Fanuilh

by Daniel Hood

  Her laughter was loud but not harsh. "Your pardon, sir, but men rarely say that here. In this house, it is more often a woman who gives that office." She turned to Coeccias, leaving Liam crushed and flustering in her wake. "Coeccias," she said warmly, giving him a lingeringly formal kiss on both cheeks. "What brings you to my house?"

  "Business, Herione. A few questions for you, if you've the time."

  "Ever business, Coeccias," she murmured, and slid her arm through his to draw him towards the arras. "Come along, servant," she called over her shoulder to Liam, who followed along hanging his head.

  Behind the arras a corridor led towards the rear of the palatial whorehouse, and Herione went directly into the first room they came to. Walking side by side, arms linked, she and Coeccias seemed matched in size and height, appropriate to each other. Herione was broad, but not fat, statuesque, even in a girl's gown that had no hint of girlishness.

  The room was her office, a fact attested by the ledgers in racks on the walls and the tidy columns of coins on a small writing table. A slate board bore a painted diagram of the house, with a woman's name and a blank line chalked into each room; Liam read th women's names and smiled; each was a princess or queen from history or legend. After the lavish entrance hall, the office seemed spartan. Herione gracefully motioned them to a pair of straight-backed cane chairs, and settled herself in a more comfortable padded seat behind the writing table. She traced Liam's gaze to the slate board, and gave a smile that did not reach her eyes.

  "Y' are impressed, sir? Blue blood and true, one and all. Only royalty here."

  Noting the coldness of her smile, Liam spoke nonchalantly, peering with studied consternation at the slate lists. "I was just wondering if you knew that Princess Cresside was a hunchback in life."

  Her smile began touching her eyes. "Well, sir, with no queen worth a whit in Torquay, we needs must take our royalty where we can."

  "Well, how can there be a queen in Torquay?" Liam responded, grandly flinging a hand at the slate board. "You have them all here!"

  The smile reached her eyes finally, and Liam thought he might have made up for his gaffe in the hall.

  "Tell me, Coeccias," she said, turning to the officer, who had fidgeted through the exchange, "is this your business? T'upbraid me for the naming of my stable?"

  "A scholar, Herione. It's his business to know such things. He meant no offense."

  "Coeccias, y'are wooden," she sighed. "I know't, he knows't; why make you amends? Now come, your business." She steepled her hands before her on the table among the coins, and became serious.

  "Have you a girl named Donoé here? A barmaid, or serving wench?"

  "None such," she replied instantly.

  "Not perhaps one of your empresses?" Coeccias asked, raising an eyebrow at the slate board. Herione shook her head definitely.

  "None such. Why do you ask?"

  The Aedile glanced at Liam, who shrugged absently, still looking at the slate board. "We're looking for a girl of that name, who may've known the wizard Tanaquil."

  "The murdered wizard." She did not seem fazed by the news, but she did look curiously at Liam. "Do you always string along a scholar when you con a murderer, Coeccias?"

  "No," the Aedile rasped at the playful tone in her voice. "He knew the wizard best of any, and's proved helpful. So, no Donoé, and we're to't again. Come, Rhenford."

  He stood, but Liam waved for him to stop.

  "Wait a moment, if you would. I've a question or two the lady may be able to answer, if I may ask."

  Coeccias muttered, " 'Take no surprise' "to himself, but remained standing behind his chair. Herione shifted polite interest to Liam, who moved his gaze from the slate board to her.

  "Your questions, sir?"

  "Has Ancus Marcius ever come here?"

  "Ever? More than ever, sir. Quite often. Twice, thrice a moon. And's good for a solid gold each visit," she added meaningfully to Coeccias. "I'd hope this won't reflect on him."

  "If he's a murderer, bawdry won't soil him any more." Herione offered a slight nod in agreement.

  "Truth," she exclaimed softly.

  "One other question, if I may. Has Freihett Necquer ever come here?"

  "Necquer?" She frowned into her memory.

  "A Freeporter merchant."

  "Oh, yes, yes. Necquer. Once, perhaps, a long while since, over two years. He took a wife not long after, and has not returned since."

  Liam nodded, gratified. "Thank you, lady."

