5 Soul of the Fire

by Goodkind, Terry

  The Minister, wearing a purple-and-rust-striped close-fitting sleeveless jerkin over a golden-wheat-patterned sleeved doublet, draped his arm over Dalton's shoulders as he leaned close. The white raffs at the Minister's wrist were stained with red wine, making him look as if he were bleeding from under the tight sleeve.

  "Everyone is still quite upset over Claudine's murder," said Bertrand.

  "And rightly so." Dalton dipped a mutton cube in mint jelly. "It was a terrible tragedy."

  "Yes, it has made us all realize how frail is the grip we have on the ideals of civilized behavior we so cherish. It has shown us how much work yet lies before us in order to bring Hakens and Anders together in a peaceful society."

  "With your wise leadership," Teresa said with genuine enthusiasm as Dalton ate the mutton cube, "we will succeed."

  "Thank you for your support, my dear." Bertrand leaned just a little closer to Dalton, lowering his voice a bit, too. "I hear the Sovereign might be ill."

  "Really?" Dalton sucked the mint jelly off his finger. "Is it serious?"

  Bertrand shook his head in mock sorrow. "We've had no word."

  "We will pray for him," Teresa put in as she selected a slender slice of peppered beef. "And for poor Edwin Winthrop."

  Bertrand smiled. "You are a most thoughtful and kind-hearted woman, Teresa." He stared at her bodice, as if to see her kind heart beating there, behind her exposed cleavage. "If I am ever stricken ill, I could ask for no more noble a woman than you to pray to the Creator on my behalf. Surely, His own heart would melt at your tender beseeching words."

  Teresa beamed. Hildemara, nibbling on a slice of pear, asked her husband a question and he turned back to her.

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  Stein leaned in to converse with them about something. They all pulled back when a squire brought a platter of crisped beef.

  As Stein took a handful of the crisped beef, Dalton glanced again at the Directors, still engaged in their discussion. He scanned the table opposite them and caught the eye of Franca Gowenlock. The woman's face told him that she was unable to detect any of it. Dalton didn't know what was wrong with her powers, but it was becoming a serious impediment.

  A squire held a silver platter toward the Minister. He took several slices of pork. Another came with lamb in lentil, which Hildemara favored. A steward poured more wine for the head table before moving on. The Minister enfolded a husband's arm around Hildemara's shoulder and spoke to her in a whisper.

  A server entered carrying a large basket piled high with small loaves of brown bread. He took it to the serving board to be transferred onto silver trays. From a distance, Dalton couldn't tell if there was any problem with the bread. A large quantity of it had been declared unfit for the feast and had been consigned for donation to the poor. Leftover food from feasts, usually great quantities of it, was distributed to the poor.

  Master Drummond had had some sort of trouble down in the kitchen earlier in the day with the baking of the bread. Something to do with the ovens going "crazy," as the man described it, A woman was badly burned before she could be doused. Dalton had more important things to worry about than baking bread, and hadn't inquired further.

  "Dalton," the Minister said, returning his attention to his aide, "have you managed to prove out any evidence about the murder of poor Claudine Winthrop?"

  On the other side of the Minister, Hildemara looked keenly interested in hearing Dalton's answer.

  "I've been looking into several promising areas," Dalton said without committing himself. "I hope to soon reach a conclusion to the investigation."

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  As always, they had to be circumspect when they spoke at feasts, lest words they would not want repeated be carried to listening ears. Gifted listeners other than Franca might be present and having no trouble with their ability. Dalton, to say nothing of Bertrand and his wife, didn't doubt that the Directors might be using the gifted.

  "Well, the thing is," Bertrand said, "Hildemara tells me some people are getting quite concerned that we aren't taking the matter seriously enough."

  • Dalton began to offer evidence to the contrary, when Bertrand held up a hand and went on.

  "Of course this isn't true at all. I know for a fact how hard you've been working on apprehending the criminals."

  "Day and night," Teresa said. "I can assure you, Minister Chanboor, Dalton is hardly getting any sleep of late, what with how hard he has been working since poor Claudine's murder."

  "Oh I know," Hildemara said as she leaned past her husband to pat Dalton's wrist in a show for Teresa and any watching eyes. "I know how hard Dalton has been working. Everyone appreciates all he is doing. We know of the great number of people he has brought in to be interviewed for information.

  "It's just that some people are beginning to question if all the effort is ever going to produce the guilty party. People fear the killers still among them and are eager to settle the matter."

  "That's right," Bertrand said, "and we, more than anyone, want the murder solved so as to have the peace of mind that our people can rest safely again."

  "Yes," Hildemara said, with a cold glint in her eye. "It must be solved."

  There was no mistaking the icy command in her tone. Dalton didn't know if Hildemara had told Bertrand what she had ordered be done with Claudine, but it wouldn't really matter to him. He was finished with the woman and had moved on to others. He wouldn't mind at all if she cleaned up his mess behind him and silenced any potential trouble.

