by Trevol Swift
Bax met her inside of the infirmary, grim and stone-cold sober. “I failed you, my lady. You’ll go nowhere without me anymore.”
“Ms. Hethyr’s room. We’ll get the prioress’s keys to gain us entry if need be.”
“At once, Justicar.”
Jhee stalked over to the prioress. “Now, as for you. Niza’s account mentioned calculations and a board full of equations. Yet, the images I acquired from Sister Elkanah show clean boards.”
“The servants say the words faded away with her transcendence, leaving us with only the accounts of those present as to what was said,” Bax offered.
Jhee fixed her gaze on the prioress who turned away.
“I wiped the boards and hid the images and calculations in the crypts. I knew what it was, but it was so brilliant I didn’t want Saheli’s last great contribution to the world destroyed. But if anyone else found it, it would jeopardize her legacy and consideration as a Canon.”
“I’ll need your master keys for the hostelry. Is every scrap with the sermon?”
The prioress placed them in Jhee’s hand with a sigh. “Yes, I planned to move everything once the weather got better.”
“Saheli wasn’t talking about the pillars of society, she was talking about the pillars of arcana as envisioned by the Middle Pillarists.”
“Now, you see why I hid it. Given Elkanah’s past, likely she knew it for what it was, too. Who knew what she might do with them?”
They left the prioress and made their way to the performers’ quarters. They knocked. Jhee double-checked for wild beasts before using the prioress’s key to unlock the door. The room was sparse with very little personal in it. It had the same air of old smoke and oils as Mr. Zane’s room. It contained a much more extensive collection of burn tools than his. Jhee sniffed among the few toiletries she found. Nothing matching what she smelled before her blow to the head.
“You should see this, Justicar,” Bax said. She abandoned her search to kneel beside Bax and the open footlocker. She gave him a questioning glance. “It was open.”
She hoped the footlocker contained nothing of actual probative value or else she might have to exclude it from her deliberations. “What did you find?”
Bax held up a simple woven shift like the ones worn by the Prospectives. “It is as you suspected, Justicar. Hethyr must be disguising herself as clergy.”
Jhee laid the shift down and scrutinized it. It smelled of cologne. She found a name written on the inside of the collar. “There’s a name written here.”
“Prospectives are responsible for the washing of their own garments and vestments. They wouldn’t want to get them mixed up.”
“Leigh.”
“The drowned boy.”
Jhee dug around the chest to see if she might find one of those bracelets. Nothing. She paused to think. She pulled out her map. “Follow me.”
“Where to, Justicar?” Bax asked.
“To the only places in this warren I haven’t traversed back and forth a dozen times over now.”
Outside Ms. Hethyr’s room, they bumped into the trio of Raigen, Mr. Zane, and Ms. Anshula.
“I went to confront Mr. Pol and reclaim my brother,” Ms. Anshula began.
“Mr. Pol and Akesheem are missing from their rooms,” the poetess said. “It is as I feared, Akesheem shall be the next mysterious death.”
“If he has harmed my brother,” Ms. Anshula said.
Jhee held up a hand. “Do not finish that phrase.”
Jhee attempted to reach her cohort via conch. The signal pip came and went. Ms. Anshula gathered a few weapons from her room. Jhee eyed her.
“A precaution,” she said.
“To my room.”
“What?”
Ms. Anshula’s eyes widened. Jhee held up her hand. “First and foremost, we ensure the safety of those whose location we know. Come with me. I must check on my cohort. Then we formulate a plan.”
Jhee took off, expecting them to follow.
A Game Interrupted
“Will denbe be here soon?” Mirrei asked.
“Soon. Never you mind. She has a great many duties to attend to, but she always returns safe and sound.” Shep placed his next tile down. “Try that, Sprite.”
“An amateurish mistake, Pup.” Mirrei smiled and made her play. She knighted a single capture tile next to his stronghold tile. “Breach.”
Mirrei turned over Shep’s stronghold tile so, the bright side faced up. With that, she had him. He scratched his head and hunched his shoulders. He had missed her stealthy positioning of the capture tile. “Well, would you look at that? You have much improved since we’ve first played.”
