by Raby, Amy
Sweating profusely in her world of fire, Taya asked Isatis for the vision she sought, and Isatis granted it.
In the dancing fire, Taya saw Gadatas’s small house and the path that led to his door. A man appeared, with his back to Taya. He took a furtive glance around him and went to Gadatas’s door. Taya couldn’t see his face, but based on his bulk, she could rule some people out. He wasn’t Shardali, Ilinos, Setsi, or Nindar.
The man pushed his way inside without knocking.
Taya imagined there was a commotion at this point, because Gadatas would not give up his nepenthe without protest. But she did not hear it; fire visions were silent. Since she couldn’t see into the house, all she saw as Gadatas was probably being attacked and threatened by this newcomer was the outside of the house and the surrounding area, both quiet and peaceful.
The man reappeared in the door frame, and this time Taya could see his face. It was Bel-Zaidu. Rage choked her. The guards themselves had set Mandir up. No wonder they hadn’t listened to her protests. They knew perfectly well the vial hadn’t been Mandir’s.
Why would they set up an innocent man? Had they killed Tufan and Yanzu themselves and needed someone to blame? Or had someone else done it, and rather than take the time to discover who it had been, the guards had accused Mandir to get back at him?
In the mother tongue, she thanked Isatis for the vision and dismissed her fire. Then she headed back to the guest room. Scrying with fire was physically demanding because of the proximity of the fire; she needed water and rest afterward. Plus she had to write the contents of her vision onto a tablet so that the Coalition, which documented all visions, could add it to their archives.
In the guest room, she summoned herself a cupful of water and fetched her writing supplies from the saddlebags, now hopelessly jumbled from being searched by the guards. The disarray was all the more vexing now that she knew the searching had been for show. They knew where the nepenthe had been; they’d planted it themselves.
She wrote down the day and approximate time of the vision and began to transcribe what she’d seen, but it was hard to concentrate. Her thoughts kept returning to Bel-Zaidu and the other guards, and why they would have set up Mandir. Was it personal, or could it be that someone actually wanted to drum up conflict between the Coalition and the crown?
The Coalition would not allow one of their own ilittu to be prosecuted for a crime when one of their own fire seers had seen a vision proving that he had been set up. And that could be the seed of a serious conflict. The Coalition would take the content of her fire vision seriously, but the king might think she was making it up.
She struggled with the tablet work, as always. On their mission in Hrappa, she’d dictated, and Mandir, a much faster writer, had transcribed. Now she’d been at it for half an hour at least, and had only a couple of sentences to show for her work. She pushed the tablet aside. There was no time for this now; she’d have to finish it later.
It would be useful if she could talk to Mandir. Surely he’d want to know that he’d been set up, and by whom. But she didn’t know a way to do that without confronting the guards or at least being overheard by them.
For now, she’d keep investigating. She still didn’t know who the murderer was. And she still didn’t understand why Yanzu had died on the same night as Tufan.
Taya glanced out the window and saw that she had only a few hours of daylight left.
∞
“I didn’t kill anybody,” said Mandir. “And I think you know it.”
The guards had taken him to Tufan’s room, where they intended to watch over him until morning. He’d submitted reluctantly to sitting in the chair they pointed him toward and having his wrists and ankles bound with rope, knowing this was all a sham. Unless they’d managed to sneak him some kimat—and he didn’t think they had, given that he and Taya were drinking only summoned water—he could burn through those ropes in an instant. Either the guards didn’t know he could do that, or they were depending upon his good faith and his desire not to start a war between the Coalition and the crown.
Which was absurd. If Mandir was the sort of person who would willfully murder two people, did they think he would care about preventing a war?
They knew as well as he did that he hadn’t killed anyone. Regardless, they seemed determined to go through with this and follow it to its logical conclusion: a trial at the palace followed by Mandir’s likely execution, unless the Coalition took umbrage at this treatment of one of their members and came to his defense. Then the guards—and the king—would face a more serious conflict.
