A Parliament of Owls

by Beth Hilgartner

  "He will die," Hassythe said quietly. "Starving is a slow death, but it's sure."

  Mouse shook her head and sighed theatrically. "You should have used poison, Thyzhecci. Thekheth is quick and deadly. But I forgot!" She turned to Hassythe. "Thekheth didn't work, either, when you tried it on Owl."

  "I?" Hassythe protested coolly, raising her thin brows.

  "Yes, you: Bodywalking as Klarhynne Dhenykhare—but that counts."

  Hassythe couldn't hide her shock.

  "Bodywalking?" Thyzhecci repeated. "Amynne Ykhave, who tells you these things?"

  "The Windbringer." She let the name fall into the silence like a stone. A moment later she amended, "To be precise, Talyene told Owl, and he told me." A sudden gust of wind from the window ruffled the pages of the book open on the floor.

  Thyzhecci paled. She fixed wide, dark eyes on Hassythe. "You said—"

  But Hassythe cut her off. "The girl is trying to unnerve you. If the Windbringer were capable of protecting her priest, do you think he would be lying helpless?"

  "Talyene said she didn't want to break the spell herself because it is difficult to judge exactly how much of a god's power a mortal can bear," Mouse remarked in a conversational tone. "So instead, she told Owl about the xhi'essiss and I came to see if I could retrieve it." As she spoke, Mouse reached stealthily behind her and took hold of one of her torches. She moved it carefully toward the lighted lamp as she went on speaking. "She also said we could break the spell by killing Hassythe, or by forcing you, Thyzhecci, to repudiate your part in the spell; but she warned us that Hassythe would be hard to kill, and she said that she was loathe to meddle too obviously with one of her sister Mehnyssarre's priests." The torch caught, and Mouse rose fluidly to her feet. "I have no such inhibitions." With her free hand, she pulled the silk scarf over her head and snatched the half-open pepper box out of her pocket. She rushed at the two women; Thyzhecci flinched away from the torch, but Hassythe held her ground. There was a metallic glint in Hassythe's hand as Mouse flung a liberal dose of the pepper into the Adept's face. There was a hiss of air as something—a thrown knife, Mouse realized belatedly—flew over her shoulder. Choking and cursing, her eyes streaming, Hassythe spun toward the secret doorway. Before Mouse could stop her, the bookcase swung on its pivot and she slipped through. It clicked back into position and the bolt thudded home.

  "She locked me in," Thyzhecci said, outraged.

  "Surely you have a key to the other door," Mouse pointed out.

  "Yes, but it will be hard to open that door without letting you out. That's why we used the hidden door in the first place."

  "You aren't going to be able to keep me prisoner in any case, Thyzhecci. I wasn't bluffing when I told you my friends would come back for me. The only question in my mind is whether they'll come back with a troop of thieves and longshoremen, or with the Imperial Guard."

  "Very well, we'll wait. My associate—as you call her—was very definite about the importance of holding on to whatever our little trap snared. If you're not bluffing, your friends can let you out when they come; and if you are, then my associate will deal with you when she's recovered from whatever it was you did to her."

  Mouse's eyes narrowed and her grip shifted on the torch. She could see a large bunch of keys on a ring at the High Priestess's waist, but even if she could overpower her and take the keys away, it would take time to try them all in the door—and then there was the grate; there was probably a trick to getting that opened. It would be much better, Mouse realized, if she could persuade the High Priestess to let them out. And speaking of persuasion, she thought a little wryly, she had better see whether she could convince Thyzhecci to relinquish her hold on the spell that held Kerigden helpless.

  "You are very loyal to your associate," Mouse remarked. "But I can't help wondering whether she is sufficiently appreciative of the risks you are running on her behalf."

  "Risks? Don't be a fool, Amynne. I know the law, and I've been careful to act well within its constraints."

  "I don't imagine for a moment, Thyzhecci, that you are in any danger from the secular authorities. And doubtless, a prelate as discerning as yourself would never fail to solicit her divine patron's approbation; nonetheless, it amazes me that Mehnyssarre could be so tolerant of your deviation to the Bone King's worship."

  "Don't be ridiculous! That sacrifice was a very ancient form of the moon-dark ritual."