“Why do you think I never play her anymore?” Kanto said. He punctuated the statement with a few notes on the lute.
Shep smiled at his two junior spouses. He tried not to let on how worried he was for Jhee. He had not heard from her or Bax in quite a while. Usually, he’d be out there with her. He needed to be here though to protect them. She’d had multiple attempts on her life, yet insisted they were the ones in the greatest danger.
The conchs sat on a table near the one charging station. Not only was the amount of power the station put out barely a trickle it had to be split between three and four devices when Kanto did not monopolize it. He should check for a message from Jhee, but they had a strict no-devices rule during tiles.
Kanto and Mirrei cast frequent, furtive glances at each other throughout the evening. They reminded Shep of him and his sister with how they could bicker one moment then be back to school fish the next. He had not entirely worked out what mischief they had gotten up to. All he knew was they left early with Bax and returned late without him smelling strongly of drink. In the meantime, he had not been able to contact anyone to learn what was happening.
Mirrei laughed which soon degenerated into a coughing fit. Kanto gave her his usual sidelong glance. The coughing fit lasted a few moments longer and sounded wetter than usual. Shep reached out and felt her forehead. If he weren’t so familiar with her condition, he might have attributed her turn for the worse to a hangover. Kanto ceased playing.
“We shouldn’t have gone out today,” Kanto said. His face concerned and perhaps guilty from having doubted her.
“You were right. I am the one confined here, not you.”
While Shep did not say it, he second-guessed letting them leave the room. He should have stood firm against their pressure. Jhee had been worried enough by what was happening at the abbey to insist they always had an escort. With her and Bax indisposed and him obligated to stay in the room, he felt guilty that they had to stay by his side. They were back safe. He supposed that was all that mattered. He had needed the time to himself, too, to ensure if he was in the right frame of mind to protect them.
Rapid footfalls approached. Shep caught a muddle of unfamiliar scents. His tattoo tingled. His ears flattened against head.
“Both of you get to the far side of the bed away from the door.” He motioned for Kanto and Mirrei to place the bed between them and the door. He rushed to his war chest. His war club lay on top since tea with the vizier.
The doorknob rattled and slowly turned.
The Dropped War Club
Jhee and company burst into her rooms. No one sat by the fireplace. A game of tiles remained unfinished on the tables. An unmoving shape lay on the bed. The sigil on her arm ached. Her heart dropped. She rushed forward. A grunt behind her caused her to turn. Raigen lay on the ground, disarmed. Shep stood behind the door, poised to strike again. His hands shook. His chest heaved. Sweat beaded on his face while his breath came in snort-like bursts. A dull red-gold fury glowed in his eyes.
“Shep, they’re with me.” Ms. Anshula inched back, palms wide and empty. She formed the first gesture of an Earth drawing. Jhee stroked the sigil on her arm gently. As she sang a few notes of Shep’s favorite song, his eyes returned to their standard golden color. The war club dropped from his hands. They embraced each other. “It’s all r
ight. I should not have made you worry.”
Jhee pulled against Shep’s embrace. He held tight. Kanto and Mirrei poked their heads out from behind the bed. The tension drained from Jhee.
Hacking came from Mirrei who tried to suppress it. Jhee rubbed Shep’s ears. He indicated his calmness with a curt nod then dropped to his knees. His hands raised in supplication.
Raigen got up, brushed herself off, and shook the remaining vapors from her head. “Justicar,” Raigen said, “please. Time may be running out.”
“A moment please.” Jhee ushered Mirrei to the bed where she removed the pillows they had used as decoys.
Raigen held out her flask. “Try this.”
“Why?” Shep intercepted the flask and had a tentative sniff. He and Jhee had more experience than they cared to admit with mystery flask games. His expression softened. After a taste, his face lit up. “Whoa, that’s delicious. What is that?”
“Tranquility Gold.”
Shep cocked his head back. “I had Tranquility Gold. That wasn’t it.”
