The captain frowned at her, mouth tight. “We have less than three days until the Ageless and the Citadel take matters into their own hands. What’s so important about some defective soap?”
“Sir, I can’t explain at the moment,” Thea said, hearing the edge of frustration in her voice. She shook her head, remembering Delilah’s odd reaction and the presence of the gang at the market. “I just know it’s important.”
“Soap?” Dina asked, expression brightening. “What about it?”
“It turned a merchant’s head blue, and stained his hands blue as well,” Thea told her.
“Do you have some of it?” Dina asked. “What?” she asked Ware, in response to his hard stare. “I’m waiting for the results of my tests on whatever killed Edmund Anderson, and you haven’t provided me with anything else to do. Soap that turns skin blue will keep me busy for a while.”
“Here,” Thea said, handing the jar over. “I’ve given some to my mother as well to see if she could test what was in it.”
“Then I will pay her a visit, too, and compare notes,” Dina said, sounding positively cheerful.
“Just try not to buy the entire shop again,” Iason said in a dry tone. “You used about three months’ worth of expenses last time.”
“You’re welcome to come with me,” Dina said. “Caroline has one of the best selections of medicinal herbs in the entire city.”
“Indeed?” Iason’s expression changed, becoming more focused.
“Well, at least I’ll know where to find you,” Ware said, shaking his head. “Thea, don’t take too long with the herbalist.”
“No, sir,” Thea agreed. “One of the furnaces which Senior Sergeant Sutter identified is close to the market, so the market won’t be too far out of the way.”
“There’s also the stall holder who passed the fake coin at Wheatcroft,” Sutter said, before Ware could dismiss them all.
“I hadn’t forgotten,” Ware said, brow twitching as he looked at the Senior Sergeant.
“No, sir, of course not,” Sutter said, the faintest of smiles around his mouth. “I’ll ask a pair of the Watchmen downstairs to find her and bring her here.”
“Good,” Ware said, “and then you and I can speak with her later. Well, what are you all waiting for? There’s plenty to do.” The captain glared down at the enormous pile of papers at his desk.
Taking that as dismissal, Thea headed towards the door along with the others.
Niath followed her back out of the building to the horses.
“A herbalist,” he said. “Like an apothecary?”
“No. Nothing like,” Thea said, getting onto Hern’s back again and patting the glossy neck in front of her. “Anyone can call themselves a herbalist. It takes skill and knowledge to be an apothecary.”
“And your mother is an apothecary?” he asked, turning his horse to ride alongside her.
“She is. One of the best,” Thea said. There was no boasting, it was a simple fact.
“Did she ever consider becoming a physician?” Niath asked. He seemed to have a never-ending curiosity.
“Not as far as I know.” Thea tilted her head, considering that. Her mother had always seemed perfectly content with the skills and knowledge that she had. And it would have been difficult, if not impossible, for her to retrain as a physician when they had moved to the city, fleeing from the Ageless. Their neighbours and Caroline March’s customers had accepted the false names that Thea and her mother had carried, and the false history that her mother had created for them. But a physician had to be a member of a guild, and they tended to make enquiries into their members’ pasts. And, with an Ageless-born daughter, her mother would not have wanted to risk any unnecessary scrutiny. They had travelled halfway across the world to escape the Ageless, and her mother had set her considerable will and determination to keeping her daughter safe from Conscription.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” Niath said, startling Thea out of her thoughts. “You looked sad.”
“It’s not your fault,” Thea told him.
“Thank you.” He put his hand on his heart, as if she had given him a gift.
She stared for a moment. Sometimes she did not understand him at all.
“Have you been to Brightfield market before?” she asked. A deliberate change of subject.
“Once or twice. When I was exploring the area.”
“You don’t explore anymore?”
“Not Brightfield, no,” Niath said. “I haven’t had time to do much exploring lately.”
There was something underneath his tone that Thea couldn’t quite place. Irritation. Anger. Frustration.
She wondered what it was that had prevented him from following his exploration. He had seemed intent on exploring the entire city, turning up in unexpected places when she had first met him. And he was a Citadel mage. Not much could stop him from doing as he pleased.
Unless the senior mage at the Citadel was keeping him busy, of course. She had met Mage Waters only once, and that was more than enough. The elderly human mage carried the icy air of old magic around him, confident in his power and authority. All the same, Thea knew that Niath possessed far more power than Mage Waters could ever dream of having. And could not help wondering if the old human knew it.
And if the human mage knew that the most powerful mage Thea had ever met was not human. Niath normally kept his human aspect firmly in place, his other nature carefully and completely hidden away so that even her sharper senses could not detect it. But she knew it was there. She had known early on in her acquaintance with Niath that there was something else under his skin. Hiandar. One of the most powerful of the night kind. Powerful enough to give the Ageless cause for concern. And living within the Citadel, apparently accepted as one of their own mages.
