It was probably a good thing that paladins didn’t have a reputation as mind readers.
“Okay,” he said, giving up on his hair and pulling on a hat. He slung an oilcloth cloak around his shoulders. “Let’s see this latest body.”
* * *
Galen walked a little behind Piper as they made their way to the river. Not many people in this quarter were out at this hour of the morning, and he didn’t need to watch the sidewalk closely. Instead he studied the back of the doctor’s neck, wondering what to make of him.
Doctor Piper was attractive, certainly. The paladin had noticed that the first time they met. Dark hair, cut very short, and a face that looked young until you saw his eyes. There were lines around those eyes that had nothing to do with laughter.
That first moment when he’d opened the door naked from the waist up had been the kind of shock to the senses that would have reduced a much younger Galen to gibbering idiocy. Piper was lean rather than powerful, but every muscle was in exactly the right place, the lines of his arms smoothly defined, his fingers long and deft. He’d always admired that in other men, ever since he was young. Insomuch as Galen had a type, it was “male, with good hands.” His first great love had been another youth at the Saint of Steel’s temple, who had not been conventionally attractive but had possessed quite exquisite hands.
Now, Piper certainly was conventionally attractive. But so pale. Saint’s teeth. Galen had heard poets talk about alabaster skin, but he’d never seen anyone who so closely resembled it. The hollows at Piper’s throat and collarbone were almost blue. Understandable given that he worked underground at all hours, but still. As a redhead, Galen was automatically used to being the palest person in any given room, but Piper made him look ruddy and tan. The only darkness across his skin was the fine line of black hair running down his belly and vanishing under the waistband of his pants.
It was a good thing Galen had a lot of experience controlling his expression.
Based on the few conversations they’d had, Galen already suspected that the doctor also had some experience in that department. Half-awake and hung over was the first time he’d seen Piper’s expression be anything but cool and sardonic and professional.
Then he’d mentioned the dead child and the lines around his eyes had gone tight and grim. The bitterness in his voice hadn’t ended there, either. Fortunately, I’m an honest man, or something like it. Galen wondered what lay at the heart of that bitterness.
Piper turned his head, glancing over his shoulder. “Which way?”
“Upriver,” said Galen, gesturing. Piper nodded, turning down the next street. He set a quick pace and did not often look back. A man used to walking alone, Galen guessed.
A handsome man with a hurt looking to be soothed. Paladin catnip, his friend Clara would say, laughing. No, no. You’re in no shape to go around fixing anybody’s hurts. The world was full of misery and you had to learn eventually that it wasn’t your job to fix all of it. Even when it came in attractively built packages.
They reached the river. Galen took the lead, threading around the piles of fishing nets and jumbled debris on the shore. The Elkinslough flooded now and again, and when it receded, it left all manner of things behind. The mudlarks picked through it for anything valuable, but there was plenty that not even the poorest souls would want. And there, at the end, a small, striped figure with a corpse at his feet.
Earstripe looked up as they approached and put his whiskers forward with clear relief. “A bone-doctor has come,” he said. “A gnole is grateful.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” said Piper, kneeling down. “But let’s see what we can see.”
Five
Piper crouched down over the body. Cause of death was easy to determine. The man was missing most of his pants and all of his left leg. The right leg had a deep diagonal slash across it, bloodless now, at the same height. Something sliced through here, but he must have had one leg in front of the other. The fish had eaten away at the stump, so Piper couldn’t tell yet how clean the cut had been. They’d gotten the man’s genitals as well. Lovely. Just the thing you want to look at with a hangover. He wasn’t squeamish, of course, but there were proper frames of mind for everything.
He sighed and looked upriver. They were near the edge of the city here, and only a few docks and built-up pilings stood between their position and the land beyond. He watched a mudstilt pick its way along the water’s edge, one of the few birds that didn’t seem to mind the polluted water. It poked its beak between the stones, walked a few feet, poked again, looking for food. Its belly was bright white and looked absurdly clean compared to its surroundings.
Focus, Piper. They didn’t bring you here as a birdwatcher. He dropped his eyes back to the body.
“Same as the others?” asked Earstripe. “Yes?”
“It could be,” said Piper. “This one’s been in the water about the same amount of time as the others, I think.”
“Same kind of death,” said Galen.
“The other one was impaled.”
“It’s still something big hitting him. Only this one was sharp.”
“Mmm.” Piper was glad he was wearing gloves. He pried apart the lips of the wound on the right leg and examined the bone. There was a notch out of it and some minor splintering. “Yes. Whatever hit him was sharp enough to cut bone, and had a lot of weight behind it.”
Galen and the gnole exchanged glances. “A gnole thinks there aren’t many things like that.”
“Axes,” said Galen. “But who can swing an axe and take out a leg and most of the next one like this? And not get hung up on bone?”
“Not a who, tomato-man. A what.”
This would have been a very dramatic statement, but Piper was only interested in one part. “Pardon. Tomato-man?”
