A Snoop Without Magic, page 15
Sam nodded. They walked to a nicer house on the other side of the town.
Target knocked on the door. A woman answered. Sam’s eyes went to the woman’s hands, which were normal sized.
“Your uncle was found dead in his row house this afternoon.”
The woman sighed. “Uncle Rikard was a noble soul. He was in a lot of pain, so at least that burden has been lifted. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? It isn’t right that anyone is out in this messy weather.”
Target nodded and went in. Sam would have rejected the offer. They followed the woman into her kitchen, where they were directed to sit at her table.
A boiling kettle sang on the stove a few minutes later.
“Won’t be a moment.” She hummed a little tune, and a pair of thick pollen gloves appeared on the counter by the stove. The woman slipped them on and brought the steaming kettle to the table.
“You don’t use the handle?” Sam asked.
The woman giggled nervously. “That handle is always hot, so I got into the habit of making thick gloves. My husband tells me I should sell them in the market, but I don’t know of another woman who wears such things.”
She put them back on the counter. “They don’t last long, anyway. The heat makes them hard after a single use.”
“Mind if I take those?” Target said. “I think my wife might want to give them a try.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “She will burn herself if she uses those. One time use, as I said.”
“Seeing is better than describing,” Target said.
They let the woman reminisce about her uncle for a few minutes. The woman’s parents had already passed away, and she was in a melancholy mood. After tea, they left the house.
Target pulled the gloves out. The palm side was hardened, yet still flexible, but the palms looked like they would crack soon.
“Big hands,” he said as he waved the gloves in front of them. “That woman didn’t have big hands, did she?”
“No,” Sam replied. “There is no way the woman could have strangled Ladle with her bare hands.”
“That is what I thought.” Target tossed the woman’s gloves into a pollen container on the way back to the constabulary.
“Did you catch the murderer already?” the other snoop in the office asked.
Target shook his head, looking at Sam with meaning in his eyes. “No. I can’t figure it out. A woman with huge hands?” He shook his head. “Impossible. No enemies, no friends, nothing to steal in his house. I don’t think we will be able to solve that one,” he said.
~
Sam worked on Target’s footwork, which was a real weakness for the snoop. Mark looked on as Sam made him perform the same exercises.
“You say this is a Lashakan method?”
Sam nodded. “There is much more to the Lashakan style, but the footwork drills must come instinctively, as I was taught. Just let your own style merge with this one. It is important to move instinctively, yet smoothly. Too much jerkiness inhibits the natural flow of your movements.”
“Sounds religious to me,” Mark said with a bit of a smirk.
“Maybe it is. I never asked, but I know it works, not for everything, though. If you practice enough, you will use Lashakan footwork when you need it.”
“Just like those practice forms?” Mark asked.
Sam smiled. “Exactly like the practice forms.”
A constable poked his head into the training room. “Jay, you have a visitor. A lady visitor.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. Winnie? He walked into the lobby, sweaty and holding a sword in his hand. Lady Keeta Grate smiled at Sam. “Jay, I am glad I found you. Our father lies on his deathbed in Cherryton and has asked for you. Bring your things. You may be staying there for quite a while until Father’s affairs are settled.”
“You better go, Jay,” Target said, standing right behind him.
Sam had been contacted, and it was time to go to Baskin.
Chapter Eighteen
~
K eeta laughed when Sam brought his bag into the coach and plopped it on the floor.
“Did I interrupt you playing with your friends?”
“We were just about finished,” Sam said. “How have you been?”
“Oh, I am wonderful, but Baskin isn’t doing too well.”
“Toraltia as a whole isn’t either,” Sam said. “It is the same thing everywhere. Most people are against the Court of Nobles, but then there are others who support them. A civil war is in the offing, I think.”
“So does Harrison, but you won’t be seeing him when we get to Baskin. You will make a visit to my house and then live elsewhere in the city. I certainly didn’t recognize you, and few others will, as well.”
