by Daniel Hood
Liam dropped one of Marcius's silver coins on the table and they hurried out of the White Grape.
A dullness clung to the theater, like a midnight lover in the morning. The golden orb looked gaudy and the doors had a desolate air, as if the building had been abandoned. They opened, however, and Liam and Coeccias went into the lobby, which felt cold and unused. Though there was a broom in one corner, and the plank floors had obviously just been swept clean, Liam imagined they would feel dusty, or perhaps moldy, if he knelt and touched them.
He did not.
In the theater itself a number of actors sat or stood around the pit, eating their meals and talking in low voices. A few candles flickered weakly in the windowless building, and despite the voices and people, it was gloomy.
The man who had greeted Coeccias at the door the night before detached himself from a whispered conversation and came to stand before them, dressed now in a commoner's smock instead of his colorful motley. He executed a grand, mocking bow.
"Your servant, milord Aedile. Have you come to close us out?"
Coeccias frowned, ignoring the actor's bantering tone. "Nay, player. I'd have words with one of your company. Where is Lons?"
The actor widened his eyes in girlish admiration, and spoke with ironic reverence. "Lons? Our great hero? Lons the Magnificent? I fear me his lordship is not here, milord Aedile, but if you stay a moment, I'm sure he'll grace us."
"When?"
"Soon." The actor dropped his joking. "He's gone to sup elsewhere, and'll be back soon. You may await him here." With another grand bow, he twisted away and clapped his hands loudly, calling for the beginning of the afternoon's rehearsal.
Coeccias frowned sourly at the actor's back.
"I'll not be sad to pack him off to the heath."
"Who is he?" Liam asked, watching the actor marshall his company on the stage.
"Kansallus. He pens their sorry scripts, gives them their readings. Owns a share of the theater as well, if rumor's to be credited. A very rogue, but with some excellent parts: wit, voice, good sense. He never fusses when I close him out."
There was a small tinge of admiration in the Aedile's voice.
"If you like him so much, why do you shut up his theater?"
"The Duke'd have it so. He doesn't take with the stage, and especially so when they allow women on it. So, a few days after Uris-tide, it's off to the country with them."
Coeccias sighed ruefully, and they fell silent, watching the actors rehearse. It was a pastoral comedy complete with shepherdesses and faeries, in which Knave Fitch played a large role as a drunken farmer. Even with little practice, the clown brought humor to the part, and both men in the lobby chuckled.
Hearing them, Kansallus backed out to the lobby, stopping beside them but leaving his eyes on the stage.
"It pleases your' he asked, trying and failing to mask bis eagerness.
"Truth, it's a goodly thing."
"Yes, very much. It's funny."
Kansallus drank in the praise, bobbing his head happily at the stage, as if. to encourage the actors.
"But why," Liam asked during a pause while the scene shifted, "don't you have that girl play the lead shepherdess'? The one who played the princess last night'? She'd be spectacular."
"That one," Kansallus said, rolling his eyes. "It'd be worth my life and my jewels at once to suggest it. She only plays tragedy, look you, tragedy only. She esteems herself a great actress a lofty actress. No low comedy for her. Mug? Wink? Trip and pratfall? Never! Her feet would rot off before she'd play comedy!"
"A shrew, eh'?" Coeccias asked with a wicked grin. "Pity. She's a fair leg."
Liam nodded in agreement.
"Oh, in faith, I cannot deny it. A fair leg, and a fair ankle, bosom and face to keep the leg company. Enjoy what you see on the stage, good sirs, because you'll never see more of Rora anywhere else, least of all warming your bed."
"Rora'?" Liam thought he would have done well to find Kansallus long before, when he was searching for someone who knew Southwark and would tell what he knew.
"Rora," the actor confirmed. "No one's bauble is Rora, to be dandled and played with and warmed on a winter's night. Pure? enough to hunt the unicorn, our Rora, and too good for comedy—No! No! No! Fitch, you mutton-headed, wool-pated, poxy, dripping ... " He ran forward, shouting, to the stage, where Knave Fitch was standing with an elaborately innocent face while the rest of the cast collapsed in hysterics around him.
