Making a mental note to reserve some
soft bread to blot the pages, Ash replaced Thornaster's kit and
tidied the room. Rubbing some salve on the fingers of her right
hand to ease their continuing stinging, she thought up a few neat
revenges to repay the books, but dismissed them. Her hunt came
first.
The Visel returned much earlier this
evening, while she was reading in her nook. He smelled of horse,
and looked strained and abstracted.
"I hope you're not planning on turning
this into a library," he said, picking up one of her new
acquisitions and flipping through it.
"They're a loan," she said. "Today's
lesson." In more ways than one. She should have taken them with her
to the archery ground, whatever Vendarri thought of her carrying
them about. It was no use anticipating trouble and then not doing
enough to avoid it.
"And how have you been accepted?"
"They haven't killed me yet. Always a
good sign. How go the investigations?"
Thornaster sat down on the foot of the
bed. "Seruilisi aid in the removal of boots," he said, holding one
leather-shod limb toward her.
Ash considered the scarred sole, traces
of mud clinging to the sides, then studied his expectantly amused
face.
"Can't get dressed, can't get
undressed." She managed to drag off one of the high boots and
started on the other. "Or, rather, you can but you'd just prefer
someone else did it. Next you'll be wanting me to comb your hair
and give you baths." The other boot came off in a hurry and she
fell backwards.
"I think I can manage those,"
Thornaster said, mouth quirking. "The boots need cleaning,
however." He wriggled toes at her through knitted socks, watching
her face. "While you do so, I'll tell you what I know about the
murders."
"Have you had a seruilis before?" she
asked, fishing among his gear for cleaning implements. "Did you
make him do any of this?"
Glancing back, Ash caught a look of
concerned evaluation, which the man swiftly hid beneath a smile.
"Some. But my last seruilis was entirely too proper to make it
entertaining. He had none of your talent for incredulity."
Ash lifted her eyebrows, then collected
cloth and a jar of yellow goo from his belongings, and sat on the
floor just outside her niche, with one aromatic boot in her lap. So
he thought to distract her from grief by teasing her? It wasn't an
unkind gesture, but she had too much to think of to play the game
this evening.
"Talk," she said.
Thornaster took off his socks and
dropped them beside her, flexing long, narrow feet, but apparently
deciding to take the command seriously. With a sigh he lay back on
the bed, so her view of him was limited to knees and toes.
"Sera McCready," the Visel began. "A
full five weeks past. Only the Watch investigated her death, since
the Rhoi's Guard at that time were not involved. A swift blade
across the throat. She'd been taken unawares from behind, sitting
at the single table in a disreputable pile of lumber mistakenly
called a building. It seemed possible that she had been killed by
an acquaintance, someone she had allowed into her home. How else
had this person positioned himself behind her without alarming her?
A great deal of guff was mooted about because she was thought to be
a blood-draw, but I could find nothing to hint of that. I didn't
visit the scene 'til long after, though, when most traces of magery
would have faded.
"Sera Murchison, five days later.
Almost the exact same scene, but in a different part of the city. A
different Watch House involved, and they didn't make the
connection."
The Kinriddys had, though, bustling
around to Genevieve's to gossip and exclaim. It was a specialised
profession, and the herbalists all knew each other, bargaining hard
for traded plants. Two of their number dying in rapid succession in
the same manner had brought Ash's adoptive aunt three worried
visitors in the space of the same morning.
"Then came Ser Bertram, the palace
apothecary. A man who had access to the Rhoi. He died in exactly
the same way, six days after Dame Murchison. Alone in a room of his
apartments, dead from a single knife stroke which opened the
throat. The Rhoi's Guard took charge, of course, and swiftly
learned of the other two deaths. Arun asked me to lend any aid that
I could." There was a long silence. "Magic had been used to
accomplish the killing," Thornaster said, surprising Ash into
pausing in her methodical polishing. "That was kept quiet, of
course, but I could sense the draw, thick in the air over the body.
Investigator Verel, who has a small ability with magery, confirmed
my suspicions, though we had no detail.
"We questioned Bertram's apprentice, a
singularly tongue-tied boy, and learned only that the man was in
the habit of working late into the night, but always with the door
locked, especially recently. Either the victim had admitted his
murderer into his workroom or magic was used to gain entry. No-one
was seen near his rooms."
