by Jeff LaSala
Knowing her time was limited, Soneste set to work, feigning the idle interest of a citizen with a passing appreciation of art. In the homes of the wealthy and magical, you never knew when you were being examined in turn.
The sculptures that lined the corridor were set upon matching pedestals of gray marble. Most were works of metal or stone, some abstract and unappealing to look upon, while others were realistic, pleasing depictions. Every piece, she observed, contained some component of glass—an hourglass in the arms of a marble beggar, a monocle affixed to the gold bust of an elderly scholar, even a single fingernail in the closed fist of a soldier cast in bronze. Impulsively, Soneste produced the small magnifying lens she’d once purchased years ago in Starilaskur. “Karrnathi glass,” the peddler had insisted, “none better.”
Glass was one of Karrnath’s chief exports, so it didn’t surprise her that a former Cannith director would take part in the industry. By all reports, though, Charoth steered away from House Cannith interests. Surely Cannith East already had a hand in such revenues? But then, Cannith produced innovative devices and wondrous architecture, not everyday exports.
“This way, Miss Otänsin,” the valet said when he returned, sooner than Soneste had expected.
She was led through a series of austere chambers and was left alone again in a windowless parlor rendered entirely in shades of black, gray, and white. She found the near monochrome effect unsettling, as though all life had been drained from everything in the chamber. The blue of her coat confirmed that the effect was a nonmagical one. Mere eccentricity.
She studied the room in greater detail when heavy footfalls alerted Soneste to her host’s approach. The valet entered first and offered her his recurring smile. “My lord, I present to you Miss Soneste Otänsin, inquisitive of Thuranne d’Velderan’s Investigative Services of Sharn, surrogate investigator of the Justice Ministry.”
Soneste refrained from scowling. She hadn’t mentioned her agency to the valet. Charoth’s people were resourceful.
“Miss Otänsin …” the servant said.
The noble stepped into the room. Her expression remained assertive, but Soneste admitted to herself that the ex-Cannith lord presented an imposing figure.
“I presented to you Lord Charoth Arkenen.”
Every inch of the man’s body was enshrouded in a courtly robe of midnight blue. From wide sleeves she could see black silken gloves on each hand, one of which clutched a striking silver-headed cane of deep blue glass. His hooded face was concealed with a mask painted with bright, stylized colors and carved with twisting runes. She recognized it as darkwood—an uncommon, expensive wood usually imported from Aerenal. The slits of the eyes were covered with glass, the lenses too thick to reveal the eyes beneath.
Against the muted shades of the parlor, the wizard’s attire stood out in livid contrast. His metal-braced boots came together as Charoth inclined his head, acknowledging his guest.
“You may speak plainly in my house, Soneste,” he said with a strong, sharpened baritone. His voice sounded clear but sleightly reverberant, a result of speaking through the slender crevice in the mouth of his mask. “Am I a suspect in your case?”
Soneste looked into the impassive eyes of the wooden face, uncertain on which to focus. She recalled the sketch in the Sentinel that depicted Charoth’s gaunt, aristocratic features and tried to visualize them now as she looked at him. The presence of the esteemed Cannith wizard was sleightly unnerving, but she’d interrogated hostile criminals. Charoth was no comparison. She pushed away her unease with cool professionalism.
“Lord Arkenen—”
“Charoth will suffice,” he said.
“Lord Charoth. You know of my case, then?” she returned.
The wizard shrugged. “What else would bring a Brelish inquisitive to my door? The ambassador’s death was two days ago. Old news now. Many die in this city.”
He gestured to a white divan, waited for her to sit, then settled himself in a high-backed chair across from her with a quiet grunt. Between them sat a low glass table, upon which sat a glass figurine of a dryad whose shape was so delicate it was almost invisible in the colorless room. She wondered if he’d designed any of these works of art himself.
