When Demons Walk (17 page)

“I did as I thought best at the time. Since I am not responsible for Ven's murder—whatever you may feel to the contrary—I was unable to choose a more convenient moment to announce his death. As for laying him out for public mourning: his body was not fit for viewing, certainly not by a lady in the advanced stages of pregnancy. I suppose I might have allowed my brother's body to rot for a month or so to give Lady Sky time to have her child safely.” Kerim said the last sentence with bitter sarcasm
reflecting, thought Sham, a fair portion of the hurt he was feeling.

“You have always resented him, haven't you?” said Lady Tirra in the tone of soft discovery. “Why would you give him honor in death when you granted him none in life? We came here five years ago in the hope that you would find Ven an estate worthy of the Reeve's brother, but instead you kept him here at your beck and call. You wouldn't even make him heir to your office. Then, just when he might have come into wealth by marriage to Lady Sky, he is killed. I find it interesting that the other nobles killed by this . . . unknown killer opposed your policies.”

Kerim had regained control of his temper, and there was only sadness in his voice when he replied. “Lady, almost
all
the Eastern noblemen oppose most of my policies regarding the Southwood Lords. It would be difficult to find one who didn't.”

“With the wealth of Lady Sky's dowry, Ven would have been a problem for you,” commented Lady Tirra icily.

Sham looked at the bitter woman and saw, unexpectedly, the same strength in Lady Tirra that characterized her son. It might have been the resemblance that made Sham stop her; it might have been the white-knuckled grip Kerim's hands had on the arms of his chair.

“Lady Tirra.” Sham watched as the other woman hesitated, as if she wanted to ignore her son's mistress.

Stiffly, Tirra turned to her. “I see you have continued in your attempt to win attention by the strangeness of your attire.”

Sham looked at the black shirt and pants, grey with dust and smiled, but when she spoke, it was not a reply to the lady's challenge. “Kerim has reasons for his actions, Lady Tirra. He has chosen to keep them from the rest of the Court, but I think you have the right to know the whole,”
or
, Sham thought,
as much of the whole as I choose to reveal
.

Without giving Kerim the opportunity to stop her, she continued. “As you said, there have been a number of murders of which your son was but the most recent victim. My
lord has been utilizing some of my—” she cleared her throat gently, “—unusual talents, to trap the killer. In the last several days, we have become convinced that the killer was not what he appeared. The discovery of Lord Ven's body last night merely confirmed those suspicions.”

Sham carefully met Lady Tirra's eyes. For some inexplicable reason, people always thought that meant you were being honest with them. “Lady, Lord Ven was not killed last night; he has been dead for several days.”

The Lady stiffened and her eyes flashed and when she spoke her voice shook with a repressed emotion Shamera couldn't put a name to. “You are mistaken. I talked to my son yesterday.”

“As did we all, Lady,” agreed Shamera, not ungently. “But all of us in this room saw Lord Ven's body when it was found last night. He had been dead for several days.”

The Lady's hands clenched, but her face remained cold. “Master Talbot, saw you this as well?”

Talbot bowed. “Yes, Lady. It is as Lady Shamera has spoken. I am passably familiar with death.”

“How do you purport to explain this?” Lady Tirra asked, finally addressing her son. The flare of anger had dissolved, leaving only a very tired woman who was no longer young.

He rubbed his hands on the smooth-sanded armrests of his chair and said bluntly, “Demons.”

His mother stared silently at him.

“Lady Tirra,” said Sham, “I assure you that there are such; ask any Southwoodsman of your acquaintance—perhaps the magician who keeps shop on the Street of Bakers and supplies your maid with the cream she rubs into your hair. Demons live among people and prey upon them. We have reason to believe that this one is living among the courtiers, looking as human as you or I. It has killed more people than just your son, but we are hopeful that Lord Ven's death may lead us to it.”

Lady Tirra whitened a touch further. “Just what are your special talents that Lord Kerim would call upon you for aid?”

“Magic,” said Sham softly, and, with a gesture, snuffed all the candles and the fire in the fireplace, bringing shadows to the room, now lit only by skylights.

She waited a long breath then raised her hand and pulled a ball of magelight out of the shadows. Small at first, she manipulated the ball of light until pale illumination seeped from an oval source as tall as she was and twice as wide.

