Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  “No, but I’m not so certain about Reltheus and his lot.”

  Seregil shook his head. “I’m completely confused. First it’s Klia, then it’s Reltheus. I’ve never heard anything of this from you before. Please, Malthus, speak plainly!”

  “I don’t know if I can, Seregil. With your new friends …”

  “Are you saying that Reltheus is up to something?”

  Malthus nodded. “He’s a smooth man. A very smooth man, and an ambitious one. You’d do well to be careful around him. He may seem to be your friend, but I suspect he’s more concerned with your connection to the throne.”

  “He’s better connected at court than I’ve ever been.”

  Malthus gave him a long, measuring look. “Are you going to report me to the queen, or Korathan?”

  “If I was, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking now. And what is there to report? I’m your friend, Malthus. I don’t mean you any harm. I asked you here to try to save you from disaster, and anyone else involved in this madness.”

  “You’re satisfied with my innocence, I hope.”

  “Of course, and I’m glad of it! You wouldn’t just be putting your own head on a spike, you know. Alec and I are rumored to be part of it. And if word of this ever reached the queen, do you think she would believe for one moment that Klia wasn’t involved, as well? I only hope it’s not too late to quell such rumors. If I’ve heard of it, then others must have.”

  “Where did you hear of it?” Malthus asked again.

  “Some noble I met at Kylith’s salon. I don’t even remember his name. But you can rely on me to uphold your honor. You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you.” Seregil was beginning to feel a bit heartsick with all these empty promises.

  “And Alec knows nothing of this?”

  “No, and I have no intention of involving him. That’s why I sent him out tonight.”

  Malthus clasped Seregil’s hands tightly. “Thank you, my friend, for this warning. Rest assured that I have taken everything you’ve said to heart.” This time, to his credit, he spoke with an almost convincing lack of concern.

  Hidden in the bedroom, Alec heard the library door open and the sound of Seregil and Malthus going downstairs, chatting amiably. He waited for some time before it was clear that Malthus was in no hurry to take his leave. Perhaps Seregil had suggested a game to finish off the evening. Or they’d gone out together.

  Alec, already changed into a dark, plain coat, was pacing impatiently when Seregil finally came in, looking serious. “Well?”

  “Go.”

  Alec hurried off after Malthus.

  Seregil went to his clothes chest and retrieved the fake message he’d crafted. “Now let’s send you home.”

  The first leg of the letter’s journey began at the inn. One of the scullions took the wrapped and sealed packet and a handful of silver half sesters from Ema, unaware of Seregil—plainly dressed and armed with the tools of his trade—trailing along behind. Not surprisingly, the first stop was the Black Feather, where the boy left it and some coins with the landlord. It was late, and the barmaids began putting up the shutters. As the tavern cleared, the tavern keeper placed the packet—minus a few coins, no doubt—behind the model ship on the mantelpiece and reversed the ship’s direction, then called the girls away into the back of the shop. One of the drinkers, a young ne’er-do-well in a broken-brimmed hat, had lingered behind, and as soon as they were gone he grabbed the packet and money, tucked it into the front of his coat, and strode out, not noticing the dark shape ghosting after him.

  Packet and coins changed hands again at a cheese shop, where a young boy took them and changed direction, heading at last toward the Noble Quarter, as expected.

  The hunt ended, not at Reltheus’s villa, but at Marquis Kyrin’s. The sentries at the gate seemed familiar with the boy and let him pass.

  Seregil ran silently down the side street to the alley behind the duke’s high garden wall. The barrel Alec had told him of was still there, lying on its side across the way next to a garbage pile. It served well again, and Seregil was soon through the garden and on the balcony outside the duke’s library. The heavy draperies were pulled across the window, but as he waited he saw the glow of a lamp in the sliver of space between the panels. Seregil pressed close to the glass, peering in.

  Inside, Kyrin walked to his desk and opened the packet, frowning as he carefully perused it. The frown soon changed to a look of relief. The marquis went to the painted cabinet Alec had searched his last time here. Opening both doors, he reached inside and did something that pivoted the cabinet out to reveal a dark hidden room or passageway, then disappeared inside with the lamp.