"Are you a mage, or can you tell about
the magic because you're Luinsel?" Ash asked.
"I only have the benefits of being
Luinsel while on my own lands. I can sense the draw because of my
Estarrel blood, not any mage talent. There's an interesting lack of
mages in this Rhoimarch. Verel is one of only a few dozen, and most
of them aren't strong enough to sense more than the most recent
working of power." The man hooked one leg over the other and swung
his foot back and forth, sighing. "Next were Seras Loua and Mae
Kinriddy. A number of those skilled in the herbal arts had left
Luinhall in the eight days following Bertram's death. The Kinriddys
were preparing to depart."
Ash had helped them pack, two tall,
willowy women with soft, soft voices that never fell quiet. Biting
her lower lip, she switched boots.
"Again there were traces of draw, even
stronger than that I sensed at Bertram's. These deaths were
different, in that one of the women faced her attacker."
"She would have woken when her twin
died," Ash said, as softly as Mae or Loua had always spoken. "They
were tied that way. They felt each other's pain."
"The second victim's screams could be
heard to the end of their street," Thornaster continued, after a
pause. "They slept in separate rooms. It took the killer long
seconds to reach her and this death was not as clean. She fought
him. She died. No one saw anything. No fleeing bloodstained madman.
Nothing. Neighbours surrounded the house quickly, but somehow the
killer had slipped past them. There were, however, two imprints of
the heel of a foot on the floor where the second of the Kinriddys
died. Not a shoe, but not bare feet. An odd, hazy shape."
Much had been made of the killer's
escape, in Ash's neighbourhood. All sorts of stories, of invisible
monsters, or soul-stealers, or creatures who could turn themselves
to mist.
"Next a man named Ezah Johans. The
owner of a tap house, and a cook well known for his use of unusual
herbs. No problems with this death. No interruptions.
"Nor with the next. Your Genevieve, who
died despite a house thoroughly shuttered, with an interesting
array of noise-making traps strung about. Again there was a residue
of magic. I have discovered that residue at all the death sites
I've attended and have no reason to doubt that it was also present
at the two previous murders."
Ash didn't say anything, trying to make
a decision.
"Lacking physical clues, we have been
examining motive," Thornaster continued. "Why kill herbalists, of
all folk? Most were valued and respected, not easily replaced.
Several possibilities come to mind, but they all verge on the
fantastic. A competitor clearing the market? Would it not,
eventually, become suspicious when one practitioner alone survives?
Someone who had taken harm, intentionally or not, at the hands of a
herbalist – out to revenge himself or herself? But that would not
explain the cook. The common link seems to be not only herbs, but
also an expert knowledge of them, whatever use they are put to. So,
discounting the ruthless competitor, there is an obvious
possibility behind killing those with herbal knowledge."
"Poison," Ash murmured.
"A substance normally undetectable,
which only the most expert might identify."
"You think they're going to kill the
Rhoi?" Ash asked, since that was the conclusion the entire city had
come to.
"If so, this is a strange and clumsy
way to go about it, raising suspicion in advance. And the murder of
a Rhoi is one crime not lightly forgiven during Astenar and Luin's
judgment. This Rhoimarch – there is more going on here than... Do
not repeat what I tell you now."
Curious, Ash made a tiny noise of
assent, wishing he would sit up so she could see his face.
"In late autumn Arun received a letter
from his father recalling him to Montmoth. If we hadn't already
started out in response to it, I'm not sure we would have made it
through the passes which block this place off so effectively in
winter."
"Did Rhoi Malaster say why he wanted
Rhoi Arun to return?"
"He instructed Arun to ask my Rhoi for
an advisor on matters of Balance. Which is me, and I don't even
need to see you to know you've screwed your eyebrows up into those
doubtful arches. It's the Estarrel blood – it means I'm sensitive
to Balance thanks to Luin, just as I am to magery because of
Astenar. Rhoi Malaster didn't explain why he needed an advisor –
it's an unusual request, since most Rhois would do anything rather
than admit to a failure of Balance."
"Is there–?"
