Elsewhere in the Theran Quarter that evening, a younger elf wrung his hands nervously as he waited at the old meeting place. He kept reviewing every aspect of his stealthy departure from his family's mansion, telling himself over and over that no one could have seen him leave. His mother had taken an herbal draught and would be sleeping deeply, and the servants were mostly exhausted from all the stress of the last few days. His eyes searched the dark for his friend. The hint of a peppery, musky scent carried on the air told him he hadn't long to wait.
"It was as you said, then," the elf breathed with relief. Even with the faint illumination from his lantern, he could only just make out the silhouette standing near him.
"It was a calculated risk." The voice, as ever, had that slightly high, singsong quality. It was almost elven itself, though its owner was not of that race. The girl who spoke was all too human. "He didn't have much choice, really. Not after what I was able to do." She sounded bored for an instant, as if it would have been more interesting had things not worked out as she'd planned. "You have the books then?"
"I do." He rummaged in the pack concealed under his cloak, and drew out the two slim leather-bound volumes and handed them to her. "I had a quick look. Just to see that they were what you wanted."
"Yes?" Her voice was sharp and urgent.
"Not in any detail," he said swiftly. "But I had to be sure I'd gotten the right ones. A deal is a deal."
He wanted to ask her how she had pushed his father's mind over the edge, how she had driven such a stolid and worldly person to suicide. The magic they had learned was surely not powerful enough to do such a thing, though their rituals offered the chance of such power in due course. Now that she was leading them, her powerful and dominating will would surely open up whatever sources of power they needed. He knew she was not someone who could be stopped. She must already have access to secrets of power he had as yet only dreamed of. He had no idea that the books he was handing her were not the first of their kind she had gazed upon, and that magic had played very little part in his father's death.
"So now you have your wealth and property," she growled. "Don't forget the rest of our arrangement."
"I won't," he said hurriedly. The problem was that his own mind was already hatching plans for evading precisely the obligations he still owed her. But if she noticed anything before vanishing back into the darkness from which she'd come, she gave no sign.
Considering what had happened to their mentor, he really should have known better.
5
"This is where it happened, sir," the huntsman said, gesturing to a spot that seemed innocuous enough. Cassian studied the site, noting that the footing was good, for it had not rained here for some time. Nor did the stand of trees from which the boar had broken seem particularly heavy. The horse had stumbled slightly, according to the distraught hunters, and Daralec had fallen, his own sword piercing his guts.
"Why was he carrying a sword for hunting? Wouldn't a spear have been a better choice?" Cassian asked politely. The men looked doubtfully at each other.
"Well, sir, there would be many that would agree with you," said their leader after some length. Behind the statement was the unspoken assertion that Daralec would not have taken kindly to anyone pointing that out to him. "But it was the master's liking to carry a sword that day."
"Something he did often?"
"No, sir. He always liked to carry a spear. . .same as we did. He was a real huntsman, sir," the man replied.
"Well, this is a sad state of affairs. Obviously no blame could possibly attach to you," Cassian said, to the men's almost palpable relief. "I'll just take a brief look around over there, I think. We can be on our way again shortly."
There was no sign of anything untoward in the woodlands; no sign of tracks beyond those of woodland animals, no blood spoor to suggest the boar might have been wounded by some other hunters, no sign of any human activity. Conversation with Daralec's servant-hunters, which Cassian would confirm as he rode back to Vivane with them on this bright, clear morning, told him that Daralec was not a moody master, prone to ill-temper, but was usually of good humor. But they also described him as a determined person and not one to change his mind once made up.
The boar hadn't charged directly at Daralec, Cassian realized from the men's account of events. The man's horse was a seasoned veteran of many hunting trips and skirmishes, and the ground underfoot was neither muddy nor rough. Only an idiot, or a total amateur, would use a sword to go boar-hunting.