  Coeccias muttered his thanks and the two left, going unescorted through the empty foyer with its gurgling fountain and out into the cold street.

  Liam paused for a moment on the steps to look closely at the bas-relief panels set into the doors. They depicted strange scenes, large groups of people engaged in uncertain acts. The carvings were not explicit and, in fact, were strangely tasteful, almost artistic. He tried to trace the intricacies of one scene with the point of a long finger, and then gave up and went down the steps to join Coeccias.

  "An acquaintance?" He phrased the question as casually as he could, though he was more than a little curious. There had been undercurrents running rampant in Herione's office that went beyond Coeccias's responsibility for keeping tabs on the local houses of pleasure. Yet he could not imagine the stolid, bulky Aedile having anything to do with the quick-witted madame.

  "What's Necquer in this?" Coeccias shot back, ignoring the issue. "Is his wife Lons's taskmaster?"

  "She is, but I don't think Necquer's involved. I asked for ... personal reasons."

  Liam took it as a measure of how little the Aedile wanted to talk about Herione that he did not press about Necquer. That was all right; it was Coeccias's business, after all, and the visit had dispelled his suspicions of Necquer. If the merchant had been unfaithful to his wife, as Lons had suggested, he would have done it in Herione's house, clearly the most expensive in the city and, from its unassuming front, the most discreet.

  So discreet, Liam thought, that in four months I never heard of it. What else is there in this city that I've missed? The Golden Orb, the worship of Uris, Herione's house, so much I've missed, and so little I can say I've seen.

  Preoccupied with his own morose thoughts, he did not hear Coeccias the first time, and had to ask him to repeat his statement, which he did after clearing his throat.

  "I said she was somewhat of an acquaintance. The Duke requires a man to register the houses. The office is mine."

  Liam accepted the tight-lipped explanation with a noncommittal sound and remained prudently silent. Coeccias strode along the street with a heavy thunder in his thick brows.

  The owner of the second-to-last inn on their list somewhat nervously said that yes, he did have a serving girl named Donoé. When Coeccias had allayed his fears that the girl was a criminal, and convinced him that they only wanted to. ask her a few questions, he bustled off, shouting her name.

  "Fortune bears us only a small grudge," Coeccias growled at the innkeeper's retreating back. "She saved us from one last house; quite generous of Her." Liam nodded absently.

  The inn seemed appropriate to Tarquin. It was comfortable, without the ostentation of the others in the rich quarter. The woods were blond, and light flooded in from a large window, and it reminded Liam slightly of the wizard's home on the beach. For a man who had chosen to live outside a city, it would be a good place for a quiet drink when he had to be there.

  Donoé, when she was dragged from the kitchen by the anxious proprietor, was the girl he remembered. Hiding her fidgeting hands in a wet cloth, flushed and eyeing Coeccias subserviently, she was a far cry from the laughing young woman Tarquin had so gallantly sent on her way in the summer, but he could not mistake her looks. She was very young, perhaps only sixteen, and had the sort of prettiness that is mostly youth and innocence, and only really noticeable when informed with happiness. At the inn, confronted with the Aedile's bearlike scowl, her prettiness faded into fear,
and she was not worth a second look.

  Liam regretted it, recalling her happy smile in the summer, on Tarquin's veranda. Coeccias made it worse by snorting as soon as she appeared, which frightened her even more than her employer's peremptory summons.

  "Herself?" Coeccias asked him, and when he nodded, went on gruffly: "Well then, to't. You wanted her."

  Wincing at the words' effect on the wilting girl, Liam cleared his throat and spoke to her as pleasantly as he could, indicating one of the tables.

  "Perhaps you'd care to sit? Coeccias, could you get us something to drink?"

  The Aedile trudged grudgingly off to the proprietor, and the girl reluctantly took a seat at the empty table, staring wide-eyed at Liam, who smiled reassuringly.

  "Do you remember me?"

  She shook her head vehemently.

  "You're sure? On the beach, maybe? You were there a few times."

  Though her eyes could not get any wider, they changed expression from fear to recognition, her hands clapping to the tabletop to emphasize it. "From the beach! You were at the wizard's!" Recognition changed back to fear, and she practically wailed. "Oh my lord, is that the matter? I swear I'd nothing to do with his taking off, I swear!"

