Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness

by Carl Sargent, Marc Gascoigne (v0. 9) (epub)

  "Thank you, Salan. You may go now and attend to whatever duties await you." Cassian fished in his robe pocket for an ellipse of silver and handed it to the slave. The man looked at him as if one of the more benign Passions had despatched a servitor of its own to mortal realms to bestow gifts solely upon him. He gawked for just long enough before scurrying away to leave Cassian in peace.

  By the time the elf saw the sun approach its zenith he had scribed many notes on the pristine vellum Aralesh had left in abundance. And he was gleaning enough that he would probably not need to return soon. Much of the wizard's notes had been recorded in code, and some had even been inscribed in mirror-writing, and would take him time to pore over and decode. Though he had no answers, he did have enough to pose Ziraldesh some pertinent questions, but first he had a courtesy call to make.

  Protocol is the bane of my life at times, Cassian thought glumly, but I could not do half my work without it.

  Locking the study behind him, but retaining the keys after having ascertained that Salan had another set should he need them, he went out the front door. Squinting in the fierceness of the noon sun, Cassian roused the dozing coachman to readiness for a visit to the Southern Barracks and the legendary commander of the Eighth Legion. Dealing with Crotias was all part of the game. A praetor was not expected to call on the Overgovernor, and usually avoided it to maintain his impartiality, but a liaison with the commander of the Theran military presence in a city was expected. Cassian hoped that what he had heard of the ork's fiery nature was at least a little exaggerated.

  "I am most grateful for your hospitality, Excellency," he offered as an opening shot. The hulking ork was not over-impressed.

  "Don't you 'Excellency' me," Crotias replied smartly, displaying her teeth. "I think you're a damn nuisance and a troublemaker."

  "Well, that is most forthright of you," Cassian said imperturbably. "However, my presence here is in part due to requests from Vivane. We both have a job to do, after all."

  "Well, any requests certainly didn't come from me," the ork shot back. Though she was no taller than he, her huge physique seemed to dwarf him. "Anyway, I've said my piece and I don't see much point in having a lunch guest and insulting him to his face. As long as you know where you stand with me."

  "I think I do," the elf said impassively. "You've made that most clear. However, my work here would be much more time-consuming and tedious without the results of your own investigations to hand. I do thank you for that."

  "Hmmm," Crotias replied, her left hand stroking flat the long braid of fiery hair that fell over one shoulder. "Well, that's as may be, but if it were deemed to be adequate you wouldn't be here would you?"

  "Come now, we both know matters are not as simple as that," Cassian demurred. "Protocol demands investigation by a praetor in such cases. It is not a question of your wishes or of mine. There is nothing personal in this." Seeing the ork unbend a little, and knowing what he said was true, he played his trump card. "General Zaroquorth sends his best regards."

  "He does?" Crotias was pleased, and couldn't hide it. Zanjan orks had many skills, but dissimulation was certainly not one of them.

  "He asked me to bring you this," the elf said smoothly, fishing out a badge of lacquered mother-of-pearl from inside his robe, and a wax-sealed scroll of vellum. "I gather it is a trophy from one of the Creanan campaigns, but it was not my business to inquire. His letter explains all, I believe."

  The ork took the delicate thing into her huge, pawlike hands, turning it over in her palms as if holding a newborn child. She laid it carefully on the table, and ripped open the paper with a minimum of ceremony. Guffaws after scanning a few lines turned into belly-laughs, and by the time she had finished reading the missive there were tears of laughter in her eyes.

  "Good times," she roared at him. "We carved through those barbarians like a hot knife through goat cheese. By Floranuus, there were two hundred and ten of us at Tachrisauz, and over three thousand of those desert bandits, and we slaughtered two-thirds of them by sunset. Lost twenty-nine men; good fighters, damn good. Zaroquorth and I were just juniors then, but you don't forget that sort of thing."

  "They still speak of it, I can assure you."

  "Really?"

  "I was there five years ago," Cassian informed her. "They erected a monument to the battle. A splendid piece of work. All the officers' names are on it, and the name of every soldier who died. Your names are both there, of course. And the Eleventh Legion always concludes feasts with toasts to the officers of the day. You can be certain that your name will not be forgotten there in a hurry, General."

