Fanuilh

by Daniel Hood

He took a deep breath and nodded once. She turned and fled back into her parlor. With another breath and a bemused shake of his head, Liam descended to the hall.

  The handsome young man who had fled Necquer's party stood in the doorway, glaring down at the servant. A rainstained cloak mantled his broad shoulders, dripping water on the wooden boards. With an arrogant flip of his head he looked Liam over, and dismissed him by raking a hand through his sodden mane. He returned his attention to the servant.

  "I'll repeat it once more, churl: this is the appointed hour of my meeting, and I mean to have it!"

  Liam's eyes narrowed, examining the angry man in detail. A perfectly drawn face, strong chin, nose just sharp enough, widely set, flashing eyes; broad chest, tall, well muscled. His voice echoed magnificently, eloquent and musical. A golden, leonine hero to Necquer's dark tradesman.

  Now why would a woman like Poppae Necquer spend an afternoon with the likes of me, and then flee such a one as this? Liam wondered.

  "Lares," he said, "the lady asked me to inform you that she is indisposed."

  Both the servant and the handsome man turned to him.

  "Aye, Sir Liam," the servant said gratefully, but the young man glared at him with deep hatred. Liam returned the stare impassively, and suddenly the other spun on his heel and marched out of the house, slamming the door loudly behind him.

  In the moment of silence that followed, the two men shared a look—indifferent surprise for Liam, immense relief for the servant. Liam broke it first.

  "I wonder, Lares, if you could find me a piece of oilcloth. I'm afraid the rain would do little good for my papers."

  He indicated his books and maps with a small smile, and the old servant scurried off willingly to look.

  Chapter 5

  LIAM HURRIED HOME through the dark, slippery streets, and found his landlady waiting for him, wringing her hands anxiously. He was soaked to the skin and tried to ignore her, wanting nothing more than to go to his room and dry off.

  "Oh, Master Liam," she exclaimed as he brushed past her, "the Aedile was here only an hour gone, conning about for you!"

  "Was he," Liam said politely, heading for the stairs with a bright, empty smile.

  "Think you it was about the wizard's death?"

  That ground him to a halt, and he turned slowly.

  "What?"

  "I thought, you having passed more than the odd hour with him, that the Aedile might suspect you!" She mispronounced "Aedile" to rhyme with "ladle," but he did not correct her.

  "Did he say that? And how did you know Tarquin was dead?"

  The stem edge in his voice unnerved her, as though it had confirmed her fears. "No, not so I recall. He mere said he'd have words with you, but I thought that you knowing the wizard—" Liam cut her off.

  "How did you hear that Tarquin was dead?"

  "Well," she fretted, "I didn't exactly know to be. certain until the Aedile came, but's being bruited around the town by some. I heard from one who knows a member of the Guard."

  Liam smiled grimly and started up the steps.

  "But, Master Liam, what should I do if the Aedile comes again?" she called after him, and he laughed at her worry.

  "Show him up," he called back, "and pronounce his title correctly!"

  In his room he unwrapped his papers from the sheet of oilskin Lares had given him, and checked them carefully to see if they had gotten wet. When he was satisfied they had not been harmed, he changed to dry clothes, a far simpler tunic and long trousers of gray flannel. He draped his wet tunic over his chair and eyed his boots with displeasure. The punctures from Fanuilh's teeth had let water in, soaking his feet, and he put them aside, hoping they could be repaired. He slipped on a pair of low felt shoes and lay down on his pallet to think.

  Coeccias had come looking for him, and if it wasn't already, the news of Tarquin's death would soon be common knowledge to those who cared to know.

  The first could mean any of several things. Possibly there were some simple questions the Aedile had forgotten to ask him. More likely something had come up that had caused the man to suspect him anew, despite Mother Japh's judgement. Least likely, of course, was that the Aedile had decided to share whatever information he had. Liam frowned at the thought.

  The fact that the death would soon be common knowledge meant he had been right to presume his investigation would become vastly more difficult. It also made Lady Necquer's uselessness more disappointing.

