Which was no news at all.
Chapter Nine
Arth snuffled at her offering, and then
accepted the withered apple with an enthused chomp. Juice foamed
and dripped from his mouth and Ash scratched the stallion's
muscular neck. The black had already lost most of his winter coat,
but hair still came free beneath her nails and Arth half-closed his
eyes blissfully, leaning into the motion of her hand.
"If you've quite finished seducing my
wayward steed," said Thornaster, coming in from where he had been
talking to the Investigator, "perhaps you would consider doing as I
asked and saddling him?"
The stallion snorted in recognition,
ears pricking eagerly towards his master. When Thornaster walked
into range, Arth almost buffeted him from his feet, smearing apple
slime generously down his front.
"Itchy, are you?" the Visel asked. He
scratched vigorously while Ash tossed a blanket over the horse's
back and fastened the light saddle into position. Despite
Thornaster's warnings, Arth was perfectly behaved, not crowding her
into the side of the stall or trying to crush her feet beneath
shifting hooves.
"He likes you," Thornaster commented,
watching critically as she exchanged halter for bridle.
"I've never met a horse who didn't like
me," Ash replied, tickling the whiskers on Arth's chin. He was a
lovely animal.
"Well, the stable hands will be
eternally grateful to hear that. He does tend to forget himself and
mistake them for roaches a little too often for their comfort.
Caring for him when I don't have the time will be part of your
duties from now on."
"
Always
a pleasure to serve,"
Ash said. This was an even better redeeming factor for being a
seruilis than Thornaster's morning display.
He grinned and ruffled her hair, which
Ash immediately added to the negative side of seruilisi-dom. She
followed him out of the earth, manure and sweet hay scents of the
stable to find the Investigator and a single accompanying Guard
waiting. The Investigator had given no sign of holding Ash's
silence on the matter of emanite against her, and simply nodded as
they mounted.
"Captain Garton sent word that your
aunt's funeral will be tomorrow morning, lad," she said. "The Blue
Valley at third bell."
"Thank you," Ash said, and spent the
ride down the long linked valleys to the middle of the Commons
fighting her dread of the Sun's judgment of Genevieve. Would all
the good Genevieve had done balance her past? Would Ash's hunt for
– not revenge, but some kind of justice – involve taking a life,
putting herself on the same path which had left Genevieve so
imbalanced?
She found her fingers were digging into
Thornaster's robe and forced herself to relax them, to breathe and
be focused on a task and not memories.
"The house is still sealed,"
Investigator Verel said, as they came into sight of it. "Pending
further examination."
Was that a faint smile in the woman's
voice? Charity Dunn must be fuming. Still, Ash did not want to go
inside. The place could only ever be a shell without Genevieve.
Instead, she led the three from the palace into the same alley
where they'd kept their horses the first time. An upended water
barrel, a foot on the fence, and then she was on the roof.
It was a place of angles and varying
levels, less familiar to her than many of her neighbours'. But it
was solid and well kept, the tiles firm, not in danger of caving
beneath her feet as one had a couple of years ago. What a leap that
had been, an instinctive, frantic thrust for safety!
As Thornaster and the Investigator
joined her, Ash moved away. No matter how sturdy the roof, there
was no need to test it with their combined weight.
Crossing to the point that would be
above Genevieve's bedroom, Ash glanced at the sprung bear trap she
had placed in the middle of the logical route, at a point that
would be cloaked in shadows at night. A piece of wood, half a foot
in length, was clenched upright between metal teeth. The trips –
thin, dark cord stretched at the right height to snag passing feet
and cause warning clatters – had all been neatly cut through.
Only the faintest trace of the grey
powder remained. As the other two joined her, Ash bent to touch it,
then dusted her fingers clean.
"A considerable oversight,"
Investigator Verel said, annoyance surfacing briefly through her
customary lack of expression.
"It explains why there was no result
when you tried divining entry points," said Thornaster. "Is it too
late to get some residuals?"
"Even a decem after is too late,
really. But I should be able to pick something up. The slightest
hint would be more than we have now."
