by Barb Hendee
Doviak sputtered, two dainty fingers over his mouth. He took his fingers away and shouted, "Guards!"
Magiere snatched Leesil by the shoulder, their roles suddenly reversed in who held who back. She raised her empty hand, open palm toward Doviak.
"We meant no offense. We simply need to-"
"What is going on out here?" a deep voice called out.
As gray-clad guards closed in from around the room, Lanjov stepped out from a side door.
"That's more like it," Leesil said with satisfaction.
Lanjov scanned the room over the partition's top. His gaze finally rested upon his secretary and the new arrivals, and his eyes widened as his mouth closed. Waving the guards back, he came to join them.
"Mistress Magiere," he greeted her with cold formality. "What are you doing in my place of business?"
"Our apologies," she said, as this wasn't at all what she'd had in mind. "We need to speak with you urgently… regarding the situation."
Before Lanjov could reply, a second figure appeared at his chamber door. Lord Au'shiyn, the Suman merchant who'd opposed her presence at the council meeting, exited Lanjov's office, striding through the room to stand behind the councilman, dressed in a floor-length russet robe open in the front. His head was wrapped in folds of beige cloth mounted in layers. His shimmering white shirt was of strange design, with clasps of satin cord stitched in curling, looped patterns.
"Ah, the dhampir," he said. "Come to make a deposit? Or perhaps a withdrawal?"
The last person Magiere wanted to mince words with was this arrogant outlander. She ignored Au'shiyn and spoke directly to Lanjov.
"This won't take long."
Chap growled low, and Leesil slowly crossed his arms. Magiere only hoped it had the proper effect, now that this visit had fallen to such displays. Lanjov's choices were either to see them in his office or to have them "escorted" out, and it was clear that at least two of the visitors would make a scene. One thing a man like Lanjov couldn't endure was a scene.
Forcing a welcoming expression, Lanjov motioned them toward his office. "Of course, come in."
Magiere put aside all self-doubts and strode past Lanjov and Au'shiyn and around the partition to the chamber door still ajar. Leesil and Chap followed.
Lanjov's office was austere compared to the sitting room at his home. A window facing the street was hung with opened plain burgundy curtains that exposed iron bars on the inside and heavy oak shutters on the outside. Narrow bookshelves lined the walls to either side of the door, and a stout desk sat on the room's opposite side.
To Magiere's surprise, Au'shiyn followed Lanjov in and closed the door.
"Our time here is actually the end of my scheduled appointment," the Suman said. "This is council business, and I am a member of the council."
Lanjov appeared about to protest and then thought better of it. He sat down tiredly behind his desk.
"What is it you need?" he asked Magiere.
"We're more convinced the killer is noble," she said, "or at least masquerading as an elite. And I believe your daughter knew him. We've since learned that Domin Tilswith is a regular visitor at your home. He doesn't fit the description, so Chesna may have met her killer elsewhere. You said she rarely went out, and I'd guess most people you know well are either on the council or connected to your business. Since the killer is also an undead, he can't go out during daylight hours. That narrows things down considerably. Who do you know who prefers night meetings and finds excuses to avoid mornings or afternoons?"
It was all blunt and unproven, as Magiere had little evidence beyond her vision, but Lanjov didn't need to know this.
"Have you been talking to Domin Tilswith?" Lanjov asked in surprise.
"How dare you?" Au'shiyn interrupted. "Chesna's murderer was not noble, and you will not harass council members and the patrons of this bank. The council has been patient with Chairman Lanjov out of respect for his grief, but you will cease this at once. Am I understood?"
Before Magiere could cut into Au'shiyn, Leesil grunted in disgust, crossing his arms again, and spoke directly to Lanjov.
"Is there any way she could have met someone who fits the description either at the council hall or through the bank?"
Lanjov dropped his head. Magiere almost felt sorry for him-almost.