Thea shook her head slightly. The inner workings of the Citadel and its mages were, thankfully, not her problem. She had enough to worry about.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Although the rest of the market was busy, Delilah Soames was not at her stall. In fact, it looked like she had not been there for a while. The mouldy, ancient herbs smelled even worse than they had when Thea had first visited.
The small workshop that Delilah had was closed, wooden shutters in place.
Thea hesitated, then opened the shutters up. She did not think that Delilah was hiding inside, but it was a possibility.
The workshop was empty. The shelves were neatly stacked with goods, the workbench surface clear. No sign that Delilah had left in a hurry, or been forced out.
“We’ll need to find out where she lives,” Thea said, closing the shutters again. “After we’ve looked at the furnaces.”
The furnace next to Brightfield market was little more than a heap of charred stones, with misshapen bits of slag metal mixed with cold charcoal. It looked like it had not been used for several years, and had certainly not been used recently to forge the Archon’s coins.
Thea made a note on the list that Sutter had given her, then looked at the remaining addresses, hoping that inspiration would strike. She recognised one of the addresses from her training days, and dismissed it as a possibility. The furnace was close to a tavern and a brothel. There would be too many people on the streets around it. She thought that the forgers, whoever they were, would want privacy for their efforts.
That left four, all of which had a question mark next to them, as if Sutter had not been entirely sure there was a furnace there. The first was not far away, and in the midst of what she remembered as being a thicket of thorny fruit bushes. As it was not yet harvest season for the fruit, there might not be many people around.
She said as much to Niath as they got back on their horses and headed for the next furnace site.
“There are fruit bushes within the city?” he asked.
She bit her lip to hide a smile. It was not the reaction she had expected. But, remembering the food he had given her, and his apparently endless curiosity, it made sense.
&n
bsp; “Not many. But, yes. The ground is too rocky for any crops or livestock to graze, so the fruit bushes have been allowed to grow for years,” she told him. She remembered seeing human children with stained fingers and mouths, having spent a happy morning or afternoon picking fruit from the plants. Carefree and happy. She had envied them. She could not remember a time when she had been so carefree. Even before Theo had died.
The thicket of dark green leaves and ancient, twisted branches had been enclosed with rough wooden fences. She and Niath left the horses with Sam and ducked through the nearest fence, the mage nimble even in his robes.
He was looking ahead of them with an expression of wonder.
“These plants are ancient,” he said, almost reverently. “Who tends to them?”
“As far as I know, no one does,” Thea said, her eyes on the ground.
The earth immediately under the fruit bushes was tangled with young shoots and last year’s leaves. There were strong-smelling herbs under the old branches. They carried a scent of decay strong enough that they were all Thea could smell. Her mother had some of that herb in her shop, carefully contained in jars with sealed lids. It was useful, her mother had said, but a little of it went a long way. Thea could not immediately remember its name. It did not belong here, though. Its normal habitat was grassland, not tucked underneath another, older plant. Someone had put the pungent plants there deliberately.
She could not think of an innocent reason someone would want to plant such a strong-smelling herb. The ground around it, and under the fruit bushes, looked undisturbed.
Outside the shadow of the branches was tough, wiry grass, and the faintest suggestion of a trail leading through the grass, along the side of the thicket, heading away from the nearest building. Perhaps made by the same person who had planted the herb.
She followed the trail, wondering who had made it. Niath was a pace or two behind her, moving so silently it was possible to forget he was there.
The fence gave way to the remnants of a farmhouse, the ancient stone walls mostly crumbled away. The trail led along the wall and then disappeared.
Following an impulse, Thea put her hand on the old wall and removed it at once. The stones were hot. Not just warmed by the sun, but properly hot.
Through the pungent scent of the herb, she became aware of another smell. Burning. And a metallic taste in the air. For anyone with a less acute sense of smell, all they would notice was the herb.
She looked back to find Niath nearby, looking at the wall with a frown.
“This is the place?” he asked.
“I think so. This way,” Thea said, following the trail until it ended.
The trail stopped when the wall did. There was no path leading into the thicket. But there were faint scuff marks on the cracked wooden fence that led away from the wall. Thea ducked through the fence, noting that part of the post had been worn smooth. Just at the point where someone might put their hand to steady themselves. The sort of wear that would only happen over time, and with repeated use.
The wall at this side of the old farmhouse was still more or less in one piece. Certainly tall enough that Thea could not see around it. The trail was clearer here, as they moved away from the fruit bushes.
As she made her way along the side of the house, there was the faintest sound from the other side of the wall. What might have been a shuffle of feet. No human would have heard it.
She stopped at once, and looked back to Niath, putting a finger to her lips to ask for silence.
His eyes were shading to dark, head tilted as if he was listening. He nodded once in response.
Thea turned back and made her way to the end of the wall, crouching down before peering around the corner. Niath settled beside her, just behind her shoulder, close enough that she could feel his warmth.
In front of the ruined building was a small, open space that had been grass until recently. The grass had been trampled and worn away by people coming and going, and possibly a cart or two, judging by the ruts in the ground.
