by Simon Brown
“That’s true,” Olio admitted. “But the p-p-priest would have assistance.”
“Assistance? From where?”
“From the theurgia,” Edaytor said. “I will supply magickers to deal with the healing.”
Northam dropped his spoon in the bowl. “Magickers? Since when do magickers heal the sick?”
Edaytor and Olio looked at one another as if they were sharing a private joke. “The magickers would not be healing the sick,” Edaytor continued. “At least, not by themselves.”
Northam sighed. “You are playing games with me, Your Highness.”
Olio laughed lightly, and his soft brown eyes seemed to shine. “Not at all. I will p-p-provide funds for the hospice to operate, and pay for any herbs and m-m-medicines it will need. And for the seriously ill, well…” He slowly pulled out from underneath his shirt the Key of the Heart. “… I will deal with them.”
The primate stared at the prince for a long moment. “Your Highness, you can’t be serious.”
“I have never b-b-been m-m-more serious in m-m-my life.”
“The Healing Key is for only the most sacred duties, your Highness.”
“And what is m-m-more sacred than saving life?”
“But how do you know it will work? You’ve never used it…” His voice trailed off as he saw the expressions on the faces of Olio and Edaytor. “You have used it, haven’t you?”
“A few days ago, down at the docks,” Edaytor said. “The Key worked when both the prince and I used it together. We saved a man’s life. Well, the Key saved his life.”
“I am a p-p-prince of Grenda Lear with p-p-position and great wealth,” Olio said. “And yet I have no p-p-power to assist the people of that kingdom. At least, I thought that was the case.”
“You cannot spend your life down here, your Highness. You have duties in the palace—”
“I have no intention of spending all m-m-my time in the hospice. I would only visit when the m-m-most serious cases needed the power of the Key.”
“You cannot heal all the sick and dying,” Northam said sternly. “How will you choose who to save and who to let die?”
Olio’s face darkened. “I will depend on your p-p-priest for advice on this. I know I cannot help all. The old m-m-must be allowed to die in peace, but even there the hospice can help. It will give them a place where their p-p-pain can be eased. But many die unnecessarily, from disease or accident, or worse. These I can help. These I will help. I will be a p-p-prince to them.”
Northam regarded Olio with new respect and something like awe. He sighed deeply and said, “It is one of the great burdens of our calling that we cannot do more for the poor and the ailing. Since the end of the Slaver War, it has sometimes seemed to me that the church has been seeking a new cause to further its mission. Perhaps you have given it to us. You will have your priest.”
There were no shouts of joy from the others, but Northam sensed a feeling of quiet relief. “There were two things you needed from me. The first was my cooperation. You have that, and gladly. The second was my silence. Silence from whom?”
“M-m-my sister,” Olio said, as if the answer should have been obvious. “And anyone involved with the court. Can you imagine what would happen if Areava found out what I was doing?”
“She would commend you heartily!” Northam declared. “Do you doubt the queen’s mercy?”
“Of course not. But she would insist on giving m-m-me an escort. People would come from everywhere to see Olio do his m-m-magic. The hospice would become a circus, not a p-p-place of healing. My p-p-part in this m-m-must be kept secret.”
“But you will need some protection,” Northam insisted.
“Why? Why would anyone suspect I was involved with the hospice? And if I was in any danger, there will be Edaytor’s m-m-magickers around to p-p-protect m-m-me from any harm.”
“You must be discovered eventually,” Northam argued.
“I m-m-must insist on this, Father,” Olio said firmly. “I will do this m-m-my way.”
Northam nodded, but his face showed how unhappy he was with the situation. “If you insist, Your Highness, I will keep your secret, though in the end I think it will do you little good.”
Olio reached across to take the primate’s much larger hand and patted it like a child comforting his father. “We will worry about discovery if and when it happens.”