Cassian's brow furrowed. I must call on the widow after lunch, I think, even though she is surely distraught. First, though, to the house of Tarlanth, to thank him for his hospitality.
"Is everything to your liking?"
Cassian had taken an instant dislike to the man, which was highly unfortunate. It was Tarlanth who'd lent Cassian the villa where he was staying, plus providing abundant food, wine, many suits of spare clothing, invitations to choral recitals and amusements, and in general the promise of a life of luxury during his stay in Vivane.
Cassian felt almost guilty for sensing the man as a tyrant from the very moment he first laid eyes on him. It was something in his posture, which was utterly unyielding, his dark and hooded eyes, his mask of a face with lines set deep from years of ill-humor. Cruelty seemed to shine from behind the mask like the rays of a malefic dark sun.
"I could not ask for anything more," the elf said pleasantly. "Your generosity is splendid, and I am most grateful."
"Good," Tarlanth said with a tinge of relief. "Well, I hope you can get to the bottom of all this nonsense. Not, in my opinion, that it ever merited the attention of a praetor."
"WThy so?"
"Well, mark my words, that dwarf was killed in some feud over contracts for work being done for the city. And as for the wizard, he was dabbling in matters that shouldn't be dabbled with. It's a pretty irony that he was driven mad by the very things the fools of the Council thought must have ripped that dwarf apart." The word "Horror" was not one many people used openly, even so long after the Scourge. "One thing led to another there."
"And the twins?"
"Nothing to do with anything. And, well now, I wouldn't be the first in Vivane to suggest that they were perhaps closer in certain ways than brother and sister should be." The insinuation was obvious. "That kind of thing is said by some people to be a little less rare with certain, er, types of folk."
"Elves, you mean."
"Well, I wouldn't have put it quite like that," Tarlanth said with an apologetic shrug. Cassian had not taken offense, but he was surprised at the man's ignorance and was about to use his discomfiture to his own advantage when the lady of the house appeared.
She makes entrances carefully, Cassian thought as Cryselda glided rather than walked down the steps into the spacious reception chamber. Her dress and robe were dramatic, dark colors and metallic sheens, with only slight relief from the blue-green precious stones in her golden earrings. She is like some fantastic machine, Cassian thought, watching her approach; everything moved together but, instead of harmony, the effect was disturbingly unnatural. As she bent to kiss her husband, Cassian couldn't help thinking of the female mantis. By Mynbruje, he thought, what a pair of relatives I have here!
Turning to Cassian, Cryselda offered him her hand to kiss. "I'm afraid that our son cannot join us," she said coldly. "He is a semi-invalid and today is suffering from one of his headaches." Tarlanth looked irritated at her words.
"Poor child," she went on. "What he needs is sun and fresh air; anything to get him out of that gloom. But enough of him, anyway. Tell me, Praetor, how are you enjoying Vivane?"
Enjoyment was definitely not part of Cassian's expedience of the city so far, and he soon learned that talking with these two would win him nothing in the way of information. They had already drawn their own conclusions about the recent spate of deaths; they knew what had really happened, everyone in the Theran Quarter did, and that was an end to matters. All Cassian's attemp
ts to demur or qualify were met with snorts verging on derision. No touch of warmth, humor, or sentiment softened their speech. They seemed to have not a good word for anyone, and Cassian found it impossible to see what lay behind the iron masks of their expressions. The whole experience was as depressing as it was unproductive.
An unhappy hour later, Cassian walked down the drive away from Tarlanth's mansion, chips of stone crunching under his boots. Mopping his brow, he was only glad that no further such audiences would be required of him. What a pair, he thought, almost grateful I hat their son's ill health had kept the young man upstairs. A visit with two of this family had been more I han enough.
Upon his return to the Rose Villa, Cassian was annoyed that his clothes had not been hung in the wardrobe of his bedchamber. Not seeing them anywhere, he began to shout angrily for the slave. The boy was there in seconds, his eyes wide with alarm.
