"I've never seen even a wild beast do such to a body," he said softly after a few moments. "Can you be sure—"
"The head was mostly intact," Ilfaralek said, picking up a length of cane and pushing a draped cloth away to reveal it. Darnius had been decapitated, raggedly and awfully. Mercifully, the disembodied head was lying face down. Cassian had no desire to see the expression on its face.
"I see." The carnage reminded Cassian all too horribly of his rare encounters with the work of Horrors. He saw no point in prolonging the ordeal, and said so.
"I think I can leave it to you to search and examine the area," he murmured. "Have you had time to make any enquiries?" There would be no opportunity here for him to employ his scarab; Ilfaralek's men were all over the house, and such espionage would not be tolerated even in these circumstances.
"Mordain should be back shortly. I've spoken to the slaves and servants. No one has seen anyone enter or leave the house, save for a few slaves bringing food and fruit this morning. And they were known to the servants. I've sent men for them, obviously."
"How could this have happened without anyone hearing anything?"
"Quite." What was unsaid was obvious. Magic had to be involved in this atrocious slaughter.
"We can hardly hope to keep it quiet, as with Crielle."
"Indeed. Unfortunately, the slave who discovered the body ran straight out into the road screaming her head off and there were fifty onlookers trying to get in when guards arrived from the House of Works. This time I won't able to spirit the servants away and keep the matter confidential."
Well, at least that means only one death and not a dozen or more, Cassian thought grimly.
"How is your investigation proceeding?" Ilfaralek asked casually. Cassian was at once put on the defensive; this killing brought home to him how little he'd really accomplished since arriving in Vivane.
"I have learned some things." He shrugged. "I do not think I shall need many more days."
"Just as well," Ilfaralek replied tartly. "There's a limit to how many corpses public order can withstand, you know."
"I assume you are also making enquiries and investigations of your own," the elf said pointedly. "I shall be interested to hear of them sometime."
"Certainly. Let us meet tomorrow to discuss this matter. I don't mind telling you that the Overgovernor will most certainly get rather heated about this. And, in due course, I imagine that he will himself despatch some message back to Thera, which will not be helpful for you, I think."
Cassian smiled. "We both serve demanding masters," he said. "Shall we take supper? I may have some time-consuming studies to make before then, and it will give us a few more hours to learn what we both may."
They agreed on a time, and then made their way gingerly out of the carnage into the hallway. Just as they were taking leave of one another, a burly man forced his way past the guards and stood wild-eyed before them, staring crazily about him.
"Mordain," Ilfaralek said gently, "I'm afraid that—"
"Where is he? What has happened?" the man halfscreamed. Involuntarily, Ilfaralek's eyes turned in the direction of the glass room. Before he could be restrained, Mordain ran into it and let out a howl that would have chilled the spine of a ghoul.
Rushing after him, they found him on his knees, blood and ordure staining his fine silk clothing, cradling the horribly severed head as if it were a baby.
"For the love of Garlen, man, come away from this," Ilfaralek hissed. The man was oblivious, crying to himself.
"They said it would be done. By the Passions, why didn't I listen? If only I had confessed! Ah, my son, my son!"
They did not see what he intended until it was too late. Mordain fumbled inside his robe and drew forth a dagger, then plunged it into his guts with a choked-off grunting sound. Cassian reacted with lightning speed. With a flying leap, he gripped Mordain's wrist like a vice and clung on for dear life, preventing the knife from penetrating any deeper. Heavy footfalls announced the arrival of soldiers as the stricken man and the elf rolled around in the grisly remains.
Cassian got to his knees as Mordain was being helped to a chair and a desperate attempt made to staunch the ragged, copiously bleeding gash in his belly. The elf's hands were greased with blood and human remains, and foul stains covered his clothes. A slick of half-dried blood was smeared down the left side of his face and hair.
Ilfaralek was barking orders to fetch a healer, and guards were already racing for the front door. Cassian looked down with distaste at his hands, besmirched and filthy.
So, who were they—and what was it that had to be confessed?
20
Cassian should have cleaned himself up at Mordain's house, but wanted to get out of the place as quickly as possible. Arriving back at the Rose Villa, he grabbed some clean clothes from his room and had almost made it undetected to the bathchamber when Jerenn appeared. The boy's eyes almost stood out on stalks.
"Sir, are you all right? Have you had an accident?" The lad came rushing towards him, stopping a few steps short, inadvertently blocking his way. Seeing the elf standing normally and showing neither wound nor sign of pain, Jerenn became less concerned and more curious.
"I am not harmed. There's been an accident, of sorts," the elf said.
"What has happened? Is it someone I know? Is there—"
"It will be all around town soon enough and you will doubtless hear of it from others," Cassian said. "Meanwhile, I shall want these clothes cleaned as best possible. But make sure the water used for the silks isn't too hot."
"We are always very careful about that," Jerenn said at once, still unwilling to leave without satisfying his curiosity. "But, sir, who was it? Did you see what happened? Were you there when—"
"Will you promise to go away and leave me in peace to my bath if I speak to you of it afterwards?" Cassian said wearily. "I shall have a job for you, also."
