Hour of the Octopus

by Joel Rosenberg

  Which there wouldn’t be, of course. Toshtai wouldn’t hint at such a thing, regardless of his intention.

  Very well: assume, for the moment, that Edelfaule was the murderer. How much good would it do me to reveal that, even with proof?

  Who hated Minch?

  Who didn’t? That wouldn’t do any good.

  Who would want to put me in this position? How can I get back at him?

  How to find the real murderer, and blame him to let me out of this… Or, failing that, just to find somebody, preferably some member of our beloved ruling class, who would do. But the inconsiderate swine wouldn’t cooperate. It was as though the whole purpose of this was to ruin me. Now that was ridiculous.

  Come on, Kami Dan’Shir—it was unlikely beyond imagining that all this was to embarrass and discredit me. People, even members of our beloved ruling class, didn’t set up elaborate schemes and plans involving possible murders just to make my life difficult. Men and women kill for reasons more personal, more intimate, than to cause me chagrin.

  Sometimes kazuh feels like a well-stroked bassskin: it hums in the brain, its sound low but powerful and only in my head, not in my ears.

  It hummed for me then, and it all was clear. Both the why and the how. There were two bags in the air in this problem, and I had been pretending they had been one and the same. No, of course not. Two separate problems, with separate solutions.

  That was the lesson of juggling: keep one thing in mind at one time. Don’t worry about the other juggling sacks rising and falling. There was merely one to be caught, or one to be thrown, and that was it. There would be time enough later for the rest.

  Unless… I would need Dun Lidjun, and the wizard.

  Chapter 17

  Yet a final demonstration, a reward, a wedding, and other rituals both sincere and false.

  This time, I knocked on the door at the top of the long winding stone staircase. Not gently.

  “Wake up, if you please, Narantir,” I said, then knocked again, louder.

  Dun Lidjun looked old and wan in the morning, as though it took some time to apply me normal expression of agelessness and ancient wisdom to his face. His lips worked silently just for a moment. Then: “I will open it for you, if need be,” he said.

  It is not often that a dan’shir has a kazuh Warrior waiting his command. It is important to remember that the kazuh Warrior is not merely an object, to be moved about like a pinbone on a single-bone draughts board; the kazuh Warrior, or the bourgeois servitor, or the middle-class vegetable seller, or the dirt-footed peasant, is a person, and to respect that personhood must be the private honor and obligation of the dan’shir, even if it is not that of our beloved ruling class.

  So I said, “Prepare yourself, if you please, Lord Dun Lidjun, but do nothing.”

  It was a treat to watch the weariness slide away from his old frame, like a drop of water skittering and vanishing on a hot skillet. The skin around his eyes stopped sagging, and instead of forcing himself to stand upright, as though he had stuck a pole up his back passage, he stood easily, his feet not merely touching the ground, but standing solidly as though he was the peak of a mountain, unmovable by mortals.

  I knocked again. “Wake up, Narantir; it’s the hour of the cock, and the day calls you.”

  The door creaked open, and Narantir stood there, rubbing at his eyes. “I take it the spell worked?”

  “Yes.”

  “And…?”

  “And I itched not at all, and I can demonstrate how Minch was murdered, and who the murderer was, and why,” I said. “I just need to go over his room once more, to prepare.”

  Minch’s room was still dark in the distant, gray early morning light. Figure that the sun wouldn’t be high enough to light it directly until well into the hour of the hare, although perhaps not quite the hour of the horse.

  Harsh radiance flared from Narantir’s light gem as he placed it in the lantern niche.

  Bow, headless arrow, broadheaded arrow, strong will, relentless hatred.

  That was all it was.

  “It’s simple,” I said, “once you know who the murderer was, and what his objective was.” I sighed. “Narantir, you wouldn’t happen to have a spell that will detect conspiracy, would you? It would be nice to know who else was in on it.”

  It would be nice to be able to lay it on Demick’s door, but that wouldn’t be necessary. I knew who could be held responsible, and could identify him without fear of retribution.

  Narantir and Tebol laughed, Tebol in his own merry way, Narantir so hard that tears ran down his cheeks and into his beard.

  Dun Lidjun was less amused than I was, and I wasn’t amused at all. “What, may one ask, is so wretchedly amusing?”