From the items Sham had found littering Kerim's mother's private rooms when she'd searched them several days previously, Lady Tirra was fascinated by the possibilities of magic. If Sham was convincing enough, Lady Tirra would leave here with the belief that Ven had been killed by a demon and Kerim was doing his best to find it. For Kerim's sake it was important that Lady Tirra didn't think he had killed his brother.

“I have heard that there is no magic in the East,” she said softly, “but here there is magic aplenty, and other things beyond the common ken. Selkies dance in waves of the sea, howlaas wail in the northern winds, Uriah skulk in the Great Swamp and here, in this Castle a demon walks the night.” As she spoke, she caused the surface of her magelight to flatten and shimmer with illusions to illustrate her words.

Sham had never actually seen any of the creatures that she spoke of, except possibly the selkie, but she'd heard stories since she was a child. From these childish images she drew lifelike pictures that filled the illusionetic mirror. The demon was particularly impressive. Sham let its image hang in the air for a moment, allowing the full impact of silver-edged claws and six eerie yellow eyes before calling the illusion back into the simple magelight as big around as a man's fist.

She waved, and the candles relit themselves. The fireplace was harder, as some of the fodder still contained remnants of magic and didn't want to burn, but it caught finally and sputtered to life. Sham dismissed the magelight.

Kerim's mother swayed and would have fallen, but for Talbot's quick support. Kerim tried to push his chair over the mound of disassembled bed that trapped him, but one
wheel caught in a hole and the chair tipped precariously.

“Talbot's got her, plague it. If you don't stop it, you and the chair are going to be on top of me,” grunted Sham as she grabbed at the corner of his chair and braced herself against it until it stabilized.

“She's fine, Lord,” said Talbot promptly, as he carried his burden to the couch and arranged her comfortably. “She's a delicate Lady, unlike some here. The sight of that demon was enough to cause a grown man to faint, much less a gentlewoman.”

Reassured, Kerim helped Sham back his chair into the cleared space.

“I'm sorry,” apologized Sham. “I guess I got carried away with the demon.”

“You were able to remove the rune beneath the bed?” asked Kerim, bending to heave one of the dark boards aside to clear a path through to the couch where his mother rested, deliberately refraining from commenting on her decision to tell Lady Tirra about the demon.

Sham nodded and took one end of a heavy bedpost and rolled it aside. “That should be the last of them. I'm afraid that it has left you rather short of clothing . . .”

The Reeve grunted as he managed to collapse the rest of the boards into a relatively flat pile that he muscled the chair over. Sham winced at the scratches the sharp edges of the narrow metal wheels left in the finely polished wood.

Talbot stepped away from the couch as Kerim rolled near his mother and hovered over her, holding her hand. In a voice designed to carry no further than Sham's ears, Talbot commented, “Considering the poison she's always spewing at him, he's very concerned with her well-being.”

Sham glanced at the Kerim near the prone figure of Lady Tirra. “She's all the family he has,” she said finally and turned to begin the task of rebuilding the bed.

Without a word Talbot helped her to lift the heavy baseboard and shift it into position. The bed was an old one, slotted and carved so it was held together like one of the intricately carved puzzles that were sold in the fairs. Sweating and straining, the sailor and Sham managed to slide the
first of the four, heavy bedposts into position. Long before they were half-finished rebuilding the bed, Lady Tirra opened her eyes and struggled to sit up, pushing Kerim's restraining hands away impatiently.

“You believe that demons killed my son?” Lady Tirra's gaze was focused on the ground so that she might have been addressing anyone.

It was Kerim who chose to answer. “Yes, Mother. Furthermore, I believe that it is still here, waiting to kill someone else. I don't know what it looks like, or how to destroy it—but it must be done before it kills again.”

Lady Tirra raised her dry eyes to meet Sham's. “Why did you tell me this? I assume Kerim would have kept it to himself.”

Sham shrugged, falling back into her thief persona. “It was becoming clear that you held Lord Kerim responsible for Lord Ven's death. I thought that was unnecessarily harsh for the both of you.”

Lady Tirra nodded and started to speak, but her voice was overridden by the sound of someone pounding frantically on the door. Talbot, who was the closest, opened it. Sham recognized the stableman who'd come to get Kerim before, but this time he had obviously been running.