The lad looked excited, torn between satisfying curiosity now or later—not to mention the prospect of another interesting errand and a chance to earn more coin from the elf. He backed away and mumbled about anything Cassian might want.
"Just warm water, a great deal of soap, plenty of towels, and some peace," the elf replied sharply, emphasizing the last word. The boy scuttled off into the kitchens. When Cassian finally emerged after the best part of an hour scrubbing himself and then relaxing in scented warm water, he wondered whether the lad might have been waiting outside the chamber door all the while. He found Jerenn looking like an eager, excited young puppy in need of training.
"Bring some cold wine," Cassian requested. "I think I need some." While the boy rushed off to fetch the drink, the elf went quickly to his room and found his leather bag. Deftly slipping his hand into a layer of lining that would have given no sign of any recess within to an onlooker not familiar with magical concealment, he drew out a tiny vial of liquid, no bigger than a thumbnail, and flicked the tiny glass stopper into the palm of his hand. I don't want to do this to him, the elf thought, but I really can't afford to take the chance.
When Jerenn brought the flask of the excellently chilled white wine he had learned that Cassian liked, the elf poured two glasses with his back to the youth, slipping the tasteless and colorless herbal liquid into one. It was a potion for truth. Taking the other for himself, he bade the surprised boy drink with him. Looking a little confused, but pleased with the prospect of drinking with the elf, Jerenn tried to make himself take only small sips so that he drank more slowly than Cassian. Such a thing would be inconceivable with his own master and he had no idea of the etiquette required for such an occasion.
Cassian told him of Damius's death without going into any of the gruesome details. As he spoke, watching Jerenn's eyes carefully, he could see the dilatation of the lad's pupils by the time he'd drunk barely half a glass.
"So there you are, an assassin had called and there was no sign of him," the elf concluded. "Anyway, no more of that now. I have something I wish you to do for m
e."
"Anything, sir," the boy said fervently.
"Don't call me sir," Cassian said for what seemed like the hundredth time. The boy's response would be a good indication of whether the drug was having the desired effect.
"If you say so, Cassian." It was the first time the boy used the elf's name without any sign of embarrassment.
"I want you to go to the markets and buy garments suitable for someone of my size and build. The kind of garments a Barsaive elf would wear," Cassian requested. "And also clothing for yourself, as if you were a traveler. Practical things. Stout leather leggings and jerkin, rough cottons, that sort of thing. I shall require boots also."
"Are we going somewhere?" the boy asked.
"Into the Broken Quarter. I wish to see the Rat Circus for myself," the elf said coolly. The boy's eyes widened.
"But, Cassian, if the people there knew who you are, they would cut you into a thousand pieces and take a week over doing it!"
"They will not know who I am. You wouldn't tell them, would you?" This was the acid test.
"Of course not," Jerenn said fervently. Now I know I can trust him, Cassian thought with quiet satisfaction. "Hut won't it be dangerous?"
"You don't know the area?"
"The Rat Circus—everyone keeps away from it! There .ire the rats, of course, but there's worse. Only the most desperate people live in the Undercity there. They'll kill for a copper, or just because they're drunk, crazy, sick of life. It will be dangerous!" This time the boy was insistent.
"Perhaps, but we'll have certain protections. Anyway, tell me of your life before you were taken into slavery. I imagine someone like you must have been able to take care of himself?"
So, the elf got many minutes on the art of staying alive as an orphan; the tricks of begging and feigning injury, fits, and afflictions of mundane sorts and the need to be careful lest anyone should think the beggar was I lorror-marked; the rudiments of thievery and getting into—and staying in—places one should not be; of how to prowl around homes and houses and use a simple hooked wooden pole to fish out anything from a box of coins to a hot roast for one's supper; and much more besides. Jerenn was about to begin an impassioned recital of a windling traveling song when the elf bade him stop.
"That's enough," he laughed. "You are resourceful, I think. We shall travel together. We go tomorrow just before dusk, and I expect to be back by midnight."
"But I am not allowed outside the gates," Jerenn protested. Cassian raised an eyebrow. "But that's different, I mean, I don't have to deal with the guards at the gates."
"We could take your route."
"That's how I was captured last time," Jerenn pointed out.
"Then through the gates we must go. I will have no problems with the guards," Cassian replied.
The boy pondered that for a moment. "What shall we be looking for?"
"If I knew the answer to that I wouldn't need to go at all," the elf said logically.
"We'll need some money."
"Hardly a problem."
"Lanterns too. And we should take some good food. For many people, that's a better bribe than money."
"I'm sure we can buy something at the markets."
"We'll also need oil and marble balls in case we're pursued," the boy added.
"Ah, you know those tricks," the elf said approvingly"And a bag of pepper, and some flour, and some of that filthy catspaw glue." Not even Cassian had heard of that, and said so. "It's supposed to be made from dead cats. It stinks like nothing you've ever smelled. Throw some of that about and no dog will come anywhere near. Some of the people out there, they've got dogs—big ones. To protect themselves. They're bigger than dwarfs, some of them, and they're trained to kill people."
