“You come to Sabine’s aid far faster than to mine,” Pierre said to his margrave. The man stood at the edge of the woods with his wolf at his side, his clothes somehow pristine even in the damp grasses. “You have not been at the château since the meeting and yet you come within a day at her call.”
“You have not seen me at the château,” Elwin corrected with a grin. “Should you have need of me I will be at your side. And who do you think brought them to your dungeons?”
“Ah. Did you mask the scent?”
“I did. I do not know if I will be able to teach you such magia, but perhaps Rhianu can if you stay for a time with us. Perhaps before you become duc proper?”
To learn more magic, things that could help him keep his secrets, was temping. “I will think about it, Grandpère. Thank you for the offer.”
“We are family, Pierre. You are always welcome.”
“And who are you, my lord?” the woman asked. She stayed close to Sabine, the two women walking arm in arm and coming up behind the men. “Can you tell us more about where we will live?”
“I am Lord Elwin Spadé, dear lady. I am here on behalf of Lady Morgaine. The town of Ffon is both in Clandestina and in Faery, the two planes merging as one so high in the mountains. You will be safe there, unknown, and protected. We will travel through Faery to reach the destination quickly.”
“Lady Morgaine?” Pierre asked. “Why does Sister have any say over who may live in Ffon?”
“Were you not aware? She wed the margrave Bastoni not long ago, Midspring Night. They are on their honeymoon right now. It is why I believe she has not met with you yet, though she wrote Rhianu to allow their entrance.”
“I was not.” Pierre had met with the margrave at his birthday celebration in mid-Prima, but the margrave had said nothing about being engaged to Morgaine.
“You had been ill, was my understanding, and that is why you were not invited when it was realized you were at the castle. But you would have been.”
“I was quite occupied at that time… It is good to know I was remembered though.”
Elwin clasped Pierre’s hand, hugged Sabine, and lead the three now-living fay through the forest. After a few steps they were no longer visible.
“Morgaine is the Margravine Bastoni,” he said to himself. “I do hope I will meet with her soon then. Now, I have some business in town, my lady. I will of course walk you to the château and—”
“Nonesense! You will be wasting time by doing that and it is late already. I will be just fine. And Aranea is with me. I am not unused to the night, Your Grace.”
Though it felt ungentlemanly Pierre could not deny this. It had, after all, been Sabine that found the corpses, even if Elwin helped to bring them back to the dungeons.
They parted ways, Sabine returning to the château and Pierre making his way to the city. It was a cool night, with few clouds, and the third quarter moon hanging large in the sky. Halfway there Pluta found him, meowing to alert him that she was near if he needed her, then disappearing into the shadows again.
She truly was a perfect familiar, Pierre thought with a smile. It was a comfort to have her near. He would make sure to share his breakfast with her tomorrow.
Pulling his cloak up around himself the lord of death returned to the smaller streets and alleys where Lizzy had found the fortune-teller. Shops that advertised they would only open after midnight, buildings that seemed abandoned. Such places were known for their silence, everyone taking care of themselves before any other, and mistrusting of officials. If a suspicious death occurred, it would be kept quiet and often assumed that the dead had deserved it.
He wanted to find someone who would.
After exiting a particularly long alley he found himself before a large courtyard, a grand metal fence separating most of the area from its surroundings. An imposing building sat in the center, illuminated by twice the amount of lamps as on the main street, making sure that every inch of the plain dirt courtyard was visible.
The prison.
The chief doctor, Augustin Raoul, would be here, his investigation still on-going. Perhaps Pierre did not wish to waste any more of those dear investigator’s time and the doctor would be found dead tomorrow morning in his cell?
He straightened his jacket and pulled down his collar, allowing his face to be seen before walking to the gate and waiting to be greeted. Pluta came up by his side and pressed up against his legs.
“Monsieur, bon nuit!” a guard finally called. He came over from his post, but did not yet open the gate. “Have you business here this night?”
“I am His Grace Pierre Salvador. A prisoner was brought in at my pleasure several days ago.”
“Oh, Your Grace, pardon my ignorance, I did not recognize you! The prisoner is likely still in the holding cells. Do you wish to discuss his imprisonment or to speak with him?”
“I have several questions for him. He is Augustin Raoul, the previous chief of the hospital.”
“Of course, of course.
The duc was allowed in and Pluta followed, puffing her fur and meowing before running ahead. Pierre looked to the guard and picked up his pace, following his familiar.
“Oh, pardon, Your Grace… how do you know where to go…”
Death was present. Pierre tightened his grip on his cane and walked faster, paying no mind to the guard who was trying to keep up. Though he had just moments ago planned to stage a suicide, giving the doctor the satisfaction of a true suicide had not been in his plans.
“Quickly, open the door,” he ordered, finding the cells. The doctor had hung himself. He was still swinging from the sheets he had used as a rope, eyes wide in the dark, his mouth opening and shutting, arms twitching, the body trying to survive after the soul had already parted.
The guard did, swearing as it took three tries to unlock the door. “Let me get a doctor,” he said before running back, either not knowing or forgetting that Pierre was a doctor as well.