  There was something desperate going on with her, concentrating her so completely on herself that she would have little interest in helping him. It revolved around the handsome young man, obviously, and Liam's visit and her insistence on it had been along the lines of a distraction from her greater problem. Or perhaps, he realized, as protection.

  Whatever the reason, she was in no state of mind to involve herself seriously in the affairs of a dead wizard. Nonetheless, he found himself curious about her problem. What danger the young man presented Liam could not guess. If he was a lover, she had no reason to fear him. He could not threaten exposure, as Liam had known lovers to do, because it was clear from his behavior at the party that Master Necquer suspected something. It was equally clear that he did not blame his wife.

  What, then, could be the problem?

  Although he was partly aware that he had a more important riddle to unravel, he gave himself over for a while to considering the distraught young woman.

  The heavy tread of boots on the stairs and Mistress Dorcas's voice interrupted him after a while. She spoke loudly, repeating "Aedile Coeccias" several times, and it was painfully obvious that she was trying to warn him. He got up quickly and surprised the Aedile by opening the door before Coeccias could knock.

  "Rhenford!" he said, blinking his eyes. "It's well y'are in. I've been conning for you."

  "So I've heard, Aedile. Please come in." He smiled over Coeccias's shoulder at his landlady, who was hovering nervously on the stairs and rolling her eyes. "Thank you for showing the Aedile up, Mistress Dorcas." He deliberately stressed the proper pronunciation.

  "I'm afraid you've frightened my landlady, Aedile," he continued when he had shut the door firmly in her face. "She thinks you mean to arrest me for Master Tanaquil's murder."

  Coeccias ran a scarred hand through his now-trimmed beard and looked around the garret with mild curiosity. "Truth, Rhenford, I may well do that ere long. I've seen some rare parchments this day." He stood by Liam's table, idly shuffling the papers there, occasionally sparing a glance out the window. Liam leaned casually against the door.

  "Oh?" he said, with as much indifference as he could muster.

  "Oh? Oh, indeed. Rare parchments, I say, rarer than rare. The wizard's testament, booked and noted in the Duke's own court, by the Duke's own clerks, and waxed with the Duke's own seal. A rare testament, that."

  "How rare, Aedile Coeccias?"

  The burly officer found something that interested him in the papers on the table, and Liam thought belatedly of his list of suspects.

  "Y'are a scholar, Rhenford?" Coeccias asked suddenly. "I have studied," Liam began, wincing over the list.

  "Tarquin must've liked scholars, Rhenford. He left you all."

  "What?" He could not hide his astonishment, and forgot the list. "Left me all?"

  "Seat, fortune, goods-all. Y'are amazed?"

  "Of course," Liam stammered. "I hardly knew him!"

  "Better than anyone else, it seems. It'd be a strong stroke against you, in the Duke's court."

  The return of Coeccias's suspicion hit Liam hard on the heels of the news of Tarquin's will. "You know, in the days when your title was coined, if a man were falsely accused, his accuser was held guilty for the crime," he said coldly.

  Coeccias chuckled. "I'd expect a scholar to know that, but I'd also expect him to know that the Aedile's office exempted him from the same statute. How else to uphold the law?"

  Stung, Liam flushed. He had not thoug
ht the roughlooking Aedile would know the law's qualifier. His hands bunched at his sides, but he said nothing. Coeccias dropped his eyes to the paper that had interested him.

  "I'll admit, Rhenford, I came intent on clapping you in. I thought the testament would unnerve you, and if pressed hard, you'd break. But now I think I've erred. Y'are a poor actor, Rhenford, too poor for a killer. And I uncover this scribbling." He held a piece of paper up, nothing but mild curiosity in his voice. "Now, it strikes me strange that a scholar should have a list of a dead man's acquaintances, with notes of arguments and visits all within the last sevennight. Truth, very strange. I'd almost say that scholar was idly scribbling a list of who might have taken off the dead man. Wouldn't you?"

  He gave a small smile, and Liam frowned but said nothing.

  "Can you think of a reason why a scholar should make such a list?"

  "Perhaps," Liam said slowly, trying to control the anger he knew should be directed at himself for leaving the list out, "perhaps he thought the Aedile was too much of a fool to find the murderer, and decided to do the job himself."