Galen groaned. “It’s the hair,” he muttered. “A gnole named me that last year and I hoped maybe he hadn’t told anyone, but…”
“A job-gnole told everyone,” said Earstripe. Galen ran his hand through his hair which…well, yes, Piper could see the analogy.
“More the color of smoked paprika,” he said absently. “But I can see how that doesn’t roll off the tongue as well.” And now Galen knows that I’ve been thinking about his hair. Ah, yes. What a wonderful morning I’m having.
“Bone-doctor understands,” said Earstripe, arching his whiskers forward.
“He gets to be bone-doctor, but I have to be tomato-man?”
“Tomato-man is a job-human,” said Earstripe. “Bone-doctor is our priest-human.”
“I’m not a priest,” said Piper, bemused.
Earstripe flicked his ears. “No, a priest.” Piper looked at Galen for explanation.
“Priests and healers are the same caste among gnoles,” said Galen. “Also, you’re…” He turned to Earstripe and held up his hands over his ears, cupping them forward in imitation of Earstripe. “He? His?”
“Close enough. Humans don’t have whiskers.” Earstripe’s voice dropped on the last word, as if he were bringing up a terrible deformity. “A gnole won’t take offense if bone-doctor doesn’t.”
Piper was completely at sea by this point. “What do whiskers have to do with anything?”
“If you’re a gnole, your caste determines whether you’re called he, she, it...” Galen spread his hands. “All job-gnoles are he. Healers and priests and others who are particularly respected in gnole-society use a word that translates as our or ours.”
“Ours belongs to all gnoles,” interjected Earstripe.
“As a priest-caste human, you’re somewhere between a he and an our, but since you really need whiskers and mobile ears to say that properly in gnolespeech, gnoles generally allow us to use whichever.”
“Humans are doing the best they can,” said Earstripe, in a tone Piper usually identified with teachers of small children trying to excuse the slowest members of the class. Galen chuckled.
“I’m flattered,” said Piper, returning his attention to the
corpse. “And in answer to your question, Earstripe, I think that, yes, you could make a good case that this one is tied to the others.”
Earstripe nodded, all humor gone. “A gnole thought as much.”
“But where are they coming from?” asked Galen, digging his fingers into his hair. “Upstream, but where? We’ve got two fishing settlements upriver, and then it’s just rich people’s chateaus, but they’re empty this time of year. The nobs are all in town for the social season.”
“Presumably even the chateaus have staff to keep the rats from getting in,” said Piper absently. He gazed into the missing eye sockets. You know you should do it. There might be something you can use. The last one could have been an accident, but not this one. You have to do it.
He grimaced and pulled off one of his gloves, holding the wound open with the other hand.
“A bone-doctor thinks something might be in there?”
No, but it’s a good explanation. “Worth checking.” Piper made sure his knees were firmly planted. You really didn’t want to pitch face down over a body. He touched the wound.
Corridor lit by candlelight. Long with pale walls. Something etched on the walls, lines, a shape…He stepped forward. A snick and then a woosh of air and then something struck him hard in the thigh and the world spun around him and his shoulder hit the wall and he was on the floor and his heart was thundering but something was wrong and there was another woosh overhead and another but he couldn’t hear it because his heart was beating so loud and…
Piper withdrew his hand and took a deep breath. A pale corridor lit by candlelight. It didn’t look like anything he’d expect to see in a fishing village. How to express that without revealing what he’d done?
“I can’t say exactly what caused this, but I do know it’s harder to commit murders like this in a small village crowded together on the water than it would be in a chateau where no one is staying for the season,” he said. “Poison, strangling, even a stabbing I could see in close quarters, but this is big dramatic stuff with severed limbs.”
Galen and Earstripe both nodded. “A gnole has seen things done in tight spaces,” said Earstripe, “but a gnole still agrees.”
“The city guard’s got no authority over the chateaus,” said Galen. “If there’s a crime out there, it gets reported back here and the paladins or the Archon’s people deal with it.”
Earstripe grabbed his own whiskers and twisted them savagely. It looked painful. Galen actually reached out a hand as if to stop the gnole, but didn’t.
“A gnole goes,” muttered Earstripe. “A gnole stays. A gnole tells Mallory-captain. A gnole doesn’t.” He gave his whiskers another twist.
“You said Mallory wasn’t listening,” said Piper. He glanced around the riverside, suddenly realizing that there were no other members of the guard here, only Earstripe. Had the gnole not informed his superiors about the body yet?
More twisting. A spate of frustrated gnolespeech.
“Hey,” said Galen. This time he did touch Earstripe, though gently, on the back of the hand. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll help you.”
Earstripe dropped his grip on his whiskers. “Vig-il-an-ti-ism, tomato-man,” he said, enunciating each syllable as if it were a phrase rather than a word. “A gnole leaves the city, a gnole can’t arrest anyone.”
“No, but I can,” said Galen. “And what Mallory doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He paused. “You won’t get credit for the arrest if we keep your name out of it, though.”
The gnole shook his head. “A gnole won’t get credit anyway. If a human and a gnole are in the same room, a human did the thinking.” He curled back his lip. “A gnole is only a slewhound who talks.”