  Well, well, thought Seregil. I wonder what you keep there?

  He waited until Kyrin reappeared and left the room with his lamp, then waited a bit longer, just to be safe.

  Seregil threw the window latch with a shim and slipped inside, relying on the faint moonlight to see.

  Alec had warned him about the device on the cabinet lock. Taking out his lightstone, he found the telltale pits in the lock plate. He picked the lock carefully, angling his hand so the long needles didn’t pierce it when they sprang out.

  Opening the cabinet, Seregil cautiously reached inside, looking for the mechanism. It turned out to be nothing more than a small brass lever that secured the cabinet and its panel in place.

  Cool, stale air drafted out as he turned the cabinet and slipped behind it. He found himself on a small stone landing above a short flight of stairs. Seregil pulled the secret door nearly closed, in case someone wandered in, but not all the way since he couldn’t seem to find any corresponding lever on this side.

  He was about to go down the stairs when he caught sight of a slight space between the first stair and the riser. Kneeling, he pressed on the step and watched the stairs pivot on some unseen mechanism to become a smooth granite slide. A large trapdoor fell open at the bottom, revealing a square of blackness, ready to swallow up the unwitting thief. Seregil took his hand away and the stairs righted themselves, looking deceptively solid. With a creak of hidden pulleys, the trapdoor closed. Any unwary thief would be securely held until the master of the house came to find him. Or perhaps already impaled on iron spikes or blades. It was as nasty as it was ingenious, Seregil thought, impressed. It was the most elegant device he’d seen for some time. Now to find the locking mechanism.

  By the lightstone’s glow he inspected the stonework on either side of the landing. An iron lever was set into the mortar, just inside the door, quite out of sight unless you knew to look for it. He pulled it down and heard the rasp of metal somewhere underfoot. Pulling the lever down as far as it would go, Seregil felt it shift, no doubt locking into place. He was cautious all the same, testing the upper step again. It seemed solid.

  The stairway was narrow enough for him to press his palms firmly against the rough stonework as he made his way down, just in case the stairs went out from under him. Even now he went cautiously, aware that where there was one trap there might very likely be another, perhaps like the glyphs that protected his own secret staircase at the inn. But Kyrin either was too cautious to share his secret with a wizard, or lacked imagination, for Seregil reached the small chamber at the bottom without incident. Hopping over the trapdoor, he held up the lightstone.

  The room was sparsely furnished with a desk and two large cabinets similar to the one upstairs. The sweet aroma of snuffed candles still hung on the stale air.

  The cabinets were all locked and needle-trapped. Seregil carefully picked the lock of the left-hand cabinet and found stacks of papers on an upper shelf, and on the lower one cloth-wrapped parcels that reminded him of round wheels of Kerry cheese. He reached for one and found it surprisingly heavy. Undoing the wrappings, he saw that it was an Aurënfaie kar, a bowl-shaped ingot of pure gold about the size of a large bird’s nest. There were fifty-two in all. Seregil whistled softly through his teeth as he examined the markings on it; it bore Goliníl clan’s hall
mark.

  So Kyrin must be smuggling something south, but what? The khirnari of Goliníl was hand in glove with the khirnari of neighboring Virésse; together they had opposed the opening of Aurënfaie ports other than wealthy Virésse, a treaty made by Klia. Perhaps they were backing a plot against her out of revenge, or foresight, if they really believed that she was a viable rival for the throne. Seregil eyed the kars; this represented a considerable amount of support by the ’faie, in return for what must have been some pretty convincing assurances from Kyrin. Since Aurënen was a collection of separate but interdependent clans, Goliníl could do this, while other clans, especially the western ones like Bôkthersa, benefited from the open ports and supported Phoria in her war.

  There were several caskets of jewels in the other cabinet. Taken all together, it was more than enough to finance a conspiracy—or a hasty escape.