  Coeccias roared with laughter, filling the garret with the surprising sound. He slapped his knee with the list.

  "Truth, perhaps he did! Perhaps he did! Oh, y'are a rare murderer, Rhenford, a rare murderer!" Fresh laughter exploded out of him as he folded the list carefully in quarters and stowed it in his black tunic. Liam had no idea what to do, and simply waited while the Aedile finished his laughter.

  "Come," Coeccias said finally. "I'd have you eat with me, Rhenford."

  It was drizzling still, but Coeccias chose a tavern nearby, and ducked quickly through the cold shower without a word. Liam sat across the plank table, looking at the Aedile with distrust only half-concealed as the larger man called across the almost empty common room to order beer and food. When the keeper had recognized his order, he turned to Liam with a serious look.

  "So, the eyes that scan tomes now con a murderer." Liam nodded, wondering what the Aedile was thinking. "Truth, Rhenford, that likes me not. I'm not sure I need you murking the waters with ill-advised questions. Now, I know you think me a clown"—he held up a hand to forestall Liam's denial—"and you may have the right of it. The eagle's eyes are not mine, and I don't see into shadowed hearts. I'm certainly simpler than a scholar, no matter how innocent his face. Yet I'm still Aedile."

  "Which means?" Liam had begun frowning deeply at the mention of his innocent face. He found it difficult to contain his uneasiness, and drummed his fingers on the table, looking around the tavern through the smoky rushlight.

  "Which means I can't very well allow you to search out an assassin on your own. Yet you have a list of possibles that I'd never have had, and you knew the wizard best. Not well, perhaps, but better than any else. And I can't tell you not to search."

  "So?" He was on the brink of being rude when a serving girl came by and placed beer in clay steins on the table, along with a basket of bread, salt and boiled eggs. The Aedile dug in, salting a torn piece of bread and an egg and eating them in big bites. He left Liam waiting impatiently until he had washed down his first egg with a gulp of beer, and then spoke as he set about preparing a second egg.

  "So, Rhenford, I'll find you running about the town, as I said, murking the waters and making my work harder. And," he said, gesturing significantly with his egg before biting into it, "you'll find me doing the same to you."

  Liam took an egg and nibbled at it unsalted, some of his irritation dissipating as he guessed where the Aedile was headed.

  "So we are in each other's way, Aedile. That will be inconvenient if either of us is to resolve this."

  "Truth, inconvenient is too small a word for such a large stumbling block."

  "What will we do about it?"

  Coeccias once again paused as the girl put down two steaming pies on wooden platters.

  "I could ask you not to involve yourself," he said, steepling his fingers over the pie and examining Liam's face, and then waved away the suggestion with a laugh. "But I've enough sense to know you'd not. Y'are serious about it? Not merely dabbling to satisfy a scholar's curiosity?"

  "Very serious." Liam began eating, cutting into the meat and vegetable pie, highly spiced as most food was in Southwark. He waited for the Aedile this time, who only spoke after he had gone through several bites of his own pie, and then only around a large mouthful.

  "I know not why, but I'll warrant you mean it. Then if you'll not keep out of it, and are serious, and my position mearis I can't keep out of it, and must be serious, then sense says we work together."

  It was what Liam had guessed, but he kept his satisfaction from his voice.

  "That would seem to be a good idea."

  "Good. Then lay out what you know, Rhenford." Liam eyed him with a half-smile. "How do I know you won't simply listen and then arrest me to keep me out of your way?"

  "Truth, you don't," Coeccias said with a wolf's grin that looked far more natural than Liam's earlier one. He must have blanched, because the Aedile snorted and held out his hand, after wiping it on his black tunic. "Would my word suffice?"

  "No, no, I'll trust you," Liam said hastily, and Coeccias withdrew his hand with another snort.

  Without mentioning Fanuilh, he elaborated on the list the dragon had given him. He had thought it would be difficult to explain knowing so much about Tarquin's visitors, but the Aedile asked no questions, simply nodding as Liam ticked off each visitor and what he knew of them. Finally he came around to his interview with the druggist Viyescu, his imposture of a Hierarch, and what he had learned from it.