Chapter 21
It was a woman’s scream that woke Kumul. He leaped out of bed, dressed only in his linen undergarment, and rushed into the inn’s main room with his sword drawn and ready. The room was empty. He heard sobbing from the kitchen.
Ager joined him, more completely dressed and similarly armed. “Lynan’s not in his room,” the crookback said tersely.
Kumul cursed loudly, and together they went to the kitchen, fearing the worst. They found the body of Yran slumped on the floor, a thick pool of blood surrounding him like a halo, his throat cut from his left ear to the middle of his larynx. Ager knelt beside the body and touched the man’s neck and hands. One of Yran’s kitchen helpers had collapsed into a chair and was crying uncontrollably.
Kumul rushed out the kitchen door, but Ager called out: “No point, Kumul! The man’s been dead for hours. His neck and fingers are stiff as bone.”
Kumul ignored him.
Ager grabbed the kitchen hand by the arm. “When did you get here?”
“Not five minutes ago, sir! I started the scrubbing outside, and came in to get the saucepans and found Master Yran lying there! Oh, God, it’s horrible…” Her voice started rising in a scream again, but Ager shook her hard.
“Listen to me! Do you have a grieve?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get him, and quickly. And get whoever was working here last night!”
“Yes, sir,” she repeated, and scrambled out of the kitchen, her tears stopping now she had something to do.
Kumul returned, his face filled with fury. “There were three horses tied around the side of the inn, and four sets of footprints in the mud, about five hours old.”
“Was Lynan’s among them?”
Kumul shrugged. “I can’t be sure. We should never have left him alone last night!”
“There’s nothing we can do about that now.”
“Jenrosa and I can carry out a wider search.”
“Better get dressed first; you don’t want to frighten the townspeople. By the way, I’ve asked the women to get the grieve.”
“What if he recognizes us?”
“For God’s sake, man, what if he suspects us of killing Yran? At least by helping find out what happened, we may avoid that.”
Kumul looked as if he was about to argue the point, but then nodded and left to get Jenrosa. A little while later, a short, round man wearing the orange sash of a grieve entered, out of breath and flustered. He carried an old dress sword as if he did not know what to do with it. He ignored Ager and stooped over the dead innkeeper, sucking his teeth and shaking his head.
“Oh, dear. We’ve had nothing like this for years. And Yran of all people! Oh, dear me.” He breathed through his nose like an angry bull.
“I’ve asked the woman who found him to bring back all the people who were working here last night,” Ager said. “They might be able to tell you something.”
The grieve looked at him in surprise, as if Ager had just appeared from thin air. He quickly studied Ager’s face, then his crookback, and then his face again. “Did you, my friend? Well, that was uncommonly straight thinking. And who are you?”
“A traveler. I was staying here last night with three companions.”
The grieve immediately looked suspicious. “Strangers, then?”
“Strangers who want to help,” Ager said quickly. “It’s possible that whoever did this also harmed one of our party. He is missing from his room.”
“Or did the deed and ran in fear for his life,” the grieve said.
“He had no reason to do this.”
�
��Yran was not a poor man. For some, a handful of gold coins is more than enough reason to kill an innocent.”
“Then maybe you should see if any gold coins are missing,” Ager countered.
The grieve shot up as if he had been kicked. “Dear me, more uncommonly straight thinking. I wonder where Yran kept his takings?”
Just then the kitchen hand reappeared, followed by some of the cooks and servers Ager had seen last night. They gathered around Yran like pups around a dead bitch, whining and lost. The grieve tried comforting them all, but his words only seemed to make things worse, and the whining turned into bawling.
“The money,” Ager reminded the grieve.
The man nodded. “Lewith,” he said, grabbing one young man by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Lewith. Where did your master keep his takings?”
“He’s dead, Goodman Ethin,” Lewith cried at the grieve. “God’s pain, he’s dead!”
Ethin gave the man a firm shake. “Now, Lewith, you must tell me. Where did Yran keep his takings? We have to know if his killers were thieves.”