“My Lord, there's a man murdered in the stables. There's a riot brewing with Elsic in the middle. The Stablemaster sent me to fetch you 'fore things get out of hand.”

Kerim nodded and started for the door, pausing briefly to snatch the war horn that hung on the wall. “Talbot, stay with Mother. When she feels well enough, escort her to her rooms and then join us in the stables. Shamera, come with me.”

She started after him then realized she still had her thieving garb on. Stepping to a mirror on the wall near the door, she set a brief spell, not really an illusion, since her talents didn't run that way, but something akin to an invisibility spell—almost as good as Dickon's don't-look-at-me-I'm-only-a-servant demeanor.

She caught up with Kerim halfway down the corridor.

E
lsic tucked his head against the silky-soft shoulder of the Reeve's warhorse. He held the brush in one hand as he absorbed the warm scent of horse and fresh straw.

The stallion had a long name in the Eastern tongue, but Kerim called the horse Scorch because he was blackened on all ends like a scorched bit of wood. Elsic liked to curl his tongue around the odd name when he talked to the stallion.

Since Kerim had granted him leave to work with the horse, Elsic had been given the task of grooming him and keeping his stall clean. Relying on touch rather than sight, it took him longer than the other grooms; but the Stablemaster said he did as good a job as Jab, who had groomed the Reeve's stallion previously. The praise hadn't made Elsic any more popular with Jab or any of his cronies, especially after Jab was dismissed for using beggarsblessing. He really didn't mind the other stablemen's antagonism. He didn't like to talk much anyway, except to Scorch and occasionally with the Stablemaster or Kerim.

Elsic spent most of his time in the quarantine barn where Kerim's stallion had been banished after breaking out of his stall and savaging one of the other stallions. There were four stalls in the barn, stout-walled with barred windows, but Scorch was the only occupant.

When the stallion shifted restlessly, Elsic returned to grooming the last bit of sweat that remained from the long-line exercise the Stablemaster gave Scorch twice daily to keep him fit. Usually the big animal relished the attention and stood motionless as long as Elsic kept the brush moving, but today Scorch took a half-step away from the brush and began making huff-huff noises as he expelled air forcefully through his nostrils.

Elsic put a hand out and touched the horse's shoulder. The velvet texture was damp with nervous sweat, and the muscles underneath were taut with battle-readiness. The boy tried to smell what disturbed the animal—he'd long ago found that his nose was almost as keen as the horse's. As he drew in a deep breath, he heard something brush against wood as it entered the barn. Instinctively, Elsic stood as still as he could trying not to draw attention to himself.

Like Elsic, the warhorse was quiet, issuing no challenges to the invader of his territory. Elsic wrapped a hand in the horse's mane for reassurance as he heard rustles and bumps in the stall across the aisle.

It was gone as suddenly as it had come. He didn't hear it leave, but it was gone all the same. Scorch whistled piercingly, half-rearing until Elsic's feet were lifted off the floor. The boy smelled it too—blood.

Reluctantly, he loosened his grip and stepped out of the stall, shutting the door but not latching it behind him. He thought about seeking out the Stablemaster, but a strange sense of dread drew him across the aisle to the next stall instead.

The door was latched; it took him a moment of fumbling to open it. When his left boot touched something, he knelt and stretched out a reluctant hand, though he knew the man was dead.

 

A
S THEY NEARED
the stables, Sham could hear angry muttering and the shrill scream of an enraged stallion. There was a small barn to the side of the main buildings where most of the disturbance seemed to be concentrated. She felt a bit of smug satisfaction when the Reeve's new chair traveled easily over the ruts and rocks of the stableyard.

A group of angrily muttering stablemen were gathered at the east end of the barn, near the entrance. The Stablemaster stood in front of them, a long, wicked whip held readily in one hand as he struggled to be heard over the growl of the crowd.

Sham had seen enough mobs to know when one was brewing; a thread of uneasiness had her palming her dagger.

When the Stablemaster noticed them approaching, he quit trying to address the crowd and contented himself with keeping them back. His eyes passed over Sham without pause, dismissing her as he would a servant. Distracted by her spell's success, it wasn't until they were quite close that Sham realized it was more than just the stablemaster's whip that kept the mob from entering the building.