  Coeccias listened in silence, working his way through his entire pie before Liam was finished. When he was done with the meal, he pushed the platter away and leaned back from the table with a sigh.

  "Well, I'll admit you've a great deal more information than I. I did ill not to clap you in yesterday and examine you closer."

  "So what do you know? Apart from the will, that is?"

  "Only what you've told me, Rhenford. Truth, I knew little enough about the wizard."

  "Nothing!" Liam exclaimed. "You know nothing? It looks like I've made a poor deal!"

  "I, on the other hand, have made off surpassing well, wouldn't you say?"

  Liam massaged his brow roughly, but he had to chuckle at the Aedile's sated-cat grin. "Well, then,..— he finally said, "the least you could do is try to live up to the bargain."

  "It would seem fair," Coeccias grinned.

  "What about the knife? You took it, I assume. Was there anything special about it?"

  "Only that it was of the sort used by rude players, jugglers and the like. They come in pairs, and have uncommon broad hilts; in one of the pair, the blade retracts harmlessly. For death scenes and the like in entertainments."

  "Well, then, that would point to the minstrel—" Liam began eagerly, but caught himself when Coeccias started to interrupt. "Or a clever man who wished to put the blame elsewhere."

  "Y' are quick enough. A clever man who wished to point as far away from himself as possible. If he chose a player's knife, that would make him high-born, or at least rich. That would indicate the merchant you saw. And 'less I miss the mark, he would be Ancus Marcius. Oft he travels with the sort of rough boys you described, and is given to the sort of blustering you heard. When did you say he came to the beach?"

  Fanuilh's memory had been good, but his sense of time was inexact; the only way to place the date of the merchant's visit was by the weather.

  "A day or two after the last of the really fierce storms. I don't remember the day exactly; it was gray and overcast, but didn't rain all day."

  Coeccias grumbled thoughtfully. "That would be just after Marcius lost his richest ship on the Teeth."

  "The Teeth? You're thinking of Tarquin's model?"

  "Truth, it struck me as an interesting plaything for a wizard. Perhaps he failed in some business of Marcius's. The merchant's not very forgiving, I've b
een told."

  "Then maybe you ought to question him."

  Frowning, the Aedile poked at the remains of his pie.

  "Better ask the wind to stand still, or summon the stars to court, than question Marcius. He's high-placed and highhanded, and the offense he'd take would be worth my post. I'd rather you did it."

  "Me? If you can't question him, how can I?"

  "Make out you're a Hierarch again, or better yet, play the King of Taralon. He'd answer quick enough." Liam grimaced at this reminder of his play-acting with Viyescu, and Coeccias snorted a laugh before going on more seriously. "Best of all, Rhenford, go to him as a scholar seeking employment. Give him your various qualifications, and tell him your previous master, a certain wizard of much power, has been murdered. You seek a · new master of sufficient position to protect you from your farmer's enemies."

  "And shock him with Tarquin's name so that he slips up?"

  "That'd do."

  "And then he has one of his guards knock me out and the next thing I know I find myself a galley slave on one of his ships."

  "That'd not do, but if y'are careful, it shouldn't happen. Be meek and mild, innocent as a babe. If he's clever enough to've planted the player's blade, he'll never think a mere pen-nibbler could've found him out. Cleverness and pride go hand in hand."

  "Your opinions on human nature pale before the thought of several years chained to a galley seat."

  "If you don't return from his offices, I swear I'll personally search every one of his galleys before it leaves Southwark," Coeccias answered cheerfully.

  Liam laughed ruefully.· "And offer me your best wishes for a pleasant journey, I'm sure. But that'll have to do, I suppose. I'll go see him tomorrow. What will you do?"

  "Since you can't go after Viyescu anymore without full religious vestments, I'll search him out again, and maybe trail him with one of my men. Mayhap we'll see if he has any pretty, sinful women in his life."

  They left it at that, and Liam let Coeccias pay for the meal, arguing that since he would be facing a possibly murderous merchant the next day, he was doing far more than his share of the bargain. While Coeccias laughed over that, he left the quiet inn and hurried home through the rain.