by Ian Irvine
His throat had been cut.
Everyone gathered around, staring at the body. Thandiwe was gaping. Basible Norp looked dazed, as if he had never seen a corpse before.
“Murdered!” said Candela. “Attendant, call for the sergeant and lock the door. Let no one out, and no one in save the sergeant and his men. Everyone else, move back. Don’t touch Wistan. And beware, the killer may still be here.” She looked across at Norp. “Master Norp?”
He staggered to the far corner and vomited noisily.
“He did it!” said Thandiwe in a carrying voice.
“I beg your pardon,” said Twism.
“I accuse Llian!” Thandiwe pointed a long bare arm at him. She was quivering violently. “He’s always hated our master. Llian cut the throat of a helpless old man. Arrest him!”
Llian looked around wildly. This could not be happening. “I haven’t been anywhere near him,” he gasped.
“Arrest the murdering swine!”
“That’s the sergeant’s job,” said Candela Twism, “after he’s weighed all the evidence. Master Moorn, you’re making an exhibition of yourself.”
Thandiwe made another vain attempt to pull up her ruined gown.
“Master Rendi,” said Candela. “Give Master Moorn your coat.”
Rendi took off his grey jacket and handed it to Thandiwe, who wrapped it around herself and fastened the wooden toggles. The door attendant came lurching back, his hands still bloody.
“Master Candela?” His voice was prim and sounded vaguely familiar, though Llian did not recognise the time-ravaged face. “I know something that may bear upon this crime.” He looked down at his bloody hands, then flinched.
She handed him a handkerchief and he wiped his hands.
“Yes?” she said.
He leaned towards her, lowering his voice. His thick lips were wet, his scarred cheeks oddly flushed.
“If you have something to say, tell everyone.”
“I saw Llian slipping out of Wistan’s rooms early this morning,” said the attendant. “Not long before that, I overheard a furious argument.”
“That’s a lie,” Llian cried.
“Do you deny you were in Wistan’s rooms?” said Candela.
“No. We had private business to discuss. But there was no argument.”
“He’s lying,” said the attendant. “Llian screamed, I’m going to kill you for this and stormed out.”
Llian gaped at him. Why was he making up such an outrageous lie? Was he part of a conspiracy with Thandiwe? Then Llian realised who the attendant was.
“You’re Turlew!” Llian turned to Candela. “He’s always hated me.”
“You seem to make an awful lot of enemies.”
“He tried to rob and murder me in the mountains twelve years ago, when I was on a mission for Wistan. Wistan sacked him, then Turlew lost his legs in the war and blamed me for it, though I hadn’t seen him in years. These were his last words to me, when I saw him in Chanthed a decade ago.” Llian quoted them from memory, in a precise imitation of Turlew’s screeching voice.
“Curse you, Llian! Curse you until the earth bleeds and the black moon rots to pieces. Soon you will not have a friend in the whole of Santhenar. Your very name will be a curse, and before the coming Hythe you will wish you were as happy as Turlew the beggar man!”
“Was Turlew sacked by Wistan?” said Candela to the aide.
“I don’t know, Master Candela. That would have been well before my time.”
“Find someone who would know. At once.”
“Captain Bufo was with Wistan and I last night,” said Llian. “Bufo will confirm everything I’ve said.”
“Find Bufo as well,” said Candela.
The aide ran out. Turlew stood there, shuddering and wiping his bloodstained hands over and over. Llian’s stomach muscles were so tight that they throbbed. What if the aide could not find Sal? What if she did not remember? What if the sergeant just wanted an easy solution to the crime? He, Llian, had to make an emergency plan but his brain seemed to have frozen.
Shortly the aide returned with Old Sal. The masters were gathered in a bunch between her and the dais, concealing Wistan’s body from view, and Candela did not explain why she had been summoned.
“You’ve kept the stipend book for fifty years,” said Candela to Old Sal. “Do you remember the circumstances under which Turlew, here, left Wistan’s employment?”
“He was dismissed without a reference,” said Old Sal.
“For what reason?”
“Master Wistan sent Llian off on a vital mission to Thurkad and gave him a heavy purse for expenses. I understand that Turlew attempted to rob Llian, and kill him, but failed. That’s all I know.”
Llian let out the breath he had been holding. Maybe it would be all right after all.
“Thank you, Sal,” said Candela.
Sal went out.
“It’s true I hate Llian,” said Turlew. “But everything I said is true.”
“It’s a lie, and Bufo will confirm everything I said,” said Llian. “Wistan and I had an amicable discussion and made up our differences.”
But the minutes passed, and Bufo did not appear. “Has anyone seen Bufo this morning?” said Candela.
“He brought Wistan here at midday,” said Master Laarni. His hair had receded rapidly since Llian had last seen him a decade ago. “They spoke for a few minutes, shook hands and Bufo left.”
“Was Wistan still alive?” Candela said sharply.
“Yes. I spoke to him half an hour later. That would have been at one o’clock. He seemed very cheerful. It was almost as if he had a joke he wasn’t sharing with anyone.”
“Wistan had a joke?”
“Yes. It was… most unusual.”