  Narantir, still laughing, pointed at the bright, shining gem. “It was a spell that Tebol and I invented, back when we were just apprentices. It makes a garnet glow in the presence of conspiracy.” He stared for a moment at the wall. “A perpetual light in a D’Shaian keep, no?”

  Dun Lidjun cracked a smile. “I’ll go arrange the audience.”

  Members of our beloved ruling class don’t stint themselves, or each other; there was enough room in the sitting room of Minch’s suite for the lot of them. The three major lords, Toshtai, Orazhi, and Demick, were seated at the far end of the room in chairs that had been brought in for the occasion.

  ViKay, having exchanged the sort of pleasantries with me suitable for yesterday’s placques partner, had seated herself behind her father. If I looked closely, I could see the tension in her shoulders and neck. She was wondering if she would have to make good her threat.

  Arefai stood alone, by the wall, watching me closely, perhaps too closely, or perhaps not. Perhaps he was looking for some sign of his redemption in my eyes. The idiot. Did he think that I’d call them all in to embarrass his father by naming him a murderer?

  To one side of him, Lady Estrer kept her eyes on the rest of the crowd, one hand hidden in the folds of her robes, as though she could intercept an attack on Arefai with a hidden dagger there.

  Edelfaule’s eyes were filled with intelligence, but not a trace of liking, or even tolerance.

  Toshtai, alone among the nobles of Den Oroshtai, watched me with interest, and only interest. His broad, fat face betrayed no sense of having been woken or hurried, although I knew from his habits that he had been both. His hair was freshly oiled and pulled back into a warrior’s queue, and his morning robes were the usual cheery yellow.

  Orazhi smiled. “I take it that you have asked that we put off our breakfast for more than some sort of… experiment, Kami Dan’Shir,” he said.

  I looked from face to face. There wasn’t a pale, sweaty one among them.

  “Oh, quite, Lord Orazhi,” I said. “I’m here to expose the murderer, to frustrate his attempt to blame good Lord Arefai for something he would never do, something he could never do.”

  I hoped that would keep ViKay quiet, at least for the time being. A simple demonstration would not be enough because—

  Enough, Kami Dan ‘Shir, my kazuh whispered to me, as though it was its own person instead of an intensification and expression of my own.

  There is one ball in the air, ripe for the catching. Catch it before you think of the next.

  “I’d demonstrate how it was done, except that’s not good enough,” I said. “There are things about this brave murder that I didn’t understand.”

  “Brave murder?” Demick lunged for the bait. “I find myself unfond of shtoi comments about a shot in the dark.”

  I bowed deeply. “As well you should, Lord Demick. I spoke precisely.” I picked up Minch’s lax bow and string, and handed it to Dun Lidjun. “The problem was always the screen,” I said, walking to the window screen and sliding it out of the way. “It’s translucent, but not transparent. Enough to provide some privacy, without locking light out of the room; and, placed a hand’s span from the window, it lets in cool air without the clacking of shutters.”

  It sti
ll had the one hole. “But why shoot through it?”

  “Because,” Demick said, “Minch was on the other side of it, not standing in front of it.”

  I shook my head. “How was the murderer to know where Minch was? The door was locked, and Minch could have as easily been standing on one side or another of the lamp as he hung it, if that’s how the murderer located him.

  “But, even so: imagine, you are a murderer sitting, say, in the tree from which Verden Verdunt was kind enough to fire a bowshot last evening. How do you know when Minch will come along and hang the lamp? Do you sit there, up in a tree for hours, waiting for a momentary flicker of light and then hope that your aim will be true?” I shook my head. “No. You’d have to know more.”

  I went to the corner where Minch’s arrows still lay scattered and took up two, one with a killing broadhead, another headless, and tapped them together.

  I nodded to Dun Lidjun, who shrugged out of his robes, and stood on the carpeted floor in blousy pantaloons and sandals. He seemed somehow smaller without his robes, and the hair on his pale chest was thin and white, but beneath age-wrinkled skin, his muscles still moved under his control, and only his control.

  He strung the bow in one smooth motion, and held it out in front of him, then held out a hand for an arrow.

