Making Peace, page 11
CHAPTER 17
I GOT A great night’s sleep after my argument with Ugly, and slept well again the next night. Maybe the nightmares that had plagued me since taking my first human life had decided to take some time off. Good thing, because when I made it into the common room the second morning after my fight with Ugly, the look on Ugly’s face told me I’d need all my energy that day.
“There’s been another attack,” he said. He looked even more grim than usual. We hadn’t seen each other since the fight, but he seemed ready to brush it off for the sake of working together. I remembered Shield’s words and decided to do the same.
“Get your gear,” he said, handing me a small, hollowed half-loaf of bread stuffed with scrambled eggs and diced fruit, something the locals call a walking breakfast. “We’re leaving now.”
The First House had changed noticeably, even from the outside. Work crews were going from window to window, installing huge wrought iron bars. Guards were now visibly on edge as they checked credentials. They stopped us on the way in, arguing with us and refusing to believe the Keeper emblem stamped into Ugly’s leather pauldron. They were on the verge of demanding our weapons when Ugly lifted his shirt sleeve and flashed a Keeper emblem tattoo. At the flick of his finger a bright sheen raced across it from one corner to the other, showing it to be authentic. The guards let us pass, though they seemed disappointed not to have found an infiltrator to drag before their Hegemon. They probably felt they had to justify their own lives at that point.
The changes inside the house were even more marked. Armed guards patrolled the halls in pairs. Instead of open doors and sitting rooms full of fancy people chattering away over tea, every door was locked. Family members hurried from room to room, huddled over in shawls or heavy coats, afraid to make eye contact with us as their personal guards ushered them past.
We were led to a door in the west wing – the house’s bedroom wing – by the most stone-faced guard captain I’d ever seen. We were let inside without a word. The door closed with a loud click and was locked behind us. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, plunging the room into darkness. Pieces of the room were lit by oil lamps, but they were all clustered near the door. Apparently, no one had wanted to venture any further, and we’d have to place them ourselves as we needed. The light barely touched the ceiling high over our heads. The only sounds in the room were my gulping breaths, Ugly flexing his hands inside his leather gloves, and the flutter of the oil lamps. What hit me most was the smell. By the Lady, the room stank of carcass. The sickening tang of too much spilled blood, so powerful it almost overwhelmed me.
Standing with my back against the locked door, I found myself afraid to move the lamps, to see what the room might hold. Visions of the first murder flitted back and forth across my mind’s eye, and I had to shake my head to chase them away. I noticed my breathing was getting ragged, and I did my best to calm down. Meanwhile, Ugly had picked up the first lamp and was striding forward, eyes hard, hand steady.
His lamp illuminated a bedroom, as I’d suspected it would be. Instead of the table and seating of the first room, this one was mostly empty in the center. Thick carpets muted the sound of my boots as I crept forward. The light reached halfway across the room now, and we found a neatly-arranged lady’s vanity on the right side against the wall. A comfortable looking chair was knocked over in front of the vanity, as if someone had stood up too suddenly. A large bowl rested atop the vanity. From my vantage point I couldn’t see inside of it.
I didn’t want to keep searching, and I expected Ugly to stop. I hoped he would at least pause. But he went on, relentless, determined to show me what I knew we’d find.
Blood drops splattered the floor behind the chair. The drops grew larger into puddles as the light unveiled more and more. They began to swell into a continuous stream as the light reached the first corner of the bed. I tracked the blood flow as it climbed the dust ruffle and blankets.
“Please stop,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see. Stop.”
Ugly paused in mid-step and put his foot back down. He turned to me and I saw something flicker in his eyes: recognition perhaps, like someone coming out of a deep thought. He scanned my face, and I saw his expression soften into something almost like sympathy. “Get a lamp,” he said softly, “and examine the vanity.”
I hunched over and all but flew back to the door. As I slowly picked up my own lamp I worked to steady my breathing, which was rapid and fluttering.
I kept my eyes firmly averted from Ugly’s work as I checked the vanity myself. The chair did indeed appear to have been knocked over when someone stood abruptly. I could still see small shoe imprints in the thick carpeting where the lady would have sat. A few shoe imprints that were out of place were much deeper, meaning she had probably stomped down or pushed herself up with force.
The vanity looked like an antique, a beautiful dark wood that shimmered in the reflected light of my lantern. The ceramic bowl sitting on the vanity was filled with water which was an uncomfortable shade of pink. I noticed a pitcher behind the bowl, the handle covered in smeared blood.
Now that I knew to look for blood, I found blood splatter on the backrest of the chair. This blood was well away from the other blood drops all over the floor, which meant she had probably been stabbed while still in the chair. I remembered how loud the door had been when we’d closed it.
I turned from the vanity and crossed the room to the opposite side. I tried not to notice the sound of Ugly shifting blankets and lifting the dust ruffle. I remembered the first scene, with the little bundle under the bed. I covered my mouth to choke back the vomit that threatened to rise. When I made it to the other side of the room, I had to pause before checking my hunch.