The aide reappeared. “Bufo left Chanthed an hour ago and said he wasn’t coming back.”
The hour he goes, I’ll go too, Bufo had said early this morning. Had he known Wistan was going to be murdered? No, that was absurd. Perhaps Wistan, after ensuring that Llian had secured the mastership, had planned to end his pain-racked life. But someone had murdered him first.
“Until Llian’s version of events can be corroborated, Turlew’s accusation, enemy or not, must be given due weight,” said Candela.
“I haven’t been near Wistan since I entered the room,” said Llian. “And I’m not carrying a knife. You can search me.”
The aide searched Wistan’s bloody corpse, the blankets and Llian, but no knife was found.
“He must have hidden the knife,” said Turlew.
“I haven’t left the room,” said Llian. “I’ve been talking to people the whole time I’ve been here. The only person in this room with bloody hands is you.”
“Check Llian’s bag,” said Candela. She studied Turlew, frowning. “No, stay where you are. Masters Laarni, Rendi and Tuul, bring in all the bags.”
They did so. Llian’s was opened first. Right on top was a long bloodstained knife.
“I told you he was the killer,” gloated Turlew.
Llian kicked Turlew’s wooden legs from under him, grabbed his bag and bolted.
PART TWO
PEM-Y-RUM
29
A STAGGERING CATALOGUE OF FLAWS
Nightfall, and Llian was huddled in the reeds beside a stinking drain. He had not eaten or drunk since leaving Wistan’s rooms early that morning and he was desperately thirsty, but the water was too foul to drink. The stench was making his stomach churn, and his cheek throbbed where Thandiwe had headbutted him.
He had gambled everything, and lost. What on earth had possessed him? How had he so lost sight of his true goal, and how could he find and destroy the summon stone now?
A chilling thought struck him. As the accused murderer of a great man, the constables might have orders to shoot him down rather than allow him to get away. Only Bufo and the killer knew that he was innocent, but Bufo was long gone and no one knew where. There was no way to clear his name.
Who could the
killer be? Llian’s first thought was Turlew, though he was a sneak and a coward. It would have taken a far bolder man to cut Wistan’s throat and stroll away in a room crowded with masters.
He lay back in the reeds, probing his cheek. Where could he go? He still had friends in Chanthed from his student days, though most had families now, and responsibilities. He could not ask any of them to risk everything by sheltering him.
The news of his crime would be a sensation; Karan would hear about it within days, and so would everyone else who knew him. Would they believe the story? Well, Karan already doubted him; she no longer trusted him to protect his own daughter.
How, after all their years together, could she have so little faith in him? Was it because she had invested everything in the only child she could ever have, or did she see a flaw in Llian that he had failed to recognise in himself? But Sulien, Sulien! It was unendurable.
He knew what Karan would think of his choice to support Norp over Thandiwe. She would be apoplectic with fury. Why go all that way, at so much trouble and expense, only to betray the one person who could have helped us? Would it be the last straw? Would he ever see her again? Or Sulien? Llian slumped on the smelly ground, overcome by despair.
Was there any way he could send a message to them? He dared not take the risk; he was too well known here. Besides, his quest was more urgent with every passing day. Only four and a half weeks remained.
He counted his money: twenty-two silver tars and half a dozen grints. It would not last long. He was putting the coins away when he realised that the scholarship test would have finished long ago. Given all the revelations about corruption at the college, the test would have been rigged; the scholarship would either go to a favourite of the judges or to the student who had paid the biggest bribe. Wilm, alone and penniless, must be in despair. And Llian had promised to look after the lad; he had to make sure Wilm had enough money to get home.
Which meant returning to their rented room. Would the rooming house be watched? Probably, though as a teller Llian was used to assuming a range of identities. He could use any of dozens of voices and accents, and change the way he walked and his physical mannerisms. If he kept to the night and no one saw him up close he might get away with it.
He turned up his collar, pulled his hat down so it concealed his face, assumed a slump-shouldered, defeated posture and a limp, and set off. The streets were crowded, for it was a mild evening, and in his mud-stained clothes he looked like a hundred other unfortunates. He kept a sharp lookout for constables and saw several, but by keeping well clear of them he attracted no attention.
At the rooming house the danger was immediate, for the old lady who ran it had eyes in all four sides of her plump little head. But she also had an appetite for chard and a weak bladder, judging by her frequent trips to the jakes out the back.
Llian concealed himself in the shadows in the rear yard and waited until she came out, her copper lantern casting beams of yellow light across the bare ground. The door of the jakes banged. He slipped up the stairs and opened the door to the top room, which was in darkness.
“Wilm?” he said, hand on the latch, ready to run.
No answer. Llian stood there, staring around him. He heard no movement or breathing, and as his eyes adjusted he saw from the light coming in through the grimy window that the small room was empty.
His pack was gone; the constables would have taken it when they searched the room. Wilm’s canvas pack sat at the end of his bed. Llian retrieved Wistan’s dirt book from the mattress and sat on the bed in the dark, planning his next move.
If the secret of the summon stone existed at all, it would be in the thousands of forgotten documents in the library archives. Breaking in would be dangerous but he had done it before. In his student days, in search of stories no other student had access to, he had taught himself a burglar’s skills and cracked the locks. Such skills, once learned, were never forgotten.