  "Well, I'm damned," the ork replied, grinning broadly. It wasn't entirely a pleasant sight, since few of Crotias's teeth had survived the hand-to-hand fighting she was so legendarily fond of; even trolls were known to prefer to avoid sparring with her in drills and exercises. "And you know the place, you say?"

  "Indeed," Cassian said suavely, and as he reminded her of the oases and sand, the bandit dervishes and the salt road, she grinned ever more broadly and at length patted him lustily on the back. He just managed not to end up with his face in the bronze plate set before him.

  "Well, I'll tell you what, Cassian, we've some of the. finest hurlg in all of the Empire," she announced with relish. His heart sank; he hadn't expected his ingratiating to be so successful. The dark ork beer could hardly be refused now, and he would have to take care that his covert introduction of savak herb into his tankard to allay its effects was not seen. Even so, he could hardly expect to stay sober given the ferocity of the drink. He decided to abandon temperance. It was more important to keep Crotias firmly on his side, as she now definitely was, than to offend her by sipping while she was downing the stuff by the pint. Of course, since he was an elf he would not be expected to match her, or even come close, but a valiant attempt would be expected, especially since she had now more or less accepted him as a military comrade-in-arms.

  Crotias bit the cork from the first flagon, releasing a powerful aroma of yeast and malt into the room, just as the platter of strakafish arrived steaming on the table. Cassian gripped his filled tankard, managed to insinuate just enough herb from the cupped palm of his hand, and drank deep. He knew he would be expected to belch just a little afterwards, for all that he was an elf.

  8

  "The twins. I can't seem to get them into the picture," Cassian said slowly. After four tankards of the pitch-black ale, two less than Crotias had managed, his head was swimming. He was going to have the grandfather of all hangovers later; this stuff was too strong even for savak to counter. Every word was an effort.

  "Why should they have anything to do with anything? The rumors are true. Their family tried to disguise it as murder." Crotias let out a splendid belch and reached for more beer, with a slowed reflex that suggested to a hopeful elf that perhaps she had nearly had her fill by now.

  "I wasn't told of that," Cassian said, and then felt annoyed with himself. He shouldn't be admitting to ignorance. Fortunately, her reply showed that a bluff on his part wouldn't have gone down at all well.

  "Well, of course you weren't. We didn't tell the Arbitorium. None of their business."

  "I appreciate that it was a sensitive matter, but—"

  "It was my House," she said defensively. "The cover-up was laughable. They plunged a dagger into the back of the boy, and then tried to pretend they'd found him stabbed and the girl poisoned. But the body was all wrong. From the position of the knife, it would have been an instantly killing-blow, and bodies don't go down the way Parinth was found. We soon got the truth out of the parents. What would have been the point in reporting a ruse a child could see through? They committed suicide through self-poisoning."

  "Of course," he said consolingly. "Well, then—"

  "I hear you took a little journey out of town yesterday," Crotias said, interrupting him again. "Now what might have taken you to a hunting spot, hum?"

  "Mere curiosity, General. A hunch, nothing more."
>
  "And whom might that have concerned?" She leaned over the table. Beery ork breath streamed over his face.

  "It would perhaps be premature—"

  "Daralec. You were wondering about his accident," She leaned back, looking triumphant. As the person responsible for Vivane's day-to day-security, Crotias had the right to put direct questions to him. He also had the right to refuse an answer, but antagonizing her would only make his work more difficult, nor would it go well for him back in Thera if he did so.

  "Certain circumstances seemed surprising."

  "A huntsman with nearly a century of experience falling on his own sword? Surprising? It's bloody ridiculous." The ork slammed a fist into the table, sending Cassian's tankard flying, only narrowly missing depositing its contents in his lap.

  "Sorry about that, I'll call for some more," she said thickly, but since the meal had come to its end, Cassian was able to plead for kokala without losing face. "I was suspicious myself," she said slightly lamely.

