CHAPTER FIFTEEN
23 QAT 38 DAYS UNTIL THE ANNIVERSARY
The morning air hung heavy and damp in the bustling passages and courtyards of Castelle Escalon. I ducked my head as I forged through the ever-moving river of courtiers and servants. The sense would not leave me that anyone I noticed would turn up dead.
I had arrived the previous evening after two long days on the road, only to find the tally of the fallen grown to yet more dire proportions. Waiting in my apartments was a message from a devastated Ilario. Mage Orvienes adept Fedrigo, Ilarios favored maker of crocodile charms and stomach elixirs, was reported knifed in a tavern brawl near the docks and thrown dead into the river. And beside Ilarios scented paper lay a letter scribed in my own hand, still sealed, returned along with a message informing me that the Marqus and Marquesa de Marangel and their two young sons had met an unfortunate fate. An explosion of devils firework had devoured Ophelies home and family not a tenday past. Someone felt us on the trail of discovery. Every hour since learning this news had been filled with a creeping dread, the first tremors of an earthshaking that set birds and beasts to flight.
My mornings first task was to settle the matter that had gnawed at my vitals all the way from Seravain. Henri de Sain, third secretary to the palace steward, was my quarry of the moment. Assuming he lived.
Henri was sweeping his private office, which was not at all private and very unlike an office, being little more than a closet off the stone-floored, north-wing undercroft. Casks, trunks, and teetering stacks of crates shared the vast undercroft with a legion of undersecretaries, paymasters, footmen, draymen, and ladies maids.
Divine grace, Henri, I said, as if our two brief encounters had made us personal friends, I just wanted to thank you again for the recommendation of your tailor. As soon as Ive pay in hand, Im determined to give him fair custom.
Oh, very good, he said, looking a bit surprised as I occupied his stool, drawing up my knees and wrapping my arms round as if set to stay awhile. He set his broom in the corner and brushed off his sleeves. Is there something I can do for you, Sonjeur dehis eyes darted to my exposed left handSavin-Duplais, is it? Portier?
I bobbed my head. Honestly, youre the only person in the palace whos been civil, so I didnt think youd mind another inquiry. Ive just returned from Collegia Seravain whence I shipped three book crates back here for this wolfhound of a mage, Dante. I screwed up my face in disgust. The taverner told me a dreadful story about a crate that had been dropped in her yard, only to find a dead man in it. A corpus... to be shipped here to Castelle Escalon, she said! And not respectfully in a decent coffin as a family might do, with a vergers blessings and proper pall over all, but curled up tight in a nailed-up box as one would never suspect. Have you ever heard of such wickedness?
Nay. His nostrils flared in distaste. Such a violation would be
Exactly so. But you seeI dropped my voice, drawing him nearer with every wordI recalled that stinking crate you had in here not a tenday ago, just before the fire on the Swan, and it gives me the frights to think it might have been a corpse, as well. And Im wonderingThis Dante has already laid threats on me, you see. Im bound by my duties to deal with him, but if hes the one shipping corpses about the kingdom or having them sent, Im thinking to resign my post and hie me back to academe.
Henris knotted brow softened. You neednt fear, good Portier. Hes neither sent nor received any parcel whatsoever. That particular nasty crateliving mushrooms as I recall, destined for an apothecary in Mattefrieseoriginated with the least likely person to be engaged in abominations of any kind, Damoselle ney Billard herself.
The sunlight pouring into the dusty hall dimmed to gray. I heard myself laughing and prating about foolish anxieties and country superstitions. But all the time Mauras own words crowded my memory. Some matters we cannot alter. Some promises we cannot undo. Eugenie herself had stitched only the new DESTINNE ensign on the celebration banners. Who but Maura would have seen to the ordering of linen and hiring of seamstresses and the delivery of the finished rolls? Maura, the queens trusted household administrator, who had been unstrung since the fire on the Swan. And Mattefriese lay on the Louvel-Arabascan border, the last town of any size between Merona and Eltevire. Blessed angels...
My spirit recoiled. Rebelled. Yet, as if I had split into two persons at once, Portier, agente confide, nattered with Henri about his busy life in the palace, and all the crates and bundles that came through the palace, exclaiming how easy it must be to get them confused.
As do you, I keep a journal, he said. Everyone says I can recall names and dates and sizes as some recall their childrens birth stars and lineage. Flushed, he waved off my feigned amazement. Ill send notice when your boxes arrive. Then youll be finished with this fearsome Dante. A footman I know saw the mage set fire to his food with his eyes. He was at table with the queens ladies and claimed the meat was off. And the maid who washes his linen swears he can see through walls, as he forever opens the door before she knocks! Could that be true?
Id put no outlandish talent past him, I said, truthfully. But Id best hush. What if he finds out Ive spoken ill of him?
Henri blanched.
One more small thing, I said. Youve surely heard about this event Lord Ilario plans for Prince Desmonds deathday? Ill need banners to be made....
Numb already, I was scarce surprised to hear that the palace seamstress who had sewn the banners for the Swan had slit her wrists, horrified that her faithful work had been used to endanger her king.
The third secretary would make a fine, credible witness, said I, the kings chosen agente, a lunatic who had dared imagine that out of this snarl of ghosts and murders something new and good might take root in his own sorry life. I made it as far as the wide steps of whorled marble that led into the queens wing of the palace before I dived into a small fragrance garden to be sick.
The heaving seemed to purge my head as well as my stomach. Maura could not be involved in these crimes. I did not question my growing certainty that Henris crate had held a living prisoner, but any of two hundred people could have attached Mauras name to it. She did favors for everyone in the queens household. And surely fifty other people had been involved with the delivery of the banners to the Swan. Unlike her mistress, Maura had boarded the ship.
Questioned outright, she could surely provide an explanation for everything... only I could not ask. Secrecy must be maintained. Exoneration was not my prerogative. My charge was to gather evidence, make linkages, investigate, deduce.
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and plucked mint leaves from a spreading plant. Chewing the pungent leaves, I headed for the east wing and Ilarios apartments, speeding through the curved window gallery that displayed the ruddy rooftops of Merona. I would task Ilario with saving Lianelle ney Cazar, and then persuade Dante to come with me to Eltevire. Unmask the true conspiracy, find the murderers, and all would be clear.
Duplais!
I near jumped out of my skin. A firm hand on my sleeve drew me out of the stream of footmen and maidservants to the window wall. Ive been hoping to speak with you, and here you manifest in my own haunts.
Mage Orviene! Every distraction receded as I bestowed my entire attention on the neat little man with pomaded hair, silver collar, and pleasant smile. I inclined my back. Divine grace, sir. How may I serve you?