Snorting and tossing its head, a large dark-bay stallion paced restlessly back and forth, occasionally striking at the air with a quick foreleg. White foam lathered his wide chest and flanks. His ears were flattened, giving him a wicked look not lessened by his rolling eyes. He looked like the horse Kerim had been riding the night she'd met him, but Sham wasn't certain.

When they were within several paces of the crowd, Kerim stopped and blew the war horn he'd brought from his room. The mournful wail cut easily through the lower rumbling of the crowd. When the last echoes of it died down the stableyard was quiet; even the stallion had stilled.

Satisfied that he had their attention, Kerim continued forward. A path opened in the crowd and Sham, anonymously androgynous in her dusty clothes, followed him until he stood next to the Stablemaster.

Kerim turned to the crowd and addressed them in
Southern first, repeating himself in Cybellian. “I believe you all have duties elsewhere.”

At his cool look, most of the small crowd dissolved until only a handful of stubborn men remained.

Kerim's eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Am I to understand that none of you work in my stables?”

The men shifted uneasily, but one stepped forward. Doffing his cap, he looked at the ground. “Begging your pardon, sire, but the man what died is my brother, Jab. He asked me to meet him in the barn when I finished with my horses, said he had somewhat to show me. When I comes in, I sees that weirdie . . .” He cleared his throat, perhaps remembering that the Reeve was known to take an interest in Elsic. “ 'Cuse me, sire. I sees Elsic kneeling down next to the body of my brother. There weren't no head on the body, sire. I only know'd it was Jab 'cus of his boots.”

Kerim eyed the sharp-bladed scythe the stableman was carrying and said blandly, “So you decided to carry out a little justice of your own, did you?”

The ruddy stableman blanched, and his friends began quietly to drift away.

“It were for my own protection, sire. That demon horse opened its stall and drove me out of the barn ‘fore I could catch Elsic and hold him for the guards.”

Kerim shook his head in disgust. “Enough. Take the scythe back to where it belongs. You have the rest of the day off. Your brother will be seen to by the priests of the Temple. If you desire other arrangements for him, talk to one of them.” He waved his hand in dismissal.

When the last of them were gone, Kerim turned his attention to the barn. The big stallion snorted and raised both front legs in a slow, controlled rear that he held for a long moment before dropping to all fours.

“Ye'd better see to the horse first,” suggested Talbot, who'd arrived just as the mob dispersed.

Kerim nodded and propelled himself forward. As he passed the entrance, the stallion snorted at him but never took its attention off of Sham, the Stablemaster, and Talbot. When Kerim gave a sharp, short whistle from the shadows
of the barn, Scorch reluctantly followed him.

“Come,” said Kerim after a moment.

Inside the barn it was dim and cool. By the time Sham's eyes had adjusted from the brightness of the late afternoon sun, Kerim was backing his chair out of a stall opposite the one he'd put his horse into. Mutely he gestured Talbot into it. The shadows hid whatever reaction Talbot had, and after a moment he came out and shut the stall behind him.

“Did you notice anything strange?” asked Kerim.

The former seaman nodded grimly. “Not enough blood. 'Tis gory enough I grant ye, but if he were kilt here there'd be quite a bit more. Someone brought the body here after he was dead.”

“Elsic,” Kerim called softly.

The stallion's stall opened and closed behind the thin, pale boy. There were smears of blood on his hands and on his clothes where he'd wiped them off.

“Stablemaster,” said Kerim softly, his eyes still on Elsic. “Send a rider to the Temple and inform the priest there is another body to retrieve. I also need someone to find Lirn—the Captain of the Guards—and let him know I need a pair of guardsmen here to keep people out until the priests come.”

“Yes, sir,” the man left, patting Elsic's shoulder as he passed.

Kerim waited until he was sure the Stablemaster was gone before approaching Elsic.

“It was Jab, wasn't it?” Elsic asked quietly.

“Yes,” replied Kerim. “Do you know who brought him here?”

Elsic shook his head, leaning against the stall door as if it was the only thing holding him up. The stallion put its head over the door and began to lip Elsic's hair.

“It came in very quietly,” said Elsic, rubbing the animal's prominent cheekbone with one hand.

“
It
?” asked Talbot intently.

“It scared Scorch too,” added Elsic.

Kerim nodded, understanding what Elsic meant by the
remark. “Scorch wouldn't have been afraid if it had been human.”

“It needed another shape,” commented Sham.