"Some evenings," Lanjov answered, "she came with me to read aloud my dispatches for the following day. My eyes get tired and certain material is too delicate to leave the hall. But she was in my company at all times, and the few men she ever met were proper gentlemen."
"Who also happened to be in the courthouse at night," Magiere said, trying to make her meaning clear. "We need their names."
"You need no such thing!" Au'shiyn roared, apparently not caring who heard him in the outer chamber. "Cease this immediately. I will not have the council accosted by the likes of you. Leave now, or I will call the guards and have you thrown into the street."
Magiere appraised him in silence. Could he be that elitist, or was he hiding something? Perhaps both. His outburst leaned far beyond snobbery.
Chap whined and trotted toward the chamber door. Magiere found herself agreeing with the hound's sentiment. She turned again to Lanjov.
"If you want Chesna's true killer found, you'll assist us. If not, find someone else to waste their time. You know where we're staying."
Motioning to Leesil, she turned and left.
Chapter 11
That night, Chane climbed the stairs to Sapphire's room shortly after a message was delivered for Toret. Feeling some trepidation about entering her room, he knocked on the door.
"What is it?" Toret called from inside.
Chane cautiously opened the door but remained in the hallway. Toret sat on the satin-covered bed next to his beloved, along with a half dozen shimmering nightgowns of varied hue he'd ordered, so she would have choices of attire for her convalescence. Sapphire reclined against a mountain of pillows in a sea-foam-green dressing gown.
"I can't do my own hair like this," she complained. "You must hire me a girl."
"That's not safe, my sweet," Toret replied, as if to a child.
"But my curls are fading. Just look at my curls."
Indeed, Chane noted without sympathy that her sculpted ringlets hung half-coiled in a dark-blond mass down her shoulders.
"A message was delivered," Chane said. "Do you wish me to read it to you?"
Toret's neck craned around and then he reached out. "No, I'll take it."
Unfortunately, this required Chane to actually enter the room and hand it to him.
"Are you listening to me?" Sapphire demanded.
Toret opened the message, looked at it for several moments, and then folded it again.
"Chane, stay and entertain your lady awhile."
"In here?" Chane asked.
"Of course in here. You and I are going out later, and I don't want her alone all night. See to her wishes but stay out of the parlor. I need some time to myself."
Toret left, closing the door, and Chane fought down his revulsion as he looked at Sapphire. He had been reduced to a houseboy.
Sapphire smiled with the wide, glassy eyes of a cat spotting a mouse. "What can you devise for my amusement?" she asked.
Chane wondered if snapping her neck would qualify as a suitable diversion.
"I'm bored," she said. "And my ribs hurt, and Toret promised to bring me a pretty girl to satisfy me. You make sure he remembers that."
"Yes, some nobleman's daughter. A trifle, I'm sure. Where should we look for such a treat, my lady?" He bit off the last two words. "Young people from proper families are safely ensconced in their homes at night."
"Toret and I found you, didn't we?" Her smile widened. "Not so proper then, are you?"
Her bright eyes dropped to his half-open shirt. When the message arrived, he'd been alone in his cellar room, preparing to change clothes for Toret's errand later this evening.
"And not proper at all tonight," Sapphire added.
"What about a game of cards?" he suggested quickly.
She blinked, honest surprise washing over her round features.
"You would play cards with me? Really? I haven't played cards in a long time." She pointed at something in the corner. "We can use that little white tray if you set it on the bed."
"I must find a deck," he said. "Unless you have one?"
This was a gamble, but the chance of Sapphire's having a deck of cards in her room was minimal.
"No, I… don't think I do," she answered.
"I have one in my room that I use for scrying experiments. It is old, but will do. If you give me a moment-"
"How long will you be?" she asked, slightly suspicious now.
"Not long, but it may take me a few moments to find my cards." He handed her a pewter comb and picked up the small mirror next to her. "Best comb your hair and put it up. Fallen curls do not become you."
At those words, she grabbed the mirror and gazed into it with serious concern. "Oh, my. Go find those cards."