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  Dalton had been expecting that the Minister and his wife might grow weary of the people complaining, before the people grew weary of talking about the murder of a prominent woman from the estate. As a precaution, he already had laid plans; it looked as if he was to be forced into them.

  His first choice would be to wait, for he knew the talk would soon die down and the whole matter would be forgotten, or at most people would occasionally click their tongues in passing sorrow and perhaps even titillation. But Bertrand liked to be seen as competent in his office. The toll on others was only a minor consideration to him. To Hildemara, it was irrelevant. Their impatience, however, was dangerous.

  "I, as much as anyone, want the killers found," Dalton said. "However, as a man of the law, I am bound by my oath of office to be sure we find the true killers, and not simply accuse someone falsely just to see someone punished.

  "I know you have sternly given me this very caution in the past," Dalton lied for any listening ears.

  When he saw Hildemara about to object to any delay, Dalton added in a low, suddenly ill-humored tone, "Not only would it be wrong to be so hasty as to falsely accuse innocent men, but were we to rashly charge men with the crime, and after the sentence it turned out the Mother Confessor wished to take their confessions, and she found we had sentenced innocent men, our incompetence would be rightly denounced not only by the Mother Confessor, but the Sovereign and the Directors as well."

  He wanted to make sure they fully grasped the risks involved.

  "Worse, though, should we sentence men to death and carry out the executions before the Mother Confessor was allowed to review the case, she might interject herself in a way that could not only topple the government, but see top officials touched by her power as punishment."

  Bertrand and Hildemara sat wide-eyed and silent after Dalton's quiet but sobering lecture.

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  "Of course, Dalton. Of course you're right." Bertrand's fingers fanned the air in a motion like a fish wriggling its fins to swim backward. "I didn't mean to give the impression I meant any such thing, of course.

  "As Minister I cannot allow a person to be falsely accused. I wouldn't have such a thing happen. Not only would it be a terrible injustice to the ones falsely accused, but in so doing it would allow the real killers to thus escape to kill again."

  "But that said"-a tone of threat returned to Hildemara's voice-"I think you must be close to naming the killers? I've heard such good things about your a
bilities that I suspect you are merely being thorough. Surely the Minister's chief aide will soon see justice done? The people will want to know the Minister of Culture is competent. He must be seen as effective in seeing this through to resolution."

  "That's right," Bertrand said, eyeing his wife until she eased back into her seat. "We wish a just resolution."

  "Added onto that," Hildemara said, "there is talk of a poor Haken girl recently being raped. Rumors are spreading rapidly about the rape. People think the two crimes are connected."

  "I heard whispers of that, too," Teresa said. "It's just terrible."

  Dalton might have guessed Hildemara would have found out about that and want it cleaned up, too. He had been prepared for that eventuality, as well, but hoped to skirt the issue if he could.

  "A Haken girl? And who is to say she's telling the truth? Perhaps she is attempting to cover a pregnancy out of wedlock and is claiming rape so as to gain sympathy in a time of heightened passions."

  Bertrand dragged a slice of pork through a small bowl of mustard. "No one has yet come forward with her name, but from what I've heard, it is believed to be genuine. People are still trying to discover her name so as to bring her before a magistrate."

  Bertrand frowned with a meaningful look until he was

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  sure Dalton understood that they were talking about the butcher's girl. "It is feared not only to be true, but to be the same ones who attacked Claudine. People fear the same criminals have now struck twice, and fear they will be striking again."

  Bertrand tilted his head back and dropped the pork in his mouth. Stein, on the other side of Hildemara, watched the conversation with growing disdain as he ate crisped beef. He, of course, would solve the matter quickly with his blade. Dalton would, too, were it that simple.

  "That is why," Hildemara said as she leaned in once more, "the crime must be solved. The people must know who is responsible." Having delivered the order, she straightened in her chair.

  Bertrand squeezed Dalton's shoulder. "I know you, Dalton. I know you don't want to come out and say it until you have the whole crop sheafed, because you are too modest, but I know you have the crime solved and will soon announce the killers. And before people go to the trouble of hauling a poor Haken girl before a magistrate. After she has obviously already suffered in this, it would be a shame for her to suffer further humiliation."

  They wouldn't know, but Dalton had already talked to Fitch to start the rock down the hill. He could see, though, that he was going to have to give it a push himself in a new direction.

  Stein, over on the other side of Hildemara, tossed his bread on the table with disgust.

  "This bread is burned!"

  Dalton sighed. The man enjoyed his foolish outbursts. He was treacherous to ignore, lest, like a child, he do something to get attention. They had been leaving him out of the conversation.

  "We had trouble of some sort with the ovens down in the kitchen," Dalton said. "If you don't like dark bread, cut off the burned crust."