“I’ll have to hide my wand,” Sam said. “One of the apprentice constables in Baskin transferred to Mountain View, and he recognized the wand before he recognized me.”
“We have to do what is needed,” Lady Keeta said. “What would you like to know?”
Sam shrugged. “What has changed since I’ve been to Baskin? I didn’t have any time to talk to Faddon Bentwick, and Winnie and I talked of other things.”
“For one thing, I am married and the mother of twin boys.” She smiled. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”
“Congratulations.”
“We named one of them Sam, you know.”
“Why me?”
Keeta gave him a knowing smile. “You were instrumental in bringing Dickey and me together.”
“Dickey Nail? You married him?”
She flashed a fancy jeweled ring at him. “I did. I forced him to move into my house, but he kept his old one, and that is where you will be staying.”
“Does he trust you going all the way to Mountain View and back by yourself? Do you trust him? Is he that good a nursemaid?”
Keeta laughed. “I left him at the next stop with the boys. We will have a wonderful reunion.”
She talked of other things, the weather, the state of the constabulary, and then talked about her cousin, the king, and the founding of the Court of Nobles.
“Dickey and I have rebuffed them many times. They think if I am their little pet, that will help them with Harrison’s followers. How wrong they are.”
Sam nodded and continued the conversation until they came to a roadside inn.
Dickey grunted a greeting to Sam as he thrust one of the twins into the arms of his mother and threw more bags on top of the coach. A woman held the other son until Dickey had finished, and then he helped them both into the cab and introduced the squirming boys and their nurse.
“Rotten weather, eh?” Dickey said, the smirk blooming on his face. “And how is the illustrious Jay Thresher, the best snoop, for a very short time, in the Mountain View constabulary?”
“Am I still Jay Thresher?” Sam asked.
“No, actually. You are Effian Walk, a duelist from Vaarek, who arrived in Baskin via Wistall and has sought his fortune at the Baskin Trials as a duelist. Harrison said you will do well in the Trials. We will have Kened Rider make the final decision.”
“I have improved since my constabulary days,” Sam said.
“You would have had to. The constables gave you a good thrashing often enough.”
Sam nodded. “I will need to train.”
“As I said, Kened Rider. He is with us, if you must know.”
Sam nodded. “I know how to speak Vaarekian well enough.”
“Shall we test him, dear?” Lady Grate said. “Effian, tell us of the exploits of Sam Smith once he stepped onto his ship of exile,” she said in the court language, which Sam now knew wasn’t nearly as good as Sam’s Vaarekian.
~
The coach approached Baskin. Sam sighed. “I return, at last.”
“No. Effian Walk arrives in Baskin for the first time,” Dickey said. “I am still connected to the constabulary, but as a consultant. I will be your host and show you the sights, if you agree to appear impressed by Toraltia’s capital.”
“After Tolloy? The Vaarekian capital is double the size. Why would I be impressed to walk around one of the former colonies of Vaarek?”
Dickey’s smirk returned. “Well said. Keep that up. We will drop off Keet and the boys…” he looked at the nurse, “and Sara before getting you settled in.”
“I never visited your house.”
“And a good thing. Keeta found the need to renovate—”
Lady Grate smiled. “I had to do something with my time while I was pregnant with my little boys.”
“Are you still Lady Grate?” Sam asked. “I keep thinking of you that way rather than Mrs. Nail.”
“Unfortunately, my cousin thinks the same way you do. We are Lady Keeta Grate and Lord Dickey Nail. Even with full noble blood, Dickey is shunned by the Court of Nobles.”
Sam nodded. “Is Antina Mulch’s shop still in the same place?”
Dickey looked at Keeta. “No. That is a story that she should tell you. We will have her over for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Does it have to do with Tru’s half-noble wife?”
Keeta seemed to relax a bit. “It does. Let Antina tell you.”
Sam could tell they didn’t want to say anything more. Sam could guess there was a falling out. He would have to exercise some patience.