Good, this would be easier without a witness. Pierre unsheathed the dagger from his cane and cut the body down, letting it fall without ceremony. Part of him wanted to just let the man stay as he was, but death had been the easy way out for him. No trial, no humiliation, no knowledge that everyone would known of his crimes and the public condemnation. All of those should happen, and only then would he be allowed death. That would satisfy Pierre.
He knelt beside the twitching corpse and pricked his finger with the tip of his dagger through his glove, letting a drop of blood sink into the fabric. He re-sheathed his blade and with a grimace touched the doctor’s mouth.
Something was wrong. He felt the soul of the man, but the flesh was not the same. There was a poison in his system, still wrecking havoc with the nerves and causing the twitching. It felt familiar.
Pierre frowned. He could neutralize it and return the man’s life… but this felt like the poison he had ingested a few weeks ago and that gave him pause. Were they connected? This could merely be a popular new poison that the doctor took and hung himself after finding the effects not fast enough to his liking. Or was this more and an assassin was staging a murder as a suicide?
The body was still now, gazing out into the darkness.
“Your Grace, please, I am the nurse here tonight!”
Too late now. Without a word Pierre stepped aside as the guard returned with another. She knelt by the man, touched his neck, saw the marks of hanging, and shook her head.
“It must not have been too long ago,” she said. “He is warm. Thank you, Your Grace, for so quickly trying to get him down and taking the rope off, but it was too late.”
“Yes, I could see this,” he replied.
“We will inform his kin in the morning and arrange a funeral.”
“He was likely going to be found guilty,” the guard added. “We had evidence about what he had been doing, witnesses too. This just saved us more work.”
Pierre almost laughed.
Twenty
Pierre once
more read over the missive he had received from the prison that morning. It confirmed there had been enough evidence that the incarceration at His Grace’s pleasure would have held for the chief if he had been alive. For a year and a day Augustin Raoul would have been held there and his deeds published so that it may be known what he did. If Pierre wished for a longer sentence or death then a trial would be arranged and a judge would decide the appropriate sentencing. Similarly, if the accused claimed his innocence he could demand a trial after the year and day. If the accused won he would then be compensated for his time, and the stain on the duc’s reputation would be great.
There would still be a pamphlet written up about what Augustin had done: evidence against him, interviews with his staff, and the information that he had hanged himself shortly after his arrest. It would hopefully quell those that thought similar things and send a message throughout Piques.
Now Pierre needed to know if Feuilles or his sons had been involved in the attempt on his life and if there was any connection with Augustin, the hospital, and the poison he recognized.
Unlike with the chief he had no evidence or witnesses, only a feeling and a possible motive in rumors that Comte Frederick wanted to be duc. Pierre could try and have the comte and his sons imprisoned at his pleasure, but doing so to fellow nobles was a far more difficult issue than with a subject of the kingdom. The noble could appeal right away, their imprisonment being such that they were confined to their homes and not a cell or dungeon. It would give them time to destroy evidence, come up with alibis, find allies. Without solid proof it was not done. And that he did not have.
It was possible Comte Feuilles was involved and lords Jourdain and Renaud were not, of course, but that seemed unlikely. If both were intelligent men, and Aimé would not have had them as advisors otherwise, then they would have realized what it meant when their father sent them both to be advisors and had even now not sent for either to return.
“Pluta, my dear,” Pierre said, folding the note and putting it into his drawer. His familiar meowed back that she was there and listening. Pierre tried not to roll his eyes. “I have a request of you. A meeting with the advisors will take place tonight after dinner. Can you find a way into Lords Jourdain and Renaud’s rooms? Try to find anything suspicious or questionable.”
Pluta poked her head out from under the desk, blinking up at Pierre before jumping up into his lap and agreeing to help.
***
“I have been somewhat preoccupied in the past several days,” Pierre began. His advisors, save Elwin, were all sitting in the same chairs they had had in the first meeting only two weeks past. Without the margrave and the large gap between Elwin and the rest of the advisors they all seemed more of a team to be working on a common goal. That they only seemed to work together well without Elwin was a worry to add to all the current commotion. “I apologize for my distance.”
“How is the girl, Your Grace?” Tibault asked. “She is healthy now, I hope.”
“Yes, Lord Tibault. The surgery went well, as has her recovery. Alise is getting ready to leave tomorrow with her parents.”
“Good. Father wrote me and wishes for you to know that he supports your decision with the hospital. He will in fact also be inspecting those around Bladeren. He is not a doctor himself, but my uncle is, and Father says he has picked up a few things over the years.”
“That is an excellent idea. Do tell him to contact me if he so desires, I welcome his input.”
“And I have been keeping up with the goings on of our hospital,” Vivien said. It was a task that His Grace had given him after their talk a few days past. “Adam Roland has been instated as the chief doctor of the hospital in the stead of Augustin Raoul, who died last Iunday night. He was found having committed suicide. Several members of staff have also been fired, or outright quit. Others have on the other hand been promoted and a number of new doctors and nurses are being interviewed for positions. Is there anything you would like to oversee personally, Your Grace?”