Yes, there it was, behind the heavy curtains: the sole window of the room. And it was barred from the inside. In fact, a tiny silver lock hung from the clasp. I gave the lock a tug to make sure it was still firmly shut, then went back to the middle of the room. I stood with my back to the bed until I heard Ugly walk up to me. I didn’t turn around.
I told him what I had found. “So,” I said, “it had to be someone she expected to be in here with her. That door is damned loud. No way would she not have heard it open and close. This house doesn’t have heating vents like some of the houses in Iris City back on Garden. The only way out is through the door or the window. And with that bowl, it looks like the person decided to clean up before they left, probably to avoid arousing suspicion on their way out. It had to be someone the household would expect to see.”
Ugly sounded thoughtful. “Or someone they wouldn’t notice.”
I turned partly around to look at him. He had his arms crossed, one hand covering his mouth, staring into space. He walked to the door and knocked. After only a few seconds I heard the key enter the lock and the door was opened.
“I need to see the Housekeeper, immediately,” Ugly told the guard. The door was opened wider and we were let out. The guard locked the door and led us down the hallway, down a staircase, and down a series of hallways to what I guessed was the servant wing of the house. The lamps grew noticeably less grand, turning to nothing more than candles resting on saucers in alcoves. I felt something of a draft, and drew my short cloak a little tighter around my shoulders.
We were let into another room at the end of the hall. We had apparently surprised the occupants, because they ceased their conversation and looked up with wide eyes. One was an older woman, perhaps in her fifties. Her hair was swept up into a graying bun. Her black and gray dress was starched and formal to the point of looking uncomfortable, and buttoned up the neck. The young woman beside her was similarly dressed and had fine brown hair which she wore in a bun. Both dropped their eyes immediately upon seeing us. The guard locked the door behind us, leaving the four of us alone.
Neither woman spoke, nor raised her eyes. Ugly and I shared a look. A memory floated up in my mind from somewhere in the distant past, when I was researching for one of my romance novels about nobility (The Wilted Machine, don’t miss it!). I remembered someone telling me a servant’s behavior spoke volumes about how their master lived behind closed doors.
“Ma’am,” Ugly began softly, “I know you know who we are, and why we’re here.” The older woman, whom I assumed was the housekeeper, waited to be sure he was finished speaking, then nodded. “I could use some help with some questions I have.” She waited, then nodded again.
“It’s become apparent through investigation that this young woman…” He trailed off.
“The lady Mentha,” she supplied after some lengthy hesitation. “Grand-niece to the Hegemon.”
“Grand-niece,” he said. He looked at me. “Grand-niece.”
Was that supposed to mean something? I nodded, pretending to understand.
Ugly frowned at me, then looked back at her. “And you are?”
She licked her lips, her eyes flickering up then back down. “Marsa, sir. Housekeeper to the First House.”
“Marsa. As housekeeper I’m sure you’ve already heard about the murder. The same method as his granddaughter. Pregnant, too, both of them. But different from the male victim,” Ugly said.
Hesitation, nod.
Ugly briefly told her what we had discovered about the door, the bowl, the chair, and the window. Her mask slipped for a moment and she looked terribly troubled before she went blank again.
“You know as well as I do,” Ugly said, “this points to someone on staff.”
That got her to make eye contact for the first time, her eyes wide. She looked hurt. No, more than that. Afraid? She was Housekeeper. As the head of female staff, they were all her responsibility, and a lady would never be alone in her bedroom with a male servant. Therefore…
She dropped her eyes again, licked her lips. “Sir,” she said in a small voice, “all staff members can be accounted for. No one was with the Lady Mentha at that time.”
The younger woman crinkled her eyes at this. Ugly caught it and turned to her, but she refused to lift her eyes to meet his. “You disagree?” he asked. We all turned to her, and she looked quietly terrified.
The housekeeper nudged her. “Rosa?”
The girl squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. I could see her shaking under the attention. She turned slightly and spoke to the Housekeeper’s shoes. “I saw the lady enter her room with Ina.”
At this, the Housekeeper’s eyes grew wide.
Ugly pounced on this reaction. “Who’s Ina?” he asked.
Marsa hesitated. Longer than before. Much longer. The silence drew out. Rosa’s teeth were chattering. I made sure not to look at her.
“Ina is no longer in our employ,” Marsa finally said. “She was let go several months back. I had been instructed not to provide details to the staff. It…happens.”
Ugly and I shared another look. I spoke up. “I know the code of silence servants are expected to maintain. However, your master wants full cooperation. Breaking silence to help us now may save several more lives.”
She seemed to ponder this, then she turned to Rosa. “Go back to your room,” Marsa told Rosa. “I’ll reassign you later.” Rosa nodded and all but flew to the door at the back of the room.
This door wasn’t locked, being only a servant door. Rosa hurried through it at top speed. Marsa watched her go with pity. “She was Lady Mentha’s personal maid,” she murmured after the door had clicked. Then she seemed to remember herself and turned back to us, eyes cast down.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what kind of game your master plays here in this house, but we’re no better than you are. Talk to us straight and you’ll get no problems from us. None.”
She seemed to process that, then raised her eyes to mine and gave the slightest nod. “Ina was let go because she was pregnant.”