  "Providentially discovered in your order's archives by your...associate?" Mouse hazarded at random. There was a flicker of expression—dismay? agitation?—in Thyzhecci's eyes. Mouse pressed on relentlessly. "I know you don't think you have any reason to believe me, but according to the Windbringer, the Bone King is a use name for the god Vasgrifallok. Your associate is using you to help revive his worship."

  "Do you think—" her voice was thin, far removed from her usual refined tones. She swallowed and tried again. "Do you think you can frighten me with a handful of names out of legend?"

  "Only a fool wouldn't be afraid to be caught up with the ysmath bones of the gods." Mouse broke off suddenly, sniffing. "I smell smoke."

  "You're waving a great torch around. Of course you smell smoke."

  "No—it's not the same smoke. Gods and fish," she said, her eyes widening. "The way you came in—the passage. Is it stonework or wood?"

  "Wood. Amynne—"

  "And does it end at this door?"

  "No. It goes up to the garret where the servants sleep."

  "With the windows open in the garret, that passage will act just like a flue. Hassythe set a fire. Unlock the door, Thyzhecci, or we'll roast in here."

  "Don't be silly. Why would Hassythe betray me?"

  "I don't know for certain," Mouse snapped, "but I'll venture a guess. If you die in here, without relinquishing your hold on the spell that binds Kerigden, Hassythe can retain control of the power."

  "That's not—" A gust of wind blew a cloud of smoke in through the window, and the sound of a voice, crying: "Fire!"

  "Unlock the door," Mouse said again. "Hurry!"

  Thyzhecci went to the door and stood there as she picked through her keys with trembling fingers. Mouse got out her grappling hook and the silk rope. Thyzhecci pulled the door open, and smoke poured in through the grate.

  "The lower floors are burning. We're trapped!"

  "Open the grate," Mouse commanded. "I have a rope—we'll go out a window. Hurry!"

  It took both of them to get the grate open, and even then, they couldn't lift it very far and had to scramble under it like a pair of dogs escaping their kennel. The smoke was very thick and they were both coughing. Mouse could see the glow of the flames as they licked up the open stairway.

  "Hurry!" she choked. "In here!" She dragged Thyzhecci into the sitting room and slammed the door behind them. Then, she went to the window, anchored the grappling hook, and paid out the line. "You first," she said. "Go on. Don't waste time."

  Thyzhecci looked out the window at the street below—a long way below. "I'm supposed to climb down a rope?"

  "You can climb, jump or burn," Mouse said, "but make up your mind quickly."

  After another moment's hesitation, the High Priestess took hold of the rope and clambered out of the window. Before she started down, she looked into Mouse's eyes. "When Hassythe told me about blood and power, I thought she had given me a priceless secret. But if what you've said is true, I don't think I want to play this game any more. I thought I hated Kerigden enough to kill him with a thought, but I find I am not as ruthless as I believed. You tell Talyene that if she wants her priest back, she can have him." A gust of wind billowed Thyzhecci's robes.

  "Climb down," Mouse said. "Hurry."

  As Thyzhecci climbed, Mouse watched the people in the street. They were being ruthlessly organized into a bucket brigade; she thought she recognized Sharkbait's voice. The High Priestess was about halfway down, when there was a crash and a roar, and a gout of flame burst through one of the lower story windows. Mouse clim
bed onto the window ledge. The walls were stone, but it sounded like the interior timbers were being eaten through by the flames. Hurry up! she thought at Thyzhecci—and then she realized, with a sinking dread, that the woman had stopped climbing.

  "Go!" Mouse shouted down at her. "The rope won't hold us both!"

  "I can't! There's fire coming out the window below me."

  "Stop climbing and slide down the rope!" Mouse cried. "You're not that far from the ground. If a spark catches in your clothing, drop and roll."

  "I can't!" she said again.

  "You must! Do you think you're safe where you are? When the interior timbers and roof go, the walls will fall in. Go, go, go!"

  "I can't!" she wailed.

  "Go!" Mouse shouted again. Behind her, there were more ominous noises. She looked back into the room and saw smoke and flames coming in under and around the door. She swallowed hard. When she looked back out the window, Thyzhecci was off the rope. She wasted no time. Half climbing and half sliding, the rope slicing painfully into her palms, she came down the side of the doomed building. On the ground, she nearly tripped over the inert form of the High Priestess. She bent down to help her up, but Thyzhecci was unconscious, and Mouse wasn't strong enough to lift her.

