Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (29 page)

"Why
not?" he asked, sharply.

She
took a bite of food to give herself time to think of a better reason
than
I'll likely be dead by next winter.
"There was a
moon-flow cloth left with the basin. If someone included that, then
it's expected enough. And I've not lost more than my usual
moon-blood."

Iathor
set his fork down and looked away. Quietly, he said, "I hurt you
enough already. If what I did threatened your life . . ."

"I'm
fine!" She bit her lip, and tried to think of something better.
"I'll see if Loria and her lot are working on any dresses,
perhaps. There should be somewhere I can lie down, up in the sewing
room."

"Thank
you."

She
made a grouchy noise, then added, "There were four of them in
that alley, though. One's missing."

Iathor
nodded. "I know. I'll ask."

"Good."
Kessa waved her fork at him. "Eat, or Tania will lose faith in
me."

"Ha."
But to her surprise, he took his fork and dug it into the egg-crepe.

Chapter
XVI

I
athor
walked into the watch station above the underground prison with every
intent of being as terrifying, stern, and perhaps even sadistic as
rumor could paint him. The cells were dark, and while he'd brought a
spare Incandescens Stone and clae to cheer the guards, he'd been
looking forward to unleashing his frustrations on deserving targets.

Instead,
he found himself in the guardroom just beyond the stairs, where once
he'd brewed tea with Tryth elixir for a captured herb-witch –
though this time he'd Brague at his back, not Dayn. Thioso accepted
the Incandescens Stone with great cheer, pointedly "suggested"
everyone else out, and copied lines of scribbled graphite into ink on
a fresh page. In between sentences, he explained what Iathor'd
missed.

". . . wasn't
there when the false watch brought in the three prisoners, of course.
Good wedding, though. Quieter than I'd feared."

"I
didn't notice you there." Iathor let his annoyance precipitate
out beneath a layer of banal chat.

"Well
enough. Man's not distracted at his wedding? Probably a bad sign. Who
was the jeweler?"

"I'm
not sure. Loria, my steward, found him."

"Mm.
Anyway, the false watch had the night officer write a note that
they'd delivered the prisoners, then vanished. So I found the lot
this morning. Dashed you off a letter, and went to see that they'd
been dealt with proper." Thioso paused and wrote another
sentence. "Turns out the night officer wasn't entirely blind.
Had 'em in far-separate cells. I went asking a few questions, and you
know? Strangest thing, it was. They seemed to be happy to talk."

Good
news for the watchman. Annoying news for Iathor. He tried to set
aside the desire to terrorize the blighted wretches. "And what
did they say?"

"Well,
first they said they'd done nothing to warrant gold flowers growing
from their dirty heads. Just an herb-witch, they said. Half-breed. No
one of note. 'Course, I pointed out they'd gone for someone whose
Guild Master took such things personal-like. Said you'd be coming by.
Be late, though, seeing's how you just got married last night. To a
half-breed herb-witch, in fact, all in lace and white. Odd –
I'd thought they were more stupid, but they got all quiet then, 'cept
the one who started swearing."

The
irritation eased slightly. "And here I'd been planning to
explain that very situation to them."

"Ah,
well, I added some bits. The city-prince being all interested if they
were taking pay to do it, and who from . . . Where the
fourth man was, that sort of thing. They claim they don't know a
thing about the arsonist, though. Blight them."

"Mm.
If they were hired, they might not know who else was hired, or if
their patron was busy with a torch."

"True."
Thioso sighed and wrote. "Now, thing is, they're happy to talk –
seem to think I can keep you from gifting them to your new bride –
but they've the memories of drunk mice. Might there be a potion to
get me more'n 'a dark-haired man with copper trees' for who paid
them? I've a good description of the fourth man already."

Iathor
leaned his elbow on the watchroom's table. "What if I
want
to offer them to my wife?"

Thioso
shrugged. "By some lights, they've been punished already. One's
stiff in his right hand, another's blind in one eye, and the third's
disfigured."

And
it's debatable whether I'll ever be able to touch my wife in passion,
because of their pawing.
Not a suitable argument in the
circumstances, and Iathor might yet convince Kessa to trust him. "I
can ask her to let them be sentenced for attacking a member of my
guild. But I value my peaceful home more than their hides or minds."

"They
were just hired thugs, if they're telling truth. The one who paid
'em, and gave 'em the jar of ointment, would be the one to really
hunt down, no?"

Iathor
narrowed his eyes, sitting up straight. "Jar?"

Thioso
looked far too calm – serene, even. He'd almost certainly been
planning that sentence, even as he wrote another line on his report.
"Of ointment. That little detail makes me think they're telling
the truth about being hired. That, and their fourth fellow vanishing
on one of his trips to find their employer. Probably caught wind of
the price on their heads and decided they weren't that good friends
after all."

"What
sort
of ointment?" Iathor gritted out.

"They
were told 'twas one to make the girl more cooperative. The one what
put the stuff between his legs says it burned to void water for a
fiveday after. He's the one with scars on his face."

Iathor
set aside the smoldering fury and focused on the rest of what
Thioso'd said. "And why does this detail make you think they're
telling the truth?"

The
watchman finished copying the last sentence into ink. "I found
the lid in the alley, near your wife's old cloak."

Iathor
sat up very straight and made sure to clench his fists against his
legs, where they'd not be seen. "How long have you had this
lid?"

"Oh,
since I searched the alley. But I didn't want to take it to
alchemists when there was yet a chance someone might tip his hand –
or that I might take it to the very man who'd brewed it up. There's
not much ointment smeared on it." Thioso met his eyes as blandly
as if they were playing cards. "I was hoping to get the rest of
the jar. The Earth priest didn't have it."

