Passages

by Passages (epub)

  “Hm.” Wil rubbed his chin. “But if Madra knows even a little bit about how to make this poison, she might be impatient and desperate enough to try to recreate it, research or no.”

  “There’s that, too,” Talia said. “If it’s anything like goatsfoot, it uses ingredients so rare they only grow in one part of the country.” She shrugged. “If you find Yelyza’s research, it could help you triangulate Madra’s location.”

  Wil exhaled. “Well, I worked back from something of Madra’s before with the weapons cache. I can do it again now. And I think you’re right. Without an army, she’s going to seek the path of least resistance.”

  “Of course she is,” Talia said, archly. “She’s highborn, after all.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The publican of the Rusty Nail took a look at Wil in his guise and said, “You’re either a fool or a whiteshirt.” He raised a brow. “Which is it?”

  Wil tried to maintain his bland demeanor. He’d visited nearly every dive in Pudding Lane—this was the first to call his bluff. Subterfuge had never been his interest; that had always been Lelia’s forte.

  Or maybe it was his shockingly white hair. That didn’t help, either.

  “Honestly?” he said. “I’ve been accused of both.”

  The publican snorted. He had a pair of hulking brutes lurking off in a corner. The man made a gesture to them that seemed to mean “stand down.”

  “Whiteshirts don’ come down t’th’Lane,” the man said, taking out a rag and slapping it on his bar.

  We do, actually. They’re just better than me at hiding it, Wil thought. “I’m looking for a woman named Yelyza. She—”

  “Yelyza.” The publican’s brows furrowed. “Oof. Ain’t heard that name in a while.”

  “But you have heard it.” His heart beat quicker.

  “Aye.” The man shook his head. “Crazy lady. She came in wit’ ’er notes an’ scribbles—bits an’ bobs all in ’er pockets. Like t’do li’l tricks of makin’ things disappear up ’er sleeves. Clever. But crazy.”

  “Have you seen her recently?”

  “Nah. Not fer years.”

  Dammit. “Any chance you know where she lived?”

  “I tryn’t t’know these things,” the man said, very serious. “But she drank ’ere ev’ry other night with her landlady. An’ betimes the Twins—” He pointed across the bar to the two brutes. “—do some, ah, repairs fer her. If ye ask’m nice, they ken take ye to the flat she rents out. Fer a price.” He gave Wil a meaningful look.

  Wil tapped the purse on his belt.

  The publican whistled. “Theng! Tharg! One o’ ye escort this gentleman to Letti’s, if y’be so kind.”

  “Ahl do eht,” said one.

  “I wanna,” said the other, starting to rise.

  “No!” the first one said, glaring at her. “Y’got t’gravy last time, Tharg. My turn.”

  She growled at Theng, who growled back. For a moment, Wil feared the two would come to blows.

  Then—

  “Fine,” Tharg muttered, sitting down in a huff. “Go.”

  “C’mon, milord,” Theng said, lumbering across the room.

  Wil departed with him, his sister sulking and watching them intently as they walked out the door.

  * * *

  * * *

  “That’s it,” Theng said, pointing.

  That was a three-story house on Little Pudding Lane. Too dark to really make out, but it seemed to be in order.

  “Did you know Yelyza?” Wil asked.

  “Not much, neh. One day, she jest stopped showin’.”

  “Didn’t anyone think that odd?”

  “Neh.” Theng shrugged. “Sometimes people jest stop showin’.”

  Theng scratched his butt and made hoarking noises in the back of his throat as Wil mulled over the scene.

  “Which floor did she live on?” he asked.

  “I think the top,” Theng said, sniffing his fingers. He started to say more, then very deliberately stopped, giving Wil a sly glance.

  Wil sighed and took two coins out of his pouch, holding them up to sparkle in the starlight. Theng put his palm out, and Wil very carefully—he did not want to touch those fingers—dropped them.

  “Thankee.” Theng grinned, then got a mock look of surprise on his face. “Och! I jest remembered. Letti ha’n’t rented Yelyza’s room since she went missing.”