Chane slipped quietly out as Sapphire fussed with her curls.
He could not use the main stairs for fear Toret might hear him, so he walked quietly to the hall's end and the staircase landing. He pressed down with his booted toe against the corner of the floor, and the wall pivoted outward just enough to grab its edge. He opened it and slipped inside the wall. At times he wondered why the original owner had wanted this parallel passage between all four levels of the house. Closing the hidden door behind him, he crept downward. There wasn't enough light even for his eyes in this narrow space. At the bottom of three steep flights, he pressed against the wall until it grated open, and he stepped into the cellar.
He liked to keep this outer area sparse. Slim long swords, small bucklers and shields, and one short sword lined the opposite wall. This was where he and Toret did most of their training, and he practiced by himself if time allowed. A sharp mind with a dull body was useless. He hurried to his own room.
"Sparse" would hardly describe it. Rows of books lined the walls inside of old shelves. The narrow iron bed with a thin mattress and no blankets seemed to be an afterthought. The focal point of the room was his desk, covered in feather quills, faded parchments, crystal orbs, tiny wooden boxes, and whatever tome he happened to be studying. At the back of the desk was a cage with a large rat.
Chane opened the cage, hoping Sapphire still worked on her second or third curl. Whisking up the rat, he carried it to the bottom of the main stairs and focused his mind, absently touching the small urn around his neck as he did so.
He felt the animal's scattered thoughts at the edge of his awareness. He would need to guide it, but it would not hurt to implant an impression in its thoughts first. The small creature wriggled its long whiskers and stretched. Chane took it to the top of the cellar stairs, pushed the door slightly ajar, and set it down. The sleek rat slipped out.
Chane shut out his awareness until only the rat's senses filled his mind. It scurried past the kitchen and dining room, along the short hallway toward the edge of the parlor. Two sets of booted feet stood in the room. The rat darted quickly under and to the forward edge of a divan.
"She drove a stake through my mate's heart! I will take this fight to her."
Toret's voice was the first that Chane heard through the rat's ears. But to whom was he speaking?
Chane turned the small creature's attention upward.
A stranger stood across from Toret. Middle-aged, dressed like a gentleman in well-fitted clothes, the man had a dignified bearing, except that his crafted high boots were dull and scuffed as if well traveled. Dark brown hair, combed carefully back, was marked with a stark white patch at each temple.
"Of course," the stranger agreed. "That is why I warned you."
"Why would you care?" Toret retorted.
"It's merely fortunate-for you-that our objectives are compatible. How would this play out if you were unaware she was even here?"
Toret stepped closer, and Chane now saw both men through his familiar's eyes. How ridiculous Toret appeared next to his visitor. He was small and lowborn, and his deep purple tunic and black polished boots made him look like a houseboy playing dress-up.
"Very well, what do you suggest?" Toret asked finally, relenting.
"She and her partner stay at the Burdock in the southern merchant district. You know she can stand against a swordsman. Rashed was skilled and strong, but to no avail. She's never fought magic, and she dealt with Rashed one-on-one. Force her to deal with your conjuror. Increase your numbers. Give her more than one opponent to face."
Toret nodded. "I've already been preparing for this."
Chane wasn't sure how he felt about greater numbers in the household. He wanted to be free of Toret but remembered how weak his master had been in Chane's early nights as an undead. Making more than one new minion might weaken or disorient Toret enough for Chane to take advantage.
It appeared the conversation would soon come to a close. As much as Chane wished to hear all that was said, he needed time to reach the third floor before Toret returned there. He pulled his awareness back and summoned the rat. When it reached the cellar door, he carried it back to his room and its cage.
He rummaged through his belongings, opening small boxes and satchels until he found a deck of cards. Once back at the cellar's hidden entry, he slipped into the wall and up the narrow hidden passage to the third floor.
Why did Toret not further question this stranger's willing assistance? The man had hinted at an agenda. Were Chane in his master's place, he would take no advice, follow no suggestions, until he was certain what this man stood to gain. Toret behaved as if he were more accustomed to taking orders than giving them.
