Turning toward the sleepy animal, Darame said firmly: “Don’t even think about it, cat. This is neutral territory, you’ve only been here a day yourself.” Glancing at Sheel, she asked: “Where are the others?”
“The cats? Probably hiding under the bed. Cats do not travel well,” he replied, wondering what she had in the box.
“They don’t?” She immediately folded back the longer of the two flaps on the box top, and peered inside. A smile touched her face, and she carefully inserted her hand into the opening. “Don’t scratch,” she instructed an unknown creature.
It was not what Sheel expected, this off-worlder arriving with an armful of packages. A native bird? No — Darame lifted a tiny, dark bundle of fur from the container. Stroking it, she chirped softly at it, enough to make it stir, and then, suddenly at a loss, extended it toward Sheel.
He stared at it, and then at her. “It’s for you.” When he did not move, she said: “I figured things were enough of a mess. No sense in decreasing the cat population as well. They didn’t have any, eh… ‘sorrel’ females, but I… I didn’t think you would want one that looked exactly the same.”
Her last words relaxed his face. Even if she had never cared for animals, a common enough reaction among spacefarers, she understood that humans could become attached to them. That I was attached to her… Not trusting his face, Sheel kept his gaze on the kitten. A ruddy Somali, very young, by its size. He found himself reaching for the ball of fur.
Older than he thought, simply small for her age. He offered the kitten a finger, which she licked several times and then proceeded to chew thoroughly. “Your teeth are quite good,” Sheel remarked to the animal, loosening its grip. Still studying the kitten, he fumbled mentally for something to say. He was not sure he was ready for a successor, but it was here, and… was probably a peace offering.
“Thank you,” he finally said. “It was a kind thought.” Lifting his head, his gaze met the off-worlder’s and he said: “You will need to comfort her for a time, she will be frightened. I will put Faust in the bedroom, so she can prowl around in here and become accustomed to the odor of the other cats.” Gently handing Darame the kitten, he scooped up Faust before the big Coon cat could either greet or attack the newcomer and dumped the animal into the other room. As Sheel shut the door, he said: “I must go to the hospice and check on my brother, and then to the palace. You are welcome to stay — or if you would prefer Crow to escort you back to the hostel?” He turned as he asked the question.
Her expression seemed to light up at his words, but she only said: “Whatever you prefer, seri.”
“Mailan. If you are reassured as to what distressed you this morning, it is time for us to leave this place.”
Nodding to the off-worlder, Sheel started to indicate that Jude should stay when Mailan pointed to Crow. “You come with us.” Moving to the door, Mailan checked the hallway and opened the door. Glancing down the corridor in both directions, she turned, her face now dry and composed, and said: “Seri?”
Taking a slow, deep breath, Sheel started out the doorway.
HOSPICE
THIRTYSEVENDAY, VESPERS
The obelisk was in sight before the tolling began. Mailan, leading the way, tensed visibly; Sheel could not see Crow’s reaction. Four, five, six… seven. Vespers bell. Relief made Sheel momentarily weak. He hoped Mendülay had no prominent deaths planned for this day — the bell ringers’ nerves were undoubtedly already frayed.
Grey skies continued to haunt the city, casting an early shadow beneath the conifers covering the temple grounds. Sheel let his gaze drift up toward the tops of the neudeya, trying not to feel vulnerable. We should have taken a meth’ car.… He actually paused, wondering how long it would take to call up a vehicle, and then discarded the idea. How was he going to throw out the guaard in Iver’s room without creating a scene? Should they stop and ask Leah to join them?…
Suddenly Sheel realized the grounds were deserted. In the temple? All the priests and priestesses? And half the town, he decided, as they turned onto a sparsely populated street. To me, Cort was family, but to them, he was the rock this city was built upon.… Not good for the land, not good for the people. Iver had to get things moving again as quickly as possible — Cort would have been incensed that the city had stumbled into silence.