  I passed him the headless one; Dun Lidjun quickly nocked it, then drew it back, propping the blunt tip on the back of the bow. It held the bent bow, keeping it bent.

  I handed the old warrior the remaining arrow, which he nocked ever so gently, its broad flat head lying on the bow, motionless, as Dun Lidjun held the backwards bow out in front of him, the arc of the bow curved away from him, the nocked arrow pointing toward his own chest. If the blunt arrow were to suddenly be gone, the broadhead would pierce the old warrior’s chest.

  “Raise it, if you please, Lord Dun Lidjun,” I said. “We wouldn’t want to have an accident.”

  Moving slowly, relentlessly, Dun Lidjun raised the bow, the arrow now poised to fire directly over his head.

  “Thank you, Lord Dun Lidjun. Just hold it there for a moment.” I turned to the crowd, moving slowly. Always watch the audience.

  “You see, my Lords and Ladies, Minch wanted very much to embarrass Arefai, to interfere with the wedding of Lord Arefai and Lady ViKay. He tried first to needle him into overreacting and provoking a duel, and then to trick Arefai into making a wrongful accusation against himself.”

  I shook my head. “It was always the first part that bothered me. Lord Dun Lidjun, could Minch have thought to take Arefai in a swordfight?”

  Dun Lidjun didn’t answer immediately. “I know you would like me to say no, Kami Dan’Shir, but I cannot quite. It’s enough for me to say that Minch would have had to have a much higher opinion of his own abilities than I ever did.”

  I nodded. “And I thank you again, Lord Dun Lidjun. One more question: with a naked sword in his hand, and Arefai’s back to him, could Minch have killed Arefai as long as you were close by?”

  “No.” Dun Lidjun smiled. “Never.”

  “Quite. Minch didn’t think he could take on Arefai, but as a loyal noble of Merth’s Bridge, he was willing to— now.”

  All eyes were on me, but they were drawn to the wall where the arrow from the bow now quivered, half a man’s height above the spot where the arrow that had killed Minch had been. Dun Lidjun reached up and drew it from the wall, then tucked it under his own arm.

  “Of course, in reality, at this moment during the murder, the arrow had penetrated Lord Minch, and stuck out his back, rather than being nicely tucked under his arm, the way Lord Dun Lidjun has done.” Dun Lidjun pressed a bowtip against the floor, releasing the bowstring from the other tip with his thumb, then threw the bow toward the corner where the rest of the bow and arrows lay scattered.

  Only two things remained. The headless arrow lay on the floor; Dun Lidjun simply reached out a foot and swept it toward the corner.

  “And the last, Lord Dun Lidjun, if you please.” Dun Lidjun grabbed the feathered end of arrow in his hands and ran backwards toward the wall, thudding hard into it.

  He stood for a moment like Minch had, then stepped away from the wall, as Minch had not been able to.

  I forced a laugh. “Minch had failed, and had every chance of failing to interfere with the marriage of Lord Arefai and Lady ViKay. With Dun Lidjun within a swordslength of Arefai, brute force would fail. With Kami Dan’Shir to point out traps and puzzles ahead, Minch’s chicanery would fail…”

  Always end with a flourish, my father used to say. I let silence fall for a full two beats before I bowed to the assemblage, and said, “… as it has.”

  Lord Orazhi was on his feet, clapping his hands together hard. “Wonderful, Kami Dan’Shir!” he said. “I see what you mean about brave murder, eh? How did you ever think about such a remarkable… contrivance for firing the bow?”

  Well, Lord, it’s awfully similar to one of the ways I used to rig a trigger for a snare for rabbits, when I was poaching. “Way of the Dan’Shir, Lord.”

  “Which is a brilliant way, young Historical Master Dan’Shir. Minch was—”

  “Wait.” Demick held up a hand. “How about the hole in the screen?”

  It’s not usually safe to laugh at a member of our beloved ruling class, and it’s never likely to make one look kindly on you, but I was safe here and now, and Lord Demick was never likely to look at me with any kindness, so I let myself chuckle.

  “Why, that’s simple, Lord Demick,” I said, picking up a loose arrow from the pile in the corner and walking to the screen, “so much so that I didn’t even see the need to explain that anybody can take an arrow and put a hole in a piece of paper,” I said, doing just that.

