Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (15 page)

“I need a large mug,” she said.

By now, several of the off-duty soldiers, Rurik among them, had gathered and were asking questions, and one of them handed Céline a mug, which she filled with hot water. Then she opened the jar and measured several spoonfuls of a powered substance into the hot water and stirred it, blowing on it at the same time to cool the worst of the heat. She was moving so quickly, Jaromir had trouble following her actions.

Jumping up—without spilling a drop—she hurried back into the tent.

He followed.

Quinn was still at his captain’s side.

“Get him up,” Céline ordered. “He needs to drink all of this.”

“What is it?” Quinn asked, lifting Keegan up into a sitting position.

“A strong purgative. It will make him vomit.”

Jaromir felt rather than saw Amelie at his side, and they both watched the unpleasant scene that followed, in which Keegan tried to drink the concoction, then choked harder, and Céline doggedly forced the rest of it down his throat. She spilled some on her dress and his shirt. Watching her, Jaromir marveled at her calm, at her capability in an ugly situation. Her brand of courage might be different from his—and even from Amelie’s—but it was a sight to behold.

“Be ready with that basin,” Céline told Quinn. Looking back at Jaromir and Amelie, she added, “This is going to be a long night. The only way to save him is to get the mushrooms out of his system before they fully digest. That means we’re going to need to make him throw up and then throw up . . . and then throw up again until nothing but juices come from his stomach.”

She turned back to Quinn. “If you cannot face this, no one will think the worse of you. Amelie can assist me.”

He blinked and then shook his head. “No, I’ll help.”

As those words left his mouth, Keegan rolled and began retching in earnest. True to his word, Quinn was ready with the basin.

“Amelie, keep mugs of boiling water coming,” Céline said, holding on to Keegan to help lean him over the basin.

“I will,” Amelie answered. But she didn’t go outside to the fire right away. Instead, she leaned closer to
Jaromir and whispered, “I’ll see to the hot water. Maybe you should have a talk with the cook and ask him where those mushrooms came from. We don’t want the trail going cold.”

He glanced down at her. So far, he’d been fully focused on helping to save Keegan, but she was right. Now that Céline had taken charge, and she had assistance . . . it was time he talked to the cook.

* * *

Although Amelie had assisted Céline many times, by the second round of Keegan’s purging, even she was growing queasy. It was a messy, nasty business, but she understood that it had to be done.

Worse, after all this, they probably wouldn’t know if he’d live or not until tomorrow. It would all depend on how much of the poison had gone into his system before Céline had gone to work.

As Amelie kept the hot water coming, she expected Jaromir to leave and go hunt down the cook, but he didn’t. She was thrown slightly off-kilter when a soldier dragged a balding, overweight man into the tent, and the poor man began sputtering.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Jaromir stood near the bed and turned to focus on the man’s expression as he saw the scene before him. Then Amelie understood. Jaromir wished to gauge the cook’s reaction.

“Captain?” the man asked, watching Keegan being held over the basin. “What is happening?”

“You’re Volkian, the cook?” Jaromir asked coldly.

“Of course I am. What is happening here?”

“Captain Keegan was poisoned by a plate of mushrooms that you sent over.”

For a second, Volkian’s face was blank, and then horror began to dawn. “That I . . . oh, no, sir.”

“You didn’t send the dish?” Jaromir’s voice seemed to get only harder and colder.

“I . . . ,” Volkian stammered. “Yes, I sent it over, but I have several assistants going back and forth between where the oven is stationed and the front of the supply tent. They often bring me whatever is most available.”

That struck Amelie as an odd arrangement, but she let Jaromir continue with the interrogation.

“So someone brought you the mushrooms?” Jaromir asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t see . . .” The cook drew in a deep breath, perhaps trying to calm himself. “I was busy at the stove, seeing to the final touches of the stew. When I went back to my chopping table to fetch a bit of parsley, someone had left a pile of mushrooms. I assumed one of my assistants had brought them, and I remembered how much the captain liked them fried in butter.”

He sounded plausible, but Amelie could have sworn she saw the slightest twitch of his eye at the words “someone had left.”