  Wil blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Theng pointed. “That dark part there?”

  Wil nodded. He could see now, by the late evening’s gloom. All of the rooms had a bit of a glow—lantern light, candlelight, stove light.

  All but one.

  “That’s th’room she don’ rent.”

  Wil’s mind raced. He badly wanted to talk to Vehs. The instant back-and-forth communication they used to share would have been invaluable right now.

  “Do you know why?” he said at last.

  Theng shrugged. “Letti’s house, Letti’s bidness.”

  “Right. Last question. Where do I find Letti?”

  “Rusty Nail, betimes.” Theng shrugged. “She drinks, like all o’us.”

  Wil studied the building. What’s in there?

  And on top of his Mindspeech, he longed for his Sight and a chance to catch a shadow of the past.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lord Grier always seemed to have a glass of wine near him, but sometimes he had reason to drink many more.

  Today, that number was six—along with complementing bottles.

  Wil sat patiently in his seat in the highborn lord’s study as the Healer swirled, sniffed, and finally tasted the first glass full of red liquid. Then he wrote a note in a leatherbound journal, set the glass down, and moved on to the next one in the row.

  “Tastes like raspberry jam,” he said. “Pleasing. Pleasant. Very pleasurable.”

  “Are you pleased?” Wil asked, deadpan.

  Grier “hmphed,” smirking at Wil over the rim of the next glass, a lighter garnet-colored draught. “This one will be . . . mushroomy.”

  “Sounds great,” Wil said. “So. Why would someone not rent an apartment for three years?”

  Grier sipped his wine. His face abruptly twisted with revulsion, and he spat into a waiting bowl.

  “Are you all right?” Wil asked, alarmed.

  “Me? Yes. This vintage? No.” Grier put the glass far away on the big oak study table, then downed the previous glass in several gulps.

  “Poison?” Wil asked.

  “What? No! Why would you—oh, right.” Grier grimaced. “No, sometimes—wine goes bad like that. We’ll have to dump it and burn the barrel.” He made a note in his book. “Usually I can tell before I drink it. That one snuck up on me.” He picked up another glass, regarding it as if it harbored an asp inside before taking the tiniest of sips. His expression smoothed into relief, and he took a longer, larger gulp. “Better. Now, what were you saying? Apartment. Hm.” Grier set down the glass and wrote a note. “Something’s inside there?”

  “Or someone.”

  “Hmm. Are you going to break in?”

  “Honestly, I’m hoping she just lets me in.” Wil stared off into the fire. “I don’t have a lot of hope she will.”

  “Probably not.” Grier continued his tasting and note taking.

  “Shouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “It might.”

  “What if I ask as a Herald?”

  “Hah. What do you think?”

  “I mean, I’m really only half a Herald anymore, so—”

  Grier gave him a stern look. “Wil.”

  “I jest.” Grier looked unconvinced, but Wil drove on anyway. “I’ve already decided to get someone else to ask anyway.”

  “That’s good,” the Healer sa
id. “It’ll make all of us who worry about you going off alone feel better.”

  “Who’s worrying about me?” Wil asked, confused.

  “Us,” Grier said, finishing the final glass of wine. “Maresa, Amelie, Lyle, me—you nearly died. Twice.”

  “I’m aware of how close Ivy came to being an orphan, thank you.” Wil glanced across the room, where a thick candle burned down the marks. “Which reminds me. Your courier. Did they. . . .”

  “En route,” Grier said, sprinkling sand on his notes and blowing lightly on the ink.

  “Good.” But his heart sank a little. “Thank you.”

  Grier looked up at him. “Have you told Ivy yet?”

  Wil shook his head.

  “Are you waiting until he gets here?”

  I don’t want to talk about this. “So which wine gets to go to the ball?” Wil asked.

  Grier went along with it, pointing at the first, fourth, and sixth glasses. “It will be a fine going-away party before we head back to the Manor. And that, sadly, will be the only thing I have to look forward in of this entire affair.”

  “If you hate it so much,” Wil said, “why do you do it?”

