Tempt the Devil (The Devil of Ponong series #3)

by Jill Braden

  Voorus raised his hands to the ceiling then let them drop with a loud slap against his thighs. “You used to hate the colonial government. Now you’re nothing but their hand puppet.” He made a rude gesture that left no doubt as to where he felt the government’s fist had been rammed.

  Kyam tried hard to keep his temper in check.

  Voorus paced across the rug again. “She barely tolerates me. Still. And believe me, we have no interest in each other that way. None.”

  “You two seemed to have a moment at the harbor. I saw you behind the crates.” Between Voorus and QuiTai, he might get the truth about what they had been up to.

  Voorus’ mouth opened and closed a few times. He pointed at Kyam. “That’s right! You were there! You know she has an alibi for the time of Turyat’s murder because you saw her! You know she can’t possibly be guilty, but you won’t lift a finger to save her. Is being governor so terrible that your revenge has to be her life?”

  It wasn’t like that. Did Voorus think so little of him? “I can’t comment on a case.”

  “It’s a case? Wait, are you going to investigate the murder?” Voorus’ temper turned instantly to relief. “Thank goodness. For a moment there, I actually thought you were going to let Cuulon murder her.”

  “Execute.” Kyam wasn’t sure why he bothered.

  He leaned back. If he found Turyat’s real murderer, they couldn’t hang QuiTai for it. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Except for one small problem: QuiTai was the one who solved mysteries with a mere glance at the scene, not him. It took him days to catch up to her – and he didn’t have days.

  “If Cuulon hangs her for a murder she didn’t commit, then it’s murder, Zul, and you know it. No amount of political double-speak will change that fact. Hide behind the state, and I’ll call you a coward.” Voorus flopped down in the chair next to Mityam. “Not you, of course. ‘You’ meaning anyone who would do that.”

  “She’s safe enough, for now. I have the only key to her cell.”

  Voorus laughed. “Do you think we’re stupid enough to have only one key to any cell down at the fortress?”

  A bad feeling washed over Kyam. He felt stupid. “The militia assured me–”

  “They lied. And you better be careful, because everyone in the marketplace saw you take her to the fortress. If she dies, you’ll be blamed. The Ponongese are already angry about the assembly law. Kill their favorite outlaw, and who knows what they’ll do?”

  Kyam cursed. Was that her game?

  “I’ve warned you before what could happen if the Ponongese decide they’re tired of us,” Voorus said. “There’s ten of them to every one of us, and that’s just in Levapur. Do you have any idea how many Ponongese live across the Jupoli Gorge Bridge? I don’t. None of us do. But I have a feeling we will if QuiTai is executed this evening. They still haven’t forgiven us for what your grandfather did to them before the rice riots.”

  “No need to lecture me about that,” Kyam snapped. He didn’t want Mityam Muul to hear that juicy piece of gossip. As far as he understood it, no one back in Thampur, and no one in Levapur, knew that his grandfather had manufactured the crisis that eventually made Kyam governor.

  Voorus shook his head. “Thampurians think you gave us rice to end the riots. What our people should be told is that she gave you all that rice, for free.”

  “The Devil gave me the rice,” Kyam said.

  “Why would the Devil help you? That rice was hers.”

  Kyam gave Voorus a sharp look. Ideas kept flitting into his mind. The problem was that they flitted out just as quickly. There was a tantalizing glimpse of something big beyond his perception. He wished everyone would leave him in peace so he could try to coax it into view.

  “Meanwhile, the Ponongese now think she’s the only one standing between them and a police state,” Voorus said. “Guess which leader has the most popular support? You or her? Here’s a clue. We Thampurians have rice now. A full belly forgets hunger.”

  Mityam snorted. “Police state? If the Chief Justice can execute someone without a trial, this already is one. Poor deluded fools, thinking only the guilty are arrested.”

  When had Voorus gotten so insightful? Kyam suspected his bastard half-brother had spent a lot of time in the past months learning at QuiTai’s feet. What else had they done other than talk politics?

  “What do you expect me to do?” Kyam asked.