“If you didn’t kill anybody,” said Bel-Sumai, “why were you hiding nepenthe in your saddlebag?”
“It was planted, as I’ve told you repeatedly.”
“When we get to the palace, you can tell that to the king,” said Bel-Sumai. “Maybe he’ll listen to your pretty stories.”
Mandir had never met King Izdubar, but he doubted the man would listen to much of anything. He’d be all too happy to have a scapegoat on whom he could blame his son’s death; he wouldn’t much care who it was, as long as it wasn’t somebody important.
Speaking of pretty stories, Neshi’s so-called wisdom had let him down this time. Neshi had said that anger and resentment twisted Mandir’s heart into knots. But here at Tufan’s, how could it be otherwise? There was no justice here, only scheming and backstabbing and gaining advantage at somebody else’s expense. What a load of tripe that story about Telal and Twisting Arrow was. Mandir couldn’t get forgiveness for poisoning a dog ten years ago, and he hadn’t even done it.
If nobody forgave him for anything, why should he forgive anybody else? It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t justice.
If the guards expected mercy from him, they could forget it. For now, he’d submit quietly to his arrest, in the hope that Taya might find the killer by morning and put an end to this travesty. But tomorrow, if Bel-Sumai and the others tried to take him to the palace, it would be war. They would make no scapegoat out of him; he’d burn the lot of them before that happened.
Chapter 26
Taya pulled out the timeline she and Mandir had put together and looked it over. She added a few missing items gleaned from her interviews with Nindar and Shardali, placing question marks at the ends of items whose exact positioning in the timeline she was not certain of.
Ilinos lets out the dogs
Setsi tells Runawir
Setsi tells Shala
Shala goes out
Setsi tells us the dogs are out
We go outside with Setsi and Nindar
Runawir stabs Yanzu?
We see Runawir
Setsi and Nindar see Runawir?
Setsi goes to kitchen for meat?
We see Setsi luring a dog
Shala returns to the kitchen?
We see Tufan calling his dogs
For all that she stared at it, the timeline gave her no insights. There was just too much chaos during the time the dogs had been out. She couldn’t pin down who’d had access to Tufan’s wine cup and when. And what if one of the guards had poisoned the cup? They didn’t need those windows of opportunity; they could have done it at any time.
She needed to approach this from a different angle.
Perhaps she should follow Yanzu’s movements the night of the murders. What would he have done after Runawir stabbed him? After the attack, nobody had seen Yanzu outside, which suggested he’d gone back into the house. That made sense. He would want to bandage his arm before it bled too much.
If he’d been inside while everyone else was out, he could have poisoned Tufan’s wine cup. The timing fit. But if Yanzu had been the murderer, how had he ended up dying of nepenthe poisoning himself? And what was his motive for killing Tufan, when the person he’d have been angry with in that moment was Runawir?
Could Yanzu’s death have been accidental? If Yanzu had been the one to poison Tufan’s cup, he might have, somehow, accidentally dosed himself.
Or
not so accidentally? Mandir had said nepenthe was a painkiller. He and his brothers had tried to steal it when they were injured, to dull pain. And Yanzu had been stabbed in the arm that night. It made sense that he might take advantage of the chaos caused by the dogs being out to steal some nepenthe for his pain.
Maybe Yanzu’s death had nothing to do with Tufan’s at all. Yanzu had accidentally overdosed himself on the nepenthe the same night that somebody else had poisoned Tufan. It was possible the two events were entirely separate—but Taya balked at this. That was too much coincidence. The events could be unrelated, but how likely was that, really?
Still, she’d follow the thread. If Yanzu had decided to steal nepenthe for his pain, where had he obtained it? He had two options. He could steal it from Tufan, or he could steal it from Gadatas. Gadatas was the safer option of the two, but the brothers were accustomed to stealing nepenthe from Tufan, and the circumstances, with Tufan and his guards out looking for the dogs, would have afforded Yanzu the opportunity to do that in relative safety.