Lewith pointed under the carving table, a huge wooden block on cast iron rollers. “Under there. There’s a loose floorboard.”
Ager did not wait for the grieve, but pushed aside the table and squatted down. He used the point of his sword to test the boards. He found one that lifted, prized it up and put his hand down the hole. He scrabbled around for a moment then stood up, his hand holding a rusted metal box. He shook it, and all could hear could the jangling of several coins.
“It needs a key,” Ager told the grieve.
“On a cord around his… his neck,” Lewith whispered, pointing now at Yran’s corpse.
Ethin hesitated, and Ager impatiently bent down by the body. He slipped a leather cord from around Yran’s bloody neck and used the key on it to open the metal box. He showed everyone that it was half full of coins, some gold, most copper.
“Is this about right for a night’s takings?” Ager demanded of Lewith.
“More, sir. That’s easily the money from two nights’ trade. He would have been taking that to Master Shellwith for safekeeping this morning.”
“Master Shellwith?”
“Our magistrate,” Ethin told Ager. “He has a strongbox in his office.” He met Ager’s stare and nodded. “So if it was not for theft, why was Yran killed?”
“To keep him out of the way while my friend was taken,” Ager said. “Another of our party has searched outside the inn. There are signs there of three horses but four sets of footprints, about five hours old. Yran has been dead for about that time. You can feel his fingers if you doubt me.”
The grieve shuddered. “I believe you, sir.” He said to Lewith: “I want you and the others to go into the dining room. Get a good fire started. I will come and talk with you soon.”
As soon as they had shuffled out, Ethin turned his attention back to Ager. “Now, my friend, why would anyone want to take your companion away from you? Is he worth a ransom? Did he owe money?”
“We come from a farming village, and we are not worth much more than the clothes we wear.”
“You don’t talk and act like a farmer.”
“I was a soldier once, as was another of our company; but the one missing is not much more than a boy, callow and unused to the ways of the world.”
“Then we come back to my question. Why was he taken?”
Ager could only shrug. He could think of no story that would convince the grieve; better to shut up and see how things played out. For a man who on first sight seemed particularly unsuitable to be a town’s keeper of the peace, the man had a habit of asking the most awkward questions.
Kumul—now fully dressed—and Jenrosa came into the kitchen, their boots caked with mud past the ankle. Jenrosa’s face was pale with shock. Kumul looked at Ager and shook his head. “The main road is mucked up badly after the rain, but there are three clear sets of horse prints heading north from the town.” Kumul nodded at Ethin. “You’re the grieve?”
Ethin nodded, obviously in awe of the man’s size.
“He was about to questions the cooks and workers about last night’s guests,” Ager said for him.
Ethin nodded and made a move toward the main room. “That’s exactly right.”
Kumul grabbed the grieve by the arm. The man jumped as if he had been struck by a snake.
“God’s sake,” Kumul said gruffly. “I only want to ask you a question. Is there a place we can get horses around here?”
“We have two stable yards. I know Gereson has horses for sale at the present.”
“What do we pay him with?” Jenrosa asked.
“Can you deputize us?” Kumul asked Ethin.
“Deputize you? Why would I want to do that?”
“To catch the bastards who took our friend and killed Yran,” Kumul replied sharply.
Ethin was taken aback by the suggestion. “I’ve never deputized strangers before…”
“Who else in this town will pursue the murderers as ardently as we?” Ager asked.
“Well, no one, to be straight,” the Grieve admitted. “Pursuit of dangerous criminals is not the main objective in life for farmers and shopkeepers.”
“Then deputize us,” Kumul insisted.
“What for, sir? You intend to go after your friend at any rate. What difference would it make to you?”
Kumul licked his lips. “Because then you can advance us the scrip for our services.”
“Advance you a scrip?” Ethin looked shocked. “I have no resources for hiring deputies!”