Feeling drawn, Sheel was grateful when they finally approached the footpath to the hospice. Halfway up the flagged stone walk, he heard the temple bell begin to toll. Frantically casting through his mind for a name, any name at all — anyone recently ill who was prominent enough to rate a passing bell — Sheel drew a blank. Sweet Mendülay, what has happened now?
Mailan opened the main doors, and the confusion hit them in a wave. People were rushing about shouting questions, and Sheel could hear the distant sound of someone in hysterics. A strange, sinking sensation touched him, riding to the pit of his stomach. Stepping to his side, Crow cautioned one of the approaching men with the flick of a hand. Guaard had one advantage over any hired bodyguard: if a guaard chose to flip someone into a wall for pressing too closely, there was none but The Atare to reprimand him.
The pair of guaard bored a passage through the crowd to the lifts. Sheel had the code for the restricted level punched in before the doors closed. Ringing finally intruded on his thoughts. Could they hear it, or was it his own ears playing tricks? Blood pumping too fast. The shock is finally settling in. Control, he had to maintain control.…
Doors slid open to reveal a corridor packed with guaard. Strong odors assailed him — of medicine, and disinfectant. The shrieks had disintegrated into muted sobbing — Bette, Iver’s wife, her face flushed and swollen. So… it was not over, not yet. Worse and worse… Sheel recognized Leah by her side, as pale as the other woman was florid. His sister looked up at the sound of the lift, her gaze meeting his squarely. The expression was not comforting; Leah looked as if she had been struck. No strength there… But you never expected to find it there, did you? The inner voice was mocking. Sheel shoved it aside once again; now was not the time to evaluate his own perceptions of Leah.
He did not pause to ask questions. Pushing past the stunned attendant partially blocking the doorway, Sheel entered the private room.
The monitors were silent. Iver no longer looked quite right.… Death was settling upon him quickly. Automatically Sheel reached for him, checking the minute processes of the body even as a familiar voice said: “He simply stopped breathing.”
There was little to see while he made his search. Sheel flicked a glance to one side and saw his old mentor Capashan seated near the bed, head in his hands. “Suddenly the monitors… went dead. We rushed in. The guaard were already trying to revive him. I tried every possible stimulant.… Nothing.” The man smoothed his thick white hair, his hands still trembling slightly, and asked: “What do you think, Seri? It does not appear to be a heart attack.”
“No.…” Sheel was losing himself in the pathways of the body. It was difficult to do, seeking anomalies in a dead man. Things were already too far along.… Sheel straightened. “When did the machine cut off?”
Capashan’s brow furled momentarily. “Less than five minutes ago.”
“Impossible. The body has almost completely shut down,” Sheel snapped, returning to his investigation. “He has been dead almost an hour.” Nothing specific, no injury to put a finger on.… Sheel’s fingers stumbled over the probe attached to his arm. Carefully removing it, he examined it. The frequency switch… ah.
For a moment Sheel was frightened, afraid of his neutral response. Someone had murdered his brother, and almost succeeded in making it look natural. Why did he feel so cold?
“I will find the persons who did this,” he said conversationally. Capashan rose and stepped to his side. “And when I find them, they will regret the finding.…” The softness of his own tone made him shudder. For this, and for Cort, there would be a reckoning.
Capashan had been distraught over the sudden loss of an important pat
ient; he had never been intimidated by the simple presence of royalty. Reaching, he took the probe from Sheel’s hand. A brief examination caused his breathing to catch. “Switched off?” He stared at Sheel. “It was this way when you removed it?” Even as he spoke, he was reaching for Iver’s arm.
“Very clever,” Sheel had to admit as he smoothed the sheets over his brother’s still form. “With everyone so distressed, it was possible no one would notice… or would think it had been bumped off when it was removed. But I was very careful, Capashan. It is as it was when I removed it. I do not know who you have been monitoring for the past hour, but it was not Iver.”
“Then…” Capashan touched the body again.
“His heart stopped from lack of oxygen. Smothered, or an injection — there are too many violations of the flesh to find it that way, we would have to go over the surface. Perhaps a chemical like Avion.”