  “Indeed, indeed they can.” Orazhi’s laugh was just this side of hysterical. “I am in your debt, Kami Dan’Shir. What can Glen Derenai do to repay it?” He spread his hands. “A rise to nobility? Horses, swords, money? What can I do?”

  “I’ve no need for anything of the sort, Lord,” I said, shaking my head, then bowing it deeply. “Although there is one great service you can do for me, Lord Orazhi, impertinent though it would be for me to ask, so much so that I must ask forgiveness in advance.”

  Or I’ll keep my mouth tightly shut.

  Toshtai spoke up for the first time. “Impertinence will surely be forgiven, now of all times.”

  Orazhi nodded. “Of course, of course. Ask. I’m too old and wise to guarantee I’ll grant a request before I’ve heard it, but I’d be an ungrateful wretch if I wouldn’t promise you that you may speak it without penalty, and I am not an ungrateful wretch, and do so promise.”

  There was no ambiguity in that, but I chose my words carefully anyway. “Lord Arefai and Lady ViKay were due to be married tomorrow, in the hour of the octopus.”

  Orazhi frowned. “You have some… objection to that, Kami Dan’Shir?”

  “Yes. Marry them today, this noon, in the hour of the horse. Before something else goes wrong,” I said, not quite daring to look at Demick, knowing that he would take my point.

  Orazhi smiled and bowed as though to an equal. “It shall be as you say, Kami Dan’Shir.”

  Arefai was at my elbow, although I hadn’t seen him walk over. A fat tear had welled up in his right eye, and as he opened his mouth to speak, it slid down his face to become lost in his beard.

  “You will stand with me,” he said, “a sword through your belt, as I am married, Kami Dan’Shir, as a valued friend and companion, to whom I owe both my honor and my appearance of honor. You will have the prerogative, privilege, and honor of sampling the wedding essence, to be sure of its suitability for the ceremony, and I will trust in your judgment.”

  Just as I’ve had the pleasure of sampling the bride, I didn’t say.

  “I am deeply honored, Lord Arefai,” sounded so much safer.

  Hypocrisy is the way of our beloved ruling class, which is one of the reasons I enjoyed being in the wedding party. Look, there are advantages t
o hanging out with nobility— I’ve found that I eat better, and they’re often nice enough to arrange to get one of themselves murdered for my entertainment, and they do sleep between softer, cleaner sheets and alone less often.

  The only trouble with the whole thing was trying to stop myself from giggling.

  Distant hints of raspberry and fire still on my tongue, I stood between Edelfaule and Toshtai as Arefai and his bride knelt before Lord Orazhi, reflecting that it’s not often that a bourgeois gets to stand while nobles kneel. It was a treat to watch them kneeling in the dirt that careful servitors had spread across the cloth that now covered one end of the Great Hall; I don’t often get to see plain dirt and our beloved ruling class mix. I’m told that the dirt symbolizes the soil that, in the long run, supports us all.

  Me, I would have thought it more appropriate if they’d each knelt on a peasant.

  Arefai was arrayed in black, red, and green. Somebody had told me what the black and green symbolized, but I’ve forgotten: the red was, as usual, for blood, in this case the blood of those who would endanger his new bride, which Arefai was promising to shed. Our beloved ruling class does a lot of that.

  ViKay’s robes were of that red-gold shading we call surivhan in Old Shai: it’s the red-gold of a clear summer sunrise, just at the moment that the top limb of the sun breaks above the water of the Eter Enothien, shaded from an almost pure golden haze on the top to a rich dark crimson at the bottom. It symbolized beginnings, and passions, and dedication, but I liked it mainly because it was pretty to look at.

  Her hair, not a strand out of place, was bound behind her in her familiar knot, and fastened there with three long bone needles. Perversely, it bothered me that the two times I’d been with ViKay, she had let down her own hair; I’d never had the chance.

  “As her father, I offer my daughter to you, warranting her to be untouched and pure,” Orazhi said, with what I hope was easy disingenuousness. I can’t imagine that he had managed to hang onto Glen Derenai without more insight into behavior than his speech indicated. “As her lord, I bring her to you only after warranting that you have proven yourself worthy—”