Ager shook Yran’s moneybox. “You have this. Advance us enough coin against Yran’s estate to purchase horses for ourselves. We have none ourselves, and without them, we will never catch Yran’s killers.”
Ethin frowned in thought.
“Yran’s death cries out for revenge,” Ager added.
Ethin breathed through his nose and took the moneybox from Ager. He selected a handful of quarters and half-royals and gave them to Kumul.
“With that, you can buy four good horses, three for yourselves and another for your friend should you save him, but bugger the scrip. Yran had no family I know of, and I don’t think he would begrudge the amount if you revenge his death. You’ll find Gereson at the other end of town. While you arrange for your horses, I’ll question Lewith and company and see if I can get you more information.”
“I’ll stay with Goodman Ethin,” Ager told the others. “I’ll meet you at Gereson’s when I finish here.”
Kumul nodded and left with Jenrosa. They found the stable yard and presented their coins to Gereson, who, for that amount, said they could choose any four horses they liked and he would throw in saddles, bridles, and packs as well. By the time they had selected four mounts, fit mares with even temperaments, Ager had joined them.
“The only visitors at the inn who were still drinking last night after Yran let his workers go included Lynan, a pair of travelers, and three farmers. The grieve found the travelers still in their rooms, and they told him that when they went to their beds, only the farmers and Lynan were left in the main room and Yran was in the kitchen. Then one of the cooks said she knew the names of one of the farmers, and that he owns land in the east of the valley, on the slopes.”
“So we go there first?” Jenrosa asked.
“We follow the tracks you and Kumul found. I don’t think they’re heading back to the farm.”
“Why not?” Kumul asked.
“Because he must have known he was recognized last night, and that the grieve would come and at least ask questions, if not actually make an arrest. Besides, the farmer’s name was Jes Prado. Sound familiar?”
Kumul thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Never met the man, but he was a mercenary captain who fought for the Slavers during the war. Most captains on the other side took the queen’s amnesty and disbanded their companies after the war and settled down somewhere. I assume Prado chose this valley.”
“Well, I’l
l wager he’s leaving the valley now. Most importantly, he’s not heading south.”
“So?” Jenrosa asked.
“Prado would not have taken Lynan unless he knew who he was and that he was outlaw, but he’s not heading straight for Kendra to deliver his prize to Areava. That means there’s more to it than we presently understand.”
“Maybe Areava doesn’t want Lynan to be seen in the capital,” Kumul suggested. “She may think he has support there, among the commoners at least.”
“Then why not kill him outright?” Ager countered. “I think there others involved, and Prado is on his way to meet them. More than that, Prado knows we’ll follow him, so he won’t stay on the road for long.”
“Then we’re running out of time,” Kumul said brusquely, and mounted the horse he had chosen for himself, a large roan with a black streak on her forehead.
Before the other two had mounted, the grieve appeared. “I don’t know what it is about you, Crookback, but I trust your face.”
“Thanks for that,” Ager said dryly.
“I won’t come with you. I’m no horseman and could never hope to keep up. Find Yran’s killers and, if you’re able to, bring them back here for justice.”
Kumul looked darkly at the grieve. “We make no promise on that, but we will do what we can.”
Ager and Jenrosa mounted, and Kumul took the reins of the fourth horse. They rode north out of town, each desperately hoping that Lynan was still alive to be rescued.
Lynan slipped sideways off Prado’s horse and fell to the ground. He was barely conscious, and the shock of hitting the hard earth barely registered in his fogged brain. He heard curses and then commands. Rough hands half-carried him to softer ground. He was dimly aware of an argument going on in the background. Something grabbed his jaw and pain lanced through him. His vision cleared and he found himself looking into the face of Jes Prado, his head haloed by the soft light of a damp, cloudy dawn. He moaned. He had hoped in his delirium that all that had happened to him was nothing more than a nightmare.
“I’m going to stitch you up, boy,” Prado breathed into his face. “But first we have to clean your wound.”