  "Accidents do happen, I suppose," he said, but Crotias wasn't going to be thrown off the scent that easily.

  "I'm beginning to wonder," she drawled. "Dragold was the best architect and engineer in the city. Daralec was the most reliable importer and handler of the stone the dwarfs need. Something is going on here."

  Let's forget the twins, Cassian thought. What of Aralesh? How might he fit into this?

  He decided to risk revealing his suspicions.

  "I don't suppose Aralesh had any role in the construction of certain, shall we say, important city buildings?"

  The General's sharp intake of breath told him he was onto something. His mind was forcing itself back into focus now, assisted by the first sips of the bitter stimulant drink that had arrived at last.

  "After all," he pressed, "everyone seems to agree that Aralesh was one of the most knowledgeable wizards in Vivane when it came to Horrors. This city would be unusual if such skills were not put to use by the authorities."

  "As it happens, you're right," she admitted. "Certain secured areas have special enchantments against attack by the Horrors. Aralesh was one of the more important inscribers of the protections.

  "Damn it, someone's trying to sabotage my city from within!"

  "I think we should keep this conversation to ourselves for the time being," Cassian said, vastly reassured by her fervent nod of assent. "That way, we need not arouse fear and anxiety among the population at large. It would also make my work easier; we don't want to let the perpetrator know that we suspect what's going on."

  "The longer we wait, the more risk we run," she growled.

  She is an ork, after all, Cassian told himself; orks always tended to haste.

  "But Dragold was killed well over a month ago," he said smoothly. "If there is some plan to sabotage Vivane, then those behind it are in no rush. There's no reason to believe we're in imminent danger. Such conspirators tend to plan at length, and their plans are usually slow in coming to fruition. We have time to thwart them."

  "Hmmm." She was reluctant to agree. "But I'm going to double patrols around—"

  "No," he broke in. "Perhaps magical defenses at certain key places in the city, and let us be sure that the eyes and ears of paid agents—among the Barsaivians particularly—are kept open. But do no more than that. We may only hasten the saboteurs' plans if we act too swiftly and too publicly."

  He had a sudden moment of feeling uncertain and almost foolish. Sabotage of the city? What was he talking about? A moment ago the idea had popped up as no more than a vague suspicion, and now they were talking about troop patrols, spies, and wizards behaving like fearful lookouts on the ramparts of some forsaken place besieged by a vast army. Damn that wretched beer!

  Crotias seemed not to notice his turmoil, agreeing only reluctantly to his suggestions. He rose to his feet, trying to arrange his face into some semblance of dignity, and trying to hide his unsteadiness.

  "I am most grateful to you, General," Cassian murmured politely. "This has been most informative." As his cloak was brought for him, Crotias gave the elf a mighty bear hug that almost lifted him off the floor. He winced, but managed to return her beaming expression with an uncomfortable smile.

  "I like you, Cassian. I don't mind admitting I was apprehensive about one of your kind coming here, but you're a decent and honest fellow, I think."

  "That's most gracious of you." Cassian straightened his robe, wondering exactly what she meant by his "kind". He was already unsure of her notion of a sabotage plot, but she regarded him favorably and that had been his goal for this meeting. As he left the barracks, the heat of the day hit him like the outflow from a smithy's forge, the light seeming to burn in his eyes. Retreating into his carriage, he rubbed his sore eyes with the weariness of one who hadn't slept for a week, and for once slumped gratefully into the soft cushions piled around him.

  Cassian did not wake until dusk. Despite the quart or more of cold water he'd drunk upon returning to the Rose Villa, the elf's head throbbed painfully when he got up from his bed. The bowl of cold water on the latrawood table had apparently been refreshed with ice at regular intervals by the attentive Jerenn, and he gratefully plunged his face into it. After repeated splashing, and dressing himself in his finest robes, he felt only slightly better.

  "We have some curative for—" the boy began, appearing in the doorway out of nowhere.

  "Go away!" the elf spat at him. Jerenn turned and would have fled down the corridor, but Cassian called him back, annoyed with himself.

  "I'm sorry, Jerenn. I had no cause to speak to you in such a manner. Please accept my apologies."