  “What you’re already doing. Find the real murderer and free Lady QuiTai.” Voorus checked his watch. “Tick, tick, Governor. We’ll leave so you can start your investigation. Call on me if you need any help.” He rose and offered to help Mityam from his chair.

  “Was the militia at the scene already? Do we know exactly when Turyat died? After all, there was at least half an hour between when I last saw QuiTai at the wharf and when she came here.”

  “She was in my company the entire time, from the ride on the funicular down to the harbor to the moment I escorted her into this building for her meeting with you. I would swear to it in court if there were such a thing as a trial in Levapur.”

  “No trial?” Mityam bellowed. “I don’t care if this is Levapur. It’s a royal colony, and the law of the land must be followed. Everyone is entitled to a fair trial.”

  “Yes, well, welcome to Levapur, Mister Muul.” Kyam’s dark humor showed in a sour smile. ‘Welcome to Levapur, Mister Zul,’ had been QuiTai’s’ first words to him, before she’d stepped over him in the middle of the street where he’d lain, bleeding, from the assault she’d arranged.

  “Thampurians only pay fines. Ponongese are hanged. There hasn’t been a trial in Levapur in… since I was sent here,” Voorus said.

  “This is wrong, sir, wrong!” Mityam banged his walking stick against the floor to emphasize each word. “I will make reports. I shall write letters!”

  “Maybe it won’t come to that. The Governor is going to find Turyat’s real killer and free Lady QuiTai. Isn’t he?” Voorus stared hopefully at Kyam. “He found the– Oops! Can’t talk about that, but he solved the Harbor Master’s murder almost a year ago. He was an agent with His Majesty’s Intelligence. He can figure it out. Can’t you, Kyam?”

  “I’m not sure how to solve a murder. If the militia destroyed the crime scene, I’m not sure I can read what’s left,” Kyam blurted out. It felt good to admit that. The Thampurian way was to hide all weakness, but he was out of his depth. Maybe Thampur’s finest legal mind could offer some valuable insight.

  Mityam’s hand trembled on the head of his cane. “Or you could ask QuiTai. She’s a clever girl. From what I hear, it was her brothel where the body was found. Surely she would have some idea.”

  Kyam gulped as Mityam’s piercing gaze shone from behind his heavy, wrinkled eyelids. For a moment, it felt as if his grandfather were in the room. He wouldn’t shiver, but it was hard not to.

  A suspect thought infiltrated his brain. What if QuiTai knew about Turyat’s murder and set up her arrest to divert attention? That was convoluted even for her. It didn’t make sense. But her wanting to be taken to the fortress didn’t make any sense either. The further he stepped back from this, the worse the big picture looked.

  “Would you believe the prime suspect if they pinned the murder on someone else?” he asked.

  “Who said she was the prime suspect? She has a solid alibi. It’s circumstantial that her place of business was the scene of the crime,” Mityam said.

  “If anyone could murder someone while she was somewhere else, especially with a perfect, unshakable alibi, it would be QuiTai.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Kyam grabbed a bottle of aged whiskey from the bar in his office and hooked two glasses with his fingers. He could never get past Chief Justice Cuulon’s secretary, so he went out on the veranda and let himself into the chief justice’s office through the typhoon shutters.

  Cuulon sat on a divan, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on something that wasn’t in this world. “Go to hell, Zul.” He
sounded exhausted.

  Kyam set the glasses on Cuulon’s desk and filled them with whiskey. He put Cuulon’s drink on a low table by the settee. It was rude enough that he’d come in uninvited; taking a seat would have been beyond the pale. He leaned against a bookcase. He started to say something, but then realized he should have thought this through before he left his office.

  When offering sympathies for any misfortune, but especially death, the less said the better, his mother had told him many times. If you’re truly sorry for their loss, visit them the week after the funeral, and at least once a month after that. That’s real manners. If you aren’t sorry, keep your visit short and don’t be a hypocrite. Unless, of course, they matter socially. Then you had better make a good show of it.

  “I came to offer my condolences.” That was honest.

  It made him uncomfortable to see that the man he hated had real feelings.

  Cuulon’s gaze finally made the long climb up to meet Kyam’s. “He’d be alive now if it weren’t for you.”

  Why did he even try to be nice? He always regretted it. “I didn’t kill Turyat.”