He knows,
she thought.
He knows who brought those mushrooms.

For some reason, he didn’t wish to tell.

Jaromir did not appear to have caught the twitch. “You’re telling me you have no idea who left a pile of mushrooms on your chopping table, and yet you served them to your captain?”

Volkian raised both hands in the air, palms up. “As I said, I have several assistants bringing me ingredients. It is a common practice, and I gave it no thought.”

Jaromir pointed to Keegan. “Well, if he dies, you’ll have a good deal to think about.”

The cook went pale.

* * *

By morning, Céline’s opinion of Quinn had risen even higher. The man certainly had backbone. He’d held the basin and followed her every instruction for hours.

Amelie had kept up with the boiling water, and Jaromir helped out where he could, and not long past the mid of night, Céline was sure she’d purged Captain Keegan of anything in his stomach. After that, they were all in wait-and-see mode, so she’d sent Amelie and Jaromir off to bed to get some sleep. Quinn had insisted on staying.

Keegan was so weakened by that point that he was unconscious and no longer groaning, so Céline and Quinn spent the remainder of the night quietly sitting at his side. But Céline’s mind was not still, and she continued going over and over everyone who had a motive to kill the captain. Unfortunately, the list was long, and the possible motives were convoluted.

First . . . what if he indeed was a murderer—for that was how she’d come to think of whoever might be intentionally turning these soldiers into wolves—and someone had found out and, instead of accusing him, had decided to kill him? Keegan had a strong motive for wanting to shut down the mining project, even if he lost face in doing so. He hated it here and wanted out.

However, even if he was not the one behind these recent tragedies, there were a number of people who would be glad to see him dead: Marcus and Mariah for two. Both of them had a reason to wish to be free of him.

In addition, there was a whole camp full of panicked soldiers. What if one of them assumed they’d be transferred and replaced should their leader die? Had that not happened once before?

The list of suspects was overwhelming, but she kept turning them over in her mind through the night until one other possibility occurred to her.

Just past dawn, Jaromir and Rurik came into the tent, and Jaromir leaned over the bed. He looked as if he hadn’t slept well, with dark circles under his eyes.

“How is he? Will he live?”

Céline reached up absently and rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know for certain, but I think so. His breathing is even, and he’s been sleeping normally for the past few hours.” She paused. “But he’ll be weak and ill for some time, possibly up to a month, and he won’t be fit for command while he’s healing.”

At that, Quinn looked up, and a quick flash of alarm crossed his face. She wondered why. Did he fear a clear lack of leadership?

Jaromir hadn’t seemed to notice Quinn’s flash of alarm, and he nodded to Céline. “All right. But you both need to get some sleep. I’ll sit with him.”

“Where’s Amelie?” she asked.

“I left her sleeping in your tent,” Jaromir answered tightly.

Glancing at Rurik, Céline tried to stand and wobbled. “Guardsman Rurik, would you walk me back? I’m so tired I can barely stand.”

Rushing forward, Rurik took her arm. “Of course.”

She let him lead her out, and she took a deep breath. The fresh air smelled good after sitting with Keegan all night.

“The lieutenant said you were something to see in there,” Rurik told her as they walked. “He said he’d trust his life to you before any court physician he’s ever met.”

“Did he?”

That was unusual. Jaromir wasn’t one to pay compliments. But Céline had other things on her mind, and she noticed two small empty tents to their left.

“Rurik, stop a moment,” she said, stepping between the tents.

“What? Are you that tired? Do you need me to carry you?”

As soon as they were out of sight, she turned on him. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. Jaromir will find out anyway, and it’s better for you if he hears it from me.”

They were standing close enough that she could see his light freckles clearly, and she noticed his eyes were green.

Before he could speak, she asked, “Did you leave those mushrooms for the captain’s cook?”

Rurik’s mouth fell open.