"I need my blue robe and jacket. Where are they?" the elf snapped.
"Sir, I took the liberty of putting your clothes in the cellar, sir."
"In the cellar? Are you mad? What on earth are they doing there?"
"Begging your pardon, sir, they are keeping cool. There is an ice cellar, sir; it's just a petty magic the master paid to have put there, for comfort. I put your shoes very near to the ice, because that way they grow cool and are very comfortable for tired feet. Your clothes will just have the warmth taken out of them, sir, and it's dry there too. Did I do wrong, sir?"
Seeing the boy's fear, Cassian felt his irritation evaporate at once.
"Well, no, I suppose not," he said, grumbling more at himself than at the half-cowering lad. "But you might have told me.''
"Sir, you were gone very early this morning and I had duties about the house."
The lad was quite right. Cassian had left very early in order to investigate the scene of Daralec's hunting accident at about the time of day when it had occurred. His traveling clothes had been folded beside his bed, and he hadn't noticed the seeming disappearance of his other garments then.
"I will fetch what you ask for at once, sir." Yet the boy hesitated, just for an instant. Cassian noticed it, and he waited with some curiosity for Jerenn to return. When he did and had finished fussing with each item of apparel, Cassian put one hand firmly on the lad's shoulder and gazed unblinkingly into his eyes.
"You were about to say something just before you left." The flush on Jerenn's face told him that he'd guessed correctly.
"Was I, sir?" His pretense of innocence was only fair.
"You were." It was a statement.
"Sir, I don't want to be in any trouble. My master is good to me, and rarely has me beaten."
He does a fair impression of a harmless, naive young lad, Cassian thought, amused for a moment. But his eyes show he's smarter than that. I have a feeling he may be helpful to me. It wouldn't be the first time a slave could get into places I could not, at least not without being seen and noticed.
"Anything you say to me will be revealed to no one. Not even your master. But it is a crime to withhold information from a praetor."
"I heard something, sir."
"You overheard something, you mean."
The boy hung his head, shamefaced. "Yes, sir."
By the Passions, this is like squeezing wine from a troll, the elf thought. "Tell me."
"It's about Dragold, sir. The dwarf who was killed."
"Really?"
"The master's servants say you have come to Vivane to investigate it, sir."
News travels fast, Cassian thought. Even the servants know, and I've been here barely a day. "What about Dragold's death?"
"Well, sir, I heard someone say that old Haughrald had him done away with, sir. Or at least that that's what some folk think."
"Jerenn, stop calling me 'sir' all the time. I have a name, and you may use it."
Cassian half expected a "yes, sir" in reply, but the lad merely looked shocked for a moment. Clearly, he had never called any Theran by a proper name to his or her face. It would be gross insubordination.
"I am not a common person, Jerenn. If I say you may call me by my name, then you may do so. I have my own ways."
The boy still looked most uncomfortable, but at least he'd stopped saying "sir" for the moment. "Haughrald would never have done such a thing."
"And how do you know that?"
"Well, I know the dwarfs who work on the construction, you see. I sometimes have to take messages from my master to Haughrald or to Patracheus at the House of Works, about business. I got to know them, and sometimes I ate my bread with them. Dragold and Haughrald were the best of friends."
"Sometimes close friends end up falling out and blood can be shed."
"Not with dwarfs!"
The boy is right, Cassian thought. Not unless the feud was very long in the growing, and in that case the warning signs would be there long beforehand. This lad is smart enough to have seen them.
"You are bright, and you notice things, Jerenn. I am grateful. I had thought the same myself, though I shall talk with Haughrald at some point. I do not think you need worry for your friend, if you are friends with him.
"Now tell me: you seem to have much freedom for a slave."
The lad didn't answer at once. I wouldn't if I were him, Cassian thought.
"Well, sir, my master doesn't really care too much about me as long as I do his work well enough. I don't think he even notices me much of the time. But he is good to me."