“Avion is highly regulated, seri,” Capashan said, his face closing with anger.
“Yes. But for the right price, it can be found. Probably stolen from a storage depot still unaware it is missing. Have someone check the known sources.” In microscopic doses, Avion was used to regulate heartbeat. Too much would stop all major organs in mid-function. It would fade quickly, which meant —
“Autopsy?” Capashan asked, as if reading his mind.
“It may be too late. But, yes. If we can determine how it happened, it would be better. The guaard were outside the room?” Sheel turned around as he spoke.
It was Dirk, captain of the guaard, who materialized before him. “Two were outside each of the two doors entering the room, Seri,” he said quietly. “There were guaard inside whenever he was visited.”
“Get me the technician in charge of the monitoring station,” Sheel told the young guaard standing in Dirk’s shadow. The maiden disappeared swiftly. “I want a detailed list of all visitors since Iver was brought into the hospice, which guaard have been on duty, length of stay — ”
The pale maiden was back, a trembling tech in tow. Sheel turned his attention to the man.
White as a fish’s belly. Dear Mendülay, do I look that angry? Closing his eyes, Sheel forced himself to calm, to push aside the fury building within. “Can you change the frequency of any given probe from the station, or must you set each probe by hand?”
“I can change it at the opposite end of the hospice, Seri,” he whispered, nodding deeply. “Each frequency is unique, and a list of ones in use is also in the computer.”
“Can it be overridden?”
Puzzled, the man stuttered a moment. Finally getting a semblance of control, the tech said: “The closest signal is picked up, Seri. It simply erases any interference.”
Do you understand what this means? He glanced at Capashan, who was giving orders about Iver’s body. Measured Avion, given hours ago… and then simply override the frequency until they want the body discovered. “His readings were good until the machine stopped functioning?”
“Excellent, Seri. He was recovering from his injuries handily.”
Dismissing the man — the group — with a gesture, Sheel stood silent, staring at nothing, wondering if Bette could bear the shock of the word “murder,” or if he should keep silent for now. He realized he was trembling within, and wondered if it showed. Mailan’s face rose out of the shadows, and her words were soft.
“Atare… I took the liberty of recalling Fion, earlier today.” There was a trace of unease in her voice as she added: “That is at least two.”
“No, Mailan,” he said, his voice scarcely audible. “We are even.”
Smoke Screen:
Something designed to mislead,
obscure, or confuse an issue.
Chapter Five
MENDULARION S^ATARE
THIRTYEIGHTDAY, MATINS
“… and rumors of both off-world and outclan intrusion continue to circulate in the wake of Iver reb^Riva Atare’s death,” came the voice of a Caesarean translator as Mailan unlocked the door into the temple suite. There was a pause, as the translator waited on the announcer. Blinking quickly in the dim light, Mailan oriented herself; the off-worlder was still up, and Sheel apparently not back.
“Unconfirmed sources have suggested that a possible conspiracy was played out with disastrous effect. That Iver reb^Riva may have been at the center of an attempt to seize the throne through — ”
Fury seized the guaard. Only two steps to the omni and her fist was in the controls, slamming against the power switch with such force that the button wedged in its socket. Burping, the machine blinked out abruptly, and the degree of light in the room decreased by a third.
“Lies!” she snarled at the machine. “All lies!” The anger drained as swiftly as it rose; appalled at what she had done, Mailan backed slowly away from the dark screen and turned toward the off-worlder.
Curled in one corner of the sofa circling the firepit, the woman had not moved. Only her eyes suddenly glittered, wary, as she stared back at the guaard. Mailan doubted she could move; there was a bottle of fine whiskey at her elbow, and the contents had dipped noticeably since Mailan had left the room hours before.