“The story will be that we picked you up in Wistall,” Dickey said, as he continued to give Sam details of Effian Walk’s history.
Sam wrote everything down in his notebook as Dickey and Keeta talked. He had to refrain from playing with his friends’ cute little boys. They wanted more attention than the nurse, Sara, could provide, so Keeta ended up holding onto Sam, the one named after him.
“Is there a real Effian Walk?”
Dickey shook his head. “There isn’t, but as you said, Viktar Kreb drafted any young fencer of note into his army. Effian left Tolloy right after the revolution succeeded for obscure reasons.”
“Which are?”
“He was too close to Viktar Kreb’s officers.”
Sam made a face at one of the twins before leaning back. “So I am to be a sympathizer of the Court of Nobles?”
“To whatever extent you wish. You can just act aloof to what is going on in Toraltia and Baskin, if you wish.”
“I’d rather do that,” Sam said. “I’ll just pretend to be unlikeable.”
“Dickey is the expert. He can tutor you,” Keet said with a smile.
“The expert of experts,” Dickey said with his smirk becoming even smirkier, Sam thought.
Sam took the time to look out the window to see the familiar roads, shops, and signs of Baskin. He really did feel like he was coming home, but it would be a perilous end to his journey.
Sam stayed in the coach as Dickey and Stefen, Lady Grate’s butler from the time Dickey and he had hidden in the mansion, removed the luggage. They went inside the house for a while. Dickey and Stefen climbed aboard after throwing a couple of bags on the roof.
“Stefen is on loan for a bit.” Dickey looked at the butler, who still looked fit for a middle-aged man. “Right, Stefen?”
“And who am I going to assist?” The butler looked at Sam. “This person?”
Dickey laughed. “This is Effian Walk. He is a duelist from Vaarek who knows my wife. We have invited him to use my old house during the Baskin Trials and thought that you might want a break from the twins for a bit.”
Stefen’s lip curled up on one side. “That might be the case, Dickey.”
“Mr. Walk looks vaguely familiar.” Stefen looked at Sam. “Have we met before?” Stefen said, switching to Vaarekian.
“People ask me that from time to time. I think I must have a common face,” Sam replied, in the same language.
Stefen looked at Dickey. “Is there something I should know?” he said switching to Toraltian.
Dickey looked out the window and spoke without turning his gaze. “You are riding with the exile, Sam Smith. It is a secret.”
Stefen smiled. “Ah, your Vaarekian is impeccable, much, much better than when I last heard you speak it.” He looked intently at Sam. “I am a stickler for remembering people, and your current visage had me fooled. I welcome you back to Baskin. We should speak Vaarekian, even in Lord Nail’s house.”
“Lord Nail?” Sam said. “I thought I heard you call him Dickey.”
Stefen laughed. “We have developed an unusual relationship,” Stefen said. “I hope you and I can do the same.” He extended his hand, and Sam shook it.
“I hope you are a good cook,” Sam asked.
“Tolerable, but I know of a good cook to hire. There is no sense subjecting ourselves to unnecessary torture.”
“I seem to recall a few meals that were rather tasty,” Sam said.
Stefen looked shocked. “I am exposed. Still, a cook is proper, as is a maid. I will procure both today. Neither of them knows court language, as far as I know.”
“In case they are interrogated?”
Dickey frowned. “If you are thrust into the noble scene, they will be.”
~
Sam and Stefen walked down the steps of Dickey’s house together. The house was in a fashionable part of town southwest of the constabulary in the opposite direction from the house Sam had rented from Faddon Bentwick. Lady Grate’s mansion was to the east. He wished he could return to his old place, but that would tempt fate, and Sam wanted to avoid that.
“Some nice restaurants are close. Any cuisine in particular?”
“Vaarekians like spicy, so a Norlankian restaurant?”
“That is taking your life in your hands,” Stefen said, “but I know a place that will suit you.”
