by Beth Lyons
“You know who probably likes riddles,” I said aloud. “Even Weymoor.” And I might be able to trick her into telling me where the library is.
A gray-haired woman with a heavy basket smiled at me as she passed. “A friend can ease the mind’s burden, Vox Swift.”
“Wait, what?” I moved to stop the woman.
“I’m sorry?” She pulled her basket close.
“Just now, you said something. Something about burdens.”
“I did not! I don’t even know you.” She started forward, but I jumped in front of her. I said, “Wisdom, is that you?” I’d only met her the one time, but Even’s other half manifested as an old woman.
“Let me pass,” said the woman, “or I’ll scream.”
Her words made me realize that I must seem crazy or addled. The woman’s next words cemented that. “Get help, girl! Go home or find a healer.”
“Sorry, got confused,” I mumbled though I’d heard the words, including my name, plain enough. The woman nodded and continued down the sidewalk.
Yes, go see Even. It’s the best plan at this point. Only one problem: I had no idea where she lived, and she wasn’t listed in the Swift’s address book. I went to the orphanage, but she wasn’t there so I left a note and started for home. Like as not she’d be at my house anyway. Eating my food.
As I crossed Brewer’s Ditch I thought to stop by Dewey’s apartment. He might not be in; he might not be alone, but I hadn’t heard from him all day. What was I getting for my twenty silver?
“Saved me the trouble of writing you a note, Vox.” Dewey opened the door with a smile. “Deliver it to yourself, why don’t ya?” He playfully punched my shoulder.
“Have you been sampling your goods?” I tapped my nose. “Trying a little of the feel good powder?”
“Nah, elf. Though I should. Got something worth celebrating. Hell, Thornbury should be celebrating. The angel of death has passed by. And this fae is still standing.”
I checked his pupils; he appeared to be sober. “I came by,” I said, “to hear the latest.”
“Yeah-yeah, I’ll get to that. You heard of Farrell, right?”
“Feral? Feral what?”
“Farrell who. He’s a bad guy, Vox. Assassin type.” Dewy leaned in and whispered, “Killer cleric.”
Laughter burst from my lips. “Nice one, Dew. Had me going for a sec. ‘Killer cleric’.” I moved a lump of wrinkled clothes from the armchair and sat down.
“No joke. Dude is bad news. And he doesn’t like me.” Dewey shuddered. “Word is, he was here on business, but now he’s gone!” He clapped his hands together. “Gone!”
“Imagine that I haven’t heard of Farrell. Enlighten me.”
“You need someone gone, and you got the gold to have it done right, you call Farrell.” Dewey flopped on his couch. “Stone. Cold. Magic.” He nodded.
I found myself nodding in response. “I’m a rich guy, maybe not so able-bodied anymore, and I’m angry at someone.” Dewey and I were nodding in unison. I said, “I call for Farrell.” Pause. “How do I call for Farrell?”
“You talk to a guy who talks to a guy who knows someone who knows Farrell. But you don’t want to call for him, Vox. He would not want to talk to you.”
“He got a problem with elves?”
“He doesn’t like good guys.” Dewey jabbed his finger at me. “You, Vox Swift, are a good guy. Girl. He would bite you in half.”
“How’d you piss him off?”
Dewey rubbed his head. “You know how it is. Heat of the moment, sometimes things are said or done, and—”
“You screwed his wife?”
“Let’s forget we talked about Farrell.” Dewey gnawed on his thumbnail. “Seriously Vox.”
I filed the killer cleric away for another day. “So what do you know?”
He seemed relieved to be on to a new subject. “I know your girl was juggling a couple of guys.”
“Which one?”
“Which what?”
Keeping the frustration from my voice I said, “Which girl?”
Dewey didn’t try to mask his frustration. “The dead one. Helena. Sheesh.”
“Have I not told you about Fara? Coins on the eyes. Fire trap. Didn’t I see you this morning? That was today, right?”
“I am going to get you some water.” He walked to the kitchen muttering, “Vox Swift losing her mind.”
