by Daniel Hood
"I only ask because I have, well, I have important business, and I wish only to deal with a, well, with someone who really knows."
Viyescu squinted suspiciously at him, his beady eyes almost lost in wrinkles. "I know what there is to know about herbs, Master ... ?"
The question was so pointed that Liam could not ignore it. "Cance," he answered. "Hierarch Cance, from Torquay." He chose a religious title, and it seemed to affect the druggist.
"Ah, well, Hierarch, what can I do for you?" There were no protests of humility, but the hunched man's attitude loosened a little, and he stopped squinting and shifted his hands slightly on the counter, indicating a willingness to serve, if not an eagerness.
"You see, I came to Southwark to meet a man, a wizard"—he whispered the word, as though it were dangerous in itself—"and now I find he is dead. Murdered." He nodded somberly, but inwardly he cursed. The druggist was nodding also, not the least surprised, although he seemed a little puzzled.
"And who would this wizard be, Hierarch?"
"One Tarquin Tanaquil," Liam responded cautiously. "Perhaps you knew him?"
"Oh, I knew him. I knew him well enough." His tone; indicated that the acquaintance had not been pleasant, and there was something else, a change in his eyes, like the shutting of a door.
"You sound as though you did not like him," Liam said, but continued before the druggist could respond. "I ask, you see, because he was engaged on, well, on certain works for us that are of some importance. Uris-tide is almost upon us, you know." He filled the last sentence with as much importance as it could hold, and let it hang in the air of the shop, competing for preeminence with the musty smell of dried herbs.
"Hm. So it is," the druggist finally said, nodding himself. "He did not seem the sort of man who would care much for Uris-tide. A nonbeliever, he seemed to me, Hierarch."
"Ah, well, the ends of the gods are often served by those who do not know them," Liam said hastily.
"Still ... Tanaquil was a strange tool for the gods, if you ask me. A filthy man, of filthy habits."
"How filthy? Evil? Did he serve the Darker Gods?"
"No, no, not that," the druggist said quickly, his hands finally leaving the counter to protest the accusation. "Simply not a godly man. A worldly man, like so many, given to his pleasures, and not much bound by the heavens' laws," he continued bitterly. "And proud, very proud. He would not listen to others. I meant nothing else."
"You knew him well, then?"
"Better than most, I suppose. We had reasons for dealings—I sold him certain roots he had difficulty attaining."
Liam gave a sigh of relief. "Then you knew of his business. Tell me, did he—" He got no further, stopped by Viyescu's dark scowl.
"I did not know his business, Hierarch," he said flatly. "Oh." He did not need to fake disappointment, only a reason. "I had hoped ... you see, the work he was engaged in was very· important, and when 1 heard he was dead, I thought he might have confided in a colleague."
"We were not colleagues. He was a wizard; l am an apothecary. The two are not the same." Viyescu spoke coldly, crossing his arms firmly on his chest, but Liam sensed something beyond the distinctions of professional pride.
"I know, but there are no other wizards· in this benighted city, and I thought, 'Who else would a wizard have dealings with?' and thus came to you. And when I saw Uris on your sign, I allowed myself to hope." He also allowed himself a small sigh.
Viyescu relented a little, letting his hands drop to the counter. "I am sorry, Hierarch, but my business with the wizard extended only to selling him certain roots, and occasionally procuring the rarer types for him. No more, Hierarch, no more."
"Yes, I see, I see." His head dropped, deep in troubled thought. "You wouldn't by any chance have sold him any Percin's Bane, would you?" Percin's Bane was very rare, Liam knew, and only grew in the King's Range; he chose it because it was uncommon.
"No," Viyescu responded immediately. "There is no Percin's Bane in the south."
Liam waited, hoping the druggist would go on, but Viyescu showed no sign of continuing, so he shook his head resignedly and walked to the door. As he was opening it, the druggist's voice stopped him.
"May I ask, Hierarch, how you know Tanaquil was murdered?"