“You’re not a suspect at this time, my lord,” she lied, defying the rumor that his mask revealed falsehoods in his presence. She would not be intimidated by this man’s reputation. “Only a potential source of information. I am only here to ask you a few questions. Are you willing to aid this investigation?”
“I am always willing to help the Ministry,” he said, “even when foreign dignitaries are careless and get themselves killed.”
Soneste used to take notes when speaking with important suspects or witnesses. Since her brief training with Veshtalan, she’d learned to commit even spoken words to memory. It was not as easy as imprinting written words in her mind, but with focus she found it manageable.
She took a steady breath, centering her mind. “Is it your belief that Ambassador ir’Daresh brought the murder of his family upon himself?”
Charoth did not answer immediately. He took a deep, rasping breath, leading Soneste to wonder if the injuries he’d suffered had affected more than his face and skin. “It is one thing if royals from the Five Nations wish to send their whelps to foreign courts as a show of peace, but another to parade their aristocrats across national borders while the scars of war still burn.”
Soneste was surprised to find his prejudice so nakedly displayed. Perhaps that was a learning point. “So you do approve of the exchange of royal siblings, of Prince Halix and Princess Borina staying here in Korth—which, I understand, was initiated by your king?”
Charoth nodded. “Such compromises are necessary to maintain peace. But the rulers of our lands must take care not to push the limits. The ambassador, like all of them, was taking a risk bringing his family into foreign lands. Karrnath is not Breland. Your people are well known for wagging tongues. It can bring trouble in our land. Perhaps the ambassador invited it.”
Soneste shrugged, choosing to sidestep the insult to her people. “At any given time, my lord, there are hundreds—thousands—of nobles and commoners from across the Five Nations in your kingdom. What would make this particular man and his entire family victims?”
“You’re the inquisitive,” he answered. “You tell me. Perhaps an old rival took his holiday as an opportunity to settle a score?” He leaned forward, the grimace of his mask clearer to see, adding a touch of sarcasm to his voice. “You know how brutal those Karrns can be.”
“Of course, anything’s possible.” Soneste needed a new direction. “May I ask, my lord, why you were scheduled to meet with Ambassador ir’Daresh if you disapproved of the presence of such nobles altogether?”
“I am a businessman, Soneste,” Charoth answered. “With the war behind us, I am in the business of production and exportation. Ambassador ir’Daresh was a potential customer, nothing more. When I learned of his imminent arrival in this city, I arranged a meeting with him. A meeting of which the Sovereign Host apparently did not approve.”
Caustic and blasphemous, Soneste mused.
“You think me callous,” he continued, “but I am a realist. I have to be. I may have once belonged to a dragonmarked house, but I have lived in Karrnath all my life. It is not a forgiving land, but it is, ultimately, rewarding. You must forgive my candor.”
Soneste offered a genuine smile. “You are entitled to it, my lord, especially in your own home. I am the guest here, and I do appreciate your honesty. Many men and women I have questioned in my line of work are less cooperative.”
“And less interested in justice—Karrnathi or Brelish, as it were. I am well known in this town as an advocate of retribution, when and where it is due.”
“Understood. How did you make the acquaintance of the ambassador?”
“A mutual colleague introduced us via written correspondence.” He offered nothing more. Was there nothing to add, or was he hidi
ng someone?
“Were you aware that Gamnon ir’Daresh was a Seeker?” she asked.
Another blatant lie, but if Charoth’s relationship with Gamnon were strictly professional, he probably wouldn’t know the man’s religious affiliations. Or would he? Choosing a political follower of the Silver Flame almost ensured there would be no use of necromantic interrogation of the victim. How convenient that would be.
Soneste had found this method of interrogation effective at times, used to distract the subject into revealing more. When you couldn’t find the truth, invent a new one and see if it leads you anywhere. It was how she’d found the missing Shauranna Rokesko.
“I … was not,” Charoth answered. “That would surprise me, indeed. The Brelish aren’t known for their devotion to Seeker philosophy.” Of course, the method worked best when you could read the subject’s face. Charoth’s mask, even his leveled voice, concealed everything.