“This is the Tranquility Gold served at the head table. Try this. This is probably what you had. And this, this is the Tranquility Gold being sold to merchants.”
Shep tasted the second. He gagged and nearly spit the second out. “Oh, that is disgusting. Bleh. Those aren’t the same. The second’s watered-down garbage.”
“What they sell to the general public is even worse.”
Shep eyed the third cup before taking a sip. He spit it out immediately, wiped his tongue with a napkin, then washed it down with a drink of water. “That was like vinegar. That can’t be from degradation of the harvest due to weather. Those were more what I expected from the first flask. It’s been blended with low-grade wines.”
“We can only hope. The squelchers on my isle used to get very creative.”
Shep waved for Raigen to give him the first flask. He sipped the contents until his grimace went away. “Now, I understand the fuss.”
Watered-down wines. Jhee cast her mind back to the storehouse and her discovery of Pyrmo there. “Could it be for themselves?”
“At this scale I uncovered, it would be a drinker on the order of Lethys and the Rum Toad,” Raigen said.
Jhee guffawed. She supposed Pyrmo or Sister Zalver might have drunk a river of alcohol over the course of years. “Then the culprit must be pocketing the proceeds. Or putting them to other use.”
“Perhaps I should not have sought Mr. Akesheem’s help. It may be what caused those fiends to turn on him.”
“Doesn’t this give Sister Serra motive to kill Prospective Leigh? Tampering with the wine jeopardizes its imperial certification as a noble blend.”
“Either he found out and was going to expose her.”
“Or she learned he sullied the brand which she takes so much pride in.”
Jhee integrated this new component of the machine. Pyrmo as prioress for years had been an excellent position to run such a scheme. Yet, as she had learned, she must not be too quick to eliminate the others. The horticulturist was exceedingly proud of the abbey’s wine. Would she dilute the reputation of the brand? The archivist might, both to embarrass Sister Serra and put the monies into the archives. The prioress and Saheli might have done the same. Hadn’t the smugglers confirmed as much?
“Ms. Anshula, you and Mr. Zane stay here. Raigen, Bax, and I will continue the search for your brother and Mr. Pol.”
“I’m coming with you,” Ms. Anshula said. “Your male possesses a kalacha and the full gift of skin slipping. He can protect your cohort on his own.”
Shep had returned to supplicating kneeling.
“He was a war chaplain and needs to recenter. I’ll say no more of it. Please, I’m entrusting you with the protection of those who mean most to me.”
Jhee took in all the faces in the room, especially the young ones. Her spouses who bore the hopes of their families. The dutiful daughter looking out for her family. The would-be lovers. These people had put themselves in her care. She did not intend to lose a single one. She strode into the hallway. Bax and Raigen fell in behind her.
21 Secrets of the Depths
The Halls of the Tortured and the Drenched
“Another elementalist might have been helpful,” Raigen said.
Their selected party, Jhee, Raigen, and Bax, headed for the central hall. Jhee compared her map to the one she had copied while in the archives. “With as wound up as everyone is, I fear what may happen if the wrong pairs of people interact. Where we find Mr. Pol, we may encounter Ms. Hethyr.”
“Ms. Hethyr?”
“Merely a hypothesis. I suspect perhaps some alliance between Ms. Hethyr and Mr. Pol.” Jhee traced a finger along a faint corridor not shown on Lady Bathsheba’s map. “Now, follow me.”
The archivist had been right about one detail. There had to be an accomplice. Her current surmise led her to believe more than one person perpetrated these crimes. Whatever scheme had befallen Saheli and these young men involved multiple people.
“Justicar, where are we going?”
“The crypts.”
They journeyed back to the Prayer Hall back through the central hall. Jhee flipped through the master keys. None of them seemed to match the locks on either barred door. She returned to the first barred exit from the banquet hall.
“This way leads to the Corrections Hall.”
“According to my examination of these maps, there is an entrance to the crypts at the other end of the hall.”
They stood before the massive door to the Corrections Hall. Jhee jangled the rusted lock which secured the chain wrapped around the handles in place.
“It’s been locked and closed for years,” Raigen said.