"I was there," Liam answered, and then hurried on: "At his house, yesterday. The morning, actually, after he had been killed. One of the Sheriff's men told me about it. I was quite shaken. The enchantment was so important to us." He let the door close and turned back, trying to inject innocence into his question. "Is the death not common knowledge? I would think the death of a wizard as powerful as Master Tanaquil would be instantly known."
"Tarquin was very reclusive. I doubt if half the town even knew he was alive."
"May I ask how you know of his death?" He arched an eyebrow politely, but Viyescu still stiffened.
"The Aedile—the Sheriff—told me of it when he came to question me. He apparently had the same thought as you."
Liam gnawed a knuckle worriedly. "I can only hope he was not killed by those who would stop our work. Tell me, had he any enemies? Perhaps among the foes of religion?"
Viyescu laughed harshly, like crunching gravel. "The foes of religion were least likely to be his enemies, Hierarch." He stopped and thought, weighing something, and then went on firmly. "Though I cannot imagine any others who would be. He was very jealous of his privacy, as I've said."
Considering this for a moment, Liam gnawed more. "Tell me, if you would, when did you see him last?"
"Only a week or so ago, Hierarch. I went to see him on an unimportant matter."
"I thought you only had business dealings with him?"
"Well," Viyescu said slowly, "yes, only business dealings. Yes." He tugged at his bushy beard, chewing a little at the end of his mustache. He was considering some—' thing of even greater importance than before, and finally spoke uneasily, choosing each word with care, measuring the effect on Liam. "There was a woman, really a girl only, who was in trouble." Liam assumed a questioning air, and the druggist went on reluctantly. "Caught in sin, Hierarch. Pregnant." He spit the distasteful word out.
"And so you went to see Master Tanaquil? I don't understand."
"The girl came to me, trying to buy an herb called santhract. It can destroy a pregnancy, Hierarch."
Liam meant only to show curiosity, but Viyescu seemed to misread his expression, and his cheeks burned red with anger beneath his upward-creeping beard.
"I do not sell this herb, Hierarch, and so I told her! I told her only to pray, but she cursed me, and said some. thing about Tarquin, so l went to him to warn him of her sin." He spoke thickly, indignation and righteous anger and something else, maybe desperation, making him slightly frightening.
"You did right, Master Apothecary," Liam said softly.
"Thank you, Hierarch," Viyescu said, still angry, and Liam detected more disappointment than gratitude in the words. He murmured some thanks of his own and headed for the door.
In the street, with the thick door between him and the angry apothecary, he breathed a deep sigh of relief, and offered up an apology to Uris on her sign for impersonating one of her priests. Then he apologized to his fluttering stomach. Though his face felt cool and there was no sweat on his forehead, the back of his neck was flushed, and heat gathered in his armpits and at the small of his back.
His roan was skittish, smelling his disquiet as he swung up into the saddle, and he soothed the horse. with a steady hand and a gentle, "Easy, Diamond, easy."
Damned horse is more upset than I am, and he didn't even pretend he was a priest. Which I'll never do again, he thought, urging the horse to a trot through the uncrowded streets.
Viyescu had not been particularly threatening, for all his gruffness and angry talk of sin, and the weird edge of desperation that had hung like smoke around him. But it was dangerous to pretend to be someone he was not, he decided. Though he was a re
lative stranger to the town, the possible complications were enormous.
Still, for his first attempt, the interview had yielded some results. A cursing girl, deep in sin, who muttered things about Tarquin. She was not on his list, and perhaps she should be.
After all, who might have gotten her pregnant?
He remembered an afternoon early in the summer, drying in the warm sun on the breakwater. The sound of laughter had roused him from his heat-induced torpor, and he had swiveled his head around to look at the stone veranda. Tarquin had been hugging a young woman, who was struggling with him and giggling. She pulled away finally with an embarrassed glance at Liam, and scurried up the path, holding her skirts high. And the old wizard had rubbed his hands briskly together, tipping Liam a lecherous wink before going inside again. It was before he and Tarquin had ever really spoken, and Liam had gone back to the sun thinking only that it was amazing for such an old man. But then, he was a wizard after all, and he had heard of spells ....