  He turned his attention to the papers on the top shelf of the first cabinet, expecting more manifests. Instead he found a collection of short notes and, after reading a few, realized that they were most likely the translations of Danos’s coded letters. “Klia disagreed with the queen in front of the troops at Monton.” “Klia wounded at Alford.” “Hawk clipped Klia’s wings at Morninghill.” “Klia’s troop defeated at Ustin.” His forged note was among them. Another caught his eye: “Klia lives. No survivors.”

  “You bastards, you really did it,” Seregil muttered.

  There were more of the same in the other cabinet, and some in a different hand, pertaining to the queen’s movements. That came as little surprise, but it was the first time he’d found anything suggesting there was a spy in Phoria’s camp.

  Among the rest of it he found a rolled letter tied with scarlet ribbon. Seregil slipped the ribbon off and scanned it, recognizing Reltheus’s bold handwriting even before he read the signature at the bottom. It was addressed to Tolin. The first part dealt with the sale of some horses Tolin had purchased from the duke, and then made reference to the courtesan Hyli, whose favors he outlined in graphic detail. It was the last paragraph that sent Seregil’s heart racing.

  In reply to your question at the ball the other night—yes, when Danos is consort, I will urge him to have you appointed chief minister of the exchequer. Upon that you have my word.

  Seregil seriously doubted that Reltheus had placed this in Kyrin’s hands. Bilairy’s Balls, was everyone in Rhíminee blackmailing each other this summer? And what could have possessed Reltheus to commit something like this to ink and parchment? Strictly speaking, it was not treasonous, but the wording—when Danos was consort, not if—would reflect extremely badly on both father and son if it was shown at court, and most likely end any marriage hopes between the two families. Had Kyrin snared Reltheus into this plot, this cabal? What Seregil had found so far pointed to the marquis being the head of the serpent, rather than the duke. Kyrin was not as social, but he seemed to have the more impressive collection of information. It appeared that Danos sent his messages to his father, to avoid suspicion, then Reltheus passed them on to Kyrin. Which meant Kyrin was taking the greatest risk, though Reltheus had something more personal at stake.

  And how had Kyrin gotten the letter? From Tolin himself, perhaps, since the man seemed to be quite solidly in the plot. Unless Kyrin was blackmailing him, as well? Seregil frowned as he replaced the letter; holding a conspiracy together by coercion was a recipe for disaster. No, it was more likely only Reltheus, whose use lay in his son’s position in Klia’s regiment. Should Reltheus’s hopes be realized, Seregil wondered if he would be the power behind the throne, as he clearly hoped, or Kyrin?

  At the back of a shelf he discovered a leather box. Inside, padded in blue velvet, were two small, wax-sealed phials. Viscous liquid half filled each, black in the soft glow of his lightstone. Seregil carefully cut the wax seal close to the mouth of each bottle and worked the little plugs out. He sniffed the contents of each phial, then hastily stoppered them again. It was poison, what the assassins called Wyvern Blood—a type of viper’s venom, blended with some other unhealthy ingredients, including blue myrtle, which gave it such a mild but distinctive herbal odor and incredible potency. One scant drop of this in someone’s wine and they’d be dead after the first sip. And even a drysian or wizard couldn’t detect it, since it was such a small amount and not magical. Needless to say, mere possession of this could land a man in the Red Tower. Kyrin was indeed playing a dangerous game, which meant the stakes were very, very high.

  More disturbing still, there was space in the box for one more phial, and the velvet was crushed, as if one had been removed. Could this be what was used on Klia? Doubtful, since she survived.

  So what does Kyrin want, then? Elani on the throne, perhaps, just as much as Reltheus? Or Phoria off it.

  “Six of one, half dozen of the other,” Seregil muttered as he warmed the poison phials’ wax seals with his breath and fingers and smoothed them back as they had been. It might be what was on those lock traps, or Kyrin could use it on himself in case he was caught. It would give him a far quicker death than Phoria would.