“You’ve wanted out of here since before we arrived,” she rushed on. “And yesterday, you asked what was standing in my way, and I told you it was Keegan. You were off all afternoon with Amelie, through the forest
and in a meadow. While she was resting or watching the horses, you could have slipped off, picked enough mushrooms, and hidden them. You were both back today before me, and then you went to stable the horses. You’d have had time to get the mushrooms onto the cook’s chopping table. What if we’d been invited to the captain’s table? Amelie loves mushrooms in butter. You could have poisoned her.”

Rurik closed his mouth and shook his head. “I never!” He took a step back. “I’ll not deny there was a moment or two when I thought everyone here might be better off if that captain was dead, but I wouldn’t kill him. And if I did, I wouldn’t do it by poison! I don’t know one mushroom from another, and poison is a woman’s weapon.”

Céline was skilled at reading faces and voices and gauging reactions. At one time, her profession had depended upon it.

He was telling the truth.

She reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I had to catch you off guard. I had to know.”

He exhaled through his nose and glanced away, still offended.

“I really am quite tired,” she said. “Could you take me to my tent?”

As they moved on, something he’d said kept echoing in her mind.

Poison is a woman’s weapon.

* * *

Amelie stirred and opened her eyes.

She was in the bed inside their tent, fully clothed,
and Céline was sleeping quietly beside her—also fully clothed. Frankly, Amelie wondered that she hadn’t woken up when her sister crawled into the bed, as Céline’s hair and clothing smelled . . . rather strong. After all, she had been up through the night tending a retching captain. She wasn’t going to smell like a rose.

Carefully, Amelie slipped out from under the covers and made her way to the tent’s flap. Her sister didn’t stir. Amelie knew that Céline didn’t care to sleep during the day, but exceptions must be made.

Besides, Amelie had a task that was best handled alone.

Judging by the sun, she guessed it to be midday or so, and she wondered how Captain Keegan was faring. Had the man lived through the night? She assumed so. Otherwise, Céline would have awoken her with the bad news. Not that Amelie would have considered Keegan’s death much of a tragedy, but Céline and Quinn had worked hard to keep him alive.

And this morning, Amelie had decided it would be best to track down the poisoner.

Several of the soldiers milling about glanced her way, but no one tried to speak to her. Yesterday, Rurik had shown her the provisions tent, and she walked right to it.

It was huge, even bigger than Keegan’s.

The front section was filled with barrels and crates and casks sent from Castle Pählen.

Ignoring the front, Amelie walked around to the back of the tent. Before entering, she crouched and drew the dagger out of its sheath in her boot. She didn’t
expect much trouble with this first visit, but still . . . it was better to be safe than sorry.

As she walked through the back entrance, the first thing she saw was a large wood-burning stove with a vent above it in the top of the tent. The bald cook, Volkian, was sitting in a chair beside it with his face in his hands.

Amelie cleared her throat, and he looked up.

Upon recognizing her, he jumped to his feet, moving faster than she would have expected.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I told your lieutenant everything I know last night.”

“No, you didn’t.” She kept the dagger hidden in her hand, gripping the hilt with the point upward and the flat side against her wrist. Walking closer to the cook, she tilted her head. “Who brought you those mushrooms?”

“I don’t know. I’ve talked to my assistants and no one will own up.”

“You talked to them this morning? So if my lieutenant goes and talks to them, they’ll tell him that you already questioned them yourself?”

Panic flickered across his face.

“I knew you were lying last night,” she said, “but I didn’t say anything. Tell me who brought you the mushrooms, and I’ll keep quiet. Stick to your current story, and I’ll go tell the lieutenant I
think
you’re lying. He’ll believe me. My sister and I are Prince Anton’s seers.”

His breathing grew labored.

“Trust me,” Amelie went on. “You’d be much better
off talking to me. He always gets results, but I don’t think you’ll like his methods.”

In defeat, Volkian sank back into his chair. “It was the gypsy girl.”

“Mariah?”

“I’m not sure of all their names.”

“The young one with the black hair?”

“No, her elder sister.”

“Mercedes?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s her name.” He put his face into his hands again. “What a fool I am. I was trying to get the stew ready to serve, and she just appeared. But Captain Keegan has an arrangement with one of their young hunters, and those gypsies are always bringing venison or fowl or rabbits for the captain’s table.”