“No, indeed we’re not.” Soneste moved on, not wanting to be trapped by her own falsehoods. “I have only a couple more questions for you today.”
The wizard gestured for her to continue.
“Do you know the name Tallis?” she asked, studying his body language in lieu of his face.
Charoth didn’t shift. “If the Tallis to which you refer is the infamous dissenter, Major Tallis of Rekkenmark—yes, I know the name. He is the prime suspect in the ambassador’s murder, is he not?”
Soneste leaned back, nonchalant in her manner. “Perhaps. He seems to be a local criminal, a major no longer. Did you know him personally?”
“Criminal? What Tallis is depends solely upon who you ask. In my opinion, he is a misguided malcontent who wants to be a hero but chooses the wrong friends.”
“What you’re saying,” Soneste said, “is that you once tried to hire him, and he declined you.”
Charoth laughed, a dry rasp that sounded forced. “You don’t miss much, do you? King Boranel sent the right woman for this case.”
Soneste shook her head and smiled. “Do not think to evade my questions with flattery, my lord. Did you seek to employ him?”
“Employ him? Yes, perhaps.” Charoth gestured idly with one hand. “A man of his skill should be doing something more productive with his time than wasting it on skewed patriotism. I had hoped to hire Tallis as a guardmaster for the shipments I receive from abroad. Some of the raw materials I require for my factory are expensive and in need of greater protection. I would have beseeched the Ministry on his behalf, to grant him legitimate employment in exchange for his martial skills. It would also allow the law to keep an eye on him.”
Soneste considered his words. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the precise truth. Charoth was feared by many, and she could see that he exuded wealth and influence, but he fronted himself as an eccentric philanthropist as well. Could this be real? He owned many of the properties within the Low District Ward, and if rumors were true, helped to keep a lot of the city’s poor employed. Arkenen Glass was doing well.
“Did he give you an answer at all?”
Charoth shrugged. “He was evasive. But then, Major Tallis spurns authority, and that would have included me.”
“Do you know of any prior connections between Tallis and ir’Daresh?”
“I do not.”
“One more question for you, my lord.” Soneste chose her words carefully. “Tallis is a wanted man, affiliated with crimes of desertion, armed assault, murder, and treason. If his whereabouts were commonly known, he’d have been executed by now. How did you know how to find him in order to present your offer of employment?”
Charoth’s response was casual. “If you mean—do I know where he hides? No, but I have knowledge of a great many things in this town. There are places you can contact a man when you do not know how to find him. And when all is said and done, everyone knows where to find me.”
Soneste smiled, refraining from pursuing that point. She had a better sense of Lord Charoth now. She would recall this conversation, and the details of his home, with greater scrutiny when she was alone. Another gift of the “Great Light.”
“Thank you for your time, my lord.” Soneste paused, then stood up.
Charoth held up one gloved hand. “There is another question you wish to ask.”
Soneste stared back into the lenses of the mask, genuinely surprised. Surely he isn’t like me? she wondered. Even I can’t read minds.
“Why darkwood, you were wondering,” he said with cold satisfaction.
“No, no. I—”
“It is conducive to magical application. The eyes behind this mask are damaged. Only with magic can I look again upon the world as I remembered it.”
Charoth stared through the window and watched as the young inquisitive walked beyond his gate. In other circumstances, he might well have sought her employment. He liked the way she’d studied the world around her, focused on everything she saw. Unless he was mistaken, the Brelish inquisitive had been memorizing every detail.
“Gan,” he said.
“My lord?” the changeling answered.
Charoth turned to regard his steward. Since yesterday’s discovery, Gan’s professionalism had become superb. Good. Charoth didn’t expect he would need to chastise him again for possession of dreamlily, but one could never be too careful.
Given the importance of his work at present, Charoth considered allowing the changeling to use trace amounts of the drug to keep his focus. The very thought of such weakness in his employee enraged him.
Let him suffer.