“What?” asked Talbot, looking at her in surprise as if he'd just noticed her presence. She smiled grimly, removing the concealment spell. “The golem needed another shape. It couldn't use Lord Ven's again, so it found someone else.”

Kerim shook his head. “That doesn't make any sense. It must suspect we know it has a golem. Why display the stableman's body so prominently? In less than an hour everyone in the castle will know Jab is dead. He's been here longer than I have, everyone knows him.”

“He's anonymous enough for all of that,” commented Talbot. “He looks not a whit different from any number of lads running about Landsend. If the demon didn't want to stay in the Castle, Jab would give him anonymity.”

Sham had continued to puzzle it out. “I bet it's killed someone else by now—then it made certain Jab would be found. Found moreover, somewhere that would cast suspicion on an obvious suspect for the mysterious deaths. Talbot, look at Elsic and tell the Reeve what any Southwoodsman sees.”

Talbot nodded his understanding, and to Sham's surprise began, softly, to sing.

 

“. . . Frail she stood, and fair of face,
Her eyes as black as the fathomless sea,

And long pale hair as all her race,
She sang her song to me, to me . . .”

 

Talbot hesitated, looking embarrassed although his tenor was in key and rich in tone. “It's an old chantey. I thought of it the first time I saw him. I've never seen a selkie before, not even a white seal like they're said to turn into: but Elsic looks too much like the stories for any sea-bred Southwoodsman to think he was anything else. I imagine that's why ye've had such a hard time settling him in here.”

“Selkies,” explained Shamera, to Kerim, “have a
reputation of being ruthless and bloodthirsty.” She noticed that Elsic was looking even more distressed so she added, “Bear in mind that their reputation comes from people who fish and hunt the mammals of the sea for a living—people unlikely to be popular with a race that changes into seals. I'm surprised you haven't been asked to try him for the killings just because he is a selkie.”

“Selkie?” Elsic mouthed the word softly. “I dream of the sea, sometimes.” Although his face did not change, there was a melancholy note in his voice that touched even Sham's Purgatory-hardened heart.

“I tell ye what, lad,” said Talbot slowly. “Not even the Leopard of Altis is going to make the stable a friendly place until we catch the demon. My wife and I have eight girls, and she always wanted a boy—the reason we have eight rather than six. She would enjoy yer company for a few days if ye would be pleased to stay with us until this blows over.”

Kerim gave Talbot a look of thanks. “I think it would be best, Elsic.”

The boy nodded, and gave the horse a final pat before allowing Talbot to lead him away.

“Now that's just what the boy needed,” rumbled a deep voice from behind Sham in Southern. “A house full of women always makes me happier.”

Sham turned to see a man sitting casually on a barrel against the back wall of the barn. He was well above average height, with a build that would credit any lady's plaything. The velvet and silk he wore suggested he was moderately wealthy. His waving blond hair made him Southwoodsman and his large, heavy-lidded, vacant eyes hinted at a correspondingly vacant mind—an image already fostered by his size. The only thing that was really out of place was the well-worn hilt of the heavy cutlass he wore at his hip.

Kerim was probably wondering how he sneaked past them in the little barn without anyone noticing him. Sham didn't wonder, she'd taught him that little trick and several others as well.

“My Lord Reeve,” she said in overly formal tones, “if you have not met him already, I pray you allow me to present the Shark.”

The Shark drew himself to his extraordinary height and made a courtier's bow. Sham noticed that he was looking even more stupid than usual, and she wondered what he was up to. “We've dealt only through others 'til now. Greetings, my lord.”

Kerim nodded, giving the Lord of the Whisper an assessing look. “Well met, sir. You will forgive me if I ask you why you are here.” Kerim indicated the stable with a broad sweep of his hand.

The Shark raised his weaponless hands to signify his harmlessness. “I? I am simply honoring an agreement that Sham and I had concerning a tidbit of information. That I found her in your august company is simply a matter of happy chance.”

Though the words and phrases the Shark used were High Court, his accent was steeped in the vowels of Purgatory, in marked contrast to the rich clothing he wore. As Sham knew he could speak with any accent he chose, switching from one to another as easily as fox could change directions, his show of coarseness could only be for the Reeve's benefit.

“You found something on the Chen Laut?” Sham asked abruptly, irritated with his attitude.