  “No, you idiot! He wouldn’t have become an addict if you hadn’t ruined his life.” Cuulon looked as if he might say more, but changed his mind and gulped the drink Kyam had poured for him.

  Kyam winced. That whiskey was almost as ancient as Grandfather. “I’d appreciate hearing any theories you might have as to why Turyat was murdered.”

  Cuulon’s ears turned pink. He tipped the glass to his lips again and licked the drops away. “Who needs theories? The Devil’s whore killed him.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “I don’t need proof. If I say she’s guilty, then she’s guilty.”

  Kyam pointed to the law books lining the shelves. “Is that what those say?”

  Cuulon’s wagging finger reminded Kyam of his least favorite uncle. “You’ve been talking to that old fool Captain Voorus dragged up from the harbor.”

  “Mityam Muul happens to be the finest legal mind of our age. I suspect he knows a thing or two about the law.”

  “But you don’t, so leave the legal questions to me.” Cuulon gave Kyam a nasty look. “Unless Theram Zul wants you to be the chief justice too. Tell me, are any Zuls allowed to think for themselves, or are you all puppets for him?” Cuulon raised his hands and jerked them in a pantomime of a marionette.

  It was true, they were puppets. His cousin Hadre fought it as much as he could, but even he eventually did what Grandfather wanted too.

  “Do you believe beyond all doubt that she killed Turyat, or do you want to execute her for another reason? Come on. You can tell me. Your answer won’t leave this room. I’m just curious.”

  Cuulon rolled his empty glass between his palms. “I have no idea if she’s guilty of his death, but she still deserves to die.”

  Why was this man so determined to see QuiTai dead?

  Kyam went to Cuulon’s bar. He carried a decanter of honeyed whiskey to Cuulon. Cuulon nodded and lifted his glass. Kyam poured a generous serving and returned the crystal decanter to the bar.

  “Be that as it may, executing Lady QuiTai won’t fix your problem,” Kyam said.

  “What problem?” Cuulon asked.

  “Your friend is dead.”

  “Damn it, Zul! I know that!”

  “His real murderer will still be out there after you hang Lady QuiTai, and he will never pay for killing your friend. That, as I see it, is a problem – the kind of problem that will make food taste like dust in your mouth and whiskey like marsh water, the kind of problem that eats at your soul.”

  Cuulon covered his face. Sobs shook his shoulders. When he took his hand away, his face writhed with anger.

  Unexpected pangs of guilt and sympathy pricked Kyam’s conscious. When your enemy was vulnerable, did you take advantage, or do the compassionate thing and give them space to grieve?

  Of course you took advantage.

  Kyam was surprised how disgusted he was with himself. He’d been much harsher with QuiTai after Jezereet died than he was with Cuulon now. Turyat had only been Cuulon’s friend; Jezereet had been QuiTai’s spouse. At the time, he hadn’t felt guilty about how he’d treated QuiTai because he’d felt it was necessary. But afterward? Afterward, guilt had crept into his bed in the middle of the night and propped open his eyes. It made it impossible to look in the mirror some mornings. He didn’t look forward to losing sleep over Cuulon too.

  “A witness saw you on the veranda of the Red Happiness early this morning, with Turyat. He was alive then. Why were you there?” Kyam asked.

  “Those snakes will say anything against their betters.”

  “The witness is Thampurian.” There was no reason to admit he was the witness. It would sound as if he’d been lurking outside the Red Happiness when nothing could be further from the truth.

  Cuulon shook his head. “There weren’t any Thampur–” He slowly smiled and steepled his fingers together. “All right. I was there. Am I to take it that you’re investigating Governor Turyat’s death? Are you playing policeman?”

  That was a punch to the gut Kyam should have seen coming. Police in Thampur were recruited from the lower castes on the theory that brutes knew how other brutes thought. Calling Kyam a policeman was a deliberate insult. But Cuulon had been in charge of a police force back in Thampur, so the meaning might equally be ‘Now you’re no better than I am.’ Cuulon was no salon wit, but even he could turn an insult into a stiletto through the ribs from time to time. Kyam wouldn’t rise to the bait, though, no matter how much he wanted to beat Cuulon’s head with his shoe, because his freedom depended now upon solving Turyat’s murder.