Mailan considered apologizing, and then decided against it. If the machine had been on all evening, the woman had seen the same report several times over. Not really viewing — listening, perhaps, more for company than anything else. She was facing the one tall window of the room, the Somali kitten curled in her lap. Overcast outside, but no rain, fortunately. Tomorrow will be depressing enough as it is.…
Too many funeral pyres. Normally taken care of before starset on the day of death, the autopsies would postpone things a day. And of course Riva Ragäree would come down from her retreat for the ceremonies. Sheel was probably off helping with arrangements, or barricading his sisters into their homes. Who was with him? Jude and Ayers — a fast choice, but the safest one Mailan could make on such notice. Somehow she felt she knew Ayers well enough to say he would not have any part of a plot which included murdering his father.…
Where was Crow? Moving to the window, she glanced out; the man’s profile was just visible, beyond the light of the room. So, he locked the inner door and watched her from the outside. Why? Did he fear distractions? Was she a talker — simply too attractive? Mailan glanced back at the woman.… What was it, Dara-me?…
Not just silver hair. Delicate silver eyebrows, arching elegantly, naturally, and long, thick silver lashes. Even her arms bore a sheen of silver. Truly her own, then. Body dyes were coarse at best; surely a woman of her experience would have chosen a depilatory before body dye.
I should try to sleep. Two guaard when he was outside this room, one with the doors locked, otherwise. The captain had added two others as an honor guard, but Sheel had informed him that he was ‘keeping’ Jude, Crow, and Ayers.… That had been excellent. Worth laughing over, if the circumstances had been different.
Dropping the clothing packs she carried, Mailan moved over by the firepit and stretched out on the cushioned bench. It gave her an excellent view of the other woman. I cannot sleep. Jumping up, she opened the door to the gardens. “Crow, come in here and sleep. I might as well watch.”
No protesting her giving orders — he was that tired. Well, then, he should sleep. Flopping down in a corner, Crow immediately curled up and closed his eyes. Locking the outer door as well as the corridor entrance, Mailan settled herself back on the bench, but this time she sat straight. No need to stand at attention for this one.
Why had Sheel kept her? He had questioned Crow intensely about her session at guaard hall — a rather inadequate session, from Mailan’s point of view. Sheel also had requested the report on Darame’s employer, a man called Halsey. Had anyone at the embassies been questioned yet? Not yet? Sheel was interested in everything, suddenly — all the politics he had pointedly ignored in the nine months since his return to Nuala.
“Keep her close… and watch her,” was all he said. Did he think her part of this thing? Then why risk keeping he
r under his own roof? Could he be so interested in the woman he had lost all caution?
If she was dangerous, why had she not already tried to kill him?
Something had been bothering Mailan for several hours, but it took a few minutes of peace to bring it to mind. “How did you know the cat had died?” she said abruptly in Caesarean.
It took the woman several moments to realize she was being addressed. She stared oddly at the guaard until Mailan repeated her question.
“Crow told me.”
“No,” Mailan said patiently. “Crow told you only after you asked him what kind of animal was killed. We were speaking Nualan except when we addressed you. How did you know?” Mailan tried to keep any threat out of her voice. It was extremely unlikely the woman had learned Nualan off-planet — only scholars exported the language tapes. Most people would never anticipate the need.
“You looked in the pouch, after he removed the third creature. You obviously expected something else,” the woman said in a reasonable tone.
And I thought you were reading the pill package, Mailan thought wryly. Possible… and observant. This one was very clever — she would indeed bear watching.
A noise at the lock heralded the return of others. Mailan leapt to her feet and moved to the peephole. Ayers’ shaggy blond countenance blocked her view. Humm… The plan had been to leave Ayers with Leah, and Ayers’ sister Sheri with Avis. What had gone wrong? Pulling a knife from her arm sheath, Mailan hid the weapon in her hand. Glancing once over her shoulder to make sure the woman had not moved, she opened the door.
They trooped in like a procession: Ayers, Sheel, and Jude. Two others followed; seasoned guaard, both of them, but Mailan was close to neither. She stopped them with an upraised hand.
“One on this door and one on the courtyard entrances,” Sheel said quietly, moving to the tiny bottles arranged on a shelf near the firepit.
Fires of Nuala Page 11