“Not yet. Keep me updated, and perhaps a list of all those that no longer work there. And set up a meeting with Doctor Adam.”
“Of course. On your desk is already a list from a secretary, I believe Adam’s wife, that was brought for you. There are two columns, and those on the left correspond to many that have quit or were fired. Many on the right were promoted to fill those spots.”
“Thank you.”
“And who has decided this firing and promoting?” Renaud asked. “Was it Adam Roland?”
“Yes, I believe he himself did it, seeing as he is the new chief of the hospital,” Vivien said.
“But he is a surgeon, no? He does not know every department and person in that hospital, not in the same way Augustin did. Nor would he be impartial like a third party. He goes on the notes of his wife, a secretary, and not a doctor or even a nurse, yes?”
“I do not—”
“You did say those who quit or were fired were all on one side of her list. Those promoted on the other. I imagine the rest will follow suit soon.”
“I have to agree,” Charlot said. “That seems to be the case.”
“Would it be impossible, Your Grace, that she decided to list people who she disagreed with, regardless of their prowess as physicians? Or those that, while disagreed with the chief, said nothing because they felt it not their place and could not risk their jobs?”
Knowing what he knew of the fay… Pierre picked up the lists and looked over them. He had asked only for those with very strong feelings towards the fée and fay. But he had trouble believing that everyone in the left column would allow Alise to die. He had intended to use this to look into the staff himself, not have them all fired without inquiry. He did not hold it against Adam that he believed his wife, but checking things over again would be prudent.
“It would not be impossible,” Pierre agreed. “Very well, you raise a good point, Lord Renaud. I will double check those that have been fired and those that have been promoted. Those that have quit will, of course, stay gone.”
“That is all I ask.”
***
Ladies Cordelia and Perdita decided that since the men would have meetings every fortnight, the women would as well. A less often used sitting room was chosen; a table set up to be laden with tea, sweets, and fruits; and invitations hand-written and sent. They discussed this in person with the other women at dinner, even extending the offer to Lady Rhianu through her daughter for when the margravine was at the château. Lady Sabine was the only one who outright declined, though not unkindly, stating that she was not one for gossip.
They would meet an hour after dinner, the other ladies having a prior engagement already for the evening, and Maiolaine’s children then needing to be put to bed as well. It was a bit of a disappointment that the two meetings would not begin at the same time, but that could be arranged another time.
Síofra and Elizabeth were first to arrive right as the last of the servants setting up the after-dinner foods was leaving. Both wore different clothes than they had at dinner, less constricting and formal, to be worn in the evening amid family.
“Oh this looks wonderful! Cordelia, Perdita, you have outdone yourselves.”
Lady Maiolaine came into the room soon after, also wearing different clothes, though these no less formal for her. “Bastien decided he was too old to go to bed at the same time as his sisters. Of course he could not mention this to me earlier and wished to argue while refusing to put on his nightclothes. I finally told him he had in fact stayed up half an hour longer than his sisters during the argument and that was enough that he relented.”
“You may regret that tomorrow when he tries to stay up again and this time knows well enough not to argue.”
“Ah, but he is not wrong. Perhaps some time awake after his sisters would be good for him. Vivien wishes to begin his lessons in politics soon as well. At least he still allows me to hug him whenever I wish.”
She sat, accepting a dessert from Cordel
ia. “Blancmange for the wife of a blancmage?”
“Oui!” the future comtesse said with a laugh. “I thought it amusing.”
“And clever,” Perdita added. “Though I told her it was hardly clever.”
“I even wanted some before you arrived,” Lizzy said. “But she said I was a blancwitch and therefore had to had something else!” Her own dessert was iced-cream sat between two thin wafers.
“You clearly already had too much time on your hands to prepare this.” Cordelia stuck her nose up as if it bothered her, but took her own ladyfinger-raspberry tort with a smile.
“I thought it was very clever,” Síofra said. Her dessert was fairy bread, something she had never had before, and quite liked.
“See! Merci, thank you for appreciating my hard work. In fact, lady Síofra, feel free to call me Delia if you so wish.”
“Oh, thank you! I do not have another name, but if you come up with something I will gladly listen.”
“And what was this prior engagement that had all of you making our carefully laid plans fall apart?” Perdita asked. “It is only luck that we had enough ice that these are still chilled.”
“You sent notes in the late afternoon for a gathering after dinner, it was hardly carefully laid, Cousin,” Maiolaine replied with a smile. “Though next time things shall be moved about and we will be here on time.”
“And they were dancing lessons,” Síofra said.
“Oh, come now,” Cordelia replied. “At this hour? We know it is far more than dancing… Tell me, is it thrilling to hold a blade?”
Elizabeth took a bite of the wafer before confessing. “It can be.”
Cordelia grinned, shaking her head and her curls bouncing with the movement. “I cannot imagine! I do love to hear of it, but do not ask me to come watch.” She shivered at the very thought.
“I carry a knife,” Perdita said softly. When her lady looked at her with wide, scandalized, and excited eyes, she ducked her head. “I thought you knew, Delia!”
Delphinium- or A Necromancer's Home Page 20