They had walked for twenty minutes when Stefen tugged Sam’s sleeve. “Master Walk, the place across the street is one of my favorites,” Stefen said in passable court language.
Sam looked at a restaurant that claimed to serve Vaarekian food, but it looked busy. They dodged a carriage as they hurried over cobblestones made slick by a mist that had moistened the streets while they journeyed from the house. Stefen moved to open the door for Sam.
“Remember, I am your servant, as well as your guide. I am to open doors for you and carry packages.”
Sam nodded. “It will be hard to remember, but we will manage,” he said in Vaarekian.
A few of the patrons turned to Sam. They were well-dressed. Sam was surprised to see a mix of classes dining in the same place, but he doubted any true noble would eat in such a modest place where Sam could hear both court language and Toraltian.
Sam felt naked without a wand at his side. He had also decided against wearing his Lashak blade. Dickey would take him to Kened Rider’s fencing studio in the morning, so he had to exercise a little patience.
“I didn’t think such a place existed in Baskin,” Sam said. “Commoners and nobles?”
Stefen chuckled. “You will see how they get along.” Stefen raised his hand, and a man wearing an apron greeted the butler. They exchanged a few words before the server addressed them both in a loud voice.
“Stefen, I am glad you can make it tonight. Come this way.”
They followed the server to a table and sat down. They were presented with menus scribbled on pollen board. Sam quickly put his on the table and looked it over.
“You might have to translate for me,” Sam said in Vaarekian.
“Flip it over,” Stefen said.
Sam did and saw the menu written in the court language. “Does no one use Vaarekian cursive?”
“What is that?” Stefen said. “Court language in handwriting?”
“That it is,” Sam said. He shook his head. He hadn’t realized how backward Toraltian nobles were in their use of Vaarekian. He would have to wait for the next evening to talk about it with Antina Mulch.
Sam noticed a Vaarekian pork dish that hadn’t been too spicy in Tolloy and ordered that. Stefen did the same. Neither of them said very much. Sam just absorbed the odd atmosphere.
Their meal came. Sam was hungry, but he took a taste. The food was nearly Zogazin in blandness. “Pepper, if you please. This needs more spice,” he said in Vaarekian.
“What do you mean? It is an authentic Vaarekian dish.”
“And you have tasted this in Vaarek?”
“Have you?” the server said, winking at Sam.
This was a set-up by Stefen, it seemed.
“I have tasted it prepared in Tolloy. This is…it is flavorless!” Sam said, indignantly. “Use pepper or whatever decent spice you’ve got to heat this dish up. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
The server pushed Sam, who shoved the man back. “Don’t talk to a customer like that. Any Vaarekian would have sent this back. Since I am in a foreign country, I will merely ask for some pepper to make this palatable.”
The server took his tray and tried to hit Sam with it, but Sam could see the move coming, so he shielded it with his forearm. The clank silenced the restaurant, even more.
Sam put his fist to hips. “If I had brought my sword, I would have run you through,” Sam said.
The server grunted. “I lost my head. I am sorry. Sit down. I will get your pepper. Your meal tonight is free.” He quickly left and had another server, a woman, return with the pepper.
Sam sprinkled some on his dish and took a taste. He had gone light on the pepper, but the seasoning still brought out a sweat. “This is more like it,” he said after swallowing some water.
“Master Effian, you shouldn’t have lost your head like that,” Stefen said loudly enough that a few tables away could hear. “Baskin expects better manners, if I may say so.”
“For this slop?” Sam said. “This isn’t Vaarekian, but it is filling, I can say that, once it has been seasoned a bit.”
They left the restaurant after Sam had finished. It really wasn’t as authentic just as Sam had said. Whatever recipe they used wasn’t quite the same. But he guessed Stefen had adequately introduced him to a wide range of clientele in Baskin. He didn’t know if any real nobles were there, but there were enough people that heard the performance.
“I am sorry to have sprung that on you, but you did rather well. More than a few people in that restaurant will be thinking you are a real Vaarekian.”