  With exaggerated patience, Kyam said. “I want to make sure the right person is hanged for it. Isn’t that what you want too? As chief justice, I’m sure the concept of fairness interests you.”

  Sly wariness settled around Cuulon’s eyes. “Maybe you had Turyat killed. Maybe stealing his office wasn’t enough. Your Grandfather was like that when he ruled here. Absolutely ruthless. Once he had your scent, he’d hunt you down to ground even if you weren’t a threat any more, like one of those werewolf barbarians.”

  Kyam forced his anger into the coldest portion of his heart. He set down his drink carefully, so the glass made only a muted thunk against the wood. QuiTai had taught him how effective quiet could be when it was used in anger. He kept his voice calm, low, and chilly. “Ah, now you see, that was a mistake. First you call me dirt for wanting to find the real murderer of your friend. Now you try to insult my clan by bringing up the werewolves. Are you sure you want to remind me of your involvement with the werewolves?”

  Panic flashed across Cuulon’s face.

  “We know you paid Petrof to kill Lady QuiTai and her family,” Kyam said.

  Cuulon gave him a haughty look. “When you eradicate vermin, you set dogs to it.”

  “So you’re finishing the job by executing the last Qui?” Kyam leaned down close to the older man’s face. “She knows you’re the one who paid Petrof to devour her daughter. Do you think she’d let a little thing like death come between her and revenge? She won’t come back as a shy little maishun spirit, either. Instead, she’ll probably hunt you down like an anmau. I hear they eat your liver every night. It grows back during the day. Sounds painful.”

  Cuulon trembled. “You don’t understand anything. We didn’t have a choice.” His voice sounded as if it had been dragged over a gravel road.

  Something about the past had left a bitter taste in Cuulon’s mouth, but Kyam didn’t believe it was the unjustified murders of the Qui clan.

  Cuulon rose with a heavy sigh and went to his desk.

  “The witness said Turyat quarreled with her. Do you know anything about that?” Kyam asked.

  “Let me tell you a little something about that bitch you’re trying so hard to save. You know she controls the black lotus trade in Levapur now?”

  Kyam nodded. “Since the werewolves were exec
uted.”

  “She let Turyat binge on vapor for a month. Then she cut him off for a week. Nearly drove him mad. Then she let him have as much as he wanted for three weeks, then cut him off again.” Cuulon’s face reddened alarmingly. “She toyed with him, and she enjoyed every second of it.” Spittle foamed in the corners of his lips.

  Kyam didn’t doubt it was true. That sounded like something QuiTai would do. Technically, it was within the bounds of her promise, but it was also far crueler than killing Turyat.

  “I couldn’t buy black lotus anywhere on this island because I might have given it to him. She cut off Lizzriat at the Dragon Pearl for a month for allowing Turyat a single pity pipe. After that, no one would dare challenge her decree. The itching got so bad yesterday he flayed his own skin. I had to cover his forearms in balm and wrap them in gauze. You know how easily scratches get infected on this cursed island.”

  Kyam nodded.

  “Last night, he went to grovel to that bitch for a pipe.”

  Kyam could imagine QuiTai enjoying Turyat’s debasement. That curve of her mouth. The sinister sideways glance of her eyes. Her standing rigid and regal while she watched her enemy suffer at her feet.

  “Madam Inattra said he couldn’t allow Turyat a pipe without QuiTai’s permission, and that she wasn’t expected back for a while. The hint was that we should go away, but Inattra knows how to walk that fine line between his customers and his employer, so he didn’t have us thrown out. While we drank out on the veranda, one of the whores whispered that she’d bring us a pipe, but Madam Inattra saw her and started to head our way, so she had to slither away. You know how dreamers are – Turyat thought if he waited long enough, the snake would come back with some. There was no way to convince him it was a lost cause. At some point I fell asleep. When I woke the next morning, Turyat was gone.”

  “Did you look for him inside the Red Happiness?” Kyam asked.

  “It wasn’t open yet.”

  “What time did you wake?”

  “When did your witness say I woke?”

  Kyam spread his hands.