  "I know, I know," he assured her hastily, aware he was handling it badly. "I only want to ask you a few questions, Donoé. I know you haven't done anything."

  "I was sore sad to hear he'd died, sore sad, my lord!"

  "Yes, yes, I know, but I have to ask you a few questions."

  He patted her hand gently, which seemed to calm her a little, and Coeccias brought two cups of wine with ill grace, which gave her some time to · collect herself. The Aedile retired to the bar, leaving them alone.

  "Now, Donoé, I have to ask you a few questions," he repeated, when she was more sure of herself. "About Tarquin. I need to know if you knew anything about his affairs."

  "Oh, no, my lord, I never pried nor gossiped, my lord, I swear!"

  "Let me ask that a different way. Do you know if he saw any other women?"

  "Other women?" She was clearly puzzled.

  "Did he bring any other women home that you know of? Any, maybe, that he met here, or elsewhere?"

  She thought for a moment, and suddenly looked full into his eyes in shock.

  "My lord!"

  "What?"

  "You think I ... I ... you think he knew me!" She whispered it fiercely, in disbelief and accusation, and Liam colored instantly. Hewas handling this very badly, he knew, but took comfort from the fact that Coeccias probably would have bungled it worse.

  "Well, I suppose, I—" he stammered.

  "He did no such," she stated indignantly. "I'm only a poor serving girl, I know, but I'm chaste, and Master Tanaquil was a true gentle! He'd an oath of purity himself, he said!" Momentarily stunned by her vehement defense of her virtue, Liam sought for words, and finally asked tentatively, "Then what were you doing at his house?"

  It was her tum to color, and though he had thought the question natural, it seemed to deflate her rage at his insinuation.

  "He wanted blood," she whispered, lowering her head in shame.

  "Blood?"

  "The blood of a virgin."

  He had to strain to hear the words she spoke into her lap, but they disappointed him deeply. The empty decanter had held her blood, and Tarquin had probably crossed out the label because he had used it all. A hundred uses for virgin's blood, Fanuilh had said. Tarquin might well have gone through gallons of it, and the clue he had thought so much of was nothing.

  Donrn! lifted her head and glared defiance at him again. "But it hurt not a bit, and Master Tanaquil was a true gentle, and paid me well, and there's naught wrong with what I did! I'm chaste, you, and Master Tanaquil was a true gentle! He'd an oath! I tell you, you've no right to slander me nor him, serpent!"

  She was standing by the end of her tirade, though he thanked all the gods he could remember that she did not raise her voice. She did, however, tum on her heel after labeling him a snake, and stalked back to the kitchen with all the terrible dignity of an affronted and wrathful teenage girl. She even shouldered her employer aside.

  Though he had not heard all of their exchange, Donoé's abrupt exit and Liam's chastened expression told him enough, and Coeccias laughed loudly, coming to the table.

  "Come along, 'serpent.' Y'have insulted enough of Southwark's maids." He propelled Liam out of the inn to the street, leaving the cups of wine untasted.

  "That," Liam sighed, "was very bad."

  "Y'have no talent for searching into the innocent," Coeccias commented cheerfully, drawing him along the street, "and if that's a murderer, I'll scale the Teeth. Now, if she'd been a killer with blood on her blade and it at your throat, you'd have battered her to her knees with questions. No shame not to hone your wit on girls, Rhenford. Now, what'd she relate?"

  Still unhappy with the way he had conducted the interview, Liam told what he had found out: the origin of the virgin's blood, the purpose of Donoé's visit to the beach, and most importantly, the oath Tarquin claimed he had taken.

  "A vow to remain chaste, eh? I've heard wizards do stranger," the Aedile said. "It fair puts Viyescu's mystery maid out of thought."

  "And leaves us with Marcius, and Lons."

  "It leaves us with Lons," the Aedile said. "There's naught that's proved against the merchant."

  "Hmm."

  Coeccias rolled his eyes in exasperation, but Liam did not notice. A piece of Donoé's story had lodged itself irritatingly in his head.