“I must return to the factory. The next few days are critical to me. I am certain the Brelish will return, but not today. I want to know who else she talks to and where she goes before I see her again.”
“I will see to it, my lord,” Gan answered, his voice sober.
“And your men?” Charoth asked.
“They are where they need to be. They are ready.”
Chapter
NINE
Investigation
Mol, the 9th of Sypheros, 998 YK
Tallis hobbled to the back of the line at the ticket booth in the lightning rail station. Having seen firsthand that the guards at each of the city’s active gates had doubled, he was tempted to just purchase a ticket and test his disguise among the rail security. Even now, five White Lions prowled the wide concourse, watchful among the crowds. Looking for him.
He’d meant what he told Lenrik, though. Even if he left the city now, returning would be no easier. If the Justice Ministry was determined to find him this time, would he be any safer in Rekkenmark or Atur? What if he left Karrnath altogether?
No. He’d walk willingly into the depths of Khyber before he let the assassin drive him away from his country. He’d find that bastard and kill him—or her—himself. If he left now, he wouldn’t be able to talk to Haedrun and find out what got all of this started.
Aureon, just a few more days of your favor.…
In front of him, an oddly-dressed shifter with a curious hairstyle and an outlandish handaxe hanging from his belt was the next up. Nice weapon, Tallis thought, then stepped back out of line.
“No good, no good,” he muttered to the woman behind him, enjoying his old veteran’s persona less than he use to. “My daughter won’t want to see me, anyway,” he explained at her questioning look.
Feigning a change of heart, he walked over to stand before the message kiosk, a wide board where travelers could post or check job listings, bounties, or brief notes for one another. This was also one of several ways to contact the Midwife, a little fact known to a select and unlawful few.
Tallis scanned the kiosk. When he felt confident no one was looking, he slipped a folded piece of paper from his own pocket and tacked it to the board. Former Blademark seeking caravan work. Ask for Azzen at the 7th Wach. The Midwife’s street eyes would recognize the double letters in the given name and the spelling error of the cited establishment. Double Zs always meant Tallis.
Done with his messag
e, he turned away—
—and found himself face to face with a grinning, disheveled dwarf in a tattered cloak. He stank of filthy clothes and too much time spent in a dockside alehouse.
“Thought that was you, Tally Boy,” he spat.
Tallis knew many of the dregs of the Low District by name. Some he ignored, others he handled personally. Drazen was one he’d never really had the time or inclination to “discipline.”
Beyond the dwarf, a squad of Lions was in view, actively scrutinizing the occupants of the station. Only the very brave or the very stupid argued with the city watch. None protested as the Lions pushed aside broadsheets to see whose face lay behind each.
“You need a bath, Drazen.” Tallis started to move away from the kiosk, slipping his only apparent arm around the dwarf’s as though requiring the assistance of a youngster to walk.
“And you need a new get-up, Tally,” the dwarf laughed, speaking a little too loud for Tallis’s comfort. His eyes darted to the guards, who were getting closer. “Been catching my marks at the rail station, didn’t you know? Recognized you straight away.”
“Now’s not a good time, Draze.”
“I’m thinking it’s not,” the dwarf agreed. “I’m also thinking even your cripple garb won’t hide you from the white kitties today, eh? Unless a certain false old man pays up and a certain dwarf keeps his jawbone clamped.”
Tallis wanted to stick the dwarf right then and there. “You’re clanless already, Drazen,” he whispered angrily. “Keep pushing it, you’ll be beardless soon too.”
“Last chance, Tally. Buy me a meal and a mug of Nightwood and we’ll have a parley, eh? Talk about what else you can do for me.”
Two White Lions were close, and Tallis saw them both looking in their direction with a modicum of interest. He couldn’t take a chance any longer. He’d left his message for the Midwife. Now it was time to go. Drazen was an unapologetic thug and would carry through with his threat especially if food was at stake. Under any other circumstances, Tallis might have been able to turn the law against him.