Following him into his tiny kitchen I said, “Fine. Let’s talk about Helena. She had more than one admirer?” I flipped open my notebook.
“Edjrest took her to his nest a few times.” Before I could speak he said, “Son, not father.”
“His nest?”
“Sure. Little place.” Dewey waved his hand. “Treefall, maybe? One of those places where working class are being forced out by bourgeois types looking for an “authentic” experience. So many kinds of wrong, Vox.”
I smiled with my head down. How long is the revolutionary Dewey going to be around? “Get me the address, yeah? I’ll wanna check it out. So,” I made a circle on the blank page, “Farley, Beltine, anyone else that Helena was seeing?”
“That’s the current lineup – as far as I can find. She’s got a past though. I keep hearing rumors that she was married once. Ran away at 15, got hitched. Father dragged her back soon enough, put her under lock and key.”
My head shot up at the news. “Where did you hear that? I need that confirmed.” If old man Edjrest heard about that he might have axed the adoption. But that’s not a motive for him to kill Helena. That’d be a motive for Helena to try to silence the source of the information.
Is that what happened? Helena’s plan twisted back on her and her would-be victim killed her? But then how did she end up at Morningstar’s?
And who else knew about the marriage? Did Farley know? Surely Jana knows, but would she share that? She might gain from having a rich sister. Or, be smart about this Vox, they might have fought over it. Maybe Jana killed her sister. Maybe it was self defense. And to deflect suspicion, Jana dumps her sister’s body at Morningstar’s. Why there, though? Does Jana have a connection to Hugo? Maybe they planned it together.
I flipped a silver piece to Dewey. “Get me that apartment address and run down the marriage rumor. And Dewey, nice work. Thank you.”
Chapter 17 Enter Hawktite
Was it too late to call on the Morningstar’s? The clocks hadn’t struck eight yet, and I didn’t really have time to stand on niceties. I jogged across town to the Hightower neighborhood and turned onto Clearwater, slowing as I got close to catch my breath.
How much informant money did I have left? Boleian had given me some gold on Monday and told me to make it last. Ten to Fara’s landlord, twenty to Dewey… oh and another five to the Lamplighter’s barman. So if I had to, I could offer Selendir thirty silver to talk with me about Hugo, Jana, and Helena, and still have a bit left over for incidentals. Start with twenty for the butler and go to thirty if I have to.
With plan ready, I knocked on the Morningstar’s front door. I considered casting charm person. Might save myself a few silver coins if I could make Selendir feel friendly toward me. I was already humming when Jesskah Morningstar opened the door. “I told you to go away! We don’t— Vox?” She grabbed my arm, pulled me inside.
I’d started to say, “Vox Swift here”, but when Jesskah grabbed me, it came out as “Vaaaah.”
She said, “What are you doing here?” She looked lovely in a cream colored shirt and checked pants.
“Where’s Selendir?”
“You came here to see my butler?”
The house stood quiet. When I’d been here before, the place had hummed with activity. Servants hurrying by, voices murmuring far off. Today it was silent.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you answering the door? Who were you about to yell at?”
Arms folded across her chest Jesskah said, “Selendir quit. And I thought you were a reporter.”
Just then something crashed ups
tairs. I grabbed Jesskah’s arm. “Are you in danger? Who’s upstairs?”
“This has nothing to do with the case.” She shook off my hand.
“Let me help you, dammit.” My mind raced. The butler left? Before he could be arrested for murder? Or was he covering for someone else? I opened my mouth, and a thought struck me. “Your father’s upstairs, isn’t he?”
Her eyes hardened, and she grabbed my hand pulling me toward the library door. At the last moment she shifted right and entered the sitting room. “Sit,” Jesskah pointed to an armchair.
The mood of the Morningstar house had shifted since my last visit. Why would the butler leave unless he was guilty of something? As I sat, I told Jesskah that I was on her side. I meant it. I didn’t think her father had killed Helena. Even if he was involved with Jana Grimwell, I wasn’t sure how that would exactly connect him to the murder, and I wanted to help Jesskah Morningstar. Shayna save me from beautiful women in trouble.