  "If you were a wizard," he suddenly asked, "wouldn't you have to test to know if your virgin's blood was good?"

  "What?"

  "Do you think Tarquin had a test? A way to know if she were still a virgin?"

  "Truth," Coeccias answered with a smile, "I scarcely know her, but I'd wager that trull'll be a virgin on her deathbed."

  Liam ignored the Aedile's joke; he had not been thinking about Donoé at all. He pushed the idea to the back of his head, and took up considering more immediate questions. They walked towards the outskirts of the rich quarter, the Aedile smiling at the warmthless sun bright in the sky, Liam staring at the cobbles, tracing his thoughts there.

  Why had he mishandled Donoé so badly? Was the other man right, he could only be sharp with people he truly suspected? In a certain way, it was comforting to think that he was not completely suspicious, that only those who deserved it called out the bloodhound in him. And in the end, he had gotten the important information.

  On the other hand, they were left with Lons, a conclusion he could not believe.

  They left the confines of the rich quarter without saying a word, passing into an area of smaller buildings of poorer construction and pushed closer together. Suddenly remembering his appointment with Lady Necquer, Liam stopped.

  "I just remembered; I am supposed to meet someone soon, back there."

  Without a trace of anything more than casual curiosity, Coeccias said, "Poppae Necquer?"

  "Yes," Liam answered shortly, refusing to be surprised by what the rough-looking man picked up.

  "Then we'll part here. I'm to prepare for the procession. We ought to meet later, to see if there's any current news."

  "The White Grape for dinner?"

  "No, the Grape grows stale for me, and I've all that cider to finish. Come to my house after the procession. You'll know it's done by the bells. The priests'll toll all when the procession gains the temple."

  "Your house, then," Liam agreed.

  Coeccias smiled and suddenly stuck out his heavy hand, and Liam took it firmly.

  "Though y'are only a scholar, y'are a good hound, Rhenford, and a better man. Don't fret so over a silly girl, nor over the player. We've got to see justice done— I for my office, and you for the wizard. Whatever we do, whatever we've done, is to a higher end."

  Liam fidgeted, but Coeccias would not let go of his hand until he relented.

 
"I suppose so. I suppose you're right."

  His hand was released, and the two men bid each other goodbye diffidently, as if embarrassed by their words and thoughts. Coeccias went down the street to the city's heart and his procession. Liam turned around and traced his way back towards the Point and the Necquers' house.

  Chapter 11

  LIAM WAS NOT far from the Necquers' when he left Coeccias, and the bells had only just begun to · announce noon when he knocked on their street door. Lares received him as usual, but did not usher him up to the parlor. Instead, he motioned for Liam to wait and, avoiding his eyes, hurried up the stairs himself.

  A few minutes later, Lady Necquer came down in a whirl of skirts, her face drawn and pale. She stopped on the bottom step and shot a fearful look back up before coming quickly to him.

  "You must away, Sir Liam," she whispered anxiously. "I cannot receive you this day." Her eyes kept returning to the stairs, as though she were afraid something horrible would come down them.

  "May I ask why? Are you ill?"

  She laid a hand on his arm, and quickly withdrew it. "My apologies, Sir Liam, but I beg you not to press. I simply cannot receive you. You may come tomorrow, at this hour, if y'are careful."

  "But—" He did not move, not understanding, and her face screwed up suddenly before she burst out:

  "My lord would not have you so much about! Now please, Sir Liam, do not ask the wherefore; only go!"

  Bewildered, Liam hesitated in the face of her distress, shifting from foot to foot.

  "Please," she begged. "Come tomorrow, and let none see you."

  His thoughts scattered, and he retreated, sketching a hasty bow. She shut the door firmly behind him. Standing in the street, he stared at the closed door and blew out a heavy breath.

  "Necquer won't have me around so much," he wondered aloud, then turned away down the street, shaking his head and muttering. "And just the other day he asked me to dinner. Freeporters. Hah."

  The afternoon stretched emptily before him, with nothing to do. He had hoped to fill a large part of it with Lady Necquer, listening to her outline the series of poems he could not write. The odd hour he could fill with wandering, or maybe a visit to the Uncommon Player. Now there was nothing, and it was far too early to go to a wineshop.