  "Help me with her!" Mouse cried to one of the bucket brigade, and two men came over and carried her away from the house.

  Suddenly, Ferret was there. "Mouse! Thank all the gods. What happened to Thyzhecci? Did she fall?"

  Mouse hugged her friend, then took in who was with her: Marhysse and Lynx, not wearing their livery, but unmistakable nonetheless. "I don't know what happened. I didn't see it. She must have—but it wasn't that far: a little more than a story."

  Lynx knelt and examined the High Priestess. "She's dead. Look." She gestured to the hilt of a throwing knife protruding from her back, just below her left shoulder.

  "But that's not a fatal—" Marhysse began, but interrupted herself. "Oh. Poisoned?"

  "So I assume," Lynx said. "You didn't see it?"

  Mouse shook her head. "She was frozen in panic halfway down. I had been trying to get her to move; she was wailing that she couldn't. Then, I heard something behind me and I looked back into the room. The fire was starting to eat through the door. When I turned back to the window, Thyzhecci was off the rope. I didn't think about it. I just climbed down as fast as I could. I found her lying on the ground and got two men to carry her here. Lynx, can you touch Kerigden's mind?"

  "From here?" Lynx demanded. "No."

  "How about Owl?"

  She was silent for a moment, concentrating. "He's not listening for me. Why?"

  "I want to know whether Kerigden is free of the spell. Thyzhecci told me she wasn't going to try to hold him any longer, but I don't know whether she actually released the power before she was killed."

  Ferret's head lifted suddenly. "The Watch. Mouse, quick: did you set that fire?"

  "No! Hassythe did."

  "Hassythe!" Ferret exclaimed. "Gods and dead fish. Mouse...!"

  "I'm all right," Mouse said. "Hold that firmly in your mind. I didn't set the fire, but there is a dead High Priestess to explain. Should I stick around to answer questions, or disappear?"

  "Not to mention a spot of breaking and entering," Marhysse put in.

  "Good point," Ferret said. "I'd better disappear. Are you going back to the Palace, Mouse?"

  She shook her head. "Temple District." She looked at the others. "Will you come?"

  They nodded and the four women eased out of the confusion and disappeared into the dusk.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty—Klarhynne

  The evening shadows had invaded the common room allotted to the Queen's ladies. Lyssemarhe paused on the threshold of one of the doorways. The servants hadn't lit the lamps, yet, and the room seemed unfamiliar and somehow threatening in the dim light. The ladies' quarters were usually deserted at this time of day; by rights, Lyssemarhe should have been with the Queen as she dressed for dinner, but she had begged leave to return to her room for a book she had promised to lend to Pakhrielle Ykhave; and the Queen, granting permission, had asked her to look in on Klarhynne Dhenykhare.

  "She left us earlier," the Queen had explained, "saying that she had a headache. Check on her, Lysse, and see if she needs anything."

  Chiding herself for her foolish fancies, Lysse crossed the common room and went through the archway that led to her hall. She retrieved her book, then stopped at Klarhynne's closed door and tapped softly. There was no answer.

  "Klarhynne?" she called, tapping more insistently. When there was still no answer, she opened the door.

  Klarhynne was sprawled across her bed in a rather ungainly position. Lysse went over to her and spoke her name quietly. There was no response. She took her shoulder and shook her gently. "You'll have a crick in your neck if you sleep like that, Klarhynne," she said, but the other woman did not wake.

  Alarmed, Lyssemarhe leaned closer and listened for her breathing, which was regular and deep. She patted her face and said, with some urgency, "Klarhynne, wake up!"

  When there was still no response, she slapped her; and when that did not avail, she took the pitcher of water from the washstand. Carefully, she poured some water onto the older woman's face. "Klarhynne, wake up!"

  Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned.

  Lysse patted her cheeks again, until Klarhynne's eyes opened. She drew a shuddering breath, half sob; then her hands closed with unexpected strength around Lysse's wrists.

  "Lyssemarhe. Lyssemarhe, please! You have to help me!" Her voice was low and imperative.

  "Why? What's the matter?"

  Her wide, terrified eyes searched the shadowy room. "He's gone, now, but he'll be back. I don't want him—before he comes back, you have to help me. Hurry! Please!"

  "Make sense!" Lysse said, seriously unnerved. "I'll help you, Klarhynne, but make sense. Who's coming back?"