Piper actually felt Galen bristle beside him. I’m surprised his armor didn’t rattle. “Did someone say that to you?” asked the paladin softly. “Give me a name, and they won’t say it again.”
Earstripe opened his mouth, and then his eyes focused on something behind Piper and he straightened up. Piper had only that much warning before he heard a booming voice shout, “Constable Earstripe! What are you doing?”
“Captain Mallory,” said Galen. “How nice to see you.”
“Paladin Galen. And…Doctor Piper.” The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Has Earstripe dragged you back down here in pursuit of his ridiculous theory? I told you, Constable, that the lich-doctors are far too busy to waste their time like this.”
Piper wiped his hands off and slid on his gloves. He took his time adjusting them before rising to his feet. “On the contrary, Captain,” he said, with no idea how to end the sentence, but hoping that inspiration would strike before he got there. “On the contrary. I had requested that the constable inform me of any bodies that had…” Okay, now is the moment of truth, what’s your idea? He looked down at the corpse, eyes traveling over the puffy skin and the ruin where the fish had gotten the man’s genitals. Inspiration, fired by the grisly sight, did not fail. “…been in the water for a lengthy period of time. I am working on a monograph.” He met Mallory’s eyes squarely.
“…a monograph,” said Mallory, eyes flicking from Piper to the gnole and back. Not calling him a liar. Yet.
“Indeed,” said Piper. “Most doctors can venture a guess as to how long someone has been dead based on rigor, but after any length of time has passed, it becomes more difficult. Weather, insects, tightness of clothing—everything can change the appearance. We make an educated guess. There are many monographs on the subject, which are helpful, but to date, all of those deal with bodies left on land. We have, at present, no way of telling how long a body has been submerged, beyond our own experience. It is my hope that with enough examples, I will be able to chart the stages of a body’s submersion and assist others who may have less experience with drowning victims.”
He looked in Mallory’s eyes while he said it. You may be a guard and you may think that gives you some magic insight into human nature, but I have been lying for many years and you do not dare call me out for fear of angering my champions. Like Beartongue. And I outrank you, so far as the courts are concerned, if not the guard themselves.
Mallory looked back to Earstripe, who shrugged.
“And the paladin is here because…?”
Galen coughed. “My dear captain, perhaps you do not need to know why the good doctor and I happened to already be together at this hour of the morning?”
Captain Mallory did not fluster easily. Piper, however, did. Oh for the love of…why did he say that? I mean, it’s a great cover, but now he’ll think…he’s supposed to think… He could feel a flush climbing his face, which probably made the lie more convincing, but still.
“I…see,” said Mallory.
Galen draped his arm over Piper’s shoulders. Piper could feel the weight of muscle and mail across his neck. He could not look at Galen. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. His blush was completely out of control.
It wasn’t that he cared if Mallory knew that he preferred men. It wasn’t exactly a secret, and very few people in Archenhold were going to care anyway. Several past Archons had taken male consorts and at least one had married his husband, and since the populace had much bigger concerns—like the expansionist tendencies of the city-state across the river—it had quickly become a non-issue.
It was just that it had been so long and Galen was so good-looking and…well…
“I was not informed of this,” said Mallory.
“I didn’t think it was any of your business,” said Galen brightly.
“I meant,” said the captain, with icy clarity, “that Earstripe was to be procuring bodies for the doctor.”
“A gnole isn’t procuring,” said Earstripe, speaking up. “A doctor wanted to look, that’s all. A gnole sent a runner to the guardhouse first, and stayed with the body.”
“Still. I was not informed.”
“Honestly,” said Piper, and had to clear his throat, because Galen was very close and his arm was warm against the cold air of the river and whe
n he breathed, Piper could feel the other man’s mailed ribcage against his side, “honestly it didn’t occur to me that you’d care.”
And you wouldn’t care, if you weren’t looking for some reason to be mad at Earstripe. Do you not like that he’s investigating this on his own, or that he’s a gnole? Do you not like that the White Rat is involved?
It might be that latter. The White Rat’s tame paladins were helpful, sometimes. One had been instrumental in cracking the problem of the smooth men. But they also had served the god known as the Saint of Steel, and when their god had died, they had run mad. Even now, people treated them as not-quite-tame beasts who might suddenly turn and bite. The fact that no one knew why the god had died didn’t help.
Mind you, if you could bring me a body, I could probably find out what His last sensations were…
Piper had never said as much. He might spend more time with the dead than with the living, but he wasn’t completely lost to all tact. Also, did gods even have bodies?
Mallory grunted, and it occurred to Piper that the issue might be much less complicated. The Rat’s social workers certainly did a great deal of good for the people that the guard was supposed to be protecting. But one of the Rat’s chief duties was providing legal counsel, and guards did not much care for that at all. Depending on which way the wind was currently blowing, the guard captain might simply be annoyed at the Rat and anyone associated with it, including Piper.
Paladin’s Hope: Book Three of the Saint of Steel Page 3