“Will that be a problem, Bax?”
“No, my lady.” Bax knelt in front of the lock. Jhee moved the glow torch closer so he could see better. Bax reached into his waist pouch and pulled out a zippered kit. He rubbed his chin, then produced a pipette and vial from the wallet. A thin trail of smoke rose from the lock as he piped a few drops of liquid into its keyhole. Jhee’s eyes watered. Her pores burned. She covered her nose and mouth as the foul odor reached her. Bax placed an awl in the lock’s keyhole. A solid hammer blow shattered the whole lock. The chains slid to the ground.
Raigen gave Jhee a confused look.
“Bax came before the judgment block as a thief,” Jhee said.
“To spare me a more traditional punishment”—Bax held up his hands and showed them off front and back—“the Justicar paid my fines and took me into her service.”
“Seems as though I am not the only one who wants to keep their body parts intact,” Raigen said.
Jhee pushed open the doors to the Corrections Hall. The miasma of dust and decay greeted them. An eerie silence hung about the place. They crept forward as anything else seemed disrespectful. An automated light guttered to life then returned to power conservation mode. She swept her glow torch over the exhibits. They pushed forward.
“I was born to murder the world,” a recorded voice blared from a loudspeaker.
Jhee yelped but had a cypher at the ready. The three faced out in combat stances. Ominous, red light flared in the nearest exhibit. The shadowed forms shuddered and moved. It took a moment to realize the display was automated.
Horrible, garish creatures glowered at them from frescoed reliefs. Carved hands clawed from pits in the ground as if beseeching the passerby for deliverance.
Figures painted like barbarians, their faces formed into the most horrid expressions, wielded wicked-looking weapons as they disemboweled or decapitated warriors who tried to fight them. Their tongues lolled, and malachite eyes looked lustily at captured spouses and children.
They formed up their ranks as they continued. “You said you suspected an alliance between Ms. Hethyr and Mr. Pol.”
“The performers’ route provides a perfect trafficking route, and her tattoos tie her to local gangs. Mr. Pol has access to a steady stream of young men via
the camps and the abbey. Ms. Hethyr might even be the Mist Abbess. Also, who’s to say the Mist Abbess must be a woman? Anshula proved with some basic makeup and the right demeanor, people saw what they wanted to see.”
Further along, the next exhibit gave the dangers of the Baqairu blood cults who, led by the Mist Abbess, had resolved to end the Flower Wars and bring back the days of the hunt and battle through sacrifice. The priest figures in their headdresses and masks cut and ripped hearts from bare chests and sucked the marrow from their victims’ bones. Priestesses sucked the faces off victims and stole their breath or used fire and godspark to cleanse their bodies. The scene she had stumbled on in the wood had made a hedonistic mock of it.
Another voice-over kicked in when they reached the next exhibit. “The Final Sword. Even beyond the Baqairu death cultists, were the doomsday cultists. They wanted to end all existence, and their instruments of destruction were artificers. All who practiced magic in numbers saw how the lands and the areas around them suffered from excess cyphering. The Middle Pillarists known as Doombringers, based on the forbidden sequences from Thaedra’s portfolio, innovated particularly devastating sequences that when used by male artificers left miles of destruction in their wake. They made no effort to preserve the environment. They encouraged male and female artificers alike to burst cypher. A process which often killed them and anyone in the area immediately around them. The area remained deadly for years afterward. Not a plant would grow, not a creature could flourish. To even move through the area, one could not survive. The land itself was hungry and drank the very life from any living thing unlucky enough to enter it.”
A reverse spirit battery of sorts.
“My lady, what do you make of this?” Bax asked. He held his flashlight over a giant, rectangular void in the dust in front of the Middle Pillarist exhibit. Jhee peered closer. The pattern in the dust came from something woven. Nearby a discarded Middle Pillarist prayer cloth and glow orb stands had been kicked aside. Brown droplets flecked the ground. Ripped bits of fabric and scourge thorns scattered among them. The minute scratches on Sister Elkanah’s arms and shoulders flashed in her mind.
