with an expression he could only see as
challenging. Then she moved to a bodyguard's spot behind him, with a
predatory stride. Brague and Dayn came from behind the carriage and
took up their own positions, and Jeck headed off with a wave.

The
last four patrollers gave brief waves as they moved off, murmuring to
themselves.

"I
don't think we're fooling anyone," Iathor remarked.

"I'll
live," Kessa said, using a deeper voice. "Unless I freeze
here."

"I'm
ready. Brague? Dayn?"

His
dramsmen murmured assents and Iathor started off.

It
was cold, the wind pulling warmth from their bodies. Kessa scowled
into the night, trying to keep her hood up, and clutched her cloak
around her.

He
thought of just glancing down alleys and wrapping their cloaks
together for warmth, but . . .
Kellisan'd
not
do that; a young man's arrogant pride wouldn't allow it.

At
least the chill kept home opportunistic thieves and cutpurses, and
the rising wind deterred even the Shadow Guild's masters – and
woke the drunks enough to hurry home.

They
were most of the way to the Crimson Birch, catching occasional
glimpses of it between roof-peaks, when a thin wailing carried
through the darkness.

Brague
frowned. "Cat fight."

Kessa
strode ahead. "Mayhap."

Dayn
followed while Iathor paused, baffled, before hastening to catch up,
Brague behind him.

The
calls rose and fell like an angry tomcat's, though . . .
there'd been no shriller screams of a fighting beast.

Closer,
he doubted it was a cat at all.

Kessa
rounded a corner into a narrow back alley; as they followed in sudden
silence, Iathor made out a shape on the roof that wasn't feline, but
child-sized human. Kessa glanced over her shoulder and put out her
hand to halt them. Then she tipped her head back and wailed a
tomcat's angry reply.

The
child didn't fly away over the rooftops as Iathor'd expected. Kessa
waited, then called quietly, "Who's there?"

"K-Kellisan?"
The tones were high-pitched, followed by scrabbling as the child came
closer. Kessa raised her hands, and the roof-rat flung itself down
into them. It was a gesture more heart-felt than the herb-witch's
body could fulfill; Iathor reached forward far too late. But Kessa
caught the child and spun so a collision that seemed fated to end
sprawled on the cobbles wound up with both of them on their knees
instead.

Kessa
quickly pulled her cloak around the child. Then Brague pushed Iathor
behind him, while Dayn looked from side to side and stepped closer to
Kessa. Iathor followed Brague's gaze to the roof – where a man
stood, now.

Someone
in trousers, anyway,
he thought, recalling Kessa's anonymous
figure. The man on the roof was also short, and his coat had enough
bulk to potentially conceal a modest bosom.

The
voice was deeper than Kessa could manage, though. "Lord
Alchemist. The Shadow's Master sends greetings." He bowed.

Kessa's
hiss was louder than the wind. She glared at Iathor, then at the
messenger on the roof.

They'd
all used catseye ointment. If assassins lurked in the darkness with
crossbows, then likely his dramsmen would spot them first. Iathor
sighed through his nose. "My regards to the Shadow-master. To
what do I owe the honor of this meeting?"

"The
Shadow-master wishes to congratulate you on your betrothal, and offer
a small token of respect. A pity it cannot be larger, but some things
take time to acquire. Perhaps there will be a wedding gift."

"My
thanks. That's generous of the Shadow-master."

The
figure squatted down from the more impressive, but colder, upright
pose. "A dark-haired man with pale green eyes, who tells stories
of barbarian curses and savage vengeance, has come to the attention
of the Shadow-master."