There was still no sign of Wilm. Llian sat on the bed, opened the dirt book in a ray of light coming through the window and turned the pages until he came to his own entry, written while he was still a student and, evidently, never updated.
Llian has so many flaws that, not knowing which to highlight, I begin alphabetically – he is arrogant, audacious (bordering on reckless), clumsy, conceited, cruelly accurate in his pen portraits of the other students and masters (and even me, the disrespectful villain!), drunk and disorderly, disorganised, egocentric, greedy for knowledge, immature, impractical (except on nefarious forays such as breaking into the forbidden section of the archives), insensitive, intolerant, irresponsible (especially when it comes to the consumption of beer and wine), lazy, obdurate, rebellious, rude, self-satisfied, thoughtless of the feelings of those less fortunate than himself – which is almost everyone – unkempt, unrestrained (especially in relation to wine and women) and wasteful.
And he is Zain! Need I say more?
In spite of this staggering catalogue of flaws, Llian has passed his master chronicler’s tests with the highest distinction. He also has a remarkable gift for telling, though time will tell if it comes to anything.
I don’t like him and I don’t trust him. But he has done brilliant things. And may do more, if he can only control his many vices and harness his few virtues.
Llian sat back. Wistan had been a trifle harsh but not entirely inaccurate. His words would have been hurtful had the glow not lingered from being offered the mastership.
An hour had passed and he dared not stay any longer. He took three silver tars from his wallet and wrote a note.
Wilm, I’m in diabolical trouble – you will have heard by now. This should be enough for you to get home and for a bit of a start in your new life. I know you have it in you to succeed, and the key to success is never giving up.
Llian
He wrapped the coins in the note and put it in Wilm’s bag, then went to the window. As soon as the old lady’s lantern approached the door of the jakes again he went down the steps and out into the cold night. He would find a room in the seediest tavern in Chanthed, a place where no one asked questions, fill his belly, then get started.
If he discovered anything about the stone, he would set out to destroy it. It would not be easy; Gergrig had said it could look after itself. But, unjustly banned from doing the work he loved, his life in peril because of a crime he had not committed, and cut off from his own family, the quest was all Llian had left.
30
YOU ALWAYS WANT MORE
Two weeks after Llian’s departure for Chanthed, Karan and Sulien were feeding the swans on the rapidly drying pond when the harsh cry of a skeet sounded in the distance.
Karr! Karr!
Karan drew Sulien close, then ducked as the raptor shrieked overhead, so low that her hair was ruffled by its passage. It hurtled around the keep then raced down the track towards the old watchtower, two hundred yards away. Banking at the last second, it lifted and hovered over the ramparts, flapping its wings furiously.
Someone appeared there – a woman. Fear touched Karan’s heart. “Is that…”
“Maigraith,” said Sulien. “What’s she doing in our watchtower?”
“I don’t know. Stay here.” Karan set off at a run for it.
Showing no fear of the vicious bird, Maigraith extended an arm. The skeet’s claws enveloped her slim wrist. She opened the message pouch, withdrew a document and, with an effort, swung the heavy bird out over the edge. The skeet dropped like a rock until it gained airspeed and shot away. Karr! Karr!
Sulien had followed. “I told you to stay back,” said Karan. “Maigraith is… dangerous.”
“To Daddy?”
“How did you know that?” said Karan.
“You know that piece of sharkskin you use for rasping wood?”
“Mmm.”
“Whenever Maigraith looked at Daddy, that’s what it felt like.”
Karan shivered. Maigraith came out of the watchtower, a folded piece of paper in
her hand.
“What are you doing back here?” snapped Karan.
“Protecting you. This is urgent.” Maigraith held up the paper.
“Go and do your next geography lesson, Sulien,” said Karan. Sulien did not move. “Now!”
She went reluctantly. Maigraith handed Karan the piece of paper.
Master Wistan is dead in his wheelchair, his throat cut.
Llian stands accused of his murder and is on the run.
Karan’s knees buckled. This could not be happening – it had to be a lie. Maigraith caught her and held her up. Karan read the note again and again. There was no signature.
“Who sent this?” she croaked.
“A reliable source.”
“It can’t be true.”
“Llian hated Wistan. Everyone knows that.”
“He’s not a violent man,” said Karan. And yet when they’d first heard the drumming, he had gone for the axe. “If there was a fight, more likely Llian would have been killed.”
“There was no fight. Master Wistan is dead in his wheelchair, his throat cut.”
“Llian would never attack a helpless man.”
“Inexplicable things are happening all over the land – like your cook being murdered by his assistant.”
“I don’t believe it!” Karan trudged towards the manor.
“Even you, fanatically loyal as you are, must be thinking that Llian could have done it,” said Maigraith.
“How dare you put words in my mouth!” Karan roared. “No one knows Llian as well as I do. He would never murder a helpless old man.”
“There’s no need to shout.”
“Mummy?” said Sulien, appearing from behind a bush where she had been hiding. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s all right.” Karan took several panting breaths. Sulien would have to be told, but not now.