There was an ancient-looking pony tied up in the shade of some tall, tangled shrubs at what might have been an animal trough. It was an unremarkable brown colour and was dozing, resting one of its back legs, the packs across its back apparently empty.
Even as Thea looked, a man came out of the house carrying a small leather sack. It was laid over his shoulder and seemed heavy, from the way it was being carried, and the snort the pony gave when it was added to its packs.
The man turned back to the house and Thea saw his face. A stranger. Somewhere in his middle years, clean shaven, with close-cropped hair that might have been black. He was wearing a leather apron of the sort that blacksmiths and metal workers used, his shoes coated with what looked like soot.
The man went back into the building, showing no signs of having seen them, and Thea heard the faint sounds of metal clinking. It sounded like coins striking together.
She rose to her feet, one hand going to the crossbow on instinct, and took a step forward.
The pony gave another snort, this one sounding like surprise.
The sound of metal clinking together stopped.
Thea took another step forward, trying to see into the building. The wall was still about her head height, and she couldn’t see clearly past it.
She heard a low curse and had the impression of movement on the other side of the wall. Towards her. Then the slap of flesh against stone, as if someone had put their hands on the other side of the wall.
The wall trembled.
“Back,” she said, giving Niath a shove in his chest, and taking her own advice, running away from the farmhouse wall.
Not a moment too soon.
The wall tumbled down where they had been standing, revealing the room beyond. The cone shape of a furnace, and the man with the leather apron scowling at them from just inside the newly fallen wall. He had the sort of broad shoulders and muscled arms that came from hard work. More than strong enough to push an already weak wall down onto a curious Watch Officer. But what really held Thea’s attention was the long knife in his hand.
“Stop in the name of the Watch!” Thea ordered, fingers finding a crossbow bolt. Telling people to stop didn’t normally work.
The man grinned, showing yellowing teeth, and threw the knife at her.
It was a surprisingly accurate throw.
She flung herself to one side, hearing Niath do the same, both of them moving with a speed that no human could match. The knife clattered to the ground between them.
The man was running away already. He might be strong, but he was still human, and his fastest speed was not fast enough to outrun Thea.
She raised the crossbow and let the bolt fly. It smacked against his shoulder, releasing a shower of vivid yellow paint.
The man kept running.
Thea muttered a curse under her breath and took a stride forward, intending to follow him. With her Ageless-born strength, she should be able to catch the human. She stopped when she glanced inside the building.
There was a body there. Tucked against the wall that had been pushed down. An old woman, sightless eyes staring up at the sky, a pool of blood on her chest giving an idea of how she might have died. And Thea knew who she was.
“Delilah Soames,” Thea said, and stowed her crossbow, drawing her whistle instead and sending out a long burst. Even at the edge of the district, someone should hear the call for help.
“The herbalist?” Niath asked.
“Yes. No wonder she hadn’t been to her workshop,” Thea said, moving closer. She remembered the vivid life the woman had carried, despite her age. And someone had left her here, uncovered, not even bothering to close her eyes in death. As if Delilah had meant nothing. Had been nothing. The woman might have been a cheat with her wares, but she had not deserved this end.
“I thought she was selling blue soap?” Niath asked. “What was she doing with the forgers?”
“A good question. I don’t know.” Thea
turned to scowl in the direction that the man had fled. She didn’t try to follow him, a sense of obligation to the dead holding her still. “Hopefully the Watch can find him.”
“That paint had magic in it.”
“Yes. Odilia makes the dye for us. It can only be removed by a mage,” Thea said absently.
“And everyone in the city knows where the paint comes from,” Niath finished. His mouth had curved up in a smile. “Good.”
Thea had reached what had been the doorway into the house. The roof was long gone, just a few partial beams overhead.
It looked like whoever had built the furnace had used some of the stones from the house walls to do so. They were a similar colour and shape to the walls.
“The furnace looks new,” she commented. “Or, at least, not ancient.”
She continued looking around the house and saw a plain table, little more than a plank of wood across mismatched legs, and a low, stone bench. There was a water trough in here, too. And some tools and pieces of equipment that she recognised from their visit to the mint. Everything a craftsman would need for metal work. And for fashioning coins that looked like the Archon’s currency.
A Watch whistle caught her attention. Someone had heard her call and was on their way.
“What is that?” Niath asked. He was pointing to something on the table. It looked like small bundles of grasses, but Thea could not be sure.
“I don’t know,” Thea answered, staying where she was.
“You’re not going to look more closely?”
“No. I think Dina and Iason will want to look at this.”
“I see,” Niath said, and took a deliberate step back. It had not taken him long to have a healthy respect for Dina’s temper.
Thea moved along the outside of the wall, trying to get a better view of Delilah’s body.
“She hasn’t been dead long, I think,” she said.
Another Watch whistle sounded. Three short bursts. Asking for more directions.
She answered with two bursts, and moved away from the wall, looking in the direction the whistle had come from.
False Dawn: Ageless Mysteries - Book 2 Page 16