  Seregil put the phials back where he’d found them and went to the desk. It was plainly made, with only one drawer, which was locked and rigged with the same poisoned needles. Someone should tell Kyrin not to use the same device more than once. It gave the rest of them away and made for boring thievery. He loosened the works and pulled the drawer open. Inside was a packet of those copied letters of Elani’s, dating back over a year, and several from Alaya. The contents of both were seemingly innocent, but contained a lot of information about the princess’s daily business, and frequent mentions of her interest in Danos, and her warm feelings for Reltheus, whom she clearly liked a great deal.

  They’ve been at this for a while, he noted. Since before Elani met Danos at that hunt last winter.

  He quickly shuffled through them, wishing he had more time to read them in detail, since there was no question of stealing them or time to copy them. As with the others, nothing of earth-shattering importance jumped out, but anyone with a discerning eye could at least get a sense of the girl herself. Which would be quite useful to anyone trying to find a young man to catch her eye. Or groom one to catch her eye, perhaps.

  And there was one other point of interest: all copies of Elani’s letters were done in the same script. Seregil went back for a second look. The script appeared very similar to that taught to the palace scribes. This looked like a poor attempt to disguise it.

  One way or another, he was going to have to find out who was making these copies.

  Alec followed Malthus’s carriage at a safe distance, and was not surprised when it halted at the gates of Laneus’s villa. The duke’s face was grim as he alighted under the lanterns and was ushered in by the watchman.

  Alec skirted the walls and found a way over into a kitchen yard. From there he made his way into the back garden. As he watched, a light suddenly showed at a window on the ground floor. That was a piece of luck, not having to climb for once.

  Creeping up to the window, he looked into a large dining room, where the two men were conferring in low tones. The window had been propped open to catch the evening breeze. Alec hunkered down under it, listening.

  “If he knows, then how many others?” Malthus was saying, and he sounded genuinely frightened.

  “Why did you not press him on where he’d heard it?” snapped Laneus. Alec could hear him pacing. “That is the greater question.”

  “I had the impression that he’d heard it from Duke Reltheus.”

  “Ah, yes, his new friend. Lord Seregil and his boy are quite popular in those circles these days.”

  “All the better for us to make use of them, don’t you think?” asked Malthus. “Why else would he have come to me?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Malthus! Seregil could just as easily have been sounding you out for Reltheus and his pack. It might be time for your friends to suffer an unfortunate accident.”

  To Alec’s horror, Malthus said
nothing to this.

  “Go home, and keep this to yourself,” said Laneus. “I’ll see to the details.”

  “Don’t you think the others should know? We’re all in danger.”

  “He didn’t name any names except yours. Did you have any indication that he thought there were others?”

  “Yes, but not who.”

  “I’ll take care of this, Malthus. Go home.”

  The two men parted company on strained terms. Alec waited until the room went dark, then crept back the way he’d come.

  He was just lighting the lamps when Seregil entered their rooms at the inn and flopped down in one of the chairs by the empty fireplace to pull off his boots. “Not a bad night. How did you make out?”

  “Malthus went straight to Laneus’s house,” Alec told him. “Laneus wasn’t very happy with his news. He suspects you didn’t tell Malthus all you know, and that you might be working for Reltheus. And it sounds like he—Laneus, that is—means to have us killed.”

  “Does he really? He’s a sharp one, all right. Anything else?”

  “That’s all you have to say? He means to kill us, Seregil!”

  “Well, he won’t be the first, will he? We’ll worry about that when it happens. What were the exact words?”

  “Only that Laneus said he’d take care of things.”

  “We should certainly avoid eating with him. Not that he’ll dirty his own hands.”

  “What did you say to Malthus to bring all this on?”

  “I made out that I knew more than I did, and gave the idea of assassination a gamble. Malthus went pale, and though he denied it, I’m pretty certain he was lying.”

  “But who? Phoria or Elani?”

  “I don’t know. Both? I did my best to warn him off the idea.”

  “Do you think he’ll listen?”

  Seregil sighed. “I have no idea. If he’s telling Laneus about it, probably not.”

  “I still say you’ve put yourself at too much of a risk, talking to him. They had you safely dismissed. Now they know that you know something. He didn’t come to you to be part of the plot so now you’re a danger to them.”