"It is no error of mine, Master Playwright, if my fellow actors cannot restrain their ... " His voice, rippling with rolled r's, drifted to them from the stage, but the door behind them opened suddenly, and they both turned.
Framed in a wash of gray light from the door, Rora entered, and Liam thought his heart might have stopped. Even bundled in a warm cloak she was stunning, the fullness of her red lips and the perfect beauty of her white complexion etched in the gray light. It turned her hair to dusty gold, and Liam fleetingly compared her to Lady Necquer, dismissing the latter in an instant. She stopped when she saw them. Over her shoulder, Lons loomed curiously.
"Good day, Aedile Coeccias," she said in a rich, musical voice. Her eyes rested on Liam, however, smiling a little mysteriously and arching an eyebrow, clearly aware of her affect on him.
Maybe if I bring my jaw up from my knees, he thought ashamedly, and looked at Coeccias, who cleared his throat.
"Ah, y'are the actor Lons?"
The handsome man, not expecting to be addressed, did not reply at once.
"Aye."
"We'd have words with you, if you can spare a moment." "But I've a practice—"
"Kansallus will not mind," Coeccias interrupted firmly, crossing his arms on his wide chest.
"Well, then, I suppose ... " He edged his way in. past Rora, who continued to stare at Liam. Liam, in turn, kept his eyes fixed on the other two men, horribly aware of the blush that was creeping up his long neck. He decided that it was a point in Lady Necquer's favor that she did not seem so keenly conscious of her beauty.
"What did you want, Aedile?" Lons seemed a little surer of himself, now that he was out from behind Rora and facing Coeccias. The Aedile gestured significantly at the woman.
"Would you not prefer to be alone?"
Lons stiffened, as did Rora. "Anything you can say to my brother you can say with me as witness," she said coldly.
"Well enough," he said agreeably, turning back to Lons. "Pray you, brother, do tell what business you bad with Tarquin Tanaquil?"
Stammering, Lons clenched bis bands. "Tanaquil? The wizard? He's called you? The bargain's not fulfilled. the terms not met, I—"
"Lons," Rora warned.
"Still!" Coeccias hissed at her out of the side of bis mouth, but the moment was enough for Lons to regain bis composure.
"Our business was that," he said formally. "Ours. And as it is not finished, there's no need for you t'interfere."
"{ doubt but there is, goodman player. You'll have no more business with Master Tanaquil."
"What?" Lons exclaimed angrily. "You can't make me—" Liam watched Coeccias draw the young man on, and scrutinized the handsome face carefully.
"None'll have business with Master Tanaquil. He's gone beyond business, Lons, sped on bis way by a dagger."
Lons gaped, stunned.
"Tanaquil? Murdered'!"
Liam bad to remind himself that the man was an actor. His astonishment seemed unfeigned, real to a fault. Liam was disappointed, but not surprised. Much as he disliked the actor, he did not believe him capable of murder; Coeccias, however passed on.
"So you see, sirrah, what was your particular business is now my business, and the question stands. Why did you have dealings with the wizard?"
Licking bis lips, the young man looked from one face to another, Liam's and Coeccias's expectant, Rora's wary and warning.
"I needed bis help in a ... in a small matter of the heart." Rora nodded ap
provingly, but the Aedile laughed heartily.
"A love potion? You sought a wizard for a love potion? My granddam could've made you a love potion!"
"The lady," Lons said with barely restrained anger, "required a great service of me. I lacked the power for it, and sought the wizard's help."
"She needs must have set you a great task," Coeccias said, angling for more.
"The Teeth. She wanted the Teeth removed, to protect her husband," the actor supplied, over his sister's hissed objection.
"You commissioned that?" The Aedile was clearly awed. "I hope the lady was worth it."
"She is," Lons replied, with a glance at Liam, who nodded agreement, allowing himself a sidelong look at Rora.
"And the lady's name? Her husband's station?"
"Is unimportant now," Liam said quietly, drawing a surprised stare from the Aedile and a sneer from Lons. "I'll explain later. For now, I've a question." He addressed himself to the actor.