Ugly folded his arms. “That’s not so unusual.”
Marsa nodded. “But this wasn’t just anyone’s child. It was the Hegemon’s.”
I felt my eyes go wide for a moment. “Well, okay. But that’s not… I mean, even that’s not too unusual. Not in most noble houses.” I looked to Ugly for confirmation. A look of distaste crossed his features, the scars bending to make the expression especially intense, and he nodded.
Marsa frowned. “It is in this one. The Hegemon doesn’t want any unsanctioned heirs. He’s very particular, about where he… plants seeds. Servants aren’t acceptable ground, so Ina was removed from the household.”
Ugly grunted. “That’s certainly motive, and the method makes sense. A very specific vendetta with a very specific outlet. Any idea where she is now?”
Marsa sighed and crossed her arms low over her stomach. “When a woman is tossed out of a house without references in a city like this, I can only think of a few places she could go.” She paused and looked at Ugly’s face. “I see you’re thinking the same thing. I don’t know which brothel exactly, but I’d start in that district.”
Ugly nodded at her. “Thanks for this. We’ll keep it discreet.”
“Not me,” I said. “I’m putting this in my book and telling everyone.” They both gave me blank looks. I sighed. “Why does no one ever laugh at that?”
Ugly gave me a warning look with one raised eyebrow, then turned back to Marsa. “I’ll need a description, as well as any information about connections she had in the city and whatever reference she used to get this job, and we’ll be on our way.”
We made it back to headquarters without incident. Captain wanted a full accounting so he could add it to the information we already had. Ours was not the only killing that had taken place in the last two weeks. The Second House had distant relations being ambushed by thugs at marketplaces and restaurants. One of Lady Sarenna’s nephews by marriage had been frequenting one of the many brothels of Maiden Lane and was executed. Witnesses described his killers as wearing all black clothes with a gold shoulder patch. No one outside of his House had known where he was, indicating an inside job, or at least a leak. And the assassin had struck again, in full public view. He appeared at a ball put on by the Third House and killed one of the Hegemon’s grandsons in front of everyone present.
Ugly and Captain agreed to put out a search for Ina. She was five foot nothing with curly blonde hair, mocha skin, hazel eyes, and a slim build. In other words, she looked like a good portion of the women walking the streets of Tiers. Captain put Sen on the job of tracking her down, Sen being familiar with the brothels and all. Never imagined that sort of talent would come in handy, but times were getting rough.
Shield and Ugly came up with a plan to hold a grand party with everyone of status in attendance. Keepers would attend as well, and guards would be posted everywhere. I argued this would present an awful lot of targets, and Ugly told me that was the point. We lure the assassin out into the open, get him to show himself, and capture or kill him.
Captain convinced the First House to host a ball, though the Hegemon wasn’t pleased. The Hegemon wanted to catch the assassin, though, and agreed that the killer wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to strike again with so many targets on display.
How right he was.
CHAPTER 18
“HOLD UP,” I called to Tavel. Beads clacked together as I dropped the bracelet back into a display bowl full of them. The merchant standing beside the cart shot me an irritated look for mistreating her merchandise.
The streets of Tiers were full of vendors day and night, appearing to newcomers as some sort of unending festival. Tavel had invited me on an outing not related to the business of the Keepers. This gave me a perfect opportunity to sample some of the local trade.
Tavel stopped ahead of me up the street and looked back, not exactly hurrying me. Nonetheless, I knew he was eager to get to the temple, so I hastened my steps and told myself for the fourth time not to get distracted. We walked along in silent companionship for a few minutes, listening to the calls of birds overhead and the calls of merchants around us. The wares were different and included both the exotic and the immoral, but close your eyes and I could swear I was in the Iris City marketplace back home. The smells of breads and fried meats, the snap of shop banners in the breeze, guards hurrying unsavory types along, folks complaining about the prices of eggs and shirts. Once in a while, though, the cry of a slave or the sharp tangy scent of illegal pheromones slipped through the illusion and reminded me I was far from home.
I looked over at Tavel striding along on my right: head held high, shoulders squared, hazel eyes and olive skin both gleaming in the sunlight, long blond hair rippling against his shoulders with each step. Despite his patchwork armor, he looked every inch the glorious knight described in the old stories, a person of confidence and righteousness striding through the muddy streets of humanity. In battle, he moved like a hurricane. And yet he was young, much too young to have fully grasped the nuances of old codes. I was beginning to learn just how black and white his world looked.
“So, what takes us to the temple today?” I asked.
Tavel glanced over at me and somehow still avoided a puddle of questionable water. “It’s my day off from Keeper duties.”
I waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. “You’re making up for missing service last week? I remember you had to skip it to teach me about dodging incoming projectiles.”
The corner of his mouth turned down slightly into a frown, but he smoothed it over before speaking. “One should not serve righteousness only out of guilt, Belkan. It is my greatest pleasure to go before Our Lady. I don’t spend my day off with her because I must, I spend my day with her precisely because it is my day to relax. People spend their leisure time with their loved ones. What, then, makes this so unusual?”