  "You have trouble with witches!" Stein roared. "And you

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  talk about cutting off the crust? That is your solution?"

  "We have trouble with ovens," Dalton said through gritted teeth as he cast a wary glance to the room to see if anyone was paying attention to the man. A few women, too far away to hear, were batting their lashes at him. "Probably a plugged flue run. We'll have it fixed tomorrow."

  "Witches!" Stein repeated. "Witches have been casting spells to burn the bread here. Everyone knows that when there's a witch in the neighborhood she can't resist casting spells to burn bread."

  "Dalton," Teresa whispered, "he knows about magic. Maybe he knows something we don't."

  "He's a superstitious person, that's all." Dalton smiled at her. "Knowing Stein, he's playing a joke on us."

  "I could help you find them." Stein tipped his chair back and began picking his nails with his knife. "I know about witches. It's probably witches that killed that woman, and raped the other. I'll find them for you, since you can't. I could use another scalp for my cape."

  Dalton tossed his napkin on the table as he excused himself from Teresa. He rose, strode around the Minister and his wife, and leaned close to Stein's ear. The man stank.

  "I have specific reasons for doing things the way I have them planned," Dalton whispered. "By doing it my way, we will get this horse to plow the field for us, pull our cart, and carry our water. If I simply wanted horse meat, I wouldn't need you; I'd butcher it myself.

  "Since I have already warned you before to watch your words and you seem not to have understood, let me explain it again in a way you will understand."

  Stein's grin showed his yellow teeth. Dalton leaned closer.

  "This is a problem partly created by you and your inability to make gracious use of what is offered you freely. Instead, you saw fit to force a girl who wasn't offering or willing. I can't change what's done, but if you ever again speak out of turn in such a way as to cause a sensation, I

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  will personally slit your throat and send you back to the emperor in a basket. I will ask him to send us someone with more brains than a rutting pig."

  Dalton pressed his boot knife, hidden in the palm of his hand with only the very tip exposed, to the underside of Stein's chin.

  "You are in the presence of your superiors. Now, clarify to the good people at the table that you were only making a crude joke. And Stein-it had better be convincing or I swear you will not survive the night."

  Stein chuckled agreeably. "I like you, Campbell. You and I are much alike. I know we're going to be able to do business; you and the Minister are going to like the Order. Despite your fancy dancing at dinner, we are the same."

  Dalton turned to Hildemara and Bertrand. "Stein has something to say. As soon as he finishes, I must go see to some new information. I think I may have uncovered the names of the killers."

  CHAPTER 42

  FITCH HURRIED ALONG THE dimly lit corridor. Rowley had told him it 'was important. Morley's bare feet thumped against the wood floor. It sounded odd to Fitch, now. Having never worn boots, it had taken Fitch time to get used to the way they sounded. Now bare feet sounded odd to him. Be-

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  yond odd, it was a sound that reminded him of being a shoeless scullion, and he didn't like to be reminded of that part of his life.

  Being a messenger was like a dream come true.

  Through the open windows the sounds of the music at the feast drifted in. The woman with the harp was playing and singing. Fitch loved the pure sound of her voice as she sang along with her harp.

  "Got any idea what this is about?"

  "No," Fitch said. "But I wouldn't think we would have messages to take this time of night. Especially when there's a feast going on."

  "I hope it doesn't take long."

  Fitch knew what Morley meant. They'd only just settled down to get drunk. Morley had found a nearly full bottle of rum and they were looking forward to getting drunk out of their minds. Not only that, but Morley had a washgirl he knew who said she'd like to get drunk with them. Morley told Fitch that they should let her get drunk first. Fitch was panting at the implications.

  Besides that, and just plain liking to get drunk, he wanted to forget his talk with Beata.

  The outer office was empty and had a hollow quiet to it. Rowley hadn't returned with them, so there was just the two of them. Dalton Campbell, pacing slowly with his hands clasped behind his back, saw them and waved them in.

  "There you both are. Good."

  "What can we do for you, Master Campbell?" Fitch asked.

  The inner office was lit by lamps, giving it a warm feeling. The window was open and the light drapes glided to and fro in a light breeze. The battle flags rustled a little in the breeze.

  Dalton Campbell let out a sigh. "We have trouble. Trouble about the murder of Claudine Winthrop."

  "What sort of trouble?" Fitch asked. "Is there anyt
hing we can do to fix it?"

  The Minister's aide wiped a hand across his chin.

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  "You were seen."

  Fitch felt an icy wave of dread tingle up his back. "Seen? What do you mean?"

  "Well, you remember you told me you heard a coach stop, and then you all ran off to that pond to dunk yourselves."

  Fitch gulped air. "Yes, sir?"

  Dalton Campbell sighed again. He tapped a finger against the desk as he seemed to consider how to put it into words.

  "Well, the coach driver was the one who found the body. He turned back to get the city guard."