She could find out whether he’d stolen it from Gadatas or Tufan. All she had to do was ask Gadatas and hope she got a straight answer.
For the third time today, she made the trek out to Gadatas’s dusty house. The sun was nearing the horizon, a worrisome reminder that she was running out of time.
She didn’t bother knocking as the door was still lying in the dirt outside. She went in through the open door frame. “Gadatas, I need you to tell me something.”
Gadatas was lying on his bed again; he jumped up at her words and backed away.
“Who were you expecting?” she said. “Bel-Zaidu?”
The tutor gaped at her. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”
“I know the truth—Mother Isatis showed it to me. It was Bel-Zaidu who came in here this morning, attacked you, and stole your nepenthe.”
Gadatas appeared stunned.
“Has he given it back?”
“No,” said Gadatas, apparently giving up on his deception. “And I’m shaking again. See?”
She saw. The shaking was worse than before. Reason enough for her to never take nepenthe, no matter its pain-relieving qualities. “Do you want it back?”
“Yes.” His eyes lit, half hopeful, half suspicious.
“I don’t have it,” said Taya. “But I might just come up with it. I’m building a case against the guards for framing Mandir, and if I can find enough evidence, I’ll accuse them. Then I might have the opportunity to return your nepenthe to you.”
“You’d be a fool to confront the guards,” said Gadatas. “There are four of them, and one of you. And they have a dog.”
“In a sense, there’s two of me,” said Taya. “One of us is Mother Isatis.”
Gadatas swallowed.
“But before I do you any favors,” continued Taya, “you have to do a favor for me. I need you to tell me whether or not, on the night of the murder, Yanzu came here and stole some of your nepenthe.”
Gadatas blinked. “Yanzu?”
“Yes, Yanzu,” said Taya. “I think he may have taken nepenthe deliberately that night, to dull the pain from his knife wound, and he overdosed on it. But where did he get it? From you, or from Tufan’s room?”
“Not from me,” said Gadatas.
“Are you certain?” Taya didn’t trust him.
“Quite certain,” said Gadatas. “He didn’t know I had nepenthe. Nobody did.”
“Nobody?” she asked. “Not even the guards?”
Gadatas shut his mouth.
“Forget the guards,” she said. “Did anybody else know?”
“Nobody,” said Gadatas.
∞
Taya headed back to the main house. Her talk with Gadatas had closed off one line of investigation: Yanzu had not taken the nepenthe from Gadatas. That was good; she needed to narrow things down. She was hoping to be able to scry for more answers, but she couldn’t “fish” for answers from a goddess. She would not insult Mother Isatis by scrying for something she wasn’t reasonably certain had actually happened.
Yanzu had not stolen nepenthe from Gadatas. That meant that unless there was a third vial kicking around somewhere, he must have stolen it from Tufan. But how? There were two possible doors he could have used to gain access to Tufan’s chambers: the inside door from within the main house and the outside door. Shala had reported that the inside door was barred.
While it was not impossible that Yanzu knew a way to get past the barred inside door, it seemed more likely he’d taken the easier route of going in through the outside door or, if that was barred also, through one of the two windows.
If Yanzu had entered Tufan’s chambers from the outdoors, Taya could scry for that. She felt a little trepidation about doing so—she was not absolutely certain that Yanzu had done this—but her gut sense told her he had. It made sense that Yanzu would seek pain relief after being stabbed in the arm. It made sense that he would steal the drug he needed from Tufan while Tufan and his guards were away from the room. And the idea that Yanzu had accidentally overdosed instead of being poisoned would explain why she and Mandir had been unable to fit his death into their theories about Tufan’s murder.
She changed course, heading for the back of the main house, toward Tufan’s outside door. She expected it to be guarded, but that was all right. She didn’t plan to go in. All she wanted to do was scry nearby, outdoors.
Bel-Apsu was on patrol. When he caught her eye, he immediately moved to intercept her. “You can’t be over here.”