"I think the easiest thing," Cassian said, beginning to realize that the boy was a better tactician than he could ever hope to be in the unfamiliar surroundings of the Undercity, "is for me to give you enough money to purchase whatever you think will be useful." He had devices and subterfuges of his own, but it would do no harm to ally the boy's ingenuity to those resources.
"Not all at once," the boy said readily. "Too easy to be spotted. I can go buy the clothes you asked for, but I can purchase some of the other things in Vivane today and the rest in the Broken Quarter at night. I'll go in different disguises each trip."
Then Jerenn looked confused again. "I'm not allowed to wear ordinary clothes," he said dispiritedly. It was true, of course; slaves had to wear black, and could even be executed summarily for anything else.
“You can if you are with me," the elf pointed out. "So just stick close."
"But, but.. " The boy was troubled. He was trying to puzzle something out in his mind. "Why would you take me with you out there? I could betray you."
"You've already said that you will not."
"But that's not the point," Jerenn said. "I mean, I could. Most slaves would. In fact almost all of them would."
I know the truth of his heart, Cassian thought, but now his head needs some logic to support what he feels.
"There are also people out there who have your Wood," the elf reminded him quietly. "While I live and you are with me, you are safe from them. The protections I carry will ward us both. If I die, then you are no longer so protected. And even if you wished to betray me to those who have your blood, you could not be sure that I hey wouldn't kill us both. Indeed, in their place I would certainly dispose of any Theran and his accomplice. I suspect that has already crossed your mind."
Jerenn nodded. "I didn't think exactly that," he said slowly, "but I thought there must be some way you would have some hold like that. It's just hard for me to imagine a Theran taking me to the Broken Quarter at all."
"When I need to call guards, I call guards. When I need a kedate—a messenger—I call for one. When I need someone who knows an area better than anyone else, then that is the person whose help I must seek. This is not the first time I've called upon a slave to help me to get into places I could not otherwise go."
The boy nodded. He still seemed surprised, and perhaps slightly apprehensive. Cassian shared the latter emotion, at least.
"Now go to the markets," he said, giving Jerenn a small pouch of gold coins. "And be sure you give me a complete accounting of everything you buy there."
"I will, Cassian," the boy said eagerly. "I'll get you prices you won't believe!"
"I don't doubt it," the elf grinned. As the boy got up and left, he pondered what to do in the meantime.
Back to the House of Records, he thought, for more trawling through obscure papers. He would surely find something there eventually.
And so he did; but not as he might have expected. On the way, Cassian ran into the ubiquitous Ilfaralek, who marched purposefully toward him. There were extra patrols already making their way up and down the Grandwalk. The official excuse would be additional security prior to the great feast celebration, but it was a little early for that, and as word of Darnius's bloody demise got around the city, it would be good to have extra soldiers on hand.
"A word, please," the akarenti said firmly, taking Cassian by the arm and leading him up the grand marble steps. Ilfaralek virtually commanded one of the scribes to give up his office, and shut the door firmly behind the startled man as he shuffled away down one of the labyrinthine passages.
"Mordain has talked. Well, not much, but enough," Ilfaralek said curtly. "I thought you ought to know." By now, Cassian had taken in the fact that the man carried a dark brown leathered book, slim and small, with a slight staining on its back. "He told us to find this."
Cassian took the book and sat down at the paper-strewn desk to examine the text. It was written in some form of cipher, and also written right to left; hardly an uncommon ruse, and he used his small hand mirror to begin decoding it.
"Peruse it at your leisure," Ilfaralek said. "What is clear is that Mordain was much less honest than we all thought. It's been very cleverly done. From public records, one would never have been able to trace
anything."
The elf quietly murmured agreement. Ilfaralek had obviously moved swiftly to examine Mordain's affairs, and Cassian wondered whether he might also have learned that Cassian had investigated his own involvement, among others. He also knew, now, with whom Mordain had been associated. The cipher and the mirror-writing he had seen before. Protocol didn't demand that he inform Ilfaralek, but he wanted to stay on the man's good side, and decided to be forthcoming.
"I've seen this coding before," Cassian said quietly, "at the house of Aralesh." Ilfaralek stood impassively, arms folded, gazing at him.
"There is an initial that repeats itself, W," Ilfaralek said. "Considerable moneys appear to have been divided between Mordain and this 'W'".
"Mordain has not said who it is?"
"He is unconscious now and may not survive."
"Then I can tell you that you have nothing to fear from this mysterious W," Cassian smiled.
"How can you be so sure?" Ilfaralek frowned, and then smiled himself. "Ah, I see. Our friend W is no longer among us."
"That would be a correct presumption."
"The cipher is not difficult. For the third letter from the end of the alphabet, substitute the third letter from the beginning."
"I see. But who in the name of the Passions is benefiting from all this, given that Daralec is dead?" Ilfaralek wondered aloud. "And why has it needed so many deaths?"
"I rather think that's what I was sent here to find out," Cassian said diplomatically.
"I can only hope you do so before we have more corpses littering up the homes of the rich and powerful," Ilfaralek returned with feeling. "Overgovernor Kypros has demanded to see me tomorrow morning. Sooner than I'd expected. I think that, under the circumstances, we ought to defer our meeting. I'm going to be busy."
Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness Page 15