She knelt, and began to draw on the
roof with a piece of chalk. It was all very interesting,
recognisably magical, but Ash was distracted by the street below.
They were not far from the front of the house, and people had
noticed and were gathering to watch. Among them, leaning casually
against the wall of the cobbler's opposite, was a blond girl in a
blue smock. She was tossing a ball into the air and catching it,
but when Ash came into sight she closed her hand over the toy and
deliberately placed it behind her back. After a moment more, she
turned and walked down the street. The girl was called Bitty, and
Ash puzzled over what had to be a deliberate signal. Back or
behind?
"What is she doing?" Ash asked
Thornaster, as the Investigator seated herself in the middle of the
pattern of symbols she had marked on the roof. "Residual
whats?"
The Visel glanced at her briefly. "It
seemed most likely that our killer gained entry with a
translocation spell. A powerful piece of magic. Not only that, but
also one set to return him to the point of departure. Verel, having
found the place the spell was cast, may be able to catch a glimpse
of the caster's identity. Now be silent. This requires
concentration."
Ash lingered a short measure more, then
wandered off, giving the impression of too much energy and too
short a span of attention. She crossed the roof, looked down at the
Guardsman left with their horses, walked to the back of the house
and leapt down into the garden, landing in a crouch. Weeds were
growing. She frowned, itching to continue the endless fight against
them, but knowing there was no point. Still, she felt guilty, as if
the weeds were some sort of betrayal of Genevieve.
Glancing around, Ash crossed to the
lavender beneath her bedroom window and retrieved the hidden
bundle. The breast cloth she tucked inside her trousers, to keep
company with the artistically sewn and stuffed bit of leather she
and Genevieve had laughed so much over. From the roll of knives she
selected two – dully gleaming pieces of metal without decoration or
binding – and slipped one into each boot.
Then she walked down to the mimmerberry
bush squatting in the farthest corner and began to search the
mottled pink and white berries for ones almost ripe enough to be
edible.
"Do you need an out?" whispered the
bush.
"Hello, Lark," she replied,
unsurprised. "And, no, not as yet."
"Why'd you tell 'em?" asked Larkin. He
would be, she knew, leaning casually against the back fence,
looking for all the world as if he had just stopped for a rest – a
tall, moderately handsome boy, probably with flour dashed
carelessly through his blond hair. His was a baker family.
"Because they knew what that dust was.
Something called emanite. Because I will use any means necessary to
discover Genevieve's killer, including the Guard."
"I'm sorry, Ash."
"So am I. I should have made her leave.
Any news?"
"Nothing. No-one saw anything at
all."
"Anybody else left town?"
"Old Pokeface. And Caspersonn's packing
up. Soon there won't be anyone left."
Ash stopped herself from nodding, which
was a pointless, give away gesture. "Four remain who really know
herbs," she said, putting a berry in her mouth. "That I know of."
She started to make a suggestion, then stopped, narrowing her eyes.
No, she would try the official investigation first. "I'd better go.
Keep the rest from getting too ahead of themselves, Lark. And take
care of this." After a glance at the roof she slid the roll of
knives through a gap beneath the palings.
"Call me if you need anything, Ash
Cat."
Walking back through the neat rows of
herbs, Ash stopped to harvest a cluster of sanac pods. She could
brew a tea from them that would stop her monthlies for a while. It
would make her ill if she took it too long, but would remove one
complication from her close quarters with Thornaster. After
cleaning her hands with a sprig of mint, she climbed back onto the
roof, avoiding looking at the back door to her old home. The
Investigator was still sitting motionless in her mess of chalk. Ash
waited, thinking magic a particularly undramatic way of
investigating matters.
Finally the woman opened her eyes,
raising a hand to her forehead.
"What?" Thornaster asked.
"The barest glimpse. I could only tell
one thing, but I suppose it will narrow down our search somewhat."