Who would risk killing a wizard?
An angry husband or father, or even the kind of woman who would try to buy santhract from a worshipper of Uris. Or a druggist who detested sin, and perhaps had a more personal relationship with the young woman than he wished to reveal.
It was not much more than speculation, Liam knew, a kind of daydreaming; but it might lead to something more, and it was the only clue he had.
Another thought struck him as he rode south out of Northfield, into the narrower, steeper streets of the poorer quarters, where his lodgings were. The Aedile had been there before him. He felt sure he knew far more than Coeccias did about Tarquin's doings, but the idea of having the blunt man precede him around town did little to quiet his stomach. And it was entirely possible that his name might be raised in the course of the Aedile's questioning, which would make his own investigation more difficult.
Being little known in Southwark might 'have meant he could continue to pretend to be someone he was not, though his own inclination was against it; but if someone caught him out because of something Coeccias had said, it could be dangerous. On the other hand, being little known also meant he knew little. If he had had more information about Viyescu, he might have gotten more out of him.
He tried to think who might supply that kind of information. Barkeeps and the like, of course, though they were often unreliable. His landlady was certainly a great gossip, but he knew she was unreliable, and gossip often ran both ways.
His stomach grumbled, and he realized it must be long past noon. There would be time to eat, he hoped, before his appointment with Lady Necquer.
Suddenly, the wolf's grin spread over his face. Lady Necquer ,very much wished to hear about all the places he had been, and he very much wished to hear about the place they were.
Perhaps they could help each other.
Liam had misjudged the time; it was only a little after midday when he stabled his horse, and he had almost two hours before he had to be at Necquer's home. He ate lightly at a tavern near his garret, taking his time, thinking of polite ways to question the .merchant's wife about Southwark.
When he was done, he went back to his room and gathered up a few maps and some books. Then he set out on foot for the Point, climbing the steep streets with his papers tucked under his arm. Bells clanged faintly over the Duke's court, the sound muffled by the heavy storm clouds. A ragged bootblack squatted by the side of the road beside the ironbound door of a merchant, and Liam had the boy shine his boots, tossing him a coin far larger than the job deserved. The boy peered up at him for a moment with what seemed like scorn; Liam shrugged and strode away, up the hill towards Necquer's.
An elderly servant in a simple smock opened the door for him before he could knock, and led him through the house towards the stone porch at the rear. Without its crowd of celebrating commoners, the house seemed hallowed, almost templelike: delicate furniture lightly carven, gilt-framed mirrors and tasseled tapestries from far lands, crystal and silver, rich, dark woods. Traces of Necquer's occupation showed in the distant origins of some of the crystal and the foreign landscapes in the tapestries, but on the whole it was quietly Taralonian, restrainedly opulent. A hush hung over everything.
Lady Necquer was on the porch, looking out at the rough sea. Wrapped in a heavy cloak of dark wool, she huddled in a high-backed cushioned chair; her fine dark hair whipped wildly around her face, which was pointed anxiously westward, at the Teeth. The wind, blocked out of the street by the high, densely packed houses, clawed fiercely at the exposed porch, howling off the whitecapped ocean. The cold had brought crimson spots to her cheeks, and she frowned pensively.
He came level with her chair and bowed politely. The servant coughed.
"Sir Liam, madam."
The concern that had wrinkled her brow lessened, and she started up, a hesitant smile on her lips.
"Sir Liam! I thought you would not come! Lares, hot wine for us, when we go in." The servant bowed and retreated. Lady Necquer returned her gaze to the sea, and Liam looked at her.
"Hard and cruel to look on," she murmured, stepping away from her chair to the stone balustrade. The wind tugged at her heavy cloak. Liam pressed his books and maps firmly beneath his arm, and felt compelled to speak, as though she had invited comment.
"Yes, it is, but at peace the sea can be the most beautiful thing in the world."
She shifted her gaze to look curiously at him.