  “Because politics,” Grier said. “And tradition. We always hold a fête before we leave Haven. Also, Drusillia would divorce me and dump me in a ditch with a broken spine if we didn’t.” He picked up one of the half-full wineglasses and swirled it, holding it up to the light. “Androa always handled the parties, you know. Saved me from it.”

  “That’s not something I’d have imagined Madra being good at.” That one of Wil’s staunchest allies happened to be the brother of one of his greatest enemies served as a reminder of how complicated his life had become since the days of hunting rabbits in the foothills around the Ferryman’s House in Cortsberth.

  “Oh, you didn’t notice her penchant for elaborate plans?” Grier grinned. “She always picked the wines, though she thought the Baireschild vintages were better for preserving things than drinking. She preferred Orthallen’s vineyards. . . .” His face darkened. “Because of course she did.”

  Someone knocked on the study door. “Come,” Grier said.

  A young page in riding leathers entered. “Milord,” she said. “Urgent summons from the Queen.”

  Out in the street, Wil watched as Grier rode on a hastily saddled mount toward the Palace. A query toward Vehs yielded no answers, and together Herald and Companion rode off on their own mission—with one important stop first.

  * * *

  * * *

  Wil closed the book and pulled the covers—unfamiliar, but scented with lavender and cedar—up around Ivy.

  “But how did the kitty get into the closet in the first place?” she asked.

  “Because he was very naughty,” Wil replied. “And went off alone from his family when he shouldn’t have.”

  “Silly.”

  He kissed her forehead as she yawned. She’d adapted to sleeping in strange places. Tonight, that place was “Auntie” Maresa’s, because tonight he’d finally caved into pressure and opted to bring Amelie along on his adventures.

  She looked happy in the big bed. No, not just happy. Content, clean, well-fed—

  Stop torturing yourself. You did your best.

  “Stay safe, Dada,” she said, dreamily. “Don’t let the bad lady get you.”

  He stroked a stray lock of dark hair—Lelia’s color, not his—away from her forehead. “I’m doing my best to keep her away from me, sweetie.”

  From both of us.

  * * *

  * * *

  Letti sat at her table in the Rusty Nail, pouring herself another cup of ale. She’d nearly finished the books for the month, and every tenant in her five-flat building had paid up on time.

  Five flats, five tenants. And each one knew if they didn’t pay, they got a visit from the Thug Twins, who’d make them pay one way or the other. She vetted her tenants well. She rarely had a vacancy, and didn’t have one now.

  So when the gel approached her, asking to rent out her sixth flat, it came as a surprise.

  “Wut in hell you talkin’ ’bout?” she asked.

  “Yer Letti o’the Lane, right?” the young woman said. “Ye’ve got a sixth flat? Been empty a’while. C’mon.” She swung a full pouch in front of her, its contents jingling. “M’money’s good.”

  Letti squinted at the young woman. Bright-eyed, with dark red hair, she didn’t look a fool, but she talked like one.

  “Ahm Letti,” she said, “but yer daft, cuz I ain’t got no sixth flat.”

  “C’mon, Letti,” the gel said. “Ah know ye got one.”

  “Yer touched,” Letti said. “G’awn. Get.”

  The woman closed her hand on the bag and withdrew ever so slightly. Then, softly, she said, “Yelyza.”

  Letti blinked. She felt as though someone had stabbed her eyeball with an icepick—and then just as suddenly, the sensation passed. “What?” she said.

  “Yelyza,” she repeated. “Y’ken that name?”

  Letti wrinkled her nose and scowled. “Ne’er heard it.”

  “Hunh. Y’sure y’ne’er shared a drink’r two wit’er?”

  Letti leaned forward. “Now lissen ’ere. Yer tellin’ me ’bout flats I don’ ’ave, and drinkin’ partners I ne’er knew, has it mebbe occurred t’ye ye’ve got the wrong person? Leave me be!”

  The young woman retreated, and while it pained Letti to see her money go, she didn’t miss her questions.