Chane slipped out onto the third floor and moved down the hall to Sapphire's room. As he entered and closed the door, she was still combing out her curls and looked at him expectantly.
"Did you find some?"
He held up the deck, and she clapped her hands.
"What should we play?" she asked.
"Two Kings. And I deal."
* * *
Welstiel sped by coach from Toret's house directly to a modest but respectable inn called Calabar's inside the second ring wall. Lanjov had sent for him, and he did not wish to keep his acquaintance waiting. He found the councilman sitting at their usual table, but Lanjov's face had changed much in recent weeks. Lines around the man's eyes made him appear weary.
But more seemed to weigh upon the councilman tonight, for Welstiel noted a strange apprehension in the man. He fidgeted, glancing about as if not wishing to be discovered. Then his eyes focused on Welstiel.
"Your message sounded urgent," Welstiel said in a calm voice.
Lanjov offered a half smile tinged with relief, followed by a look of reluctance. "Yes, my friend, please sit and have a drink with me."
Welstiel settled quietly across from him. "What troubles you?" he asked.
Lanjov signaled to the innkeeper for two tankards of wine before answering.
"Tomorrow, I will dismiss the dhampir. I wanted to tell you first. You were so helpful to me in finding her, and I did not want you to mistake this as ingratitude."
"Dismiss her?" Welstiel leaned back, surprised by this sudden turn. "You have given up on bringing Chesna's killer to justice?"
"No, of course not. But the dhampir has some mad idea the killer is a nobleman who… who knew Chesna. It is ridiculous that such a creature could pass for one of us."
Welstiel folded his hands upon the table. "What brought her to this conclusion?"
"Some vision she apparently experienced while she and that half-blood were at my home." Lanjov paused and shuddered with apparent revulsion. "The point is, she is not only incorrect but invading the privacy of our best
citizens. Only last night, there was a distasteful scene at the Rowanwood, and now the council must pay for the damages. Today, she came to my bank, stood in the lobby, and demanded to see me. I was thankful there were no patrons of note present. Lord Au'shiyn was with me, and we had no choice but to take her into my office. She plans to question any dignitary or council member who had contact with Chesna, and demanded a list of names! Lord Au'shiyn was supportive in this matter, and I hope you, too, see the need to stop this nonsense." Lanjov became almost manic in the moment. "This cannot happen. I would lose my place on the council."
A serving girl brought their tankards and set them on the table. Lanjov paid her quickly and waved her off.
"If you dismiss the dhampir, who will destroy the creature at large?" Welstiel asked.
"Please," Lanjov continued. "We cannot have council members questioned in this manner. It is pointless and only creates outrage and disarray. Captain Chetnik understands how these things work. He may not be a dhampir, but at least he'll search in the right places."
"And what happens if he finds it?" Welstiel asked. "Can he fight an undead? Can any of the city guard? If you dismiss the dhampir, it could further endanger Bela's citizens."
Lanjov ran a hand over his face, and then held it over his mouth. He leaned closer across the table.
"Councilman Batak is our legal adviser," he whispered through his fingers. "His wife is niece to the queen, but Batak keeps a mistress. If he was with the woman on the night of Chesna's death, how could he provide an alibi? Councilman Amrogovitz is a sixth-generation lord of a southern province, but he has also lost much of his fortunes in the gaming rooms, and few beside myself know this. It does not hinder his voice on the council, but we have no wish for his… pastime to become public knowledge."
Welstiel stared at him, and Lanjov shifted again in his seat.
"If you dismiss the dhampir," Welstiel said, "you are a fool, and more will die. What does it matter if a few men are embarrassed in comparison to the safety of your city?"
Lanjov tensed, and his voice hardened in return. "I explain my reasons out of respect for your kind efforts thus far. Lord Au'shiyn's counsel to dismiss her is the correct course of action, whether you agree or not."