"I spoke not of the sea, Sir Liam. Those—" She gestured vaguely towards the Teeth, and then suddenly shivered. "It grows cold. Come, let's in." She led the way, shuddering, into the house. Liam followed.
In a parlor on the second floor, with coals glowing in the small grate, the same servant brought them mulled wine. Lady Necquer removed her wool cloak, showing a highnecked gown with full skirts, completely unrevealing in the fullness of its dyed purple pleats and folds. Her moodiness was gone, and she smiled at him.
"You must forgive my distraction, Sir Liam. The cold days like me not. I grow foolish, and I sorely doubted your coming. You wronged me not to come yesterday. I placed much on it." She faltered, and then went on in a different tone. "But I see you've brought books and charts; come, begin your discourse, and I'll attend with a ready ear."
Liam took a sip of the mulled wine, and began unfolding his maps.
Rain was pattering against the thick-paned windows long before he thought of the wine again. Charmed by her interest and attentiveness, he spoke for a long while, finding more to tell than he thought he would. He had been a great number of places that were only rumors to her, and many more she had never heard of, and he detailed strange customs and foreign peoples for her, drawn on by her obvious interest. With the maps and the books, he traced some of the long pattern of his wanderings, and barely scratched the surface of what he had seen.
Fascinated as she was, she leaned towards him, and her eyes sparkled as he described wonders from far away. Sometimes he caught the hint of a sweet scent and remembered her beauty, but she maintained a detachment, a sort of sexual neutrality in the way she pored over the maps with him. He could not tell if she was being wise or merely innocent.
He did not speak of half he had seen, and almost none of what he had done. He left out the wars he had fought in; the crimes he had, on occasion, had to commit; the worst of the horrors he had seen were glossed over without comment; but she asked shrewd questions, drawing inferences and connections he had never considered.
The lecture became a conversation, and though her eyes darted fairly often to a sandclock on the sideboard, her interest never flagged. In fact, it seemed that the more the afternoon wore on, the more questions she asked, the harder she tried to prolong their talk.
Finally there came a pause, and Liam relaxed in his chair, giving his attention to his now-cold wine and the sky outside. It was full dark, the drops of rain trickling down the panes, silver and gold with reflected candlelight.
"I think I must go now, madam. It is
dark, and I'm sure you must be tired." He did not move, waiting for her response.
She did not speak for a long minute, and when she did, it was not to· excuse him.
"Tell me, Sir Liam, in your travels, have you ever seen a mirror of the Teeth?" The question came from far away, and she seemed to have relapsed into her earlier depression.
"A mirror of the Teeth?" It was the question that put him off, but she presumed it was her dialect.
"Their semblance, I mean. Anything like them."
"Well, I have seen shoals and reefs of great size, and some coastlines almost as rocky as Southwark's, but nothing as impressive as the Teeth, no."
"Impressive?" she echoed, and it was almost a hiss. "Say rather murderous, or Dark—anything but impressive!"
Her eyes were wide and deep with anger, and her cheeks flushed. Liam stood up hastily.
"It is late. I believe I should go, madam."
Lady Necquer's anger disappeared, and she sank back in her chair, deflated.
"It would be well, I suppose, Sir Liam." She stood wearily, as though it were an effort. "I should invite you to dine, but with my lord gone, it would not be seemly." She ventured a wan smile.
"Will he be long in Warinsford?" Liam inquired politely. "He returns in two days, ere Uris-tide. I anticipate his return eagerly.'.' The smile grew more natural.
"As do we all, I'm sure. Goodnight, madam."
She followed him to the stairs, thanking him for entertaining her.
"A most gentle discourse, Sir Liam, and one I would gladly repeat. Perhaps—" She stopped high on the steps, her smile draining away. From the hall came the sound of voices, the servant's polite husk and another, smooth and refined, but angry:
"I tell you, man, I've an appointment with the lady!" Lady Necquer clutched Liam's arm.
"Relay to Lares that I am sudden sick, if you would," she whispered, and then continued, more fiercely. "And please, Sir Liam, return tomorrow!" He began to equivocate, but she pressed his arm. "Please!"