Taya looked over the grounds, evaluating scry-sites. She didn’t need to be right next to the main house to scry; she only needed to be close enough that she could see the door and windows and observe anyone coming in or out. “I’m not coming any closer.”
“You can’t visit your partner right now,” said Bel-Apsu. “He’s under arrest.”
“I’m not visiting anybody,” she said. “I’m scrying. Kindly stand aside—you don’t want to get burned.”
Bel-Apsu retreated a step. “Scrying for what?”
“Whatever the Fire Mother chooses to show me.” She held out her arm, horizontal to the ground, and flames blossomed from her fingertips.
Bel-Apsu retreated a few more steps and gave a shout back toward the house.
The last thing Taya saw before the flames closed around her was two more palace guards appearing in the windows and staring at her.
But now she was in the embrace of the Fire Mother. Come in power, Mother Isatis, she said. Come in greatness. You are the ephemeral, the untouchable, the joyful dancer who sustains life and takes it away. You are wily as the onager, hungry as the lioness, keen as the eagle sighting its prey. Grant a vision to your humble daughter, who loves you.
The flames gave her no response, no flash of yellow. Taya swallowed, sweating profusely. She couldn’t survive in the cone of fire for long.
Two nights previously, a man came here on a secret mission while the guards were away. Show me that man.
No response.
Taya wasn’t sure what to do. She could try more flattery, but that had not worked for her in the past. Either Isatis chose to listen or she didn’t. Taya had already scried once today—perhaps Isatis believed she was asking for too much.
Please, Fire Mother, she said. One of your children stands falsely accused of a crime. If he is tried and found guilty, it could spark a war among your people.
Still no response. Perhaps Isatis did not care if her children went to war.
Mother, I love this man, she said. Please help me save him.
An image appeared in the fire.
A man approached the house, turning his head this way and that. He held his right arm to his side, immobilizing it. When he turned his head toward her, Taya saw his face and confirmed that he was Yanzu.
He had something in his hand, but she couldn’t see what it was.
First he tried the door, but it didn’t budge. Then he went to the nearest window. It was too high for him to ste
p through, but he vaulted easily up onto the sill. There he set down the item he’d been carrying and disappeared into the house. She peered at the item. It was a cup, either the one she and Mandir had seen in his room or another much like it.
Yanzu reappeared in the window, carrying a vial. It looked bigger than the one she’d seen in Gadatas’s quarters. He lowered the vial over the cup and tipped in some of its contents—more than a single drop. She didn’t get an exact count, but it looked like approximately ten drops. Taya swallowed. No wonder the nepenthe had killed him. Yanzu had given himself ten times the normal dose. Why would he do that? Did he not know the proper amount to use, or was he deliberately killing himself?
Yanzu disappeared from the window again, presumably to return the nepenthe to where it was stored. Then he reappeared, climbed out the window, took his cup that now had ten drops of nepenthe in it, and left her field of vision.
Thank you, Great Mother, said Taya, and let her scry-fire drop.
While she’d been scrying, Bel-Sumai had joined Bel-Apsu. He stalked up to her. “What are you doing?”
“Scrying.” Taya had no patience for this bulldog of a palace guard; she wanted to get back to her room and think over this new information and its implications. “I’m done now.”
“I didn’t give you permission to scry,” said Bel-Sumai.
“No matter, since I don’t need it.” Taya walked away.
Chapter 27
Back in her guest room, Taya was able to devote her full attention to the problem of Yanzu. He’d given himself too much nepenthe, and it appeared he’d done it deliberately. So much for her theory that he’d stolen the nepenthe to ease his pain. Now it looked like he’d done it to kill himself. But why? And how did that relate to Tufan’s death?
Or could she be misinterpreting what she’d seen? Perhaps his death had been an accident after all. Yanzu might not have been aware of the danger of taking too much nepenthe. If his pain was severe, he might have thought a larger dose would be more effective. But that didn’t explain why Tufan had died in the same way and on the same night.