"Tell me, how did you propose to pay Tanaquil? Wizards are costly, and I know the spell took a great deal of effort."
"I proposed no payment. He named a sum, and I agreed."
"What sum?"
"Ten thousand, in gold," the actor said, with a touch of pride.
Rora gasped and Coeccias gave a low whistle, but Liam only nodded thoughtfully.
"And he took you at your word that you could pay?" "I presume he knew my state. He accepted my compact." "But you don't have ten thousand in gold."
"No." Lons shifted under the questions, perplexed.
"And so you couldn't have paid him, but he undertook the spell anyway."
"Perhaps he knew he was doing a noble deed-helping true love find its course." Again, there was the touch of hard, wounded pride, the sense of disdain at having his affairs discussed. Liam barked a laugh.
"More likely you dressed yourself up in the richest costume the Golden Orb. has and let him think you a rich merchant's son."
The young man blanched, but said nothing.
"And now that he's dead, you don't have to pay, do you?" "I did not kill him," Lons said thickly, licking dry lips. With the wolf's grin he had practiced, Liam agreed. "Certainly not, certainly not. No one's suggesting such a thing. It would not be worth murder to catch a beautiful woman, get rid of an unpayable debt, and avoid a powerful wizard's wrath. Certainly not."
The wolf's grin worked nicely, leaving the young man speechless and gaping.
"I think we're done here, don't you, Aedile Coeccias?" Liam raised an eyebrow to the officer, who looked intently at him for a moment, and then nodded once.
"Thank you, Lons, for your time. I don't think we'll be bothering you again." Smiling the wolf's grin again for effect, he ushered Coeccias to the door and let him pass out first.
Rora recovered before Lons did, and began stammering furiously.
"Who are you? How dare you question us—"
He dropped the grin and assumed a polite smile to match his words, which were offhand but firmly interrupted her.
"An interesting thing, Maid Rora. The knife that killed Tarquin was one that players often use. One of a pair, I'm told. It would be interesting to see if the theater were missing any, wouldn't it?"
With a friendly smile, he dipped his head to her, and then turned to Lons, putting his back to the girl.
"Stay away from Lady Necquer," he whispered quietly. "Do you hear? Stay away."
"I'll not," Lons said, trying and failing to sound firm. Liam's remarks had greatly upset him.
"Stay away from her," he repeated. "If Necquer hears—"
"Necquer," the actor interrupted eagerly, as if he had found an attack he could answer, "deserves her not! He's naught but a pandering, strutting—"
Rora hissed a warning and Lons stopped. glaring angrily and desperately at her.
"Just stay away from her," Liam said into the sudden silence, and received a sullen nod from the actor. Denying himself the last look at Rora that he wanted, he went out the door to join Coeccias.
Chapter 9
COECCIAS WAS WAITING further down the street, leaning against a wall and watching a group of boys scuffle around a leather ball. He looked up with a slight chuckle at Liam's approach.
"It should be branded on your front, Rhenford: 'Take no surprise; I may do anything.' Branded in bold letters, or sewn into your clothes in characters of red."
"What do you mean?"
They started off, leaving the boys behind and heading by tacit consent towards the Point. Coeccias ticked his reasons off on thick, blunt fingers.
"Firstly, you discount the player, and throw your weight behind the merchant. Y'ignore the player whiles we talk, to gawp and stare at his sweet sister. Then, of a sudden, you turn on the player again and fasten your teeth into his throat. You warrant him a motive and an opportunity, and show a familiarity with his affairs I'd have never guessed at. You fair prove him the murderer. And then—then you ask his pardon and go your way! You as much as say 'Y'are a killer, sirrah,' and then leave him at large!"
"You didn't argue," Liam pointed out, and the Aedile threw up his arms in exasperation.
"Oh, no, nor call you the wooden fool y' are, nor clap Lons in as I should! I've grown as wooden as you! And yet I give you my service. That of value I have in this I have from you, and all I see you do makes you out a bloodhound. Y'have an acute nose, Rhenford. Perhaps I'll just give you rein and follow you to the murderer."
Liam shrugged uncomfortably under the praise, and glanced around the street before dropping his gaze to his boots, not looking at Coeccias.