  "He is. He said he loved me. But he makes me do things. He makes me—Lysse, you have to help me!"

  "Who? How does he make you do things? What things?"

  With a visible effort, Klarhynne forced her panic down. When she spoke, her voice was calm. "I don't know who he is, really. He told me he was a Mebhare—Haveran Mebhare—but now I think he lied. He takes control of my mind, and then he makes me do the things and say the things that he wants—as if I were a giant puppet. I can't remember the last time I was able to talk with my own mouth. You have to help me, Lysse. I have to get away from him before he makes me do more horrible things."

  "Gods," Lyssemarhe whispered; then she swallowed. "I'll help you, Klarhynne, I will. Just…just let me think. It sounds like…like a form of possession, so I think we'd better—we'd better find a priest. Do you think you can walk, or should I go to fetch someone?"

  Her gripping fingers tightened. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me. I'll walk—I'd crawl if I had to. You can't imagine what it is like."

  "I won't leave you. Here: sit up." As she helped Klarhynne to sit up, her thoughts raced. "We'll go to the Temple District—to the Windbringer's Temple."

  "Yes! The Windbringer. Yes." Klarhynne leapt up awkwardly. "Hurry!"

  Lyssemarhe took her arm to steady her and together, they left the ladies' quarters and made their way through the Palace corridors to the gates.

  ***

  Captain Ysmenarr studied his subordinate incredulously. "Do I understand you to say that you have a prisoner who admits to attempting to poison the Queen?"

  "Yes, sir. The man came up to me in the corridor and begged me to take him into custody. He said he couldn't live with the knowledge that he so nearly did harm to Her Majesty. He swore that Owl Ghytteve bribed him to do it."

  Ysmenarr shook his head like a large dog bothered by flies. "It doesn't make sense. He must know that he'll be executed for the crime even if he proves that Owl Ghytteve did bribe him."

  "Sir, I'm only repeating what he said. Do you want to interrogate him yourself?"

  "Y
es." Ysmenarr got to his feet. "Yes, I do—very much."

  The prisoner—one of the pastry chefs from the kitchen—was a middle-aged man with a badly pockmarked face. He was sitting on the bed in one of the cells, his head bowed dejectedly while he studied his hands. Captain Ysmenarr watched silently from the doorway for several moments before he spoke.

  He glanced over to make sure the clerk was ready before he began. "What is your name?"

  "Sir, I am Tharhyll. I have been a pastry chef in the Palace kitchens for six years, now."

  "And what do you know of the poisoned marzipan that was sent to the Queen's table?"

  Under Ysmenarr's skilled and patient questioning, Tharhyll's story emerged. He claimed to have been approached by Owl shortly after the young man returned from abroad.

  "Was he alone when he approached you?" Ysmenarr asked.

  "No," the pastry cook replied. "He was with that bodyguard, the one with the red hair. She always hovered nearby to make sure we weren't interrupted."

  According to Tharhyll, Owl had given him money, at first for information—such as lists of dishes prepared for the Queen when she dined in her apartments, and the kinds of small pastries and dainties made for her ladies and her guests. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Owl began to inquire about other things—questions about how things were served and the protocol of Her Majesty's tea parties, how hard it would be to make certain a dish would be presented only to the Queen and not to the ladies in waiting. Tharhyll began to be suspicious, but Owl gave him yet more money—which he needed, since his elderly mother was ill and required more nursing and healing tonics than he could afford. Owl instructed Tharhyll to notify him the next time the Queen ordered marzipan trifles, and since it seemed like a small thing, Tharhyll did. That very day, Owl brought him a little glass vial, and ordered him to put three drops on each of the candies immediately before they were sent up to the Queen. Tharhyll was afraid, but Owl swore that no one would come to harm. When Tharhyll still demurred, Owl turned nasty and threatened first to expose his peddling information, and then—when that did not prove sufficient inducement—he swore to curse him and his mother. Poor Tharhyll did what he had to. At first, he was relieved that the Seer had spoken the truth when he said no one would be hurt; but his conscience was uneasy. He came to the gradual and unwelcome realization that now the Seer had an even more powerful hold over him, and that the next time, Owl might indeed intend lethal harm. At first, Tharhyll thought he would simply kill himself; but then, he thought if he went to the authorities, perhaps the Seer's evil plans could be thwarted once and for all.