Benign indifference, Cassian thought, would be closer to the truth. "And what of his wife, the mistress of the house?"
The boy almost shrank away from him. "I hardly ever see her. The maids and womenfolk attend to her. She has no use for me. If she needs an errand run, one of her servants will tell me of it. It does not happen often."
"Do you read or write, Jerenn?"
"I can do both, sir, and I am very swift to add up numbers." The boy looked happy about his skills for an instant and then a little fearful again, as if one in so low a position in life should not admit to such talents. Cassian reassured him.
"Your master has provided me with a useful servant, then. We shall speak again some time. But I shall be busy this afternoon and evening, and you have not brought me my black shoes. I shall need them."
The boy stretched an arm down and around the frame of the door, and hauled in the shoes he'd left just outside. "I wasn't certain if you would need them, so I had them ready to take back."
And you didn't bring them in to me in case I didn't want them, which would have spoiled your image of efficiency, the elf thought. You are bright and resourceful, young Jerenn. In a kinder world, you would have been born a Theran.
Cassian took the shoes with a smile, dismissed the lad, and prepared himself to visit a widow.
6
Cassian let his hair tumble around his shoulders and swung his long legs over the side into the sunken bath. The water was cool, and he slid into it with a sigh of pleasure, hair streaming away from his face like some fabulous growth of sea kelp drifting in the blue, pure water. It was a relief to have untied it from the stringent braid he'd favored that afternoon.
Karlanta, Daralec's widow, had been too addled for him to glean much. Her eyes glazed with grief and the sense-dulling herbs given to her, she was feigning nothing. Cassian could sense the depth of her pain. She could tell him only that Daralec's business dealt with importing stone into the city, and that most of their friends had been other members of House Thaloss who worked with him one way and another. Of her own background, Cassian could learn little without being more intrusive than seemed either tactful or judicious.
"I don't know what I'd have done if my son hadn't come back to me," she said forlornly.
"That must be a comfort to you. I am glad. Was he away long?"
"In Thebenta. He's been away almost a year, and his return was a surprise. Yesterday. I thank the Passions for him. He is my only child."
A surprise, Cassian thought. How interesting. He re
turns after a year's absence the day after his father dies. And now he will inherit—rather well if this mansion is anything to judge by. Those Indrisan relics, the masks and ivory idols, do not come cheap, and they're merely the items littering the entrance hall. Cassian knew they were surely bought, for this family had no history of service to the Empire in Indrisa itself. Crielle would be a wealthy young elf.
At some point I shall have to take a closer look at Daralec's affairs, Cassian decided while making his way back to the Grandwalk and his carriage. Sooner rather than later, I should think. It would be good to have an excuse for doing so before the son goes through the family papers. It sounds to me as if Daralec may well have worked with the builders, architects, and stonemasons of the city. I should pay a visit to Haughrald.
So he had; and, by virtue of assuring the old dwarf that he was under no suspicion, and winning an almost conspiratorial sympathy by asking the engineer not to reveal that to anyone else, Cassian had learned much.
Filled with relief, Haughrald had begun to talk freely about anything and everything. Daralec had indeed been responsible for supplying much of the stone used in the Theran Quarter's fine new buildings, and especially the reconstruction of the city walls, a project of prime importance. Haughrald had willingly shown Cassian the papers and records, revealing the labyrinthine complexity of who was getting a cut from transporting stone from outside the city, whose wagons conveyed it around the city, who had the labor contracts for handling it in differ-ent sites, which architects and engineers were paid by the House of Works for which projects. Cassian had come , away with enough notes to keep him occupied for the rest of the day. The dwarf and he had parted cordially, but not before Haughrald had showed Cassian the plans he and Dragold had drawn up for the construction of a secondary city wall extending almost a fifth of the way into the still to be rebuilt Broken Quarter, as yet occupied only by Barsaivian riffraff, derelicts, and unskilled wretches eking out a living one way or another.
Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness Page 4