"You could also follow me nowhere."
"I'd wager not. Y'are strange in thought and manner, but I'll be led by you in this, Rhenford, and I doubt not but it'll be to my profit."
They lapsed into silence, Coeccias satisfied and content, Liam wondering.
He had as much as said Lons was a murderer, and all the clues pointed that way. The knife, the debt, the timing almost everything indicated Lons, but he was reluctant to accept that. For one thing, he was afraid his dislike had colored his judgement, that his connection with Lady Necquer made him anxious to find Lons guilty. For another, there was Lons himself—Liam simply could not find murder in the self-involved actor's character. Pride and arrogance, yes, but it seemed the sort he had often found in cowards, men who shrank from blood. And lastly, there was Lons's sister. Rora had taken a powerful hold on his mind, and he found it difficult to remove her. She was an amazing presence, he thought, and though he had felt something cold and disdainful in her, she drew him, her image fluttering around inside his head.
Now that he had warned Lons away from Lady Necquer, he was inclined to find his murderer elsewhere, and he favored the merchant prince. Marcius's motives were muddied, and the evidence did not single him out, but he had the sort of strength of will and capacity for violence that Liam expected to find in a killer. And his threats, even veiled and obscure ones, had the ring of truth.
Liam told none of this to the Aedile. Instead, he thought it out, eyes fixed on his feet as the two men made their way south through the city. Other considerations sprang to mind. He remembered Lady Necquer's comments on the Teeth, and heard now a note of morbid fascination he had not noticed at first. She had been so afraid of them and the danger they presented to her husband that she had agreed to sleep with the man who could remove them.
And Tarquin had been responsible for it; could she be suspected? Or her husband? A series of questions formed themselves in his head, almost involuntarily, that he would ask her that afternoon. He felt instinctively that she was not involved. but her husband might be, if she had told him about Lons's courtship. That Necquer should strike at Tarquin and not Lons was strange, and argued against the suspicion, but the questions interested him in and of themselves, and he resolved to ask them.
"Your face's dark as the sky," Coeccias said finally, with a gesture that took in Liam's wrinkled brow and the cloudy sky. They
were back in the neighborhood of the White Grape, and a pall of black hung over the sky.
"Thinking about murderers and rainy days make for a depressing combination."
"Truth, they do. Would a drink help?" The painted signboard of the White Grape hung further down the street, swaying slightly in the stiff, storm-bringing breeze from the sea.
"I think so."
A bottle of the tavern's watered-down white wine sped away the time, and Liam looked up from the dregs to hear the bells announce that it was time for his daily visit to Lady Necquer. He stood up from the table with mixed feelings. Coeccias reminded him of the next day's work, looking for the barmaid Donoé, and they agreed on an hour to meet
It was strange, Liam reflected as he walked towards the rich quarter, how Coeccias's attitude had changed. Only a few .hours earlier the Aedile had been highly suspicious of him because of his abrupt departure from the theater the evening before. Now Coeccias was practically giving up, throwing the weight of the whole investigation on Liam. Had his questioning of Lons been that impressive?
He was not entirely comfortable with the idea of himself as a sort of human bloodhound. He did not picture himself as particularly astute where people's darker motivations were concerned. If he were like that, he could not imagine why people accepted his presence; he knew that he would not want to be with someone who could smell out his deepest secrets.
Yet people did accept his presence. Tarquin had spoken freely around him, the Aedile shared meals with him. Lady Necquer actually seemed to look forward to his visits. Did that mean that, even though they felt he could see into their souls, they felt secure enough with themselves to ignore it?
Was that what Fanuilh had seen in him? The thing that made the dragon entrust him with finding Tarquin's murderer?
Liam Rhenford, human bloodhound. Liam Rhenford, before whom men's souls are laid bare. Liam Rhenford, the perfect investigator.
Suddenly he laughed harshly, repressing the grandiose thoughts.
I'm just asking questions, he thought, grinning, and they just happen to be good ones. I'm carrying my Luck with me.He laughed again, and felt better. The narrow street with its border of high walls where the Necquers lived was just ahead.