“My father is not here.” Jesskah gave a little laugh. “That was likely Mother throwing something. Because he’s not here.” She sat on a couch across from me. “And that’s why Selendir’s gone. He’d been blackmailing Father, probably for years.” She looked into the distance. “But when you finally admit the truth, well what is there to blackmail you for?” Jesskah gave a small laugh. Then she shook her head and said, “I didn’t think he’d ever leave her.”
I thought of what Maisie the maid had told me about seeing Hugo Morningstar with a girl on Saturday night – just about when Jana would have been at the Lamplighter. One theory gone. “I’m sorry. My timing couldn’t be worse, I guess.”
“Why are you here?”
“The girl in gold – Helena – I heard something about her past.” I waved the subject away and sat forward. “Is there anything I can do to help?” A knock on the front door interrupted what Jesskah was about to say. “I’ll get it.” I started to rise. “Might be that reporter you mentioned.”
Jesskah stood. “And have her wonder who you are? No, thank you. I have enough rumors about me as it is.” At the door she paused. “Stay here, Vox. Please. And, I – I’m glad you’re here.”
I waited until I heard the front door open and then padded to the threshold. Rumors? What rumors?
I heard Jesskah say, “Of course! Come in, but Mother is—”
A male voice broke in. “It is you I wanted to see, Paladin Morningstar.”
Someone to see Jesskah on police business? I had to know who. Peeking through the gap I saw a tall dwarf in a tweed jacket talking to Jesskah. You don’t see many tall dwarves, much less ones wearing tweed jackets, glasses, and sporting a close-trimmed beard, but Nori Hawktite is an unusual dwarf.
But why would Nori Hawktite of all people be standing in the hall, wanting to talk to “Paladin” Morningstar?
“Can we speak privately?” He asked as he started toward my location.
“Of course, Professor.” Jesskah hurried ahead of him and gestured to the library. “We can talk in here.”
His footsteps faltered. “That is where—”
“It’s been thoroughly cleaned. Please make yourself….” Her voice faded as they entered the room next door.
I had to know why Professor Hawktite had come. Scanning the wall I didn’t see a connecting door between the two rooms. Could I listen at the hall door without being seen? No, too risky.
Damn, why hadn’t I asked Underwood about that listening spell?
Because you were too busy thinking about making up your own magic spell, Vox. Stop trying to be so flashy. Learn the basics like detect— like detect secret doors.
Detect secret doors. But why would there be a door connecting the library and the sitting room? Why not, though? Old house, who knows what secrets it holds?
Underwood said the spell was similar to detect magic. So I took a deep breath and began to sing softly. “Oooopen the door. Come on oooopen the door. I gotta oooopen the—”
A faint line appeared behind an end table shoved against the wall. I continued my song, hoping the full outline would be revealed while trying to keep negative thoughts away. Part of me was certain it was just a crack in the wall, another part knew I’d found a door.
Murmured voices next door only heightened my anxiety. What were they saying that I couldn’t hear?
Desperation washed over me. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to hear Jesskah’s voice, and I had the wild thought that emotion is a spell component, too.
With slow movements I picked up the end table and put it to the side. My finger touched the line of the secret door, and I heard a soft click. Running my hand down the wall, I felt the door knob and below it, the empty keyhole.
I didn’t dare breathe as I turned the doorknob and felt the crack widen. Suddenly I could hear Jesskah and Hawktite clearly.
“You really can call me Jesskah, Professor. I’ve known you my whole life. And please sit down. You obviously have something you want to say.”
“One never knows where to begin. Jesskah.” His voice came closer. “That dead girl. Shocking.”
“Yes. No one expects—”
“Billows brought her here.” The dwarf’s voice was almost directly in front of me, and it’s a miracle that he didn’t hear me gasp.
“Billows? Professor are you telling me that your butler—”
“He did not kill her. Rest assured. Billows could never kill. No, I told him to bring her here, the gold girl.”
At that moment I almost charged in. This crazy dwarf was admitting to murder, and Jesskah was alone with him. But Jesskah, when she next spoke sounded calm and confident, so I held back.