  The boy was astonished, obviously unaccustomed to any Theran apologizing. He looked awkward and unsure of what to do for a moment, and then Cassian was startled to let out a most unseemly belch, the last revenge of lunch with Crotias. The boy was biting his lip hard in the struggle to keep down his mirth, but Cassian laughed first, which let the boy smile.

  "Don't drink bad beer with orks, boy, if you know what's good for you," Cassian said kindly. He noticed the shadow of a momentary anxiety pass across Jerenn's face, and then the smile returned. Ah, Cassian thought, he has friends among the orks of the city. Perhaps not within the city walls either. I had best be careful what I say in the presence of this sharp-witted young fellow. Or is that just some suspicion left over from the conversation with Crotias?

  "Could you find me some lemongrass water?" Cassian asked. "I'm sure I heard somewhere that it's good for settling the stomach." The lad scurried off to the kitchens. By the time he returned, Cassian was almost ready to pay his final visit of the day.

  His carriage drew up outside Daralec's mansion at a later hour than was polite without warning, but Cassian did not want to delay his investigations any longer. It took a minute or two for his knocking on the front door to be answered, and the servant was surly and unhappy to be disturbed at an after-dinner hour.

  "The mistress isn't to be disturbed, sir," he said, looking at Cassian's Imperial insignia with evident distaste. "She's resting."

  "Yes, I know," Cassian said politely. "But I gather her son is at home?"

  "Well, sort of. Sir." The man looked uncomfortable. "But he's not to be disturbed either."

  "Really? Why is that?"

  "There's a young lady visiting, sir."

  "Oh, I see. Well, I know what I wish to examine and I will not need to disturb either your mistress or her son." He brushed past the man and headed for where he knew Daralec's study to be. "I shall require complete access, but I shall make this as swift and quiet as possible. Obviously, I wish to respect your mistress's unhappiness at this awkward time."

  Verbosity usually served to confuse servants who were being surly and difficult and it worked like a charm. The man grunted and opened the study door for Cassian.

  The elf was certain that Daralec's huge collection of books, ledgers, scrolls, and papers had already been visited. Just as in the house of the wizard Aralesh, the gaps on the shelves wer
e too obvious; whoever had been here had not expected anyone else to check. The son, Crielle, it must be, Cassian thought. There seemed nothing sinister in the omissions, though. The ledgers removed were those of most recent date, and the young elf had probably been trying to familiarize himself with the family's affairs at the time of his father's death. Business must go on, Cassian thought.

  Sitting at Daralec's desk, he gazed out the window overlooking the Theran Quarter. A peculiar pattern of moving light showed where an airship was gliding across the sky high over the northern wall, a glow of pearly light bigger than the moon half-hidden by clouds overhead. Bringing soldiers or slaves or exotics to Sky Point, no doubt, and for a moment Cassian's liking for reverie overcame him. He imagined the huge expanse of the Empire as a vast spider's web, airships moving along invisible silky threads like the multitudinous offspring of some huge mother-spider unseen at the very center of the web, the vessels carrying cargoes and troops to and fro, sustaining the majesty of the whole enterprise. He shook his head, and told himself to keep his mind on his work.

  Turning to the desk, Cassian began to open its drawers more out of idle curiosity than serious intent, until his experienced eye noticed a concealed recess behind the bottom drawer. Crawling beneath the heavy desk, he traced his fingers around the outline of the hidden space, soon finding the mechanism at the back of the drawer.

  Knowing that traps were usually present to guard such hiding places, he drew out his picks and handclaw from inside his robe and picked carefully at the tiny space that began to offer itself up to him.

  A sudden click made him pull his fingers back before the discolored needle sprang out at him. Venom, he thought; something worth protecting here indeed. To his surprise, the secret compartment was empty. It was of reasonable size, big enough to hold a handful of books or scrolls—or a considerable sum in gems—but what it might once have contained he could not know.

  Crielle has been here too, he thought. I had better have some words with this son who conveniently arrives back from many months abroad just in time for his father's untimely demise. He seems to work very swiftly, under the circumstances.