"Why
not tell
me
?"

"Well,
sir, beggin' your pardon . . . You seem the sort of
man who'd stalk off to his guild and start giving orders. Now, while
it might be of use to see who bolts and runs, someone might just as
easily go to ground when I wanted to do some poking around first.
Besides, I didn't know what the men were really
supposed
to be
trying to do, till I talked to them."

Iathor
tried to suppress his snarl. "She escaped from them with her
dress torn and her cloak left behind."

Thioso
remained bland. "Could've been a misunderstanding, and all their
employer wanted was a kidnapping, an' the ointment something for
healing, or making her sleepy. Anything else . . . she
could've panicked, thought a snatch was something more – or
they could've thought they were entitled to a bit of fun."

"If
they think it
fun
to take an unwilling woman," Iathor
said in cold rage, guilt-tinged with the memory of what he'd done,
"I'll see them bound to
someone
who shall ensure they're
commanded against such vileness."

"I'd
have to ask if that's more'n a mayhap. Point is, they were told
specific to take her, with that stuff on their members. Told specific
to do it as much as they could, using the ointment each time, till
they hadn't seed for more." Even Thioso's voice went a bit flat.
"They'd be met next morning by the man who paid them, who'd take
the jar back, and who'd want to see the girl – alive and
blindfolded – before he gave them the rest of their coins.
Silver half-flower and leaf, they were offered. They got two leaves
ahead of time."

Guilt-edged
memories of his bloodied sheets made his imagination too sharp, and
Iathor had to take several breaths before he could say, "And
they agreed?"

Again,
Thioso shrugged. "They claim they were drunk, but not so much
they couldn't get a wagon and lie in wait for a half-breed, walking
along that path. Now, the thing is – there's not an alchemist
I've seen yet who matches even the dung-poor description they gave.
If it's a go-between, I need that description to find him and see who
he
talked to. If he's a servant, then I can look 'mongst the
masters' and nobles' servants. But 'pale, dark hair'? That tells me
nothing."

Something
else to think about, rather than his wife, bound and bleeding . . .
"There's Wolf, whom the Shadow Guild claims left for Cym. He's
dark-haired, but not so dark of skin. Quarter-barbarian, Kessa
thought."

"He's
on my list, aye. Have you a potion that'd bring their memories into
sharper focus?"

"Yes.
Mindbright." He added wryly, "Kessa and Nicia were brewing
some not long ago. The potion should be at the offices still."

"Fitting,
then. I'd ask for a ride, but I've reports to copy for, mm, some
number of people." Thioso gave the paper a disgusted look. "I
hope you and your wife have a peaceful life after this, for like as
not anything
else'd
have me back looking into matters. That
happens, I might start thinking it'd just be easier to take that
blighted draught m'self so's I'd have an excuse to follow her
around."

"Not
a joking matter," Iathor said.

"And
did I say I was joking, sir?"

"Mm."
Iathor swung his legs over the bench and stood. "I'll get the
mindbright. And no, I'll not give you poison instead. I want the
person who'd hire them as much as I want to ensure such crimes fetch
an example to deter anyone else. Perhaps Commander Rothsam would like
recruits . . ."

Thioso
chuckled. "Much obliged. And when you're back, I'll get the
ointment for tasting, if you want. Shouldn't use up much of what's on
the lid, and there's little enough that'd do you harm, I'm told."

Iathor
paused. "Yes. I want that taste. But why'd you not ask me to
identify it earlier?"

The
watchman looked entirely calm. "Told you, sir. Wasn't sure the
whole thing hadn't been intended as a snatch – mayhap set the
stage for a heroic rescue. But with those orders, and alchemy that's
not some healing brew? Unlikely."

"You . . .
thought
I
 . . ." His head felt
disconnected from his body, in a numb outrage.

"Girls
appreciate a rescue, sir, or so I've heard. But if you can identify
the ointment, that's another clue to the true source." Thioso
took a fresh sheet of paper and arranged his inked page so he could
read it easily. "I'll try to be in my office when you get back,
sir."

"Indeed."
Despite an urge for some vague physical retaliation, Iathor headed
for the door. The watchman was undoubtedly more able to defend
himself than Iathor was to hit him in his bland expression, and it
would be indefinably bad form to ask Brague to pummel the man.

He'd
write his own requests to the city-prince later: first among them
asking permission to brew multiple doses of the dramsman's draught,
at the earliest opportunity.

The
trip to the offices was long enough for the fury to wear off, and
leave him physically chilled as well as shaking. It was even enough
for the worst of the nausea to pass, with the nightmare thoughts of
what could have been
dimmer in his mental sight. That left
guilt, and guilty relief that Kessa seemed to've forgiven him
for . . .

For
taking her with force.

No
matter what she'd intended, what she'd said, or how she'd cooperated,
he'd hurt her without trying to mask it with pleasure. He'd been
surprised to find her pressed against him in the morning. She'd given
him some shreds of truth, even, as if she trusted him.

But
she'd not answered his more pressing questions. Why marry him? Why be
desperate
to have his child? If not a threat to her family, if
not blackmail . . .
why
do something that'd
plainly terrified her? Just to "get it over with"?

He'd
have to ask the Herbmaster while he was at the offices. That could
explain the
marriage
part, and from there, the rest of the
formula might take shape.

Iathor
walked from the carriage house in an ill temper that was entirely
improper for a new-wedded man, and even less for one assured his
maiden bride was now mother to his heir.

When
Esten, the offices' general secretary, greeted him, Iathor managed to
respond civilly, and hoped the man'd think it merely understandable
annoyance – few men wished to work the day after their
wedding. From the sympathetic looks, when passing journeymen and
apprentices in the hall, he supposed it was easy enough to believe.