“What made you decide to do that, Professor? The girl was presumably already dead when Billows brought her to—”
“I am glad that you understand! You are a marvel. How did you deduce it?”
I didn’t really know Nori Hawktite. Delivering letters and picking up messages isn’t much interaction, but I never would have pegged him as a murderer – an unremorseful one at that.
I risked a peek through the cracked door and saw Jesskah standing by the hearth. Smart. She had fireplace tools at hand should she need to defend herself, and I had to assume that paladins have some attack spells they could use at need.
Hawktite is tall – almost as tall as me – and burly in that dwarven way, but I’d have surprise on my side, and sheer determination. No way Hawktite wanted to hurt Jesskah half as much as I wanted to protect her.
“I just don’t understand why you’d kill her, Professor.” I heard an edge in Jesskah’s voice. “Understanding how is always easier. Walk me through—”
“Kill her? I didn’t kill anyone! You do not understand. Not at all.” I heard a poof of air that told me Hawktite had thumped down on a chair.
“Help me understand, Nori. May I call you Nori? If you didn’t kill the girl, why was she there? What happened Saturday?” Jesskah left her post at the fireplace. Tension filled my body, and I knew it wouldn’t ease off until she was in my line of sight again.
“She was dead when I found her. Sparkly, shimmering in the candlelight.” Hawktite’s voice was barely more than a murmur, soft and dreamy. I wondered if Jesskah had cast a spell over him to calm him, make him talk.
“You found her.” Jesskah’s voice sounded loud. She must be standing just on the other side of the secret door.
“Yes.” After a pause Hawktite went on, his voice still languid. “I heard a noise. It wasn’t late, but the house was quiet. The servants often take Saturdays off. Billows says—”
“You heard a noise. Tell me about that, Nori. You were upstairs?”
“Yes. Working on some correspondence. On Sundays the Swift comes by, and I wanted to finish a letter to Provost Wain—”
“What time?”
“Oh anytime Sunday morning, really. The Swifts don’t have a set schedule, and that’s why—”
I heard Jesskah’s footsteps. “What time did you hear the noise, Nori? You’re still a
suspect, you know. But if you cooperate, it will show that you have nothing to hide.”
She was getting the hang of being a detective. A little cajoling, a little soothing, a little threatening. All in a day’s work when you’re trying to solve a murder.
Listen to me – acting like I do this every day. Grimwell was only my second murder investigation, though with the Fram girl’s death I had case number three right on its heels.
“I don’t know the time exactly. Ten? Ten-thirty? It was before eleven – I know that. Billows brings me wartroot tea at eleven.”
Jesskah said something too low for me to hear so I pressed closer to the door.
“It was a thump, perhaps.” Hawktite sighed. “I have tried to remember it exactly. What is the sound of a dead girl entering your life?”
“Why didn’t you call for the police?”
“And have you think I did it?” Hawktite’s voice changed and I saw him move past my vision. “I have a reputation to protect. The book is selling so well; people look up to me, you know! So no, I didn’t call for the police. I called for Billows. I told him to get rid of her, but I didn’t think – Jessie, you must believe me, I didn’t tell him to bring her here!”
Another loud crash from upstairs interrupted whatever Jesskah was going to say next. Instead she said, “I have to say goodnight to you now. Don’t leave town. We will talk again, you and I.”
“It’s not my fault, is it? I mean the girl. I didn’t kill her, so I’m not responsible.”
Jesskah’s footsteps rang out as she moved toward the library door. “That’s not for me or you to decide. The gods judge us all, Professor.”
Chapter 18 Moonwinkle’s
I expected Jesskah to rejoin me in the sitting room once Nori Hawktite left, but she didn’t. If Jesskah had gone upstairs to see her mother, I should stay here, out of her way, besides I had plenty to chew on right here.
So Helena Grimwell had nothing to do with Hugo Morningstar. Dumb luck that she ended up here. But if Hawktite was telling the truth, why would the killer leave Helena’s body at his house? Where had she really died and why not leave her there?