"There's certainly something wrong
here, although I don't think it's with the Balance. Luin's laws are
kept well enough, but many of Astenar's are skirted around, some
almost openly flouted. This book is a good example." He held up the
volume Ash had repaired. "Instead of recording the gods'
instructions, it interprets them. And very few of Astenar's are
discussed. Even if the full volumes of the Edicts are available
somewhere in this benighted place, they're rarely directly
taught
. At any rate, Arun has not discovered whatever
specific issue was behind the summons. Nor have I."
Finished with the boots, Ash lined them
at the foot of the bed and eyed the Aremish Visel as he sat up.
"Was Rhoi Malaster murdered?" she
asked, bluntly.
"I don't know. A fall down a stair
could be anything. The Guard found nothing definitive." He handed
her back the book. "Arun is taking what care he can. His brother –
well, it is possible that someone works to enthrone him without his
collusion. But there was an incident, a blocked chimney in the
Rhoi's quarters, producing suffocating smoke. It was a near thing,
and kept quiet. The Veirhoi nearly died."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Dark eyes assessed her. "As I said, I
know where you stand. You want, most fervently, to destroy the
killer. Since spreading that tale around will only hinder any
investigation, you will not do so. And I want you to know this
because I have placed a street-wise boy, with some herbal
knowledge, in the Mern with the Veirhoi. You will do well as
Heran's bodyguard."
Ash digested this. She'd not intended
to stay long in the Mern, but this was a complexity to overset
hasty plans.
"Do you know anything about magic?"
"A little. I can't use it, but I know
the basic theory of its practice."
"Do witches or mages or whatever, do
they ever use a kind of coarse grey powder? To do spells with?"
Thornaster's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
"What for?"
"Why?"
She drew the little bag out of her
pocket and handed it to him, watching as he pulled loose the
drawstrings and tipped out a minute sample of the powder.
"Emanite," Thornaster said, carefully
pouring the dust back into its container. "Where did you get
this?"
"What do you use emanite for?"
"A number of different things. You
didn't have this when I brought you here yesterday."
"No. I asked someone to look for me."
She sighed, disliking the steadiness of his gaze. Was it a mistake
to tell? "When Genevieve wouldn't leave the city, I checked the
other murder sites, as much as I could. I found this dust on the
roofs – at least, on the Johans' and the Kinriddy twins'. I don't
know if there was any above the others."
"Indeed."
"I set some traps – trip-wires and
bear-jaws – on our roof. In case the dust wasn't a coincidence. The
killer spotted them."
Thornaster's expression shifted from
surprise to a combination of amusement and dismay. "You didn't
trust me enough to share this?"
Ash shrugged. "Why would I?"
He laughed, a startled cough, and shook
his head. "Why would you indeed? There's a lesson for me. Get some
rest – I'll arrange with the Investigator to look at these traps of
yours, tomorrow." Pulling on a new pair of boots, he left.
Had her delay been the mistake? Ash
thought it all over, trying to fit Thornaster's information into
the puzzle. The Veirhoi was Rhoi Arun's nominated heir, as well as
taking first precedence as closest of his kin. After that, though,
anyone could in theory be chosen by the Landsmeet to drink from the
Well of the Heart and be judged. Any conspiracy could do no more
than create an opportunity. Luin and Astenar would be final
arbiters, and weighed those who would be Rhoi on a stern scale.
History was full of attempts to become Rhoi that had fallen at this
final hurdle.
Who would the Landsmeet choose as a
candidate, if both Nemators were dead? Decsel Enderhay had a
reputation for being a fine judge of Balance, and was favoured by
those who were strongly traditional. Decsel Donderry was more
progressive, with many ideas to improve Montmoth's fortunes, which
might be why he was considered faddish and easily led. The Carlyons
offered a middle ground so deeply shadowed by their father's
damnation that it seemed unlikely any would back Eman Carlyon as a
candidate. Decsel Pelandis had been bedridden for years. A carriage
accident had left him without his health or the use of his legs.
His two brothers conducted his affairs, and Ash had heard Ryle
Pelandis spoken of in glowing terms. Since there was no requirement
to choose from Montmoth's Decsels, or someone bound as Luinsel,
there were countless possibilities. The most she could narrow it
down was that it seemed unlikely the Landsmeet would look outside
the Kinsel.