  * * *

  * * *

  Wil knew within moments that they were being followed.

  “Wil?” Amelie said, trying to catch up with him. He took her arm and tugged her alongside him, putting a finger to his lip and shaking his head slightly.

  He caught sight of the figure out of the corner of his eye—no face, just a silhouette. Big enough to be a challenge. He started frantically Mindcalling.

  :Vehs! Vehs!:

  They ducked down a side street, then up a lane, down another alley, and over to a wider road lit by streetlamps. The quick movement seemed to lose their pursuer.

  Even so, he couldn’t stop the panic clawing at his chest.

  :VEHS!:

  And miraculously, the Companion appeared.

  He boosted Amelie up in the pillion seat and scrambled into the saddle a moment later—Vehs taking off before he had fully settled in. If their pursuer still followed, they’d quickly lose him now.

  :I’m glad you heard,: Wil thought.

  :Not immediately,: Vehs replied. :But your fear, I think, boosted the Call enough that I heard and found you.:

  The wind felt good on Wil’s face, and once he’d calmed down a bit, he could think more clearly about the exchange between Letti and Amelie. He queried Vehs, who replied with surprise, then affirmation.

  :We need to talk to Grier,: he said. :Can you get us to the Old Palace? And tell my heart to go back into my chest?:

  :Yes on the first. You’re on your own for the second.:

  * * *

  * * *

  Amelie stood in confusion before the door to the Baireschild quarters in the Old Palace. “What are we doing here? Isn’t Grier back at his manor?”

  “He should be,” Wil said, knocking, “but he’s not.”

  It took a few minutes (and several insistent knocks), but Grier answered, his robe mostly around his body and his hair absolutely everywhere. He sashed the robe a little tighter when he noticed Amelie.

  “How,” he said, blearily. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “To quote a great woman, you’re highborn,” Wil said, dryly. “And I figured as soon as the emergency session ended, you would head to the closest bed—which is here, in your family’s quarters in the Old Palace.”

  “Are you sure your Gift is gone?” Grier asked.

  “Very.”<
br />
  “Hmph.” He gathered his hair over one shoulder. “I was asleep, you know.”

  “And I was dealing with your sister’s collateral damage,” Wil said, walking past him into the room beyond and helping himself to a glass of Evendim smokewine from Grier’s private reserve.

  “What now?” Grier said.

  “Your sister meddled with Letti’s head.”

  The magnitude of his allegation floored Amelie. “That explains it!” she said, excited.

  Wil took a large swallow from his glass. “Yes.”

  “Explains—what?” Grier said. “Who’s Letti again?”

  Amelie relayed her conversation with Letti with eidetic perfection, right down to the accents. At first Grier listened with confusion, but realization dawned rapidly.

  “Hellfires,” he muttered. “Yes. Androa was a strong enough MindHealer that this was within her power.”

  “So it’s reasonable to believe she made Letti forget about the sixth room and Yelyza.”

  “It’s reasonable,” Grier said, walking over and pouring his own glass of smokewine. “But I’ve been thinking about this, and something’s bugging me—how does an empty room stay empty for three years?”

  Wil frowned. “What?”

  “Squatters. A property in the Lane isn’t just going to sit idle.” Grier sipped his drink. “Something doesn’t add up.”

  “Also, why not just kill her?” Amelie asked.

  The men both looked at her.

  Amelie spread her hands. “What does this gain Madra? Why bother with all this?”

  “Something’s in that room,” Wil said, softly.

  No one spoke. Then Wil tossed back the glass and said, “That’s it, I’m getting in there. Now.”

  “Hold on,” Grier said. “The right thing to do is to get Letti to the House of Healing.”

  “Sure,” Wil said. “After I’ve been in that room.”

  Grier pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wil.”

  “Grier.” Wil clapped his hands together. “You wanted me to break in before. For all we know, we open her mind back up, and she decides to go in, steal whatever’s useful there, and throw it in a fire or the Terilee or sell to the highest bidder. Then I’m back to square one. My best opportunity is now, while she’s oblivious to all this.”