She raised hard brown eyes to Thornaster's. "Our killer is a
woman."
ooOoo
Ash was so preoccupied by the thought
of a woman killing Genevieve that she did not notice for some time
the route Thornaster took after leaving the Investigator. When she
did look up to see they were not heading for the palace she asked:
"Where are we going?"
"Patience, boy. It is a virtue you
would do well to cultivate."
"Funny," she said, after a pause. "I
thought I was being very patient with you."
"Then let this be a lesson to you on
how perceptions differ."
"Uh-huh." She looked around. They were
following the Milk south. "There are only four people really
knowledgeable about herbs left in town. Do you think the killer
will use the roofs again, after our performance today? If the Guard
posted a watch on the neighbouring roofs, they might have a chance
of spotting him. Her."
"So Verel suggested last night,"
Thornaster replied, an odd note to his voice. "We had the houses
watched before this, but not the roofs." Ash wondered if he was
thinking along the same lines as her – that if the Guard had known
of the emanite earlier, they may have been able to catch the killer
before she had murdered Genevieve. Was Ash guilty of causing
Genevieve's death because she had held back her findings?
Following the southern slope of
Westgard, Thornaster left the wide main road for a drive Ash had
peered down many times when exercising the city hacks. Screening
hedges of dagger-thorned morrion bushes hid most of the property,
but along the drive it was possible to glimpse the horses kept in
the outer paddocks. Luinhall's premier stud, belonging to Setsel
Ormsley.
"Visel Thornaster!" A burly man emerged
from the nearest of the several rows of stables as they rode up. "A
pleasure to see you again. But I said I'd send word when Alki was
ready. Unless you'd care to renegotiate."
"Arth is not my reason for coming
today, Bendress," Thornaster replied. "I need a mount for my
seruilis here. Can you set up a selection for me?"
"Of course, Ser Visel," the man said,
turning away and calling for a couple of hands to come help
him.
"I don't think I want to be in debt to
you to the tune of a horse," Ash said, after they'd dismounted.
"Now that's not the right reaction at
all," Thornaster replied, dividing his attention between Ash and
Arth, who was tossing his head, calling a greeting and being
answered severally. "You're supposed to be overwhelmed and near
speechlessly grateful. Something on the lines of 'Oh my, Visel
Thornaster, thank you! For this I will serve you with eternal and
unswerving loyalty, even to the point of being polite to you
unprompted.'"
"Would you want loyalty given in return
for a bribe?" Ash asked, curious.
"Hm – not when it's termed that way.
But don't worry yourself about debt. This is for my convenience,
not yours. It will make our arrival at your aunt's funeral a little
more dignified, and I'm certainly not having you dragging me out of
the saddle during the upcoming hunt. Consider it a loan, for the
duration of your...well, we'll call it service, for want of a
better word."
"Better pick a horse I don't like
then," she said, uncomfortably. "Or you'll find it mysteriously
disappearing the same time that I do. And I
don't
drag you
out of the saddle."
"Child, you are a leaden weight. Where
are you going to mysteriously disappear to?"
"If I told, it wouldn't be a very
effective disappearance," she replied, watching horses making a
game of avoiding their pursuers. A particularly nicely formed bay
being led out caught her eye, and she looked it over
semi-approvingly, then watched a grey mare standing tall and aloof
in the middle of the pen. The grey knew the stable hands weren't
chasing her, so didn't bother to run.
Five horses were presented. All nicely
made, neat little animals. She wondered which Thornaster would
pick, and studied the expression in the bay's long-lashed eyes.
"Display your acuity, boy," the Visel
said, eventually. "Which animal here draws you? Do
not
say
Arth."
Ash, pleased for the choice, turned to
the stable's manager. "Isn't the grey for sale?" she asked, nodding
towards the mare still standing at the centre of the holding pen.
Now if she could get Thornaster to buy her that one, she'd be quite
cheerful about being a seruilis.
"Cloud Cat? Oh, yes. But she's no
animal to learn on."
Ash just smiled. "Why's she called
Cloud Cat?"
"'Coz she clim's trees," chortled one
of the hands.
"Now that would be a sight," murmured
Thornaster. "If true."